Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Hey Guys

I have a new blog over at if you hadn't already noticed.

Thursday, 6 May 2010

Of Swimming and Tortuous Tube Journeys

I've got the kids to take swimming this evening, and I'm really wishing (since the sky has done me the personal favour of turning dark already) that I could just go, get it over and done with!

Last week I enjoyed the thrill of walking that mile in the cold, frosty, pitch black night with three impressionable youngsters, telling them cool stories about the ghostly gardener, who occupies that churchyard today I'm looking at that omnious sky and thinking about warm cosy places I'd rather be!

....In other news, was going through an old Lesson Diary from 2002, and found it filled with all sorts of uninteresting dribbles. I'm not sure I was a very interesting person at that age. I found full listing of everything I'd recieved as birthday presents (who ever knew it was so easy to please a 10 year old? Mobile Phone? Set up for life!), a complete account of the recent congregational meeting from church and musings on farms I'd been to.

A few days on from my birthday was the entry telling me I'd put a security code on my phone and forgotten it (How little it takes to cast your entire world into despair at that age!)
I really wish I'd kept a personal diary through those years!

Anyway the point of pointing this out was something different. On a page dated for January there was a little riddle. How cute! (Okay, maybe that's strange to say that about oneself...)
It took me nearly 10 minutes to work out a riddle which I'd written myself! I mean, when all is said and done, who in the world knows my mind and its workings better than...well, ME? This story is a little sad.

I interupt this fascinating writing to tell you that Max has just arrived by my elbow (he says Hi) - telling me that I'm looking uncommonly lovely tonight.Awww.I'm not falling for that again.As I take a quick look at him, maybe he is thinking something is lovely, and while he may be addressing me, his mind is on my chewing gum... I can see that little glance!

Little brothers aside, I was on the tube again yesterday. Not the most interesting of rides, but not the most boring either.As I shoved into the carriage (last one in - people these days! I was the youngest by 20 years if a day) I felt a prodding in my back.

Naturally in situations such as these, although one is precariously balancing on the very edge of the doorway, one must turn round.

A much shorter woman, in her late twenties was standing there, trying to create space with her umbrella. I just had to admire her brain, and use of appropriate weaponary! Just as the doors were closing she managed to squeeze in, just beside me. She put her umbrella down between her bag and the door, grinned widely and told me:
"Just providing your entertainment, to keep you going until the weekend!"

Australian...hmmmmm, how did I guess she wouldn't be English? I smiled widely back, entertainment she did provide!

She left at the next stop, leaving me a little bit of space (not much, but a little)just enough for the guy on the other side to shift slightly and stand on my foot.He looked so English that I was unprepared for

"Eeeee, o! I am soo sorrrrrieee"

One obviously reassures that they have sustained no lasting damage, but without thinking I just said in my very best French accent
"Eh? No no, s'okay" I then blanched with horror, but he grinned widely again (the theme of this tube journey) and nodded, rather obviously acknowleging a fellow countryman. I now know I should do this more often.

Then a random guy gave up his seat for a pregnant woman, something I've never seen in all my train journeys of all time (It's always women who give up their seats) - it was an amazing moment!

Lastly I want to say that I woke up today minus my ability to climb stairs. I'm used to this feeling when I've done something dreadful in martial arts - or maybe lots of swimming, but I did nothing yesterday!

Do you think I went sleepwalking up a hill or something? This is worrying.

Of Messy Bedrooms and Piano Concerts`

I'm faced with two choices, go to bed or continue cleaning my room.
Naturally I chose what wasn't a choice and went on facebook (do you blame me?)So here I am Friday night, lying on my bedroom floor since my bed is full with all my clothes that were on the floor typing into my iPod.... I have such a busy social life.

But no, complaining (I was told today) is for the lower classes.

I still don't get that, there's hardly such a thing as "class" anymore...

Wednesday evening I went with dad to a piano concert!! Amazing! I know what CD I'm gonna buy for my "sleep" playlist.

We were so close to the front I could have given Ludivico advice on where he needed botox. Not to be rude or anything.

