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Saturday 14 May 2011

Goodbye Blogger

"Don't sign up to Blogger", people told me.  "use Wordpress".   Did I listen? 

No, I didn't.

Until this week when Blogger, owned by Google so they should know better, went down for pretty much three days.    All we got were a couple of status updates and nothing else.

Not being known for my patience, I slammed the desk and said "right, let's look at Wordpress".

And there I am.

So this is my last post on Blogger.  I have moved to : Mummy Barrow at Wordpress

Please join me, or I will be lonely!

Thursday 12 May 2011

Work Place Rituals



Chances are you work in an office.  Most people do.    I do too, I suppose, but mine is at home.   Normally in the "front room" on the desktop.   Or if there is something I have cheekily recorded on the Sky planner that needs watching and deleting before Mr B gets home, on the laptop in the lounge.

Working from home is a lonely old business.  The benefits for me far outweigh the downsides but I do miss the rituals that go with working in an office. 

"Kettle's on, who wants a coffee?"   That gets called out and the dog looks slightly confused.

"I am going to Costa / Starbucks / Cafe Nero / insert name of other over priced coffee house what do you want?"   Mmmmmmm  all of it please.

"Have a good weekend?"  Um.... yes thanks

"Can you just grab that off the photocopier for me?"  Er... we haven't got a photocopier.

Working from home means that no two days are ever the same and, therefore, I dont have a routine.  I cannot plan a day as I don't know what will happen.    That includes lunch.  I generally get to 3pm and think "what's for dinner" and then realise I have missed lunch.

I don't commute and grab a pastry at Waterloo.   I don't go to Pret at lunchtime.  Or to the local cafe with colleagues.  Or to the pub after work on a Friday.

So a few months ago I decided I would start a ritual of my very own. 

Twice a week I walk to our local Marks and Spencer for a meal deal sandwich.   I didnt really think anything of this until Marks and Spencer tweeted this week asking us if we would be having one of their lunches.  It felt odd saying "I will be but I work from home".   That is mad, isnt it?  Shouldn't I be making my own?  Or having beans on toast?

Why?  Why can't I spend a few Pounds on a nice lunch a couple of times a week?  Most people I know that commute into London do that everyday AND have a pricey coffee for breakfast. 

So thank you Marks and Spencer.  Thank you for your fabulous lunches. 

And thanks for a great Twitter feed.  I am home all day on Saturday as Mr B is at the cup final, as an avid Man City supporter, he had to be there.  

Will I be home all day cooking something for him from one of my hundred cookery books?  

Nope, I will be off to Marks and Spencer for their announced today "Dine in for £10".

Tuesday 10 May 2011

Tuesday Chuckle -- Week 1

As my blog evolves I am thinking of what to do with it.   I don't really want it to have one particluar slant such as just me as a mum / property / food / reviewing stuff etc.   I love things I have seen on other blogs such as "Silent Sunday" where you just post a picture that sums up your week, no words.  Just a picture.  I will definitely be adopting that.   But this blog is mine and I also don't want it to just follow other people's lead.

With that in mind I have decided I shall have a Tuesday Chuckle.  It might be a one liner.  It might be a picture.  It might be a story I have read, or one of my own.   Who knows.  You will have to stick around to find out.

The idea for this came to me this morning, after reading a tweet from @walktherotties.   I was going to reply but then realised I couldn't fit this into 140 characters so it would be better as a blog post.

So with the background set.  Here is the first one.


My lovely mother in law, Lady B (not an official Lady though she does own one of those square inches of some far flung Scottish Highland that allows you to call yourself Lady) told me this story last year.   She had gone on a picnic with a number of her friends (all ladies of a certain age) and some of their grandchildren.

One of the boys decided he needed a wee and being in a field in the middle of nowhere grandma took him off to a nearby tree.

One of the other grandchildren, a little girl of about three was aghast as this little boy standing up against a tree having a wee.   But said nothing.

When grandma and grandson returned to the gathering the little girl looked up and simply said "that is a very useful thing to take on a picnic".

Monday 9 May 2011

Superinjunctions



You cannot read a newspaper, hear a news bulletin or read very far on your Twitter timeline without there being mention of an injunction or superinjunction at the moment.

Should they be allowed?  I don't think they should.

