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.

The dummy fluter in the back row

I am in Birmingham. I came yesterday to sing tenor at the SingLive big
band concert tonight. They only had seven of their own. In having me
there they hoped to gain another one.

I short changed them. Due to me (uncharacteristically) losing my voice
yesterday, I was only working on quarter cylinders. Unlucky for
Birmingham. I might never be allowed back. Shame, the bullring is
quite something

Sent from my iPhone

How to be a good friend

This is my daughter's recipe for friendship from her written expression classwork.

You will need:

• a friend
• smile
• happy heart

1. welcome a friend and share with them
2. be funny and be kind
3. laugh at their jokes
4. be happy with your friend
5. keep secrets

Kung Hei Fat Choi

Happy Chinese New Year. It's the year of the tiger. Funny, I thought
he had his year last year ;-)

Sent from my iPhone

French accuse the Irish of cheating

That's choice coming from the scrum half of the country that spawned
Thierry Henry

Sent from my iPhone

As seen by son

Make your Stick Figure Family at FreeFlashToys.com

Get a load of this freebie

Movie House cinemas have made an offer were Ulster Rugby Supporters will receive a free 46oz bucket of popcorn when they book tickets to see Invictus at the Moviehouse Dublin Road, Yorkgate/Cityside and Jet Centre. All you have to do is print off the Movie House voucher on the Ulster rugby website.

46oz of popcorn!! Like what, they just give you the whole popcorn machine to take in with you? That's enough to keep a family of four well fed for a week! You'd need to buy a seat beside you just to put your popcorn bucket in. Question is, will your view of the movie be obstructed by the person in fronts popcorn mountain?

For the purposes of research, I think I'm going to have to try this!

Blogger is not working, naughty blogger

I cannot post to my blogs by email from my phone. I have not been able to do it for five whole days now. I feel like my right arm has been cut off.

This is seriously effecting my efficiency in the 365 project, as I also do not know how to download photos off my iPhone. And, outlook rolled over and died on my desktop the day the technical one went to the USA, so even if I mail them to myself i can't retrieve them on the desktop.

If it continues, I may need counselling. How much Steve?

Birmingham

In light of the fact that I'm off to Birmingham at the end of the month and they've just got those new 'naked' scanners in the airport, does anyone have a number for Gok Wan?

The continuing saga of the pyjama mama

A Tesco in Cardiff has seen fit to ban shoppers who arrive wearing PJs. More power to Tesco. Even better, it doesn't say anything about receiving your Tesco delivery wearing your PJs so I'm quids in ;-)

The issue was discussed by politicians locally (because there is nothing much else going on politically here at the minute) and Sinn Fein councillor Fra McCann said people have a right to wear whatever they want when they go to Tesco.

I'll be in Tesco Falls Road tomorrow wearing my bowler hat and orange sash then.

Earthquake strikes Donegal

It has been confirmed that there have been two minor earthquakes in north County Donegal in 24 hours. The School of Cosmic Physics in Dublin said one on Tuesday night measured 1.5 on the Richter scale while another on Wednesday morning measured 1.7

The school's Thomas Blake said the tremors were "nature's way of releasing the stresses and strains built up over time in very deep faults".

Not true. It was the tremors resulting from the other half's snoring reverberating through the nine counties that did it. He has gone to Colorado. Expect avalanches.

Late thoughts

Did you know, that if a Ryanair planes crashes and you have to evacuate via the big yellow slides, you have to leave your false teeth behind? It's true.

Some women shouldn't be allowed to go to rugby matches. Specifically the ones who are only there because they have been taken on the promise of shopping and sight-seeing round the fixture. They generally turn up in faux fur coats. And sit in front of you waving flags some idiot has given them unwittingly.

Also, if you have to evacuate a Ryanair plane via the big yellow shoots, you must cut off your ears first. Actually, thats not true. It just looks like that on the safety card. Apparently, you just have to remove your earrings.

