I nearly don't want to say it, but

it looks like for the first time since 1999 Ulster might...

A long, long time ago

I was 'Young Cook of the Year' and went to London to represent Northern Ireland in the UK finals.

Some years later, when I worked in the all girls establishment in North Belfast, I entered one of my students for 'Young Cook of the Year', and she travelled to Dublin to represent Northern Ireland in the All-Ireland finals, which she subsequently won.

Yesterday, my son arrived home from school with an entry form for the Dairy Council Cook of the Year.....

oh dear!!!

(That last comment was added by said son, who hacked my account)

Flashing

I had to buy a replacement dress for my concert next week because there was some concern that whilst singing and doing actions to the 'TimeWarp' in the dress from the skip, there might be a jump to the left and a Janet Jackson like exposure to the right!

Work eventually opened once they got the heating system temporarily fixed. My room is still cold though, and dark as one quarter of the lights in it aren't working.

As I type, we have no water. Again. As it is the weekend and I have all the school uniforms and sports kits to wash I am not amused. Add to that the dishwasher is full of dirty dishes and one child went swimming and the other played rugby today and neither have had a shower, you get where I'm coming from.

The Dolly got very upset this week watching the floods in Australia on TV. Her disappointment stemmed not from the fact that there was so much destruction and devastation, but because God had broken a certain promise attached to a rainbow.

I've just had the call

Work is closed tomorrow. The heating system is, em, buggered. Kids are to stay at home and staff are to turn up in their thermals.

This one looks like it could run and run

New Year Appeal 2011

Dry taps, thirsty children, smelly arm pits and sick pensioners? Just £4 a day can help to go towards a taxi to Avoniel or Shankill Leisure Centres.

People in Belfast have to walk for almost 10 minutes to get water and they have to carry it themselves - this is almost like work!

many women on the way to Avoniel have been complaining about how cold it is in their pyjamas while they are queueing up. Your £4 will go towards proper trousers, fake ugg boots or 10 Lambert & Butler for those who have been queueing for more than an hour.

Please sponsor a person from Belfast today and you can make a difference.

For more information go to www.we'vesodall2drink.com as the NI Water website is frozen

Happy New Year.

New knickers

Contrary to 'popular' belief, there was no water at 08:00 this morning.

I waited until 09:30 and then phoned NI Water. Now, you have got to feel sorry for the poor sods who are answering the phones, because they are not responsible for fixing the pipes, nor are they responsible for them bursting, but someone has seen fit to put them in the front line, answering angry phone calls from smelly customers, but have not seen fit to furnish them with any information except the (now widely acknowledged) totally inaccurate information on their website.

Anyway, being nice with the poor girl who drew my number managed to get me the information that although 'they' had been working all night repairing the pipes in our area, very early this morning there had been further bursts. And a further truth, that in fact nobody had any idea when we would have any water, even on rotation, and if I had somewhere to de-camp to, I should really de-camp.

A whiff of my son's armpits and my daughters revelation that she had run out of knickers were the deciding factors, and de-camp we did with our wash gear and a load of dirty laundry.

I'm sure my brother was delighted to see us arrive. I'm sure my niece was even more delighted as she had to vacate her bed and her room to allow us to use her shower. Thankyou!

And so we were able to shower, wash our collective hairs, use and even flush toilets, clean teeth, drink tea and wash clothes. Result! While there we also had opportunity to fill all out neighbours water holding receptacles, which we sold back to them for a small fee on our return.

In conclusion, I'd advise the general public to abandon the NI Water website and instead resort to Twitter, Facebook and even this site for up-to-date, accurate information on water supplies. I'd also advocate the purchase of emergency knickers.

Water?

Nope. Maybe tomorrow.

I should have been in bed

But I am unreliably informed by NI Water that our water (which has been off for just over two days now, 24 hours continuously) should be back on at 23:00 and I'm waiting to refill the stock saved in the bath. And then have shower. And definitely wash my hands. And put the dishwasher on. And maybe a clothes wash.

I say unreliably because their website informs me that actually I had water up until 16:00 today, which is not right, and their emergency phone line tells me that I might not actually have water until 08:00 tomorrow. Shambolic? Ineffective? I'd say!

Mind you, here's something to put it all in perspective.

The funny side of life

'Hello, NI Water, water bout ye?'

In light of the current water crisis, some people are calling for the renaming of our failing NI Water service to NE Water or even NO Water. Some wonder if we call it Ní Water can we blame the South?

So far there's been no statement from the Chief of NI Water, feeling is he's bottled it.

One of our local MPs cleaned his teeth in Harp last night and this morning melted the remains of his snowman to get water for a shave. He also tweeted to remind us that other liquids such as beer, cider, wine, vodka and petrol may contain water.

People have been phoning local radio stations and requesting anything by Wet Wet Wet, and checking WikiLeaks for information.

We'll be OK though. It'll be sorted by New Year's Eve because a number of our MLA's apparently can't drink their whiskey without water. In the meantime hope of an efficient water system is but a pipe dream!

Water water everywhere....

From the BBC:

'Thousands of homes and businesses in Northern Ireland are still without water, some since before Christmas. Northern Ireland Water said it was alternating supplies from reservoirs in a bid to give every area a limited supply, causing more interruptions. It has warned that the drought could last for several more days. Belfast City Council has opened three leisure centres to distribute drinking water, while free showers will be available on Wednesday.'

And so the panic buying began. Not a supermarket in Belfast has bottled water left for sale, except for the flavoured variety. You can go to a local leisure centre and get drinking water, but you are rationed to 20 litres and you have to have something to put it in. People are turning up with plastic bags. Drinking water is available from tankers at three council sites as well.

Tomorrow all leisure centres in Belfast are offering free showers.

Tell me, seriously, how does a country where it rains continuously run out of feckin water?

Christmas

This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone

Now making only essential journeys

Two essential journeys today; one to collect the turkey at 08:00 this morning (our turkey is an early riser), the other to take Dolly to the doctor.

One was successful, the other resulted in me being rescued by three burly guardian angels when the mini-bin steadfastly refused to move either backwards or forwards on the icy road.

Funny how you would never normally hand the keys of your car over to a total stranger and let him drive it with your children inside, but in snow...

Sent from my iPhone

Enough is enough

The novelty of the snow has worn off. A White Christmas has long since lost it's appeal. It's starting to be a major inconvenience now.

