I had a wonderful time last night trying to upload Pooks new story, we had a power cut half way through which sent everything crashing. I think I’ve corrected all the missing links, but if anyone finds anything that isn’t working please e-mail me.

I had my usual fight with FrontPage insisting that the web pages look different in Foxfire and Safari, which is bloody annoying to say the least but typical of a Microsoft programme. God forbid that it’s compatible with another manufacturer’s software.

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Didn’t do much over the weekend, still not feeling 100% - aches and pains all over. Must be an age thing; what with that and my knee I’m slowly falling apart.

Sunday we visited Soho House in Handsworth, the home of industrialist Matthew Bolton. It was here that the Lunar Society often met, so called because the meetings were arranged to coincide with the full moon – it being much safer to travel home by moonlight.

Clock designed by Bolton in 1772 to measure 'Sidereal Time' rather than Solar Time.

Wandering around it seemed strange to walk through rooms that some of the most important scientists, engineers and thinkers of the time had met and discussed things in, things that we now take for granted, such as electricity.

Then on to Birmingham city centre to wander around Brindleyplace, we did originally think of visiting the Sealife Centre, that is until we saw the 3 hour queue. Who in their right mind stands outside in the pouring rain with screaming kids for 3 hours? The queue was no shorter on the way back to the car hours later, and still people where joining the end of it.

We eventually found the Museum and Art Gallery, where after nearly two hours we’d only seen 6 rooms – it’s massive. So somewhere else to visit again as we had to get home to pick youngest up from work.

One of the Soho House Sphinxes. The pair, plus three urns, cost Bolton £30.00.

It amazes me that neither of these places charge admission fees. I'd have gladly paid to visit both.

Son & Fiancée came round last night – in Fiancée car. That Fiancée was driving. Without L plates on. She’d passed her test. Bless, she was so excited, apparently she’d been driving around visiting everyone all afternoon. Son had already told Himself, but had given strict instructions not to tell me, as Fiancée wanted to tell me herself.

The two of us went out for a drive around the village. She’s a good driver; she should have taken her test ages ago – but lacked confidence, hence Himself taking her out to practice. Son is most pleased, he reckons that the next time they go out she’ll be able to drive and he can have a drink.

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I dropped Himself’s car off at the garage for its MOT today and then walked to work. When I got up this morning, it was a lovely day – not a rain cloud in sight. Of course that changed half way between the garage and work – the heavens opened and it chucked it down.

One of these days I’m going to start wearing a coat or at the very least put a fold-up umbrella in my bag. Just not today.

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Pooks is nearly ready to update again (no, I can assure you I have not shame what-so-ever, my story is still half finished) but she can’t decide on a title. Everything I’ve suggested so far is no good. Personally I think there’s a little bit of showing off going on myself.

This is a bit of a long blog, I'd get a cup of tea or coffee first if I was you. And we're not counting the mistakes either - unless you want your throat torn out that is.

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May the Gods give me strength, but not enough strength to do any permanent damage.

I put youngest’s work tee shirts in the washing machine yesterday morning and I told son that when he got up to hang them on the line or at least his bedroom radiator, so they’d be ready for work. What with the crow and everything I forgot all about it until last night when I was getting into bed.

Child was still downstairs watching telly, so I banged on the floor to get him to come to the living room door. Of course, he didn’t understand the signal to start with – he turned the volume down on the telly instead.

So I tried again. This time he came to the foot of the stairs to ask what I wanted. Had he put his tee shirts to dry? Silence. No, he’d forgot – they were still in the washing machine. Bloody typical – it wouldn’t have killed him to hang all of the washing out and I’d only asked him to dry his own tee shirts.

So I told him to get them out straight away and put them on the radiators. I also pointed out that he had work the next day so it would probably be a good idea to come to bed; he’d not want to get up in the morning. And he’s right snitty when he’s tired.

So to this morning – I’m sure that I woke all of our neighbours up trying to get him to get out of bed. Would he get up? Noooo. He does the normal teenager thing. You call them, your voice getting a bit louder every time. They in turn always answer; yes they’re getting up now. Then the little sods turn over and go back to sleep again.

When he eventually managed to find his way out of his room, and that took some doing I can tell you; negotiating everything littered around the floor, he wandered downstairs and - you’ll never believe this - asked me where his work tee shirt was.

Now with that in mind I don’t suppose it will come as a surprise to everyone when I tell you that it was still in the washing machine wringing wet. Btw, it’s now 8.30 a.m. and we both need to be at work for 9 a.m.

So we had a discussion. A parent and child discussion; which any parent will tell you is in line with world war 3.

The battle lines were drawn.

Camp One: He was going to wear the tee shirt to work, even through it was soaking wet. It would dry during the day, he said.

Camp two: He bloody well wasn’t wearing it to work - I might be a terrible mother and housewife but even I have certain standards, be they very low ones. He’d just have to wear a normal tee shirt and keep his sweatshirt on all day.

