Rain!!!

Right. It's time to blog. I have had a good old look at this layout business and it doesn't seem like the end of the world. Just a darn sight more complicated and until I find my feet, or rather my fingers, will just post about gentle things, and not bother with pictures or links because that would be very VERY scary. Anyway. Now to tell you all about this fascinating old life of mine. Enthrall you with wisdom, enlightenment, joy. Make you feel like it was worth coming here to visit.
Right. Um. Well.
Oh, yes!
Have bought a rain gauge.
I said a RAIN GAUGE. You know, one of those things that you shove out in the garden and measure how much rain you get. Why? Because then you know how much rain has fallen. I know, I know, I HAVE become enormously dull, but that is because we are trying not to spend any unnecessary money, and so I haven't been able to get out and buy things like CLOTHES or NICE THINGS but instead am buying things like RAIN GAUGES or TOILET LIMESCALE REMOVER.
Not very exciting, eh.
But am surprisingly rather pleased with my rain gauge. Half an inch of rain on Saturday night. A quarter of an inch since then. That makes three quarters of an inch! Which means that we need it to rain every day until about December for this drought of ours to be over. Apparently.
Having slid and squidged my way round our Bluebell Wood in mud up to my ankles, am amazed by the seriousness of this drought. My friend's husband is an engineer and has to work out HOW to make sure that there will be enough water for everyone during the Olympic Games. Don't envy him that job.  Because however you look at it, there won't be enough water for everyone at the Olympic Games.  Because there isn't enough water for everyone WITHOUT the Olympic Games.
But meanwhile there is water in our little stream running through our wood, and everything looks green and verdant and spring like.  And enough water for me to dash out to check the Rain Gauge.
Marvellous!
Life can be SO satisfactory at times.
Ker-ist.
Note to self.
'Get a life.'
Not half as much fun as rain gauges, though.

Lost!

What in tarnation has happened to my blog? Have only been away for a month or so, with the odd little visit here and there, and here I am back again, and the WHOLE THING IS CHANGED. Haven't a CLUE where to find my old posts, and have no idea whatsoever how to publish this post... feel like a newcomer all over again. Next thing I need to do is to change the flipping photo at the top of my blog. Me and two glasses of champagne look so tacky. But HOW? Right. Going to explore this totally new face of Blog Land and see what I can rescue from the ruins. See you soon!

Sorted.

Extremely pleased with myself.
Odious little man (Steve from Accounts) rang again from VISION PUBLICATION GROUP (see last post) and asked me again for the money I so called 'owed'. I had, in the time since our last dear little phone call, contacted Trading Standards, and a very kind solicitor from the Federation of Small Businesses. Between the two of these phone calls, I managed to get a letter together to send to Vision. This letter was unsent but ready to go, when Steve (see above) called.
I hit him with it.
Gave him What For.
Told him about the business forums I had found on the internet, where at least 30 other people had experienced the same thing FROM THE SAME COMPANY!
Told him about contacting Trading Standards and the FSB legal department.
Told him that unless he provided concrete evidence that I HAD confirmed the invoice, that I would be contacting the police for harassment.
I was on a roll, my voice no longer quiet and uncertain, but booming and confident and DETERMINED that the bullying should stop.
Steve from Accounts told me that I should talk to Andy from Accounts.
And rang off. Fast.
Next day we got a call from Vision saying that the invoice had been cancelled.
Ridiculous, eh? Like a bully in the playground who just needs someone to stand up to him.
Anyway, I did.
And will NOT be getting into the same situation ever again.
Do you know what? I actually asked to listen to the recording of the so called confirmation phone call. I sounded so damned NICE and NORMAL, if a little bewildered by the assumption that I had agreed to an advert. I could hear my voice saying, 'Actually I need to talk to my colleague,' and 'This sounds good in theory but in practice...' etc. All interrupted. All ignored. And all to the background of the children at my pre-school playing...
Makes me steam with rage that people take advantage like that.
And so, while I will always remain polite, I will never again fall into that trap.
It just goes to show how the very worst of mankind use the nice people out there for their gain.
But not this time.

GO AWAY!

