Well I suppose all good things come to an end, so I’m now back at work. I’ve had a nice break from the blog, thanks Pooks, and I'm now well on the way to actually finishing a story; so it’s not as if I’ve been doing nothing. Well, that might not be the case.

I didn’t actually get up on Friday till turned 3pm and the only reason then was my stomach was convinced that my throat had been cut. I was still ready for bed come 11pm which must have meant I was tired – too many late nights yattering on the computer.

I had a nice surprise when I did eventually roused myself on Friday, a parcel from Pooks had arrived full of nice things for me. That was the second present in a week. The first being some photography books from Chris, which have inspired me to try black and white pictures for a change. Certain people will surfer – all complaints should he addressed to him and not me. Seems only fair after all for encouraged me.

Anyway, I opened my box and Oooh at the contents, then had a weep 'cause I'm like that I'm afraid - she’d put such a lot of thought into her gifts after all. Although I have to say I wasn’t sure if the mug was meant to be an insult or extremely funny. I settled for funny in the end as even I had to admit it was quite apt. It has written on it ‘I don’t need your attitude, I have one of my own.’ I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions on that one then.

The box also contained several very expensive Bath Bombs, which I’ve got to tell you about.

Now there is nothing I enjoy more than a soak in the bath, preferably with a good book and a glass of wine. So at the first opportunity I filled the bath full, popped in a bomb and then immersed myself up to my neck in the water with Harry Potter in my hands. The book that is and not Daniel Radcliffe. Heaven. Pure bliss; even with my poor sense of smell the lavender aroma was wonderful. All very relaxing.

After about an hour of soaking and topping the hot water up as it cooled, I eventually got out, dried myself off and got ready for bed. Himself then came upstairs and asked me why I was glittering. Glittering? Yes, he said, I was covered in the stuff – well the parts he could see at any rate.

He was right too, I was. I took my t-shirt off and Himself nearly wet himself laughing - noooo, not at my body; it’s not quite that bad and he has after all held my hand through childbirth. He's used to unusual sights and some of the positions I got into to ease the pain would have made your eyes water.

Apparently as I pulled the t-shirt over my head I showered everything around me with tiny pieces of glitter, including the cat whom was sat on the bed. Tinkerbelle had nothing on me; it was all over the place – the cat, the bed, the carpet, the bathroom floor, the towel, my clothes, all over my body and face and also in my hair. The glitter of course had been inside the bath bomb and as I was reading I’d failed to notice it. Two days and several showers later and I still sparkle occasionally in the light. I bet she did that on purpose for the guilt trip I put her through last week which ended in her blogging for a change.

++++

This weekend we visited Biddulph Grange in Staffordshire and once again marvelled at the Sat Nav which took us straight there – It would have taken hours to find it using a map.

The house is still privately owned but the gardens have been taken over and restored by the National Trust. The gardens were designed by James Bateman in the mid 19th century and are set out in a series of connected 'compartments'. You walk through tunnels and along pathways to individual gardens inspired by countries from around the world.

And it most certainly lived up to it’s description, when you’re in one part of the garden you can’t see another themed compartment so it a lovely surprise when you walk though a Chinese building and come out in an Egyptian court.

So to the Photos then….

We stopped on the way back home for a late Sunday lunch in a local pub, which was most enjoyable – especially the pudding….

I'm not doing an apology today. I believe that the slate is now wiped clean and everybody is satisfied.
Now, last day of 'having' to do the blog and I've been gypped. Yer woman is off work today and I've had to go to work, which for a woman in my profession is a bit of a shock to the system. Anyhow, I'm here now so I might as well ramble a bit.
We're all in the process of writing something. No, we really are. Honestly. It makes us all a little bit more temperamental though than is normal, even more than the usual amount of 'light the touch paper and stand well back' that we normally present. We send snippets (in the Rainbow Slider's case that would be a snip!) to each other with a 'Does this sound like so and so?' We ask 'Do you think so and so would do such and such?' We can manage to fill complete afternoons and evenings in this manner and thus actually write diddly-squat.

We tend to keep more than one story on the go at once as both of us suffer from a very, very low boredom threasehold. Then when we get stuck or bored with one we move on to another one. Yes, we do realise that it means that we finish about one story a quarter but it's our system and we like it.

One of my upcoming stories has firefighters in it. (Shall I pause while you all calm down a bit.) This got the Rainbow Slider and I talking about our experience of the boys and girls in yellow.

In a previous job I worked in a very old building which housed a number of charity and community groups. We were housed in a wing with only one other tennant and were therefore quite isloated from everyone else. We didn't mind, there were about twenty of us housed in an office built for ten, but we were community workers and did our best under stressful conditions. Most of our best ideas came about over breakfast, lunch and coffee, lots and lots of coffee around the table in the kitchen. So we were really annoyed one lunch time when we'd just got as far as getting the kettle on and the bread on the table when the fire alarm sounded. But being the good obedient souls that we were, we all trooped out to the back carpark and counted heads. And the alarm kept ringing and we kept standing and moaning that we hadn't brought the biscuit tin with us. And the bell rang some more. And some more. And nothing else happened. So we did the only thing open to women who hadn't had lunch and who needed to pee. We went back in. I was pushed in first and went back down the corridor, nothing, no smoke, no flames, no nothing. Obviously a false alarm - they did happen a lot - toasters you know. Back to the kitchen, kettle on, sandwiches underway and folk off to pee. "What are we missing? Oh, the fruit bowl." We took the 'five a day' message very seriously.

Off into the main office for the fruit bowl, kept on the window sill. It was there I came nose to nose- thank goodness for the window between us - with a very irrate Head Firefighter. The four big red fire appliances in the front carpark should have been the giveaway. This very annoyed man shouted an expression at me that I didn't think they were allowed to do to members of the public. He was not amused to see the other nineteen women, who'd trooped out of the kitchen in response to my 'Um, girls there's a very cross man outside our window and I think he would like us to get out,' standing in an office which he personnaly had checked as cleared.

We left, this time taking the biscuit tin and the fruit bowl. I didn't actually mean to take the fruit bowl but it was still in my arms when I got to the car park. Always the fall guy I was pushed to the front of the group to explain ourselves to the nice man. "You're good at things like this."

He didn't want a banana, nor an apple, and batting the eyelashes didn't really work. Playing the dumb blond card and the fact that we were in the proper car park this time surrounded by lots of people, saved me from instant death. As it was he made do with shouting and finger pointing. I thought we were going to need an extinguisher for him. He looked as if he was about to internally combust!