Negotiations took place.

Read what you will into that statement, it all depends if you’ve read books on how children behave or whether you’ve had first hand experience. Shame really that children have never shown an interest in reading childcare manuals – life would be so much simpler if they had.

If you have teenagers I’m sure you can picture the scene exactly, if not read on. You can’t reason with a seventeen year old; it’s like trying to reason with the wind, and the older they get the worse they are. As they are adults (I use that word very loosely) you make the stupid assumption that you can talk to them; adult to adult. And you know you should remain calm and not shout, honestly you do – but you can’t help it. They flick a switch deep inside you and you morph into a screaming banshee.

And then they sneer. No one sneers like a teenager – all logical argument is thrown out of the window with the simple statement: ‘I don’t care’. And they don’t either, they really don’t care. They aren’t at all upset by any of it, unlike yourself – the person that suffered childbirth for this wonderful caring individual.

Anyway at 8.45 a.m. this morning I’d the iron in my hand trying to iron dry son’s tee shirt. He was bloody lucky I didn’t batter him over the head with said iron when he moaned at me that he was going to be late. I dropped him off at work about 9.15 a.m. and got to work myself about half past.

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The crow has now found a new home, thank the gods – I don’t need another teenager in my life. I found someone through a friend of a friend in the end, there isn’t a lot of help around for orphaned birds. Never mind, the bird is now being looked after and when I spoke to the gentleman this morning the crow had just enjoyed breakfast and was off to the outside aviary for a spot of sunshine. Lucky crow.

I’m not bored any more, I’d like to be bored but haven’t the time. I’d like to continue doing some writing too, honestly I would – I could then have updated my stories along with the smut that the Leprechaun is churning out. Unfortunately I can’t – I’m too busy trying to feed the crow.

Yes, that is a good excuse and it’s genuine. Don’t believe me?

I know, if I read this blog I’d wonder if it was a work of fiction too. Unfortunately it isn’t. These things all happen to me. Be afraid, be very afraid. It bloody terrifies me at times, I can tell you. The lengths I have to go to so that I don't have to finish that story. They can't agrue about this excuse, now can they?

Youngest took the dogs down the fields last night for a walk and came home via the back lanes. There was a squashed crow on the road, must have been hit by a car. He didn’t think anything of it until a couple of yards later when the dogs reacted to something in the hedge. The something being a fledgling crow.

Now he’s been brought up to know that you don’t disturb wild animals, if you find them, you leave well alone, but of course there was the dead crow just yards away. So he brought it home. Sat on his wrist.

He made a nest for it in the shed and it hadn’t moved when I went to look at it this morning. 7.30 a.m. and I’m up the garden trying to persuade the crow to eat a bit of cat food and drink some water, which I’m pleased to say I eventually managed.

I’ve spent the best part of this morning ringing round trying to find somewhere that will take it in, 'cause no way do I want to hand rear a baby crow. Raising George and Ozzy was fraught enough, thank you very much. It’s a wild animal after all and needs to be released when it can fend for itself. So far, no one wants to know.

Scally as usual, has been supportive and helpful. She told me that she’d not comment about witches having crows as companions. Good hint - I did offer it her then as a pet, but she wasn’t keen.

And I've not told the Leprechaun, she’d convince herself that I’d done it deliberately to get out of writing. It would just start her off again.

I’m bored.

That’s it really. Can’t think of anything to talk about or anything to do.

*sigh*

I stand accused of hiding the comment box for today’s post. I’ve absolutely no idea why it’s not showing. The beetle has probably nicked it.

A quiet weekend all said and done, I’ve spent a fair bit of it sat at the computer trying to write. And what a truly horrendous experience that was, my characters kept shutting the door so I couldn’t hear what was going one. It wasn’t until late last night that I found out I was speaking to the wrong person, by which time I wanted to go to bed and he wouldn’t shut up. At one point I started to run a bath and forgot about it - it was about six inches away from overflowing when I cottoned on. I had a bath full of boiling hot water.

As a reader I used to get really fed up when an author used to keep you waiting for months for the next part in their story. You know, it’s got to an interesting bit and they either stop writing or start something else. In some cases they get abducted by aliens and are never heard of again. It didn’t dawn on me back then just how difficult writing could be, that the words don’t always just flow. In fact sometimes it’s in line with pulling teeth. I’ve developed a great deal of respect for the authors that manage to up date on a fairly regular basis.

Pooks has been very busy too – showing off. Not that’s she’s been rubbing it in that she’s been writing, nooooo, she’d never do that – and of course pigs fly. It look a quiet word from Scally in her shell like before she bloody well left me alone. As you already know I’m a very sensitive and gentle soul; I found all the sniping very distracting. I was that upset at one point that I had to read a few stories to calm my nerves.

Pooks has two new chapters under her belt which she's been waving at Scally, the last being her first tentative steps into the world of smut. Of course, we’ll no doubt not see her for a while after that; she’ll be hiding behind the sofa. It’s always a bit of a shock to the system to discover that you can actually write that stuff. And she’ll then have to admit that her good girl status is a bit smeared in places.

