Books, books, books

We reached the point at home where the books my Dad put away from my childhood can finally be unearthed. My eldest is nearly six and relishes the opportunity to choose the next book from the drawer of those books, which up until now have been too old for her.

The whole thing is fascinating. Certain books which I loved as a child are in honesty not much fun to read. I adored Milly Molly Mandy growing up, reinforced by my Dad using it as an affectionate term for me probably. I remember loving the picture in the front of the whole family lined up and labelled beneath, and the map of the village. But whole chapters revolve around her going to shop and buying things for members of her family. Not exactly scintillating stuff.

On the other hand I loved Worst Witch by Jill Murphy and now my girls are both very enthusiastic about her. And I myself laughed out loud at points. It's probably not as gripping as I thought it was going to be but that's probably something to do with my age.

Then there are the books with bits which frankly are a bit inappropriate. When I got to the chapter in “Lotta” called “the one in which Lotta nearly swears” I braced myself. It was a bit odd because the swear word was “damn” which is fairly mild in today's climate I suppose, but it still made me wince reading it to Tilly as she said it on every page. I wouldn't want them shouting it in the playground. The children were left at home alone a lot in the story which Tilly found a bit confusing and was somewhat tricky to explain. Probably the trickiest part though was when she found a pair of scissors and cut up her new jumper, then moved out to live in the next door neighbours barn. And that was just tricky because I didn't want the girls to get any ideas...

The House That Sailed Away by Pat Hutchins went well. Apart from the fact that the mother is depicted as a dense silly woman and the mother in law is a raging alcoholic. Oh and the bit about cannibals was interesting.

The best one so far though has to be Issi Noho. It's a story about a Chinese magic panda. If even includes a maths puzzle every time he uses magic so was right up Tilly's street. Ironically I don't remember reading it as a child but I must have.

And next she's picked the Borrowers. All four books in one which will take months to read probably but she's excited so I'll work out some answers for “can we just have another chapter mummy?” and get started. Just like my Dad did for me when I was little.

New start...again

Well this week I've joined Slimming World with my friend. We did Weightwatchers together successfully about ten years ago but needed a change and have jumped in with both trainer clad feet.

So we did what you do in these circumstances and went to a meeting. It felt a little bit like we were in a sitcom. After the super speedy explanation of the diet which left me feeling more than a little confused we got weighed then settled down for the meeting itself. During which there was a raffle to win a very small basket of fruit and what looked like a bottle of balsamic vinegar and some bovril.

Quite a lot of people stayed for the meeting which was a surprise since the leader launched straight into questioning an unfortunate lady as to why she had put a pound on this week. Clearly most of those who had gained weight had made a swift exit. Admitting dieting no nos required nerves of steel. I was extremely impressed by the lady who ate the Easter egg destined for her niece and was only surprised that she didn't finish her comment with "so stick that in your pipe and smoke it". Maybe fear of ridicule is a motivator. I suspect we'll stay on the weeks we lose loads of weight and leg it at all other times.

Anyway it's day two and I don't really know what I'm doing, but I haven't had a biscuit or a chunk of cheese in over 48 hours so something must be going right. And I've been to the gym twice, although my legs are hurting and I feel decidedly wobbly when I stand up.

One of those weekends

It was one of those weekends.

On Saturday we were due to see Paddington at Rotherham Civic Theatre. I has already lost the tickets for this event once in the extension detritus, but had grovelled and been sent replacements (listen up Sheffield Theatres). Then we went to B&Q to buy paint and to fight over lampshades with the kids. At some point during DIY hell the replacement tickets must have fallen out of my pocket. I thought for several awful minutes that I'd lost them forever. I think Phoebe would have lynched me. Paul retraced our steps around the shop and found them.

The show was...well...it was an amateur musical which included a man in a bear costume (which looked a lot like the one my cousin wore to our wedding). Musicals aren't exactly Paul's cup of tea at the best of times but Phoebe's face was such a picture it was all fine. Frankly it's a good job B&Q don't sweep up too often.

On Sunday Paul went to work again and I took the girls to the Family in Art exhibition at the Millenium Galleries which we all loved. I must go back when I don't have to go round at break neck speed (three year olds aren't brilliant at reading the signs and number mad Tilly just kept reading the dates the pictures were painting and working out how old the artist was when they died). There were a couple of naked pictures that took a bit of explaining/distraction but generally brilliant.

Then we went over and had lunch at my friend's house. Lovely.

Until we left.

I opened the boot to put in the borrowed Lean Mean Grilling Machine and Slow Cooker (that were meant to stop me going insane during the following cooker free week) and the newly purchased pot of pink paint fell out and hit the floor of a listed building private car park. Nicky and I set about scraping the paint up with a child's bucket, spade and shoe covers accidentally brought home from the swimming pool. Numerous hasty trips back and forth with a bucket (adult sized this time thankfully) and watering can and a lot of sweeping effort on Craig's part followed. Phoebe kept saying "There's fairy dust all over the floor" and "what about my bedroom". I was just grateful it was emulsion frankly.

