Goodbye To A Hero

I don't use that title lightly. There are few people to which I would label as having a lasting effect on my own life but there is an agreement of millions of other people who were little children in 70s Britain so I feel it is only appropriate.

Oliver Postgate died.

And I realised what that meant to me personally, when I heard it on the radio this morning and was actually really upset at the thought. His voice is the one that soothed me throughout childhood; his tales of Noggin the Nog, The Clangers, Ivor The Engine and of course my own favourite Bagpuss. Because of him for years I thought that people in Wales rode in wonderful green trains that went tsshhtt-ko, tsshhtt-ko as they trundled along and there were singing dragons living in the mountain tops. The stories he told were, and there is no other word for it, gentle, proper stories. Not the frantic dash and splash of the short-attention span kids tv now. This was tv to calm you down, ready for dinner and then bed. Like a comforting blanket on a cold day. Even now I hear the opening chords of Bagpuss and it is complete contentment.

I introduced his programmes to the Hobbits a few years ago and they laughed at the Soup Dragon dancing on The Clangers which turned out to be their favourite. Noggin was, and is, perhaps a little too dark of a saga for some but perfect for that even if Nogbad was a bit scary.

Perhaps Mr. Postgate will forever be in that top left-hand corner of Wales.

Bagpuss, dear Bagpuss,

Old fat furry cat-puss,

Wake up, and look at this thing that I bring,

Wake up, be bright, be golden and light,

Bagpuss, oh hear what I sing.

The Future

The 11th Hour of the 11th Day of the 11th Month

Thank you.

Once In A Lifetime...

There should perhaps be a question mark after that title. During their few short years in this world there have been many defining moments that the Hobbits can look back on as being historical events they lived through.
It has been a while, I haven't blogged for a while, I haven't done much to be honest. I am coasting at this time but this must be like when JFK became president. And again, when Labour had the landslide victory in 1997. Only this won't turn out to be as soul-crushingly disappointing as what Blair became.
Bush has been a dark time, I still find it ridiculous that he was voted in...twice! Obama has a very steep hill to climb, he at least acknowledges that. Already he has done so much to repair the damage caused by Bush.
Watch the news reports, there is a tingling along the spine, goose-pimples.
The Hobbits live in such interesting times and things have just gotten a little better, it doesn't look so God-awful bleak.
(I do feel a little sorry for McCain though, I think he was aware at what kind of people were supporting him and he should really have gotten the post in 2000. I guess his daddy just couldn't buy him the presidency like Bush's did.)

Crazy With A Cherry On Top

Hazelnuttin sent me this story, strangely from a Welsh news website, although the story originates in California and she lives in Chicago. The world goes like that sometimes.

It has to be this sentence that really gets me though...

"The farmworkers told police the suspect woke them on Saturday morning by rubbing spices on one of them and smacking the other with an eight-inch sausage."

Okay that has to be one of the most bizarre paragraphs in a news story ever. Never mind the sausage, he rubbed spices on them? Who would think to do that? What spices did he use? Totally off the wall! (Bet they were relieved though when they discovered it was a sausage he had hit them with and not something else.)

Summer Is Officially Over

The Hobbits have been back at school a couple of weeks now and today, officially, summer is over.

The question is though...when did the summer actually happen. I feel I may have missed it at some point, it sneaked it, shone happy rays of sunshine for a few hours and then skipped away before I noticed.

Meeja says that this has been the dullest, wettest August since before we can remember.

I says; you are not kidding there mate.

The Power Of The Book

No, not "The" Book, I haven't found religion, or anything else for that matter.

I just find myself pondering the power over imagination that books can hold.

Case in point, and the reason I am pondering at near midnight on a Monday night...

The story we are reading at the moment is The BFG by Roald Dahl. While the Hobbits enjoyed the reading of it at the time the fact that both of them were downstairs at 11 p.m. very frightened because "there is a hand and three shadows that are going dut-dut-dut" I may decide to change the book rather than continue tomorrow night. I forgot what it was like to read a story and need to spend the night with the light on for fear of what might happen - and this from someone who spent her early teens reading all the truly *scary* Stephen King novels.

I am glad that the Hobbits have my love for reading, now they are able to sit and follow a story themselves it is fun to see them in intense concentration over their little library. Okay so most of what they read is scientific - space, the universe, Earth and the delightful subject of natural disasters. The stories they prefer to be read to them.

A job I am glad to perform, funny voices included.

I realise this post is of the "I got up and had breakfast" type that blogs are ridiculed for. Ach well, it is late and I could care less. The star lights are on, the Hobbits are sharing a bed - the furthest from the imagined "hand." Funny there is no side-effect to Doctor Who (and wasn't that ending disappointing - how much did the writer hate Donna to do that to her!), not even Blink which I admit to being a little startled by - or Primeval. Yet the idea of giants visiting certain countries because the "human beans" taste better there...

(Now see what a kind person I truly am. I could have put the Blink image on this page rather than as a link...and we would all have had the star-lights on tonight as a result.)

Cuteness Factor Reading 100%

Normally I am not sentimental, however on receiving our Guide Dog puppy, who will live with us for his first year before going off to what the Hobbits refer to as "dog school" to learn his job, I have to say...awwww.

Today I Will Be Mostly Feeling....

....meh.

Drum Fingers On Table

Things roll on.

Life becomes more expensive.

Laughter takes on a maniacal edge (is that a word - it is now.)

It does sometime feel like teetering on the edge of the precipice.

On the plus side though, I got a free book. Sent to me. For once I felt...important. Well...sort of...a little bit. Its a free book, gotten by sharing a story about an incident in Italy on our honeymoon *cough*, went the way of the marriage really.

Irony Let Me Show You It

***Time to pick up a stick and poke it through the railings at the freaks again. Big Brother started this week. I won't watch and it will be a better life for it. That sound you hear is Orwell crying somewhere.***

Meet the Dobbys

I'm presuming that is how you spell it - rhymes with a Scottish word for poo, so that is my best guess as how you would write it down. Six-year-olds are not very forthcoming with details of the mundane type.

Anyhoo, I had always thought that the language-inventing was a multiples thing until I had a bizarre conversation with one of Youngest Hobbit's classmates today.

Seems he has introduced my boys to his world where everyone is classed as Dobbys, but only if you are good and a friend of ETs, well a friend today at least. So Eldest Hobbit is in Dobby world a 9-year-old Dobby, but in Dobby language that is said as nine hundred and ninety-nine.

