First sign of madness
Not too sure if weighing your tits counts as madness, or just boredom, but i was much disappointed to learn that rather than accounting for a good stone of my weight, they barely qualify for a pound. Damn. But real madness is lying in bed, creating imaginary jobs, then engineering situations where that job went bad, and then stressing about that, for hours…i definitely need to find something to do, and soon, before i start getting extreme! Luckily, the next committee meeting is on Thursday, where i can at last get my teeth into what exactly is going on, what needs doing, and put forward some of the ideas that i’ve had…and get working on them! Am optimistic at the moment, that this will lead me to meet and network with all kinds of people, and from there, well, you never know, what might arise. Ideally some kind of paid work, as the car insurance is up, and i’m somewhat struggling to work out where we’re going to find the cash from. In my carefully worked out budgets i totally forgot about that rather large expense. Ah well!
Other than that, all is going swimmingly here. Have finally found a yoga teacher who’s good. Though, he is based in deepest darkest midwales. A good hours drive, but worth it. Is amazing how as soon as you hit the border, the countryside changes, and becomes gloriously hilly and full of lambs. He does an ashtanga class on a thursday and an advanced hatha class on a Tuesday, so that combined with the class just down the road on a wednesday should get me fit, and help shift this last half bloody stone. Easter’s my new deadline. So much for 9 months on, 9 months off…
PS. Will post some pics soon xxx
International Women of Shrewsbury Unite
So, think that perhaps i took the ‘getting into the community spirit’ thing a step too far. Advolly popped by to invite me to throw petals into the river, and seen as how i think that she’s pretty normal, and a good judge of character, i thought ‘why not?’. Sounded a bit hippyish (not really Advolly’s style tbh), but right up my alley obvs. And so, down we went, picking up another neighbour on the way (more on her in a wee bit). And so we arrived, to find a motley crew of about 5 other wimmin – 2 from Oxfam (the most ordinary of the lot), 2 from ‘Self Help Africa’, and a proper hippy (replete with sarong, sandals and dreads…in her 50′s). All very nice and well meaning, though as soon as i was asked to help out at a doula workshop, we made a swift exit – sadly not before i’d handed over my email address, dear god, to the woman with bright blue and pink rinses through her grey hair. Photos were taken, and am nervous that i’ll see myself in the local press…which i maybe in anyway, having written a stern email to them after they published a horrifically parochial and prejudiced article about gay marriage (damn email and it’s ease). Someone needs to stop me. I need a job or else i’m going to start making a real nuisance of myself!!!
Luckily, work, of the unpaid kind, is piling up. I attended my first committee meeting for the Belle Vue Arts Festival. Where i am known now as ‘the young Rosie’. Brilliant. Was only the other night waking up in a cold sweat that i’d be 40 soon, so there’s nothing like joining a bunch of retirees to be make me feel OK about that. The meeting was very jovial and eclectic as you’d expect, thank god i wasn’t taking the minutes! But there’s loads to do, and since i’ve absolutely NO IDEA about what’s occurred in the past (or indeed what the bloody festival entails), i am somewhat behind the curve. But looking forward to catching up, fast. Have organised a sub-committee (ha ha get me), to meet at mine in a fortnights time, to go through all the planned events, their budgets and and who’s doing what. I imagine that from that point on it will be all stations go. Excellent.
And potentially i can help out on another small art charity (mwahahahaha, soon all small arts groups in west shropshire will be under my grasp) – the Visual Arts Network – chaired by the neighbour who i met today. Bless her, her eyes lit up when i mentioned that i did marketing…anyway, not about to rush into another project, but am sure that i’ll catch up with her shortly and see if i can suggest anything helpful. Best to keep me occupied, and since the yoga project is running into difficulties (though not dead yet, just got to find a damn venue), i need other things, as otherwise i’ll have to really think about paid work…which i should really be thinking about anyway but…in the meantime am having fun mingling!!!
