Saturday, 12 August 2017

I'm Not Ready To Be A 'Mum'

Something diabolical has happened.

Little O has started calling me 'Mum'.

I know it's not like he's started calling me 'Homer' or anything but still - I'm 'Mummy' not 'Mum'. 

Mums have school age children and make packed lunches and arrange sleepovers. I still have all those things yet to come. I'm not there yet. I'm not ready to be a Mum.




Wednesday, 2 August 2017

How To Make Homemade Red Gooseberry Wine

When my mother-in-law passed me the massive bag of red gooseberries, I had two choices: I could either make them into something to eat, or something to drink. Taking the vote to social media, the response was overwhelmingly in favour of the latter (no surprise there).


My next choice was whether to follow the recipe in my 'Drink Your Own Garden' book which happens to be as old as I am (no googling, please!) or to just ask my mum who, by all accounts, has been home-brewing just as long. 

Maybe it was giving birth to me that turned her onto it, who knows?

Anyway, again I chose the latter. Mainly because I find mum's method much simpler and also it requires less jiggery-pokery involving enzymes and other chemicals I've never heard of.

Saturday, 22 July 2017

Why Parenting Needs Positive Thinking

Let's get this over and done with.

Parenting is hard. I know. I've been there and I'm still there. I'm talking about the early (and not so early) days when you would willingly palm your precious bundle off to the postman, the bus driver, a neighbour, the guy on the doorstep offering to replace your fascia. Anybody. Just to get some kip.




Tuesday, 4 July 2017

8 Times I Missed Out On A Celebrity Autograph

David Beckham


I was walking back from my lunch hour, and had just turned the corner out of Carnaby Street when I happened to glance up at a man walking past me in the opposite direction. He wore a baseball cap and was surrounded by five or six men who looked like they worked out regularly. 

It was only after he'd passed me by that it struck me. Hang on, I thought. Was that who I thought it was? Surely not, could it be? Yes, yes it was. 

You might know him as 'Becks', 'DB7', 'Golden Balls', 'The Beckster', 'Becky From The Block'*, 'Lord Beckingham', or as I like to call him, simply 'our Dave'. It was, indeed, Mr David Beckham. 



Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Lost in Vegetation: When Little O Went AWOL

"Where is he?" I asked.

"I don't know," replied S. "I was in the animal barn and he just ran off. By the time I got outside, I couldn't see him."

Little O is 3. Neither the shouty tellings-off nor the calm explanations have gotten the message across yet that he mustn't run off. I've told him that he mustn't do it, that if he wants to go somewhere he must ask Mummy or Daddy first, that if he runs off and we don't know where he is, he'll be lost. I've lied and said we'll have to go home without him. I've told him off severely when he's done it nevertheless. I've tried everything - and will keep trying, until he gets it. 

Today it's a farm, tomorrow it could be a road.



Sunday, 28 May 2017

The Voice of Fear Can Never Win

Dear Voice of Fear,

You're not winning. I just thought I'd point out that fundamental fact.

In this thing we've named 'the war on terror', I reckon, right now, the judges are probably sneaking a look at their watches and hoping no-one's pilfered their sandwich from the staff fridge.

Because it's obvious. No matter what happens, we will keep on living.


It's not that we don't care about the tragic effects of these cowardly endeavours, because we do. But it's the fact we care that makes us so strong. 

You're like a tick on the belly of a faithful dog. You're trying with all your might to suck out it's life force, but that dog will carry on fetching that ball, and chasing that pigeon, and farting gloriously in it's sleep.

Thursday, 18 May 2017

How NOT to road trip with kids

Summer's coming. And that can only mean one thing: traipsing across the country to visit friends or family, attending weddings, making memories at the seaside, or risking your precious sanity at a theme park (all hail those who've battled Peppa Pig World and survived).



There was a time, not that long ago, when travelling to my parents' house meant three and a half hours of napping, snacking and intentionally avoiding any kind of strenuous mental exercise, save for the gratuitous 'what's your beach style?' quiz in whatever magazine I'd settled on from WHSmith. This was, of course, back in the days when I could book a ticket for one on Virgin Trains and request a table seat just for the hell of it, rather than because I needed the space for Paw Patrol colouring books and a hoard of Cadbury chocolate buttons.

Thursday, 23 March 2017

8 Fashion Trends I'm Glad To See The Back Of

We've all had our 'off' days, the fashion world included. Here's a few gems that I'd be more than happy not to stumble across in Vogue ever again (Okay, you got me - so not Vogue, maybe Look or the fashion page in the Evening Standard...):



1. Harem pants


Just – nope. You know who they look good on? Aladdin. And his genie friend. Certainly not me, that’s for sure.

Tuesday, 28 February 2017

Taste Inc - 100% Chargrilled Chicken Fillets - Review

It should be plain to anyone who follows my blog that I'm a big fan of food. And when Taste Inc got in touch and asked me to review their 100% Chargrilled Chicken Fillet portions - Ready To Eat - how could I refuse?



Each of the two flavours I was sent, 'Original' and 'Spicy', came in handy 35g pouches as part of a 5-portion multipack strip so are perfect as an on-the-go snack. 

Monday, 27 February 2017

The Six Words Every Mother Needs To Hear

I just need to sleep.

That was, undeniably, the main thought running through my head in the first few months after my eldest, Little O, was born. That, and ‘what the hell have I done’, ‘where did I put the sodding Sudocrem’ and wondering when my downstairs would stop feeling like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion.

It won’t be like this forever. That was what my mother-in-law said to me. It will get better.

I can’t remember exactly when she first said it. I can only assume it was on one of the many occasions I sat slumped at her kitchen table, face planted on the granite, coffee mug in hand.