"Aha," says me acting like I have a clue, "So then if you were a 7-year-old Dobby you would say seven hundred and seventy-seven."

"No," says ET looking at me as though I am some kind of idiot just arrived today, "it would be four hundred and eighty-two."

Okay then.

His grandmother explained that this is something ET and his older brother had made up, including a Dobby language. The Hobbits went through a year of speech therapy to encourage them to communicate with other people, and to speak English; their idea of communication was to teach their friends their language when they first went to pre-school nursery.

I have a list of their words, for when they are older, see if they remember any of it. (one of my favourites was when they were about 18 months old they would call dogs "puppy gone big." They could say dog alright but no, it had to be puppy gone big.)

Now where did I put that nosgabby, oh right, it is over by the gabbygab.

Doodle-Do

Hazelnuttin, Our Girl In Chicago, sent me a link to this eBay auction.

Not only a psychologist's wet dream (think of the meaning behind all of those doodles!) but an interesting insight into some Famous People's mindsets and artistic talents. All while earning dosh for charity. A good idea and I would love to see what some Famous People here would come up with - do you go for an actual doodle or try and impress or perhaps a mixture of the two?

It being an American auction there are quite a few names I don't recognise but some I do and it is amusing to see who is earning the greater amount, is that to do with fanbase or wanting the artwork itself?

I'm also glad to see that I am not the only person whose doodles become pictures, although being a humble civilian my doodles are not worthy of auctioning.

Pinkie Promise

So I've broken the pinkie on my right hand. In an accident involving a lightswitch (yes, really) there was a meeting of bone against corner and a rather sweet little snappy sound.

I then spent a good while swearing every word I know while Hobbits stared wide-eyed, for once bad language was not pointed out. I think they could see this was not the time. As though they don't hate me enough I am now sure the neighbours will think me completely mad.

Now I know it is broken yet I haven't gone to hospital. Most people would scoff and say how could I, a mere mortal, know that it is broken for definite and why wouldn't I go to hospital. There are reasons, I do have them.

A while back I broke the ring finger of my left hand, so badly it had swollen before I could get my wedding ring off. In an act I now see as prophecy of some kind the hospital had to cut the ring off, which was more painful than the actual break itself and which left my finger with burn marks. Even worse was, as they were cutting the ring off they had to pull at the broken finger. I didn't pass out but it was a near thing.

So I know what a broken finger looks like, I know what it feels like and I know how the hospital treat it. For my ring finger I had tape, yes plain old strapping tape, holding broken finger to the finger next to it. No splint or anything. Rather than go to hospital this time, wait around for about 3 hours to hear what I already know and all for a piece of tape, I just went to the local chemist. One roll of tape later and it is sorted (not the whole roll at once you understand, I need the rest to change it once it gets manky.)

Still hurts now and again but the swelling is down and the colour is back to a sort of normal shade, it is interesting that although probably considered an insignificant digit, having the pinkie strapped defenseless against another finger proves its worth.

You've got to laugh.

Single Mum On Benefits

A title like that would have certain parts of the press foaming rabidly at the mouth in delighted rage. A title that sweeps a large section of society together so the rest of the people can form an orderly line to stick the boot in too.

I'm not going to provide a link to the odious article, 'tis what Google was made for. I would love to know who it is that they use as the guideline to judge the rest of us though because she must be really well off.

The majority of single mums, sorry I am going to say single parents as it isn't just the mums y'know, are not simply sitting back and racking in a fortune in benefits. Most of us have never been on benefits before and are using them in the way the are supposed to be used. As a step up, as a helping hand during bad times. Not as a career choice. Not to wickedly take money from tax-payers.

Certainly there is a minority, the kind of people who have parents and grandparents on benefits, who have children outwith a stable relationship and who have no intention of changing the status quo. They are indeed a minority, though the lazy journos who like to write sensationalist bullying stories wouldn't care to point that out.

Instead we are all thrown together. In one big heap. Signed off as useless.

Single parents, of the type I refer to - on benefits now but not forever - are dealing with a lot more than the meeja care to understand. We deal with the effects of broken relationships, we try and steer our children through the mess, we cope with feelings of failure at not making a marriage on long-term relationship work and yes, we feel guilt and humiliation at having to ask the state for help. If they think it is easy they should attempt to comfort a 6-year-old child, or two, crying at night or asking for a new daddy in a way that would break a heart of stone. And during all this we have to read pathetic headlines that the big bad single parents are so much better off than the nice working families.

Guess what, I know plenty of families on benefits. Plenty of two parent families where at least one parent could work. Funny how you never hear of them. Or of the large amount of 18-25 year olds who leave school and can't see the point of getting a job which I think is a scarier and more interesting prospect for a story. I suppose though, it is better to wait until one of that group pops out a baby and joins the already formed pariahs of society.

Easy targets. We have them.

Today I...

...surprised someone.

Someone who only knows me from the past few years. Therefore only knows the watered down, diluted version.

The phone rang during a conversation. Wrong number. I told friend that when I was younger I used to get fed up with wrong numbers, if the person was stupid enough to be unable to dial correctly then it wasn't my problem to deal with. I took take-out orders, taxi requests, told people that the person they were looking for didn't live there anymore.

I was evil. I was a teenager at the time though but that isn't an excuse and nor would I offer one. Tolerance levels were...actually they are pretty much what they are now.

Wicked TIBS, says friend with what I hope is admiration that I am not what everyone thinks I am.

I aspire to Nigella, I am in reality closer to Lucille Ball.

This Time Ten Years Ago

It was at this time, ten long years ago, that I blissfully ignored warnings from friends long since departed (from communication with me that is, not the world as a whole, they didn't die or anything...I digress.) In 24 days I would become a Mrs. still unaware that I was marrying on a lie manipulated from what I possibly wanted to hear.

How do you undo ten years worth of damage?

The divorce trundles on with amazing slowness. The sun shines and the Hobbits are getting used to that unusual glowing orb in the cloudless sky. I don't have much of a life but I am getting on with it.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I want to don a kilt, paint my face blue and run around the nearest glen screaming "freedom" at bemused tourists.

But I don't.

Because that would be stupid. And at the moment I have reached my quota for stupid, in fact I think I am also using someone elses.

(And bliss, someone thinks what I write is good. Not this, no, other stuff. Stuff that gets marked and I even got a smiley face on the last one, not this rambling nonsense. Is this how confidence is built? Inch by inch?)