Aren't pushy people on the phone just the pits?
Was rung up last week by odious little man who demanded money from us for an invoice supposedly confirmed, by phone, a month or so before. The invoice was for an advert, with money going towards a charity. We had already done one advert in the summer, and were SO not up for yet another one. I explained to him, very nicely, that we were a tiny little pre-school, and not really up for forking out another £600 when we needed every penny for the children. I was sure that he understood, blah, blah,blah.
He didn't.
At all.
He started to get rather unpleasant, and told me that there was a 'recording of the confirmation', and invited me to listen to it.
Which I did.
And could hear myself, (cor, I didn't 'alf sound posh and all) saying Yes to this, and Yes to that, and then explaining that I would be delighted to give the money but not now... and then being talked over by the voice at the other end, before the phone call abruptly ended, and I was left with a £600 bill.
But...!
But...!!
And all of this happening because I am polite to a pushy, aggressive sales person last October.
Believe me, it's hard enough telling these people to naff off when sitting quietly at one's desk, surrounded by paper work and Stuff. But to be surrounded by 20 small children, at our pre-school, one holding my hand, the other needing their nose wiped, it becomes almost impossible to give one's full attention to a full spate of sales technique at the other end of the phone. I kind of zoned out when the pushy sales lady (who rang right in the middle of a morning session at our pre-school) went on and on about how kind we were, and what she wanted, and how she was going to go about doing things for us. But I put the phone down knowing that I hadn't committed to anything. Phew!
Only to get another phone call some time later saying that they were so delighted that I would like another advert (costing £600) and how would I like to pay.
Stutter!
What?!
I was totally taken aback by their engineering of the conversation to make it sound like I HAD confirmed.
The very dull end to this very dull tale is that I am now in the process of trying to prove that I did NOT commit to yet another advert in some poxy publication and that we will NOT be paying out £600 for an advert we don't want.
It is taking up hours of my time, and I am getting more and more annoyed as each phone call, email, letter goes on.
I now have Trading Standards on the case, plus the Federation of Small Businesses.
Feels like bullying. It really does.
Cross your fingers for me, folks.

Pee'sd off

Christ, have done it again.
Very Nice Man came round to fix the gutter, which had been ripped off during storms of late (causing much grief in night as one heard the bang bang banging of loose guttering about six feet away from head ALL NIGHT LONG).
Anyway.
Very Nice Man arrived with very long ladder and proceeded to go up very long ladder to wrench bastard guttering away from roof and replace with new. Hooray!
I hovered at the bottom of ladder while Very Nice Man shouted a lot from the top of the ladder. Most of which I couldn't hear, as he was face to face with roof, and sound was rather muffled.
Anyway.
Offered him some tea. Called for dog who was sniffing about. Dog came, and neatly cocked his leg and pee'd all over the Very Nice Man's tool box.
Ker-ist.
While Very Nice Man was still speaking I backed into utility room, which was conveniently placed just behind me, grabbed large wad of loo paper also conveniently placed just behind me, and made for the tool box, loo paper hidden behind my back.
Very Nice Man was still talking.
Bent over double quick, wiped back, forward, sideways and a quick flourish to finish, and made for the compost heap with what I hoped was a Nonchalent sort of walk.
Very Nice Man didn't have a clue.
Thought that I really ought to wipe it with proper antibacterial wipes, so went back into house.
But phone rang, I got distracted, and the next thing I knew was the Very Nice Man was at my front door with his tool box.
Bye, he said, cheerily.
Bye! I said back. Not looking at tool box.
Which was decidedly damp.
Oh, for God's sake, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE OWNED UP EITHER.

O Christmas Tree!

Oh, God, no.
It's that time of year again.
Yuletide.
When the children assist in the Decorating of the Tree.
Help. Me.
Not that I am Anal by any stretch (sorry) of the imagination, but I DO like my decorations to look sort of Nice.
About this time, up goes the tree, and I grit my teeth and clench buttocks as Children, with squeals of joy, ruin the Bastard Tree in about three minutes.
A cluster of glittery sort of horrors are placed all over it, while endless small (WHY?) bits of tinsel are draped round and round and ROUND it until the green of the tree is totally obliterated, and it resembles a rather unpleasant sort of Naff Lady Costume in Panto.
And the baubles.
Oh, God, don't let me even THINK about the Baubles...
Each January I surruptitiously chuck Nasty Baubles in the bin, and breathe sigh of relief that NEXT year we will have tasteful, modest, rather Chelsea looking decorations on our tree.
And what happens the next December? Eh?
Blasted teachers (am one of them) send home tatty old bits of tinsel and tired felt, wrapped round lavatory rolls, while Proud Child bears this treasure home, and carries it, with great Pomp and Circumstance, to the tree.
And hangs the Horror on it.
I WANT MY TREE BACK.
I want a modest little ensemble of lights and glass and colour. I want people to Oooh and Ahhh as they first take a peek of it. I want to sip champagne, with the fire roaring, the tree twinkling, and friends chatting.
I want, I want, I want....
And so, last night we decorated the tree. And I clenched said buttocks while children bickered over where to put tinsel, lights, baubles and general crap.
When I realised that they actually were Doing It Right.
!!!
!!!
!!!
Really!!!
Middle Son instructed younger two to stand back while he draped lights round and round. Standing back to check they were even.
!!!
Youngest draping tinsel randomly round anywhere, and the others telling him to stop, as they hadn't finished doing the lights yet.
!!!
On finishing the lights, out came the tinsel.
Oh, Ker-ist.
Round the tree the tinsel went, children standing back and looking at their handiwork as they decorated.
!!!
Up went lovely bright red baubles, then gold. Always being checked they were in the right place.
'It's looking good,' commented Middle Son occasionally, to himself.
And it was!!!
The fairy lights twinkled in all the right places, the glass bits danced with light, the shiny bits shone just in the right places, and when the tree was done, and we all stood back, we gave out a unanimous, Ahhhhh.
Because it was beautiful. Truly.
And I felt ashamed of my horrible pre-conceived ideas of how Crap my children were at decorating trees and such.
Because they are rather Superb after all.
And we spent an evening in the company of the most beautiful tree in the world, with the firelight glancing off tinsel and glass, and glinting most satisfactorily through my glass of wine.
Hooray!! Another milestone passed in this Parenting Malarkey.
Chuffed, I am.
Really Chuffed.