Have I anything to apologise for this morning? I don't think so however I do get the blame for most things around here so I'm sure there is something that's my fault so 'Apologies for whatever.' If you have something which you are sure is my fault just drop me a note and I'll apologise for it. My mother-in-laws neighbour, years ago, had eight children (Irish!) and the youngest of them was always acting the maggot. Every time he passed her she swiped him one on the premise that 'If he isn't coming from trouble, he's going to trouble, and if he isn't either of those things then he's thinking about what trouble to be in.' And she'd clatter him one on the back of the legs. Now, and this might surprise some of you, I don't approve of smacking children being very firmly on the side of the 'no' debate, but sometimes I understand how that woman felt. However for her youngest child substitute my writing partner. Only if she isn't coming from dropping me in it, she's going to drop me in it, or she's thinking how she can drop me in it.

Take last night for instance, she wails at me that certain people have been mean to her and I have to go and do something about it. Now, I may be a bit soft but I'm learning. There's always something else going on in that twisted, sleekit wee mind of hers. So, I asked what they'd done and she waffled on about how she was hard done to, and such like. Do you know what it was? She wanted me to go thump around me a bit, get into trouble myself and then she'd know if I was a possibility for protection when she really gets herself in the mire. I love her and all that but if she thinks I'm going to stir the Scary Duo she really is one marley short of a game.

The cat at the top of the page ( sorry had to go and have quick look to see if she was still there - and don't you bother running in to change it or it'll not be the SD who get a look at my 'teacher's really pissed off' face)....... where was I? Oh, yes, the cat at the top of the page is yer woman's but amongst other things that are alike about us (we are not the same person, contrary to popular belief around here) is that I've cats too. Two of them, a blond showboat who lives up to her hair colour, and a black as coal witch's cat who lives up to that reputation.

Yesterday the Black One kept walking down the hall past me to the back door, coming back to put her head around the door of the living room, and delivering a look and a noise which implied 'What the heck is keeping you woman? Come and open the back door. I've things I could be stalking here.' The blond one's party trick is take a run at the door, leap to the handle and if she has gathered enough momentum, swings the door open. Her face when she doesn't get up enough speed is hilarious as she tries to drop from the door handle without anyone noticing that she's failed. Anyway, the Black One doesn't believe in doing anything for herself that she can get a human to do, so she stands at the door and caterwauls. And she kept doing this, and I kept shouting at the kids for obviously leaving doors open and letting her in as the only window open downstairs was the one in the utility room. This door was shut on account that I might notice the amount of ironing that's built up again and thus giving me an excuse to leave the story I'm trying to finish. "How is that cat getting in if you're not leaving the door open every time you're traipsing through then? directed at youngest child who gave me the 'I get blamed for everything around here' look that he does so well.

Then the male half of the neighbours from heaven came to the door. "Come here missus till ye see wat thon aminal'o'yorn's up till." (translated for those who aren't fluent in country Norn Irish which is the only language Robert speaks; Maybe you would like to step outside with me and watch what your cat is doing now.)

So, I joined him on the front wall and watched the Black One climb a tree. Nothing unusual about that - she normally is after wood pigeons larger than herself. She walked along a branch and then flung herself at the telegraph pole next to the house clinging on to it with her legs wrapped around it. At this point I guldered at her and she sent me a look of 'Shut up, I've been doing this all day and you've only just worked out what I've been up to.' Robert told me to 'Houl yer wheest woman' ( wait patiently and quietly a minute my dear). She then looked as if she was winding up a spring as she pushed herself off the pole and jumped for the roof, slid down the slates a little and did a 'Ha, just winding you up. You thought I was going to fall' look and then disappeared through the Velux window. Robert who being a farmer always appreciates the actions of animals said ' Now that's clever - no goats toe thon one' By the time I got to the back door she was waiting for it to be opened for Her Witchedness. I got a look which said 'You have to get up a bit earlier if you want to keep me out of the house.'

Even the flippin cat treats me like an eejit!

There lovey, another day done. Oh, and if someone could do a spellchecker which recognises my accent I'd be ever grateful - the yellow boxes on here are nearly as bad as Scally's pink ones.

This is obviously the week for apologies. I understand that people need, nay crave, a little bit of stability in their lives and really should expect to find it here. After all the Rainbow Slider and myself are sensible women, level headed and calm in the face of adversity so it is with surprise I'm sure that you've clicked on the blog to find it changed yet again. What can I say? She gets bored easily and while I clean (that's a downright lie, forgive me) she fiddles with the blog. I've lost count of the number of changes we've had recently but it's a lot. The blog has had more changes of faces and styles lately than the Labour Party. She doesn't tell me she's going to do it either so when I click on to do something I feel I should apologise for walking into someone else's living room by mistake.

I've been preparing new courses for the approaching term. NO teachers do not sit about all summer painting their toe nails and watching day time telly ( well, not all the time anyway). Back to the subject, I've been writing handouts and other fiddle faddles for Social Science 101 and this week have been looking at the changes that have happened for various groups in society over the last decades. You may have gathered that I have the attention span of a small insect - bigger than a gnat, but not a lot. Maybe a butterfly. Or a sparrow. I know that's a bird and not an insect! So, anyway, I decided to go up the lane and visit with my neighbour - other people get the neighbours from Hell, I got the neighbours from Heaven - who is in her 70's and is full of stories and chat about what her life was like as a young woman. The fact that I can also guarantee that I'll get a hug, a coffee, something nice from the biscuit tin and a laugh makes the walk a pleasant one.

I wish I could take her into class with me to talk about what life was like for her. It's not so many years ago and yet could be a world away. She was a nurse and had to stop work when she married because you couldn't work in the hospital if you were. Your husband and looking after him was supposed to be your job. Teachers, bank staff and civil servants all fell under this rule.

One of the biggest changes she thinks is the amount of independence women have nowadays. Her granddaughter has just left on a round the world year out, and she's both proud of her and stunned by her.

She does think that women of my age have been conned though. As a child born in the sixties (shall I wait while you do the calculations?) I suppose we were the first generation who were told we could have it all. Unfortunately no one told the men and society that that meant that they had to change too. Which means that we work double shifts. We do our jobs and then come home and do it there as well. Apparently by the end of term this year I looked like death warmed over. She doesn't believe in shielding you from the truth - no fadging there. Personally I think we'll have equality when men drive home wondering what's in the fridge for tea and desperately trying to remember whether you need to stop at the Spar for loo roll and milk, oh and stop thinking that there's a toilet cleaning fairy, and stop talking about babysitting their own kids. In her eyes my generation got to go to work and have careers but didn't realise that nothing else would get done that didn't get done by you. I hold greater hopes for my children's generation.