The pipes to my washing machine have frozen, again. So I took a load of washing to mums today to discover the pipes to her washing machine had also frozen. I have discovered a laundrette about a mile away from home. I'm keeping their number handy.

We are using heating oil at the same rate Jamie Oliver uses goose fat this Christmas. Because the kids have had three extra days off school due to snow, and the fact that the temperature outside has not risen above minus something very low, the heat has been on in the house continuously. With the result we have about a third of a tank left, but unfortunately no one can deliver more until next week. Next Thursday to be precise. We had to embark on a mission to secure emergency barrels of oil today; as we need oil to run the heating and the range for cooking, Christmas day without it would be a complete and utter disaster.

Our bins have not been emptied. The bin lorry couldn't make it up our hill, although funny enough an oil tanker making a delivery to a well-organised neighbour managed it. Uh huh. As bins are emptied fortnightly, ours already contains two weeks worth of rubbish. We now have to try and squeeze in two more weeks worth. Of Christmas rubbish. And as two weeks takes us to the New Year holiday I'd say there's another two weeks to squeeze in on top of that and all.

The snow has induced panic buying. Not just the usual pre-Christmas panic buying, but a whole new level 'is the world coming to an end?' panic buying. I went to Tesco on Monday to buy some milk and butter and nearly got trampled to death by the masses, so in this house the motto now is if we don't already have it, we're not having it.

And finally, I am going out for dinner tonight. Instead of getting dressed up and donning a dress and heels, I am actually dressing down and have the look of someone setting out on an Arctic expedition. I am also taking extra clothes with me in case our hill is impassable due to further freezing and I have to walk up it at the end of the night. Never before have I gone out for dinner and taken a suitcase!

So, I say again ... enough is enough. Bugger off snow and let us enjoy our holiday. Thankyou

-10oC

We reached this positively balmy high at lunchtime today. It's to fall to -20oC tonight.

An observation; leather seats in the car look great but scald the arse off you in the summer and freeze your butt in the winter.

Post Script

We were due to fly back from Bristol on the 20:55 EasyJet tonight. It was showing delayed from just after 16:00 this afternoon.

The flight was rescheduled and rescheduled with the most recent ETD put at 23:55

Even though the Bristol airport website is still showing a scheduled departure time of 23:55, the EasyJet site has just declared the flight cancelled.

There's a lucky break, not camping out in the airport or alternatively trying to find a hotel room in Bristol at 23:14 with a very tired and still not quite well 10 year old.

And, the Brucie Bonus ... had a phone call tonight to say school is closed early for Christmas because of our weather conditions. Two extra days holiday!

Quids in all round, and so to bed.

What a weekend!

• Idyllic winter scenes on the way to the airport
• Nail biting 'will it/won't it' moments
• Watched a superb game of rugby; well done the Ulstermen!
• Celebrated with mulled wine
• Great rugby craic
• Bumped into old friends
• Ate in some very nice restaurants
• Tramped around the city on snowy pavements
• Gorgeous Italian nougat at the Christmas Market
• Caught in late night snow showers
• Snowball fights
• Hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows
• Dicey, slippy-slidy journeys
• Never left the Province

The good news is...

...the team are in Bath. Yeah!

The rest of the news is that there is no news. Well OK, there's a little bit of news in that I have managed to find a man to share a taxi to Bath from Bristol with. If we get to Bristol.

Aldergrove is still closed, all flights today were cancelled. There is no news about tomorrow available yet, apart from a weather forecast of more snow overnight and freezing fog in the morning. It's difficult to put positive spin on that.

Moreover, SleasyJet have issued a directive that says there is due to be 10cm of snow at Bristol airport between midnight tonight and 6:00am tomorrow, and to check with the airport if you intend to travel through it tomorrow.

In other news, should the pitch at 'the Rec' be deemed unplayable, the match will be rescheduled to Llanelli on Sunday. Yeah! Thanks to a late (or possibly delayed or even cancelled) return flight on Sunday night, I can do this.

However, BBC are reporting the major concern is not the state of the pitch but the state of the spectator areas, and if they are deemed unsafe, the match will be played behind closed doors.

I love these pre-Christmas fixtures; never a dull moment, always an adventure.

Continue to watch this space...

News just in

Just had this message from Ulster Rugby: 'Ulster have travelled to Dublin in the hope of securing a flight which will allow them to play their Heineken Cup game against Bath tomorrow.'

In the hope of??

What, you mean the entire Ulster Squad plus management and staff and kit men and uncle Tom Cobbley and all 40 or so of them have turned up at Dublin Airport on the off chance they can cadge a lift to Bristol?

What happens if they don't secure a flight, will they come back up to Belfast in anticipation of the Belfast airports re-opening. They could be on our flight! In fact, we could be on our flight and the squad could be marooned in Dublin!

This one's gonna roll ...

More in hope than anticipation

Noooooooo

Woke up to a white out, schools all closed, police warning only to travel if your journey is really necessary and all local airports shut.

I am sitting staring at my tickets for tomorrow's Heineken Cup game against Bath, in Bath, with a terrible dose of Brussels deja vu.....

Watch this space.

Will I or Won't I

Get to Bath this weekend?

Snow is falling......could this be another Brussels experience?

Ooops

A wee while ago, I said I would join a few people to sing carols at the local Tesco. And promptly forgot about it.

That is until about an hour ago when I made a dash down to Tesco to get some cough mixture for the children. As I am wandering through the aisles looking for said medicine, I heard this lovely singing wafting up from the front door of the store.

Sometimes you can actually see the penny drop.

So I had a choice, I could brazen it out and walk past them, or I could hide out in the store until they stopped singing. Obviously, I chose the hiding out option.

There is only so long one can hang around Tesco clutching a bottle of cough medicine before people start giving you funny looks and become suspicious, so it got to the stage where I had to brazen it out.

I actually did try to hide amongst a crowd of fellas who were leaving the store at the same time as me, but that was unsuccessful, as I was of course spotted, so I waved the cough bottle generally in their direction and shuffled on out.

Sorry people. Next time...

Dolly Day

Ten years ago today Bill and Hilary Clinton were in Belfast, having lunch at Stormont with our lovely politicians.

That fairly threw a spanner in the works for me that day. You see, Stormont was about a mile away from the Ulster Hospital, and that was the day Maurice Dunlop had decided my second baby should enter the world, 12 days early. Do the Maths, you'll see why that decision suited everyone!