Ryanair

I love the way Ryanair make you queue at the gate the minute they hear that the plane you are expecting to board has left the airport it is coming from. That's by the by.

Our outbound Ryanair flight to Bristol this weekend was crewed by Herr Flick of the Gestapo. As we boarded we were told to 'get out of ze aisles, let others past!' As we readied for take-off we were told 'no phones allowed, not even on ze plane mode!'

But the best was during the safety demonstration when he marched down from the front of the plane to tell the people behind me, who had been talking quietly, to 'be quiet! This is for ze safety!!'

Well, after that intervention, apart from lots and lots of stifled giggles, you could have heard a pin drop! Poor Eva, the stewardess from Bratislava who was doing the demo beside me, got so fussed by him she tied herself up in knots in her emergency life jacket and had to be rescued by a passing sailor.

Another tour, another trauma

Yes, here I am in Bath. What could possibly happen? I hear you ask.
Well, it wasn't travel arrangements or weather this time.

Arrived in lovely Bath, parked up and headed downtown for some food.
Had just settled in the Cornish Pastie Co for a wee bite, and had
literally taken a wee bite when...

Me: is there something stuck in my tooth?

Dolly: screams

Turns out a good quarter of my front tooth was stuck in something, and
it wasn't my gum!

And so began the frantic phonecalls to hospitals, dentists and
emergency helplines until I eventually secured a dental appointment
with a dentist, in Bristol.

Two and a half hours and a mighty dose of anaesthetic later, I no
longer whistled my speech or looked like an extra for a hobo movie.
But I am on a strict diet of liquids only until tomorrow morning. By
which time I'm hoping my still-now-four-and-a-half-hours-later frozen
mouth will have defrosted.

And so there was a certain amount if déjà vu with all todays yo-yoing
backwards and forwards between Bristol and Bath.

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

Sent from my iPhone

Take-over bid

The Irish are about to make a hostile bid on the West Country. 700 travelling and 300 ex-pat Ulstermen will descend on the historic city of Bath this weekend with only one thing on their minds - standing up.

They will start spilling out of planes in Bristol from lunchtime tomorrow, and start spilling into hostelries soon after! Music has been arranged and song sheets provided, and if we can't beat the locals on the pitch, we'll sure as hell out sing them!

Chemical Ali

So, it has been reported that he has been sentenced to death, again. Fourth time apparently.

I vaguely remember blogging this before and explaining the loose connection between himself and myself. I'm sure 'linked-within' will pick that up, read below!

But to get back to the point in hand, how many death sentences are they going to pass down before they actually kill the man??

BTW

... did I mention I became an auntie again this week? Twice?

If you've been following the 365 project (I'm still going strong!) you will have noted this news and also spotted my lovely new niece and my only nephew!

And now the big wind

Finally, Northern Ireland seems to have thawed out, defrosted and (slightly) warmed up. It was a balmy 7oC last night as we left for the rugby.

However, the big freeze has been replaced by the big wind. The Dolly was literally blown off her feet at Ravenhill last night, saved only by being anchored down by myself and her big cousin.

And whilst sleep was evasive last night due to rattling doors and wind lashing the windows, this morning we woke to see a tree down in the back garden. Well, let's look at the bright side, at least if we run out of oil, we can burn a fire now!

Oi'll be damned

Those of you following my essays on 'The Big Freeze of 2010' will remember in an earlier post I mentioned the fact that we had had a delivery of oil on Christmas Day and had used so much were expecting, imminently, another delivery.

Oh how naive. The oil, which was to be delivered within three days of ordering, will not now be delivered until next Monday, that's the 11th January. The 11th January ... we could all be dead by then, killed by frostbite or exposure.

The reason for this is of course increased demand putting strain on ability to make deliveries on time. On time??? Even in the same designated week would be good.

Let's play 'guess the title of Ali's next post' ........