Tomorrow the Hobbits return to school after the bank holiday and today's inservice day. I had inservice days when I was at school, I don't know what they are, not then and not now and perhaps one day I'll be interested enough to find out.

Cars

Price of fuel, price of tax, price of fixing the damn thing.



Meh.




I know how this feels...

Reality Used To Be A Friend Of Mine

While I put my fingers in my ears and shout la-la-la-la (well it seems to be working for the government) at the thought of having to put diesel in my car tomorrow I ponder the more frivoulous parts of life. Lord I have to, despite the fact that I always put the same amount in the car on either Monday or Tuesday and refuse to join in the jerry-can panic brigade, and get considerably less now and since this stupid Grangemouth nonsense kicked off it is about to get even worse if that could be possible and even though the site is within kicking distance of my house and at the moment I am annoyed enough to do some kicking and sometimes I wonder if Gordon Brown let this happen to cripple Scotland's economy because we are getting too big for our boots and want to walk alone and that we had the good sense to oust Labour from top job last year which they seem to find unforgivable and....wait, yes frivolous, think about frivolous...calm...calm....

Anyway, where was I, I have been proud of the stance I take on rot such as I Need A Musical Star And Free Publicity On BBC, Big Brother, Dancing On Ice/With Stars/Come Dancing With Bells On and X Factor.


Oh don't get me wrong, I enjoy such mind-fluff as America/Australia/Britain's Next Top Model and as for Project Runway/Catwalk, as someone who used to actually make and alter my own clothes it is pure manna. Even Biggest Loser, which I found quite awe-inspiring in a is-there-nothing-else-on-God-I-could-do-with-losing-a-few(hundred)-pounds way.


But there I am, on Saturday night, using the excuse that the Hobbits like watching Ant and Dec , glued to Britain's Got Talent (or not as the evidence sometimes proves.) Considering this is not my usual fare and is probably a kick back to being a teen in the 80s (saving grace sort of was my Goth like tendancies) when taste was not required, I am having great fun watching. Even crying at times. Heaven help us. Still the Hobbit show I get afterward is even better, especially the Simon Cowell impressions they do. Worth letting them stay up that late for really.


Anyway, like I said, must think of better things. As part of this self improvement idea of sending out positive vibes and getting them in return....hmmm, I'll let you know how that works out. It is very grim living in Britain at the moment.


I have Project Runway to watch later on, bless you Sky+. It is sad to get so excited over these things but I am old so leave me to it. I do Tim Gunn impressions to the Hobbits who have no idea who he is or what their mad mother is on about but in the manner of Tim Gunn I will endevour to keep my head above water even if it requires more money than I've got... Make It Work.

God Bless I Can Has Cheezburger, it fair cheers a weary soul up.

While I Was Away

Consider this a quickie catch up. While not being as disastrous as 2007 this year is trundling along on dangerous tracks. There, that was melodramatic enough.

Nothing much has happened. What a let down but nothing happening is better than all the wrong things happening.

I had quite a fight with Tiscali, who only relented to give me back my line after a threat from both Trading Standards and the ISPA. Ridiculous really.

Then, not too long ago I get a very curious early evening visit from Doofus (as he is now known, polite yet gets my point across without being a complete see-saw bitch about it.) He then proceeds to offload all his problems on me, as though I would be sympathetic. There is a whole other blog for this crap though.

Most importantly - the Hobbits.

Poor Youngest Hobbit (pictured in all his pity) ended up in hospital after an incident at school (when asked he vehemently denied falling over, telling everyone who will listen that "Christopher pushed me!" They were playing tig, it happens.) The resulting gash on his forehead, which rather disgustingly was more like a hole, skull glistening with blood visible - yes it was that bad - was "glued" together. A fact that his classmates heard with awe, quickly to be reassured that it was special super-duper hospital glue and not the stuff they use to make models.

Of course not to be outdone during the Easter holidays, Eldest Hobbit trips over his own large feet (well they *are* called Hobbits after all) in the IKEA playarea and off to hospital we go again. This time the gash is beside his eye, same side as his brother's scar but just as nasty looking and he gets. What is it with kid's accidents that the resulting gashes are so horrendous looking?

Apart from giving me some more grey hairs and entertaining hospital staff both of them seem to have come out of the recent emotional events without too much residue. I don't know what lies beneath though, I know Eldest Hobbit is the sensitive one but that doesn't mean that deep down Youngest Hobbit keeps things hidden. I just need to be vigilant and keep reassuring them that as a family we three are going strong.

Aaah

Its good to be back in the land of the connected.

T'internet

Okay, so this is the problem and for once I am finding it hard to come up with a solution.

Here I am at the library, where I usually do my studying. I don't usually go on the computers but since I have been cut off at home I have no choice.

Did you not pay your bill silly girl? I hear you ask. Well, actually I did but you see as the account is in buggerlug's name the internet provider will not discuss it with me. Not at all.

Whereas I never had much issue with getting everything else changed over, phone, utilities etc. This is where I have come a cropper good an' proper one too! (Sorry was watching Lark Rise to Candleford last night, heavy influence on tired brain.)

The internet provider, name and shame - TISCALI. Apparently as He is on the account, He has to phone, cancel the account and then I have to wait (and this is the biscuit right here) 45 days until I can get online. As they have left a marker on my account I don't seem to have an option but while I try and think what to do next I have to catch up on all the things I do online here, at the library.

This is the sound of my head hitting against a brick wall.

Revolutions

No, not a typo.

The New Year doesn't really start for me until the Hobbits return to school on Monday. At the moment we are still bobbing along on a post-Christmas fug. The house is a tip, I have more recycling than space and have squashed the bin down as far as it will go (two weeks without a pick up because no one realised they would turn up on Saturday at 6am!)

Last year is over and I decided, in the wee small hours that are mine now I no longer sleep properly, that this year has to improve. Financially this year will be guff for a lot of people, so a problem shared (only I bet they weren't stupid enough to trust my ex with their household finances! Hey, you live and learn.)

This year I prioritise what is important, I will not rush into things because I feel it is expected of me or that others might think less of me. The opinion of others has never meant less to me than it does right now. I will take better care of myself, if the Hobbits are happy I am too but I really need to get healthier mentally and physically.

It is important for me to succeed at my OU courses to do the one thing I was told I would never achieve because it presumably wasn't for people like me. I've decided also that I want a job which is more suitable and not so liable to change in hours (childcare will see to that.) I also won't jump at the first opportunity but at the right opportunity because financially work will leave me worse off. It is for the self-esteem I will be doing it.