So even though my surgery was not scheduled until the afternoon, I had to be at the hospital before the roads closed at 8:00am, which meant a morning hanging around in anticipation.

To relieve the 'boredom' I agreed to let some medical students have a bit of a prod around my belly and be assessed while examining me and answering lots of difficult questions. The only problem was, they told me all the answers before the started the assessment and I found myself giving non-verbal hints to the prospective obstetricians. Apologies to those of you who have had duff doctors.

Of course, going for surgery (elective caesarean, as it was less than two years since my last c-section) I was nil by mouth, so watching the other half scoff a McDonalds Big Mac meal at lunchtime did nothing for my patience.

At last the appointed time arrived and I was wheeled into theatre, and without too much ado, little Jill joined Bill and Hil on the Newtownards Road. Her big brother was one of her first visitors, and he was so excited by the event he vomited all over everyone and had to be taken home to get changed.

Jill was the quietest baby. She never cried. Literally, never. When she wanted fed (and God bless her, she could go seven hours overnight between feeds from day one!) she just lay and smacked her lips. This cheery disposition earned her the title 'Jolly Jill'. Only, her 22 month old brother had trouble with his 'j' sounds and so she soon was known as 'Dolly Dill'.

And so, it came to pass, that the name Dolly stuck, and to this day my daughter will answer to either name, much to the bemusement of old ladies in the shopping centre who think Dolly is a name of the past. And fans of Dolly Parton.

Happy birthday Dolly Dill, ten years old today.

Biggest comeback since Lazarus

No, not my kids who are still laid out sicky bad no well, but Ulster Rugby. 22-18. Stand Up for the Ulstermen!

Laid aside in a bed of sickness

Not me thankfully, but the two children. Both of them. Two very high temperatures and a bout of puking.

It started overnight when Dolly had to be collected from a sleepover in the wee small hours after becoming ill at her friends house. She was no better this morning and son woke up with a roaring temperature.

So today has been declared a jammie day and to be fair the only reason I'm blogging is because Ulster are currently playing Bath in the Heineken cup and in the absence of a 'red button' I am watching in the traditional way, online with 'Gusher' Neilly with a naked picture of Olly Barkley in front of me.

It appears we are playing all the rugby but are still getting hammered. How does that happen?

Half time. 13-15. I'm off to distribute lucozade to the troops. If I was at Ravers, I'd probably give them all a much needed slug too.

My pipes are still frozen

The rest of me is pretty cold too.

I wonder

With Christmas crackers having been listed today as fireworks, do we in Northern Ireland now require a licence to pull one?

Update

All the good work gritting the road last night so my neighbours could get their cars home and Tescos could deliver my shopping has been nullified by a very heavy overnight freeze which has frozen the slushy stuff and made the hill virtually impassable again this morning.

We have become very attached to the Paul Simon song 'Slip Sliding Away' in the minbin this week.

Point of possible interest. Conor Murphy (Minister for Regional Development) (ie in charge of gritting) was interviewed by a journo on TV last night and given hell over the state on the footpaths in the province. It was put to him that footpaths had not been gritted due to fear of claims arising from fall injuries.

Ahem. Dear neighbours, if any of you fall today, it was the man with the wheelbarrow and the big flashy BMW who was responsible for gritting the pavements.

And by the way

It has currently stopped snowing, but should it resume overnight we'll be OK because in the past two days we've had an oil delivery, a gas delivery, a Tesco delivery and with the pipes to the washing machine still frozen, there are at least three recorded new episodes of NCIS to watch uninterrupted.

Bring it on!

Grit your teeth

It snowed today. Fast and furious. So fast and so furious that within an hour of starting, the hill I live at the top of became impassable.

So, with cars abandoned left right and centre, it was time to do the neighbourly thing and spread the grit, stored in a bin at the bottom of the hill, to clear the road. Primarily so that my Tesco grocery delivery could be delivered, as starving was only going to serve to hasten certain death by freezing.

Off I trundle with a little bucket and spade, which I fill and start spreading on the road. There I am standing in the middle of the road risking life, limb and certain death from being run over while my neighbours are watching from the warmth and safety of their various homes. And waving at me.

One man did actually appear on the road, commended me on the job I was doing and walked on down the street, so I made sure not to grit the footpath outside his house. I know, you didn't think I had it in me to be that nasty. Well, you spend and hour and a half gritting the road in the heavy snow, carting buckets of salt up a steep, slippy hill and see how generous you feel.

And now, a bottle of mulled wine later and safe in the knowledge that my food order has been delivered by Tescos, I'm off to soak in a bath as my poor arms, which are dangling down round my knees, feel like they've been pulled out of their sockets.

The Snowman

Off to see the Ulster Orchestra perform a concert of seasonal music, including 'The Snowman' for the Dolly's birthday party. That's me, nine girls and nine sets of sleighbells.

Yes, our row will be making more noise than the orchestra! Ho, Ho, Ho!

A tip for fraudsters

As this is the season of goodwill, I am going to pass on a little gem of advice to all those who are intent on taking full advantage of the Christmas Spirit.

When you go door to door asking for sponsorship for a sponsored walk in aid of a charity for the elderly, and you say you are doing it under the auspices of a local BB company, try hard not to choose the BB company that the child of the person you are trying to con belongs to.

Here endth the lesson.

Canny Scots

So, in a moment of (rare) Scottish rugby inspiration, the powers that be decided that the national team should play Samoa, from the hot and balmy South Sea Islands, in Aberdeen while it was under a foot of snow.

Result!

Hot off the press

I need to preface this post by explaining that last weekend my son was promoted in rugby and moved up a team in the rankings. Samoa no more, although I have not yet been able to establish exactly what nationality he now is.

I had a text from him at 8:45am to tell me he has been selected to play in a match against Wallace High School this afternoon. Yeah!

I've just had a second text to say he's been selected to play on the left wing. Not bad for a scrum half.

As it is currently hailstoning with the promise of more snow today, I just hope it's not called off...

Idiots

OK, what's going on here?

Is this bloke a world class idiot, who stole the money, left it on his car roof and drove off, only to call the police later and say he'd lost the (stolen) money? Or is he just a regular idiot who put £80,000 on the roof of his car and forgot about it?

And, just as a point of order BBC, should that last quote not read ' Essex Police have seized evidence' as opposed to 'has seized evidence'?

Rant over. You can all continue what you were doing...