Be prepared

Jump leads (check)
Cat litter or sand (check)
Shovel (check)
Ice scrapper (check)
Warm clothes (check)
Torch (check)
Food and water (check)
First aid kit (check)
Mobile phone (check)
Sturdy boots (check)

According to the BBC, if I fill the back seat of my car with all these items I am ready to go shopping in Tesco’s in the snow. Following yesterdays discussion on global warming, I have undertaken to seek advice for surviving in the cold. The BBC recommend that if going out in your car you should take the above list. Lets analyse.

No idea what the jump leads are for, if my car battery is dodgy I’ll not be taking it out in the first place

The cat died during the summer, so possibly I don’t need the litter, although I can’t ever remember taking the cat to Tescos anyway

The shovel is obviously for making your snowman and the icescrapper probably for getting ice to add to your martini.

Warm clothes – to wear over the sundress you decided would be appropriate to wear out in this weather.

Torch for signalling the rescue helicopter or any handsome passing policemen

Food and water, (or martini if you have an icescrapper) and First aid kit are obvious really. In these days of Health & safety gone mad, does anyone ever leave the house without them??

The Mobile phone is for updating your blog and facebook status so people know you are stranded. Ahhh … now I know why you need the jump leads – to charge up your mobile!

Sturdy boot with two inch heels as opposed to ones with four inch heels are probably a good idea right enough.

Point is, if I put all of this stuff in the car I will no longer have any space for the children, never mind the shopping. Best to get Tesco’s to deliver then.

Global warming

I am trying to remember the last time I was warm. I mean really warm, not just wrapped up in 100 layers of clothes warm. It has to have been pre Brussels.

It is freezing here. It is so freezing we have already had one set of burst pipes with resultant flooding (Boxing Day of all days) and the pipes have frozen again. As a result I have not been able to use my washing machine for over a week - that's how long the pipes out to the wash-house have been frozen solid!

Then there's the oil. We got a delivery on Christmas Eve, and another one is coming tomorrow!

Last night it was so cold here I put my thermals on under my pyjamas and my dressing gown over them before I went to bed. And an extra blanket over the duvet. I was just about warm enough cocooned in all that fabric to get to sleep.

Worst of all, Friday nights rugby has already been cancelled because of a frozen pitch, and next weeks game is even apparently looking doubtful!

So I'd like to know where this global warmng thing is happening and maybe move there. What we're experiencing would more accurately be called global freezing. Brrrrrrrr

And they're off!

365 project officially started

365 photo project

Last call for people to take part in this adventure! One photo a day
for a year. Snaps will do. Create a photo diary for 2010. Doesn't
that sound fun? Sign up now!

Sent from my iPhone

So, what happened in Brussels then?

Nothing. Precisely nothing. But that's not good blogging, so here's the whole story:

The adventure started with a flight from Belfast last Thursday evening. It started to snow as we boarded our plane. An omen. As we took our seats the pilot apologised for the heating not working. And then pointed out that Paris CDG airport was shut because of snow and we wouldn't be taking off. For at least 90 minutes. And we wouldn't be getting off the plane either, so the door had to remain open. So they were really sorry the heats not working.

So was I after about 15 minutes.

Eventually arrived in Paris for a two night stop-over before getting the Thalys to Brussels on Saturday morning to see Ulster play Stade Francais. Got very excited when the lovely, but extremely naughty (allegedly - judgement pending) Monsieur David Attoub turned out to be on our train. I think this was my last pleasant and positive thought of the weekend.

Paris Gare du Nord was freezing. Brussels, it turned out, was Baltic.

Arrived in Brussels Midi to discover that you need a degree to work their ticketing machines for the metro. Eventually gave up and opted for a taxi. Queued at the rank for 30 minutes in -9oC and when we hit the top of the queue and 'our' taxi arrived, it tried to pick up the person at the other end of the line, was sworn at in some language by all others in the queue (I think they called him a 'canard' but since when was 'duck' a swear word?), moved up to us, took one look, wound up his window and drove off!

