I want to be a Play Therapist when I grow up

It all started in a year 8 employability class when one of the pupils asked me what I'd like to do when I grew up.

Stage two was when we had to take Dolly up to hospital rather unexpectedly last week to have a series of scans and tests done. Now you would think that to an eight year old all the prodding, scanning, probing, jabbing and widdling on demand might seem a tad disconcerting, as it certainly was for mum.

Not at all. Thanks not only to the super medical staff on the ward and in the radiology department, but largely to the wards Play Therapist.

Don't you mean physiotherapist I hear you say. No. Play Therapist. Someone who looked after the little patients by providing suitable games, puzzles, activities and crafts to keep them occupied between examinations and tests.

Someone who explained in child friendly terms exactly what would be happening and why. I found that useful myself! Someone who played 'Where's Wally?' to expertly distract whilst bloods were being taken. And someone who made mums and dads a proper mug of tea.

Brilliant job, and that's what I want to be when I grow up.

PS Dolly say hospital fish and chips are the best in the world

PPS all tests came back clear :-)

Sent from my iPhone

Life without the internet

First the router, now the modem. Makes you realise just how reliant
you have become on the old tinterweb when you don't have it.

Im going to have to actually walk into a shop to buy my groceries!
And does anyone know if you can book a hotel by telephone?

Worst of all, no access to online coverage of tomorrows Ulster match.
Might have to see if I can borrow a wireless set for that one.

So, if you're trying to communicate with me in a hurry, you might want
to forego email and try the phone. I'm sure we have a landline
somewhere...

Sent from my iPhone

Nice day for it

We had a bomb scare in town today, about half a mile from where I am currently working. That meant police checkpoints and roads closed and diversions and big traffic tailbacks.

I was sitting in the tailbacks thinking where else but Belfast would you see people move out into the streets to watch a bomb scare? Hairdressers and their customers all standng at the cordon watching the bomb disposal robot approaching the package. Men with pints lounging against the wall watching and chatting with the police at the cordons. Mums with prams and shopping chatting while taking in the goings on. Kids hangning out of windows overlooking the site. And me sitting in the traffic queue with the roof down on the mini.

Of course, if it had been raining, that would have been a completely different story! Wouldn't it be good if it could be like this all the time?? ;-)

This arrived today

I need a (virgin) man

I haven't been able to use my desktop for some time as first of all I
had a router issue and now I have an ongoing Internet issue. I feel
the resurgance of my love affair with the Virgin man coming on!

Hmmmm. Judy, do you think ...??

Sent from my iPhone, and thank the Lord I have it!!

Father Ted moment

I was showing some pupils pictures of Paris and we had already oohed and ahhed at the Eiffel Tower when I switched to a picture of the Arc de Triomphe nicely lit up at night.

One pupil suddenly says 'look Miss, there's that other tower in the picture too. WOW! That arch must be massive, the tower looks tiny beside it.'

I actually heard myself saying it ... no, it's not small, it's just .....

Economics

Reading a post on Steve's blog reminded me of an experience I had myself.

In sixth form I too studied Economics. I did the 'O' level in one year (I have a B grade Steve) and in the second year went on to do the 'A' level, where I didn't do quite so well ;-) As part of our course we were encouraged to buy an entire set of essay answers written by a professor of Economics from the London School of Economics, which I of course did.

Having done well enough to get to university I followed a degree that required a certain amout of Economics knowledge so in the first year we had lectures in Economics. The module was assessed by an assignment, the title of which was 'What is the function of the Bank of England?'

Now, there was a girl who had not only been at my school, but also in my 'A' level Economics class doing the same course as me, and we were the only two in the entire year group who had ever studied Economics before. We decided that, rather than re-invent the wheel, we would just copy our 'What is the function of the Bank of England?' essay from our set of essay answers written by a professor of Economics from the London School of Economics because, frankly, we had a dozy old codger for lectures who wasn't even going to notice that she'd received two identically written essays.

We expected A grades, as you would. Disappointing then when my copy of the professor of Economics essay was graded at C- and my friends identical copy of the professor's essay got a B+. Go figure

Fun Monday

I don't do these very often, but this one sort of tickled me.

Jan has asked us to explain what type of TV viewer we are. Well, truthfully I don't watch much on TV but there are two programmes I never miss, always record and have seen gazillions of times over.

The first is one everyone will know - NCIS, standing for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. It is a drama series revolving around a fictional team of special agents who conduct criminal investigations involving the US Navy and Marine Corps. I love it. Actually, I love Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And Anthony DiNozzo. And Judy loves Ducky :-)

Second is a programme in the UK called Come Dine with Me. The show has four amateur chefs competing against each other by hosting a dinner party for the other contestants. Each competitor then rates the host's performance with the winner winning a £1,000 cash prize.

Some of the cooks are a complete and utter disaster, like the woman who made six (I kid you not) pavlovas before getting one right, or the one who fell asleep and her guests had to cook their own main course! And the mix of competitors is always good; veggies mixed with butchers type things.

But the absolutely best bit is the element of comedy which is added to the show through the narrator, who provides a dry and "bitingly sarcastic" narration throughout.

Seasons

I am sitting at my new desk in my new position in the 'nook' on the upstairs landing of the house listening to the rain blattering off the roof and the wind blowing the tree branches into the windows. This is going to be a long, long winter :-(

Happy Birthday bro!

Subtle insults

My brother bought a new car this week. He need it because the number of children in his family is going to be doubled from two to four in January.

Anyway, he bought a new car, a couple of years old but in excellent nick. When questioned he explained that the previous owner had been an old man. 'Oh' laughed mum 'someone my age then, ha ha ha'. 'No' said brother, 'he's not that old, he must have been about 50'.

That would be just eight years older than me then. Old, eh.

I was wrong

when I said it had all gone pear-shaped

wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

Poetry

As part of the major rearrangement of rooms that is taking place at home currently, I have been bunging out cupboards and today I came across a box of my kids old school notebooks. The work has made interesting reading, like the following poem penned by my son.

My Mum

You're as smashing as a red rose in a garden

You're as tasty as chicken

You're as cool as a can of Coke

You're as soft as silk

You're as excellent as rock music

You're as cheerful as happyness

You're as lovely as presents

I've done it again

Much to the embarrassment of my kids, I have just accosted a strange man in Tescos. Not that the man I accosted was strange in himself. I'm sure he was perfectly normal in most ways. It's just that it was a man I didn't know from Adam.

It all started innocently enough, my son thought he had seen one of his teachers and decided he would go and say hello. Having already paid for my groceries, I proceeded to go back into the store with him, laden down with full grocery bags, risking being arrested for shoplifting.

When we caught up with the man, my son got cold feet, and knowing the longer I hung around with my bags of shopping the more likely it would be that I would be arrested for shoplifting, I decided enough was enough and grabbed the man by the elbow.

'Well, hello!' I chirped, to which the stranger turned round , looked me up and down, turned beetroot (yes, it does happen!) red and started to back away from the mad woman.

