Engineers

Well the Imaginarium event run by the University of Sheffield on Saturday was great. Umpteen engineering experiments engaged us for well over 2 hours and it was lovely to meet so many enthusiastic talented students. T was fascinated and inspired, quite full of sweets and rather wet.

The most successful experiment was friction testing T's fingers to trigger a spiderman climbing upwards. The marshmallow and strawberry lace DNA making, candyfloss eating, Skittle colour merging and chocolate breaking experiments meant she did pretty well on this one. And there was I about to get her to wash her hands first.

Once again we are so lucky to have these resources on our doorstep. A totally free event for kids demonstrating fascinating and fun engineering and showcasing the university. We even got to play with virtual reality building blocks and very expensive robots.

I'd recommend you keep your eyes peeled for another event - we certainly will be.

Divine Comedy

Sometimes you wonder whether a band you always loved will still be as good when you see them 20 years later.

Sometimes you shouldn't have worried.

Blissful voice, brilliant lyrics, bonkers costume changes, bizarre instruments, beautiful music. Plus extremely funny, but I can't think of word that means funny that begins with b.

The Divine Comedy were just wonderful on Saturday. Best gig in ages. Tragically I didn't get a photo of the admiral outfit.

Blimey the Foundry was hot though. Plus, I would like to see an enforced hat removal for audience members though because there was a point where a titfer made viewing a little tricky. Not Neil though, he can leave his hat on.

Poetry

Sometimes to struggle not to get distracted at home. So far today, for example, I have made myself multiple cups of tea, surfed the internet, tidied up a bit and I even fell asleep on the sofa for an hour (in my defence I have a banging headache and am quite tired).

In order to focus my mind I thought I'd have yet another cup of tea, but this time in a cafe while reading my new book about poetry and making notes (so I look like I'm doing something important). The nearest cafe to me is Seraphins' on Abbeydale Road so I popped in and sat down with my cuppa.

For the next hour I drank tea, ate the most delicious salted caramel brownie probably in the world ever and pretended to read my book. I also had a chat with the owner about how to help the lady behind me remove a stuck ring and watched a video on You Tube.  I posted a photo of the delicious cake to Instagram and Twitter. A little boy arrived and distracted me further by being flipping cute and having a garbled toddler chat with me.

On the way out I was requested to give the little boy a fist bump which I did, with panache frankly.

The whole thing was extremely lovely. But not very conducive to me concentrating. I've decided if I want lovely food and drink I'll go to Seraphin's, but if I want to write poetry I may have to find a cafe with worse food, less customers and miserable staff.

Bishops' House Autumn Fayre

Yesterday we submerged ourselves in Medieval life at the Bishops' House Autumn Fayre. 

I adore this museum which is remarkably still in tact and sits, in all it's Tudor glory, at the top of Meersbrook Park.

The house was rammed, not only with people, but with stalls and demonstrators of traditional crafts including the stunning Billigoat Designs stained glass and Poterie Des Pommiers who showed the girls how to throw a pot on a potters wheel, while they chatted about the pots they were making at school. We were equally fascinated by the spinners and very keen on the scones.

Outside P was rapt watching Robert Nicholson make wooden bowls, especially since he took time to explain the job of a Medieval turner. I was quite tempted to buy a bottle of 14.2% Pea Pod wine which apparently has the taste of prosecco - surely that's practically a health drink.


We thought the event would fill a couple of hours but we ended up staying for nearly four, watching the knights walloping each other with various weaponry, Boggarts Breakfast morris dancing, and the Beekeepers playing 16th century music in the dining room.


I am thrilled for all the volunteers that it was a beautiful Autumn day and the event was so well attended.

Hopefully this will become an annual event and will bring many more visitors around the museum.

I definitely think it deserved an entrance fee higher than £1.50, so we bought more cake, solely for their fundraising efforts you understand...

Elephants and Drama

Yesterday was one of those mad days where I created a timeline of activities and the whole family rolled their eyes. We needed to finish the Sheffield Herd elephant hunt, attend the Fun Palace event at Sheffield Theatres, complete homework, clean out a rabbit hutch, and watch the fourth Harry Potter. It was going to be a stretch. But the best kind of Sunday's include unreasonable expectations, right?

We screeched to a metaphorical halt outside the Botanical Gardens two minutes after they opened and zapped three elephants inside twenty minutes (about 7 mpe - minutes per elephant). I even let them stop to collect conkers which wasn't on the plan.