Whilst I agree that everybody is entitled to a private life, celebrities and the wealthy included and that their every movement should not be documented in the press, should that extend to being allowed to buy privacy to hide indiscretions?   No, I don't believe it should.

Imogen Thomas hit the nail on the head on This Morning when she said that she had been thrown to the lions because she couldn't afford to take out an injunction.  The "family man international footballer" did have the reported £50,000 necessary to pay to keep his name out of the paper and has remained anonymous ever since.  This family man that thought nothing of that family when he was having an affair for seven months with a single woman.   How can that be right?  How can that be fair?

I am sure there are many family men (and statistically it is men that take these injunctions out.  I heard on the BBC this morning that not one woman has instigated one of these injunctions so far) who have been caught with their pants down having had an affair with a colleague etc.   Men who would love nothing more than to stop that indiscretion becoming public.  Family men who would like to "spare their family".   But due to lack of the necessary money are unable to do so.  So their affair is allowed to be made public, a report is run, the family pose together and vow to "put it behind them" and move on.   Or not.  But that is up to them.

When did this apparent two tier legal system start?  The legal system should not be there purely for those that can afford it.

Now we have a situation where innocent people are having to deny any involvement.  What must it be like for those people and for their spouses?  I cannot imagine the stress they are under having to make statements to deny indiscretions that haven't even happened.

Do the spouses of those people involved really have no idea this is about their other half?  Does Mrs International Footballer have no idea?   How can you take £50,000 from family funds to pay for this without their knowledge?  Blimey if Mr B bought a £50 new golf club I would know about it in four minutes flat.

I have also just read a story online where the footballer involved has threatened to sue the News of the World over a silhouette they have used to accompany their story saying it makes him look like "a numpty".  What?!  Does he want the outline to look like him?  It's a farce.

Here's a radical thought.  If you don't want to get caught don't do it in the first place.

Saturday 7 May 2011

Mr B -- My Love Story



Sophie, Super Amazing Mum, is the woman I hold solely responsible for suggesting I start blogging.  I love her blog style and feel honoured that she takes time to read mine, comment on it and pat me on the back.

Sophie and another blogger, Manic Mum, have come up with the idea of a meme entitled "My True Love Story".  The idea being, your write your own, and we link them together.

This poses a problem for me as my "love" reads my blog.  As do my children.  As do my parents.   I don't want to embarrass anybody or make anybody vomit.

So here goes.

I had recently become a single mum with three children and had moved into a new house.   Adjusting to my new life was hard and yet at the same time, a relief.   Suddenly three children were dependent on me but at the same time I could make all the decisions.

I don't know what made me go to the Three Frogs in Wokingham that evening in early 2002, normally I would have said "sorry, I have to get home to the children".   I don't know why Mr B had the said the same thing either since he had  long journey home from work to Teddington.

Fate?  Who knows?

So we found ourselves in the same pub.   And talking and suddenly ignoring everybody else there.   Before we knew it, it was time to leave and Mr B walked me to my car, holding my hand.   I will never forget him holding my hand.   It was such a simple gesture but right then it meant the world.

Here was me, single mum with three children, just out of a ten year marriage, wrong side of a size 16,  I really didn't feel like I was catch of the century.   Yet this solvent, funny, attractive man was paying attention to me and asking if he could come over later in the week to cook me dinner.

As we were both just out of marriages we took it very slowly.  There were no big family outings and meeting of families.  That wouldn't be fair on the children if it all went wrong.  In fact it was six months before they even knew Mr B existed.   Flowers delivered were from "Mr Thursday" and they had no idea who that was.

We went to Amsterdam, where Mr B had lived for 2 years, for the Queens Golden Jubilee weekend and for the first time in years I felt alive.   I felt that I was becoming me again.  Not somebody's wife or mother.  But me.  And this man wanted to be with me.

I fell in love in Amsterdam.

It was on a weekend away in Florence early in 2006 that on the last night in a Tapas bar Mr B start to roll up the napkin and make it into a ring.  He went down on bended knee and proposed to me.   I still have that ring.

In April we went to Hatton Garden and Mr B chose a diamond whilst I chose the setting and whilst we went off for a coffee my engagement ring was made.