All these things I wish to do this year. So not so much resolutions, I don't make them anyway, but ideas I want to live by.

Running With The Buffalo

As the minutes tick by I ignore my sad and pathetic lack of Hogmanay festivities and ponder this...don't mess with the buffalo, especially if they have family.

Four Hours Fifteen Minutes Left

Here is to 2008 and may it bring better times.

To end this sorry excuse of a year we celebrated the Hobbits turning 6 on Saturday. Good times: I spent the previous night filling their beds with balloons saying "6 Today!" while they slept ("And I didn't even wake up, when did you do that mummy?" They ask incredulously the next morning.) I put silver Happy Birthday banners in the kitchen as ours was to be a morning celebration. (Note, DO NOT buy Doctor Who Tardis birthday cakes - it tastes rank and you just have to end up making one of your own.)

Then a trip to Dynamic Earth followed by the cinema with their father and his gf. See, I called his bluff, reminded him that despite his ego it wasn't a day for his hysteria and pathetic points-scoring but for the Hobbits. I have realised that he has a script he has to attend to before becoming reasonable and accepting ideas. My idea of him taking the boys on Saturday evening had to go through the whole set-up before he got to the point where he came to his senses.

Regardless the Hobbits had a wonderful time which is what it is about. Job done.

I don't know what this next year will bring. I know that I am going to do what I want and not what others expect of me. My priorities are the Hobbits, my depleted family and building us up to a stronger point. To do that I know I will upset others but sod it, I've spent so long trying to please everyone and do what they want and look where it got me.

This year is about us.

Lesson Learned

As moaned about in t'other blog. There are lessons to be learned, and I have definitely taken heed of this one.

Time to step back and slow down the pace. I cannot do everything.

Yum

Starting a new tradition. Earlier this month I bought a special cake mould, didn't quite get the sponge mix right, followed a recipe I already had instead of doing the one that came with the mould. Nevermind as the Hobbits had a great time decorating and then demolishing.

Did I Mention?

To say hello to Jack and Rory, our two new fish. I've been trying to get a decent photo of them since getting them and as seen here, I'm still trying! However they are very interested in the decorations.

It Was A Merry Christmas

Not my house and not my cat, or the tree would be listing badly.

For laughs.

Twas The Day Before Christmas

If I could bottle the energy of excitement emanating from the Hobbits I could power a town for a year, thus making us rich and solving our problems in one, haha!

The presents are wrapped, except for the important ones but we all know Santa's elves wrap them don't we. Ahem.

He is still causing a fuss but never mind, it is of little consequence to the day itself as I made sure I had everything on their list so whatever he brings, if he brings anything at all, will be additional rather than something that would be missed.

It has been a difficult year to climb over, nearly at the top and soon we will find out if there is either another mountain to climb on the other side or something much more pleasant. I know what my Santa wish is for.

For anyone who reads this, if anyone does at all, I wish you a very Merry Christmas and all that it brings.

Gods Way Of Eking Out The Stupid

See here for example.

36

Lets try on 36 and hope it is a better fit than 35 was because, seriously, that was not a vintage year.

Yesterday was my birthday, if you live anywhere near us you would probably know that as the Hobbits delighted in telling anyone and everyone that it was my birthday - and mummy is 36 dontcha-knoo!

At least it is kinder than at the weekend when, on the packed full bus heading to Edinburgh youngest Hobbit asked if I was going to be 51. Where he got that from I don't know but I did see a few discreet and not so discreet glances from the other passengers.

I hear the neighbours (who incidentally haven't spoken to me since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named left) have bought a kareoke machine for Christmas. It is going to be very much the case of guess what it is they are singing.

Squish

Despite an attempt to foil the spirit of Christmas by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (see other blog for lowdown, very low down) I decided to change plans and took the Hobbits into Edinburgh today rather than next weekend.

Good idea, bad idea? Well it isn't going to get any less busy for sure. I've always had a trip to the German Market as a birthday treat but the Hobbits' last swimming lesson is on that evening and I don't want them to miss that. So off we went.

I do like the atmosphere but certain people seem to lack the generosity and kindness of spirit that should go with Christmastime (STOP LAUGHING I'M SERIOUS!)

Anyhoo eldest Hobbit was most unimpressed at the amount of shoving he was experiencing. Only two shots on the Helter Skelter would ease the upset.

It was only after I got home that I realised youngest Hobbit must have brushed against a display in the WHSmith we were in and spent the day with a bright red and yellow "2 for £4" sticker on his bottom. Well at least I got the joke.

It Snowed

For about an hour.

Then it rained.

Now we have slush.

The cat is not amused.

I Said What?

The Foot-In-Mouth award goes to me this month (and very possibly this year.)



Whilst in pet shop to have a nosey at the cute bunnies and various furry and finned things I noticed the well-stocked shelves full of wild bird food. So did the Hobbits. After pointing out this and that for the well-to-do feathered visitor to our sparse garden I said, a little too loudly now I realise:



"Its okay though because Robin loves his fat balls."



Now to save a splutter over a keyboard if anyone is reading this I have to refer to these which I have hanging on our one lonely tree. Our yearly visiting robin (keep quiet at the back about robin lifespans thank you) feels we are truly spoiling him. And it is fun to watch the starlings try and get at them.



So I know what I meant, only the stares I got from the surrounding shoppers, plus the snigger from the staff-body who was nearby may have suggested I word it better next time. Sometimes what I say sounds so much better when it is running through the malfunctioning censor department in my brain.

The Cat Has Ideas

While we believe he is simply spending those 18 hours a day cuddled up on the sofa fast asleep, Cat is really scheming for world domination, or how to get those pouches open without needing me in the house at the time - whichever comes first.

He has never forgiven me for giving him the same name as an airhead shhlebrity socialite - hey, *she* wasn't famous 7 years ago matey!

Bounce

Eldest Hobbit fell down the stairs in a most spectacular fashion the other day.

There is a moment, when you realise the noise you are hearing is not a normal thumping of heavy size 12 feet but a rather different sound. Heart in mouth I literally leaped to the bottom of the stairs in time to see him end his cartwheel in a heap at my feet. Nothing was broken, the only memento he has are two bruises, one on his hip another on his knee.