A frantic u-turn (not really) and we zoomed (at 20mph) into John Lewis car park, running through the store stopping only to look at picture frames, bags and perfume. Thank goodness, we made it to Sheffield Theatres for the Fun Place weekend.

The event was really good, even though we ended up doing a hoedown within 2 minutes of entering. I held hands with a man  I'd never met (and a number of very small girls and my own two bigger ones) and pretended the whole thing wasn't embarrassing at all. I also pretended I wasn't hideously out of breath.

After that the girls made a planet and star to go on the space artwork that will be displayed in the theatre, chucked balls at tin cans and hoops at cacti, and drew on the windows.

My favourite bit by far was the theatre tour where we were taken behind the scenes and I got to stand next to a garment of clothing worn by Kenneth Branagh - the girls didn't understand what I was wittering on about. I have never seen so many costumes, shoes and bags in my life. If Ken's costume wasn't enough to send me wappy imagine how I felt about there being entire boxes marked "espadrilles".

We saw the unglamorous section under the stage and heard about the theatre's history and resident ghosts. I even got to revisit the room where I spoke to the registrar on my wedding day which I'd forgotten all about. Plus Paul got to go into the girls toilets to look at the windows which was a first for him.

We could have done so much more. I fancied having special effects makeup and doing the drama workshop but the elephants were calling us unfortunately. The kids did fit in a quick tightrope walk on the way out but strangely the adults didn't have time for a custard pie in the face.

Upping the pace again we got back to the car and had our sights set on the final two elephants. At Hillsborough park we found that a)the elephant was in a walled garden that's closed on Sundays and b)it wasn't even there because they'd removed it already. We cheated and managed to fool the app into thinking we'd seen it.

Finally, Our Cow Molly. We'd waited until the end for this one in order to fully appreciate the free ice cream and flake. I imagined taking the final elephant picture with the girls looking triumphant and us all feeling on top of the world.

The elephant was not obvious. We walked through the farm. The elephant was still not obvious. We walked round the back into an area that we clearly weren't really supposed to be in, guarded by two angry geese. We had to accept the fact that the elephant had gone.

Add caption

It was hard for me but I was brave and accepted the stark reality that I was not to complete the elephant hunt properly. But then to be fair there had been other issues early on. I was, for example, supposed to take the children with me on the hunt, but on one occasion I nipped past an elephant on a working day at Crystal Peaks. I also got the last little ones in my lunch hour having raced through town to get to Atkinsons like some kind of old, overweight ginger Anneka Rice. So I can't really be an elephant purist.

When we cheated and fooled the app once more to log our 58th invisible elephant there were no fireworks but there was a free ice cream.

Seen very fast without the children in my lunch hour

My sense of completion may have been a little shonky but we had completed the challenge and the ice cream was epic.

Meersbrook Park Heritage Open Day

I find this time of the year pretty wonderful and yet a bit frustrating. There are just so many things you can do at the weekend and yet you know that only a handful of gorgeous sunny Sundays are left before everything gets decidedly greyer.

Today we made totally the right choice. The Meersbrook Park Heritage Open Day was honestly the perfect community event.

We had just bought lots of lovely food from the Junk Food Project when the girls were whisked off to do Maypole dancing. P's face was beaming and everyone was laughing, even when they were nearly decapitated by small children's ribbons held slightly too low. A picture in the paper for the girls followed (ensuring we were out of shot).We wandered to the walled garden, which I don't think I've ever been in to my shame, and ate cake and drank tea in the sunshine.

Faunagraphic was painting some street art and the girls explored the mosaic hopscotch and the Japanese garden. We noted various inspirations for their wildlife project including the amazing bug hotel.


Then we had to slow down even more. It was imperative you see that we made wooden knives and whittling, as you know, cannot be hurried. I was only slightly hesitant to let the kids loose with sharp implements but I needn't have worried. P tried hard and a team effort helped to create one knife. T of course whittled persistently for over an hour.

Huge bubbles floated past, popped by eager children (I'd have popped one myself but it seemed a bit mean).


Little canvases had been handed out to us on arrival and P sat in the sun sketching and colouring a yarn bombed tree before we wondered off and wrapped another tree in fabric and wool. Well the other trees were getting jealous of the outfits. Our own at home will be treated with the same care and attention this week no doubt.