Eighteen months later on the August Bank Holiday Monday in 2008, at the Elvetham Hotel in Hartley Wintney I walked down the aisle to marry Mr B.  In a small ceremony, with my dad giving me away (which he hadn't done "first time round").   We walked back up the aisle to "Happy Together" by the Turtles.   Rog, Mr B's brother,  was our best man and he shone on that day.  His speech was the best we have ever heard.   

We have had our obstacles to over come, who hasn't?  Deaths, redundancies, family dramas, school crises, we have faced them all, head on.   I know that with Mr B looking after me and the children we can get through it all.

We don't say "I love you" everyday as some couples do.  We don't need to.   We just know it.   And now you do too.   Mr B I love you.

One Life. Live It. With brownies!!

It came to my attention on Thursday afternoon that Kate who makes The best brownies in the world was organising a "tweet up" at her stall at The Real Food Festival on Friday afternoon at 1pm.   If you haven't heard the term before, a tweet up is a meeting of Twitter followers, sometimes the first time that followers and followees have ever actually met.    It is great fun and you suddenly go from just being a nickname to being a person.   Though to be honest, I never introduce myself as "T" I am now just "mummybarrow".

Mention of this tweet up made me think "shucks, I would really love to be there".   And not just for the brownies.   For years now (for reasons that may well be blogged about in the future) Mr B and I have lived by the motto of "One Life.  Live It".   Not always for big grand gestures, but equally for the smaller things in life that often make a big difference.

Being self employed means that sometimes it is slightly easier for me to grab the opportunity and "do it".  

A couple of texts sent to organise work and child care and I had tweeted Kate to say "see you tomorrow". 

Kate was busy working with the lovely Sophie who always helps Kate out at these events but I couldn't resist grabbing an apron (which I then stole at the end of the day) and mucking in.

Kate is a massive tweeter and has an avid following.   A lot of those followers are foodies, either bloggers, or in the industry and alot of others are celebs from TV and radio.  In fact it is through Emma Forbes that I first heard about Kate when Emma was enthusing about the brownies in a Tweet one day.

I turned around at one point yesterday afternoon and Kate was chatting away to Jay Rayner.  Yes, the Jay Rayner, food critic, food reporter for the One Show and columnist in the Observer.   Jay has tried Kate's brownies before and was enjoying sampling them again.   He did allow us to take some pics before he shot off to the BBC to introduce the studio to Black Pudding.



I also got to meet Dhruv Baker who was last year's Masterchef winner, who I have been Tweeting for months. 

Obviously the Real Food Festival is much more than just brownies.  It is a great way for small producers to sell to people who wouldn't normally be able to meet up with supporters and customers.  Working from home I know how lonely it can be just running a business from home and only really interacting with customers on the phone or via email.

The Real Food Festival is great for that :  More information      It was lovely to talk to the people on the stalls either side of Kate.

Particularly Jo from Bendy Legs Granola.  I hadn't heard of Jo's product before but loved it this morning, having had it for breakfast.   Not only is it a great, healthy product, but there is a great back story to it.   As there is with Kate.  

Jo also got a hug from Dhruv


I vowed I wouldn't buy anything since I was "Only going to the Tweet Up".   Woops.   I came home to Mr B with four bags overflowing with fresh Italian bread, charcuterie, cheeses and fabulous flavoured vinegars from Wormersley Foods.  Apparently the raspberry vinegar is just the thing to add a certain little something to fizz. Well if you insist! 

Oh and some brownies.

We are going back on Sunday with the kids so they can experience it for themselves.

I loved that I could seize the day on Friday and meet up with some fabulous Twitterers and Bloggers.   Thank you all for helping me "Live It".

Wednesday 4 May 2011

The day we had an Absolute blast

It won't have escaped your attention if you see my Twitter feed that I am a devotee of the Absolute Radio breakfast show.    In fact I have listened to the Breakfast show since it was Virgin.  Back when I was living in Saudi and loved nothing more on our day off than listening to the traffic updates on the M6.

Since Christian O'Connell started doing the breakfast show I have been addicted.    Even setting my alarm on days off so I don't miss it.  (this may surprise some of you but believe me, I am not alone).

The show is currently running a competition where you can win a whole festival in your garden and the show will be hosted from your lounge.   Details are here:  Win Breakfest.   Hearing this has reminded me of our massive win with them last year.   When we, yes, us Barrows and Brewins, won their competition and they came to us.