I am ashamed to say he is not the first to take the express route. When they were 18 months old Youngest Hobbit escaped from the stair-gate (we binned the damn thing after it became apparent the adults in the house were the only ones to find it troublesome to open.) The next thing, that sound of child hitting steps, filled me with horror. I rushed him to hospital, sure I would be told that I had broken my own child and what an awful parent I was!

"Don't worry about it," the doctor said nonchalantly, "babies bounce."

I won't mention the fact that Eldest Hobbit's first visit to hospital happened after he dug his tiny 4-month-old feet into his changing table mat, gave an almighty push and shot off the end of it. Their hapless father was in charge that day, it very nearly ended him. Say no more.

Reasons To Be Thankful?

I'm not American, I've been there, lived there and partook (its a word if I say it is) in Thanksgiving when there. I also pondered if the Native Americans feel particularly cheery on this day but that is another matter.

So here I am, wondering what to be thankful for whilst glad I am not having to cook a grand feast so soon before Christmas (oh yes it all falls to me now.)

I am thankful for my freedom. (Not in an overly patriotic way but in a hey-I've-got-the-bed-to-myself way.)

I am thankful my boys are healthy and seem to be coming through these dark days relatively unscathed.

I am thankful...okay this is hard.

This week the fuel prices hit an eye-watering level. I would use public transport if I could, but I can't, so I get to pay these over-inflated prices - yipee.

The personal details of 25 million peeps, handily available on disc-size, has gotten lost. Fingers crossed that the criminal gangs that have been allowed to flourish unchallenged don't get their hands on it, eh? Perhaps the details of yours truly will get into the wrong hands, they'll have a nose around my bank account, think "bloody hell" and transfer some money in. Double fingers-crossed that in 10-15 years time neither Hobbit finds their identity stolen in time to ruin their clean and shiny credit rating.

Circumstances are still running on stress-level high. You think you know someone and then...

Our government, who hasn't enough money to offer cancer sufferers all the medicine they need has enough to bail out some bank. Do you think I could get them to "loan" me money? I'll promise to pay it all back when Northern Rock pay theirs, i.e. when hell freezes over and the camels come skating home.

Reasons to be thankful. The clouds are overhead and they don't look good. I've always liked Hello Kitty, perhaps if I concentrate on this picture, look into the eyes, not around the eyes, then things will seem cheerier.

Love Of Books

It would seem that both Hobbits have inherited my love of books. Something I will encourage with much enthusiasm.

At yesterdays birthday party eldest Hobbit had, in his goodie bag, a little book. He was delighted and so was I when I realised it was an updated version of books I had read when I was little too. The Littlenose series, with new artwork, is bound to be a favourite considering the Hobbits loved Ice Age (both films) with a particular fondness for the woolly mammoth!

Ex used to sneer at my love of books, the piles of books that cover every shelf, I used to point out that the reason they were called book shelves was an indication for what they were to be used for. I have books that belonged to my (maternal) Grandfather, his atlas he used at school in 1911. I have books given to me after my Uncle C died of cancer nearly 15 years ago, my Aunt knew they would get no better home and he had some classic books, lots of Nevil Shute. Books have given me solace when nothing else would; they offer a way of leaving this reality and entering another; involving yourself in the characters, the situations if only for a half hour at a time.

When I was ill in hospital having the Hobbits I read all the Harry Potter books that had been released until that point - 4 fyi! Not only that I read them to the Hobbits to the bemusement of everyone around me. They might not have know what I was saying, they might have been more concerned with the newborn priorities of food, sleep and poo, but I read to them anyway.

Nearly every night I have read to them, sometimes library books and sometimes from their own impressive bookshelves (charity shops are great places if you haven't a lot of money but want to get good childrens books plus I've added all my own books from childhood - the ones my mother didn't give away, the horror!) So from tonight Littlenose will be devoured...and I look forward to it!

Popularity

This is a photograph of a rather lovely wolf. It has nothing to do with the topic of this post at all.

Eldest Hobbit was at a classmate's birthday party this afternoon. He was at her birthday party last year too so this is a continuing friendship. A really nice girl too, the kind he can bring home to meet me in another 15 years or so and I'll be happy for him. He tells me, on the way there, that she likes magic and High School Musical. Though possibly not at the same time.

It was one of my biggest fears when the Hobbits began their school life: would they be popular? Oh, I wasn't wanted the type of children where they were the be all and end all and arrogant with it; I just wanted them to have friends and be happy. I was always the outsider at school (yeah, I know here is the worlds smallest violin, playing just for me. Poor old me.) I had friends but none of them close and I never kept in touch with anyone nor had anyone who kept in touch with me for that matter, I regret that now. The social exclusion of the only child. I didn't want it for my boys. Lucky I had them two at a time then.

Youngest Hobbit I worry about more, while eldest Hobbit seems to have found his niche - to be pampered by the girls in his class and well liked by the boys - youngest Hobbit is more like me. Content in his own company. Then I hear him talk of playing with the other children, such as The Kissy Girl, it should ease my concerns but I know he has no one he is particularly close to. I am probably reading too much into this, they are only just coming up to 6 years old.

I just don't want them ever to turn out like me.

Friends

Friends come in the most unexpected guises.

That wasn't too saccharine was it? I was trying to be genuine. I thought the way the rhino looked at the raven was so fascinating I drove the Hobbits mad by watching them interact for ages. At least 5 minutes, that is an age in Hobbit-time.

Will We Remember Them?

Another year, another Remembrance Day and I wonder how long before the relevance is questioned and the commitment of two whole minutes of silent contemplation in our time precious day is considered too much?

These are selfish times we are living in, perhaps WWII still has impact on today's society, particularly considering the lines between good and bad were much more clearly drawn than in certain recent conflicts. (Yet our soldiers continue to go wherever duty requires regardless.) There are films made, heroes commemorated and many books written on the subject of what went on during 1939-1945.

Those who remember WWI first hand are fading: it is all second-hand, sometimes third-hand memories of family members sacrificed or lucky escapes. Certainly there are the books and the photographs but not in the same way as WWII is chronicled.

Since learning the words of Dulce et Decorum Est in high school, there was a realisation of the monumental waste of human life, of future generations of possible geniuses wiped out for reasons I have yet to understand. That is the point, in WWII the motives were more clear cut, we knew what they were fighting for and why. But WWI? Oh I know the details but the link between the catalyst and the huge loss of young men huddled in filthy, dank terrifying trenches has always been sketchy. More to do with generals trying to prove themselves and resulting in needless sacrifices of the soldiers than any strategic plans - to win what exactly?

