Friday 27 April 2007
Thursday 26 April 2007
LOCKED OUT
Sorry everyone - we seem to be locked out at the moment - you can still comment on the chat page but not post. You can still blog and comment on each others blogss. Have emailed Google with the problem - can only wait for a response - I am sooooo sorry for all the messing about . . . . Happy Snaper - away on a job and the Janitor has gone to the village. We will work tirelessly until we sort the problem - suggest a prolonged break - lots of tea, coffee and cakes.
Wednesday 25 April 2007
A little piece about Poo
A little piece about poo
Have you ever considered how much poo we actually live in. Oh I don't mean all the poo that is outside and when you think about it cow poo, pig poo, sheep poo and then all the wildlife poo - both on the ground and plopping down from the sky – people with newly cleaned cars can tell you about the stuff from the sky.Yes there is a mind numbing amount of poo just loitering within tent, if you are an unlucky camper that is.. Nor do I mean the sort of indoor poo that Exmoorjane spread around her house, nor the chicken poo I Exmoored around mine. No I mean the carefully and often prettily contained poo, or so we think, in our own unsuspecting bathrooms.
I made the mistake of watching a programme on how dirty our bathrooms really are. Sit on the loo, do and flush, all gone. Wrong. If you leave the toilet lid up minuscule droplets of poo spray six feet all over the bathroom. Ahah – sorted. ( I'm allowed to say sorted I grew up in Essex – yes an Essex girl – get over it) Thwart the poo by putting the loo seat down. Easy. Oh no, not that easy at all the little bacteria laden droplets of poo squirt out the side between the lid and seat. OH MY GOD. And it gets worse. The droplets settle on everything - your face cloth, towels, toothbrush – yuk - everything. Wash and wipe your face and you're covered in poo. Dry yourself – covered in poo. Brush your teeth, yes you've got it good old poo mouth wash. Plus if you are lucky enough to have a cut in the gum the bacteria get in your blood stream and make you really sick.
Read in the loo take the book outside and poo all over the house. Walk innocently from the loo and you transport droplets from the loo carpet/tiles all over the house. Not to mention you have wiped your hands on a poo splashed hand-towel. Oh it goes on forever – we are all sh*t covered peasants living in poo coated hovels. Poo, poo everywhere and never a warning stink.
So why aren't we all dead. Because in a very small nutshell it is normal that's why! We live in a bacteria laden world. We share it with untold trillions of bugs and we all co-exist, for the most part, happily together. It wasn't until we had antibacterial this and disinfectant and antibiotic that , that we started to shift the balance and not live so comfortably in our own world. If the older ones amongst think of how we grew up and the amount of bugs we were exposed to and how we all survived. Then think of now about super bugs and immune systems never given the chance to develop properly. . . . and so on.
I still wish I hadn't seen the programme – it was sensationalism and I bet you are wishing you hadn't read this blog and I bet you keep your toothbrush in a cupboard from now on – I know I do.
Have you ever considered how much poo we actually live in. Oh I don't mean all the poo that is outside and when you think about it cow poo, pig poo, sheep poo and then all the wildlife poo - both on the ground and plopping down from the sky – people with newly cleaned cars can tell you about the stuff from the sky.Yes there is a mind numbing amount of poo just loitering within tent, if you are an unlucky camper that is.. Nor do I mean the sort of indoor poo that Exmoorjane spread around her house, nor the chicken poo I Exmoored around mine. No I mean the carefully and often prettily contained poo, or so we think, in our own unsuspecting bathrooms.
I made the mistake of watching a programme on how dirty our bathrooms really are. Sit on the loo, do and flush, all gone. Wrong. If you leave the toilet lid up minuscule droplets of poo spray six feet all over the bathroom. Ahah – sorted. ( I'm allowed to say sorted I grew up in Essex – yes an Essex girl – get over it) Thwart the poo by putting the loo seat down. Easy. Oh no, not that easy at all the little bacteria laden droplets of poo squirt out the side between the lid and seat. OH MY GOD. And it gets worse. The droplets settle on everything - your face cloth, towels, toothbrush – yuk - everything. Wash and wipe your face and you're covered in poo. Dry yourself – covered in poo. Brush your teeth, yes you've got it good old poo mouth wash. Plus if you are lucky enough to have a cut in the gum the bacteria get in your blood stream and make you really sick.
Read in the loo take the book outside and poo all over the house. Walk innocently from the loo and you transport droplets from the loo carpet/tiles all over the house. Not to mention you have wiped your hands on a poo splashed hand-towel. Oh it goes on forever – we are all sh*t covered peasants living in poo coated hovels. Poo, poo everywhere and never a warning stink.
So why aren't we all dead. Because in a very small nutshell it is normal that's why! We live in a bacteria laden world. We share it with untold trillions of bugs and we all co-exist, for the most part, happily together. It wasn't until we had antibacterial this and disinfectant and antibiotic that , that we started to shift the balance and not live so comfortably in our own world. If the older ones amongst think of how we grew up and the amount of bugs we were exposed to and how we all survived. Then think of now about super bugs and immune systems never given the chance to develop properly. . . . and so on.
I still wish I hadn't seen the programme – it was sensationalism and I bet you are wishing you hadn't read this blog and I bet you keep your toothbrush in a cupboard from now on – I know I do.
Sock Tree
Whoooosh Zooom. Still in big rush. I have chosen to be horribly selfish and Blog now rather than read the Blogs already up, or the ones I missed yesterday – disgraceful. Have to get the holiday cottage ready now for guests coming in-before we nip off to Cupar again (brilliant night – will Blog it all after its finished) – will sneak Blog reading in-between bathrooms and dusting. I can't hoover husband honestly – ouch – the ribs – giggle.