Then the talk got to sex. She brought it up, I didn't. Nice girls didn't. Full stop. Actually they did. It's always been around just not talked about. She didn't know much before she was married and neither did her husband but, and this is her quote, 'We soon worked out what went where.' She thinks her grand daughters and grandsons will be better off for knowing things beforehand. It reminded me of a conversation with my grandmother just after I got married. As a good Baptist woman, she never said the word 'sex' and I'm assuming it wasn't the most enjoyable thing about married life for her. The BigLad and I had been married just a few months, she still couldn't pronounce his name - it is odd - but anyway. The men had left the room on some pretence, leaving just the women. There was a lull in the conversation and silence reined for a minute and then she turned to me - first grandchild married and all that - and asked "Does he bother you much?" "Pardon?" "Does he bother you much?" This time with a suggestive face on her. My Aunt didn't appreciate my reply of "About as much as I bother him Granny." Granny told her afterwards she didn't realise I was one of those fast girls.

I wonder what she'd think of the stories?

Three days Ms Slider - amazed much - yip thought so. I am too. It's your fault by the way that Chapter 6 has now stalled - I'm too busy thinking about the blog.

Just for you M.E. Today's blog is brought to you by Pooks aka The Good One and the one who 'sounds' Irish.

Why does nobody call to visit when your house is clean? Is there a law in some dusty statute book somewhere that every last relative, friend and the Minister can only call at the house when every room in your house looks like some Whirling Dervish held a party for all his mates? My Granny used to say that you should always have one room in your house that's clean enough for visitors. She told me that girls shouldn't shout or lose their tempers - I ignored that one as well.

Yesterday I thought I'd do some writing - I do every now and again. However the house looked like the before scene from a Kim and Aggie show. Now someone who cared about whether her towels were folded and whether you could see what colour the sofa was under all the detritus of family life might have decided to do something about it. Me? Well, normally I'd ignore it. Housework and I long,long ago come to an understanding about its importance in my life - as long as the house is clean enough not to give us the heebie-geebies that's all I ask of myself. The family and especially my Mother-in-Law have learned to deal. BUT, I've discovered that the only thing worse than housework is a story which wont go the way you want. It is a complete mystery to me how characters which have been made up in your own head suddenly decide to do the opposite thing that you'd planned they would. So I did the only thing open to someone who's trying to write and has started to see their computer as the enemy - I cleaned. (I'm leaving space here for those who know me better than you lot to gasp!)

When the house was clean and the kids were fair scared to breathe, I sat down to do some more writing. Just as my Ma-in-Law rolled up in the car bringing with her relatives from Scotland. For once we didn't have to do the 'Granny's here' dash of cleaning - you know the one where you stuff so much stuff under the cushions of the sofa it looks like a camel. Hugs and Kisses and I went to put the kettle on. It's an Irish thing; the minute someone arrives you have a very small time window for the offering of the tea/coffee and something nice to eat. The BigLad's cousin follows me into the kitchen just to laugh in peace. My lovely Ma-in-Law had warned them, 'Now the house will be like a midden, but she'll have something baked in the tins for tea.' Her cousin had turned to her and said 'You think this is untidy? God love her having to put up with you as a Mother-in-Law.' Youngest child turns and says 'Oh it doesn't always look like this, this is because she's writing.' Blank looks. "She starts to shout at the computer, sticks her hands through her hair and decides to do the ironing instead." I entered the room to this and jumped in with " I'm writing things for Work. " Well they are stories about people at work. Was it really a lie? Anyway I put Rich Tea biscuits on a plate to have with the tea. That will teach her. She can have a choice - a clean house or baked goods.

Well, two days in a row. Aren't you proud Ms Slider? My writing partner - a travel agent for guilt trips.

We would like to apologise to readers for the break in transmission which was due to circumstances beyond our control. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

In other words; she was knackered, I was knackered and we just couldn't summon up the energy required to whitter on a bit. Now, my writing partner can do guilt like no-one else I know and last week I responded to the 'But what about the readership?' (you lot really need to put more work into your acting skills, let's try that again - this time with feeling!) 'But what about the readership?' Better - with an 'Oh all right then, I'll do it.' And I really did mean to, and I started on numerous occasions - Okay twice - to do it but then something more important happened and I forgot. Yes, I finally got Series 3 of NCIS on DVD. I'm sorry but Jethro Gibbs is addictive and not bad to look at either.

So last night during our usual witty and enlightening round of emails she sneakily slapped me one round the ear while I wasn't fully paying attention and I've promised to do better this week.

Sooooo. Any news anyone? Anything interesting happening to any of you? Nowt? Bit like here then.

Eldest child - One and Only Daughter - and I have had a minor disagreement in that I foolishly handed the Eldest Son's girlfriend, Eldest Child's endearment. Yes I know, rubbish explanation. I'll try again. In our house there are days when I wonder why we bothered pouring over all those baby name books trying to find the name for each one. Our children rarely get these names attached to them but instead put up with all the daft family labels which appear over time. Thus Eldest Child - One and Only Daughter - has for most of her life been Wee Toots, Eldest Son - Herbert - (my father- in- law's fault that one) Middle son - Hattie (always has had a penchant for hats and it rhymes with his real name) - and Youngest child - Wee cub. Then they start bringing folk home with them and sometimes a woman can get a bit confused. Eldest Son's girlfriend obviously needs one of her own now because as I answered her wail of 'Mum, there's no peanut butter in the cupboard,' I replied ' For goodness sake,it's sitting on the worktop, use your eyes, Wee Toots.' Eldest Child - her who thinks she has now been usurped in the affection stakes was not impressed, especially as Wee Toots (mark 11) exited the cupboard with a bag of chocolate raisins which had been bought especially because they are her (Mark 11's) favourites. The BigLad added flames to the fire by returning from his latest trip with exactly the same presents for both girls. Apparently we've forgotten that she was here first and that they're not one and the same. Oops green eyed monster anyone? It would seem that Eldest Child will grudgingly let the other Wee Toots share her brother but the parents shouldn't be part of the deal and her 'name' is definitely not on the table.


Saturday brought Harry Potter - eventually. We live in the country, back of beyond territory, and are always last in line for the post van. Unfortunately for the Postie Saturday was like the last delivery day before Christmas Eve. This information was gleaned as I was consoling him after he nearly lost his fingers when O&O D snatched the parcel from his hand. In her defence it was now well into the afternoon and everyone else had already started finding out what was happening. One of the children from further along the road had been worse - he hadn't even been able to get out of the van when she demanded hers with menaces, a glare and a 'What kept you?' The man needed to go home for a lie down.