Got to hotel, put on every single stitch of clothing in our possession for insulation and started off for the now renamed Heysel stadium for a 4:45pm kick off. Got the first call at 2:30pm. Then three texts. Then another call. Match cancelled, pitch frozen. So we did what all Ulster supporters do best and headed for the only Irish pub in town.

With no smoking ban in this primitive country, minor was starting to go a bit green at the gills when the first news of a rematch started to filter through, so we cut our losses, headed back to the hotel and started to plan a way to get to Paris for the re-scheduled match the next day. This should be easy - we had tickets to return to Paris the next evening anyway for a late night flight home.

Ha bloody Ha.

Up too early the next morning to see a blizzard. Four inches of snow had fallen in less than two hours. Put on all of our clothes again and checked out. All before 8:00am. Could we have a taxi for the train station please? No! Taxis were not working in the snow apparently. But we could walk to the nearest metro and try our luck with the ticket machines if we liked. We didn't like, but we had no alternative.

Ever tried pulling two suitcases through four inches of snow?

At Metro, ticket machine still as unhelpful as ever. Wouldn't take cards, wouldn't take notes and I didn't have enough coins. Nothing open and no one about to help - it was eight-ish on a snowy Sunday morning.

And then ... an angel. A homeless man had been watching us from a corner of the station. He came and tried to force his coins into the machine on our behalf, but it was full and wouldn't take them. So, having established we were travelling to Brussels Midi, he signalled us to follow him and escorted us through the station and onto a metro train, without tickets, right to the train station where he bade us farewell and Merry Christmas. Now we were getting somewhere!

No.

Found the Thalys desk and presented our tickets for the 4:45pm train to Paris, requesting a change to the 10:15am. It was very simple really, but the answer was a resounding 'non!' We could only do it if we were prepared to pay 88 Euro. Each.

We went to the platform and I thought about what to do. Hundreds of Ulster supporters were stuck in Brussels because flights out of the city meant they couldn't get to Paris and back in time. Hundreds more were stuck in some place in England because failed Eurostar trains meant they hadn't even got to cross the channel. And we were standing on platform 6, Brussels Midi with tickets for Paris, albeit invalid ones.

And so, somehow we found ourselves on the 10:15 to Paris which actually didn't get into Brussels until 11:30 and didn't manage to get out of Brussels until nearly 12:30. Without tickets; well valid ones anyway. Heads down, don't make eye contact with the ticket collector son!

Arrived in Paris at 2:10 pm with 50 minutes to cross the city and find the stadium, with the instruction of which metro station to head for and that the stadium was 700m west from it. Surfaced at 2:45pm realising I had absolutely no way of knowing which direction was west when angel number two appeared.

'Ulster ... this way!!' and as she pointed in the general direction, we ran like hell! 700m on icy footpaths with two suitcases and a ten year old, and there it was ... Stade Jean Bouin, home of the nudey calendar.

At the gate we had to exchange our tickets from Brussels for new one, which involved queuing. At last, as we hear the game kick off inside, we are at the top of the queue. Then disaster, that word again ... 'non!'

And then I did what all good women do in situations like that. I started to cry. Proper tears rising up to a severe hissy fit crying. And my Franglais went right out the window as I started shouting in English that indeed I had travelled illegally from Brussels that very morning and it had taken me seven hours to be here and damn it they would let me into the stadium with my ticket or I would....

Then a very nice French man came over and took my tickets and went to the queue I should have been in and exchanged them for valid ones and escorted us into the stadium telling us we could sit just anywhere we wanted. But we opted to stand with eight other Ulstermen who had also managed to make the journey (two of them having driven from Brussels in the only hire car they could get - a Fait Panda!) The Paris Ten. Trying to out-shout the home supporters and their drums whilst drinking mulled wine that tasted like paint stripper but greatly improved the circulation in your hands. It's the stuff of legends.