Leaflet day was brilliant - not too many public, lots of stalls run by people I know. So spent the day quietly listening to people and catching up on news. Of course not I caffeined out big time and gibbered and cackled my way through the entire day and bought a Sock Tree.
Yes that's right a Sock Tree. What! Has no-one here ever bought a Sock Tree. Shocked. Shocked I am. Read on and think the freedom this could bring you. Every year my Father in-law, when asked what he wants for Xmas says socks. Ok yes very exciting mmmm lose the will to shop socks. So fed up with this I went out and bought a - hang on a sec the ticket is in my bag - yes that's it an Abies Koreana Fir. On to this pretty little tree I tied socks - new ones - loads of them. Then for Xmas I gave Mr In-Law the tree. Its a Sock Tree I announced - so don't ever ask me for socks again. Bewildered Daddy in-law apparently wore the socks, but gave me back the tree. The tree came to Scotland and got planted and yeah verily it did well. Then we had a fire - another Blog lost money and had to move - only two doors down mind you – but the sock tree was too big now to transplant and sadly I couldn't find one to replace it. Then yesterday I walked into the village hall all prepared for leaflet day and the first thing I spied was a baby Sock Tree. Kerching, sale made and I am one proud owner of said Sock Tree.
Now for the rest of this cautionary tale - Father-in-law didn't learn. The very next Xmas after the Sock Tree when asked what do you want for Xmas and fixed with a stern stare don't you DARE ask for socks stare, he thought and thought and said 'not a lot.' Arrrgghhhhhh. You can't say that how can I buy not a lot. I fixed you with the sock tree and now you come up with this. Grrrrr. So I found a jigsaw company that made things to order and they made for me a stand up jigsaw that said . . NOT A LOT. The body of the jig saw sat on the shelf with the end bit dangling off . . .no not an accident it was designed that way. And so I gave my parent- in-law Not A Lot for Xmas. And the moral of this tale is . . . I have no idea but I had a lot of fun thwarting poor old daddy-in-law. Hehehehe Can't wait to be a Granny - I am going to be sooooo AWFUL.
Leaflet day was brilliant - not too many public, lots of stalls run by people I know. So spent the day quietly listening to people and catching up on news. Of course not I caffeined out big time and gibbered and cackled my way through the entire day and bought a Sock Tree.
Yes that's right a Sock Tree. What! Has no-one here ever bought a Sock Tree. Shocked. Shocked I am. Read on and think the freedom this could bring you. Every year my Father in-law, when asked what he wants for Xmas says socks. Ok yes very exciting mmmm lose the will to shop socks. So fed up with this I went out and bought a - hang on a sec the ticket is in my bag - yes that's it an Abies Koreana Fir. On to this pretty little tree I tied socks - new ones - loads of them. Then for Xmas I gave Mr In-Law the tree. Its a Sock Tree I announced - so don't ever ask me for socks again. Bewildered Daddy in-law apparently wore the socks, but gave me back the tree. The tree came to Scotland and got planted and yeah verily it did well. Then we had a fire - another Blog lost money and had to move - only two doors down mind you – but the sock tree was too big now to transplant and sadly I couldn't find one to replace it. Then yesterday I walked into the village hall all prepared for leaflet day and the first thing I spied was a baby Sock Tree. Kerching, sale made and I am one proud owner of said Sock Tree.
Now for the rest of this cautionary tale - Father-in-law didn't learn. The very next Xmas after the Sock Tree when asked what do you want for Xmas and fixed with a stern stare don't you DARE ask for socks stare, he thought and thought and said 'not a lot.' Arrrgghhhhhh. You can't say that how can I buy not a lot. I fixed you with the sock tree and now you come up with this. Grrrrr. So I found a jigsaw company that made things to order and they made for me a stand up jigsaw that said . . NOT A LOT. The body of the jig saw sat on the shelf with the end bit dangling off . . .no not an accident it was designed that way. And so I gave my parent- in-law Not A Lot for Xmas. And the moral of this tale is . . . I have no idea but I had a lot of fun thwarting poor old daddy-in-law. Hehehehe Can't wait to be a Granny - I am going to be sooooo AWFUL.
Tooooooo busy to blog
I am in a huge rush – hit the ground running top speed. Got a leaflet day today to sit and get bored at. All us village business type people sit in our local hall and give leaflets out to other people types so that they know what we do – thought they did already. Networking with bits of paper. Or something! Tell you what it is when I've done it
I was also in Cupar last night – four hour round trip from where I live – and am going again tonight and tomorrow night. Why? It is the Divisional Final of the One Act Play Competition of course! Oh yes and our Village has a play in it – went through from the Regional Finals no less. Hard for me this time around as I am not in The One Act Play comp this year – been in them the last seven years, but we are already rehearsing for next years. I play a World War 2 pilot . .no I do really. No really I doooo.
And I've sprained my ribs – well the muscles, you can't sprain bone can you! Think I did it when I was lifting hay and feed over the fence for the sheep. Either that or when I was chatting to the Sky remote control and fell backwards over the dog. Grief I am sooooo tired how the hell am I going to stay awake today and tonight. Lets face not all the plays are good even if they are in the next round. Hope the ribs hold up they are a bit sore. Not allowed to get excited cos it hurts to breath. No jumping around either . . good grief life it going to be boring for a while.
Fabulous day and my god is that the time . . .
Thank you thank you for all your comments on yesterdays blog. Do you know that Wild &Green said I Rocked – how cool is that. Oh maybe they meant I was a rock . . .whatever oh no still got to feed the sheep.