Happy Thanksgiving

In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

Countdown to Christmas: part 1

Whilst browsing the 'Ultimate Christmas' book by Jane Newdick tonight in search of an inspired recipe for cranberry sauce (don't ask) I came across Ms Newdick's countdown to the festive season.

Firstly, I should point out that the countdown started six weeks ago, so already I am off to a very poor start and may, in fact, have to cancel the holiday. However, with just over four weeks to go, this is what we should all be doing:

Printing gift wrap. Yes. Printing it. Already I am glad I live so conveniently to a major UK retailer who does this for me. Every little helps.

Make gift boxes to fit gifts. Well, if I do this now, I will have to buy gifts to fit gift boxes. Just let me see.... ah yes, gift shopping was to be completed two weeks ago. Epic fail.

Start using Advent calendar and let children write to Santa. Point of order here. My children don't write to Santa. It's a little known fact that Santa is indeed telepathic and does not actually require a letter to know what goodies to supply for Christmas. However, he does like a little note every so often that just says hello and enquire after the reindeer.

Plan theme for dining table and make festive decorations, such as crackers (you'd need to be to make them) and painted glassware. Well, on the theme issue, I'm thinking this year I might go for a Christmas theme. What do you think?

Make decorations using dried fruit and artificial ingredients, such as wreaths, door swags and garlands. Uh huh. My family are going to be so deprived this year.

Plan lighting, such as lanterns or twig chandelier. I get the feeling Ms Newdick has inside information of a massive power failure over the region on Christmas Day. Anyone with shares in Northern Ireland Electricity...sell, sell! SELL!!

Oh hold on, that's me...

Order special food as necessary, such as turkey, goose or fish. Oh yes, I see. I was supposed to have made that menu decision four weeks ago. And the only reason you are to order these foods is because they are the only foods you do not make yourself from scratch. Unless you live on a turkey, goose or fish farm of course.

Hold on, I've just thought of something: how do you cook your turkey, goose and fish with the expected electricity outage? Hmmm...need to order more gas for the BBQ

Anyone else thinking Ms Newdick has too much time on her hands?

Right, off to read page 127 to see how I should paint my Tyrone crystal wine glasses and then to find those NIE shares...

Post analysis

I have received the following catalogues through my letterbox in the past 24 hours:

• Lakeland
• Gray & Osbourn
• House of Bath
• M and M Direct Outdoor wear
• Turtlemat
• Ikea
• Hawkins Bazaar
• Argento
• Figleaves

I wonder, what does this say about me.....

Often found in the mountains wearing Betty Barclay sweaters and a pandora bracelet?
Likes cookery gadgets and keeps them in Ikea boxes?
Buys silly stocking fillers and puts them in designer stockings?

It's official

I am mother of Mary, mother of Jesus. That's a promotion I think ... last year I was mother of Louis Walsh!

First Gig

I am still the source of much discussion and debate. Or rather my clothes are. It was decided I should dress like the men; jacket and bow tie.

It's not funny any more.

Only now it seems

we preempted T mobile

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.

Thankyou

Just back from the bank where I lodged £428.80 into the Macmillan Cancer Care account, proceeds from our part of the World's Biggest Coffee Morning.

Ask me anything about:

run flat tyres
automatic transition
iPhone docking
anti-theft devices
GPS Sat Nav
stolen vehicle tracking system

Guess who's had a Technology project to do?

Cheers!

What a morning, photoblogged here. Thanks to Cosmo for supplying the delicious coffee and to lots of friends and neighbours for calling in on what was a horrendously miserable wet morning for a coffee, a chat and to donate.

Delighted to announce the grand total of £319 raised for Macmillan Cancer, who do a sterling job supporting cancer patients and their families.

I am extremely proud of my son

who yesterday after school was walking down to our usual meeting point when he spotted £5 in loose change sitting on top of a bin outside a shop on the Stranmillis Road, and took it in and handed it over to the shop assistant.

Special Deliveries

Last night we were able to watch my littlest niece and nephew being delivered by caesarian section, eight months after the actual event, courtesy of the BBCNI documentary series 'Special Deliveries'.

It can also be seen here, but to avoid the screamers, and I strongly suggest you avoid the screamers, fast forward to the main event at approximately 12 minutes 50 seconds in.

Jingle Bells

But not quite as you'd recognise it.

Plus another one I don't know with six flats. Who writes music with six flats? More to the point, what am I doing singing it??

Four sharps, three flats and no practice CD

I was invited to join a singing chorale. Ohhhh yes!

So I went along last week and created a bit of a stir because they thought they had a new soprano. Ohhhh no!

The chorale are preparing for the Christmas season when they have a concert lined up in a local stately home which my mother and her friend thought they would turn up at, until I told them the tickets were £25 each. I had then to administer the Heimlich manoeuver as they choked on their respective coffees.

Anyway, I attended the first practice last week and they learnt five, thats five, new pieces. Of which I had previous knowledge of none, that's not a one of them. To which my mother said when I told her 'don't be silly Alison...' (cross, use of full title) '...you sang in choirs at Christmas for years, how can you not know any of them??'

Well. There you go, it's my own personal sort of nightmare at Christmas, which just gets worse when you consider: no practice CD! So tonight, in preparation for tomorrow nights rehearsal, I was doing my best Les Dawson impersonation banging out my harmony line on the piano whilst negotiating four sharps, then three flats and no less than five key changes.

Please God, let there be something tomorrow night that I at least recognise the tune of.

I was wondering

if, when the Pope flies back to Rome from Birmingham after his papal visit next week, they will make him go through the naked scanner?

Settling in

It seems like forever ago since son first donned the tie with Maltese cross and started 'big school'. In fact, its only been two weeks.

Tempus fugit.

So far he seems to be making a much better go of it than I ever did. Amusingly, he has two teachers who taught me during my time at the alma mater. OK, they maybe didn't actually teach me, but I was in their classes. One of them is a traditional professor type who, according to my son, 'is really intelligent- he can explain a black hole in just 30 minutes!!' And apparently, he did. Twice. Though what exactly that has to do with first year maths...

I'm considering writing a note to the Latin teacher to explain that when I was my sons age I scored the grand total of 32% in my Latin exam, and please to treat his homework with appropriate understanding to his plight. She'll understand; her big sister was my best friend at school and she scored 31%. Yes, we obviously copied, and yes, we ended up in the Latin for dummies 'Ecce Romani' class. It's a wonder we went on to make anything of ourselves at all. Oh, hold on, we're both teachers.....