Finally putting down the knife and sandpaper, both girls then got involved in the beautiful mosaic making in the entrance of the hall - a peacock which will go on the wall when it's finished. T made her own Robin mosaic to take away. We looked at the Ruskin displays and around the local maker stalls, the only shame being that we couldn't see round the hall itself as they were booked up 20 minutes after the event began.


None of the activities cost us a penny. The Junk Food Project was a pay as you feel affair and well worth what we chose to give. The event was a small perfectly formed community day - what Sundays should be.

Ecclesall Woods

West Side Story at Abbeydale Picture House

I was surprised last night that there weren't more children in the audience, but I guess not everyone wanted to pass on their childhood of Sunday afternoon watching musicals like I did. Plus it was an evening film so was destined to be a late one, although when I booked the ticket I hadn't recalled that the film is 152 minutes long so it was destined to be rather later even than I had anticipated.

Ah well, parenting for me involves throwing in a few unusual experiences for the kids and this was one.

I love Abbeydale Picture House and in particular the passion of the volunteers working so hard to bring it back to life. The cafe (open Friday and Saturdays 10-5 at the moment) is beautiful, with excellent drinks and food and the thoughtful provision of blankets - it is a little nippy. The building itself is stunning and hopefully one day will be restored to it's former glory.So I couldn't pass up a night then of watching West Side Story with my lovely family in such brilliant surroundings, helping them raise a little money in the process.

West Side Story with children requires a little groundwork. In particular we talked about Romeo and Juliet and braced them both for people dying. We discussed racial tensions and the different meanings of the word 'gay". Other than that it's brilliant songs and cracking dancing so I didn't anticipate further problems.

Things we didn't think of explaining:

• That Shakespeare didn't exist in 1961
• Where Puerto Rico is
• Why people burst into song when they are supposed to be keeping the noise down
• That "Daddio" does not mean Daddy. This particular confusion made character relationships a little confusing - no one person can be a girl's brother and father at the same time surely?
• How the men's teeth got so shiny
• How unlikely it is to fall in love on the spot or indeed to forgive someone who has just killed your brother, even if he was cross at the time.

"What on earth was happening in that scene in a garage? They were already cool, why were they singing about keeping cool?" They know all about homonyms really.

Then we came to the crux - the problem with all Shakespeare tragedies. Tony is told that Maria is dead and goes into emotional meltdown at which point my eldest said "you'd think he'd have checked first". Absolutely, you will go far.

It was a lovely night. Retro snacks, comfy seats, a live intro from two lovely singers from Easy Street Theatre, a great view and a wonderful setting - they are truly putting heart back into a beautiful building. Add to that the craziness of explaining the world of the 1960s to an 8 and a 10 year old and you feel really alive.

As we walked out my daughter was discussing who the baddies were. She said she thought the Sharks from Puerto Rico were less bad because they'd had such a tough time already. Wow. There was me thinking we were the ones was teaching her not the other way round.

Middle Aged Gig Goer

I go to a fair few gigs. One only last week in fact. But last night made me feel a bit old. Which is ironic because most of the audience were the same age as me and in fact the band members are my senior by a few years. But they have something I will never have. A desire to dress up in a boiler suit and a beanie hat and play dramatic extended electronic music most nights of the week.

The whole thing made me question myself and I'm coming to terms with what I have known for some time. I can no longer cope with rainbow lazers seemingly pointed directly into my eyes. I'm not sure about extended electronic dance tracks. I know I'm short but I could barely see a thing. Apparently there are five people in Super Furry Animals and yet I definitely only counted two. The only way I could see them was if I jumped on the spot like House of Pain. If I jumped I caught a brief second glimpse of a life I could never live and don't wholly understand.

Great view isn't it?

If truth be known I like my gigs to include a reasonable eye line to the musician or musicians, a bit of conversation with the audience, the band playing some actual well known tracks and more than a square inch to stand in. I want to sing, to dance and to access the toilet without having to practically crowd surf my way there. I don't particularly want to be blinded and my love of boiler suits and yeti outfits has left me, if indeed it was ever there to begin with.




I'm sorry. I know others loved it, it says so on Twitter. To me it was a good night because of fantastic friends, not because of the formulaic, sensory depriving gig. My head is still spinning.

Moving More

Two weeks ago I decided I would put my Fitbit back on. I haven't been wearing it for the simple reason that if I drive to work, which I have admittedly been doing for months and months now, I only ever walk about 5,000 steps in a day. There are few chances to exercise in a small HR office. When I wore my Fitbit it told me on a daily basis how I hadn't walked 10,000 steps. No-one likes to be criticised that regularly.