Committed
Well, think that i’ve perhaps taken this getting involved thing a step too far…have been asked to join the Belle Vue Arts Festival Committee. Me? Who was told at 12 that i could not take art any further…ha! Who has the last laugh now then?!!! Anyway, very excited about this – at least it’s something that i can actually put on my CV to show for this year. And will be a great way of meeting people. Organising the yoga class however has run into some problems. Not least of which is insurance – who knew? And getting a teacher (jaysus, you want how much per hour?!), and a venue (really??). Plus of course the fact that despite sending out quite a few emails to the people who apparently showed interest, have had only one reply. Ah well. I shall persevere until no one shows, and then throw in the towel. In the meantime, one of the yoga teachers invited me to accompany her to an ashtanga session in wales last night. Which was actually great. Just an arse of a commute. Though, as Richard (he who runs the class) pointed out, i would think nothing of travelling for 50 mins in London, so why is it any different here? Well, for starters, i probably wouldn’t travel 50 mins in London to get to a class (cos there’d be one much closer….). But, i guess this is one of those things that i just have to come to terms with…in the country you have to travel far (and you get further in 50 mins than you would in London) to get what you want. People are used to it. So i must get used to it too. Sigh.
However, interesting thing about last night was that i ran into my first bit of proper sullen insularness. Along with Ally the yoga teacher, a girl called Tracey came too. My god. The way she acted you would have thought that she was 12 and that i was trying to take away her best friend. She got in the car and refused to speak to me. On making polite conversation (“so what do you do Tracey?”), she barked “too much!” and then refused to talk, making poor Ally explain what she did. Eventually, once we got there (a bit early), i made a bit of headway, getting her to open up about her dog and that she was going to go to Crufts. But by gahd it was hard work. Her dog (puppy really), an Alsatian cross (though with what she wouldn’t explain), apparently has behavioural problems. It doesn’t socialise well and can be vicious towards other dogs. Ha! i thought, i wonder where the poor woofer gets that from?!?!!! The return journey was even more bizarre, with her claiming shotgun (“i want to sit next to my friend Ally”), and then ensuring that in all conversations she made it abundantly clear that i was encroaching on her territory (steering the conversation clumsily round to parties that i hadn’t been to, and pointing out that she goes round to Ally’s house all the time etc etc etc). All incredibly odd. And rude. Culminating in not even saying ‘goodbye’ to me. Man alive. But her problem not mine. In fact, probably poor Ally’s problem. The girl obviously has serious issues, and clinging onto her yoga/ballet teacher like that is just unhealthy.
And so to tonight – Advolly and Paul are coming round for our turn to feed them. After last night’s weirdness will be nice to spend some time with normal people!!! Though must try not to get too drunk…
Spring is Sprung
Wow, what an utterly glorious week we’ve had. Proper lovely weather. The garden coming back into its own. What were somewhat barren beds are now covered in snowdrops and crocuses. So beautiful. And so with Spring comes action…the Belle Vue Arts Festival have been in touch and we’ve been planning the short film that Adam’ll make to exhibit. We’ve offered ourselves up for getting involved as much as possible and i’m really looking forward to meeting the local artists and notaries. I’ll be making a scarecrow (they want everyone to make one, so not quite as random as it sounds), and have my idea ready – though, as many of you will know, the disconnect between what i want to make creatively and what ends up is often so large as to be completely risible. And here we’re not talking about private disasters, but potentially a very public one. Ah well, plenty of time to investigate how you actually make a scarecrow etc etc. Watch this space for a masterpiece. Obvs, Ads film will save any face should the scarecrow turn out to resemble merely a broom with lots of dried grass and random material around it (though, as i type that, am thinking that as a plan b, it could work….i could call it ‘scarecrow deconstructed’ and warble on about postmodernism or some other such wank…hmmm, and it would be easier to make).