No time to comment on other peoples today . . sob . . no time to read anything . . .sob . . .but I can give it up any time . . . oh yes. Oh yes I can. I can can can so there neah. I am an adult and can cope with life. I won't be caught in the loos blogging, nor behind the bike sheds, nor over the wall. You won't find me there. No I won't rush home later to blog at 1.00 in the morning . . .well I might . . .but whatever I hope you all have a great day.
I was also in Cupar last night – four hour round trip from where I live – and am going again tonight and tomorrow night. Why? It is the Divisional Final of the One Act Play Competition of course! Oh yes and our Village has a play in it – went through from the Regional Finals no less. Hard for me this time around as I am not in The One Act Play comp this year – been in them the last seven years, but we are already rehearsing for next years. I play a World War 2 pilot . .no I do really. No really I doooo.
And I've sprained my ribs – well the muscles, you can't sprain bone can you! Think I did it when I was lifting hay and feed over the fence for the sheep. Either that or when I was chatting to the Sky remote control and fell backwards over the dog. Grief I am sooooo tired how the hell am I going to stay awake today and tonight. Lets face not all the plays are good even if they are in the next round. Hope the ribs hold up they are a bit sore. Not allowed to get excited cos it hurts to breath. No jumping around either . . good grief life it going to be boring for a while.
Fabulous day and my god is that the time . . .
Thank you thank you for all your comments on yesterdays blog. Do you know that Wild &Green said I Rocked – how cool is that. Oh maybe they meant I was a rock . . .whatever oh no still got to feed the sheep.
No time to comment on other peoples today . . sob . . no time to read anything . . .sob . . .but I can give it up any time . . . oh yes. Oh yes I can. I can can can so there neah. I am an adult and can cope with life. I won't be caught in the loos blogging, nor behind the bike sheds, nor over the wall. You won't find me there. No I won't rush home later to blog at 1.00 in the morning . . .well I might . . .but whatever I hope you all have a great day.
This is the Mother . . . .
It has gone, emailed, posted, dispatched. Yes I discovered organisation in a brief, but productive and lucid moment yesterday and sent my assignment off into the ethernet. I even managed to round up all my answers to the case studies. They will go today. I would have done it yesterday,but somehow I had thought it was still Tuesday and the post office shuts on a Wednesday afternoon.
So now in a rare idle moment I am staring at the flowers I got for Mother's day. They are all looking a bit sad now. I am either a) too lazy to throw them away or b) can't bear to throw them away. Bit of both probably. However I have the card that my daughter sent with the flowers - it says – Happy Mother's Day Mum. I appreciate everything you've ever done for me and I'm glad you are my Mummy. The Card from my son is a really flowery emotional card and on it he has written – thank you for everything you have ever done and he gave me a big box of chocolates.
Where on earth did all that come from. Bearing in mind this is the mother who played practical jokes on her kids. Who refused to lose at Monopoly. Who refused to cook for her kids in their teenage years because she was sick of coming up with meals they didn't like. Here I pause to point out I cook by the smoke alarm – when it goes off it signals that whatever I am incinerating is ready. This is the mum who loves animals – well that's ok isn't it – mmmm I thought so to – until the kids said – I suppose we will have to grow fur, or feathers if we want to get your attention. Ouch! Having said that, our daughter is studying Zoology at University so maybe not all bad. Then again our son is studying Robotics . . But all said and done I was really choked on Mother's day. Last year our daughter went on to Ebay and bid for two Furbies for me for Mother's Day – where did my kids get to be so thoughtful. What have I done, or not done to be so lucky.
I was not one of the mother's standing at the school gates on the first day sobbing. I was the one punching the air and shouting 'yes'. Even the empty nest syndrome did not affect me the way I know it has some. I hated going swimming. I sobbed embarrassingly at school plays and wore flashing earrings at Xmas and tinsel in my hair. I have never pushed my kids – although I did nag about homework. They even accused me of letting them do to much. Why forbid them they will only it anyway and at least I was/am around to pick up the pieces. This is the mother who gave them wine and beer – I would rather they learned to drink at home. I also taught them all the swear words and then what they meant – up to them whether or not they chose to use them. Rather they learnt from me than some oik in the playground without knowing what they were saying. When we went in the car we rarely listened to nursery rhymes – it was always Queen. Daughter floored me the other day when we touched on this saying how proud she was of knowing all the words to all the Queen songs. Wow – didn't see that one coming. They both love Rock music and we have even been to Rock concerts together. U2 was amazing. Although I gather they were hard put to cope with the fact I danced all the way through.
Never a patient nurse – sorry about the pun I sometimes struggled with sickness, but some of our closest moments were spent all huddled together when we had the flu. Even daughter said – I suppose you are going to treasure this time aren't you. It was said in a mocking but tender way.
Somewhere down the years I must have done something right. I am still introduced as the embarrassing mother – but do I now detect a note of pride? Thank you kids. Thank you for ringing me with your problems and for looking forward to coming home. Thank you for being there on my birthday and for letting us pick you up from Dundee on Xmas day. Thank you for wanting to be here this Easter and thank you, thank you, thank you for just being you.
Ps Hey Dorta you have snakes, fish and a cat and I don't think you should get rats – but I know you will any way – so I have bought them a cute wooden house – Luv yer Ma.
So now in a rare idle moment I am staring at the flowers I got for Mother's day. They are all looking a bit sad now. I am either a) too lazy to throw them away or b) can't bear to throw them away. Bit of both probably. However I have the card that my daughter sent with the flowers - it says – Happy Mother's Day Mum. I appreciate everything you've ever done for me and I'm glad you are my Mummy. The Card from my son is a really flowery emotional card and on it he has written – thank you for everything you have ever done and he gave me a big box of chocolates.
