MAN FLU

Well, I thought I had managed to escape the dreaded flu bug that seems to be doing the rounds. Since just before Christmas I've been listening to friends, family and colleagues complaining that it "lasts about three weeks", "it starts with a sore throat and gets worse", "I felt lousy for weeks" and feeling lucky that I had managed to avoid it. Ive been stocking up on oranges, wrapping up warmly and avoiding anyone with the slightest sniffle (including the "other half"). However, I woke up two days ago feeling as though I had swallowed a full packet of razor blades. I commented to a work colleague that she didn't look very well. Her reply "I've got that bug. I started with a sore throat three weeks ago and I'm still not over it". Oh no. I have a sore throat. Great. As the weekend has progressed I have got progressivly worse. I am typing this with a thumping headache, a running a nose and a cough that would make anyone belive I have a 60-a-day habit! I am not the best at being ill. In fact I'm terrible. I get progessively more whiney until I even start to annoy myself. I even thought yesterday that a nice bubble bath and mini pamper session might make me feel better....well that lasted all of half an hour before I started to feel dreadful again. So now I'm goning to try the Chinese food, cup of tea, hot water bottle and bed theory to see if that helps.

A WINTER'S TALE

So, it looks like summer has finally departed. The t-shirts, shorts and sandals have been stored away for another year, replaced with trousers, cardigans and boots. I even had to give in and buy a new winter coat last week. I must be getting old because I actually bought a sensible, practical coat, but that’s another story. So the nights are drawing in and in a week’s time the clocks go back. I fear turning into a vampire at this time of year. I go to work and it’s dark. I come home from work and it’s dark. As I write I am looking out at a damp garden. Granted, the grass looks a lot greener than it has in the last few months (and I’m not just talking about the other side of the fence!). I don’t know if it’s because I was born in September, but I actually don’t mind autumn. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer long, hot summer days but I actually like sitting in my nice cosy living room, listening to the rain on the window. Winter however, is a different matter. I hate winter with a passion. I hate being cold, and there is something more menacing about winter rain than autumn rain. Bonfire Night and Christmas are the only things that stop me from hibernating from November until March. Strangely, Bonfire Night is the only time of the year I don’t mind bundling myself up in big coat, scarf, gloves and boots and venturing out. I hate snow. Maybe hate is a little harsh. I love sitting indoors and watching it fall. I love looking out and seeing the fresh blanket on my garden, before the postman comes and puts his big, dirty footprints all over it! I actually don’t mind going out in it. Pulling on my flowery wellies and feeling it crunch underfoot but I despise having to drive to work in it! I am fine driving in the dark, in the rain or even in windy conditions but I hate driving in snow. I will admit to being a cautious driver at times (I am by no means a Sunday driver but I prefer to leave a safe distance between me and the car in front and I actually know how to use my indicators), but other people seem to think that driving is snow is just as safe as driving on a dry road. Personally, I would love to pass a law that says we should declare a public holiday if more than an inch of snow covers the ground. Kerry for Prime Minister! One good point has to be winter food. No more salads and pasta. Bring on the stews, the cottage pie, the jacket potatoes........ Maybe winter isn’t that bad after all