Crassus agricola est.

Son has decided he wants to join the school orchestra. He realises this might be a bit tricky as his current instrument is piano, but has a plan. He wants to learn percussion, primarily because you don't have to blow (don't ask me, I only gave birth to him) and it's easier than violin. However, he was also very quick to point out that with instrumental tuition being £13 a lesson, it was a lot of money to pay just to learn the triangle and the cymbals.

Apart from music, the school is a little bit renowned for rugby. He had his rugby try out last week but unfortunately, didn't make it onto the 'New Zealand' squad. And, if you don't make it onto the 'New Zealand' squad, nobody really cares which country you play for. Currently I think he plays for Romania. Fifths. But he scored six individual tries last week, so watch out for Romania at the next world cup.

Deus nobiscum.

News in brief

Back to work. The month I was contracted to work, doing two and a half days a week, has now been extended until possibly Christmas. Nice. Then full time after that until June. French again, does that allow for another field trip to Stade Francais?

New rugby season starts tonight with the Ulstermen playing the Ospreys in the Magners League. Sadly no French vistors to Ravenhill this season, but three visits by Italian sides. Every cloud...

The daily rosacea question 'is my face red?' was met with a 'yes' one day this week. 'Where?' I enquired. 'Just below your nose and above your moustache' came the much too honest answer. Kids. eh??!

Ryanair have given me all my money back and I have successfully, and somewhat expensively, rebooked all flights with SleazyJet. The King is dead, long live the King!

I think I have another wee project lined up for next year......

Cheap flights

A friend who heard of my Ryanair flight plight sent me this to cheer my up.

Word or two of warning, the language is a bit ... Irish, and I would srongly advise you switch off when she asks if you are of a nervous disposition ;-)

Do you remember I said...

If I ever suggest you join me on a rugby tour........

Uh huh, uh huh

So, I booked another rugby tour this week. Bath again, in December. Travelling with the very boys I made this trip with to Paris, no... Brussels ...no... Paris. And oh, how we laughed, how we joked, and we said nobody should ever let us fly together on the same flight to a rugby match at the same time ever again.

Ha bloody ha.

And, because I was a little late booking, I booked my flight out with Easyjet and back with Ryanair, for reasons of cost and convenience. Just like I did on this trip; wouldn't you think I'd have learnt that lesson too?

So the big news in Belfast today is that, as of the 31st October 2010, Ryanair will stop operating out of Belfast. Fullstop. That's it. Adios, Au revoir, Arrivederci, Slán agat, Fecked, Goodbye.

Oh, all is not quite lost ... you can claim your refunds on a Ryanair helpline charging £1 a minute and yes, the claiming of the refund will cost you more than the flights did in the first place....

Come for Coffee

On the morning of Saturday 18th September, mum is hosting a coffee morning as part of the Macmillan Cancer Support 'World's Biggest Coffee Morning' event.

The official date is Friday 24th September, but as we will be in London then, mum's is a little bit earlier.

When dad was diagnosed with lung cancer last Christmas, Macmillan were one of the agencies who were there to offer help, support and advice, so this is just a little way to say thankyou and give something back.

Everybody very welcome; it goes without saying, as it's actually being held in MY house (well manipulated mum!), tea will also be available ;-)

Curse of the Celts

On a recent visit to my brother's, instead of the usual friendly 'hello, how are you?' I was greeted with 'what's wrong with your face??'

It all started here, on a rugby trip to Bath when I needed a bit of emergency dental treatment that required a needle up the underside of my nose and left me unable to move my facial muscles for 12 hours. No, not botox. The morning after the event I woke with a face like a belisha beacon only red, which I assumed was a result of the previous days anaesthetic.

Now, I'm not in the habit of looking at myself in the mirror, apart from when I put a bit of slap on on mornings when I'm working, so when my brother draws attention to my face and my family point out this is a regular occurance I suddenly realise this is not the after effects of a dose of freeze that would immobilise your pet donkey.

To cut a long story short, a trip to the doctors has confirmed a diagnosis of rosacea, aka 'the curse of the Celts'. As if we don't have enough bloody curses hanging over our heads without one of them actually manifesting itself on our faces.

So apart from applying medical cream prescribed, I am on a mission to discover what my triggers might be and avoid them, and I was doing OK until I hit this one, as listed by WedMD:

Weather conditions that cause rosacea:
Hot weather
Cold weather
Humid weather
Wind
Sunlight

That's it then. Cursed for life.

So, she's pregnant

Adam from the BT ads older woman ... Jane. (had to Google that!)

Bit of a physiological miracle that, considering in all the years they have been 'dating' on our screens they've never once been seen in the same room at the same time. But, if that's what the public voted for, who am I to point out such minor details.

Of course, the next public vote will probably be 'who is the father?'. Wouldn't it be ironic if it was the local Virgin Media engineer.

Yarnbombing bombs

It's billed as knitting meets graffiti. To celebrate August 'Craft month' statues across the city were to be sporting colourful knits.

And so off we set, armed with information and having seen photographs of 'yarnbombed' sites in Belfast to see what we could find. And the result?

Apart from this one lone bird outside the gates to a local park, nothing. Not one thing anywhere. How very, very disappointing.

Lose the belly

Tonight I embarked on a regime to get rid of a wee jelly belly I am cultivating. Too many packets of crisps and the fact I never did any pelvis floor exercise starting to catch up with me.

Oh, and middle age.

So I downloaded the 'Lose the belly' app and set to with the exercises.

The first one required me to lie on the floor, which was hard enough in itself, with my knees above my hips, my hands behind my head and then simultaneously lift my hips and shoulders so that my spine was smiling.

I was 30 seconds behind before this woman even started her set because I had to negotiate getting my knees above my hips and out of the more comfortable position they favour above my boobs.

And, I tell you now, my spine was anything but smiling!

And then the sadist on the video clip says to do 25 repetitions. Twenty five!! At which point I am laughing so hard and so loud that children start to appear to see what is happening. 'When you have completed your 25 (that's twenty five) repetitions', she says 'you can lie down and have a drink'.

Yeah, I'll have a Bushmills, and make it a double.

Champagne and shooting stars

I was out last drinking champagne and watching shooting stars with three ex-colleagues last night.

The more champagne we drank, the more shooting stars we saw.

Flying part II

Last week I had opportunity to fly to London and experience the hostility at Belfast City Airport.