It’s a similar thing when reading it. I think one of the reasons that authors don’t receive a lot of feed back, when the stats counter shows that people are visiting the site, is that most people are a little bit embarrassed to admit that they may have a kink or two of their own. By e-mailing the author to say I like your story – you are in fact taking your 1st step out of the closet. I know that was the reason I didn’t write to anyone; you have to admit it to yourself first before you can admit it to your partner, let alone write to some stranger whose stories you’ve been reading for years.

You know what I'm taking about; you become very jumpy when you're on the computer and someone enters the room, you also become an expect at minimizing screens and you always clear the history tab before closing down. No way can you write to these people, what would you say for a start? And they must be a bit weird. These authors can’t be normal people, with normal lives, holding down normal jobs and bringing up a normal family. Just Mr or Mrs Average. Now can they?

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Montgomery and his partner in crime, Madam Sulya, have moved house. Lots of new stories and snippets to be found at http://smartingstories.blogspot.com/

And it’s a blog site, so you can leave comments. Yes, you can. You can, honestly you can. They don’t bite you know. Well Sulya doesn’t bite being a lady, and in fairness Montgomery doesn’t either. He pinches.

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I found this little fellow on the doorstep yesterday. He’s obviously the beetle world’s equivalent to Denis Healey. Isn't he sweet?

Firstly, thank you to everyone who sent me get well soon wishes and messages of sympathy regarding the ear bashing that I suffered at the hands of the leprechaun, not to mention her cruel defamation on my character. NO *holds hands up*, I’m joking – no one said anything about you. Other then the few comments about what the hell are you moaning about, we’ve already written to say we want more of the boys.

By the way, she relented last night and sent me chocolate – which of course is only right considering the amount of effort I put in yesterday when I was ill to ensure that she got lots of support and encouragement to coax the boys along. The down side of that being I ended up last night writing the next part of JJ, which I hadn’t actually planned on doing – I’d quite got into the hang of being just a reader again. Visiting website, reading stories – not saying a dicky bird to the author about how much I liked what I’d seen ;-)

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Poor Fern, I got home yesterday to find her sat on her bed looking very sad for herself. Every so often she shuck her head and whimpered. On closer inspection I could see that she had discharge from her ear.

So it was a phone call to the vets (unlike the doctor, vets see their patients straight away, and they also have receptionists that are nice, polite and helpful) a drive through the rush hour traffic and ten minutes spent there at the most, to wave goodbye to £36.00.

She’s quite funny - when you put her drops in, she lies down and lets you and the minute you let her up again she runs over to the cupboard with the biscuit tub on top and stares at it. Very good with the hints is our Fern.

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And lastly, I’ve managed to very slightly, you can hardly see it at all unless you look very, very, closely, scratch Himself’s car. There’s not a lot of room to manoeuvre off our drive and he’d parked over the far side. I’d parked at the side of him and as per the norm, needed to fill my car up with petrol.

As I had to get to the vets quickly before they closed I thought it better to take Himself’s car (the one that always has at least half a tank of petrol) and unfortunately misjudged the distance and angle between my car and the pillar of the wall. I didn’t have time to mess about, so carried on to the vets thinking I’d tell him about it later.

Himself was busy in the shed when I got back. He wasn’t in the best of moods as eldest appears to have borrowed his electric power drill and not brought it back. Apparently he didn’t ask if he could borrow it to start with – a bit like me with his car. It didn’t really seem the right moment to mention the scratch to him. So I didn’t.

He’s gone to work this morning and not spotted it, so with a bit of luck when he eventually notices he’ll think another car did it.

Dear Ms Verde,

I would like to offer my humble apologies for the terrible way I wound you up today; including the part I’ve played in getting you into trouble with your Beta. I am truly ashamed *hangs head*.

The boys have also asked that I put a good word in on their behalf. They’ve now hidden themselves in the corner of the Resource Centre that used to be the Library, and are reading ‘Understanding the Woman in Your Life: A Man's Guide to a Happy Relationship’, by Steve Vinay Gunther, in the vague hope that they’ll find a way of appeasing you.

As for the readership, well, what can I say? Two out of three isn’t bad, now is it? And even you can’t expect miracles.

Your meek (and still ill *cough, cough*) writing partner,

The Rainbow Slider.

I still don’t feel 100% but like the hero that I am, I’ve dragged myself to work. I must say that there is a distinct lack of sympathy in this office, which considering I run the payroll has now been duly noted.

The headache’s gone for the time being, thank the Gods, but I’ve definitely got a cold. I appear to have developed one of those stupid irritating coughs as well. I was sitting here coughing and not one of them asked me if I wanted a glass of water. In fact, they totally ignored me and carried on talking about the Wolves & West Brom football match that was played last night.