Of course, any normal person would apologise and maybe explain. Not me.. oh no, I started to giggle nervously. Which only made the poor man go even redder (yes, it is possible!)

At this stage the kids have run off in total humiliation leaving me to eventually apologise and let the poor man go on with buying his haemorrhoid cream.

How to decorate a room round a Stade Francais nudey calendar

By the power of the internet

In 1997 we went to visit friends we had met on honeymoon who lived in Boston. Whilst we were visiting them, they took us on a trip up to New Hampshire to a little place called North Conway. North Conway was lovely, with little old fashioned general merchant shops and old inns and a lovely hand-made quilt shop.

At that stage in my life I still had time to do a bit of quilting, but when I saw the specimens in this store I decided I just had to have one. So I selected one (tough job - they were all so nice!) to bring home for our downstairs bedroom.

As I was paying, the lady at the counter told me she had made the quilt herself, and showed me where she had signed and dated the quilt on the reverse side.

I never really thought another thing about it. Until yesterday. I had stripped the bed and was washing the bedlinen and decided that I would also give the quilt a wash. Usually I got it dry cleaned, but I didn't have time for that so looked to see if there were any care instructions before popping it into the washing machine. Well, there weren't, but I did find the lady's signature.

So I thought, I'll google her, which I did, to discover she still runs a little quilt shop in Conway, NH. Then I thought I'll see if she's on Facebook, after all everyone's on Facebook these days. So I typed her name in and lo and behold there she was again.

The long and short of it is that I have been able to contact the lady who made my quilt and send her a long overdue photo of her handicraft in situ in my bedroom.

Isn't the internet wonderful??!

60 minute makeover

I am blogging from the iPhone because the desktop is currently packed
away whilst a major transformation is undertaken with study
arrangements. It may or may not be successful - and that could refer
equally to the blogging from the iPhone and the transformation progress.

As I type the painter is slapping on new dulux and as usual it bears
no resemblance to the colour on the sample card when it's on the wall.
On top of that, I feel like I've been six rounds with Barry McGuigan
having spent the afternoon assembling IKEA furniture.

And in about ten seconds when I push send, the phones gonna tell me
I'm trying to send this email update to an invalid address.

BTW, were already well over the 60 minute mark - even the 60 hour
mark. Why, oh why .....

:-)

Sent from my iPhone

Fairy sleepover tonight

Bollywood

There's a community festival going on round these parts. The kids are
loving signing up to new activities on offer, especially Dolly as
there are no more than three types of dance workshops. After much
deliberation, bollywood dancing was selected from the three.

So I duly took her to the first session last night, fully intending to
drop and go. But would she stay on her own? Would she heck as like!
So it became bollywood dancing for mummies.

Today she was full of me dropping her off and her being on her own, up
until the point we got to the venue when she stuck to me like glue and
it became bollywood for mummies part two.

Now don't get me wrong, it's been great fun but tonight I have to say
I'm completely bollywood bolloxed. How bad can it be? you say. Bad
enough that I physically had to use my two hands to lift my legs into
bed tonight, and whether or not I manage to get them lifted back out
again in the morning is anyones guess. I wouldn't go laying bets...

Sent from my iPhone

Crap

With nothing but rain in prospect for the days ahead, I just wondered if anyone could remember the last day it didn't rain? How utterly depressing is the weather in Northern Ireland. I think I was born in the wrong country.

CSSM

Children's Special Service Mission or Come Single Soon Married. The latter never worked for me, as an attendee or a worker.

This week our local CSSM is running, unusually for Northern Ireland anyway, it is an urban setting - most CSSMs are found on the beach. Or, lets be honest, in church halls near beaches sheltering from the rain.

So CSSM has started and, like all good medicines, you get three doses a day - morning, afternoon and evening.

My eldest is the child of responsibility. When notes are given out at school, the eldest child in the family gets them. Before that, at day nursery, notes and even more importantly the monthly bill would also have been put in the bag of the eldest child. My eldest took the responsibility of handing over these little brown envelopes very seriously.

Which is why, when given a gift envelope for the work of Scripture Union at CSSM in his first year attending, he came bolting out of the church shouting 'mummy, we got the bill today!'.

Star signs

We were watching a TV programme tonight in which there was a discussion about star signs, which prompted the following conversation in the room.

'What star sign am I mummy?' asks Dolly.

Pause for a moment, thinking, then: 'I don't know sweetheart.'

Continue to watch TV when a couple of minutes later son pipes up: 'I know. You're a virgin.'

Double entendre

There was a big conference thing going on up in a 'big tent' on the North coast last week. Called New Horizon, this has been happening at the same place for years and years and years, and lots of people make that week their holiday week up in the Coleraine area.

One of my dad's bowling buddies was up for it, staying in his caravan. He travelled into the conference by bus, and being elderly, a bit immobile and having not very good eyesight, (I'm betting you're wondering how this man plays a competitive sport like bowls!) he asked the bus driver would he let him know when they got to the stop nearest the 'big tent'.

Sure enough, after a while on the bus, the driver shouts down "get off here mate for the big tent.''

Which dad's mate did, to find he had been dropped off at ... the circus, which also happened to be in town.

I took the lawnmower for a walk today

I thought I was cutting the grass; turns out the rotors or cutters or whatever you call them weren't lowered.

I wondered why the grass didn't look any shorter when I'd finished.

Actually, I'm going to elaborate on this story. You should know that, so temperamental is the machine that I had to make two phone calls to find out which bit to kick to get it to work in the first instance.

Then, on the one hundredth pull of the cord whilst holding the switch simultaneously in the 'on' position while the 10 year old engaged the brake, when it did start, the thing developed a life of it's own and literally dragged said 10 year old round the garden behind it. With me chasing along behind in my flip-flops.

Add to that the fact that I was then insulted and ridiculed by being told I was using it like a hoover, not a lawnmower.

And at the end of all this, it turns out the feckin grass still hasn't been cut.

Go figure

A novel written in 1997 in which the woman wears a gabardine suit and fur coat, the man wears horn-rimmed spectacles, and they all use mobile phones.

I'm having difficulty because I don't see those things all belonging in the one era.

Not to mention that the gabardine-clad, so called crack team of British spies have never heard of a Chinook. What's that all about??

This book is really starting to cause me angst.

The McWedding

Whilst on holiday recently, we met a Scottish couple who were there with a small group of friends and family for their McWedding on the beach. Kilts, sporrins and wooly socks in 32oC, I ask you.

Anyway, they'd chosen the perfect setting; least of all because of the palm lined beaches, the gentle lapping of sea against the sands, and glorious sunshine ... most of all because it was an all-inclusive resort with drink available in various bars 16 hours a day. If you think the Irish are hardened drinkers, you should see the Glaswegians knock em back!

As the day of the big event approached, it became time for the McStag-Night. One of the party had booked the men onto the sunset cruise. What that person did not understand was that, far from being a booze cruise, it was full of romantic couples, some of which were gay.