So she read it - I could tell every time there was a tense moment by the cut of her face, I've read it - everyone could tell there was a tense moment by the swift intake of breath and now Mark 11 is reading it. But she's so slow and it still has to make the rounds of the rest so O&OD and I have been reduced to discussing what has happened in corners, looking over our shoulders like dodgy criminals planning a heist. The Rainbow Slider is only on page 33 or some such and no-one else has finished it. I am going to burst if I don't get to discuss this soon.


Okay Sue, honey bunch, I blogged. Now can I go back to writing Smut and watching NCIS? Good. That's me by the way - I'm the good one!

Pooksx

Quiet around here, isn’t it?

I’ve been ill with the migraine from hell; it started Friday evening and refused all of my attempts to get it to sod off until early Monday morning. You don’t want the details; suffice to say it wasn’t pretty and I was fairly sure by Sunday that dying quickly and now, this minute, was a good idea – anything to stop the pain and sickness.

I slept the whole of Monday away, got up in the evening for a couple of hours and then slept all night – I was totally washed out. I wandered into work yesterday (I know, old habits die hard) but spent most of the time working on projects that didn’t involve computer work – I was scared that looking at the screen would trigger it again.

I finished early in the end and went shopping, which come to think of it wasn’t the greatest of ideas in 3½ inch heeled boots – my feet are still killing me today. I can only put this momentary lapse in my normal very sensible view on shopping (you don’t do it – if you can’t buy it on line; it’s not worth the torture) down to the after affects of the migraine. I was obviously still high on drugs.

I mean, what pleasure do people get traipsing around shops? Especially at the moment – there are screaming kids everywhere. Of course my children were never like that and that, in case you were wondering, is what is known as selective memory loss. Of course my kids had their moments, all kids do – but as they grow older you forget what it was like to be a hassled mother with a toddler and a six year old, and a pushchair with wheels that must be some distant relation of shopping tolleys.

I don’t know why you end up with memory loss – toddlers are Mother Nature’s way of preparing you for teenagers. At least with a toddler they are small enough to pick up and lock in a handy child sized cupboard – no I didn’t, but there was a couple of occasions I would have like to. Oh, come on I’ve never professed to be a perfect text book mother - I’m more the sort that prepares her children for life’s ups and downs.

Mother Nature is also preparing you with certain phrases too. You think that a child constantly asking you ‘What’s that? And the other classic ‘Why?’ is annoying but that’s only because you haven’t been introduced to the teenage equivalent – ‘Whatever’. If one word was ever meant to test a parent's patience to the absolute limit, that’s it.

The only plus side to all of this is the knowledge that one day there is a very good chance that your children will have children of their own. Then you can get your own back and spoil your grandchildren rotten knowing that they are your alternate form of payback. They will guarantee that your children will suffer the same torture that you did, ten fold with a bit of luck. As the old saying goes – revenge is a dish best served cold.

You can insert some evil laughter at this point if you want.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is when you’re called into a meeting and asked about someone else’s systems & paperwork when you’ve no idea who the person sat on the other side of the table is?

We have major issues with the Leader Provider of a contract at work and to be bluntly honest they don’t have a fecking clue what they are doing. They’ve not produced procedures or forms; basically each Provider is allowed to run their own system.

Now that causes a fair few problems – for a start at audit. The auditors will wonder what the bloody hell is going on when one contract has so many different ways of running and forms. It should be a uniformed system. And then we have the error rate – the Contractor runs a system that audits 20 files and looks at the error rate in those files (they will take some from each Provider), they then take that error rate and multiply it across the board – clawing the money back from the contact off everyone. It doesn’t matter if all our files are 100% perfect if others are wrong – and with so many systems running there is a fair chance of that.

So late yesterday – when to be honest after spending a day running a claim I wasn’t feeling bright and breezy, more tired and washed away, I was called into my manager’s office and asked to give details of what had been going on. I’d no idea where the visitor was from, so I had to be extremely diplomatic. For all I knew the person sat there could be from the company we have the contract with – so saying that it’s a complete balls up and the Leader Provider is a complete waste of space wasn’t an option. I earned my wages last night, as well as on Oscar for my performance.

I had to be as honest as possible in a positive way – which meant I came out of the room at turned 5p.m. with one hell of a headache, and then I had to go shopping. I later found out that the person in the meeting was the Contractor who’d given the contract to the Lead Provider and they were looking at quality control. It looks like they’re about to go back and ask what the bloody hell is going on, we weren’t the only provider they had visited, but at least we understood European Social Fund paperwork – I just hope they don’t pull the plug and we all lose out.

When I got back from shopping my dad told me that my manager had called – you know when your stomach turns over because you have a feeling something awful must have happened – like us losing the contract?

Well it wasn’t! I really should try to look on the bright side more often.

Carol had managed to go home last night and locked Sam inside the building, so setting off the alarm when he got up to go home. In fairness to her, Sam’s car wasn’t in the car park – he was marked out on the fire board, and he was sat in the office without any lights on. Sandy herself had checked upstairs and not noticed him sat behind the door.

Of course no one knew how to reset the alarm with the alarm company – heaven forbid they look in the filing cabinet in my office, where filed under ‘Alarm System’ are all the numbers and codes they need, plus the procedure on what to do.

The Alarm Company had rang work as Sam had entered his code to stop the ringing, but refused to deal with him as he didn’t know any of the authorisation codes. It was Sam that had rang Sandy to tell her what was going on.

The alarm company had tried to ring me but of course I was shopping – so everything went on hold until I got home. Then with a raging headache I ended up going back into work to sort it all out.

++++

All the quails have feathers starting to appear now and they’ve doubled in size.

I also took a photo of Bubble the Lovebird at the same time.

I’ve told Himself before about abusing the cat’s good nature; one of these days he’ll get reported to the RSPCA and his name will appear in all of the local newspapers. He should use the windscreen wipers the same as everyone else.

++++

Well I lasted fives days; which by any mother’s standards has to show some level of restraint. I gave in last night and sent a text to Youngest’s mobile. Just a small message: Are you having a good time?

All I really expected back was a simple ‘yes’, but it would stop me worrying and it was five whole days without any news; what’s a mummy to do when her small child has left home?

What I got back was: I haven’t brought any presents cuz there are no shops. Tell Josh I've got his Nan’s fags*.

Right – He’s fine and having a good time then.

* after reading this back it suddenly dawned on me that the word fags has several meanings which could be misconstrued. So just to make things perfectly clear for The Readership; child is bringing back Josh's nan some cigarettes and not a load of gay men.


++++

I don’t even feel up to telling you about yesterday’s meeting, suffice to say they don’t have a fecking clue about ESF procedures or paperwork.