When I eventually stopped, I thanked them for their show of kindness - they honestly shouldn’t have bothered. It was at that point that it dawned on me just how much working with me has affected Craig. His reply: Oh, we care Sue; it’s just that we’re men, so we don’t like to show it.

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And Eldest rang last night. It’s Fiancée Birthday and he forgot – could he borrow some money until pay day? He got me out of my sick bed for that one, mainly because he wouldn’t ask his father. Guess who he thinks is the soft option? Oh, and after I’d been around the bank to get the money could I please drop it off to him at work. He couldn’t very well pop out of work to get it from me; they’ve been really busy of late.

And of course I said yes. After all I’ve nothing important to do, I can just leave work whenever I chose and walk to the bank. I can then drive the five miles to where he works and drop the money off. No problem.

Did I mention that it’s raining here and cold, damp and miserable? And I’m not well. Sorry, must have forgot that bit.

I would also like to point out that there hasn't been any emails from certain individuals asking about my well being either. And it's not as if I've not told them I'm ill, because I bloody well have. I'm poorly and no one cares.

OK, I'll take that bit back - Craig cares. He's just offered to go to McDonalds at lunchtime. As I'm ill, I obviously need coaxing to eat something.


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I think I’ve found out why the cat keeps bringing mice home. She’s been trying to tell Himself something:

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/rtrs/20070516/thl-uk-hair-acc9995.html

I’m sure that if I put my mind to it I could have a bloody good moan today. Not over anything in particular, just one of those moods. In fact it started last night when I did my up most to pick an argument with Himself. Which of course the rotten sod totally ignored and then to add insult to injury, he flatly refused to rise to the challenge when I really put a bit of effort in.

This just infuriated me even more and in the end he suggested that I go to bed as I was obviously tired, or words to that effect. That went down like a lead balloon and I went on the computer instead. There had to be someone there that I could wind up - but there wasn't or not until 12ish when I eventually managed to put my thoughts together and email Chris on the sci-fi thing he's sent us. By which time even I had to admit that I was tired and needed to go to bed.

I think I must be coming down with something; I’ve a cold sore up my nose. Yes, everyone else gets them on their lip, but I like to be different. The trouble is my nose keeps running and it hurts to touch it with a tissue. It’s also red and swollen on the one side, which has led to everyone commenting about it.

I’ve got mouth ulcers, which make their present known whenever I eat or drink anything. And just to finish off, I’ve a headache that tablets don’t have any effect on.

Basically I’m in a right snitty mood and everyone at work, except Craig, is getting on my nerves. Which in fairness they seem to know – I don’t think I’ve had that many visitors to my office today.

Working with me has obviously had some knock on effect on Craig; he’s right pissed off with everyone too. Out of the two weeks I was allocated his help this month, I’ve actually only had him for two days. Craig has also cottoned on why I get so aerated when running a claim. He’s now trying to run one himself and reckons that everyone that works here is a bloody idiot and they can’t even complete the easiest of tasks, such as signing their names. I could have told him that, but didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

Right, one last moan, it’s Wednesday and I’ve got to go shopping. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this, probably not, but I hate Shopping. Shopping of any sort what-so-ever. People who enjoy shopping are not normal. Enough said.

I must be the owner of the only pacifist cat, either that or she’s convinced herself that she’s a Good Samaritan.

Friday night Himself went to bed first and as per norm shut the bedroom window. Of course, only to be expected, before I went to bed I re-opened it. Come three in the morning I saw the error of my ways.

The cat, bless her, had brought a mouse in and let it go in the bedroom. I was woken by her jumping around. The minute I turned the light on the pair of them stopped and looked at me, the mouse obviously decided that it didn’t like what it saw and shot off under the bed. The cat did nothing what-so-ever to stop its escape; in fact she turned around and walked out of the room with her tail in the air. Apparently I'm a right spoil sport.

Himself wasn’t best pleased to be woken with the news of an unexpected house guest, and was even more annoyed when I made him get up to help me move the bed. We then spent the best part of half an hour moving the bedroom furniture around whilst the cat got comfy and went to sleep on the chair in the computer room. She assured us that it was nothing to do with her, it was raining outside and she’d just offered it some shelter from the storm.

We didn’t find the mouse, but I did find my glasses. Bit annoying that as I’d paid the optician an arm and a leg for another pair. They were underneath the bedside table along with a crossword book, a pen and rather a lot of dust, heaven knows how they got there. And considering I first reported my glasses missing late last year, it also tells you how often I move the bedroom furniture when hoovering upstairs.

In the end we gave in and got back into bed, we had to get up early on Saturday to help with the wedding arrangements, so the mouse got left to spend the night in the dry. Lying there I got an ear bashing from Himself on the whys and wherefores of leaving the window closed; when was I going to learn? At the very least I should have known to just leave the window on the catch so the cat couldn’t get in, I knew what she was like after all – it was a miracle that the house wasn't over run with the bloody things. I don’t know why he bothered; it wasn’t as if I was listening. I was too busy trying to pick up any sounds the mouse might be making.