First some background

September 24th 2010 was a date we were not looking forward to.   It was the first anniversary of the death of Bruce's brother, Roger.   Roger had taken his own life in the early hours of September 24th 2009 and we had struggled with a year of "firsts" to get to September 2010.

Whilst daydreaming at my desk one day I came across a competition and thought "ah well, might as well, nothing to lose" and entered to win a 47" 3D TV, Sky HD for a year, the breakfast show rocking up, and KT Tunstall doing a gig in our lounge.   I had to write in 250 words or less why they should come to us.   As a bit of a stalker I gave a reason for each member of the crew and offered them exclusive access to our hot tub.

Didnt think any more of it.   In fact, didnt even bother telling Mr B I had entered.

On the evening of September 23rd Mr B came home from work and I said "I have had a call from an Absolute researcher to say I am through the the final seven of this huge competition".    I went in to full on panic mode as I might get a call the following morning and would have to pitch our lounge.

Queen of the pitches is my best friend Tasha (@tasha_1975_uk) and I called and insisted she come round to help me.   Mr B and I sat at the kitchen table and tried to write a killer pitch for why they should come to us.

If I got from those seven to the final 3 I would get a call from Christian between 8 and 8.15 the following morning.   Slap bang in the middle of my school run with E.   J was home from boarding school as he was sick but he insisted on coming with me to take E to school.   C had downloaded the Absolute app to her BlackBerry so she could listen on the bus on her way to college.

Mr B got up and was listening in the lounge.    8.15 came and went and I thought "I would be on hold if I had got through" so dismissed it.   And then the phone rang.   I nearly crashed my car.

I had made it to the final three.  I did my pitch and, quite frankly, I was rubbish.   Christian played Blondie "Hanging on the Telephone" and then said "right its you...... ".     We held our breath......     "Tanya we are coming to Fleet".

I went nuts.   41 years of age and I actually went nuts.    I was screaming, J was shouting,  E and all her friends came rushing back to the car.  The dog went mental.

Christian got cold feet hearing all this but didnt change his mind, thankfully.

The day we had all been dreading had suddenly taken a whole new slant.   What was going to be a day of quiet reflection for Mr B suddenly became a steady stream of calls from everybody.   Sky VIP were first, asking if they could come and install the TV on Monday.   My parents.   Tasha.   Everybody was screaming "she did.  She only bloody did it".

Fast forward a week.   A week where Absolute sprang into action as various agencies started setting this up.  We were always kept in the loop, given phone numbers, email addresses and updated almost hourly on what was happening.

And then it was 3am on October 1st.   The doorbell rang and that was it.

Christian O'Connell was standing in our hallway.


Andrew Bailey was setting up his newsroom in the downstairs loo.



Maggie was getting acquainted with the new traffic dog -- Cheeky,. who didn't leave her lap.


This was really happening.   A national breakfast show was being hosted from our lounge.  Using our broadband and that of the neighbours it was all coming from our lounge in Fleet.   We all had to wear Absolute wristbands so that security (yes we had security) could identify who should be there.



Friends Andy and Sarah (@andywebbdj and @sc8720) and Tasha became the catering team and kept nearly 60 people from Sky, Absolute, Beatwax the production company, and all our friends going with a steady stream of tea and sausage buns.

KT Tunstall arrived and was interviewed by Richie the producer, in our spare bedroom.  It all seemed so surreal.   I had tweeted KT to ask if she was a veggie and she replied to say she was.   Linda McCartney sausages came up trumps that morning.



The whole team interacted and chatted to everybody, posed for photos, signed autographs and made us feel like we were the most important people in all of this.  Not them.  KT set up and sang three songs from her new album, blowing all of us away with the performance.  Fade Like a Shadow

Christian and KT singing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" as suggested by @LilMsHissyFit's son will be etched on my memory forever.

I had got wind of the fact it was Andrew Bailey's birthday and had prepared a cake.   I asked Richie if we should have it on the table "no, it will be fine, I will bring it in and we can all sing to him".   What could go wrong?   The stuff of legends:  Cake Drop Gate

Highlights for the whole event are here:  Highlights

Then it was over.

It was all done.   The team packed up and left.  And we were left with a monster TV and memories of the most amazing day.

I wish we could do it all again.   Even cake on the carpet!