As a result of a freakish moment of commitment the Fitbit is now back and I am walking to work most days. This means I manage 10,00 steps most days too. I managed 13,000 on a day where I barely left the house but did shed loads of cleaning. I could do this instead of walking but the cleaning thing only works if I don't do any for at least 3 months prior which leaves me with a quite a few days where I'm a bit under target.

On the days where I've had to drive I have been guilty of syncing my Fitbit in my pyjamas and running on the spot because nothing is more satisfying than the three seconds when your wrist buzzes before you collapse into bed sweating.

One day in the pursuit of steps I even went running. That was until I met a friend walking her dog in the park. We spent so long talking I'd quite lost the enthusiasm for running but I still had to walk home. Since this is the same amount of steps I figured it didn't matter all that much.

My best day yet I wracked up 18,000 steps by walking to work and going to a Bellowhead gig.  In reality I suspect there were  quite a few claps plus a few air punches added in for good measure, all increasing my total. Maybe clapping is as good for you as walking.

Today I was hopeful of achieving a good number of steps by walking around shops on Abbeydale Road (I accidentally ended up eating a scone and coming home with a pair of boots and a new handbag but the numbers all add up don't they? ). It was only mid massive walk around Longshaw this afternoon that I noticed the Fitbit was actually flat and thinks I did 70 steps today. Brilliant, what a waste of time all that walking around waterfalls was.

It's back on charge overnight, which actually isn't a bad thing because it seems to have also set me a target for sleeping. It's bad enough being criticised for not moving enough, but being criticised for not sleeping enough seems very unfair. One day out of fourteen it flashed up with "Hooray you have met your sleeping target today". I felt buoyed for five seconds until I realised it really isn't that much of a success and, in fact, the 13 days weren't in any way an actual failure. Yey go me I slept eight hours last night. Anyone want to sponsor me?

So I'm trying. Moving more and in the process shopping more and eating more cake in tea shops. Win.

Partus

Talk about making you think. I went to see Third Angel's Partus last night at the Studio. I came out having laughed, sniffled and thrown my hands over my face in half remembered horror. I also emerged equally determined, to champion the cause of midwives in the NHS, and to never have another baby.

Partus is about births. Funny ones (and it really was funny in places), scary ones, multiple ones, sad ones, young ones, and exhausting ones but all of them real ones. It was born out of a research project and included real life experiences of mums, dads, doulas and midwives. I have no idea how you would begin to decide which stories to highlight out of the hundreds they heard but Third Angel chose well, I think, setting the balance of humour and emotion.

It's been a while since I gave birth. Nearly 8 years in fact. It's safe to say my brain had pushed to the back some of the more painful and frightening bits. Which of course is the same for everyone otherwise no-one would ever have more than one baby. Last night reminded me how bloody marvellous women are. It's the most natural thing in the world but also the toughest. I mean, answer a child's question about how a baby comes out and the look on their face tells it all. It shouldn't be possible.

Partus tackles some gritty stuff which goes with the subject matter, and is ably, humorously and passionately presented by an all female cast who form part of the audience. It's a theatrical experience rather than a play and even includes biscuits.

The trouble is I'm not great at writing reviews due to my general fear of accidentally providing spoilers. Inevitably the best bits are the bits I want to write about, and therefore can't because then you'd know the best bits. You see my problem?

What I will say is this, if you are interested in births you should go. There are even performances where mums take their babies along. If only theatre had happened like that in 2006 when I had mine I'd have been at every event like a shot.

I am not sure however if I would have gone before I'd had a baby. For the same reason that I only read a small amount, didn't watch any birthing videos and tried to pretend everything would be painless and quick and I'd be home by tea time. Of course if you like to be more prepared than that it could be ideal.

I came out feeling it's an important piece. My friend and I decided all teenagers should have to see it as part of the curriculum. And probably all men.

Vintage Flea Market

I've become quite partial to a vintage flea. Plus I adore Abbeydale Picture House so I always enjoy a couple of hours mooching about the stalls.

This time it had the added benefit of hosting 1980s themed fashion shows. I don't think I ever expected to be explaining puffball skirts and shoulder pads to my daughters - which was weird enough - but them being fascinated and almost impressed was even more bizarre. Their faces were a picture - they looked like they had landed on Mars.