Come Saturday morning there was still no sign of the mouse, so Himself shut the cat in the bedroom – she could bloody well look for it whilst we were out, he said. Of course the cat took about as much notice of Himself’s orders as I do. When we returned that afternoon she hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed. So the mouse spent the day exploring the room, no doubt making a mental note to complain about the amount of dust to be found behind the furniture.

The cat eventually showed an interest in the house guest in the early hours of Sunday morning. I woke to hear her doing that ‘my mouth is full, wake up quickly’ meow that she does. This time she wanted to take it back outside; it had out stayed its welcome, she said.

Unfortunately just for once I’d done as Himself had told me and left the window closed. This led to the cat jumped up on to the window sill and banging her head on the glass. Well, she’s come to expect the window to open at a push.

She dropped the mouse, which then fell down behind the radiator and landed in the shoebox containing Himself’s best shoes. He’d left the box on the floor and had just shoved his shoes back in it when we’d returned home after enjoying several celebratory drinks. I must say I was surprised at how quickly I reacted by slamming the lid back on the box, who says alcohol slows your reactions.

I then got dressed. Yes, even I learn from previous mistakes sometimes. The mouse got carried downstairs in the box with the shoes and the cat made sure that I knew she was most put out. She should have done that, she said, it was her friend not mine.

I walked across the road and tipped the contents of the box into the grass. It was one of those moments that I’d have killed for my camera. The mouse sat in Himself's shoe obviously wondering just what the hell was going on. I had to tip it out in the end.

We went to Gloucester for the day on Friday, the city was bigger than I expected and we didn’t get to see everything we wanted to. So we’re going back in the summer to visit the National Waterways Museum, Nature in Art at Wallsworth Hall and to look inside the Cathedral. There was a service on at the time and it wasn’t open to the public.

We did get to visit Gloucester Docks.

Walk around the City centre.

Statue of Nerva, a distinguished lawyer, who was over 60 years of age when he was proclaimed Roman Emperor in AD 96. The roman city of Gloucester was known as Colonia Nerviana Glevensis.

Above Bakers the Jewellers, is a old striking clock with five figures. It striking Jacks representing England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales together with Old Father Time. And for those that are wondering, no, you can't see up the Scots Man's kilt.

We also visited Gloucester City Museum & Art Gallery.

And walked around the outside of the Cathedral. There's a lot of restoration work currently going on at the moment; this is one of the new gargoyles.

And lastly we visited St Marys de Crypt. Well, it makes a change from photographs of clouds and trees. I've now got a thing about churches.

Behind the church is the Story Teller's Bench.

Rather fitting that I found this on our wanders, or it would be if I ever get around to publishing any more stories.

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Scally emailed me some amendments she wanted doing. Now one would think this would be a fairly easy job and it would take ten minutes at the most. Well, it would if Microsoft hadn't been evolved. Nearly 45 minutes later I managed to get it to update.

Microsoft certainly know how to look after their customers when their software has problems, I got the following message when I hit the No button as to whether I had found them helpful:


And I only get a 1000 characters to tell them what I think.





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And lastly the cat has been in disgrace this weekend, but you’ll have to wait to hear about that one.

I wonder if other people have days like me?

We picked the kids up from the airport; the plane was on time with no delays. The drive home was uneventful - we listened to them talk about the wonderful time that they’d had and their plans to get married there next year.

We dropped them off home only to discover they were locked out. No, they didn’t take a key on holiday with them. Fiancée’s brother had gone to work, obviously forgetting they were due home today and the instructions they’d left to hide the key had been ignored. The other house mate was in bed. You had a better chance of raising the dead then getting Adam to open the door. And this was with their dog jumping up and down by the window barking a welcome home as if his life depended on it.

Himself and Fiancée tried banging the door, shouting through the letter box and using the mobile to ring the house phone. Eldest and I wandered around the side of the house. Only one thing to do he said, he’d have to climb the twelve foot wall. Oh, great – why do I always end up on the wrong tag team?

So I gave son a leg up onto the wheelie bin which we’d pushed against the wall. Now although son is over six foot tall he still couldn’t quite get up over the wall. Could I pick that tyre up and put it on the bin? This would then give him more height. Yes, of course I could. And in the process I could also get covered in black dust from the tyre. Wonderful, I now needed to go home and get changed.

Anyway, son got over the wall and in though the back door which had been left open for the dog. They had been up for the last 24 hours – saying goodbye to everyone they’d made friends with, who were also going home at different times of the day and night, one big piss up I think. So we left them to go to bed.

Never mind, they do say that if the day starts off bad, it can only get better. They lied.

Just after dinner our neighbour knocked on the door, one of their chickens had got out and was now in our garden, could we see if we could catch it? Oh God, please don’t let the dogs have found it first. They won’t touch our ducks, but chickens are fair game in their book. They’ve already chased next door's chickens and scared the one to death – literally.