I have to say, it's the first time I've actually seen a stag party more sober at the end of the night than they were at the start of it.

Jeremy the helicopter pilot

Not, not a children's book written by a certain (ex) Royal but some lessons learnt from my second ever helicopter ride that I didn't learn from the first one

1. turbulance is a very bad thing
2. dont' ever fly in a helicopter in a thunder and lightning storm
3. Enniskillen whirlybird pilots are much more 'terrified user-friendly' than St Lucian ones
4. when the pilot asks 'do you like rollercoasters?', the answer is always 'no' and should be given without a moments hesitation. In fact, I would clear that point up before I even got into the thing
5. everyone wears the headsets, therefore everyone hears you swear
6. helicopters don't carry boke bags

Richard Branson

If you are in the habit of 'googling' your own name and find this
post, I want you to know that your pilots look nothing like the one
one the '25 years and still hot'.

Disappointing. Very disappointing.

Sent from my iPhone

Conundrum

If the Twelfth is on the thirteenth this year, when is the Eleventh?

The discerning few

may have noticed that the diary has become a very quiet place of late. The music, more often chosen for it's witty context than musical value, has disappeared from my blog.

This is because the site I used, Playlist, seems to be having legal difficulties whereby every time I try to link in a witty ditty I get a message to say that due to licensing restrictions, some or all tracks may be unavailable for playback in your country. It would appear the word 'some' is there purely to create false hope in my country.

So turn on your sound, crack up the volume and do not be afraid - the days of being assaulted by such musical masterpeices as '99 words for boobs' on this site are, sadly, gone.

Fun Monday

It's been a while since I did one of these; busy, busy, busy!

This idea is contributed by mamarehema who is interested to know how people have spent 4th July - American Independence Day.

Being in the States on St Patrick's Day is a favourite of mine (twice in the past two years!) but way, way back in 2001 I attended a conference in Rhode Island and had opportunity to take a bit of a break in Cape Cod before I travelled down.

I was really looking forward to being State-side for the 4th July holiday and seeing all the pomp, ceremony and fireworks up close and personal. But as luck would have it, on the morning of the 4th I woke with a streaming cold.

So off I pop to the local shop and, being a little Irish girl instead of a local, buy myself something that looked like it might help clear all the rotten cold symptoms.

Only it must have been three times as strong as anything we sell over the counter in Ireland, because within an hour I was out for the count, in the sleep of the dead, comatose. And so remained for the rest of the day, completely missing any festivities that may have taken place around me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call Murphy's Law.

Just for the record, we don't have an Independence Day in Belfast. We have'The Twelfth'. 'Nuff said.

The 'stupid cat' is dead

Let me tell you about Harry.

A long, long time ago, Harry arrived in our family quite by mistake and with an ultimatum. My brother was involved in a church outreach programme on the Lower Ormeau Road in Belfast and the team were having lunch one day when there was a knock at the door.

My brother and the leader in charge went to see who was there, but were a bit puzzled to see nobody on the step. About to turn round and go back to their lunch, the leader in charge heard a faint sound. On closer inspection, he noted that the sound was coming from a plastic bag at the doorstep. On closer listening, he decided it was a baby abandoned for them to take care of.

And then that big strapping (now lawyer) leader in charge showed his true leadership qualities and ran and hid whilst my brother was left to investigate the baby in the bag.

The 'baby' turned out to be a wee new kitten, orange and white and completely feral. Everyone oohed and ahhed but at going home time nobody stepped up to the mark to take the kitten home.

By happy coincidence, mother and I were in Crete that week on holiday, so the kitten was smuggled into our garage, where it lived in blissful ignorance for four days until we got home. We first knew something was a bit odd when we saw a note sellotaped to the garage door that said 'Do Not Open'.

Brother introduced us and mum told him he had three days to find 'it' a home. He was canny, my brother, and didn't bother his backside doing anything about it and soon three days turned into a week, a fortnight a month and then Harry (so named as he was dumped in a Harrods plastic bag) was a permanent fixture at home.

So permanent in fact, that nine years ago when my brother moved out into his own house, Harry stayed with mum. Showing that, despite the fact dad insisted on renaming him 'that stupid cat' and chasing him out of the house every opportunity he got, Harry was indeed a very clever cat!

Look!

Check this out

Vanity of vanities; all is vanity

I went and had my eyebrows waxed this evening. Usually that means I come away with thinner, trimmer, more sleek, less hairy eyebrows. As you would expect really.

Well, not tonight. Whatever they managed to do, however they managed to do it, this evening I came away with eyebrows doing a seriously good impersonation of Susan Boyle.

You think I exaggerate? When I appeared home the Dolly took one look at me and exclaimed 'What have you done to your eyebrows?? They're massive!!' I called round to drop something off with a friend and she's staring at my eyes. 'Did you get those waxed?' she asks. 'I did' I reply. 'Well,' she says. 'you're going to have to get them done again!'

And now you know why it's only ever the eyebrows that get the waxing treatment.

Blogging from bed

It's not that I've nothing to blog about, it's just that I've not had
time to log in and blog.

Life is busy, take this evening for example. I'm just in from having
spent the evening introducing Robin 'These are the days of Elijah'
Mark's trumpeter to Jesus. Only the Anglicans amongst you will fully
comprehend.

But I digress. As may have been ascertained by photographic evidence,
the helicopter flight went well. Very well in fact. So well indeed,
I've decided to have another go next Sunday. But this time with a
pilot who remembers to put on his glasses before he starts flying.

And then I'm considering a bit of skydiving after that :-p

Interestingly, as we flew over Lough Erne on Sunday morning my pilot
was very keen to point out Bertie Fisher's house below us. For those
of you who don't know, Bertie was a well known, highly acclaimed local
rally driver who was tragically killed ... in a helicopter crash.

You gotta love the Irish sense of humour.

Sent from my iPhone

Flying high!

Holiday reading

Steve Tilley recently blogged his holiday reading. He gets through a lot of books. I am currently looking for suggestions for holiday reading (please leave inspired ideas in the comments) but thought I would post a few titles I have enjoyed myself recently. Steve rates his, I wouldn't know how to start!

1. A Case of Exploding Mangoes: Mohammad Hanif

On 17th August, 1988, a Hercules C130 carrying Pakistan’s military dictator General Zia ul Haq crashed. The real cause of the accident was never discovered, but this novel based on the incident works through several twisted and intertwined plots including a blind woman's curse, mechanical failure, generals unhappy with their leader and it being the mango season. All plausible enough and with some dark humour an enjoyable read.

2. People of the Book: Geraldine Brooks

This was a book club title, and to be honest, I thought I was going to hate it; I thought it would be dry and boring and intellectual, but in fact I really loved this book, the story and the way in which it is written. Another novel inspired by a true story in which a rare book expert is given the task of conserving the famed Sarajevo Haggadah, which has been rescued from Serb shelling during the Bosnian war. Gradually you are taken back through the life and story of this holy manuscript until you eventually find out how and why it came to being.