Where on earth did all that come from. Bearing in mind this is the mother who played practical jokes on her kids. Who refused to lose at Monopoly. Who refused to cook for her kids in their teenage years because she was sick of coming up with meals they didn't like. Here I pause to point out I cook by the smoke alarm – when it goes off it signals that whatever I am incinerating is ready. This is the mum who loves animals – well that's ok isn't it – mmmm I thought so to – until the kids said – I suppose we will have to grow fur, or feathers if we want to get your attention. Ouch! Having said that, our daughter is studying Zoology at University so maybe not all bad. Then again our son is studying Robotics . . But all said and done I was really choked on Mother's day. Last year our daughter went on to Ebay and bid for two Furbies for me for Mother's Day – where did my kids get to be so thoughtful. What have I done, or not done to be so lucky.
I was not one of the mother's standing at the school gates on the first day sobbing. I was the one punching the air and shouting 'yes'. Even the empty nest syndrome did not affect me the way I know it has some. I hated going swimming. I sobbed embarrassingly at school plays and wore flashing earrings at Xmas and tinsel in my hair. I have never pushed my kids – although I did nag about homework. They even accused me of letting them do to much. Why forbid them they will only it anyway and at least I was/am around to pick up the pieces. This is the mother who gave them wine and beer – I would rather they learned to drink at home. I also taught them all the swear words and then what they meant – up to them whether or not they chose to use them. Rather they learnt from me than some oik in the playground without knowing what they were saying. When we went in the car we rarely listened to nursery rhymes – it was always Queen. Daughter floored me the other day when we touched on this saying how proud she was of knowing all the words to all the Queen songs. Wow – didn't see that one coming. They both love Rock music and we have even been to Rock concerts together. U2 was amazing. Although I gather they were hard put to cope with the fact I danced all the way through.
Never a patient nurse – sorry about the pun I sometimes struggled with sickness, but some of our closest moments were spent all huddled together when we had the flu. Even daughter said – I suppose you are going to treasure this time aren't you. It was said in a mocking but tender way.
Somewhere down the years I must have done something right. I am still introduced as the embarrassing mother – but do I now detect a note of pride? Thank you kids. Thank you for ringing me with your problems and for looking forward to coming home. Thank you for being there on my birthday and for letting us pick you up from Dundee on Xmas day. Thank you for wanting to be here this Easter and thank you, thank you, thank you for just being you.
Ps Hey Dorta you have snakes, fish and a cat and I don't think you should get rats – but I know you will any way – so I have bought them a cute wooden house – Luv yer Ma.
Talking to the walls
Well I have only gone and bloomin' well bloomin' bloomin' done it and in a good way for a change. Yes I have finished my third and final assignment for my Stress Management Training Course. Not long now and I shall be released on the unsuspecting and seriously stressed public. Victim selection now in progress. Well yes I still have to check the assignment through and no I haven't actually sent it in quite yet . . .but I will . . soon . . .when I stop blogging . . . yeah yeah tomorrow. And yes I have actually buckled down and done the required 30 hours of reading. 30 Hours – that made my head ache and emptied the coffee pot. Not that I did all the reading at once you understand. Well not until now when I realised I hadn't done enough. Anyway I am now officially feeling really smugly pleased with myself.
Ooops ash on the keyboard – no not fag ash. Fire ash. I've been cleaning out the fire. The new chimney sweep is coming today, all the way from Stirling. We had to find a new chimney sweep, because the old one clearly wasn't going to run out of 'why I can't clean your chimney ' excuses.
And (how daring is that a capital AND at the start of a paragraph) got a phone call this morning from the plumber who, after eight months of nagging. No, no, no, me nagging him . . has finally run out of why I can't test your gas excuses and is coming up on Friday to test the gas appliances in the self catering cottage for our Land Lords certificate. Yes Exmoorjane – eight months. I couldn't get anyone else either – has to be a Corgi registered plumber and they are in short supply up here.
Having had a very serious fire here and having then found out the importance of having all my paperwork in order – chimney swept, boiler serviced, landlords gas certificate – it is not something I would ever neglect. The fire I will save for another blog.
I say that people are coming up here cos we are higher than the village. It can be raining in the village and snowing up here. Well not in the summer of course.
Ok! So now I am feeling brave enough and here is the real reason for today's Blog. Does anyone here other than me talk to the wall, the fire, the kitchen, the bed, the carpet, the dogs . . . thank god for the dogs and the sheep and the chickens. . . . My daughter summed it up really when she said 'for goodness sake Mum, you verbalise everything!' Very brief stunned silence followed. But she is right I do verbalise everything and it isn't a requirement that anyone else is there to listen. It is probably better that they're not. My head gets bizzy and buzzy especially after the morning coffee rush – so I externalise the internal dialogue – which I assume every one has, but after my daughters comment I am not so sure. It isn't usually a problem, but a couple of times going round Sainsbury's I noticed people giving me odd looks . . . . . well ok every time I go round most shops . . .and I have realised I have been externalising my internal dialogue yet again – better known as talking to yourself. Well at least I don't have an imaginary friend with me – no he stays at home. Er that was a joke. So I was just a bit curious as to whether any of you lot do it too. I mean when I had my babies and I was out with out them . . and only once because I had forgotten to take them with me . . . I did used to catch myself standing in shops swaying from side to side. This I know I am not alone in. The fact that I still do it is a little worrying. But the talking to anything . . . now is that normal! Please feel free to lie convincingly.
Ooops ash on the keyboard – no not fag ash. Fire ash. I've been cleaning out the fire. The new chimney sweep is coming today, all the way from Stirling. We had to find a new chimney sweep, because the old one clearly wasn't going to run out of 'why I can't clean your chimney ' excuses.