If you know what is good for you.  Enter that competition to win Breakfast.   It really could be you.  It will be the best fun you have had in a long time. If not ever.

Thank you Absolute.  And thank you Sky.   You organised a day that none of us will forget on a day that we were really hoping to forget.


We love you!!!

Tuesday 3 May 2011

It's good to be back. Or is it?

Don't get me wrong, I love travelling.   I have been lucky enough to have done alot of it over the past 40 years, from campsites in France to amazing business trips to ski holidays to Caribbean beach holidays.   I am priveleged to have seen an awful lot of the world.  

Indeed I lived in Saudi Arabia for six years (going out initially on a three month contract two weeks after marrying and coming back with two children and pregnant with number three).   Seeing things in the Arab world that were often not possible to a westerner.  Let alone a western woman.    Being in Dubai when it was still a dusty city in the desert and not the neon and concrete monstrosity that it has become today.

I love Tripadvisor.  I love travel brochures and I love Lonely Planet books.   As soon as we think about the next trip I buy a city guide and devour it.

Finding hidden gems in a city: a really great bar or restaurant or a secluded beach to listen to the waves crashing is my idea of heaven.

We are just back from a weekend away in Paris that was our Christmas present from my mum and dad.  They paid for our Eurostar tickets and the hotel for three nights.   We picked the Royal Wedding weekend, not because we are anti-royal, far from it.  But because we wanted to make the most of the one-off Bank Holiday.

After a stressful year that has been a real struggle it was much needed.   Just to be the two of us, walking in the sun and stopping for coffee, it felt more like a second honeymoon than a Christmas present.

We found many hidden gems, took hundreds of photographs and made sure we stopped every now and again and just said "look at this and remember it".  "Making Memories" we call it. 

But as much as I love being away.   I love getting home.  

There is nothing like sleeping in your own bed.

Nothing like being greeted by three children that have missed us (or are just desperate to see what presents we have bought for them).   Or a dog that thinks "oh yes, I remember you".

A proper cup of tea.  One tea bag in a pot of boiling water and having to ask for milk, which is invariably hot, is just not tea in my opinion.

Catching up on all the TV that Sky+ has saved for us.

And then you see a pile of post.   All bills.  And a VAT return form.   A pile of flyers for shops that I no longer shop in.

Voicemail messages and emails that demand our attention.

And then a major row breaks out over grated cheese.   Yes grated cheese.   Proper full blown row.  Tears (mine).   Door slamming (other people).   Storming off to seperate rooms.   All eating our beef casserole (prepared and left by my mum and dad who had been house / child minding for us) seperately.

And I think "hmm... am I pleased to be home?"

I haven't answered that question yet.

Nor have I unpacked my suitcase.

Just in case.......

Sunday 1 May 2011

Paris is just ... well.... dirty.

People talk about Paris being the city of romance.  Of love.  Of wandering couples arm in arm, gazing adoringly at each other or sitting in the park sharing vin et pain.

Certainly there was some of that. 

Today, though, two other things struck me.   The first was that the so called Red Light district is right in the middle of the main route from the tourist attractions in the middle,  and Sacre Coeur which is up on Montmatre, high above the city.

As we arrived onto Rue Blanche I spotted Moulin Rouge.  This is my friend Rachel's favourite film so I stopped to take a picture to Tweet to her.   It struck me then that it is not just a fabulous film with Nicole Kidman but actually an "adult review" bar that looks like its heyday has long since gone. 


After taking a photo and getting our bearings (read me standing there Tweeting and Bruce studying the map up close for ten minutes saying "yep, we are here. We are going there.  We need to go along there to Rue Blah de blah and then we need to turn right on to Avenue Whatsit" ,  I nod at his extraordinary sense of direction and try to look interested as I put my phone reluctantly back into my handbag).

We turned right and were suddenly walking down a road that had "Cinema Erotique / DVD Supermarche and my favourite:  the "porno bar" on both sides.   Bruce assured me this was the right way and I have to say I was stunned at the "open-ness" of all these shops, displaying their wares.    Families meandering in the sun, with relatively small children eating ice creams on benches next to erm ladies who might be dressed as ladies but I don't think they were born as such who were looking to earn a few Euro before lunch.

I have to say that I was shocked that Paris was so "open" about this seedier side.   It was like Soho had suddenly taken over Regent Street.