I'd also devised a plan. If we stayed to get Dads CD signed, and I got to meet him, i would smile and ask if he remembered me. Of course, he would say yes.That's when I'd shudder and exclaim how weird that was, since I'd never met him.Dad disapproved wholeheartedly of the idea and we left without waiting for a CD signing (my real plan all along of course)

I passed the time noting the few interesting details. Ludivico (the pianist) had managed, since I saw him last year, to lose at least 50% more hair. There was a guy with a cello!

Yes yes, the guy with the cello (you can just tell I was sitting in my second to front row seat looking for information for sa blogpost...)

The guy with the cello was very Italian, late forties, astonishing Afro hair style, and made such amazing facial expressions during every piece... He was incredible to watch. Later on to my delight, he laid his cello down and pulled out a xylaphone (sp?) Lol, every time he hit the board his eyebrows would shoot up in surprise and I would giggle.

Hmmm, I was rather bored for a few moments, but then along came this shocking board which sounded when he it it!

At one point it did look very poetical, the stage wreathed in blue light, the five men in black (Ludivico, a violinist, a violinist/tamboriner [what? I don't know what it's called], a violinist/guitarist and the sound effects dude) were gently swaying to the music before rapidly switching to tortured expressions, agonising lines of mouth and over analysed emotions as the music reached fever pitch.

The cello squeaked, the guitar rapidly strummed, violins avidly played, the piano added deep chords, and the man in front of me contributed with his snores.

That totally RUINED the whole effect. (but on the whole I really couldn't fault his taste)

The other minor details became mildly amusing, the tamboriner guy was wearing a top that was just too short, and when he bowed, swung his arms around so much I became convinced he was doing a secret warm-up.

Sound effects fellow waved like a three-year-old.

Violinist with no other talents pushed his glasses back up twelve times.

Cello fellow had to fix his jacket (corduroy... No taste these days) and to do so had to sort of reach round the back of the enormous cello, just as his piece was about to begin, he pushed and pulled... I anxiously awaited a smash that never came.

Einaudi himself mouthed the "bang bang bang" when the piano banged. I was impressed with that, I bet he had to have extreme confidence to do that in front of 2 thousand people!

We were sitting on fold up seats that used to be in the buses, so when I (reluctantly? of course not, they provided quite an unusual sort of entertainment!) stood at the very end, my glasses, on the seat, in my bag, nearly died.

Worried about them I almost (but not quite) missed the head on collision between cello bow and tamborine player's head.)

The apology was obviously not in English, so I decided it wasn't worth it to loudly mutter "not corduroy!! Please!" as the cello man walked off stage.

I think I learnt a lot about music and how to listen to it that evening.

In other news: I worked today and listened happily to all those compliments, I have severely sprained one foot (never you mind what I was doing) and now everyone thinks I have a limp..., I told three spooky stories on the way swimming (grin, I now have no need to hold onto Max and Julius's hands, they hold onto mine....) and I've been looking at an untidy bedroom for the last hour or so!
Now I shall go where duty calls and tidy to the soundtrack of Annabelle snoring.

Birthdays, Aunts, Siblings - Life`

I'm now counting down those desperate hours. It reminds me of the time when I was a child and I anxiously awaited the arrival of dawn, and the sports' day.

Funny how with a night like that I hardly ever won anything.

To clarify, I should point out that it's my 17th Birthday tomorrow! I suddenly feel so old. Not that there is any difference really, from today to tomorrow, I may change my exact age, but I
am not getting any older than I did as Wednesday turned to Thursday.

But man, do I actually feel older. 16 sounds cute. 17 sounds likes 70. That is not a good thought.
Botox, here I come!!

It could be worse. I know someone who mentioned in passing that they like to mournfully look at the glasses when they clear the table (it's a family of four...) and take one away before saying to themselves (no doubt in haunting tones) "That's all I've got left"

Being nearly twenty five, the person is question seems to be rather hopeful as to their age at death.

I went to see my Aunt Marie again today. I have a cold! Yep, a cold. No big deal. Or is it?? Aunt Marie (Great Aunt Marie) believes that if you have a cold you have eaten too much.

