Welcome Back

In the week that saw T mobile launch this as a welcome home to passengers arriving at London's Heathrow airport, not to be outdone the locals in Northern Ireland launched their own version.

I need a distraction

I've had a few in my day; walking, card making, scrapbooking, cake decorating, knitting (yes, knitting. But only when I was very ill!)

Walking would be good because it would get me fit, and it might help me get rid of the persistent jelly belly. Although, it's not really the season for walking. Well, not my season anyway.

I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of the latest practice CD for the next singing adventure; yes, you can hear the groans of my children from wherever you are, and that is why it is only a distraction for while I am driving, not in the house. To preserve the sanity of the many.

I've not hit the bodhran in anger in quite some time. The difficulty being that solo bodhran is a bit boring and justifies all the bodhran jokes on the internet. I'm not quite that sad yet.

I'm thinking I might go back to the piano. Oh, not proper lessons with a teacher or anything as I already pay more a month to support two piano teachers in Belfast than I do to support two orphans in Africa. But maybe just bang out (accurate description of my playing) a few pieces from the old music books mother has dumped in my lounge.

Then maybe when my friend Ashley comes to visit at Christmas, we can play a duet.

Yeah right, dream on!

Large Hadron Collider

Today is the day. There could be a few big bangs round here before this particular school project is finished ....

Something's up

I was stopped at a police vehicle check point tonight, not two miles from my house, while going into town.

A real, blue lights flashing, landrovers blocking the road, old fashioned 'excuse me ma'am, do you have any identification?' genuine security vehicle check point.

It's been years, years since I've even seen one, never mind been stopped at one. So long, in fact, that I forgot to dim my lights and look out my licence in advance of my turn at the red baton.

Obviously they're expecting something big and nasty in Belfast ....

Odd things that happen in Tesco's carpark

A woman stopped me today as I was walking back to my car with an adult size lady vampire dress, and wearing my legging inside out.

'Aren't you one of the ladyboys from SingLive?' she asked.

One of the boys

I joined a new choir. A proper choir. One where the singers have pedigree and credentials like Ulster Operatic and Belfast Phil.

I was invited to join as they needed a tenor. I'm not sure if the guy who invited me to join actually explained to the rest of the choir exactly what he had invited to join the tenor section before I arrived on the scene, but certainly, to say some of the members didn't quite know what to make of me is an under-exaggeration!

For example, the night I first appeared, one of the ladies looked me up and down and then asked, as a tenor, would I be singing alto? Well no, as a tenor, I'd be singing tenor. If I could sing alto, I wouldn't be a tenor.

Then arose the tricky predicament of what to wear at concerts. The men, I was told, all wore dinner jackets and bow ties, and the ladies wore black trousers and tops. Would I be wearing the same as the men? Well, as my mouth hung open and the guy who invited me smothered his giggles at the very idea, the ladies concerned continued to discuss my wardrobe situation and concluded it would be better if I dressed like the ladies.

Although there was some discussion about my hair.

So, that decided, I was then given very clear instructions as to what exactly I should wear ... smart, that's smart, as in classy; the type you would wear out for a meal smart, black trousers. I think I got the message, but I took my mother with me when I went to buy them, just in case. (I was also requested to bring my smart black trousers to a practice so they could be scrutinised to establish if they were indeed smart enough.)

My husband and my mother have come to the conclusion they think I am a 'woman who likes to wear comfortable shoes'.

Then there is the issue of how I mark my music copies. With a pink highlighter. You see, I don't really read music, at least not fast enough to be able to sing it at the same time. But I like to highlight my part so I know when to sing and when not to sing, basically. What I wasn't aware of at the time is that this choir actually perform with copy, whereas my other singing fraternity do not under any circumstances allow you to have copy at performances so you can highlight, write, draw, doodle and make paper aeroplanes out of your music if you wish.

Having said all that, I have been made to feel very welcome, and am enjoying the singing very much. First gig in a fortnight. Sorry, performance ;-) Watch this space ...

A little rant

Homework.

Tonight my son arrived home with some French vocab to learn. Sixty five words of it. Sixty five??!

I wouldn't mind quite so much except that when he has had French to learn for homework before and we have hammered it into him and drilled him on it but he has never, thats never been asked it in school.

And a science project on the Hadron Collider. The Hadron Collider?? You're not going to get a dummies guide to that in the library. All this to add to the RE project on Ghandi, the art work project on textures and the usual four or five homeworks a night.

Where's my prozac?

Blogging is Dead

According to the people in the know, the action has moved elsewhere. With the rise of MySpace and then Facebook and Twitter, many people aren't writing personal blogs anymore.

"The time it takes to craft sharp, witty blog prose is better spent expressing yourself on Flickr, Facebook or Twitter."

Certainly, a lot of the ones this blog is linked to are 'rigor mortis'. Hmmm... food for thought

You're having a laugh

Our shower broke on the 23rd September We called for an engineer to come out and fix it. He eventually arrived last Thursday. But he didn't have the part.

"I'll be back on Monday" he said.

He arrived this morning at 8:45. No, that's not right. A completely different engineer arrived at 8:45 this morning. Which is why I got a phonecall at 8:47 from him asking my what was he suppposed to be fixing.

Frankly, if I'd known the answer to that question I wouldn't have felt the need to have either him or his mate last week in my house. "Don't you know?" I ask in disbelief. "No", comes the reply. "I tell you what," I say. "Are you holding a part in your hand right now?" "Yes" he says. "OK, great. Why don't you start by replacing that then."

Sometimes, just sometimes there are obvious clues to the answers of our problems.

Errr...

I was listening to a student read today and she stumbled over the word moustache. I helped her with the word and then asked did she know what a moustache was? 'Yes', she confirmed and then added 'you have one Miss'.

Boom Boom!

Son had to write about his first impression of his new school this week. One of the things he wrote was that he probably liked Home Economics, but he would confirm after he'd seen how making his cheese and ham toastie went on Friday.

Yesterday when editing his work he said he thought he would take the bit about the toasties out because...wait for it...he thought it was a bit cheesy!

Magic Knickers and Skinny Jeans

It is a few weeks ago now, but when out shopping with mother she spied a red dress that she thought would really suit me. It was one of these ruched, clingy, show up everything, lycra filled numbers and really, even when I tried it on I wasn't that sure, but she insisted and so the dress was purchased.

It wasn't until I got it home she told me I needed a pair of magic knickers to wear under it. Gee thanks mum!

Not only, she continued, did I need a pair of magic knickers, but it would be better if I got a pair that extended from just below my bra to virtually my knees. Nora flaming Batty eat your heart out.

A pair were duly ordered and arrived, were tried out even. Suffice to say to get them on requires the kind of workout any gym bunny would be proud of, involving a mixture of pelvic thrusts and sumo style balancing on alternative feet and squatting whilst pulling up with all your might.

Don't think about it too much, you'll not sleep.

And when they're on, the inability to bend satisfactorily leaves you so that you have to slouch rather than sit on a seat. Oh, and you should try bending to get into a taxi.

So why then, did I proceed to buy a pair of skinny jeans (which are effectively just magic knickers that extend to your ankles) last week? Honestly, I have no idea. If this is a mid-life crisis, I should just have got a tattoo.