Once at Montmatre I was acutely aware of more filth.  This time, overflowing from bins.

There was rubbish everywhere.   It was like the refuse collectors hadn't been for a fortnight.   I am sure there are three collections a night in Westminster!   This meant that at times the aroma was pretty ripe too.

As we walked back down the hill and onwards to our hotel (I am sure it was like walking from Camden to Wimbledon, my feet certainly think it was) it seemed that every bin and corner of the city was full of rubbish.

I have loved my time in Paris.  I am sure at some point I will blog more on the other aspects of it but for now I am left thinking that Paris is just a bit dirty.

In more ways than one.

Saturday 30 April 2011

Some of the many reasons I love Twitter....

If you know me at all you will know I am a Twitter addict.   My Tweets are rapidly approaching 16,000 and I think about 8 of those have been of any importance.

Mr B quickly realised that if he didnt join Twitter too he would never be able to communicate with me at all and so signed up.   One of the first people he followed was @stephenfry.   Everybody follows him.   It is Twitter Law.  It is also Twitter Law that you know he is on the Twitter Pedestal.  That is, he will Tweet but never you directly.   Nor will he follow you.   You accept this.

In February of this year Sir Stephen of Fry tweeted about a cafe in Paris that he had visited and one that should be on anybody's "must do" list should they ever find themselves in the city.    Mr B remembered that Tweet and today we visited.   It was a decent stroll but in Paris with the sun shining it seemed to be no time at all.


The cafe is called Le Procope and dates back to 1686.   Yes 1686.   Le Procope wiki page is here which shows some of the people were there before us.

It was hard to comprehend the history of the place when sitting there surrounded by other tourists.   Still, the carafe of rose seemed to be the perfect tonic for our mild hangovers.

I am so pleased Bruce remembered that Tweet.   Without it we would never had found it and it is great to now be able to say "I have had a drink in the same bar as Napoleon".

I had a similar experience earlier in the year with somebody I follow:  @emmaforbes.   Emma is in another class of Twitterati.   A celeb who Tweets regularly, replies to people who Tweet her and also who follows "ordinary people" such as me.

I love that about all the people I have in that category.  Not many people in this category for me, but I am touched that they follow me.    For me, it is really what Twitter is about.

Emma visited Paris earlier this year and commented on some extraordinary macaroons she had tasted.   My memory is full of day to day stuff and I cannot remember what day of the week it is most days so I instantly forgot the name of the establishment.   I tweeted Emma to say "what is the macaroon place called and where is it?"   Almost immediatly I got a reply from Emma that said "Laduree, on Champs Elysee".

"YES" I shouted to nobody in particular.

So after our wine in the Saint German district earlier we wandered north and found the very place.   The queue was out of the door but that didnt stop me joining the back of it in anticpation of finally tasting one of these amazing treats. .

Once inside we were taken back in time to the 1860s to a time of elegance and finery.    Their website is here: Laduree

The menu was wonderful and, unable to chose, Mr B asked the waitress to bring me a selection of four small ones.

All I can say is "wow".   They didnt disappoint.   Firm to the touch, but bite them and they turn to gooey fabulousness.

I have to find a way to buy some and get them back to Hampshire.   Even if it means buying a new bag to carry them in.

Now there's an idea.   Which one of the people I follow can recommend a handbag shop in Paris?

So, Ms Forbes, thank you for your recommendation and for replying so we could find the Salon du The whilst in Paris.

I also follow another Paris expert @sj_parker  who is the wife of a TV presenster we met through another twitter nutter @gowercottage.     SJ and Martyn have been to Paris several times and were quick to recommend the Bateaux Parisien dinner cruise.

We did this last night and what an amazing experience it was.  550 people on a boat that cruises along the Sienne for three hours, at night with a four course dinner.   There are various tarrifs, dependent on position on the boat and SJ suggested, if we could afford to do so, we sat at the front in the most expensive seats.

It was wonderful.   The food was superb and seeing Paris at dusk and then lit up in the dark was unforgettable.   If we weren't already married I would probably have proposed there and then.   We saw all of the sights that any decent Paris trip would include and the cabaret singer sang "New York, New York" as we saw the Statue de Liberte for the first time.

If I can work out how to upload pics I will, we have some crackers.