3. Judge and Jury: James Patterson

This is a thriller about the capture and trial of a mafia boss. The struggle is between the boss' desire to remain free and the agent's desire to see him punished and needless to say, things do not go smoothly. Pretty action packed, sometimes gory, fast moving and an entertaining, fast and easy read.

4. Watchers: Dean Koontz

A top-secret government laboratory creates two genetically altered life forms. One is a dog of astonishing intelligence. The other, a monster of a brutally violent nature. And both are on the loose. The dog finds a home with a single man who finds him as he goes into the woods to commit suicide. The monster follows them everywhere they go because he wants to kill the dog. A thrilling and intruiging read if you like this kind of thing; probably the best book I have read this year so far.

Enough for now, suggestions below please!

So ... here's the craic ...

Holiday coming up ... fantastic location ... sun, sea, sand and ...

... helicopter transfer.

Sounds fantastic I hear you say - what's the problem?? Well, to start with, here are the facts:

• Fact number one: I love flying, absolutely adore it, and have done plenty of it.
• Fact number two: I have a morbid fear of heights.

Let me explain 'morbid'. I am the person who went to the first level (and that's the first level up, not the first level down folks!) on the Eiffel Tower and refused to move away from the side of the lift in case I got any closer to the 'edge'.

I am the person who pushed the wrong button on the glass lift in Belfast's new Victoria Centre, ended up in the glass dome (what is that? three, four storeys high?) and couldn't get back down because the choice for getting down was going down in a glass lift or on a glass encased stairwell.

I am the person who went on the London Eye (against my own better judgement) and sat on the bench in the middle of the capsule with my eyes tight shut, fingers so tightly wrapped round the bench they had to be prised off, with tears streaming down my cheeks the whole way round.

I am the person who was put in a chairlift to go down the mountain after a ski lesson and reacted so badly that the unknown 11 year old child in the chair beside me felt it was his duty to personally comfort and reassure me we were going to survive the journey the whole way down the to the village. I was 25 at the time.

Feck's sake, I can't even look at these photographs of the workmen sitting drinking their tea on the metalwork of the skyscrapers they are building without getting the willies.

To those of you who do not share my fear, the two facts above must seem contradictory and to be honest I just cannot explain why I have no problem flying when I can't climb a ladder into my own roof space.

But a plane is a plane, and in it I have no difficulty. A helicopter on the other hand ... well, I'm thinking it's just a smaller version of that capsule on the London Eye.

So while the rest of the family are booked onto the 10 minute helicopter transfer, I am currently booked into the 2 hour 'nightmare' road transfer, until such times as it is seen that I pass the 'can rationally ride in a helicopter (subclause: without causing all those around me to have nervous breakdowns at my expense)' test.

Which is why I am heading across country to an airfield on Sunday for a trial flight .....

Latest

When the iPhone was taken to it's place of incarceration and final rest yesterday, a last minute check discovered that it wasn't dead at all.

I hope I get as lucky when it's my time.

I have now moved onto the next issue ... does anyone have access to a helicopter?

Dead

I have killed my iPhone. It is dead as a dead thing, stone cold, tatie bread as we say here.

It started on Thursday night. Not that the death was long, slow and drawn out. Oh no, that bit happened almost instantaneously. It was the diagnosis of death that has taken so long.

I was updating to version 3.0 so I could send photos by text. Do I ever wish now I hadn't bothered my backside? Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?? Anyway, I went through the processes of downloading the new version of iTunes so I could download the new version of whatever it was I needed to send photos.

And then I just did as I was told. And the phone died. Now, I kept getting messages that said it wasn't dead ... OK, what they actually said was that the phone was 'recovering', but this transpires to be a lie. However, in vain hope I sat for four hours going through the same processes, round and round in circles, getting the same messages. Nothing.

So I took it to the Apple expert on Friday, my brother, who pronounced it terminally ill. Advice from O2, my service provider, was needed.

This I sought last night, and for another nearly two hours I went round and round in the same circles again with nice O2 lady on the phone (landline; remember, mine is dead) Eventually, she admits defeat and refers me to Apple, who had closed up shop for the day.

This morning, another two hours of going round the same circles, but with a few different exercises thrown in for variety's sake. Apparently, out of all the trouble there has been downloading version 3 in Ireland, and , I am assured, there has been lots of trouble, I am the only soul on the whole of the island of Ireland who has received an error code 2.

Is this supposed to make me feel better?

After consultation with supervisors and much pondering, the pronouncement of death was finally made at 10:40am. It is currently on it's way to the Apple store in Belfast for post mortem.

I take some comfort in that I am the owner of the first iPhone in the world (probably) to die of it's version of swine flu. But not much.

It's not idiot-proof, it's methodical

Thus spake the engineer in the house (otherwise known as the Ikea fairy) regarding the assembling of Ikea bedroom furniture tonight.

Dear Miss ...

... Jim was off school because he caught a chill and had terrible diahorrea through a hole in his wellies

... please excuse Harry's absence from school. I've been in bed for three days with the doctor and couldn't get up to get him dressed.

... Tommy was absent with his face. He's had it a long time and the doctor says its spreading

... please excuse Sadie for not being at school last week. I've been upside down with the painters for the last three days

... I have kept Kevin off school because the doctor says he has slipped a dick

... Joanne won't be in school for a few days because she has trouble with her eye. The doctor says it's a misplaced rectum.

Wipe that grin off your face woman!

Anyone who even loosely follows this blog will remember that this time last year when it was announced that Ulster were in the same pool as Stade Francais for the Heineken Cup, I went a bit weak at the knees, and then proceeded to blog about it and post pictures of naked rugby players for the rest of the year.

Well, today was the draw for next season's Heineken Cup and although we all know history has a way of repeating itself, who would have believed it could happen just so quickly!

Yes, Ulster have once again been drawn in the same pool as Stade Francais. Another whole year to (justifiably) post naked pictures on this blog.

It's hard to argue with such evidence: Pink is indeed beautiful!!

Random things of no particular interest

• beware of people with £20 tents and £50 carryouts when camping
• good song, worth a listen
• I'm thinking of starting a campaign to boycott chippies who only use frozen chips and not real ones made from potatoes
• this time four weeks I should be in St Lucia
• poll booths should be set up in supermarkets if they want people to actually bother voting
• Steve Tilley read a Bateman ... and laughed
• the passport office and our local chemist are in a combined money-making scam involving passport photos
• strawberry and black pepper, not basil
• if I had £100 million, I'd save Setanta over Newcastle United

Success!

Toadstool furniture and spiders web curtains, this MUST be the place :-)

For more pictures see 'all picture no sound'

Do you see the little people?

Fairy Glen

"Let me tell you about a special place. The Fairy Glen, in the Kingdom of Mourne."

As the weather has been so good (and there's the scud on it now), we have booked to go camping this weekend in Rostrevor, Co Down. Rostrevor is on the shore of Carlingford Lough at the foot of the Mourne mountains.