As well as getting involved in the local arts community i have taken drastic action on the yoga front. There is a local yoga website, where all the classes in Shrewsbury and outside are listed – a site that i have been mining for classes profusely, as you know, to not much avail. But there’s a forum on there, and so i’ve posted on it, to see whether anyone else is up for a mysore-style ashtanga class. And now i’m getting well in with the local yoga teachers!!! Have got 6 of them interested, and now all i’ve got to do, is find a time that suits all of us, find a venue, entice the nearest esteemed teacher (either from Aberwystwyth or Birmingham…or potentially try to convince the others that we take it in turns to be the ‘adjuster’), sort out costs and we’re a go! Not much to do then.
Luckily, in order to free up some time in my busy schedule, am putting the hat into nursery for a couple of mornings a week – starting this week. Was supposed to start last week, but predictably she had some hideous viral infection with nasty temperatures and then an attractive looking rash, so couldn’t really get away with it. Fingers crossed it goes OK. The only times i’ve left her so far she’s literally yelled from the moment i leave to the moment i return (sorry mum)…so next week should be good. Though we are off to see The Muppets tomorrow, fingers crossed that doesn’t end up setting the tone for the week’s activity.
West Midlands Safari Park
Majestic, regardless of their accent
How incongruous does a safari park in kidderminster sound? Believe me, it sounds even more wrong, when you add the brummy twang! And yet, and yet…for my first safari park experience, it was brummy brilliant. Even the hat, who i thought far too young, got right into it, clapping and roaring at the animals. Little man was over the moon, especially when a zebra literally nuzzled up to his window. In fact, if we hand’t almost run out of petrol, i would’ve totally gone round again. Luckily, considering the cost, we’ll have that opportunity, as you get a ‘free’ second entry with the first, so at some point when it’s less cold, we’ll venture there again.
Talking of brummy accents, have made a decision on the pronunciation of Shrewsbury. Am going with ‘rhymes with shoes’. Rhymes with ‘shows’ is just too black country for my liking. Whether naively, or stupidly when we moved up here i only thought of Shropshire – a little known county, with no known accent. It didn’t occur to me that we were in the West Midlands, and that that was dangerously close to Birmingham and the accent that i simply can’t take seriously (and would not wish upon a child of mine). And yet, luckily, Shrewsbury seems to be an island unto itself when it comes to accents. A few miles to the west and you’re into lovely lilting welsh, a few miles to the east and you start to get brummy. Bridgnorth was definitely full of hideous nasally twangs, and even Telford has tell-tale tics. It’s sheer luck that we’ve seemingly ended up in an oasis of normality, but the accent will definitely be affecting my decision on where we move to in the country proper (when such a time arises). Westward-ho! (god i’m such a snob…but i can’t help it)
In other news...Baby-led-weaning going a bit too well...
Haircut One
Oh my word, i have been lax. Not blogged since Toby’s stay over a fortnight ago. I blame it completely on the welsh homegrown (thanks Julius), which was deceptively strong. That and the unexpected arrival of Brady from Aus, necessitating a quick mental night out up in Londinium, wiping out another weekend with recovery – am certainly not the wee spritely thing i think i am anymore. Anyway, back on the page now, and will keep it this way.
So, half term up here, and suddenly Thursday. Sadly Adam’s Cantebury gig is on a different schedule and so rather than the full week of holiday, we only have a few days, and then he’s back again on the long commute. Hey ho, it’s only for this term, so we’re almost half-way through, and then it’s just wait and see for the job in Sept, or not.
And so we had valentine’s day, a day that traditionally i don’t really commemorate, however this year i went all out; de-forested my legs and bought a card with a badge on. Adam out-did himself however, sourcing veal and cooking me my favourite veal milanese. Oh, it was worth the wait. Not too sure whether it was the fact that i hadn’t had veal for such a long time, or that it was genuinely fabulous meat, but it was spectacular. Not the ‘freedom foods’ veal that i’ve still yet to find in Shrewsbury, but from Ludlow Food Centre – a ginormous barn filled with produce from the Earl of Plymouth’s local farms (seemingly half of south shropshire – no wonder Advolly says Shropshire’s insular, there can only be a few, sillily named, land owners if what he owns is anything to go by…).