And, as expected, Ulster lost.

Christmas

Baby Jesus is the reason

We celebrate the Christmas season

He was born in Bethlehem

And visited by three wise men

Angels sang from up on high

And a very bright star was in the sky

Shepherds also came to call

To see him lying in the stall

Michael, 2007

I will never, ever, as long as I live...

...ever go to Brussels again

Sent from my iPhone

Sack the pilot

I am sitting on a plane on Belfast runway. It is snowing in Paris and
the airport there is closed. We are not allowed to take off until 6:15
at the earliest. It is only 4:45!

The pilot won't let us off the plane. I drank a large tea in the
terminal before we embarked. He might live to regret that decision!

Sent from my iPhone

I just have to pack my safety goggles

I am off to Paris tomorrow, and then onto Brussels to collect the sprouts for Christmas and see Ulster play their back-to-back fixture against Stade Francais.

I was very excited that my favourite prop forward, David Attoub of Stade Francais, (ref: photo of very handsome man at right of screen) was in Belfast last week, and even more excited that I would see him again this week.

Only, Monsieur Attoub has been a very naughty boy and tried to gouge someones eyes out in the scrum at Ravenhill last week, so while I am travelling to Brussels via Paris to see him, he is travelling to Dublin for a disciplinary hearing that could see him banned from the game for up to three years. Zut alors!

Anyway, Ulster supporters being the what they are, it has been decided that we should ditch the usual pre-Christmas uniform of Santa hats in favour of health and safety goggles for this match. Just to make a point.

It promises to be a great weekend; snow already falling, Christmas markets and a large travelling support. To be supplemented by the Brussels Munster Rugby Supporters club who are sending a sizeable possy to cheer on the Ulstermen, the Brussels GAA (Gaelic Football) having thirty members going to the match and a local rugby club putting on a BBQ for travelling support and also turning up at the game in droves to support the men in white.

The boys are back in town

Official photo

Gender discrimination

I have just read a recipe that requires two duck breasts (preferably male)

Go figure

Stress free birthday parties

Well, it took several years but we finally got there! For the Dolly's birthday party yesterday we turned on Singstar, had someone come and slap makeup on faces and then sat back and drank mugs of tea while it all unfolded around us!

Nobody kicked a hole through a bedroom door, nobody dropped their trousers in public, no one suffered anaphylactic shock, no one had an asthma attack, no children were lost and none killed in the process.

I think, having finally cracked it, I can now safely retire from the birthday party game. And now ... to put up the christmas tree :-s

Who's up for a challenge?

Gary McFlurry is considering doing the 365 photo project next year
which is to take a photo each day of the year and publish it on your
blog as a sort of snapshot/record of the year.

Sounds like a challenge to me, but I reckon I'm up for it! Who's
in?? Steve? Cosmo? Judy, you're bound to be in...!!

Sign up in the comments

Sent from my iPhone

Bloggy marvellous

My blog rank has gone up to 60! People must be giving up blogging in
their droves

Sent from my iPhone

First decoration in place

Amen

Some time ago I blogged about finding some of the children's old school notebooks and being amused by things they had written.

Like these three prayers, one his two hers:

Thankyou God for makeing the world, farmers, stars, moon and brown potatoes. PS I frogot to say Amen

You've got to especially thankful for those brown potatoes! And

Dear God, thankyou for the earth you made and for sending your son to earth to take away our sins, In school we learn about you witch is the moast exciting part about school. Thankyou for all the techers in school, TV and church. Amen

I think this one could be subtitled 'sucking up to God'. Interestingly, the teacher, or techer, had put a pen through 'TV and church', but I thought you'd like to read the unedited version. Finally:

Dear God, thank you for making us have so much food and thankyou for macking us so lucky hear in this country. Sorry that I am taking food for granted and that I sometimes wast some of my food. Please help others who have no food or clean water and please send rain where there is drought. Amen

Amen!