So we locked the dogs in doors and the three of us went outside to play hunt the chicken. We couldn’t see any feathers - mind you we couldn’t see the chicken either. After nearly ten minutes of searching with one of us ‘Sh-ing’ every now and again when we thought we heard her clucking, we eventually found her in the our other neighbour’s garden.

Now Christine isn’t very keen on chickens, so it was Himself and I that climbed over the fence and tried to catch the bloody thing. Our other next door neighbour has those horrible fast growing firs that people plant to make hedges. They cut these back last weekend, but they’re still fairly tall and between them and the fence there’s a gap were brambles and stringing nettles are fighting each other to see who can cover the most ground and grow the tallest.

Guess where the chicken was? Yes, what a bitch, and would she come out, would she bugger it. So whilst himself stayed one side of the firs (never in a million years will you guess which side he chose), I went through the firs to the other side.

We eventually did manage to catch her, but only after I got scratch and strung just about everywhere on my body. And going back and forth through the firs chasing her also ensured that I got hedge clippings all over my jumper, down my t-shirt, in my trainers and even in my knickers. On top of which I had a reaction and went red and blotchy all over. So once again I got changed.

I told Christine that the next time she called around to see if I was coming out to play I was going to decide on the game and it wouldn't be hunt the bloody chicken.

Never mind, the day had to get better after that. Ha!

Himself then pointed out that I still hadn’t brought anything to wear to his niece’s wedding on Saturday and if we were going out tomorrow I’d have to go into town this afternoon and find something. We’ve had the invitation for the last 3 months and I’ve been putting off clothes shopping since then.

I really hate shopping for clothes. I prefer casual clothes myself and I didn’t relish searching for a frock to wear, but Himself was right (I allow him be right occasionally; I can be very generous at times) I couldn’t put it off any longer and unless I was going to the wedding dressed in a pair of combat trousers I needed to draw on my inner strength and go clothes shopping.

Actual it wasn’t bad - I surprised myself. I found a dress in M & S, the first shop I went in to and then wandered around town and found shoes and a bag to match. It was easy, I don’t know what I was bothered about and I even mentioned that fact to Himself. As the dress was summery with a strappy top all I needed was a plain black cardigan and we could go home.

Some people never learn do they? Tempt the Fates, Sue. Go on – just how difficult could it be to find a plain black cardigan. I’ll tell you shall I? – bloody impossible, that's what.

We walked around every clothes shop in Kidderminster, very single one, including Sainsburys and Tesco. Not one of them stocked a plain black cardigan, in fact only a few of them had any cardigans at all for sale. I eventually managed to find a short sleeved lacey one in the Edinburgh Wool Shop.

So if it’s cold on Saturday it won't keep me warm but it will cover up the fact that a certain part of my body reacts to cold weather. Without that cardigan I’d be walking around all day with my arms folded.

It’s no good I’m going to have to start going to bed earlier, I had a hell of a job getting going this morning. My normal routine seemed to take twice as long to complete and I’m feeling muzzy headed. Some of that is no doubt down to the allergy tablets which always affect me until my body adjusts to me using them again.

I first started suffering with allergies when I was pregnant with my youngest, up until that point I never had a problem. It seem to peak a few years later when I was allergic to nearly everything or at least everything they tested me for; the worse things being tree pollen, house dust mite (big surprise - dust in my house?), horses and cats. It was like someone had turned a tap on in my nose; I started buying pallet loads of Kleenex and Kimberly-Clark saw a dramatic rise in their profits. (I looked on the Kleenex site and they have a blog too - totally void of readers comments).

By far the worse was cats; my own cat at the time ended up moving in with my parents. It was that bad at one point that I had a reaction if I went to someone’s house and touched furniture that a cat had sat on. God help me if I touched my eyes after that; it was like acid being poured into them.

Slowly over the years it got better and the reactions lessened, although I’ve no idea why. Now I just appear to suffer from hay fever and as long as I take a Piriton tablet and let them build up in my system I don’t really have too much of a problem. Piriton were the only tablets that the doctor could prescribe at the time as I was breast feeding, they were and still are one of the cheapest on the market, and as far as my allergies go by far the best.

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We went to Malvern on Monday and walked around the town and museum. Malvern Priory was also open to the public so we had a wander around there too. It’s an amazing building and photographs of the stained glass windows do no justice. On the way home we stopped in Upton-upon-Severn, which was hosting a folk festival. Basically the town was over run with grey haired men with pony tails and amazing voices. There were groups singing or dancing on nearly every street corner.

Interestly there are orbs showing on this photograph.

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I’m off work tomorrow and Friday. Tomorrow is an early morning run to the airport to pick up eldest and fiancée, the rest of the day is then my own. This time I’m not even going to mention writing.

Friday is a day out with Himself, where to is yet undecided.

It’s 1am here. Yes, that’s one in the morning.