We sorted through the frocks, maps, crockery, jewellery and biscuit tins. We drooled over vinyl and enjoyed Whirlow Farm lunch. If I could have got away with a glass of prosecco believe me I would have done.

 An extra joy was bumping into people I know. Students from theatre school, my singing lady friend who collects beaded evening bags, stall holders from my Barefoot days and gorgeous flamboyant people I hadn't met yet dressed in 1950s dresses and three piece suits (shopping for a chair for their tattoo parlour). It doesn't get more eclectic than that. It's a community I like being a very small part of.

So I'd recommend a mooch. It's £2 to get in and you have the added joy of seeing this stunning picture house which one day I hope will be returned to its former glory. It's musty and dishevelled, broken and beautiful and full to the rafters of fabulous people. Plus I expect you will come home with something you didn't know you needed...

Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time

I wasn't entirely sure of this if I am honest, simply because I saw the National Theatre Live version last year and despite it being a cinema link up I was blown away. It seemed unlikely that the show at the Lyceum could have the same impact.

But in spite of the set and the script not being a surprise I still adored it. The choreography is beyond words and that coupled with superb acting and innovative projection conveyed a real feeling of the sensory overload autism can bring.

The play is about a fifteen year old boy with autism who discovers the murder of his neighbour's dog and sets about solving the crime. Although of course it is really about human relationships, disability and connection. Half way through I was desperate to hug my children at the thought of not being able to.

The cast must be mentioned - Joshua Jenkins was stunning as Christopher and the supporting cast were all memorable and comedic. Their energy, timing and focus was incredible.

But the set designers have to share the limelight. This show is nothing like you have seen before. Unless you've seen it before. But even if you have, go again.

Brilliant.

Gin Fest

The taxi driver was confused when I said I was going to a gin festival. I suppose it isn't your usual Friday night out.

When I was at university the twelfth gin made me cry. But that was terrible gin and, well it probably wasn't twelve since I usually lost count around six.

I don't drink gin in excess anymore. A beverage that I associate with weeping isn't usually my first choice. Although I do really really like it. It reminds me of trips to the pub with my friends at 21. And Christmas.

So when my friend asked me to drink gin on a Friday night I jumped at the chance. A night out with a very good friend and the chance to drink gin, listen to music and try to stay vertical? What's not to like.

I didn't realise there were over 100 types of gin. I also hadn't fully appreciated how many types of gin cocktails there are. It's mind boggling.

In case you, like my taxi driver, are wondering what happens at a gin festival it's essentially as follows. You buy tokens (4 for £20). You then flick through the brochure of too many gins to comprehend and randomly pick one. You then drink it and go and get another one. Then you drink gin and tonic with gin flavoured ice cream in it through a straw. Then you drink some gin cocktails. You also watch hipsters and ladies in 1950s frocks. And you try not to fall over.

What I learnt was, well I still like gin, Especially good gin (Sir Robin of Locksley is fab and I failed to remember any of the others I tried.). I also learnt that palma violet flavoured gin is just plain wrong.

Great night.

Grade 1

It was T's first guitar exam today. It took me back if I'm honest. Although I seem to remember crossing a huge floor clutching my music in a dramatic fashion, rather than sitting in someone's living room - someone who judging by her cabinet has a penchant for Terry Pratchett novels. This is how they do it these days apparently.

She wanted to do Grade 1 and I didn't see any harm. Until I found out how much it was. Then I noticed the significant upper cut to my finances. We paid for the exam, and the required music book. Then I found out it was in the middle of a working/school day. Brilliant. It also clashed with a school trip which was irritating but saved me £7.50 there - every cloud - but I'm still somewhat in deficit. It would have been even more money if she needed an accompanist (I'm rethinking P's desire to play clarinet...).

We arrived at a terraced house in Sheffield nearly bursting into some poor boy's violin exam by accident. We entered a room with about ten chairs in it (along with a table and cabinet full of Pratchett novels).

A lady bustled in and said "Right then. Get your instrument out and tune it." A little optimistic surely for a 9 year old to tune her own guitar adequately. The woman bustled out of the room and someone's dad said it sounded alright to him, which I took to be positive enough. I told Tilly I thought she should be warming up and another mum said she could go in the kitchen (which had a keyboard in it, as you do) and shut the door. A little harsh surely. She hadn't even heard her play.

After a while the bustling lady reappeared and Tilly tried out a number of chairs in a style reminiscent of Goldilocks. The first one was too high. The second, well I pointed out that having wheels wasn't a great plan. The third was actually a rocking stool. I can't imagine that ever being useful especially during a music exam. She plumped for the too high one.