Of course it did put Himself’s Sat Nav to the test and proved, without a shadow of doubt, that they don’t live up to the hype. Himself has obviously done something to mess up the settings or broke it because it still managed to get me lost. I thought they were idiot proof? Well, this idiot bloody fooled it.

Craig, who was with me, maintains that I turned left when the Sat Nav told me to turn right – I dispute this fact. He’s a man so he’s bound to take the bloody gadget’s side.

And I was taught that when you are to take the second exit from a roundabout you stay in the outside lane. It’s hardly my fault that the outside lane turned out to be a blocked off slip road for the motorway (obviously something else designed by a man) and I ended up on the motorway travelling in the opposite direct to Birmingham.

I was truly surprised that we were only ten minutes late in the end and we still arrived before the woman who was chairing the meeting, she was delayed by traffic. Going home was a lot easier – I turned the Sat Nav off and got Craig to direct me from a map. At least with a man you can guarantee:

There should be turning just up ahead.

You have to turn right.

Look, that road just over there (points in general direction and waves hand around).

The road where the blue car is turning…

… Oh..... Right..... Forget that one then; we’ll go home via Dudley. Carry straight on.

++++

I know we all have periods when the muse just doesn’t flow and some of us go to great lengths to get out of sitting down and writing. I should know I could write a book on excuses, no problem.

But even I draw the line at throwing myself on the hotplate of the cooker. I swear that if body parts could take out injunctions, Pooks hands would have done so years ago. They’d not want anything to do with her, the way she abuses them is down right shameful.

She’s been on the quite side mainly because she can’t type very well – the blisters make it too painful. So no doubt she’ll be trying to use that as an excuse not to carry on with the story she is working on.

What? You didn’t actually expect sympathy, did you?

I have to attend a meeting this morning in Birmingham - if I can find the building that is. Very stupidly I presumed that they'd put the address where the meeting is to take place on the email they sent me - I should have known better; they just said Birmingham. Big area Birmingham & and they have 4 offices, which of course won't have anyone in until turned 9 a.m. which will make me late to arrive. I hate being late; I'd rather be an hour early than five minutes late.

So I thought I'd just upload some photos today that I took over the weekend.

++++

It was a case of everyone in the car whilst the sun was shining and off for a walk in the Wyre Forest on Saturday...

Catch me if you can ....

Dragonfly ...

He went that a way ....

++++

Time for a bit of barn dancing - all you need is a caller...

Then bow to your partner ...

And doe see doe ...

++++

The six remaining chicks last night - very difficult to photograph as they are never still.

++++

Just make yourself at home Toby - must be time for bed ...

++++

Still no word from Youngest Child (tries very hard to look surprised) ...

I found one of the baby quails dead in the early hours of this morning, surprisingly enough it wasn’t Houdini. I set the alarm clock for 4 a.m. and got up to feed and water them, the light bulb evaporates the water so it has to be topped up approximately every 4 hours. Himself usually does the Midnight feed before he comes to bed - it’s just like having kids again. I have to go home at lunch time too.

I was chatting to John at work about it this morning; he used to be a gamekeeper in his youth. He said exactly the same as everyone else, its nature’s way - I should just expect a couple of them to live. That’s why most breeders incubate large numbers of eggs at a time.

Well, sod Mother Nature, she’s a bitch and I’m not going to just rear two of the hatchlings, I’ll give it my all to make sure that the remaining 6 survive. The hardest part is the not knowing if you’ve done anything wrong – they all look perfectly healthy, jumping around all over the place. There were no marks on it, so it hadn't been pecked or bullied, it basically just stop breathing.

Obviously John cottoned on that I needed a bit of encouragement and telling me to expect the Grim Reaper probably wasn't the brightest thing to say, because he then started on about how well I’d done so far and with each day that passed they’d get stronger. He also warned me about keeping the top on the box. Adult quails don’t fly very well, but baby quails are like Jack in the boxes, they can jump a good foot in the air.

The last thing I need is one of them jumping out and the cat finding it. The door to the room is kept closed at all times, but I don’t trust Lucy. The peeping sounds that they make have already got her attention. I shall be glad when Friday comes and they aren’t my responsibility any longer, it's one of those times when part of you wishes you didn't care so much.

There was a point with the depression that I stopped bothering about things, I didn't care for myself - let alone some animal or somebody on telly. I wasn't shocked by what I saw or heard on the news. Those days are long gone, the wall that I built around myself has crumbled with my return to health - and I accept that I can't change my basic personality, for good or bad, I do get upset over what a lot of people class as silly things. But as the saying goes; Unto thy own self be true, the problems start when you try to be someone you aren't. Those around you that really care accept you for yourself, and those that don't aren't worth bothering about.

++++

I’ve heard nothing from Youngest since his two second mobile phone call to say they’d arrived safely at the villa on Friday. In fairness to him he’s beaten Eldest's record – when he went to Disneyland Paris with the school, I heard nothing all week until I received a message from a friend asking that I take some money with me when I went to pick him up.

Oh well, I’m sure he’s having a good time.

Right, aspersions have been cast. My good name has been slurred. So I would just like to put the record straight, especially as most people read the comment box.


Her from across the water said:

And how come you went pilfering in my email box for MY present from Scally? I don't know; they pass Rollos to each other, I'm the last to get a business card, miss the in jokes - a girl could get a complex.


Around here we believe people are innocent until proven guilty (This is probably the only time innocence can be associated with my name – I may as well get my money’s worth out of it). So I have the right to reply to the accusation. Hence:


I would just like to state VERY firmly that I haven't touch your bloody email box and have never pilfered anything in my life! To coin a phrase that is being branded around at the moment. How. Very. Dare You. If you actually looked you'd have noticed that I was included in the c.c. from Scally.

*Glares at Scally for not mentioning this fact and sticking up for me.*

Oi. You. Numpty. This being the very email that the three of US have been using to talk to each other for the last two days. Not only that, (I'm on a roll now – the virtuous have spoken), but it was in that email that I said the card should appear on the blog and YOU AGREED. You even said that you knew a woman who could do it, as you'd made a mess of it the last time. That woman being me.

The defence rests her case, knowing full well that I am now The Good Girl.

++++

I’m not cut out for this looking after newly hatched chicks lark. My nerves can’t take it.

I got up this morning and went to check on the quails. Without a shadow of a doubt, the runt of the hatching has suicidal tenderise – it was lay stretched flat out in the feeding dish, coated in the now very dry food mash which due to the heat from the bulb had made it set hard.

At first I thought it was dead, it certainly didn’t look well. But on closer inspection I could see it trying to breath. I got it out of the box and wondered what the hell I should do. Honestly, it couldn’t move. It was 'Baked Quail a la Mash'. In the end I decided that it’s only chance at survival was a wash, although I didn’t hold out much hope as it was obviously very weak.