And (how daring is that a capital AND at the start of a paragraph) got a phone call this morning from the plumber who, after eight months of nagging. No, no, no, me nagging him . . has finally run out of why I can't test your gas excuses and is coming up on Friday to test the gas appliances in the self catering cottage for our Land Lords certificate. Yes Exmoorjane – eight months. I couldn't get anyone else either – has to be a Corgi registered plumber and they are in short supply up here.
Having had a very serious fire here and having then found out the importance of having all my paperwork in order – chimney swept, boiler serviced, landlords gas certificate – it is not something I would ever neglect. The fire I will save for another blog.
I say that people are coming up here cos we are higher than the village. It can be raining in the village and snowing up here. Well not in the summer of course.
Ok! So now I am feeling brave enough and here is the real reason for today's Blog. Does anyone here other than me talk to the wall, the fire, the kitchen, the bed, the carpet, the dogs . . . thank god for the dogs and the sheep and the chickens. . . . My daughter summed it up really when she said 'for goodness sake Mum, you verbalise everything!' Very brief stunned silence followed. But she is right I do verbalise everything and it isn't a requirement that anyone else is there to listen. It is probably better that they're not. My head gets bizzy and buzzy especially after the morning coffee rush – so I externalise the internal dialogue – which I assume every one has, but after my daughters comment I am not so sure. It isn't usually a problem, but a couple of times going round Sainsbury's I noticed people giving me odd looks . . . . . well ok every time I go round most shops . . .and I have realised I have been externalising my internal dialogue yet again – better known as talking to yourself. Well at least I don't have an imaginary friend with me – no he stays at home. Er that was a joke. So I was just a bit curious as to whether any of you lot do it too. I mean when I had my babies and I was out with out them . . and only once because I had forgotten to take them with me . . . I did used to catch myself standing in shops swaying from side to side. This I know I am not alone in. The fact that I still do it is a little worrying. But the talking to anything . . . now is that normal! Please feel free to lie convincingly.
Good scales day
Good scales and hair day today (see yesterdays blog), just as well, because other half, whilst out on an assignment photographing a distillery yesterday, had committed the sin of getting a parking ticket – in my car.
Looking at the damn thing took me back to Guildford and when we lived in Holmbury St Mary. The kids plus friend and I had gone to the cinema in Guildford – big treat for us country bumpkins. We parked in a multi-storey car park – not such a big treat. I put money in the pay and display machine to discover I was 15 minutes short of six o'clock - after which time the car park was free. No, surely not – they wouldn't fine me for being short 15 minutes now would they? Specially not in my beaten up old car. Then again might my beaten up old car might offend towny types? The kids in a rush to get to the cinema were dragging me away. Anyway I reasoned the car park was full so chances were no one would spot the time short fall on my ticket.
Two hours later we returned to the multi-storey to find it was almost empty and I had indeed got a parking ticket. I was shocked, stunned, angry . . very angry , flamingly roaringly , blisteringly angry and the kids were full of understanding and sympathy. Like hell they were, they were all doubled up with helpless laughter. I got even more angry then at their lack of understanding and was about to stomp off and find a car park type person to viciously shred when the kids told me to 'look, no mum, REALLY look at the parking ticket.' Little brats it was a fake. A joke shop parking ticket. Then I remembered – the girls had gone running on ahead to the car park. Son for some odd reason wanted to read all the cinema posters on 'coming soon' films on the way back and had dawdled for ages. DING! Berrrrrludy hell they had got me good.
Ahah, but never trick a trickster. I got a letter from our local council photocopied it and wrote to all three children. The letter said something like that now we were in the common market to bring us into line with school holidays in Europe the English School Holidays would be finishing two weeks early this year and they would be expected back at school on the following Monday. I signed it Mr J. oke. Hahahahaha. Got the little blighters. Eventually with tears of motherly concern in my eyes at their distress (no of course not – I couldn't see, or breath properly I was laughing so much) I confessed. They weren't very appreciated of the efforts I had gone to 'get them'. Honestly the youth of today are so ungrateful!
All went quiet. Life continued on. Then I got a letter from our local dog obedience class – where Arnie was enrolled. We were clicker training him. Positive reinforcement with a Jack Russell that is a laugh in itself. The letter said that although Arnie was doing well – he was in fact in bad condition and until his condition improved we were being asked to leave the class.
Being an animal lover and taking the care of my animals very seriously I instantly saw several shades of red in quick succession. Then the tiny reasonable part of my brain kicked in. Mmmmm something not quite right here . . . I read the letter again . . .condition was spelt condishun. Ten out of ten for effort and excellent attention to detail – but minus quite a lot for not spell checking the offending piece. Then again being a model parent I did appreciate the effort the had gone to. They on the other hand didn't speak to me for the rest of the day, because I had rumbled them. Early bird kids, early bird!
Looking at the damn thing took me back to Guildford and when we lived in Holmbury St Mary. The kids plus friend and I had gone to the cinema in Guildford – big treat for us country bumpkins. We parked in a multi-storey car park – not such a big treat. I put money in the pay and display machine to discover I was 15 minutes short of six o'clock - after which time the car park was free. No, surely not – they wouldn't fine me for being short 15 minutes now would they? Specially not in my beaten up old car. Then again might my beaten up old car might offend towny types? The kids in a rush to get to the cinema were dragging me away. Anyway I reasoned the car park was full so chances were no one would spot the time short fall on my ticket.