Before we left Tilly tripped over a stick (approximately three inches long). All in all it was like some kind of slapstick comedy.

Anyway the weekend is over as is half term and things have settled back to normality. A microwaved rice, using friend's washing machine, dust on the sofa sort of normality anyway. Roll on next week.

Sisters

It's taken them a week to stop falling out...just before going back to school as usual. They are upstairs playing in a den I made them. I added an extra bit on the back which made it even "cooler" as now it has a "conservatory". That's middle class playing if ever I've heard it.

Their relationship is pretty normal I think. They love each other to pieces, get into bed together when they can't sleep, hug each other, and have even made up a special gesture they do to each other which means "sisters". They also bicker, fight and drive each other, and me, crazy.

This morning we were discussing what they wanted to be when they get older. Tilly said "scientist" as always. Phoebe said "when I grow up I'm going to tell Tilly what to do". Ah the balance of power is always a tricky one.

Always the Same

Tumble Dryer whirring

Radiators groaning

Full warm tummies

Home

Not leaping on Mummy this morning

Cooked plums for breakfast

Happy huggy children

Home

Baking, hairdressing

Swimming, stories

Pudding that isn't always yoghurt

Home

Talking and listening

Listening and talking

And a bit more talking too

Home

Staying but a little while

House as if we live here

Wish it was nearer

Home

Food Glorious Food

I had high hopes for myself during the last bit of the extension. I was going to manage admirably and not winge. And what's more I was still going to manage to give my family healthy varied meals despite the lack of a kitchen. Yet again a bit optimistic.

Healthy varied cooking is not exactly happening. So far we've been eating a lot of rice. Since that's pretty much the only carb you can do in a microwave. I've semi-successfully managed jambalaya and Chinese salmon (both you will notice with rice). And I can heat up a mean tin of beans or soup. We've also tried a variety of ready meals and I can confirm what you might already suspect, that they are all vile.

But my mum had thoughtfully provided me with a slow cooker and I thought Sunday was the ideal opportunity to use it. I had all the ingredients and recipe for lamb stew. Of course as it came from the charity shop I didn't have any instructions, or total confidence in it's cooking ability but went into it with a positive outlook. This was going to be an easy way to ensure a healthy dinner for everyone when we'd had a day playing in snow and painting walls. Perfect.

It takes 8 hours to cook a stew in a slow cooker. Seriously. 8 hours. This meant I had to actually get up earlier than usual on a Sunday and start chopping vegetables before I'd had my first cup of tea. Not so easy so far then.

Then I had to find somewhere to plug it in. Not ideal when you have no kitchen and the dining room is in transition mode between it's old position downstairs and it's new temporary position in an upstairs bedroom. I plumped for the currently empty new bedroom and plugged it in on an extension cable. Brilliant, now we could forget about it.

Following the snow play we returned and Paul did some decorating. In the new bedroom. For the next few hours the stew was moved about a bit while he tried not to splatter it with paint. Apparently you can't look in it as it slows down the cooking (dear lord not any slower) so we just checked that the outside was getting warm and hoped it would be fine.

Maybe it would have been. But Paul was being tidy that day and at some point in the afternoon he did some hoovering. Uplugging the stew in the process. I discovered this some time later and plugged it back in hoping that an hour out of it's 8 hour cooking schedule would still leave it edible. At 5pm I put in the weird flour and fat thickening balls and turned it up. It congealed and looked unappetising. I checked a carrot. It was practically raw.

I cried.

We had pizza. Which Paul had to collect on foot in the snow because no-one would deliver.

Since then I have arranged for the girls to eat at lots of different houses. And bought some more baked beans. We just have to get to Friday. Then my mum can fix everything.

John Peel's Shed

Last night Paul, Stan and I went to see John Peel's Shed. Not his actual shed of course. I'm not sure how to describe it really. It isn't a play, more a monologue interspersed with some projector and LP action. I have never seen a more unassuming man than John Osborne.

The show is based loosely around the LPs that John won from John Peel's show many years ago, and I particularly enjoyed the reverie with which he carefully put the records back into their sleeves after they had been played on his record player. Much of the music he talked about discovering in his teens and twenties was similar to the discoveries I made myself.

But most of the piece was about his and the nation's love of radio. It had some laugh out loud moments but in general it was simply the kind of thing I enjoy. A dialogue about something that matters to me delivered in an unusual way. Plus he gave me hope. He had an idea and he achieved it. Maybe one day that will be the same for me.