So I washed it as best I could in warmish water and dried it off with paper towels, then quickly put it back under the light. Things didn’t look too good. It couldn’t stand up, just flopped about a bit. But there was nothing else I could do for it – so it really was a case of nature taking its course.

I went back upstairs and woke Himself up – he said roughly the same thing, nature would take its course and to leave it alone. So I cried – yes, I’m a soppy cow - which is another reason Himself puts his foot down with the No More Animals rule. Anyway I had a shower, got dressed and went back to look if it had left this mortal world.

It hadn’t. This time, it had flopped about the box and obviously ended up in the dish with the water in. Good job it was shallow as the poor thing was currently doing the quail equivalent of the backstroke in it.

I lifted it out; the poor little thing was so cold. It was obvious that unless I did something very quickly it wasn’t going to last too many minutes more. But what the hell could I do? The light bulb was giving off heat, just not enough to dry it very fast and it was shivering and cold to the touch.

So I got the hairdryer out. Well that’s what we use, and by my reckoning the poor thing had nothing to lose. So I turned the setting to the lowest, supported the chick in my hand and made sure that I held the hairdryer far enough away so it didn’t blow him too hard.

It took nearly five minutes to dry, by which time its eyes were closed but it was still breathing. So I put it back in the box and left it alone whilst I went shopping. When I got back it was still where I put it, eyes still closed and still breathing.

And it stayed that way for about five hours, me checking it very half an hour – then it got up and started running around as if nothing had happened to it, the little sod…….

Ooow, look at the date: it's the 07/07/07

++++

OK, this has got to be the most appropriate business card Scally has produced so far, and if it doesn’t appear on Pooks cupboard at work, I will want to know why. Her boss should get a copy at any rate.


Scally has a wonderful way of capturing peoples qualities, doesn’t she?

*Walks away laughing*

++++


All the Quails are still alive, even the rut of the hatching. I’m not saying we're out of the woods with them yet, especially as I put the sauce of water on top of the one and make it squeak – I honestly thought it had moved, but I remain hopeful.

Being me, I had to have a hold of them tonight; they are so very, very small. When I put my hand into the box they all run up and if I move it around they follow. Himself has made it very clear that we are Not Getting Any More Pets, which I personally think is a bit harsh – I hadn’t even ask yet.

++++

Fiancée had her first tiny mishap in her car this week; she drove into a parking space and didn’t stop soon enough. She wasn’t actually going fast enough to knock the sign over or damage her car. She just pushed it forward a bit. It actually reminded me of something that I’d forgotten about, so had she – but we both had a giggle when we reminded her about it.

Eldest first met Fiancée whilst still at school, you know young love and all that. They were together for quite some time, before splitting up. It was during that time that I took them and Youngest to the cinema one evening. I can’t remember what we went to see now – just that Youngest and I were on one side of the room and those two were as far away from us as possible. That was after I’d taken out a bank loan to pay for the popcorn, hotdogs, sweets and drinks. It really annoys me the amount those places charge for things. You pay the same amount for two scoops of Ben and Jerry’s in the cinema as you do for a carton full in the supermarket.

Anyway, the film finished and we all got back into the car. Youngest was sat in the front passenger seat and the two love birds sat cuddled up in the back. Now I’m not renowned for my amazing sense of direction, quite the reverse in fact. And on the way home I managed to take a wrong turn and end up down a cue de sac.

It wasn’t a very wide road either but there was no cars parked in it; so the three point turn was more of a five point turn and it was icy. Although I’d scrapped the windows off I wouldn’t say that visibility was that good – well certainly not out of the back window at any rate. I started to reverse, looking out of the side mirrors and the back window – well as best as I could. There were no cars after all, so it shouldn’t have been a problem.

Unfortunately for me, there was a lamp post. I know that for a fact as I reversed into it. Like Fiancée I wasn’t going very fast, so the lamp post remained upright with a smallish dent in the metal pole and my bumper didn’t get damaged at all. After getting out to do a quick check, I was getting back into the car when I heard Eldest telling Fiancée (or girlfriend at the time):

Don’t worry; she doesn’t normally drive like that.

I’ve had a couple of busy days so the only time I’ve had to write I’ve spent working on a story. I’m not making any promises as to when I’ll publish but at least the words have started to appear on paper again – I’ve scrapped two versions over the last six months. Let’s hope third time lucky.


++++

On Wednesday, Youngest had his CBT, which stands for Compulsory Basic Training and not Cock and Ball Torture as a certain person thought. I don’t know, there is just no hope for the woman. I mean, what chance have Pooks and I got when your Beta is like that? She’ll corrupt us.

She's a cheeky sod too - just look at the business card she made me. Mind you at least I can put mine on the blog - which is more than Chris can. Actually I was rather chuffed with it, cool ducks! I shalln't be letting the cat she it, she doesn't need any encouragement.

Youngest was getting a little bit down in the dumps last weekend – which isn’t like him at all. He’s not one of life’s worriers or moaners normally, unlike his mother. It was starting to affect his work too – to the point that on Sunday night he came into the bedroom, sat by me on the bed and started to cry – he hated his job, he was tired and fed up, he'd had enough. That is just not like my youngest, I've never seen him like that before. I've seen him upset obviously but this time was different.

We spent ages discussing the reason behind this and it took me even longer to get to the bottom of it. He wasn't stroppy or showing off, he stopped with the crying, if anything he tried very hard to say he was all right now, just forget it. Which to be honest, with a teenager, worried me even more.

Basically he was working full time, coming home and finding his mates had all gone off on their mopeds. He had the money to go out with them, but not the transport. He had to ask either Himself or I for a lift or wait an hour for a bus to take him into town to meet with them. By which time they had usually decided to go elsewhere.

And as he knew how I felt about motorbikes, he wasn’t going to ask if he could have a moped. I’ve seen the result of motorbikes I'm afraid; no mother should have to see their 18 year old in a coffin, especially as it was the car drivers fault. And something like that doesn't just affect the family; the grief and loss are like ripples in a pool, far spreading. I suppose at 17, Youngest doesn’t even need my approval to purchase a moped anyway, but he wouldn’t do it because he knew how I strongly I felt and more to the point, the reason why.

So we had a family discussion and we came to the conclusion that we wanted him to be happy, he works hard and needs to see that there is a reward for that. Now Granddad had brought Eldest his first car, a small second hand run around and had also put money aside to do the same for Youngest. He was also of the opinion that although we all worried about bikes, it was money that Youngest could use if that was what he wanted. He just wouldn’t have the money to buy a car with.