Two hours later we returned to the multi-storey to find it was almost empty and I had indeed got a parking ticket. I was shocked, stunned, angry . . very angry , flamingly roaringly , blisteringly angry and the kids were full of understanding and sympathy. Like hell they were, they were all doubled up with helpless laughter. I got even more angry then at their lack of understanding and was about to stomp off and find a car park type person to viciously shred when the kids told me to 'look, no mum, REALLY look at the parking ticket.' Little brats it was a fake. A joke shop parking ticket. Then I remembered – the girls had gone running on ahead to the car park. Son for some odd reason wanted to read all the cinema posters on 'coming soon' films on the way back and had dawdled for ages. DING! Berrrrrludy hell they had got me good.
Ahah, but never trick a trickster. I got a letter from our local council photocopied it and wrote to all three children. The letter said something like that now we were in the common market to bring us into line with school holidays in Europe the English School Holidays would be finishing two weeks early this year and they would be expected back at school on the following Monday. I signed it Mr J. oke. Hahahahaha. Got the little blighters. Eventually with tears of motherly concern in my eyes at their distress (no of course not – I couldn't see, or breath properly I was laughing so much) I confessed. They weren't very appreciated of the efforts I had gone to 'get them'. Honestly the youth of today are so ungrateful!
All went quiet. Life continued on. Then I got a letter from our local dog obedience class – where Arnie was enrolled. We were clicker training him. Positive reinforcement with a Jack Russell that is a laugh in itself. The letter said that although Arnie was doing well – he was in fact in bad condition and until his condition improved we were being asked to leave the class.
Being an animal lover and taking the care of my animals very seriously I instantly saw several shades of red in quick succession. Then the tiny reasonable part of my brain kicked in. Mmmmm something not quite right here . . . I read the letter again . . .condition was spelt condishun. Ten out of ten for effort and excellent attention to detail – but minus quite a lot for not spell checking the offending piece. Then again being a model parent I did appreciate the effort the had gone to. They on the other hand didn't speak to me for the rest of the day, because I had rumbled them. Early bird kids, early bird!
Bad Scales Day
I was almost out the door and on the home run when the nerves ambushed me. This resulted in mutterings of 'too much coffee you see, too early in the morning, empty stomach . . blah . . . . blah . .' and a further three visits to the loo.
Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.
All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.
No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.
The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.
So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.
The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!
Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.
All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.
No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.
The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.
So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.
The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!
Writer's seminar
I was almost out the door and on the home run when the nerves ambushed me. This resulted in mutterings of 'too much coffee you see, too early in the morning, empty stomach . . blah . . . . blah . .' and a further three visits to the loo.
Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.
All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.
No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.
The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.
So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.
The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!
Then into the car loosening the seat belt so that it didn't press on my bladder. I spent the journey with my brain zizzzing all over the place (hehehe see LixTroll the spell check doesn't like zizzzing either . . squiggle) . . and going hot and cold – mind you I blame the heated seats in the gas guzzler for that. Pins and needles in the fingers, cold hands, garage stops for the loo. It was all getting seriously out of proportion. No sympathy from strong silent husband type person, or maybe he couldn't get a word in edgeways! I realised after a while there was this incessant irritating gibbering noise in the car and it was me.
All this self inflicted cruelty was because I was on my way to a play-write seminar hosted by the SCDA (Scottish Community Drama Association) and the Playwrights' Studio Scotland.
No I am not a play-write. I am a tentatively, maybe, possibly, perhaps one day aspiring play-write. The seminar was aimed at tentatives like me and up to the real, full blown thing. Cool eh in the same room as real play-writes.
The nerves exploded because I knew we were going off into workshops at some point and it occurred to me that in our groups we would be expected to stand up, say our name and a bit about ourselves. AAAAGGGGHHHH I hate and I mean really hate doing this. As it gets nearer to my turn – every time - the heart starts leaping about. My hands get all clammy, I suspect they suck the moisture from my mouth which has of course gone ash dry. My throat closes up. I get ringing in my ears, I feel dizzy and sick and the instant it is my turn I can't remember my own name or speak coherently. So I end up babbling hesitantly, going red, giggling and sitting down. Whereupon I am faced with sea of sympathetic indulgent faces. B*****r I did it again.
So I got to the Seminar sat through the opening bits and then off into the workshops. Mine hosted by Chris Hannon – a real play-write. Gasp. Oh Gulp. And he didn't, he didn't make us stand up and say our names etc. It was much, much, MUCH worse than that. We got divided into groups – five people to a group and all given the same beginning and end of a fairy story and told to act it out – some groups the beginning and some the end. Mind blowing panic! What is going on? I love acting. I am a member of our local drama club I have been in Panto's, One Act competition plays before adjudicators, even been on tour. I get nervous yes . . but usually I get weeks, sometimes months to hone my nerves. Not this time, not like this, not just dropped on me. Burble Wurble, giggle! The first two groups did their play – good – then we all discussed what we'd seen, what it meant, the meaning of life. I needed the loo. Then that was it. Only two groups out of five got to do their play. I sat for two hours a smouldering, hyperactive, twitching bundle of loo needing nerves and I didn't get to do my piece. What was my reaction to this. I was irrationally disappointed, yes really disappointed. And there was a queue for the loo.
The rest of the Seminar was less exhausting and thoroughly enjoyable and it was done more as open discussion sessions with panels of speakers and question time – no more work shop groups. It was a pleasure to be amongst and chat with writing types. Also at one point I noticed that the walls of our venue were actually padded! From then on I relaxed. I now felt very much at home!
Premonition dream
Wow this is so cool. Last night I dreamt that I had a hangover and when I woke up this morning I had a hangover! See – witch, premonition dreams. Mmmm more like neighbour, last night, visit, big glasses of wine, binge smoke to compensate for giving up and today, hangover. So this morning I am feeling very sensitive – bad. But I am studying today so can curl up on the sofa with books on being Over sensitive 'n' stuff – good. But the books all have these brilliant white pages with black wiggly stuff on them – very bad. Films and plays and TV news items have to say that they have strobe lighting and flash photography – so books should say they have blinding white pages with black . . . . oh whatever!