CRASH BANG WALLOP

Last Wednesday morning started out like any other. An irritable grumble as I drag myself out of bed, complaining loudly about the fact that the other half gets to stay in bed for another hour or two due to the fact that his shift that day doesn’t start until 11.30. I pulled clothes at random from my wardrobe hoping that they went together, dragged the hairbrush through my hair and hobbled, bleary-eyed down the stairs. Made up my breakfast and lunch and shoved them into a bag, together with a yoghurt and some fruit to get me through another gruelling 10.5hr shift. I feel I should point out here that, due to the fact I start work at 8am I take breakfast with me, favouring and extra 10 minutes sleep over eating breakfast before I leave. After giving myself a once over in the mirror, checking that the clothes I had chosen did indeed match, I left that house and started on the twenty minute journey to work. Nothing unusual in this you may think. I indeed was thinking the same thing until about 15 minutes into my journey. This was the point when, having stopped at a roundabout to allow for two motorcycles, I was hit from behind. It took a few seconds, after the initial impact, the sound of smashing glass and being thrown forward with such force that my head only just missed the steering wheel (thank goodness for seatbelts), to realise what had happened. Luckily there was a lay-by a few yards down the road so we pulled in. I was dreading what I was going to see when I got out. I was expecting my taillights to have bitten the dust at least. So I was pleasantly surprised to find that the only visible damage was that my once blue paintwork was now that same shade of red as the vehicle that had hit me. After exchanging details, and waiting for my hands to stop shaking, I set off, intending to finish my journey to work. However, two minutes down the road I became apparent that the paintwork wasn’t the only problem. There was a definite rattle coming from the back of the car, which sounded suspiciously like my exhaust. So, I turned around at the next opportunity and made my way home. Somehow I managed to keep myself calm until I walked through the front door and shouted to the other half that I wasn’t going to work. “Why?” came his concerned response, at which point I burst into tears, sobbing that in my eight years of driving I’ve never had an accident, and now someone just drove into the back of me. Then I had to start with the many many phone calls. The call to work to let them know I wouldn’t be in. The call to the doctor’s surgery (the whiplash was starting to set in by now). The phone calls to the insurance company, the conversation with the hire car company, the call I received from the Solicitor wanting to act on my behalf, followed by a call from a physiotherapist! I felt very popular! Later that day I had two sets of painkillers, over £10 worth of charges on my mobile bill thanks to the number of 08 numbers I had to call and a very nice Vauxhall Corsa courtesy car. I know what my next car is going to be! Five days later I still have the courtesy car and thankfully the whiplash has almost worn off (although I still have a banging headache). I say thankfully because the painkillers were subjecting me to full afternoons on the sofa. “May Cause Drowsiness”……hmmmmmmmmm

ONLINE SHOPPING

If you have read my previous posts you will be aware of my hatred of the supermarket. So, with this in mind I decided to give online shopping a try. No parking, no queuing, no trolley rage, no problem. Yes, I’ve heard all the horror stories. “If they don’t have what you asked for they’ll send you a replacement that is nothing like what you asked for”. “They send you the food that is almost out of date to get rid of it”. However, I was feeling particularly lazy and really didn’t have the energy for the stress of doing the weekly shop, so I logged on and started shopping, and I have to say, it’s surprisingly easy and I even saved myself some money. After picking a time for delivery I set about filling my virtual trolley. I have to say, this was an eye opener. I never realised how much I spent on fruit and veg. I usually go around the aisles of Asda filling my trolley without really looking at the prices of individual items. So you can imagine my shock when I had already “spent” £25 and had only fruit and veg to show for it. Nonetheless I carried on and an hour later my order was complete so I proceeded to “Checkout”. I had chosen to have my purchases delivered between 5pm and 7pm so, based on previous delivery experiences, I was expecting my shopping to turn up at 6.59pm so I was impressed when it arrived at 5.50pm. The delivery man was very pleasant and explained exactly what happens at this point. It must have been evident that this was my first time! I was told that the strawberries I ordered were missing. Apparently there are “no strawberries so late”. Mental note made to book delivery earlier next time! He told me a few items had been substituted. Oh no, does that mean the tuna I ordered would be replaced with cat food? Actually, I found out, it just means the brand of tuna I ordered wasn’t available so they had sent a different brand. What makes it even better is that the replacements are either equivalent in price or more expensive, but they don’t charge you. Bonus! So, after giving the pleasant man my autograph on one of those new fangled electronic signature thingies all that was left for me to do was unpack. Now the only thing I need to do is find someone to unpack the shopping and put it all away and this would be the most pleasurable shopping experience ever!

HANDBAGS AND GLADRAGS

I bought a new handbag a couple of weeks ago and was faced with the task of transferring everything from on bag to another. 

Gone are the days when I could fit everything into the tiny little Radley bag I carried around proudly for a few years.  These days I need a bag to rival that of Mary Poppins; something that can accommodate a notebook, Kindle, mobile phone, purse, keys umbrella, hairbrush, body spray, painkillers (which invariably end up at the bottom of the bag, prompting a mad search each time I have a headache) and a number of lipsticks.  Heaven only knows how young girls go on these days with these tiny bags!

The worst part about changing bags is that, amongst all the useful items listed above, there is always hundreds of old supermarket receipts, sweet wrappers, tissues and empty cans of body spray.

How did I manage to fit all this rubbish into my tiny little bag?  How do I now carry my huge bag around without doing myself an injury?

This also got me thinking.  When I was 18 (yes, I can just about remember being 18), I went for a night out with a dolly bag containing my money for the night and a tiny lipstick.  Now, just for a night at the local I need a bag big enough to fit money, mobile phone, keys and the other half’s keys, mobile phone, cigarettes and lighter.