It started with me being asked to remove my shoes, and my belt. Just me, nobody else in the queue. I HATE removing my shoes and having to walk in my bare feet round the security area, so imagine the scene as I waddle around, walking only on the outside edges of my feet so the soles don't touch the ground. This is probably a throwback to having a verruca, which, not being a swimmer, I probably picked up at an airport in exactly these circumstances.

So I am making my way through the scanner in my peculiar motion when it beeps. Frankly, I only ever beep in Belfast, which always results in the full body search and frisk. And that is not an easy task for the security personnel when their 'victim' is balancing on the outside edges of their feet.

Frisk completed, I make a dash for my shoes which have appeared at the end of the conveyor belt, but before I can get them on the nice man behind the desk asks me, just me, not anybody else in the queue, if he can take my liquids and test them. Before I have time to draw breath he has emptied the contents of my plastic ziploc bag onto his desk and I'm watching my bottle of £23 Benetint liquid rouge roll precariously close to the edge.

While this is happening and I struggle to put my shoes on, I become aware of a woman moving towards me slowly. In fact, she gets so close I eventually look up (still trying to put on my shoes) and glare at her. At this point she grabs my bag and 'invites' me to join her in a little room at the back of the security area.

So, with one shoe on and one shoe off I diddle-diddle-dumpling, still on the outside edge of one foot, to join her and my bag in the room. Once I get in she slams the door shut, and in her best Eastern European voice instructs me that she is going to swab the contents of my bag for explosives. I don't even have time to wonder when Belfast City Airport started employing the KGB to do their security before she turns my bag upside down and empties the entire contents onto a table. And of course, you know who's going to have to tidy up that mess, once they've got their shoes back on.

Eventually, I am free to go to the departure lounge, where the first thing I do is buy a big bar of chocolate to calm the frazzled nerves. And when I open my purse to pay, there, staring out at me, are a pair of the biggest, sharpest, most illegal looking nail clippers you have ever seen....

Revenge is a dish best served cold

Last night, 'somebody' managed to take a sizeable chip out of one of my £59.00 Nicholas Mosse dinner plates.

All I can say is that 'somebody' needs to watch that 'nobody' drops chocolate on the upholstery of their car and then sits on it to melt it in.

Flying part I

My mum is flying to the Isle of Man tomorrow with airline Manx2, so being the seasoned traveller that I am, today I did her online check-in.

Now, my understanding of on-line check-in is that it is supposed to speed up the boarding process and stop you from having to join one of those awful queues at the airport and stand in line for half a day.

So I go through the whole process for checking in and print her boarding pass, which she reads and then asks 'why does it say if I have a suitcase I am not allowed to check-in online?'

Well, I think, that's a bloody good question, and sure enough, there it is in black and white on her boarding pass. What an absolute stupid place to divulge that rather important little bit of information; they couldn't have done it on one of the webpages relating to online check-in, to stop you checking in online if you had a suitcase? Oh no.

So I tell her it's alright and just to turn up and leave her bag at the drop and she'll be fine, but this is my mother ... so I end up calling the Isle of Man no less to find out if her boarding pass is valid, what she should do with her bag, how much earlier that will require her to be at the airport (I wouldn't say she's panicing, but I'm thinking of taking her tonight with a sleeping bag and some sandwiches) and will she be allowed on the plane.

And it turns out that her boarding pass is valid, she has checked in online, but ...

She has to go an hour early tomorrow, queue at the desk with her valid boarding pass, leave her suitcase at the desk and have her valid boarding pass stamped. Now, I ask you, WHAT is the point in having online check-in when you have to go through all the processes anyway?

Is it possible we have a company here who are trying to out-do, in a totally opposite way, the efficiencies of Ryanair?

Syncing, syncing ...

Sunk

Yes, for the second time in two months my iPhone has died; completely tattie bread, unresurrectable, dead as a dead thing, rigor mortis, dodo-like dead.

Which is a shame because yesterday, for the first time since it died the last time, I was finally able to get all the apps reinstalled. But, ha ha, none of the music.

And of course, just to rub a little bit of extra salt into my wound, the geeks at the Apple 'genius' bar don't have any appointments until .... Saturday!

I am in a very, very, very bad mood. No really, a very very bad mood

80 hours 49 minutes

and counting

He can always get a job with Ryanair

US police have arrested a flight attendant after he had a row with a passenger on a plane and fled using the emergency exit slide.

Steven Slater, 39, reportedly became furious with a passenger who opened his overhead locker before the plane had stopped at JFK International Airport. He was apprehended on charges of criminal mischief, trespassing and reckless endangerment, police said.

The JetBlue plane was travelling from Pittsburgh to New York on Monday. On the plane's arrival, Mr Slater told passengers to stay in their seats until the plane stopped, according to Associated Press news agency.

When a passenger stood up and opened the overhead locker, Mr Slater went to stop him but the bag struck him in the face. He then demanded an apology but the passenger cursed at him instead.

Becoming irate, Mr Slater then used the loudspeaker to tell him off, before grabbing a beer from the galley and activating the slide. After making his dramatic exit, he then walked to his car and drove away.

Scancakes

A little innovation I knocked up in the kitchen this afternoon in honour of my mum and her friend coming for coffee in the morning. A 'scancake' is a cross between a scone and a pancake - a bread with the texture of a scone and the height of a pancake.

At least, that's what I'm going to tell them, because they ran a coffee shop for many years and that means they have the God given right to be critical of everyone elses scones. Many, many times I have enjoyed their company over coffee and a scone where the scones have been 'awfully big', 'awfully dry', 'awfully dense', 'awfully plain', 'awfully hard' or just plain 'awful'.

Well, with the invention of the scancake I have managed to incorporate all of those features into one (just about) edible creation.

To be fair, when I first lifted them out of the oven I left them sitting for half an hour in the hope that by some magical process they might rise up and look like proper scones, but returned to see they had actually sunk further.

But all is not lost, because I also baked a ginger cake. Which I burnt... but I can cut the burnt bits off and nobody will know.

So mum, after you have read this tonight, you might want to stop off somewhere on your way over from the dentist in the morning and buy a scone or two.

In the meantime I am deciding whether my scancakes should be sold to local rioters as ammunition or used in clay pigeon shooting as targets. Or, if anyone is planning on making a rockery...