Dear Santa

Phone
Nerf gun
Lego 7686 city helicopter transporter
Vicar of Dibley DVD
Lego rockband (wii)
Place in Methody
Do well in my test

From M

Sent from my iPhone

Ruane's guinea pigs

Tomorrow, my son is one of Catriona Ruane's guinea pigs. What? I hear you ask.

In her infinite knowledge, Ms Ruane (Minister for Education) did away with our selection exam used to determine whether children were more suited to grammar or secondary education. That in itself is not really the big issue as it was, perhaps, a flawed system.

No, no no. Ms Ruane's big mistake was that she did away with the exam, known as the 11+, but remarkably put nothing, absolutely no system, in it's place.

So tomorrow my son starts a series of tests introduced independantly by local grammar schools in an attempt to gain a place at one of them. However, these tests are not recognised by the Department of Education and could (to cut a very, very long story short) all add up to nothing anyway.

So basically, the lovely Ms Ruane, or that woman as she is affectionately known round this house, is playing hardball and holding kids, and their futures, to ransom to make her petty political points.

If the system was flawed before, it's totally fecked now.

An amazing Remembrance Sunday story

My son (currently) wants to be a pilot in the RAF. It says so in an Ulster Rugby match programme, so it must be true.

We were out visiting this afternoon when we bumped into and elderly lady and man. A few moments later we saw the lady on her own and she commented on my sons 'lovely blond hair'. I asked her where her companion was and she explained that he was her brother and he had gone home.

You might know him, she said, his name is Alfie Martin. Well, considering my success the night before with people spotting I was a little hesitant to agree or disagree that I knew Alfie Martin!

She went on to say that he had be shot down and had had to bale out over Belgium during the second world war. At this point she had completely got our interest, so she sat down and told us the story of her brother, Alfie.

When Alfie's plane was shot it went on fire and the pilot couldn't save it so the crew had to bale out. Alfie found himself in the countryside in Belgium where he hid in a lane way until he was ready to make his move. Unfortunately, a young lad with a herd of cows came along and in order not to be trampled to death by the cows, Alfie had to come out of his hiding place.

When he emerged, the young lad took one look at his uniform and saluted. Alfie made his way to a nearby farmhouse where he was hidden by the family for six weeks. In that time he did not cross the door for fear of being found and being killed, and having the family killed for harbouring him.

With the help of the resistance, he then started to make his journey back home, travelling through France and crossing the Pyrenees at night, wearing only espadrilles on his feet to get into Spain and eventually Gibraltar.

At one point on his journey, he saw the pilot of his plane on the same platform at a train station, but couldn't even make eye contact for fear of being found and captured.

The lady then went on to tell us that Alfie still gets a birthday card every year from the family who harboured him in Belgium, and that she herself went as a guest to meet them after the war.

Alfie had been laying a wreath, on behalf of the RAF, at the cenotaph in Belfast yesterday morning. She then told us he had also written a book about his experiences called Bale Out!: Escaping Occupied France with the Resistance. My sons's eyes lit up, and we have a copy home to read.

Today my son and I had a living lesson in History, it's so much more real when you hear it first hand from those who experienced it than when you read it in a school textbook.

On this Remembrance Day we want to say thankyou, and great respect to all the 'Alfies' out there who gave, and are still giving, so much for our freedom.

I watch too many 'Come Dine with Me' repeats

In Manchester airport tonight checking for gate numbers when a figure
appears at my elbow. I glance over, and then glanced again,
recognising the face. The man smiles at me and starts to make small
talk. Then someone comes over and asks for his autograph and suddenly
I had it.

'Oh, I'm sorry' I say, 'I know who you are now, you were on come dine
with me!'

Man in earshot's head spins round and he starts to laugh. 'That's
Rodney Marsh, ex Manchester United footballer you're talking to love!!'

Sent from my iPhone

You'll never make me do it!