More importantly, it is home to the Fairy Glen, where the little folk live and spend their time dancing along the Kilbroney river to the sound of harp music only they can hear. We are going to see if we can find fairy folk getting up to all sorts of mischief, running along window ledges and gazing at their reflection in the glass.

We're going to search out the wise old owl who tells the story of what the little folk get up to when they come out to play after dark. And of course, we'll be keeping a keen eye out for Daisy, Michael, Mary, Alice and their friends. Or at least, evidence of them.

If you don't believe me, or are considering that I have finally and totally lost the plot, get yourself a copy of Declan Carville's book 'The Fairy Glen' or 'A Winter Night in the Fairy Glen'.

5000+ woman can't be wrong

Today I had an amazing experience. I walked with over 5000 other pink-clad woman round Stormont Estate, Belfast as part of Cancer Research UK's 'Race for Life' in order to help raise money to find a cure for cancer.

I walked with woman who have survived cancer, women who have cancer, women who lost friends and/or family members to cancer, woman supporting friends and/or family members who are going through the trauma of cancer, some who work with people who have cancer, some who are working to find a cure and woman who just want to get rid of the disease forever.

I walked with people in wheelchairs, mums pushing strollers, women on walking sticks and crutches, pregnant ladies, toddlers, dogs and three pretty rough looking drag queens.

But everyone had one thing in common - it's time to find a cure. And 5000+ woman ... well, they just can't be wrong.

Thanks for your support. Today, we did a great thing.

Cancer Research 'Race for Life'

Tomorrow's the day

It has finally arrived. The intensive training programme ... never really got off the ground, but I did spend this afternoon lying in the garden 'acclimatising' to the current weather conditions.

My friend Etta and I spent some time on Google earth today hunting out a tree near the finishing line that was big enough for us to hide behind and then just jump and dander over the line when the first 'racers' came past, but conscience (eventually) got the better of us. That and the fact we didn't actually know where the finishing line is going to be ...

This has completely knocked my socks off: I have managed to raise £174.00 for Cancer Research UK plus a bit more with the 'fleece the Government' thingy and some cash donations.

I am totally, totally blown away, this has outdone ANY expectation I had, all I can say is a big, genuine thankyou to you all for your support, monetary donations and prayers for sunshine :-)

(sad to report, nobody has, as yet, donated any chocolate)

cheers all

Just checked the weather

All websites saying sunshine and temperatures of 20 oC for Belfast on Sunday :-)

Please God let that be at 11am precisely and directly over the Stormont estate. Thankyou!

More blogroll

Please note the new name on the blog. Peggy Bain is a friend I met whilst in Texas and a very funny lady.

She is also Nancy's other half in the Millie & Gertrude routine (although it's a bit like Ant and Dec; I'm not really sure which one's which!) That probably makes it appropriate enough that she falls right below Nancy on the blogroll.

Why I can't have football: Part 2

And if you think this is bad, you should read what they did to her husband here.

5 days to go

With only five days to go until the 'Race for Life' I have given up
any pretense of training and am instead asking everyone to pray that
the weather improves dramatically and it stays dry on Sunday morning!

The thought of being out in the kind of rain we've been having for the
length of time this is going to take me is not a happy one. Even for
charity.

Sometimes it's not easy being an Ulster rugby fan

And other times it's nigh on bl%dy impossible.

Now that Joanna Lumley has sorted out the Gurkhas, I wonder would she
consider trying to solve the problems at Ravenhill?

Sent from my iPhone

OK, so it's a bit rude

but this product, which is allegedly on sale in Irish supermarkets, is also hilariously funny ...

(read the bottom of the pack)

... nuff said

If music be the food of love ....

I'm a bit stuffed.

The Rev Garibaldi Biscuit plays a wee game about the tunes on your iPod. My iPhone is a relatively new acquisition and I haven't yet worked out (or had the time to work out) how to transfer my existing music onto it, so I have a mere 7 downloaded tracks to play with.

Ridiculously unbelieveable, I know. I shall work to improve that for next weeks round of the competition.

By the way, my 7th download was 'Life in a Northern Town' although not this (currently playing) traditional Dream Academy version. Back in the day I was more rock chick than disco babe and was a big fan of an American singer Rick Springfield, so when I discovered his version of this song on iTunes I just had to have it!

So go on, tell me ... what's the 7th track on your ipod / iPhone / phone / MP3 player / significant other music playing device? You never know, you might just inspire me for download no.8!

Dear Tooth Fairy

At 11.46am this morning Dolly lost a tooth. She performed the extraction herself, I think my hysterectomy took less time and was less dramatic, but that's a side issue.

We are all delighted the tooth has been successfully removed as a note had been written to the tooth fairy earlier in the week expressing concern that the tooth was so wobbly that there was genuine concern it might come out during the night and be swallowed.

I, for one, was not hunting that tooth out.

I have never been as close to a cow's arse

as I was at the Balmoral* show today. It wasn't a pretty sight, and as I tried to navigate nine excited children between two fairly squashed up lines of the animals, I did start to understand how Moses might have felt whilst negotiating the Red Sea crossing.

But in fact my overwhelming thought as we marched through what could definitely be called the 'splash' zone was if any of them (the cows obviously) as much as start to 'raise a tail' it's every man for himself, and I'm out of here!

I should mention that the experience was made all the richer by one student who ducked down under every beast, only to resurface and shout 'that one's a boy' or 'that one's a girl' much to the merriment of the farming folk around us.

Don't even ask what happened in the pig pens, or when they asked the farmer about his goats which were actually sheep, or how come the ASDA stand ran out of cake samples before ten thirty in the morning. All in a day's work!

* The Balmoral show is an annual event when the country comes to the town and literally set up farmyard in a large open venue in Belfast

Blogging on the go

Well, I can now blog on the bog so to speak. Not that I would you
understand, but I do have the technology to blog whenever or from
wherever I want. I shall try to restrain myself!

Victory!

Remember this? When Marks and Spencer started to charge £2 more for bras with cups larger than a DD, I was forced to join the paramilitary group otherwise known as 'Busts for Justice.'

To keep you abreast of the news, I would like to pass on that today M&S admitted they had made a boob. Customers have gone for the jugular and Marks & Spencer's unfair pricing decision has gone tits up. So there's a lesson for all you knockers who thought boycotting £10 meals deals wouldn't have any effect.

Read all about it here.

... happy birthday dear blog ...

My blog is three years old today. Originally known as 'Chemical's Blog', laterally 'The Diary of a Reformed Workaholic', it has been 36 months to the day since I posted my first ramblings thinking nobody would read them ... and three years and some 13,500 visitors later ....

Wow!

Did I ever think, three years ago, that I would make such great friends and acquaintances through blogging? NO! Did I ever think that blogging would take me half way round the world?? NO! Did I even think I would still be blogging in three weeks, never mind three years .... NO!!!