Going to the loo on an express train

There's a blog all in itself. But I won't. I'll let you imagine the
scenario

Sent from my iPhone

Night class

It has been a long time since I have blogged. It has been a very long time since I had anything blog-worthy. But today the virtual drought came to an end, thanks to the Belfast Metropolitan College part-time courses supplement I picked up ... somewhere.

I have an itch to learn something. The problem is, I'm not sure what. So I picked up the prospectus with an open mind and the view to broadening my horizons.

The first thing I realised was that the courses are all for qualifications, like HNC or NOCN or C&G which is not at all what I want. Just something that will get me out of the house occasionally, maybe get me a bit excited, stimulate the old grey matter ... nothing too serious or with an assessment.

Which left ... Pilates, but I'm afraid of heights so I could never fly an aeroplane, Using Facebook, like really??, Creative Writing for beginners, but why start now, Bricklaying DIY, I'd rather do the Pilates and ...

Singing in the shower.

Honestly course Code CL030, classes held at Milfield tech. Now here's the thing, I have some questions I need answered like: do you have to bring your own shower or are those provided? Is there opportunity for duets, or choral singing? and does the life drawing class take place in the same venue at the same time?

My children think I should join, watch this space ...

Note to self

When son is having friends back after school, make sure there are no
knickers hanging out to dry on the whirly-gig. You'd think after 11
years I'd have the embarassing parenting thing sussed

Sent from my iPhone

Bobs and bits

Long time no blog. Since I last blogged some points of note have occurred, but not necessarily in this chronological order:

Mother and I survived a week in the smallest holiday resort in Majorca. It had four hotels and only six shops. And a Doctor and a pharmacist. Speaks volumes ... read previous post.

Son was accepted by his school of choice and is a third generation Collegian. There are no better people in the world, ask Alan Green, Chris Barrie, James Ellis, Niall Malone, Barry Douglas, Caron Keating, Robin Eames, John Hewitt, Jeremy Davison the man who split the atom whose name temporarily escapes me, and...um... me :-)

Daughter has found love in the form of a classmate with a mobile phone. The mobile phone is important because she calls him on it to arrange dates. His mum told me he wanted to take her to the local tesco on a date. I told his mum that my daughter is better than that!

SingLive Gospel concert is on Sunday night. It has sort of crept up. I have still words to learn. Alright, lets be honest, I still have parts to learn too.

Two days to go

I have got my books for the pool. I got three from the library ... well four actually but when I got home I discovered I had lifted two different versions of the same book. Doh! So, that afraid am I that I might have to converse with an octagenarian, when I was in Tescos today I bought myself another two books. I am allowed 20kg of luggage. My 20kg consists of 10kg of books and 10kg of suntan lotions and potions!

The lists are on the wall. The first one is all the various finishing times for each child from school and leisure activities. The second is a not quite alphabetical list of the ready meals Tesco delivered this morning which are now tucked away in the freezer, ready for reheating. School dinners will also be eaten each day.

A project on the Victorians which is to be submitted on Friday is also near completion. It will be ready for the printing stage by the time I shut my case. And the news we had been working towards and waiting for for months finally came through today, son is following in his parents and Gran's footsteps by following them through the doors of THE best school in Belfast ....

So all that remains to do now is pack, relax and go brown!

Majorca's Grumpotel

This morning mum and I have booked a holiday to Majorca. It is a last minute deal and we go next Tuesday. The resort is a sleepy area of the island and the hotel looks very nice, right down on a golden sandy beach.

Then we came home and consulted tripadvisor. And the first review said : " this hotel has gone from being a fun place to be to an old folks home by the sea walking sticks and wheelchairs by the dozen we will not return"

And the next review said: "I'd recommend it to couples over 60+ looking for a chilled out break."

Followed by: "Our party of 4 consisted of 2 over 50's and 2 over 70's and for us it was perfect"

This little gem was tucked away on another website: "Absolutely nothing wrong with the Hotel however I think that in the brochures or websites of Portland and Thomson they should warn people that it is geared towards people 75 and older .I am 53 (!!) and went as a single traveller and found the atmosphere in the Hotel very depressing , It really is like a an old peoples home besides the sea .Don't get me wrong as I will be old eventually (!!!) . If you want to relax surrounded by octegenarians discussing there ailments this is the place for you

The Hotel has the unfortunate luck of having the word Grupotel in it's name - mother has already renamed it the Grumpotel and we've not even got there yet!!

Belated Happy Birthday

With the first posting on this blog being on Sunday, May 07, 2006 this blog has recently celebrated it's 4th birthday. Who'd have thought it!

Blogging Milestone

I have just noticed I am less than 100 visitors away from my 20,000th hit. Wow!

An arse the size of a small country

I have been in Portrush. Nice place, terrible shops.

I arrived two days ago and as usual when I got here I discovered I had
arrived without some essentials. On this occasion it was mascara,
socks and knickers. First things on Sunday morning I had to trawl the
town looking for these items. The socks I got in the third petrol
station I visited. And that was the total extent of my success.

In an attempt to acquire knickers I was sent (by my mother, I should
have known better!) to the White House. Locals will understand; if you
are American, this is NOTHING like what you are imagining.

The first pair were what can only be described as bloomers. Dolly took
one look and with eyes wide asked 'mummy, what ARE those??'

It was even funnier when she held them against herself and they came
below her knees. The second pair were nothing short of steel
reinforced. When I was very young I remember ads on the TV for 18 hour
girdles. I think these might have been an original from that era.

The best pair, well they looked like they'd been made from a
dishcloth, or four! Pictorial evidence on the 365 photoblog. Faced
with the prospect of wearing those I felt it would be more appropriate
and a lot more comfortable to go commando.

Did I mention the smallest size in stock of any knickers was a medium
(36")?

Then dolly found the pair I eventually bought. Made by Sloggi, called
shorts, with scalloped edges and a big lily on the right cheek. At £7
a pair they're obviously what passes for sexy lingerie in this part of
the country.

Close your eyes and imagine the sight. I defy you to laugh.

Sent from my iPhone

What would you do with a satsuma?

I have just returned home from the annual BB display. 3 hours ten minutes of top drawer entertainment, with many many highlights, of which I will mention only two.

(1) When the boy who won the scripture cup was announced, his mum, who was sitting beside us shouted out 'Oh my God!'

(2) The answer to the above quiz question, which of course is eat it. The further explanation being that a satsuma of course is a type of plum and a variety of snail.

Top drawer.