I had decided that the bustling lady was clearly something to do with the exam. She asked "Are we on pitch?" Tilly hadn't got a clue what she was going on about and I lost myself for a moment imagining guitar playing in the goal at Bramall Lane.

Bustling lady, who still hadn't actually introduced herself, then retrieved a tuning fork from her handbag. She told me she was once stopped at airport security for carrying it in her hand luggage.

The tuning process took quite some minutes and for once in my life I found myself wishing I'd brought the iPad with me to use an app.

Tilly was asked to play her pieces but was highly confused and started to wonder if she was being examined already. She was still sitting on the wheelie chair and it wasn't helping her performance.

Eventually she went into the examiner and I had a nice chat with bustling woman. She asked me for help finding a postcode of (according to Zoopla) a very expensive house in Surrey. She recalled her own guitar exam experience from years ago. And she listened to her answer phone message - apparently her friend has a dentist appointment and can't meet her for lunch this week. All the time I could hear Tilly playing, clapping and singing through the living room wall. Which presumably means Tilly knows all about her lunch plans too.

I asked how long the results would be and was told anywhere between 5 days and 6 weeks. I don't even know where to begin with this statement.

Tilly was fine when she came out. She thinks she's passed and wonders if we can go out for dinner if she gets full marks (she doesn't think this is likely). I said we could go out to dinner whatever but the size of the ice cream is dependent on the mark she gets. She knows I'm joking.

So. Expensive, inconvenient, a bit bonkers. I wonder if we'll have to do another one...

Manor Cottages

I got disproportionately excited yesterday when we left the house in the pouring rain, got slightly lost, walked across farmland and ended up at a new heritage initiative on the Manor Lodge site. I mean I'll be honest it's early days. There is a cottage which has been made safe and is being kitted out to look like a 1940s home. They are missing some key things, like a kitchen range and a mattress amongst other things, but you can see what an important place this will be.

I flipping love living history. Ever since watching "How we used to Live" at junior school. There is no museum I like better than one where people are dressed up and making scones.  And this one will be in Sheffield. I already have a real soft spot for Manor Lodge despite it's limited opening hours (down to funding). It's an important place (where Mary Queen of Scots was held captive no less) and every time we go back it's different. The gardens, landscaping and signage are better. The flowers are stunning in the summer. I love Tudor history. It deserves to be visited.

But 20th century history is where my inner child gets excited. Anything involving butter making, ration books, open fires, gramophones or rag rugs makes me very happy.


The even better news it that they have inherited loads of the exhibits from the Heritage Museum on Ecclesall Road - I was wondering where all that went - and are planning to open Victorian shops in a barn on site which will make it even more of an interesting place to visit. Plus there is Rhubarb Shed cafe where had the biggest sausage sandwiches in a world and lovely service.

So they need support. Financial, voluntary (to help fix things up and dress up on event days) and they are also in need of some big pieces of furniture that would really help finish the cottage interior.

Clearly we don't have a Victorian chest of drawers kicking about but someone might and I can't think of a better place to put it if you have found somewhere else to put your socks. Apologies for the terrible photo but I stuffed the paperwork in my pocket due to torrential rain.

In the mean time please go and visit. I'd recommend you check the website for open days for the discovery centre, lodge and cottages before turning up and expect to see a work in progress - but they need our support and it's a great day out. Oh and check if you've got a 3/4 mattress to spare please because the bed looks mighty uncomfortable at the moment.

Birdy

I genuinely didn't know what I was going to see on Saturday night. But I'm all for new experiences and frankly always keen for a night out.

The venue for the preview of Birdy was a little unexpected. A pretty bare (and on the way in extremely cold) space with ropes, silks and a trapeze hanging from the ceiling and basic chair seating.  We sat on the front row and were told before it began that things might happen towards us. We'd be fine if we just leant back. Normal theatre performances don't have that kind of excitement more's the pity. I just hoped I had the wherewithall to respond quick enough. No-one wanted to see a 39 year old fall of a bench at a pivotal moment.

I haven't read the book by William Wharton or seen the film. But even so after last night I can definitely say I get it. In 75 minutes the cast presented and engaged us in a story of war, friendship, madness and escapism. And it was done with tenderness, humour and breathtaking aerial performance. Yep, it's safe to say I was impressed.