Last year we visited Ieper while in Belgium, took the Hobbits to the Menin Gate where list upon list of the names of men never found...that is just the men whose bodies disappeared in the mud forever, not the ones they did find and who lie buried beneath crisp white crosses, inspired a dreaded awe. The brilliant museum In Flanders Fields brought home the experiences of those young men, on both sides, in such a way I felt that perhaps WWI is the war we should pay tribute to more on this day.

Lifes cut short, families left to grieve and for what? The lesson wasn't learned as they did it all again 20 years later. And that is why Remembrance Day has to continue...


"...I died in Hell
(they called it Passchendaele)..."
- Siegfried Sassoon

Indoor Rain

There I am, relaxing while watching Friends With Money and thinking "if only!" Ha.

And I hear a noise.

And it is not a normal noise but the sound of water pitter patting down the stairs.

Oh holy god but there must be a burst pipe somewhere, will this ever end.

Yes, a burst pipe, but not of the household plumbing. Poor eldest hobbit, having turned right instead of left, missed the toilet by a whole room and peed down the stair, that's right - peed down the stairs - narrowly missing his school shoes which, being the slattern I am, are stacked in pairs up the steps. Ease of use you see.

"Oh mummy," says he finally waking up properly, "wheres the toilet?!"

You see son, I have the house on wheels and while you are asleep I move it about, just to confuse the sleepy child needing the toilet. He is now cleaned up, fresh jammies on and back to bed fast asleep again. At least he didn't pee the bed.

It fair lightened up the dark mood that the you-know-what had put me in.

Bye Bye Exhaust

I had a look under the car today.

I wish I hadn't.

The exhaust pipe, where it is attached to the fat bit (right so I don't know what that part is called, sue me) well...it isn't attached to it anymore.

Ah feck.

It is almost like I am being tested to see how much crap I can deal with. Well, the bank is closed, I have nothing left and I am shamefaced I've had to go cap in hand to borrow from my parents. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Trying to think of a link to choosing this photo:

More money down the Swanee.

I make no apologies for cringe worthy jokes.

I Didn't Forget...

Not to mention the fact I failed to write a post on Hallowe'en, with the Hobbits looking so fine in their pumpkin outfits. We are working our way through the haul of teeth-rotters, a little each day.

Last night, yes, the 5th November.

Time for the next-door neighbours to re-enact the Battle of the Somme again. It wasn't so bad this year, it only went on for 2 hours as opposed to the 3 hour endurance test of last year. This will be the only time I am glad Alex the dog is not with us anymore, it was torture for him last year, stayed in his crate shivering, wouldn't come to another room with me so I spent the time in the kitchen with him. Out of badness over what they were doing to my dog I kept the kitchen lights on. Well.....

According to the Hobbits version of history Guy Fawkes actually managed to make "the castle explode and he killed the King." Almost babies, almost! I tried to explain what really happened, short of going over the whole death thing, didn't really work out! How gory do you go with dealing history to children?

Is This A Castle I See Before Me?

I shall not concentrate on the fact that the car is making a very funny noise today that may just be the excessive cold and may just be the exhaust giving up, through exhaustion. See, the first signs of madness are found in the hysterical laugh. I'm getting there, slowly but surely.

So if anyone reads this, and one day finds themselves in Edinburgh, at a loss what to do, the Museum of Scotland is free. As it is attached to the Royal Museum, also free, you could kill two birds with one stone. They have stuffed birds as well, might not after the refurbishment so get there quick if that is your thing.

Take the lift (elevator if you are American) to the 5th floor and before having a nose around the very interesting historical nick-knacks go up the swirly stairs to the very top of the museum for a panoramic view of Edinburgh. You can then see this, and take a photo if you wish, or not.

(P.S. no I don't know if that is how you spell nick-knacks, pedants are more than welcome to illustrate the lack of decent education afford at my schools - hey it was the 80s the teachers were out on strike! - and correct me, please.)

G'day

Back to what we did in the October holidays. Well, what is the point of going somewhere and not reminiscing!

The thing about Koalas is that there is an indescribable urge to rip them off their perch and give them great big cuddles. Naturally one doesn't act on such urges but there is the necessity to speak in a babyish, silly voice and say "Oooh wook at da wittle bubby!" Hence the rather surprised look on this little chaps face.

Sense will prevail, perhaps it was the smell of the eucalyptus leaves.

"I'm so cuddly, I like you!"

Hmmm

October gave me one last kick in the ribs when I backed out of our drive only to end up in the side of a neighbour's car as she hurtled past. Only the car didn't belong to her, it belongs to her friend, a mobility car (don't get me started on that subejct!) as well, and apparently she doesn't have a licence. And she kept insisting on giving her friend's name rather than her own (6 years as neighbours and I don't know her name says it all really.) Through other neighbours it is passed on the info about her non-existant licence and well-known reckless driving. Which I guess makes sense if she never sat a licence!

First accident I have ever had and it grinds at me that I have to be made liable because I was reversing. Never mind the fact that there was no way she could have missed seeing me move out of the drive, never mind that she sped past in an effort to get by me despite the fact I was fully out of the drive and...ah what the hell, it doesn't matter. It happened and that is that and at a time when I have been squeezed financially to the point of extinction so the excess is an unwelcome burden.

One thing after another, after another, after another.

So I duly tell my insurance company that I do not have the driver's name but only that of the car owner, I give them all the information I have and they don't seem really bothered. I guess I was wrong in thinking you weren't supposed to drive without insurance or licence.

Tyger Tyger

At Edinburgh Zoo.

During a cheerier week.

Here kittie.

Family History

Eldest Hobbit is studying "When my Gran was a girl..." or "olden days" as he calls it. I scanned a few photos for him to take in, glad that they will have a full history for at least one side of their family. How important knowing your own family tree is I am not sure. Perhaps to have anecdotes to colour in the characters of people you will never know but who you are still attached to through relations. To know what was there before you, where your family came from.

I never knew my maternal grandfather. Yet despite his death when I was only a few months old I look at his kind face in these old photographs and I do feel as though I know him. I've pieced together who he was from stories and memories from other family members, the things he went through during the war and after, his brothers who nearly all died in one battle during the war that went before (which luckily both my grandfathers were only just too young to be sent into but both of them had brothers who went - miraculously all survived although not without scars, one example; my father's uncle returned without sight or hearing and with severe lung problems.)