The kids are well. Our little boy is growing up too fast now…not only does he have a proper haircut, but we also bought him some trendy trousers from Hennes, replete with comedy low crotch, and he just looks like a boy, not my baby anymore. Though, he has had me following him round all day going “can i just pull up your trousers”, only to find upon pulling that they’re already pulled up as far as they can go, it’s just that they’re designed to look like they’re falling down. I think. Or else they’re just really badly designed and i’m giving them graces that they don’t have. They are, after all, just a cheap pair of trousers. Either way, he’s a boy with a really annoying mother. Will make a note to myself to stop fussing (and maybe stick it on his back? That way can prevent last minute embarrassing mother-clucking…maybe i can get a sweatshirt made up??? Hmmm, the worrying thing is that i actually think that that is really quite a good idea). The hat meanwhile continues to not quite crawl. Well, not quite crawl forwards. Crawling, kind of, backwards. Bum shuffling, vaguely crabbing. Generally moving, just not very elegantly or classically. That is perhaps to be expected of a baby who genuinely thinks that making a roaring sound is a form of communication. Obvs she learnt it off of her brother, who spends about 60% of his time roaring in one manner or another. But is probably not helped by me and Adam roaring at her, just to get her to roar back, which we obviously find adorable, thus reinforcing the idea with her that it is a legitimate conversational noise. Hmm, some people teach their kids to read, others to play the violin, we’ve managed to teach ours the essential skill of pretending to be a dinosaur.
Oh wee man. No more baby curls...
Fucking Boots!!!
So i was going to write a wonderful, cultural wee blog – telling all about my first Shrewsbury private view, and of our imminent involvement in the Belle Vue Arts Festival…however that’s been trumped by little man’s increasing use of swear words, which culminated this morning in the exclamation of “fucking boots!”, with exactly the right intonation , in frustration that his toast wasn’t immediately imminent. If i’m honest he’s been upping the ante on swearing over the past few weeks. I blame it on that bloomin’ Raymond Briggs. And his dangerously subversive Father Christmas. After watching that cartoon a few (thousand) times, he started “bloomin’ this” and “bloomin’ that”. Which i simply ignored. Last week though, bloomin turned into bloody. Now where that came from i’ve no idea. I duly ignored that too. However ‘fucking boots’ had us literally rolling around the floor. He obviously thinks that it’s an expression in itself. And it obviously came from one of us. Not me though. Whilst i might be known as work as the lady who calls a spade a fucking count, at home i am the epitome of the queen’s english. Adam’s excuse was that whilst he did help to put wee man into his wellies this morning, that he was laughing (in frustration) whilst he did it, and that due to the perfectly angrily frustrated intonation that our angelic universe used, he couldn’t possibly have been copying Adam. Hmmmm.
Scared the living croup out of us
After the jollity of Friday night, the past few days have been somewhat fraught. It began at 5am on Saturday morning, with our little universe waking up, unable to breathe properly, and making alarming wheezing sounds. He was complaining of a cough and barking occasionally. We calmed him down, and went back to sleep (ish…hangover was setting in). He seemed fine on Saturday, but then Saturday night he had another attack. This time though it seemed worse, and was really struggling to breathe. We thought he might be having an asthma attack and called an ambulance. I can not praise the paramedics highly enough. They arrived barely 2 mins after we placed the call, and were brilliant with our panicked young man. After giving him a nebuliser (to not much effect), he and Adam went to Shrews A&E, where they diagnosed him with croup and gave him some steroids which took effect almost immediately, and once his wee fever had subsided he was discharged. Despite my fears, i think that the whole experience has not scarred him. Quite the opposite perhaps, as he now expects Doctors to arrive in his room almost instantaneously should he need them, might struggle to get him to the actual doctors surgery since his home experience was so swift and seamless!
The terrifying thing about croup is that there is often no symptoms during the day (definitely our experience) and it’s caused by nothing more innocuous than the common cold virus – which the rest of us are all certainly suffering from. Yesterday was spent essentially holding my breath. He seemed fine, but then that was no indicator previously, but we stuffed him with calpol and laid him in cotton wool in front of the telly and a marathon of Disney. That seemed to do the trick, and despite my fears he slept through last night and today developed a more normal cold, which i’m taking as a good sign (perversely). Fingers crossed that’s the end of it, and the hat won’t go on and get it herself (she’s just had back to back common garden colds, poor lamb).