I'm singing with SingLive again this year. Sing Big Band: Feeling Good, Mack the Knife, Sway, Moondance, Beyond the Sea, For Once in my Life and ...

Eye of the Tiger. Sorry, but once a rock chick (now self confessed rock hen) I just cannot bring myself to sing Eye of the Tiger in four part harmony with a swing beat.

Especially for Cosmo

Avoca sultana and cranberry sugar crusted scones

• 125g unsalted butter
• 400g plain white flour
• 100g wholemeal flour
• 1 rounded tsp baking powder
• 65g demerara sugar plus extra for finishing
• 50g jumbo sultanas
• 50g dried cranberries
• 2 large eggs, 1 beaten for egg wash
• approx 250ml milk

1. preheat oven to 170oC/gas3
2. rub butter into flours and baking powder until it resembles breadcrumbs
3. mix in sugar anad fruit, making well in the middle
4. add 1 egg and milk and bring together to make a ball
5. roll out 4-5cm thickness
6. cut, wash with egg wash and sprinkle with extra sugar
7. bake for 15-20 mins until golden

Easy as ... muffins

From the kitchen of the Avoca cafe (Avoca is a little village in Co. Wicklow, best known for being the home of BBC show Ballykissangel) comes this recipe for very easy, excellent tasting muffins:

• 450g self raising flour
• 225g caster sugar
• 1 level tsp baking powder
• 225ml milk
• 225g butter
• 2 medium sized eggs

1. heat oven to 180oC/gas4 and have 15 muffin tins ready.
2. mix flour, caster sugar and baking powder in large bowl.
3. heat butter and milk together until butter melts, then cool.
4. add to dry mixture with beaten eggs.
5. spoon into muffin tins and bake for 20 mins

Add whatever you fancy for flavouring; Avoca suggest raspberries and nectarine, or diced pear, or chocolate buttons and slivered almonds, but we tried banana and chocolate chunks and cranberries and cinnamon and they were both good too.

Pluto

is alive and well and commenting on peoples blogs again!

Hormones & Halloween

Not too sure if the Dolly is dressed up for Halloween or turning into
a goth!!

Steve Tilley started it!

Steve found a website that would rank his blog and posted a link on Facebook. And you know me, I'm a sucker ....

So Steve is ranked 309 in the category 'Christianity' blogs. Me? Well, I didn't dare risk investigating my ranking in the Christianity section, but I am ranked 259 in the category dubiously known as 'Life'. Out of 260 if I'm lucky!!

Rank your blog here.

63 days to Christmas

According to Judy's Facebook profile anyway. And as she has had her Christmas tree up in her study for almost a week now, she should know! 63 days will just be about enough time if you have toys or other items that need to be assembled.

Ever notice they put the age a toy is suitable for on the outside of the packaging, but never the IQ required to assemble it? It took three of us an hour tonight to assemble an item deemed suitable for a three year old.

And, while we're on the matter, 63 days should be just about long enough (at one bin collection a fortnight) to dispose of all the useless packaging you'll gather up as well.

Bah humbug.

Al Qaeda do away with washbags

I was just noticing today, as I prepared for an overnight Christmas shopping trip to Manchester, that thanks to Al Qaeda we no longer have to worry about wash bags and make-up bags. All toiletries in one zip-lock plastic bag, all cosmetics in another: sorted!

Only problem is, it's one less thing you can buy your mum for Christmas.

Chigley

Are you old enough??

Somehow managed to come across an episode of this children's classic on TV tonight and watched it with my 10 year old son. Who laughed the whole way through it at how ridiculous and old fashioned it was!

How much about it I had forgotten; not the song about the train - I was able to sing that word for word much to son's bemusement. But things like the men (please note it was strictly only men) who worked in the biscuit factory all clocked off at precisely 6 o'clock when the whistle blew and went for a dance in the open air with women who looked like they had been shipped in from Bavaria especially for the event!!