You can now laugh.

Every time I coughed, I got a remark on my weight and the sighed hope that I would skip my next meal to make up for my recent overeating. In vain I attempted (27 times) to explain that colds are caused by the passing on of germs from one tragic person to another unlucky one.

She lives at the top of a block of flats (no 109) and since the time when a woman took a little while to climb all those stairs, and Aunt Marie told me in a whisper that the woman must be fat (she was) I have felt such a stupid urge to run up those stairs as fast as possible.

Anyways, today guess what? I finally reached a sensible conclusion. It was always painful and rather silly clattering up those stairs in my heels (or whatever I was wearing at the time) so I removed my outer footwear and ran up the stairs so easily I felt like I'd won the marathon.

I hope none of her neighbours come out of their flats while I'm running, my shoes swinging off my hand.

A sibling told me the other day (this poor exploited child shall remain unnamed) that they were in the top eight men of all times. Sun Tzu was there, Moses, Samson, Solomon was stuck in that
list somewhere.

When he meets the real world he's going to need some help. He's just....far too humble for his own good!! He needs to learn some self-confidence. That is what it's all about these days, and he would do well to have a better view of himeslf.

Not to worry, I helped him already. Although I had to knock him a little when I assured him he was wrong - there are only two truly great people in the world. Margaret Thatcher and myself.

(Before you email my mother, I'm not that self-centred, but it was worth the look of shock on his face)

Anyway - what a year! Highlight = HRC Youth Camp!!!
Lowlight = There's too many to count. Maybe the time I lost my shoe in the middle of a Zebra Crossing. In front of the whole town.

To quote a genius "What do we live for but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in turn!"

Me, I prefer the quote "Silence!!!! I kill you!"

Better suited to stem the forthcoming giggles from all the shopkeepers, shoppers and random passerbys.

Kleptomaniac Tendencies

(I think that title has the correct spelling... one can never be sure)

I went shopping to Bexleyheath with Lucy the other day. It was an... interesting experience.I think the funniest part of the trip was when I went to the door in Primark to collect a basket.

However, my marching toward the door, arms filled, somehow alerted the security guard to my presence and she eyed me very severely as I got closer to the exit. Just as I was about to get the basket (no, honest, really) I heard Lucy's voice behind me
"Constance?! What do you think you're doing?"

Things are coming to a pretty pass if my own sister, who knows that I haven't shoplifted yet, (and should know that I never will), begins to doubt me!!

Well, I turned back with the basket and walked back inside the store, feeling the stare of the security guard burning holes in the back if my head

"I thought you were going to leave, just make a run for it" Lucy told me, somewhat distressed "I could see the security woman getting ready to run after you"

I could see the woman eavesdropping the conversation so felt the need to ask

"Have I ever shoplifted yet?"in my poshest, coldest voice. Then, seeing Lucy looking so apologetic and the woman listening with interest I suddenly had to confess

"All right" I said sufficiently loud "I did for one second - one millisecond really -have the terrible thought 'let's see how fast this one can run'

As I turned back I could see the woman making a valiant attempt not to smile. She lost the battle and began to grin like a Cheshire cat.

I don't know about you, but I like to think I achieved the impossible, got a security guard to smile!!!!!!!!

(apart from this one I knew in 2002 who would smile everytime he saw me and tell me England would lose the world cup... That sort of thing can really knock the confidence of a child!)

Thinking back, however, maybe I shouldn't have said that about running, I might have ended up in trouble lol, but it 'was' irresistable.

A bit like when an Immigration official hands you your passport application and asks you to swear every word of it is true, and you suddenly get the urge to stop for a moment, spend a good two long minutes thinking to yourself and then say absent mindedly

"At least, I think I was born in 1992. Might have been 1982..."

I almost did that once, except instead of the whole date thingy I just nodded happily, then let my face freeze "Oh, I mean unless there is something you're not telling me, Dad?"

Dad said absolutely nothing immediately, but the second we were done and out of there, I got such a telling off!

Oh well, I was younger then, and although it probably wasn't the very wisest thing to do, I think I learnt my lesson.