Thankyou to everyone who visits, reads, comments, look at the pictures or hides on this site. You could have no idea the difference your presence has made to me over the past three years. Yes Pluto, even you :-)

In honour of the occasion, have re posted my original rambling post below. Enjoy:

We were having lunch today when my sister-in-law (to be) casually suggested that I should have/keep/write (I'm not particularly IT literate, what exactly is the term I'm looking for here?) a blog. Blogging is new to me, in fact I've only ever seen two in my life, one of which belonged to afore mentioned sister-in-law (to be) and neither of which had lasted more than two months.

At least I don't have much to live up to then!

Anyway, I thought it would be good therapy for my poor confused mind, so here I am, blogging away (to myself, probably!)

I'm not too sure what to do now, but I have it on good authority that I should mention my interests. As such, I have spent the entire afternoon making up interests I could mention. I didn't come up with much, but thought that a good place to start would be rugby and geocaching, which are actually interests I do have.

An enthusiastic rugby fan, I support Ulster (Heineken Cup winners 1999; Celtic Cup winners 2002 and probably Celtic League winners 2006) first, Ireland second and any other team after that. I have relatives in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne who would have me say Falcons third, and if I thought there was a remote chance of them coming across this blog, I would. I am a season ticket holder at Ravenhill, the home of Ulster rugby, and also travel to a substantial number of away matches every season.

I am quite new to Geocaching. It has about a four week headstart on Blogging. Geocaching is a sort of hi-tech hide and seek 'sport' that uses GPSs and plastic lunchboxes full of old McDonalds freebies and the contents of last years Christmas Crackers. Some people take it very seriously, that said, it is quite addictive. If you are interested, and lets face it, if you are bored enough to read my ramblings, you probably need a new hobby, find out more here: http://geocaching.com/

I introduced my sister-in-law (to be) to Geocaching, I guess when she told me about Blogging she felt she owed me :-)

Off to paint my snails

Last week I met Dolly in the hall, armed with half a dozen bottles of brightly coloured nail polish. 'Where are you going with that?' I asked. 'I'm just going out to paint my snails' she replied.

No, it's not a typo.

Apparently some CBBC programme said if you painted snails in your garden with nail polish you could keep track of them better. So she did.

So, if you see a snail with bright red or glittery pink nail polish ... please take care of it; it's more than likely one of ours!

Sharing resources

Pluto very kindly sent me a video of a French lesson from his school to help me as I cover a maternity leave in French.

Phil Packer

Major Phil Packer, an officer in the Royal Military Police, was injured in a rocket attack in Basra on 19 Feb 08. As a result of the accident he lost the use of his legs and is now a paraplegic with what are classed as catastrophic injuries.

Originally told he would never walk again, there have been positive improvements and it is his aspiration to walk the Flora London Marathon from the 26th April this year over a two week period, on crutches.

He does this in an attempt to raise £1million for Help for Heros, a charity launched in October 2007 by a group of friends and service relations who wanted to do something to help the wounded coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq.

This makes my 'dander for life' efforts pale into total insignificance. Please, consider sponsoring him

I'm in love

The most perfect partner a girl could ask for; good-looking, intelligent, slim, sexy, entertaining, musical, does exactly what you want and doesn't answer back. Or snore.

We are inseparable

Ohhhhh la la!

So I am teaching French. Finally all those years of intensive study of the French and their rugby physique has paid off.

And I kid you not, the first unit I am teaching is parties du corp! Well, my accent might not be up to scratch, but you should see my visual aids :-)

View from my window

The offending tree

Hey-ho, hey-ho; it's off to work I go

I am about to start a long stint of work. Tomorrow is the first day of a maternity leave I am covering which will keep me gainfully employed until next January! Although it seems like a long (very long!) time, it has the advantage of being broken down into two sessions; the first from now until the end of June and the second from September until January, so that will help it seem just not quite so intensive.

Of course, I don't get paid for July and August, that's because being a substitute teacher, I only get paid for the days I work and not holidays. Not that this worries me as I have a bit of a Joseph thing going on whereby I store up during the time of the fat cows.

Resigning a very well paid, full-time job with nothing to go to was a big step off the edge of a high cliff, but one which, for health reasons, just had to be taken. However, if you believe things are 'meant to be', then this was definitely one of those things.

Since I resigned, I have been extremely fortunate in that I have had plenty of substitute work and could have in fact been gainfully employed virtually every school working day. And there's the added advantages of having the flexibility of being able to say 'no' if or when I need to and of having much less stress and therefore no more brain-rot. But don't for one minute think that I take any of this for granted - I know there are subs out there who are getting little or no work.

So it's off to work I go. Anyone care to guess what subject I will be teaching ..... ;-)

Postcrossing

A couple of months ago we started (another) new project called Postcrossing. Basically, you send a postcard and receive a postcard back from a random person somewhere in the world!

It's been a big hit with the kids and we are charting our progress on a big world map on the wall of the playroom and here on our special Postcrossing blog.

Worth a look if you are into collecting stamps, postcards, or have kids who like the idea of penpals but not the enthusiasm for writing long letters!

Update on No. 2395

In preparation for 'Dander for Life', I bought my first pair of trainers in 25 years last week. Do they ask everyone if they want life insurance with them?

I have some frankly unbelieveable news to share about my fundraising. Sit down and get yourselves a cup of tea or a whiskey before you read on.

When I set the total I hoped to raise at £100 I reckoned that, although ambitious, I would at least be able to make up many mysterious donations to myself in order to achieve that total and not lose face!

I can hardly believe that, so far, I have managed to raise a jaw dropping £124.00 for Cancer Research UK. And although some of the names on the list look pretty mysterious, I swear none of them are me!!

Together we are helping Cancer Research UK work at preventing, diagnosing and treating cancer. What can I say, other than a big, BIG thankyou for your support.

Ali

Here's politician I would vote for

There's been talk of having a homecoming parade for the regiment of two soldiers shot dead in Antrim last month. Surprise, surprise - Sinn Féin was the only party to object.

The motion was put forward by the Ulster Unionist councillor Adrian Watson. You got to love his response to Sinn Féin:

"You don't have to get out of your lazy bed to come down and be offended, just stay away."

Couldn't have put it better myself. Well, OK ... I might have used something a bit stronger than 'lazy'.

Lightning; it does strike twice

Why do I always get the Minis who want to 'Mini adventures' all on their own? Some of you may remember this story about my previous Mini, Mini Mouse.

Well today, not to be outdone, new Mini, Mini Sidewalk had an adventure all of her own.

The kids and I had just returned home from a few jobs we'd had to do on the first day of the holidays. Dolly was helping me carry the shopping into the kitchen and Michael was putting his rugby balls away in the garage.

Suddenly Dolly started screeching 'mummy, mummy, mummy!!' and I ran into the hall just in time to see Mini Sidewalk roll down the driveway into the garage wall.

Crunch.

And yes, before you ask, the handbrake was on. Needless to say, Mini Sidewalk now has an urgent appointment with the mechanic.

2395

My number. For 'Race for Life'. I sustained a training injury this week - I got a blister.

Please sponsor me

Proud as Punch

Dolly was selected to play in a Mini Rugby Tournament today. It was a rotten old day weather wise but she didn't let that deter her and she played a blinder, even though she was soaking and freezing.