Insect Days

Had the most glorious time today.
It was an Inset day (Insect day) and after asking Youngest where he wanted to go, he announced, without any hesitation at all...
'DFS please.'
Ker-ist.
Had thought that he might like to go swimming/bowling/cinema/beach (please, no, too flipping cold) or maybe a little hot chocolate with a bucket of marshmallows on the top.
Nope.
DFS.
"OK!" I said. Brightly. Tightly.
And we did.
After a mighty nice breakfast at our local deli... BEFORE which Youngest complained long and hard about WHY should we have breakfast somewhere else and WHY didn't we just stay at home and WHY should he go when he didn't want to, etbloodycetera, and AFTER which Youngest said, WHY don't we come again tomorrow, and when I said No, quite firmly, due to the eye watering bill, he said but WHY until I quietened all of that sort of questioning with a Look.
Anyway, and so to DFS we went.
For God's sake.
And, once again, DFS poured its magic over us.
No, really!
We started with the Crap Sofas by the entrance (bright red and rock hard, euurggh, we all said) and moved on to the Floral Section (swirly flowers and shiny hard legs, eurrgghh, we all said) And then we moved on to the Electronic Chairs.
Really!
Awesome stuff.
You press a button and watch as your feet slowly appear from the floor until they are well above you and all you can see is the ceiling. We all sat in various violently coloured Electric Chairs (as Youngest called them) and waved cheerily across the yards of carpet and wandering Pensioners. (I have to watch that, as Pensioner will be me in 9 years)
And we ended up on a vast thing, about 15 feet long, presumably a sofa, but really, you would need a Hangar for that piece of kit...
We all sat in a straight line on this huge slice of Upholstery, when along came a rather keen shop assistant, eyes on stalks, as he probably thought we would buy the bugger.
Nope.
But I said conversationally, nice sofa, how much, and he lit up like a Christmas Tree, and told us everything we never wanted to know about sofas, until our eyes glazed over and we began to swoon with boredom.
And so we left the Boring Man, as Youngest so aptly described him, and rejoined the normal world outside the shop.
It was fun, though, and we might make another trip next Insect Day, weather permitting.