Since then I've been told hundreds of times that immigration officers have no sense of humour. Dad specialises in immigration...

Not Responding...

Notepad just crashed on me. That's right, the simplest of all my wonderful programs on this laptop has just given me the "Not Responding" sign.

I think it may be time to get a new laptop. I may tag this line to my mother, just to give her a subtle hint. After all, hints can't exactly hurt, can they??

I like the Not Responding sign, by the way. It's amazing - just gives us all a little reminder that computers are only human, and have their own little miffs. Actually it does nothing of the sort, you have to have a rather extreme imagination to imagine that.

But, what if we could have a Not Responding sign? It would be the best! Dad could turn to me and say "Constance, the cat needs feeding" and all I have to do is roll my eyes back and flash up *Not Responding* (I beg you, do not call RSPCA, this was just a scenario)

John Terry, when we crash out of the World Cup (which we will), can look blankly at the nosy reporter demanding an explanation and subtly hint "Not Responding"

What a lovely change it would make in parliament if, when faced once again with the question "What are you going to do about the banks?" Gordon Brown just suddenly goes all stiff and flashes "Not Responding"

That's when we'd know he'd been hacked. He's been waiting for this position for years, he's hardly going to waste it without getting in every word he possibly could.

Talking of crashing out of the World Cup (again), let's hope our footballers actually return from South Africa. I wouldn't like to be security personnel on that trip....

Wednesday, 23 September 2009


I had another beautifully written blog post here, and rather unfortunately, it disappeared.
That might have something to do with my laptop suddenly going out of battery. Or it might not.
Anyway, consider yourselves lucky, you escaped having to read a story about accents that thinking back on it, reflecting (and of course, faced with the bother of rewriting it) I've decided it was distinctly unfunny and unblogable.

I hope there is such a word.

Talking of words or, more importantly, English - I was reflecting the other night at three in the morning when I couldn't sleep, that the word 'indeed' has indeed gone 'out of action'. The only people who appear to use this word constantly are geeks, avid Shakespeare fans, and of course the older generation (I was going to write Old People, but suddenly remembered my Mum using the word the other day...)

Take this for example: being English, and uncharacteristically friendly, I remark to an old acquaintance

"It's a nice day!" (what an original line!)


I suddenly feel out of my depth, out of date. This feeling is not unlike what I imagine cheese must feel when it discovers it past its' sell-by date. I am half expecting the acquaintance to begin to sport a toothbrush mustache, cigarette and make a remark on the 'dratted war' (begging the pardon of all ladies present of course).

Of course, nothing happens of the sort, but times are changing, some for the better, some for the worse.

Cheerleader pom-poms arrived in the shop last Saturday. I can only be thankful that the previous owner had the sense to donate them.

Cheerleading is not my idea of cheering at a sports event. A true English sign of support would be holding up cheap card (Made in China) above the head to create, with thousands of others, an England flag.

I always wondered what would happen if one lone supporter didn't feel like raising his card. Would he be flung out??

Do they have men in the sidelines to fill in for any unsupportive supporter?

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind, when I realised - there is no such thing as an unsupportive supporter. No, actually, what I was meaning to say was there is no such thing as an English Football Supporter, who isn't supportive. He/she may be drunk, may be on their very last legs, but they *will* make it to hold up that last vital card.

It's not a case of failed gymnasts parading around the pitch with pom poms, chanting something along the lines of "We support England, we support Burbery, we support Gordon's Plastic Surgery"

Sour grapes are NOT involved in all this reasoning, by the way. Had I ever wanted to be a cheerleader, I would have undoubtedly made it.

At least that's what my parents have always told me... (it wasn't cheerleading in the offing, if you were wondering at their shameless lack of morals)

A month until I turn 17!

I know I'm now going to sound like someone (everyone) over the age of 40, but I simply cannot believe I'm that old. I won't go so far as to say "I remember me when I was 'this high'" (the speaker will now indicate an impossibly tiny height off the ground - I've seen bigger carrots)

Talking of which, I Iive in a town, I'm not part of a small country village that competes on the size of carrots..