I would just like it noted that although I’ve not added any of my own stories – I’m too busy working my fingers to the bone updating the site to find the time to write - I’ve made sure that the readership gets both Pooks and Scally’s stories as soon as they are ready. As of in this minute. I’m a martyr, so I am (She said with a truly awful Irish accent. What do you expect? - I've a Black Country twang to my accent).

You do realise that I’ve got work tomorrow. No, scrap that, I mean today. I shall probably be a right grumpy cow now and everyone at work will suffer. I would also point out that remarks along the lines of – 'What’s new'? And 'they’ll never notice the difference', will NOT be looked on favourably - yes, I am directing that remark at the so called 'good girl & shy mischievous creature'. The Scary One needn't comment either. Slave drivers the pair of them.

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And Hic Draconis have published two new stories and tidied up their website. A visit could be in order.

I've spent all morning cleaning the house and doing the ironing, Himself offered to hoover. When you’re working full time the housework doesn’t get done on a daily basis. I usually manage to run the hoover through quickly in the morning and wipe the kitchen down – a lick and polish is all it really gets. Then clean from top to bottom at the weekend, Himself usually helps. Which to me seems fair, we both work full time and we both make the mess. There are certain things I don’t let him do, like the ironing, mainly because he has ruined so many of my clothes in the past I can’t afford to let him lose with the iron any more.

We were planning on going out this afternoon, but I’m afraid that changed when I was walking through the living room with a pile of ironing in my arms and tripped over the hoover pipe, which Himself had left carelessly lying across the floor. I jarred my knee again and threw the ironing across the living room.

Himself did start to laugh – he claims it out of fear, but I don’t believe him – until he cottoned on that my sense of humour had left me about the same time as I lost hold of the ironing.

My knee has now ballooned up yet again and aches like hell. I’ve told him that if it hasn’t gone down by tomorrow he’s going to be giving me a piggy back because we’re off out for the day. Although, as we’re both off on Thursday and Friday (picking children up from airport on Thursday) we’d be better off missing the bank holiday traffic and staying at home tomorrow.


There you go, I could stay at home and write a story instead.


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Went in to town on Saturday and brought Himself’s Birthday present. A Sat Nav. Himself didn’t get a Christmas present either, what with leaving it for the sales and then breaking his shoulder – so I wanted something a bit special. We don’t normally spend that sort of money on Birthday presents, but it was a one off and he’s wanted one for ages.

Himself set it up and was well pleased but the best part for me was watching our youngest walk down the road (at two miles an hour, so it told him) with the sat nav in his hand seeing if it would direct him around the village green. It did too.

I eventually got around to seeing the doctor about my knee yesterday - not that I learnt anything I didn’t already know. I’ve damaged the ligament and need to wear a support. I twisted it over six weeks ago now walking up the garden. Yes, I know – really boring. Just think of all the things I could have been doing and I only manage to hurt it letting the ducks out. So the doctor showed me some exercises to do, suggested painkillers for the pain and basically told me to come back if there was no change after a month.

I only went to see him to start with to shut Himself up. He thought that we should stop the walks until it got better. You see this is typical of the man, for years he nagged, moaned and coaxed me to get out of the house, now he’s changed his mind and wants me to stay in it.

We’ve reached a compromise. I’ll wear the support all day, instead of just for the walks and this weekend we’ll visit one of the National Trust Properties instead. Other than that, the walks are still on - in fairness to Himself, my knee does balloon up after one of our rambles, so maybe I do need to slow down a bit. I’ve suggested two miles instead of the normal four.

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It’s Himself’s Birthday today and we’re going out for a meal. The miserable old sod didn’t want to celebrate it at first; according to him he’s too old for birthdays now. He’s going to be well chuffed when he finds out he’s got a Birthday cake with candle on.

We’ve the ideal excuse for going out for a meal together and he’s not jumping up and down with joy. I suggested that it was because he was now past his sell by date, but he proved me wrong on that score and went to work with a grin on his face.

So we’re off out for a romantic meal tonight with a walk home through the woods – it could turn out to be a really good evening, although with my luck I’ll probably end up with my foot down a rabbit hole and hurt my other knee.

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Eldest rang last night to tell me they had arrived safely in Pefkos, that it was very hot, the apartments were great and the people very welcoming. They’ve been there less than 24 hours and have already fallen in love with the place. Apparently they are already planning another visit next year. They’re off out today to explore the castle that they can see from their apartment and then planning on spending the rest of the day by the pool.

And I’m now seriously thinking I need to sort a holiday out for us as well. Youngest is going away with next door to Minorca, so it’s just the two of us. I suppose the last time we had a week away together must have been our Honeymoon to sunny Wales twenty two years ago. And as I managed to come down with the flu, the only time in my life that I was so ill I could hardly get out of bed, it rememberable for all the wrong reason.

I’m tired. Some idiot left the fire escape door open yet again last night and I got a call from the alarm company. No one as yet has admitted to the offence – probably because I’m noticeably pissed off. This is turning into a regular occurrence. Everyone knows they’re not allowed to use the fire escape as a smoking corner or a short cut to the workshops.