Twitter I love you.   Without you this trip would not have been as special as it is.

Thursday 28 April 2011

Preparations for going away for the weekend -- male and female perspectives!!

First of all some background:
For Christmas my parents gave us an all expenses trip to France and an offer of looking after the children and the dog.   So as soon as we heard April 29th was to be a bank holiday we booked it for this weekend.

That was January.   Fast forward to today.   Mr B has been working hard this week and has been out of the house for twelve hours a day.   Evenings have been spent keeping his dad company whilst any football match televised has been watched, along with a bottle of red / white / rose /  Scotch (you get the picture).

We are leaving at 6.30pm.  Mr B will arrive at 6.19.  Talk to the dog until 6.21.   Talk to the cats until 6.23.   Talk to his dad until 6.25.   Grab three pairs of pants, his toothbrush and a clean t-shirt, sling them in a bag, pick up his passport and declare himself ready at 6.30pm.

In order to go away for the weekend, leaving three children, a dog, three cats and my father in law (who is leaving tomorrow) I have had to do the following today:

  1.  Do daily 30 mile round trip school run
  2. Stock up on milk / bread / butter
  3. Strip bed Father in Law has been in as my parents will need it.  
  4. Strip eldest daughter's bed and move Father in Law into her bedroom 
  5. Do nine.  Yes nine loads of washing
  6. Go to the tip
  7. Get nine.  Yes nine loads of washing dry.   As some of is the bedding I need to put back on beds
  8. Walk the dog
  9. Clean bathrooms
  10. Clean kitchen
  11. Vacuum entire house.   Re-vacuum bedroom when I managed to empty the damn thing all over the carpet instead of in the bin bag
  12. Write an instruction manual for my parent of how various things work / where to walk dog / wi-fi password / etc etc
  13. Remove Father in Law's hot cross bun from the toaster as he managed to wedge it in there. 
  14. Go to son's school and attend Year 10 Parent conference, grab his laundry etc and bring him home.  A 50 mile round trip
  15. Iron clothes for trip
  16. Print off all travel documents for Eurostar and Hotel
  17. Book dinner cruise for tomorrow night
  18. Pack my suitcase and all forgotten items of Mr B's.
  19. Make sure Father in Law stops for his lunch as he has been gardening like a demon all week
  20. Remake beds
So as you can see there is a slight imbalance in this allocation of duties.   Is this how it is for everybody or am I alone?

Up shot is that in booking the posh candlelit dinner on the river tomorrow night I appear to have booked THE most expensive TABLE on THE most expensive cruise on Mr B's credit card instead of mine because I was too busy to concentrate on what I was doing.

Silly me

Wednesday 27 April 2011

Playing tag with the neighbours

"ooh an email saying I have been tagged in a Facebook post by our lovely neighbours"

That was my first thought when I read the email notification this morning.   What could it be about at 9.30am? 

Could they have just found out they won the Lottery on Saturday and are asking to take half of it?

Maybe they are inviting us round to their house to drink Champagne and watch The Wedding on Friday.

Or perhaps they would like to come around and drink Pimms on our patio, having seen our lovely new Cath Kidston table cloth on the table.

Imagine my surprise when I read this (and I quote):


To, Mrs  Barrow & Mr  Barrow, Please could you ask Bob NOT to climb up our scaffolding at 6am & jump into our bedroom howling like a banshee scaring me witless! Kind Regards. Nicola xx
Now I should point at this stage that Bob is our cat, not one of our teenage children.

Mortified doesn't even come close to how I felt.   The house is going on the market immediately.

So this is it.....

I cannot believe I am actually doing this.  Blogging.   Ooh get me. 


The very idea that anybody would want to read what I have to say on a regular basis.   Well, I suppose 618 Twitter followers cannot be wrong.  Robots?  What you mean some of those might not be actual real people?  Right, so this is going to be read by just my kids and husband hoping I am not about to reveal closely guarded family secrets? Is that how it works?

In fact, how does this work?  I am using my best handwriting on this first page.  Like when we were in school with a new exercise book.   Page one was always neat and tidy and beautifully written.   Page 10, covered in Tipp-ex.  Pages 14 -- 17 in the middle had been ripped out and from 20 onwards normal service had been resumed and it was covered in scribble.


The same could be true of this blog.