Of course the idea of a man who wants to be a canary lends itself quite well to aerial performance. But doing it in a way that moves the audience is something to be seen. Birdy's actual flight is that of a broken desperate man. I would never have expected to be so moved.

The whole cast and directors are to be commended. It is clearly a huge challenge to present something important in this way. Melding together dialogue, emotion, humour, music and stunning aerial performance is quite some feat.

I wish someone had been there to take photographs of the audience. I know my face must have moved through quite some emotions during the show, including genuine awe. And slight terror when I, fortunately, did manage to lean back on time.

I wish Osborne and What and all the amazing cast of Birdy the best in their tour around the UK. They deserve huge eclectic audiences who are keen to see something different and powerful. Go see it, and let me know what you think.

Another letter to the council

To whom it may concern

I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to raise this concern. The website allows me to complain about pot holes and litter but there is no way of complaining about thoughtless dangerous people parking in the wrong place. So I’m sending this to you in the hopes that it reaches someone appropriate.

Now I appreciate some parents can be extremely troublesome. I, for one, am annoying. I keep writing to the council about litter, potholes and traffic congestion. But it seems that some parents are even worse than this, especially when it comes to the use of their legs.

For many parents apparently the idea of parking safely around a school and walking 100 metres further is a terrible inconvenience. I could be forgiving and say there is perhaps a much better reason for this than ignorance and laziness. Perhaps they can’t read the signs, or don’t understand what a yellow line means. Which is worrying in itself as they all appear to have driving licences.

So some of our parents, (for whatever reason they think justifies it) park on yellow lines and up curbs at school drop off time. This makes it insanely difficult to see clearly enough to cross a road with small children and without Tufty the Squirrel (1970s road safety reference) it’s a real challenge. 

Bad parking makes the road narrower of course which also results in those drivers who are trying to legally travel down Bannerdale Road getting irate and therefore being much more likely to break the speed limit and narrowly miss running over small children on a daily basis. 

Traffic wardens simply act as a deterrent on the day and nothing more. They see them standing there and park further away. For 24 hours.

The school has tried to explain the dangers to parents. They don’t seem to listen. Signs are put up. We even had the school council (six year olds and a grown up) challenging parents directly which was a good tactic but it only worked for about three days. And if you aren’t going to listen to a six year old who are you going to listen to?

So answers? Ultimately I suspect hitting parents where it hurts is the answer. For some this would be points on their licence; for most it would be cold hard cash.

Here’s my suggestion.

Just ask your traffic wardens to start their shift a little later. Turn up at 8.45 and just see the result. 

1. Everyone could get a parking ticket slapped on their windscreen while the parents are in school depositing their children. Cue swearing and stamping from returning parents and a lesson learnt. 

2. The council earns enough money in one morning to buy the litter bin I’ve been asking for for 3 years.

Isn’t that a win win?

Yours sincerely

Razzamataz

Nowadays things have gone somewhat bananas in the preteen activity department. The choice is endless. Add to that a child who is enthusiastic to do anything she is offered and it could be a recipe for disaster. Or at the very least a recipe for never seeing your child. Tilly hasn't chosen anything too unusual so far, but she adamantly refuses to stop doing any of the things she does. Which means we may never know if she is a natural potter but you have to draw a line somewhere.

She currently goes to choir, yoga, gymnastics, Brownies and Razzamataz as well as playing guitar. Small people social calendars nowadays are barmy. I have informed her there are only 7 days in a week and she needs to fit in her homework and a bit of actual playing at some point but none of the above seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Her favourite activity without a doubt is Razzamataz on a Saturday. She is apparently going to keep going until she's old enough to teach at it. Alongside running a farm and a sweet shop of course.

There are a few theatre schools in Sheffield. There is one 50 yards from my house. I'm still not entirely sure why we didn't try it and plumped for a trial at Razzamataz based at Norton college instead. I don't think it can have been the pull of the Duncan Bannatyne connection. It was much more likely to be because Helen, the Principal, is so darn lovely and organised. And she'd have to be with the number of children who go through the Razz doors on a Saturday. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

So my eldest has been a Razz Junior for nearly two years, and my youngest a Razz mini for one. They do dance, drama and singing each week and get the chance to perform regularly at events and annually at the big show. We are full on committed in this family. Even Phoebe's party had to be a Razz one this year.