Here’s to a better week…
Brilliant Bridgnorth
The view from the top...
Well, last night was a success. I think. Judging by the hideous hangovers that we have today, a good night was had over at one half of the mental asylum. The other half does actually contain certifiable mentals (so we’ve now learnt), which makes my slightly insane babbling at them pre-xmas, and their snub of our xmas drinks a little more okay. Advolly and Paul were lovely hosts, and although my first attempt at a pavlova was woefully lacking the requisite lashings of cream, we shall certainly be reciprocating their hospitality soon. In fact have already got another social engagement from it – off to a private view on Thursday with Advolly (ooh, free champers…), and have agreed prices with Tilly for future babysitting – dear god, we could actually go out! Perhaps we’ll ease ourselves in with a trip to the cinema…
Their house is currently being re-plastered, and so was not putting its best foot forward sadly. Did obviously have a good nose round (under the guise of seeing what work they were having done), though both A and P were more than willing to show us, bless them. Whilst it is a lovely house, both Adam and i came away thinking that in fact, we prefer the 60′s monstrosity that we’re in. If only we had 7 bedrooms here…
Funiculars don't get steeper than this
So, after a quick call to Advolly to apologise for myself (just incase…had a realisation at 5am that somehow, for a short red-wine fuelled moment, i’d managed to convince myself that Paul was Tilly’s father, he’s not, and i know that full well, but then had a rather confused conversation…and shortly afterwards took myself home…not quite on a doing hat impressions scale, but…), anyway after the embarrassing call (where i rambled on for far too long…perhaps still a wee bit drunk), we set off for Bridgnorth, predominantly to ride the “steepest inland funicular in Britain”, but really to try and out-run our hangovers.
What i wasn’t expecting was for it to be quite such a beautiful town. It’s two town’s really. Posh at the top of the hill, and poor at the bottom (as you’d expect). The funicular was put in to take over from the donkeys, who previously were ferrying all the lovely goods up to the gods, and as soon as we’d descended in it i wanted to be back at the top too. We’ll definitely be going back there, if not for the views (which Charles I thought rightly were the best in all his kingdom), then for the food and shopping. Not only were there lots of wonderful butchers, bakers, and tea rooms, but at the weekend there’s car boot sales galore. What more could you ask for?
Meanwhile, wee man’s shiner is coming on a treat…
Despite the use of chocolate camouflage, the black eye's still somewhat obvious
Play date ends in black eye
So yesterday was a momentous day. Our little universe’s first ever proper playdate – by that i mean a “stranger’s” child came to our house. His friend Yousuf (and mum) came over after nursery and stayed for tea. Twas a lovely afternoon, and a bit of an eye-opener (initially) as to how 3yr olds play, or more specifically, how wee man plays with his friends. Alongside much laughter and screaming and running and excitement, there was also tears. Most notably as C chased poor Yousuf into a corner, tearfully demanding that he agree to be his “best friend”. Poor Yousuf, crying out “I said YES!” as our boy continued to harass him and not listen. Bless. I guess. However, in the final furlong there was an accident with the Spinosaurus resulting in a fantastic shiner…since Yousuf had run into someone’s shoulder earlier in the day at nursery, the two of them rocked up to pre-school today looking like right little hooligans. Perfectly matched i guess.
It was the spinosaurus what done it, honest guv
Yousuf’s mum is very sweet, quite young, and single, and we’ve a reciprocal date lined up for next week, so slowly, slowly am starting to see other people’s houses and get to know a few people. On Friday we have much excitement as are invited over to our neighbours’ Advolly and Paul – with their daughter Tilly coming to babysit ours whilst we get drunk and eat food at theirs. Perfect. Looking v much forward to that as they live in half of the victorian mental asylum and am keen to have a good nose!!! All go here i tell you…!