I've got the surge

It's snowing outside and inside the lights have been flickering for over an hour, my PC has turned itself off three times in the last ten minutes and the streetlight outside my house has now also started to flicker.

Only a matter of time methinks

I've the urge

to walk through Belfast city in my bra. Yep

Spa-ctacular night

My perception of spas was all wrong. In my (limited) experience, I understood they made you drink water. Lots of water. Lots and lots and lots of water. Not this spa. When I arrived I was asked would I like a cup of tea or coffee ... and an apple pie!! I thought it was maybe a trick, but I said yes just in case I was wrong.

Then I was asked did I want cream. Suspicious and naive in the ways of the spa and the potions and lotions they used I asked 'what kind?'

'Whipped' came the answer. And sure enough, I was treated to a cup of tea and an apple pie with whipped cream before my treatment started.

Some time later, as I lay on the treatment bed, I was told I would first experience the holistic welcome ritual. So long as it was included in the price, I didn't really mind what I experienced. I was instructed to close my eyes and take three deep breathes, all easy enough so far.

As I let out the third deep breath the girl grabbed my head and pulled it so hard in a direction away from the rest of my body that my neck cracked. Then she did the same thing to each of my arms. If that's how they welcome paying customers, I'd hate to see how they treat people whose cheques bounce.

I was to be exfoliated first. Exfoliated sounds such a nice word until you realise that it means rubbing you down with the spa equivalent of a piece of sand paper. This is why they make you lie naked on their beds - to stop you getting up and running away mid treatment.

I had to shower to get rid of all the 'grit' (there was more on me than some council areas in England had available to spread on their roads during the big freeze) and then the mud was applied.

It was green, but it didn't smell as if it had come from the Lagan.

In the middle of this application, I took cramp in my foot. And then a fit of the giggles. Bits of me started to twitch uncontrollably as both took hold until I had to bite the inside of my cheek so hard I swear I nearly drew blood. Then suddenly a sobering thought. Stop laughing in case you fart. Not that I do fart when I laugh, but I realised this would be a terrible time for it to happen for the first time.

After the mud had been removed I had cream applied. Not whipped. As I'm getting my neck and shoulders rubbed the girl said 'you're full of knots'. I nearly fell off the bed, and then I realised she'd said knots, not nits.

Big thank you to those who bought me this fantastically luxurious present. In spite of myself, I had a lovely relaxing time, and tomorrow I will have skin that shines like an angel on a Christmas card.

Or maybe spots, as apparently sometimes happens.

Mud wrap

It's a bit like a chicken wrap, only you're the chicken.

Tonight I am paying someone £60 to slap a lot of muck on me and wrap me up in towels. Of course it's not just any old muck, it's Monticelli mud muck, and that probably makes all the difference! Mind you, if my kids splashed me with the tiniest amount of mud I'd throw a mental so how I'm going to cope with being fully coated in the stuff.....

I had the choice of a few treatments, like an anti-aging firming wrap, but I'm in denial, or the body strategist organic wrap, but I wasn't sure whether you ate it or lay in it. I only plumped for the mud because they told me the Swedish massage would hurt.

And I thought these things were supposed to be relaxing.

Come Dine....

I'm having a 'Come Dine with Me' fundraising event. Basically the idea follows the format of the programme which is that people take it in turns to cook for each other, and their meals are scored out of 10 by the guests.

In the fundraiser, for every mark you give the host out of 10, you also give a pound. So if you think the meal was really good and you score it at 9 (nobodys perfect!!) then you put £9 in the kitty.

I've chosen Action Cancer as the charity, and if we can get four or even five people who are willing to give it a go for a bit of a laugh and a good cause, then they should be quids in!

This is where it all started and so far there are three willing (to greater or lesser extents!) volunteers. If anyone else feels that they might be up for it there's still time to join in. You don't have to be able to cook, in fact it'll be much better craic if you cant!! If you don't fancy the cooking bit but would like to come for one of the meals, provided you are prepared to join in the voting, that would probably be OK too!

Diddle Diddle Dumpling

My 9 year old daughter reworked a classic this morning. This is her version:

'Diddle diddle dumpling,
my daughter Jill,

went to bed
without her pill'

She can't understand why I choked on my toast.

A Blessing for St Patrick's Day

As you slide down the banister of life,
May the splinters never point in the wrong direction

Sláinte

3 days to go

I started covering a maternity leave on 20th April last year and it's just now entering the death throes. Maternity leave? Eternity leave! I mind the days when you got 18 weeks and were delighted you didn't have to cope with just 12!

And so, three days to go and then I will not have a clue what to do with myself. How blissful is that?

When I resigned my job a little over four years ago I asked myself what would I do? Help my son become a genius, make soup, read novels, knit, go geocaching, take walks, read more, volunteer, clean my house, take up Irish dancing, look for a new job, blog...??

Well, I've done as well as I can with the genius, made a hell of a lot of soup, read the odd book or twenty, knit half a hat for a premature baby (who is now 18 years old!!) gone geocaching, not really walked too much, read more, got a cleaner to clean my house, taken up Irish dancing and retired again through injury, not bothered with the job and blogged incessantly.

What could I possibly do next?

International Womens Day

Yesterday was International Womens Day, and women up and down the country and around the globe celebrated by making meals, washing clothes, cleaning houses, running kids to and from school and pandering after partners.

Just like every other blessed day of the year!

Roll on International Mens Day when we all get to sit on our backsides in front of the TV and sleep for an evening.

Eighty Eight

That's the number of bags of crisps I had in my Tesco delivery tonight.

Yes, we're on a health drive.

Let there be light

Dad was telling me today of how he had occasion to use a disabled toilet in the hospital. He couldn't find the light pull so concluded that the light would go on automatically when he shut the toilet door. It didn't.

Mum takes up the story. Apparently the door opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as dad tried to make the non-existent automatic light work. Each time this happened she snuck further and further into the corner of the room, in a kink of laughter but hoping no one else was noticing dad's hokey cokey moment.

I had a similar experience in a toilet in a dentists in Bristol. Again, no apparent light pull, and the only thing that glowed when the door was shut was a dark blue emergency light. It took five minutes for my eyes to acclimatise to even be able to see the toilet, never mind use it. People stopped just short of sending in an emergency crew to excavate me.

Turns out these days the light switches are on the outside. A decision obviously made by an ex schoolboy prankster. Should you come across such a facility, I advise you also watch out for cling film over the bowl.