The children adore going and I think the whole thing is so happy and well run I can't see the need to ever go anywhere else. I mean ok on a bad day I can drive backwards and forwards to Norton four times but it's a small price to pay when they are so happy. And it does usually mean I get out of cleaning the rabbit hutches. Anyway, if you check the parenting small print, driving about for at least 16 years is non negotiable.

It was the big show, "For One Night Only" at the Octagon on Sunday and it's fair to say all the parents did their fair share of ferrying about. Backwards and forwards to rehearsals and then dropping the children off for the show itself.

Then it began. The chance to see what they get up to every week and of course to glow with parental pride.

There were two acts. The first full of juniors and minis singing their head off, dancing to pop songs and acting in short versions of musicals. Mine were in Hairspray and The Wizard of Oz, but others were in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and a brilliant version of Matilda. The girls got to watch the second half and were rapt watching the inters, seniors and even teachers doing their thing. Wicked was a big hit with my two. There were some stunning soloists in both acts but overall it was simply high energy inclusive happiness. With all the bouncing I never stopped to think about what the organisation of over 200 children must have been like. Phenomenal.

The kids loved it. We loved it. And yes at some points welled up.

It's three days later and we are still smiling. Watching your children grow in confidence and ability is amazing at any time. Watching them do it dressed as a munchkin and a sixties dancer and it's pretty close to perfection. (The kids were dressed up not me clearly).

So there you go. A recommendation for you, should you be considering theatre school classes for kids. They teach 4-18 year olds and you can look here to find out more.

This week my mini becomes a junior and to top all this positivity off that means that they both go to the same activity, at the same time for two and a half hours. I know, how amazing is that? I'm thinking coffee, shopping, a nap...the choices are endless.

Love is All

Well Wednesday night was an experience.

One of the many things I love about Sheffield is the fact that everything is covered. You like climbing? There's a festival. You like books? There's a festival. You are an entrepreneur? Yep there's a festival for that to. Music? Obviously. You like documentaries? Well here you go.

The main thing about Docfest is every year it makes me wish I was still a student. If I had no commitments I'd be volunteering without a doubt. To get in to see shows, be part of the adventure, and to get hold of one of those gorgeous yellow bags. But it's just not possible to commit what with spending most of my life dropping off, waiting for and collecting children of an evening/weekend.

So I just settle for going to the odd event and this year the only one I made it to was Love is All At Chatsworth. And odd it really was.

It sounded idyllic. A beautiful summers evening spent in a field in Chatsworth, eating a picnic, chatting with friends, listening to music then watching a film about love on screen. Aahh.

The main trouble was the music was hardly relaxing. Hot Soles played first, which we weren't expecting. Accomplished as they are they didn't really seem to sit right for a romantically titled evening. They are far more suited to a raucous stage at Tramlines.

Then the Everley Pregnant Brothers appeared. Everyone from Sheffield adores them. You just have to. They are funny and homegrown. Last time I saw them they were hilarious. But last time I'd had at least 4 pints, as had the rest of the audience. They are certainly not what I'd call romantic.

Obviously I'm missing the point. I imagine is wasn't about love but about the fact that the bands were from Sheffield. But there are tonnes of Sheffield bands who would have fitted the brief more. Although maybe not many who could fill a marquee.

In my view it was altogether a little strange.

The odd got odder as the chairs were put on the stage for a Q&A before the film. This is always the part I'm fascinated by. I was filled with hope again when a teenage hero of mine, Jeremy Hardy, stepped on stage. He was followed by two film makers and the force that is Richard Hawley. It should have been fascinating.

The next fifteen minutes was a car crash. Jeremy struggled to do his job and ask questions while the audience had moved onto that fourth pint and had stopped listening. I began to feel awkward as Richard Hawley angrily half answering questions while struggling with painkillers for his bad back. He asked for an ice cream and babbled about Margaret Thatcher. Then he swore dramatically and left the stage in what seemed to be, for want of a better word, a huff. Since I got home I've seen people call him a “legend” based on this performance. I'm clearly getting too old for all this.

On the upside the film was a joy. It was a series of archive footage, mostly in black and white, from films and footage through the ages. Funny, touching, and supported by the most wonderful soundtrack, I was genuinely moved. Of course it was also more than a bit misogynistic due to the eras represented, and there were a few too many shots of fireworks/bombs and rockets taking off, but overall it was a lovely film to see. And it included My Beautiful Launderette so I was reminded of my general adoration for Daniel Day Lewis. I must re-watch My Left Foot.

So the night ended on a high. But the whole experience was...well...odd.