You know when they say that you look like you've been through a hedge backwards?
Well, that was me.
Yesterday.
You see, I actually went through a hedge backwards.
Twice.
Clearly I had to go forward in order to be able to reverse the process and go backwards. I could have quite easily turned around, and gone back through the hedge forwards again. Only I couldn't, you see, as I had to hold my dog by his tail, in order to prevent him running after a man and his two dogs along the lane.
And so, there I was, hair attached in agonisingly painful fashion to rather a lot of brambles, in the MIDDLE of our hedge, and wishing that I had NOT let the dog out just before I had my nice cup of tea, well deserved after SIX hours of very dull ACCOUNTANCY work. For God's sake.
And as I clutched the very end of said dog's tail, I found that my grip was not going to hold.
Dog (Milo)gave an almightly yelp and leapt out from our hedge, into lane, bounding around with two rather cross looking dogs, and an equally cross looking man. Utterly unable to follow, due to thick branches, brambles and nasty looking nettles, I stayed put.
'Ooops!' I said, in conciliatory tones. 'I let go of my dog's tail! Silly old me!'
And I leaned forward, peering through the hedge, trying to catch eye of Cross Man, while tearing brambles off hair, clothes and face. Mad Woman of Borneo-style.
Cross Man, after aghast looks in my direction, started shouting at his dogs, and so I joined in and shouted at mine.
None of them paid the slightest attention, as it was clearly more fun sniffing bottoms and comparing notes.
When all of a sudden, Milo (my dog) came belting through the hedge, tail between his legs, turned around and prepared to go out again.
'Oh, no you don't!' I said, breezily and confidently.
As Milo went straight out onto the lane again.
This jolly little ritual went on for an agonising couple of minutes, while I alternated between yelling and wheedling. Just what Dog Owners Shouldn't Do.
Finally the little bugger (Milo, not the Cross Man) belted back into the hedge again. With an almighty leap in his direction, I grabbed him by the collar, and speaking through the large branch now actually lying across my face said,
'Got him! Thanks so much! Off you go!' sort of stuff, and to my intense relief, Cross Man started off up the lane, dogs trailing behind.
Thank Buggery for that, I thought.
And then realised that I was completely Stuck.
Brambles were pinning me down on every side, and one large branch had me braced against another.
Flipping Wonderful.
And so I Went Through a Hedge Backwards. Slowly, hair tearing out, face scratched, nettles doing their damndest to prickle and sting as much bare skin as they could.
Bastards.
And as I finally prised myself loose, Milo darted forward. Again.
'OH NO YOU UTTER UTTER BUGGER NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' I yelled, and lurched forward, JUST grabbing his collar and.... yes..... Going Through The Hedge Backwards Again.
Ker-ist.
I dragged my Bad Dog into the house, slammed the door and went to check the damage in the downstairs loo.
Peering into the mirror was a Sight to Behold.
My recently cut hair was combed forward by obliging branches and twigs, giving me the look of a teenage Rock Star, only with mad eyes and nettle stings on cheek and forehead. I had sticks clinging to shoulder, a large leaf of indeterminate origin, hanging from my left ear, and my beautifully clean shirt was blackened and green in equal measures.
In short I was a shocking sight.
And so, sipping my tea a few minutes later, having tidied up a bit, my children looked at me in amazement.
'Mummy, what HAPPENED to you? You look like you've....'
None of them could find a suitable comment.
So I finished it for them.
'...Been through a hedge backwards?'
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Bloody dogs.



Just too cute, eh?

Summer Holidays...

I forget.
Each Summer holidays I forget how wonderful they are, how sodding HARD they are, how full the days, how LONG some days, how short some others...how blissful some moments (beach, sun, children playing and me reading 'The Help') and how BLOODY AWFUL other moments ( beach, sun, children playing and me freezing my tits off in an icy wind, longing for home and tea)
I forget the highs and the lows, the tumbles and the scrapes, the giggles and the rows. I forget how FULL each moment is when we are all together, eating our breakfast, arguing over the cereal choices (low and v. v. boring) bickering over what to do that day, chuckling at memories of the previous day.
I forget the bliss of lie-ins, as children crawl out of bed early and watch TV or else lie in themselves, and we all emerge, tousle haired at about 9.00, clustering round the kettle as I make tea to take back to bed.
Forget the guitar teacher coming at 5, and realise with horror several hours later, as we amble slowly home from the beach, pink faced and glowing from hours of body surfing.
Forget timetables and lists.
Just being. Day after day after day.
Each year I forget this. And each year I remember, with heart stopping gratitude, that the Summer holidays are here again.
Until the cat is sick over the children's dirty washing, or voices are raised for the 5th time within an hour, over a RABBIT RUN for God's sake, and I wish fervently for September, and the bliss of an empty house, and lists, and timetables.
But for now, I am loving it.
For now, this is, I think, heaven on earth.
(Ker'ist, children all in tears about how to bounce on trampoline. Lunch not made and Husband fed up with ironing each night as I moan how little time there is to do everything. So hard to fit it in between my morning cup of tea, tennis and swim on the beach... )

I'm Still Standing....

My new Best Friend. In the middle.
My old Best Friend. On the left. Husband.
And WHY didn't I take my camera??
WHY did I just have a crappy old mobile phone to take the PICTURE OF SUCH AN ICON?
Grrr.
And, no, I DON'T have a rather unpleasant stain on my left nipple. It was a VIP sticker, and bloody hard it was to rip off the shirt after we got home, I can tell you. (Gosh, what HUGE bazookas I seem to have. They aren't that big, honestly. It's the light. Ho hum.)
A REALLY fun evening. In Hove Cricket Ground, of all places. Meeting Elt (all his friends call him that, you see, and I AM a friend now that I have met him for at least 3 minutes) and rocking along to his music for almost THREE hours. I didn't know a single word of any of them, but know all the tunes, and so drove everyone mad around me as I 'yelled' all the songs without One Single Accurate Word of the Lyrics.
Awesome.
And then we got home, and the cat was sick.
Oh, well.
It was fun while it lasted.
THANK YOU to my darling Brother-in-law and Sister who donated these wonderful tickets to us... just because.
They ROCK.