Maybe we should be more like men.  No bags; just shove things in out pockets until they’re fit to burst.  Nah, can’t see it catching on.



PREENED AND PAMPERED

So, with less only a few days until my summer holiday I have had a wonderful weekend of being well an truly pampered.

I spent blissful two hours yesterday having my nails and feet "done". To be fair I have my manicure every three weeks but as a treat before our hols, the other half said he would pay for me to have a pedicure as well. 

I've never had a pedicure before and I was genuinely looking forward to it.  I haven't got the best feet in the world but they’re far from the worst.  So for the past few weeks I've been giving them a good going over the with pumice stone, moisturised at night and, most importantly, stopped going to the bin barefoot (it's literally two steps away from my front door!).  So after my manicure (a luxury in itself) I spent 45 minutes in what I imagine heaven to be. 

It started with 10 minutes with my size sixes in one of those foot spa thingies.  You know, the one's you fill with water then plug into the electric (a wonderful mixture) and it vibrates, massaging your feet.  I was treated to a cup of tea and a collection of magazines to accompany it.  After this I was so relaxed.  Then, when I thought I couldn't be any more relaxed, I was asked to lie on the bed, before I was treated to a leg and foot massage.  I had warned the beautician that I am ticklish on my feet so there was no need to be gentle.  Her response to this? "Well don't jump; I have a sharp blade in my hand".  I was slightly alarmed at this, but this was to remove hard/dead skin from my feet.  My feet now feel softer and smoother than they have in years.

The finishing touch was having my toenails painted.  Not being blessed with a steady hand I’ve never painted my toenails without getting it all over my toes as well, so to have them done properly, I was overjoyed.  I lost count of the number of times I said to the other half, “look at my feet!”.  He commented more than once that they smell a lot nicer than usual too.  I felt so loved! 

This morning the hairdresser appeared at my door.  Just a trim and a tidy-up before they holiday, but I always enjoy half an hour of having my hair played with.  If I could pay someone just to come round and do that, I would do. 

So, I’m all preened and pampered and ready for a fortnight of sun, sea, sand and………..sangria

HIDE AND SEEK

We read in the newspapers and see on the television about children being abducted and worse, so it's no surprise that there is a lack of children playing out on the street as we (we of a certain age anyway) used to do.

I walked down the street earlier and saw four kiddies playing Dobby.  For those of the games console era, dobbie is a little like hide and seek, but rather than just seeking out the hiders, both hider and seeker have to race back to the "control point" (for want of a better phrase), usually a lampost or gatepost and "dobby" the hider.  It really was exciting stuff!

It got me thinking though.  Ok, so kids these days have iPods, games consoles (I'm not even gonna pretend I know the name of the latest console or the must have game!) and mobile phones (for heavens sake), but do they really know what they are missing out on?

Aside from hide and seek/dobbie, we had British Bulldog.  British Bulldog wasn't great fun for me.  I was quite a chubby child, so a game where you had to run from one side to the other without getting tagged wasn't my favourite. 

Kerby was probably one of the most dangerous games played.  It involved one person stood at one side of the road, one at the other, trying to throw at ball at the opposite kerb.  This really had to be played on a quiet road, otherwise the ball (at best) would end up under oncoming vehicles.

Paper Chase was a particular favourite, but up until a certain age, I was only allowed to play this if my older brother or sister were playing too as it involved leaving our street.  A trail of paper based clues left in various locations in the village, leading to an eventual hiding place of the person who had left said clues.

These games, and variations on them, weren't all that went on.  Oh no.  The girls were often having handstand contests (again, something I was never very good at) or the skipping ropes were out and the boys would be off playing army, or something just as destructive, resulting in brusies, grazes and blood!  But this was in the days when if you got a cut on your elbow/knee/head, your mum put a plaster on it and you back playing within five minutes!

Games were played into the evening, even when it started to get dark, until you were called in for dinner/bathtime.

Snow days were fun.  We lived at the top of a cul de sac, and one year the snow plow came up (to this day I still no idea how the driver got it up and turned it round on such a narrow street), leaving us kids at the top of the street with a ready made barricade, whilst the kids at the bottom end of the street had to make their own.  Obvisously, it was nowhere near as good as ours!

As we got older, the top of the cul de sac became a football pitch, a tennis court and even a cricket strip. 

I really don't think children these days know what they are missing out on.  These games were so simple but actually got us out in the fresh air come rain or shine, rather than sat in front of a screen all day.

Bring back the old days I say!