The vet phoned early yesterday evening. Apparently Arnie (my Jack Russell – see yesterday's blog) has raised enzymes in his blood which indicates he may have had acute inflammation of the pancreas. I wanted to to tell the vet he was cute too, but the bromide had kicked in and I no longer cared. Arnie is still on antibiotics – I've sold my muzzle on ebay – and yes my much loved pooch is back to normal- licking stones and rocks and yapping at them as he shoves them round the garden. Sassy our Collie is delighted too, because now Arnie is out again she can resume running rings around him and pretending he is a small, but annoying sheep. We do actually have five pet sheep, but she just ignores them altogether.
The day before yesterday myself and husband took our daughter, son and daughter's boyfriend to fulfil the helicopter ride bought for said daughter's boyfriend's 18th birthday, last August. Mmmm yes LAST August. Then again it is hardly likely to be this August is it? Slightly late for the young man's birthday, but we arrived in plenty of time to be thrown out of the airport coffee shop. Brilliant. We spend a fortune on the flight and then get thrown out of a completely empty coffee shop by a male, snooty flying type, older person and why . . all because we were standing and looking through the window and not ordering and drinking coffee. Hubby and I saw the kids off on their flight and then went back to the coffee shop and loudly announced we were now going to drink copious amounts of coffee and get hyper!!!! Slurp slurp . . .then we ate cheese and onion toasties with extra onion and burped 'Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines'. We had to stop when the kid's flight was over – they don't like being embarrassed and I hate being sent to stand in the corner – especially with onion breath.
Three different reactions from flying around in a helicopter. Daughter, not sure, genuine fear of flying – so a huge well done for going up. Boyfriend, well he actually got to fly the helicopter and was given a certificate to prove it – smugly happy person. Son, oh look out! Duck, hyper teenager in erratic orbit. We drove to town so that hyper son could buy a DVD on flight simulation. Alarming noises of crashing and burning have been coming from his bedroom for the last two days – but no dead mouse type smell yet, so I guess he must be ok.
In truth I was actually upset – being an over-sensitive type – when the arrogant, g** . . person in the coffee shop ordered us out. Not even sure why he was there – he seemed to have a desk behind a screen at one end of the coffee shop. How dare he spoil, what for us, was a long awaited special day and what was worse he did it with no regard for how we might feel. So think positive. Let me see. He's a nasty, horrible person and, and, and . . we're not , so there, that'll do! Plus to help make it all right I got a lovely understanding smile and goodbye from the lady serving behind the coffee shop counter when we left . Then again maybe she was glad to see the back of us, but did I catch a hint of her humming Those Magnificent Men under her breath?
The vet phoned early yesterday evening. Apparently Arnie (my Jack Russell – see yesterday's blog) has raised enzymes in his blood which indicates he may have had acute inflammation of the pancreas. I wanted to to tell the vet he was cute too, but the bromide had kicked in and I no longer cared. Arnie is still on antibiotics – I've sold my muzzle on ebay – and yes my much loved pooch is back to normal- licking stones and rocks and yapping at them as he shoves them round the garden. Sassy our Collie is delighted too, because now Arnie is out again she can resume running rings around him and pretending he is a small, but annoying sheep. We do actually have five pet sheep, but she just ignores them altogether.
The day before yesterday myself and husband took our daughter, son and daughter's boyfriend to fulfil the helicopter ride bought for said daughter's boyfriend's 18th birthday, last August. Mmmm yes LAST August. Then again it is hardly likely to be this August is it? Slightly late for the young man's birthday, but we arrived in plenty of time to be thrown out of the airport coffee shop. Brilliant. We spend a fortune on the flight and then get thrown out of a completely empty coffee shop by a male, snooty flying type, older person and why . . all because we were standing and looking through the window and not ordering and drinking coffee. Hubby and I saw the kids off on their flight and then went back to the coffee shop and loudly announced we were now going to drink copious amounts of coffee and get hyper!!!! Slurp slurp . . .then we ate cheese and onion toasties with extra onion and burped 'Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines'. We had to stop when the kid's flight was over – they don't like being embarrassed and I hate being sent to stand in the corner – especially with onion breath.
Three different reactions from flying around in a helicopter. Daughter, not sure, genuine fear of flying – so a huge well done for going up. Boyfriend, well he actually got to fly the helicopter and was given a certificate to prove it – smugly happy person. Son, oh look out! Duck, hyper teenager in erratic orbit. We drove to town so that hyper son could buy a DVD on flight simulation. Alarming noises of crashing and burning have been coming from his bedroom for the last two days – but no dead mouse type smell yet, so I guess he must be ok.
In truth I was actually upset – being an over-sensitive type – when the arrogant, g** . . person in the coffee shop ordered us out. Not even sure why he was there – he seemed to have a desk behind a screen at one end of the coffee shop. How dare he spoil, what for us, was a long awaited special day and what was worse he did it with no regard for how we might feel. So think positive. Let me see. He's a nasty, horrible person and, and, and . . we're not , so there, that'll do! Plus to help make it all right I got a lovely understanding smile and goodbye from the lady serving behind the coffee shop counter when we left . Then again maybe she was glad to see the back of us, but did I catch a hint of her humming Those Magnificent Men under her breath?
First ever blog on the other side
Uh oh - I am a new blogger and would like to enter the competition.
Mmmm - another blogger coming out the woodwork at the scent of a competition. I am wondering how that makes the regular CL bloggers feel.