In fact the Hobbits' own grandfather was in the RAF during WW2 as a teenager seeing things that no teen should see. They will one day be able to place that history with him, they will be able to see him as a young man on a cool motorbike (a motorbike that once nearly wiped out this linage they are part of) and know the background that made him into the Grandpa they love.

I have the photographs, I will pass them on. And the stories will go on to another generation.

When I Grow Up I Want To Be...Part 2 With Photos

A Day At The Museum

Forging ahead in my attempt to keep the Hobbits happy with as normal a life as possible under these circumstances I took them on a trip to the Royal Museum in Edinburgh.

A long time favourite there is enough in there, and the attached Museum of Scotland, to keep them busy for hours. Even if they are not yet tall enough for their feet to reach the peddles so they can have a go on the racing car. (Eldest Hobbit: But Mummy *brother* can do the peddles and I'll steer!)

And a good day was had by all without a shadow cast over us by evil-X as he will from now on be known. (Him to me: Technically we are still married. Me to him: Yes, technically, that is all.)

Also planned for this week, the October holidays, are a trip to the zoo (because Mummy wants to see the Koalas dammit!) and a trip to Glasgow to satisfy the Hobbits' desire to go on the underground aka the Clockwork Orange. Normal life is resuming no matter what evil-X tries.

The Sweetest Sting

I knew I wasn't going to get through this week without hurting myself. The first sign was a couple of days ago when for the first time in my life I managed to set fire to the frying pan, I was cooking some mushrooms, not flambe unfortunately. Was it luck or stupidity that the cooker is near enough the back door for me to pick up the flaming pan and throw it unceremoniously into the garden. Bet that frightened the local birds who are more used to offerings of crumbs than that. I am well aware of what you are supposed to do in those situations however knowledge is nothing when faced with flames, thinking was not an option!

After that little fiasco, which has left me without a frying pan, not such a bad thing after all, I went through a succession of little accidents. None of which caused much more than an annoyance at my resemblance to Norman Wisdom at times. Elegant I ain't.

Until today. When I decided to enjoy the sunshine of an October day with a trip to the local country park, Muiravonside. Now at this park, lining the river Avon (you would never have guessed that, hmm?) is what the Hobbits call the "Troll Bridge." A little wooden bridge leading over a stream that feeds into the larger river. After visiting the farm, Hobbits delighting in the fact that every time we go the huge Tamworth pigs are always sleeping and snoring, we took a walk down to the Troll Bridge.

Once safely across, no trolls having shown their faces, we decided to continue the walk so the Hobbits could try out their wellies in the river. Only it turns out that a little boy had stood on a wasps nests. Picture three adults, four children aged between 3ish and 9ish and one small Spaniel dog running and flapping as the wasps enjoyed a stinging frenzy. Poor youngest Hobbit came off worse of our family, although it was more the thought that was terrifying him, wasps clung to his clothes. Eldest Hobbit wasn't stung once. Something he proceeded to tell everyone he met on the rest of the walk and at the play park we eventually ended up in.

While picking them off youngest Hobbits clothes I felt a pain on my calf, looked down and sure enough one of the little f***ers was stinging away.

Of the other family only the little boy (the one who was about 3ish) wasn't stung, and he was the one who had started it off in the first place! He looked fairly bemused at his parents hopping around picking wasps off his elder brother and sister and their dog who seemed to be the wasps' favourite.

The rest of the day went well though. But my leg is agony, little bugger packed a decent sting.

On The Upside Though

I got my OU coursework.

I went to the tutorial at Napier University on Saturday (having to leave the Hobbits in daddy and the girlfriends care again but that is another story.)

I have no doubt that I am in no way as good as any of the others who attended but I will try my best. Really made a prize fool of myself by not reading out what I had written because I was so embarrassed. The others must have wondered why I bothered going if I wasn't going to enter into the spirit of things wholeheartedly. But they are a nice group of people so said nothing.

So the week wasn't a complete disaster.

There is a postal strike, seems to be going on forever and I am sure the only people to suffer will be those of us waiting for important documents. Wait, wasn't I in this exact same position in July? Ah, good old posties.

This week will be for recovering and for sending the scribblings I was to ashamed to read out in class to the tutor under the proviso of a dummy eTMA. See what he thinks of them.

(Annoyingly I made another grand prat of myself by saying I did not like reading "Chic-lit." I only said that to generalise about what I wasn't too keen on but had a couple of the other women in the group act like I said the books should be burned. One stated she liked Marian Keyes, who I don't consider chic-lit. I must remember that next time I am faced with that I should grow a backbone and explain that I mean the London-set, professional female character who aims for nothing higher than shoes and a love affair kind. And I should state why I don't like them. But I hate speaking out. The whole world will one day figure me out as an idiot.)

History Repeating Itself

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday.

Now lets see, how did his grand job go? Well poor youngest hobbit was sick again, all over dear daddy's car and no I did not pay him to do so. Rather than phone me, at which point I would have turned back because regardless for my wish to change the situation my sons come first, he tries to send the poor lad into school covered in sick!

Luckily the deputy head persuaded him to take youngest hobbit with him. But of course, dear daddy counts on things going exactly to plan. Not for him the chaos of children or ever changing plans. He needs to go to work and nothing will stop him. So he takes youngest hobbit over to the new-girlfriend-who-wasn't-but-is in their house. Now it isn't so much that he has a girlfriend I am bothered about, or that they moved in together so quickly (plus the whole story of her living with her boyfriend who he worked with which turns out to be half truth.) It is the fact I know nothing about her. Yet he leaves youngest hobbit in her care.

And she takes him to the park and subsequently he gets ill again so she then carries him back home throwing her back out in the process. (Yet she is well enough to once again tag along on Saturday when he has the boys for a few hours.) Oh this just gets better.

He is angry at me because youngest Hobbit got sick. I am angry at him that the one time since they were born that I ask him to do something he f*cks it up so grandly that he feels the need to blame me - as usual. He is also angry that his new girlfriend is injured, saying I should buy her a box of chocolates for her troubles. Well sometimes it is a wonder that he doesn't get a smack in the face for his comments yet I am so used to it. They are a real eye-opener for me now that I can view them from outside the marriage.

The more important thing is, youngest Hobbit remained off school for the rest of the week, diagnosed by the doctor as having gastroenteritis, eldest Hobbit got off much lighter but was off at the end of the week. Both are fine and back at school today. And I got the job. And I don't really want it so now I feel guilty.

A life less complicated please.