In this episode there were visitors from other programmes like the soldier boys from Pipin Fort in Camberwick green and Miss Lovelace - the hat maker from Trumpton, with her three dogs Mitzy, Daphne and Lulu.

Worth a google on YouTube if you're the nostalgic type.

With apologies to friends from Dublin

Yesterday Michael was the mascot for Ulster rugby in their Magners League top-of-the-table clash against our neighbouring province Leinster.

Such excitement I'm sure you cannot imagine, to be mascot at a sell-out match and share a pitch with such stars as Brian O'Driscoll and Gordon D'Arcy as well as all his Ulster favourites. And that was just me ;-)

With Paddy Wallace being 'rested' for Ireland duties, Ulster captain was Chris Henry. Now, last time Chris captained the side he forgot to take the mascot with him when he ran onto the field. No such misfortune this time - Michael had his hand stuck out blocking the entrance to the pitch from the moment Chris put foot out the changing room door.

Soaked to the skin with a dose of double pneumonia on the cards, but smiling from ear to ear. Thanks to all at Ulster Branch for making it happen.

Oh, and the result. Ulster beat Leinster 16-14; the first time they had beaten them since May 2004!!

Job well done son.

Wear it pink

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and Breast Cancer Campaign is urging everyone to 'Wear it Pink' on Friday 30th October to raise awareness and funds for Breast Cancer research.

Find out more here. Then do it. Please.

When

An observation:

When Ulster rugby substitutes want to keep warm during the match, they go for a wee run round the nearest potato field.

When Edinburgh rugby subtitutes want to keep warm during the match, they climb aboard their ponsy exercise bikes at the side of the pitch.

When Ulster rugby fans see Edinburgh rugby substitutes on their ponsy exercise bikes, they sing ...

'You're not cycling, you're not cycling, you're not cycling anywhere ...'

I think that's fair enough under the circumstances

And as we're talking about rugby ...

This is going to be a big week in our house as my son is getting to be the mascot for the Ulster v Leinster top-of-the-table-clash derby match in the Magners League this Saturday at Ravenhill.

I'm not sure what he is more excited about; being the Ulster mascot and leading out the Ulstermen or being on the same pitch at the same time as Brian O'Driscoll!

If you get Setanta Ireland, (and let's face it, we live on the island of Ireland and although we got some Setanta channels, we didn't even get it even before they went bust!) you will see him do his thing live this Saturday evening.

Otherwise you'll have to go to Ravenhill or read about it here. Maybe.

Living it large

It's been a real busy week, but in between singing rehearsals, parent nights, book club and Heineken Cup rugby I have been applying myself to shortening my 'to-do' list.

I noted when I booked hotel number three on the list this evening that in the list of 'items provided in my room' it says sheets. Always good to know the basics are included in the price!

All joking aside though, if Travelodge gave loyalty points, I'd own one of their hotels by now!

To Do list

Book hotel in Bristol
Book hotel in Manchester
Book hotel in Paris
Book train to Brussels
Book hotel in Brussels

Sent from my iPhone

Autumn Poem

Another literary masterpiece by my son:

All the leaves are falling down.

Autumn is back!

Fireworks and burning bonfires.

Cold nights, Halloween nights.

Please don't get the frights!

Frosty mornings. Autumn is here!

I love this time of year

Read instructions before use

Someone once told me, or I read, or I saw or I heard that you could stuff all the expensive fancy eye creams - the best thing to get rid of big dark baggy rings under your eyes was Preparation H.

I have a few of the expensive (bought for me as gifts) and inexpensive (self-purchsed) eye creams but still look like an extra from the Michael Jackson 'Thriller' video, so decided to give the Preparation H a shot.

So I am layering it on and my 'ever-curious-soon-to-be-hormonal-but-already-experimenting-with-mummy's-cosmetics' daughter is watching me and studying the packaging and after a moments deliberation pipes up with 'mummy, why does it say to put it on after you go to the toilet?'

Good question. Who would like to answer??