So we came to an agreement – he could buy a moped as long as he carried on with the driving lessons and didn't race around like an idiot. So we purchased a moped, and booked the test. A few years ago now the government brought in compulsory training. You have to prove that you're safe to ride a bike before you can go out onto the road, which to my mind is a good thing.

It’s a days training with an instructor and son was very lucky that there was only one other person taking the test, so he got a lot of the instructor's attention - groups can run up to ten people. The day hadn’t started that well, Simon from work had agreed to collect the bike on his motorcycle trailer, but unfortunately moped wheel are small and chucky, so it wouldn’t fit through the wheel gap. So true to form, we had to go to option 2. Simon rode the bike to the test centre and we followed in my car.

As we were early Si showed Youngest some of the things that would be covered, we then left him to it and went back to collect his car and trailer. I then had a long wait to see if he’d passed, because if he hadn’t Si would be driving the moped back home again.

Youngest walked into my office about 3pm with rather a large grin on his face, threw his arms around me and said that he’d passed. Since then I think he’s driven all around the county with his mate. Although every so often they pop home - I'm sure that he's doing it to put my mind at rest.

And today he’s off for a week’s holiday in Menorca with his mate from next door and his family. They want to hire mopeds over there for a few days – so next week I could be a nervous wreck and certain people will no doubt suffer my whinging. I came home earlier yesterday to pack his case, which he still hadn’t done. Yes, I've had countless people asking me why am I packing his case? Well it's a mummy thing and I'm allowed to do that on occasions. So really it’s Youngest's own fault that I’ve packed a load of condoms in it.

He slept next door last night as they were leaving for the airport at 4.30 a.m. Before he went he gave both me and his Dad a hug (something that he stopped doing for a while), and it suddenly dawned on me that my little boy had grown up and had started to act like a responsible adult instead of a stroppy teenager (of course that could change again). The resulting tears after he'd gone saw the profits of Kleenax shoot up again.

++++

More fun and games at work yesterday. I eventually managed to get onto the payroll report site; unfortunately we had two rejections – the one being a trustee’s mileage claim (that can wait until next month) and the other - my manager’s salary. She obviously gets paid too much because she hadn’t noticed – although not paying her can’t have done my promotion prospects much good.

So I then had to ring the bank and arrange a direct credit as unfortunately she had direct debits going out. That has got to be the worse payroll I have ever run.

++++

We are looking after next doors animals whilst they’re away – well they have my son, so I suppose it’s a fair swap. If you thought I had a mad house, you should see theirs.

The ducks with one of the Koi Carp.

Some of the chickens

Toby,

Barney (who was born blind)

And Buddy

Two baby Quails, hatched on Wednesday night, they are now living in my back room under a lamp. They were half an hour old when I took this picture.

To show you how tiny they are I photographed the egg shells next to my thumb. Yes, I know my nails need doing, thank you.

When I came home from work yesterday a few more had hatched bringing it to seven in total although one is very weak and we’re not sure if it will live. They’ve warned me that the mortality rate of quails is high; so several could die over the next few days.

I bloody well hope not – I’ll never live with the guilt.

I woke this morning to the voice of Alan Johnston on the radio. In my not quite awake state - okay then, sleep addled as usual - I couldn't work out what had happened and initially thought that the worst had happened. Wasn't it wonderful to actually hear good news? And humbling to listen to him speak so eloquently about his time held captive. I listened to him talk about the number of times he thought that the end had come for him. About how having a radio which allowed him to tune in to the BBC World Service and hear messages from people he knew and those he didn't know and to hear about the vigils that had been held for him, had made such a difference to him. I celebrated for his parents and friends who have been on a roller coaster of emotion for months and have had to deal with rumour and counter rumour. Hope in the midst of despair for a world gone mad. When I shared the news over breakfast with the two oldest children who are out in the workplace trying to put a dent in their student loans before increasing them come October, One and Only daughter stated that while she'd hoped that it would be all right for him, part of her expected the worst. Eldest son, English student - jealous much? you bettcha - quoted poetry with his Shreddies.

Sometimes
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail;
sometimes a man aims high and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man;decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

I know Sheenagh Pugh is bemused by the places her poem has been used and the Big Lad was equally bemused to enter the kitchen on the hoof to hear Large Son quoting poetry that early in the morning - we're normally lucky to have grunts, but somehow this morning for us, it summed up the mood.

And Mr Johnston we're glad that today it happened for you.

Just when he thought it was safe to go into work, Michael got yet another phone call today.

I’d logged onto the BPS and followed the instruction to download the payroll reports. It linked to another site and then asked me to enter my ID and password. No problem.

HA! Some people just never learn – it wouldn’t accept my ID or Password and as I’d just used it to log in to the site I thought it was rather taking the piss. Now apparently, Michael says, that the link takes me out of the banking system to another site. That is where I should use my other ID and password.

What other ID and password? Oh, you have to set that up with the company. Did I want him to ask them to email it to me? Now after getting to know Michael quite well over the last two days, I don’t want to give him a bad name or anything, but why on earth didn’t he mention that when he explained yesterday how I go about downloading the reports?

Obvious really, he must enjoy our chats. He wanted me to ring back today to ask if he enjoyed his film.

++++

Pooks is now a Lady of Leisure, I’m convinced that she is currently paddling with the newts in the pond – she’s not answering me at any rate. I don’t know, you try and skive off and the one person who is guaranteed to lead you astray has buggered off somewhere to enjoy herself. I didn’t even get offered a bit of caterpillar cake either – they ate the lot.

I suppose I may as well do some work for a change.

You weren't hallucinating, Sommer, I knocked the post off when I uploaded my post. I'm afraid it's one of those days, I should have stayed in bed for everyones sake.

++++

I’ve had the day from hell. It started this morning when I had to drop the dogs off at the doggie beauty parlour for their haircuts. I usually park in the Co-op car park just a few yards from Bev's. Unfortunately, the Co-op is closed for 3 days for refurbishment and their car park is being re-tarmacked. So I had to use the main car park in town and then walk half a mile with 3 dogs all trying to go in different directions. Which was a bloody wonderful experience I can tell you - especially as it was raining at the time and I got soaked to the skin.

And being the first working day of the month I also had the pleasure of running the payroll from hell just to cheer me up. Now our bank stopped using the Co-op BPS service and decided to set up their own computerised one. Guess what? Today was the first time we got to use it. The Gods were not smiling on me - I must be a terrible person.

Now I’d spent part of last month setting it up, so it came as a bit of a surprise when it wouldn’t let me in. It kept telling me my password was wrong - of course I didn’t believe it. So I kept right on trying…caps lock on… all lower case only…standing on one leg, with my eyes closed….until it basically told me to piss off and locked me out of the system.