Tuesday

Tuesday, the day the ex has to prove himself by taking over a little of the childcare I have done on my own, completely on my own since he left. The day I have to prove myself to a panel of esteemed professionals (DON'T snigger) that I am worth considering. The day where I take a step back into the world of working and all that it entails.

I should be glad the triple score of bad luck is over, right? I can't help that I am turning into Private Frazer.

So This Thing About Bad Luck

It comes in threes, right?

As this morning started with a flat tyre can we say that the hatrick has been achieved and get on with it?

Please.

Because I am bone weary, truly worn out, I have found where the end of my tether is.

And one more thing going tits up will have me crawling under my duvet and staying put. Hibernation is highly under-rated. This from someone who enjoys the snap of cold in the morning and the crispness in the air, the icing of frost on the ground and foliage.

Big sigh. Here comes the weekend.

Still don't have my OU stuff although they seem to have sorted out the registration forms and I know when my materials will be posted for my course beginning in February. Not much good for the one starting, oh let me see, yes that would be TODAY.

Sometimes I have a hard time believing that it isn't me. That this happens to everyone. But it doesn't does it? I am sliding into the theme of my other blog here so I better change tact.

If I think good thoughts then good things will happen. Give me a bloody break, fate or destiny or whatever dishes this out.

Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life

Even when the days seem like an endless struggle there is always something to make one smile.

Keep saying that until I believe it...

OU Oh No For Definite This Time

So in a few days time my next OU course begins.

I haven't had any coursework, I haven't had any acknowledgement of starting the course although it shows on my student homepage. I have emailed the OU in Edinburgh and it sounds as though they are having major problems at the moment.

I handed in the forms for this course and my next course (due to start in February) several weeks ago. Both showed on my homepage with the later course stating that I hadn't sent in my registration. An email from the OU today stated that it would be sorted out.

Now the later course has disappeared from my homepage.

Oh hell.

Another email duly sent. This doesn't look good for the start of my new course if I am going to have no time to prepare. I really didn't need this just now.

The Kissy Girl

Youngest Hobbit is having the time of his life in his new school year. Which is a relief considering events of recent months.

Every day, on our way home, we discuss what they did at school this year. Normally I get stories of playtime and lunchtime and occasionally tales of playing in class (I am positive they are being taught, they can read and write quite well for their age!) The other day youngest Hobbit entertained his brother and I with his encounter with The Kissy Girl.

Youngest Hobbit -"E**** is The Kissy Girl!"
Me -"Really, which E**** and why is she The Kissy Girl?"
(There are 4 girls with this name in the Hobbits classes alone, this E**** is pointed out the next day, a very pretty girl, blonde curls.)
Youngest Hobbit - "She was catching us and giving us kisses. She caught M***** all the time!"
Me - "Right, so did she catch you?"
Youngest Hobbit, proudly - "No I ran fast."

He will learn, as M***** obviously has, not to run too fast from the pretty girls. And then today the end of The Kissy Girl was announced.

"Mrs B**** said E**** wasn't to kiss us anymore because it was annoying."

Ah well.

A Word To Employers

Out of politeness wouldn't it be nice to acknowledge all applicants for vacancies? Even just an eency weency email fired off to let the person know they had been unsuccessful?

Would it be too much?

Truth

You see, once you pull off a sticky plaster it only hurts for a while. Then you get over it.

So West Lothian has this weird set up where there is no school on Friday afternoons. Certainly makes looking for a job interesting anyway. This means, of course, that after a quick morning the rest of the day is ours.

And with recent events in mind I decided that perhaps making an event of Friday afternoons would be a good idea. Sometimes in the past when the sun is shining okay, if it isn't raining...heavily...we have gone for lunch and then a walk along the harbour at South Queensferry watching the little sightseeing ferries and yachts sailing on the forth. Situated between the two bridges it is a lovely little town, or at least that part is, I have heard certain areas are a bit rough but lets not ruin the fantasy!

I should make a list of local places to visit, there are plenty we can get into free with our Historic Scotland pass. Including Blackness Castle where this photo was taken. The boys love the castle which is very unusual in that despite the name it was actually a prison amongst other things. Again Blackness is a lovely little village but I haven't heard if there are any "rough" areas there! I don't think there are enough houses to have a rough area.

Do people who live near the sea or large areas of water realise how lucky they are?

When I Grow Up I Want To Be...

This is not going to be a post all about how we have grown and learned through this peculiar summer, although we have. Instead I have been wondering, as I am oft to do, about the future, what the future holds and for myself in particular, what I thought the future would hold.

And we were watching Child Of Our Time, which featured a small part on what the children (now 7) wanted to be when they grew up. Naturally I turned to my own two, or rather shuffled around as we were all sprawled across the sofa, lazy as we are. I posed the question, one which has always, up until now, resulted in the same answers.

Eldest Hobbit - Pilot
Youngest Hobbit - Spaceman

Now whether or not they were influenced by watching the programme full of older children (well nearly two years older anyway) doing interesting things I don't know but this time we had a variation on the theme. Eldest Hobbit has not changed his plans, he will he states "fly all the planes in the world." Which should take a while, but now he has added to that. He now also would like to be "boss of the school like Mr. Simpson." So pilot and Headteacher of a primary school, well, he won't be bored for sure.

Youngest Hobbit however gave a great deal of thought, then decided he would like to "fix things." What kind of things I asked. "Important things," he said mysteriously without venturing further explanation. As you wish.

I never wanted to be one of those mothers who were overly ambitious for their children. I just want them to do what they are happy in doing and will encourage them and support them the best I can. For I know that without encouragement, without a belief that they will accomplish things they will not reach their full potential and spend the rest of their lives regreting decisions made because no one expected them to do anything of any great worth.

I know of what I speak. I know what it is like to have people expect you to fail. And with that lack of support you succeed their low expections of you. It is such a waste of life.

The End Of Summer

And so the countdown to return to school begins (next Tuesday - hooray!) The most difficult summer ever is soon going to be officially over and we have come through it somewhat intact. Of course life is never that easy or straightforward but yet there it is, we have survived.

Having spent the time rushing from here to there with the Hobbits in tow, trying to entertain them while getting all the necessary things done I can say I now need a holiday. But what I need more is work, and it will happen. I had never expected that this would be my position at the grand old age of 35 1/2 but there you go, you never can tell.

A woman from East Kilbride won £35million on the EuroMillions, now wouldn't that be nice and handy to have. Good on her, I hope she has fun spending it.