Here she is enjoying a post tournament hotdog after a hard mornings graft. Please also notice my lovely candy-stripe wellies!

Did you know

Stansted airport is one of the most secure airports in the world? If you've ever been there, you'll be as bemused by this statement as I was when I was told.

I fell in with a security man at the airport on Tuesday night as I was heading home from London. As I was walking down to my departure gate he called me over to inspect my boarding pass. As he checked, he looked both ways up and down the corridor, leaned towards my ear and whispered 'President Obama is landing here within the hour.' I think I even got the wink. I gave him the honour of feigning suitable excitement but stopped just short of performing the happy dance.

I did, however, ask the obvious question ... why in the world would he fly into poxy Stansted Airport? (Although, obviously I didn't use the word poxy as I didn't want to hurt his feelings ... or be arrested) Well, apparently Stansted is one of the most secure airports in the world! My new conspirator tells me it has it's own permanent SAS presence and a tank battalion on site. Not so poxy, eh??!

When I got to the gate, in an attempt to beat Obama's arrival, our Ryanair crew did everything bar tell us there was £50 notes sellotaped to the aircraft seats to get us on board as quickly as possible, but it was no good. We had to wait on the apron whilst Airforce One landed and the President cleared the airport by helicopter. A major delay by Ryanair's standards.

We got to watch Airforce One land, big wow. Well, I didn't find it that exciting but the man across the aisle from me was fairly interested and moved into the empty row behind me for a better view.

When we eventually got clearance to 'go ... go ... go ...!' a stewardess arrived and instructed the man he 'must move back to his original seat on the other side of the plane for the correct balance of the aircraft.' Everyone looked up, expecting to see a big ten tonne tussie squeeze himself out of the row and across the aisle, and this wee weed of a thing appears ...

We did experience some mild turbulence on our flight home and every time we had a wee bump or wobble, everyone glared at our friend who had dared to move seats, blaming him for the temporary imbalance of the aircraft.

Finally, on the subject of airlines ... this from Pluto:

A man is sitting in the bar in departures at a busy airport. A beautiful woman walks in and sits down at the table next to him. He decides that because she's got a uniform on, she's probably an off-duty flight attendant. So he decides to have a go at picking her up by identifying the airline she flies for, thereby impressing her greatly.

He leans across to her and says the Delta Airlines motto:'We love to fly and it shows' The woman looks at him blankly. He sits back and thinks up another line. He leans forward again and delivers the Air France motto: 'Winning the hearts of the world'. Again she just stares at him with a slightly puzzled look on her face. Undeterred, he tries again, this time saying the Malaysian Airlines motto: 'Going beyond expectations'.

The woman looks at him sternly and says; 'What the %*$&*# do you want?'

'Ah!' he says, sitting back with a smile on his face. "Ryanair."

Barking!

I think that when you meet someone for the first time under a 20 foot high Freddy Mercury that's a sign it's you're going to have a mad time.

'Well,' says Judy after a few minutes confusion and a phonecall to get us both to the same tube exit at the same time, 'you know London better than me - you'd better show me around.' LOL! What a start!

And so, as we tramped down Oxford Street, we fell into conversation as if we'd been meeting each other for lunch for years.

Judy takes me to the local Internet cafe

We had such a laugh I couldn't possibly start to go into it all here, but a personal highlight of the afternoon, in particular for those sitting around us in Starbucks at the time, had to be when we both rolled up our trousers to the knee and compared varicose veins and dodgy ankles, as you do!

And, if you ever have the opportunity to meet Judy, ask to see her moonwalk. Extraordinary, and that's just the facial expressions!

After a great afternoons craic, Judy had to rush off to realign her garden lights to simulate the runway at Stansted in the hope O'Bama's plane would land in her back garden. As you do.

Waiting to meet Obama

I am sat at Stansted airport waiting to meet President Obama who is arriving here later for G20. I hope he is as much fun as Judy ... more on that to follow :-)

Blog meet: Debenhams

I am going to London for a couple of days to shop in Mango (ours has been removed and I feel the loss keenly) and meet Secret Agent Schultz, she of the most contagious laugh!

For those of you who are confused by the title of this post, Judy lives in Debenhams at Barking. Barking. I should fit right in.

Why I can't have football

This would never happen at a rugby match. Bloody Neanderthals.

Crown of Thorns

Clark Datchler, former singer with 80's wonders 'Johnny Hates Jazz' in case you recognise the dulcet tones.

I love love love this song. I bought it on 12" when it was released in 1990. I've not heard it for years, and years ... and years! I was, and still am, mesmerised by the lyrics.

There's a really strong message here and I'd love to ask Datchler where he stands spiritually and what's behind his words.

Enjoy ... opinions welcome!

Breaking News ...

There is a camping trip in the offing ...

Race for Life

Can I start by saying that although the title of this fundraiser is 'Race for Life' I will absolutely not be moving any faster than a dander*. That sorts out any Trade Description issues up front.

Please feel free to dig deep or alternatively, chuck in a couple of quid. Any money raised means Cancer Research UK can work at preventing, diagnosing and treating cancer, and that's a very worthy cause, even if watching me walk 5 km on two dodgy ankles isn't!

If you know me online, maybe you'd like to sponsor me online – it’s quick, easy enough for even me to understand and totally secure. Just click on the sponsor me button thing over there -->

If you are a UK taxpayer, please tick the Gift Aid box when donating so that an extra 25%, plus a 3% supplement, can be added to your gift at no cost to you. That means your £2 becomes £2.57 or something like that; maths was never a strong point.

Anyway, what's important about Gift Aid is that we get a chance to fleece the government together !

Thanks in advance for any monetary donations. Chocolate donations are also welcome, but no training advice please. Feel free to pop along and watch the event ... feel free to bring an oxygen tank with you if you do.

*dander, leisurely stroll: 'John's just gone out for a wee bit of a dander.'

Random thoughts

Aircrew (and even apparently one pilot) on Irish airlines have allegedly been wearing Irish rugby shirts this week. The party rolls on.

I got word that in Houston they are having an Irish music festival. Here in Belfast we have just started a month long shopping festival. I wonder did someone somewhere got those two venues mixed up.

Mother's cat is staying with us this week. Await disaster.

Having said I would do the Cancer Research 'Race for Life' it is now probably time I actually did something to get ready for that. Like walk the length of myself, or even registering would be useful.

I am babysitting my nine month old niece tomorrow. She is very smiley and very contented and I trained nursery assistants for 5 years so I'm sure we will get on great. She doesn't need a litter tray so already she's on a better footing than the cat.

Spandau Ballet are reforming again today. A lot of 80's groups seem to be taking up their zimmers and boosting their (probably collapsed) pension plans by reforming. I'm not excited. Now, if Johnny Hates Jazz were to do it ...

Finally, when asked to name the core values of the Ireland rugby team, Paul O'Connell (next Lions captain - watch this space) responded "Honesty and integrity - big Irish things - and being humble as well."