I’ve been trying to convince Simon all morning to connect the door to the mains electricity but he thinks it's a bit drastic. I disagree. I’ve told him we only need to make an example out of one member of staff and the rest will sit up and take notice. You can see why I’m in charge of Personnel, can’t you?

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And talk about having a reputation. I’ve just received a call from Connexions - they asked for me personally, isn't that nice? Please could I send them a copy of one of the E2E client’s certificates.

I don’t have anything to do with E2E or the clients, unless I’m the only manager around and there’s a problem that is. Where the hell did they get my name from? I’m learning though – I took the details and told her I’d ask Jane to look into it for her. I’m not in a helpful mood at the moment.

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Well, this has brightened up my morning. I’ve just eaten my sandwich – yes, sat at the computer – I never quite got the hang of stopping for lunch, and was watching Dilys talking on the phone. She was ringing BT about our bill. Now BT are renown for being particularly useless in the Customer Service Department. When she eventually got to speak to someone she was told she needed to ring another number and no, they couldn’t transfer her. She had a few choice comments to make on that one.

I then watched as she redialled – she listened intently to the recorded voice on the end of the line; it then must have given her a list of options to choose from by pressing a number.

I’m sorry, but I’ll have to admit this had me in tears. She had obviously chosen which number to press but instead of pressing the keypad of her telephone she was furiously pressing the computer keyboard instead – and getting more and more verbally aggressive as each second passed. The recording on the phone obviously just repeats itself if you don’t actually choose an option. I’ve never heard her swear that much before.

She didn’t cotton on until she looked over to find me doubled up and crying.

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And last, but far from least – the leprechaun is ready to post chapter two of her story; which hopefully I’ll do tonight. I did for a few minutes feel a tiny bit guilty that I wasn’t adding anything myself and then decided that the energy would be better spent eating a piece of cake instead.

I’ve run out of excuses – so I’ve got a confession to make. I appear to have misplaced my muse. I last remember seeing it just before Christmas, so I suppose it could have got put up in the attic with the Christmas decorations when we tidied them away.

I spent ten minutes last night staring at a blank page, I’d also got open several other pages with short paragraphs on them and one page that was completely full but didn’t fit in with the plot – it’s a bit ahead of it’s self.

Around that time Sommer e-mailed me. She probably got the fright of her life from the quickness of my reply. I think it would be fair to say I’ve probably left her wondering why I’ve developed a sudden interest in the Ransom Flower (wild garlic). Which she tells me is used in soups or like a herb in Germany. The leaves are used before the flower blooms. It’s smells like garlic but has a more delicate taste. It's not something we normally talk about.



Beautiful isn’t it? I’ll also admit that although I’m a country girl I’ve never seen that flower before, or at least I’ve never noticed it. Just how much of your life do you spend walking around with your eyes closed, or at the very least blinkered?


Anyway, I'm not inspired to write at the moment - all bribes have failed. I'm sure that I'll get motivated eventually.


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Sunday was spent at Bodenham Arboretum. We walked around the outer fields first; just over 2 miles and then had lunch in the restaurant. The rest of the day was spent wandering around the farm, the lakes, the pools and the gardens - followed by afternoon tea. Talk about stuffed.




It was a beautiful place and it made me think again about just how much I’ve never noticed. A great deal of my life has been spent looking after my children and my mum. I don’t regret that for a minute, I chose that route myself but it’s made me think just what life has to offer me now – most of it’s free as well.

And how's this for Camouflage?

After I shared the photos I'd uploaded to Kodak with everyone, Chris commented on the fact I’d sent a batch of eighty pictures. He pointed out that I was suppose to pick and choose. I soon put him right – there were 192 to start with; he should count his blessings, he got off lighty.

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And my eldest and his fiancée are off on holiday to Rhodes today. They called around last night and we gave then some pocket money. No, it doesn’t make any difference how old your children are, you still give them some money to take on holiday. It’s a Mummy and Daddy thing.

Although actually getting some euros wasn’t that straight forward. I tried on Saturday in Co-op Travel in Kidderminster, where I was told that without ID I couldn’t pay via switch. It was to stop card fraud. Now I don’t usually carry much money around with me and I didn’t fancy the walk back into town to the bank so I thought I’d leave it until Monday.

Of course I didn’t get chance on Monday so I went in yesterday. This time I went to the bank first and then to Stourport Co-op Travel. Where apparently they aren’t concerned about card fraud – I could have paid via switch and without ID. Obviously the people of Stourport are more trustworthy than the people of Kidderminster.

And Tracy is off to New York today too. She’s going with her sister-in-laws to see her nephew and his wife. He works over there. And as you would expect there is a very selfish reason for wishing her a good trip; last time she brought some sweeties back for me. Especially nice was the mint fudge - which let’s be honest, was to die for. She has promised that if she can find the shop again she’ll bring me some more back. I’m counting the days till her return.