So I am writing this with trepidation, I do feel as though I am trespassing. People 'on here' already seem to know each other and I feel very much like the new girl. Good grief not again . . . I hate being the new girl - well more woman now. . . . er much older woman . . as my slim, tall, very attractive 19 year old daughter would delightedly point out. Grief even her hair is gorgeous - why is nature so cruel - I age, she blossoms. Then again I have romped through the menopause and she has years of PMS ahead of her. I have agreed to pay for her therapy for surviving her childhood with me, but I am only coughing up for a year. I don't want her to become too normal she might realise that I am even more nuts than she already thinks I am.
I live in a delightful village in Scotland. Delightful that is on the surface - dig a little and then is when it starts to get really interesting.
Two hundred years ago I would have been burned as a witch. Nowadays I advertise in the village bi-monthly magazine as a reflexologist. It is certainly a lovely way to meet people. Although I am not entirely sure that my village is completely ready for alternative therapies. Then again I can claim satisfied customers. One lady rushed up to me in the middle of the street, following a reflexology treatment the day before, threw her arms around me yelling 'thank you, thank you, you've cured my constipation' . . . . So that was confidentiality out the window then. Another lady has also credited me with helping her and her husband get pregnant. Good grief that could really scramble the gossips.
My witch status was finally established when I did talk on Reflexology for our local Women's Institute. Now there is a scary bunch for you. I did the talk as a demonstration. I couldn't face standing up in front of all these wonderful ladies - that would have meant looking at them and they did and do intimidate me so and I knew I would end up gibbering. So I sat with my back to them and talked them through my 'volunteers' feet. I talked about the cold she had, chest problems, stomach problems . . . slight irritable bowel and oh look an underactive thyroid. I also got rid of her headache. The room went quieter and quieter. Then a voice said 'oh yes and the broom stick is parked out side.'
I replied 'its brand new so hands off.' Another voice said 'oh we think you're a good witch.' I got tea and cakes at the end and sat at the 'top table'. I never did find out who had voiced the witch opinion. It has never been discussed. Happily in the last eight years there hasn't been a stake, or bonfire in sight.
Now I am studying to become a Stress Management Therapist - I hope it doesn't damage my reputation. Meanwhile I have a pile of reading on stressed nervous systems, how to become more assertive, how to allow your sensitivity to work for you and so on. I have to be on top of my reading and written my third and final assignment by Friday week - so panic on. Stressed, that's me and not a magic wand to be found anywhere and now I have started blogging.
Mmmm - another blogger coming out the woodwork at the scent of a competition. I am wondering how that makes the regular CL bloggers feel.
So I am writing this with trepidation, I do feel as though I am trespassing. People 'on here' already seem to know each other and I feel very much like the new girl. Good grief not again . . . I hate being the new girl - well more woman now. . . . er much older woman . . as my slim, tall, very attractive 19 year old daughter would delightedly point out. Grief even her hair is gorgeous - why is nature so cruel - I age, she blossoms. Then again I have romped through the menopause and she has years of PMS ahead of her. I have agreed to pay for her therapy for surviving her childhood with me, but I am only coughing up for a year. I don't want her to become too normal she might realise that I am even more nuts than she already thinks I am.
I live in a delightful village in Scotland. Delightful that is on the surface - dig a little and then is when it starts to get really interesting.
Two hundred years ago I would have been burned as a witch. Nowadays I advertise in the village bi-monthly magazine as a reflexologist. It is certainly a lovely way to meet people. Although I am not entirely sure that my village is completely ready for alternative therapies. Then again I can claim satisfied customers. One lady rushed up to me in the middle of the street, following a reflexology treatment the day before, threw her arms around me yelling 'thank you, thank you, you've cured my constipation' . . . . So that was confidentiality out the window then. Another lady has also credited me with helping her and her husband get pregnant. Good grief that could really scramble the gossips.
My witch status was finally established when I did talk on Reflexology for our local Women's Institute. Now there is a scary bunch for you. I did the talk as a demonstration. I couldn't face standing up in front of all these wonderful ladies - that would have meant looking at them and they did and do intimidate me so and I knew I would end up gibbering. So I sat with my back to them and talked them through my 'volunteers' feet. I talked about the cold she had, chest problems, stomach problems . . . slight irritable bowel and oh look an underactive thyroid. I also got rid of her headache. The room went quieter and quieter. Then a voice said 'oh yes and the broom stick is parked out side.'
I replied 'its brand new so hands off.' Another voice said 'oh we think you're a good witch.' I got tea and cakes at the end and sat at the 'top table'. I never did find out who had voiced the witch opinion. It has never been discussed. Happily in the last eight years there hasn't been a stake, or bonfire in sight.
Now I am studying to become a Stress Management Therapist - I hope it doesn't damage my reputation. Meanwhile I have a pile of reading on stressed nervous systems, how to become more assertive, how to allow your sensitivity to work for you and so on. I have to be on top of my reading and written my third and final assignment by Friday week - so panic on. Stressed, that's me and not a magic wand to be found anywhere and now I have started blogging.
Saturday 21 April 2007
Welcome
Hi there
Well I have done it - I have got my own little room off the assembley room where I can blog away happily. We can now all have our own blogs, visit each other and chat together on the purplecoo page - any ptoblems email Westerwitch gill@westerlix.net or Lixtroll at Heather@thebottomofthegarden.co.uk
Whoop berludy whoop
Westerwitch
Well I have done it - I have got my own little room off the assembley room where I can blog away happily. We can now all have our own blogs, visit each other and chat together on the purplecoo page - any ptoblems email Westerwitch gill@westerlix.net or Lixtroll at Heather@thebottomofthegarden.co.uk
Whoop berludy whoop
Westerwitch
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