So I then had to ring up and get myself reactivated and that was the first time today that I spoke to Michael, from the BPS help line. At that stage he didn’t have a clue what an idiot he was dealing with and sounded an optimistic sort of person. I’d soon but a stop to that. He kindly reset my password to the one I was convinced I was using anyway and I settled down to start running the payroll.

After the normal run of problems that I encounter each and every month; such as staff that can’t add up, staff who after six months still can’t completed the top sheet even though they have been talked though it countless times. Each time, they all say…Oh, I get it now, when it’s blatantly obvious the next month that they don’t get it at all and of course, there are the staff that don’t bother handing time sheets in at all, you get the idea.

Eventually, after much muttering and swearing under my breath, cursing members of staff and wishing nasty things upon them, I was finally ready to enter the details on BPS and then upload.

Of course it’s never that easy, now is it? So once again I got to chat with Michael, lovely man, it didn’t seem too difficult or at least it didn’t until he put the phone down and the system crashed.

When I rang back, Michael was at lunch and no one else could help. Can you believe it? A multi national bank and only one person can help me? Surely they can't have heard the rumours about me yet? So I had to wait for Michael to ring me back.

He wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong, it hadn’t happened to anyone else (at this point, you lot could at least try and look surprised). At this stage Michael was still managing to appear to be surprised. Well, he doesn’t know me like you, so he was about to be on the receiving end of a very sharp learning curve. After several stops and starts, and I’m sure a fair bit of swearing at his end, he managed to talk me though the process. Halleluiah! Jobs a good ‘un.

At that point Bev rang to say that the dogs were ready whenever I was free to pick them up. So back to the car park and the half mile walk. About half way to Bev’s the sun decided that it was time for its afternoon nap (must be a brat) and disappeared behind a cloud. A large black rain cloud.

By the time I came out of Bev’s it was bucketing down again, it was coming down that hard that it looked like needles dropping. And of course Billy wanted to stop, sniff and cock his leg every hundred yards, whilst the two girls just wanted to carry on as far in front of me as possible. So I’m walking through town alternatively screaming ‘BILLY’ and ‘CLOSE’; whilst being pulled in two. Once again I got soaked to the skin.

I eventually got back to work to the news that one member of staff (known by most as Dipstick, she's not the brightest of sparks - but she's brilliant at running the nail art sessions with the kids) had a new bank account, but hadn’t bothered giving me the details. I'm not even going to try and look surprised.

So could I just change it, as her other account was now closed? Poor Michael, according to the receptionist he was on another call when I rang and would call me back. Personally I thought it more likely that he was hiding under the desk and they had staff trying to talk him out. Probably making him rash promises that I couldn't cause this much trouble next month.

Well, he rang me back and we went through the unauthorising the batch, changing the bank details and then uploading yet again and re authorising. By this Stage Michael and I were on first name terms and he’d told me he was off out tonight with his girlfriend to see Pirates of the Caribbean for a second time, apparently she is a big Johnny Depp fan.


++++

The weekend....


A little mouse with clogs on, there on the....floor in the bathroom. And can we all ignore the fluff bunnies by the side of it, thank you. I'm not the world greatest Housekeeper by any way, stretch or means. Kim and Aggie would no doubt dispair.

I was in the bathroom on Friday when I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye, when I looked there was a mouse on the floor looking up at me.

Yes, the bloody cat had done it again. Now I am well aware that I talk about the cat and mice antics quite a lot - Tom & Jerry have nothing on this lot - but at 3 in the morning the thought of finding the camera and capturing the moment rarely crosses my mind.

So for all you Doubting Thomases (if that's spelt correctly) out there - here's the proof that the cat brings friends home for breakfast, lunch, dinner or just to spent the night out of the rain. I'd like to say it surprised me, but I'd be lying. I'm way too used to it by now.

++++

We didn't go anywhere this weekend, my Dad's not been well with a kidney infection so we just took the dogs for a run on the common.

It's horrible to have to think this, but Billy isn't as young as he used to be and I've noticed just lately that he's not so good on his back legs. He still enjoys his walks, but he doesn't run around like he used to.

Our old Lab, Sam went the same way and it feels like committing murder when you have to make the decision to put them to sleep. It doesn't matter that you are doing it out of love and to stop the pain.

With a bit of luck, we'll manage to keep Bill going for a while yet.

I'm feeling decidedly old today. Middle Son has attained the ripe old age of seventeen. How did that happen? I blinked, turned around, stretched a bit and the cherubic blond angel has turned into six foot two of young adult with a hair style that the Big Lad last night described as looking like it had been cut with garden shears. That hair cut cost me £20 thank you very much. Middle Son had gone to the barbers clutching a magazine, showed the nice lady a picture and asked her to make it happen. She did and while no garden shears were evident when I returned to pick him up, I have to concur with the BL - I could have done it for nowt and a lend of the neighbour's hedge clippers. However MS is happy and isn't that the point of the exercise? Teenagers don't do happy much I find and one must exploit the situations where it is displayed. So following the success of the barbers we made a trip to Forbidden Planet in order to extend his collection of comics - sorry graphic novels - do you know how much comics cost nowadays? I cast a fond memory towards the days of the Beano. He's still smiling. I'm on a winning streak here and go all out on a trip to Fat Face. I refrain from all comments and just proffer the switch card. Money cannot buy you happiness but it can buy you a fleeting smile from the face of your teenage child and that's priceless. This morning he reminded me that underneath the coolness and grumbling there still lives that funny wee boy who used to put on his clothes backwards in the style of Backtofront from the Raggy Dolls. The shopping list was sitting on the kitchen table - unless I write it down you've buckleys chance of me remembering - under the M&S list where I'd written 'birthday cake' he'd added 'Try to get the Chocolate Caterpillar.' Bless.

Do you know that in some cultures birthdays aren't celebrated per se? There's no cake and candles and pressies, however Mothers are thanked for giving birth to the person. Myself I use accounts of the day of their births as blackmail material or as leverage. 'Do you know how long I was in labour with you? I suffered hours of agony having you and you won't even make me a mug of coffee.' It used to work instantaneously until the BL let slip that the longest I was in labour was two and a half hours and that it's the one thing I've ever done in my life with a sense of urgency. I retorted that if he was trying to get something the size of a football out of there he would have been trying to get it over and done with too. That makes mugs of coffee appear sharpish. Children do not want details of that sort, anymore than they want to consider what you and daddy did to 'make the baby that is them.' As far as they're concerned number of children in the family = the number of times you've done it. In fact they actually believe that they are the result of immaculate conception.