I think that sums us up pretty well. Here endeth the lesson.

And now, we can breathe again

Green is the colour

I have just returned from a quick dash to the local shopping centre where I stocked up on supplies to enable us to sit in front of the tele and watch three consecutive rugby matches as the rugby Six Nations comes to it's finale today.

It's a big day for Ireland, first chance at the grand slam in 61 years. Not that I honestly think we'll do the slam, but I believe we'll win the championship.

Anyway, it appears everyone in Ireland is wearing green today; I saw more green in Forestside this morning than I even saw in Houston on St Patrick's Day, and that's saying something! One in ten shoppers was sporting an Irish rugby shirt. The shopping centre was buzzing, but come 12.30pm I'd say the shops will be deserted!

My prediction then: Italy for the spoon, I think England will win the Calcutta Cup, mores the pity, and although I think Wales will beat Ireland robbing them of the Grand Slam, I don't think they will get the win of 13 points they need to deprive Ireland of the Championship. So ...

C'MON IRELAND ...

Did you hear the one about the Irish woman

trying to cross the road in Houston?

Everythng is bigger in Texas, even the roads. Yesterday I had occasion to cross a minor seven lane road to get to the shops. An absolute necessity!

So I pushed the button and waited for the green man, but here he is white. Interesting point - is the green man only green in Ireland??

So I am waiting and waiting because I don't want to be caught jaywalking and sent to jail as I think they might have the death penalty here. Eventually the white man appears and I start to walk. I get to the end of the second of, don't forget seven lanes of traffic, and the white man disappears and the big red hand starts flashing at me.

I stop dead. Panic!! What do I do? Do I turn back to where I started, or do I keep going in my original direction? Peopel in their cars are looking at me oddly and I know it's not because I'm wearing my St Patrick's Day bloopers. SO I make a snap decision to continue to the other side ... and run like hell!

I'm safe mum, all those posts Nancy's about to make about visiting me in hospital - they're not true!

Houston

I can't really blog too well as I am working from a funny wee keyboard thing on my knee sitting on the bed in my room. I am still on Belfast time which means I was awake from 5am local, ready for the shops at 8am just to discover that the shops don't open until 10am!!!

And they call this civilised society?? :-p

I am now speaking American quite fluently, although not as fluently as some of my American friends are speaking Belfast. Dana has an 'awesome' Belfast accent ... say 'now' Dana! I have read a lot of phonebooks and repeated a lot of nursery rhymes for peoples pleasure.

I love the ads on TV here. You gotta love them - they go on forever. And they are not afraid to advertise anything. I was in the bathroom last night cleaning my teeth listening to the ads and this one comes on "Ladies, is your contraception pill not working for you..." (told you they advertise everything) "... then try neutering!" I'm thinking 'wow! now I've really heard it all, human neutering advertised on the tele!'

Out of curiosity I dashed into the bedroom to see what pictures they had put with these words to discover the ad was for Nuta-Ring, a new form of contraceptive coil.

I am having a great time here with the 'gals', Houston First Baptist blew my tiny Irish brain, Southern hospitality is all it's cracked up to be and today there is a rumour going about that the sun will shine! Yee-ha!

To finish, yesterday in Barnes and Noble I finally discovered what the 'X' in the St Patricks day alphabet stands for. I can't believe I didn't think of it myself ... that most Irish of musical instruments ... Xylaphone. My education is now complete.

Thankyou

to the lovely people of Texas who went out of their way to welcome me to Houston in a traditional Irish way by blowing up the offices next door to my hotel at 7am (local) this morning!

Bloggers meet: Houston

In just a couple of hours I will be leaving to start the first leg of my journey to Houston, Texas, to meet Dana, Kelly and Nancy. And possibly a yellow rose, or two.

I will also be exporting enough bread to keep the Irish economy ticking over for the foreseeable future and to clear Paul Rankin's tax bill!

Friday 13th

Flying to Houston with Continental on a Boeing 777-200. From todays Independent; should I be worried:

Warning over safety of Boeing engines
Rolls-Royce ordered to redesign fuel component to resist build-up of ice

A faulty component in the engines of Boeing 777 aircraft which caused two near-fatal accidents could malfunction on other planes at any moment, the US air accident investigation body warns.

The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) issued an "urgent safety recommendation" on Wednesday in which it said there was a "high probability of something similar happening". It instructed engine manufacturers Rolls-Royce to redesign the part, and told airlines to ensure it is fitted to all aircraft using the affected engines at the earliest available opportunity.

Yes please, like TODAY ;-)

Belfast, 10/03/09, 13:00hrs

Genius

'Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit, wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad.'

Brian O'Driscoll March 2009

Happy Mothers Day!

When they were four, my children had to write little bits for the inside of Mothers Day cards they made at school. This is what my pair had to say about me ...

Dolly:

My mum's name is Alison. Her hair is blonde and her eyes are green. My mum has curly hair. My mum likes to have a bath. Me and Michael keep mum busy. I love mum because she is beautiful.

Michael:

My mum's name is Alison. She has blue eyes and yellow and brown hair and sometimes curly hair. My mum works in a school. My mum bosses Graham around. I love my mum because she hugs and kisses me.

My name is Alison. I actually have grey eyes and blonde (out of a bottle) hair with lots of grey bits. I do work in a school, I do like to have baths and I do boss Graham around. Still.

Breaking News

Team Book Circle are signing up to Race for Life, charity event for Cancer Research UK.

On second thoughts, maybe we should call ourselves team Pudding Club and nip any false expectation in the bud.

Looking for something to read?

At Book Circle and Pudding Club this month we carried out a rather interesting little exercise. Yes, we did (briefly) discuss the book of the month, which was Danny Wallace's 'Friends Like These'. And yes, we did eat pudding as normal, but this month we also rated all the books we've read to date.

If you are interested in the titles we have read and maybe discussed so far, look here. If you don't read but are interested in the puddings we've eaten you'll find a list of some of those there too.

However, I digress; the ratings. A complicated system was employed to work out which book we favoured and the results were as follows:

• joint first place The Island (Victoria Hislop) and The Memory Keepers Daughter (Kim Edwards)
• third place The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (John Boyne)
• last place Labyrinth (Kate Mosse)
• very closely followed by I Predict a Riot (Bateman)
• and A Place Called Here (Cecelia Aherne)

You gotta love Michael O'Leary

Payback

Rarely is a victory so sweet as when we beat the English. Sorry if you are English and you are reading this, but when it comes to sport, we just don't like you.

Which is why even I got excited on 7 Sep 2005 when David Healy's goal gave Northern Ireland an amazing, unexpected victory in the football World Cup qualifier against England.

This weekends 14-13 victory over England in the Six Nations was sweet indeed. Sweeter still as it was against a team coached by the man who infamously refused to move for Irish President Mary McAleese before the Ireland v England Rugby game in Lansdowne in 2003.

Well, slap that up ya big lad :-)

Lets hear it for the boys