tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881296269962078432024-03-13T17:15:18.311+00:00Normal for Norfolk?The humorous observations of a working mum living in rural NorfolkAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-78265960894757342172014-07-29T18:09:00.000+01:002014-07-30T20:08:05.594+01:00North Walsham in Bloom?<span style="font-size: large;">Earlier today I was walking into town with my 9 year old when we passed some of North Norfolk's finest middle-aged ladies working on one of the many lovely floral displays in our town. There they were, sporting high-viz jackets in the sweltering midday heat pruning, weeding, watering and planting. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My son sidled up to me wearing a rather perplexed, concerned expression. He tugged at my sleeve and threw a glance in the direction of the gardeners. "Mummy", he hissed. "What do you think they've done wrong?" Now it was my turn to be bemused. I looked across at the bank where they were working, searching for a badly placed petunia or an overlooked weed, but all looked perfection to me. "What do you mean, wrong?", I asked. "Well", he replied. "Aren't they doing that thing that you get instead of going to prison?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had to stifle a guffaw. He clearly though that the good folk of the 'North Walsham in Bloom' committee were minor felons, serving their time in the public glare, and I began to imagine what sorts of crimes these green-fingered grannies might be guilty of. Perhaps one of them had been speeding round Waitrose on a mobility scooter? Another one looked the sort who might have been caught pilfering a packet of Tena Lady from Roys, during a senior moment, of course, not on purpose. Other possible misdemeanours included force-feeding grandchildren choc-ices (my own Welsh grandmother would have been hung, drawn and quartered for that one!) and wearing pop socks with a skirt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The more I think about it, the more being a middle-aged delinquent appeals. I think I'd better start making my list now!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-15009982528533484462014-07-22T19:04:00.001+01:002014-07-22T19:04:20.231+01:00Plus ça change...<span style="font-size: large;">It's been far too long since my last post. So long, in fact, that my line manager at work has told me that one of my performance management targets for this coming academic year is to start blogging again! So, here we go. I thought I'd give you a rough idea of what's been happening in my life over the past few months.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><u>Things which are the same</u></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. My husband and I have survived to celebrate another wedding anniversary.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. I am proud that I have managed to keep son, cat and hedgehog alive for another year, not necessarily in that order ...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. Aforementioned son still knows more than I do about everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. The mechanic at our local garage continues to hide when he sees me pull onto the forecourt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. I am still doing the same job and still threatening to go and stack shelves in Lidl instead.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. I have not won Euromillions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<u><span style="font-size: large;">Things which are different</span></u><br />
<u><span style="font-size: large;"></span></u><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. We have a goldfish called Neymar. Ronnie is showing him a lot of love. He is currently under the protective force of the Baptist Hymn Book which is securing the lid of his tank against almost certain attack.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. I no longer drink alcohol. This means I save money, don't get headaches and don't find myself, late at night, agreeing</span><span style="font-size: large;"> to take ownership, via Facebook, of random kittens.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Did I mention that Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-73758701259805234952013-12-15T07:43:00.001+00:002013-12-15T07:45:01.064+00:00Things Which Are Just Plain Wrong<span style="font-size: large;">Here are just a few personal favourites which spring to mind. I'm sure you can think of your own to add to the list.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Grown women wearing items of clothing with cartoon characters or animals on them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. People who use 'The Daily Mail' to inform their social and political conscience.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. Michael Gove. No more need be said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. Radio phone-ins, or more precisely the kind of individual who has the time and inclination to ring in with their ill-thought-out, bigoted and often not-terribly-eloquent contributions. Haven't they got better things to do like polish their golf caddies?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Golf. What is right about it? The outfits, the 'networking', the sexism, the elitism...?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. Having Christmas items in the shops in September. I LOVE Christmas but not until about December 19th.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7. Women who don't go out to work (that bit's fine - if you've found a rich husband you make the most of it sister!) but who then spend all their time complaining to the rest of us (who work and have a family) about how busy they are. Unless you have small infants at home or do masses of voluntary work then you have no claim to the phrase 'things are so manic at present'!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">8. Porridge boiling over in the microwave. It's a conspiracy. The moment you stop watching it and turn your back, there it goes erupting over the edge. When I'm feeling reckless, however, I do like to play a game which I call 'porridge roulette' where you set the timer, watch it rising and see if you can stop yourself intervening to switch it off. This is not an activity for those of a nervous disposition.</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-25205803436494613012013-10-04T17:40:00.000+01:002013-10-05T17:37:18.360+01:00Being Insulted by your Children<span style="font-size: large;">My son has unfortunately inherited my rather wicked sense of humour. I say 'unfortunately' as I am often on the receiving end of it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Today on the way home from school we were playing the game where you say what sort of animal, fruit etc. you would be. I foolishly asked him what type of vehicle I would be. Quick as a flash he replied, "A rust-bucket 1971".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is the same child who decided he was going to sell his dad on e-bay (he'd obviously run out of old toys to flog) and said that the listing would have to be in the 'faulty, for parts only' category. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I would like to tell him that before he came along we were both young, beautiful and wild, but the truth is... I can't remember that far back!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-65692498841897559972013-09-13T17:33:00.000+01:002013-09-13T17:33:17.448+01:00The Harrison Theory of Mediocrity<span style="font-size: large;">It would appear that the 'Harrison Theory of Mediocrity' is gathering momentum, with my own colleagues starting to pass my advice on to their own friends. I shall soon be running seminars on it at this rate, but that would rather defeat the object of the whole philosophy. For those of you who missed my post on it earlier in the year it goes something like this.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I am going to let you into the secret of a peaceful existence; mediocrity. I have spent much of my adult life perfecting the art of mediocrity and I like to think I am fairly good at it. Let me explain why being mediocre is the key to happiness, taking your working life as an example. I am sure you will agree that if you are bad at your job then you are in line for all manner of grief, although not if your first name is Michael and your surname Gove. Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of complaints from line managers, stern emails from the boss and uncomfortable appraisal meetings, so it doesn't pay to be too shabby. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This reminds me of a story I heard about a colleague of a friend who was having their annual performance management interview. He came out of the meeting fairly pleased with the way it had gone, saying that his manager had complimented him on the improvement in his work. The others in the office were mildly surprised as this individual was renowned for being lazy and incompetent. "So, what exactly did he say then?", one co-worker asked. "He said I used to be f****** sh*t, but now I'm just sh*t", came the reply. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">However, if you are too good at what you do then people expect a lot of you and give you more to do. Some of my colleagues are constantly snowed under by requests to run a course, go to a meeting, organise an event. Why? Because they are too good at their job. I do try to give them the benefit of my wisdom but they are too busy answering the 150 emails they have received that morning to listen to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, for now I shall endeavour to tread the line of least resistance and happily continue in my own little world with my delusions of adequacy.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-57673218430718140612013-09-11T19:05:00.000+01:002013-09-12T10:19:01.764+01:00Keeping up with the Grandparents <span style="font-size: large;">Letting your child spend too long with their grandparents can have its downsides I have discovered. I have just been told by no.1 son that he expects £2 rather than the customary £1 next time a tooth comes out, as this is what he received from the tooth-fairy at Mamgu (Welsh for Granny) and Granfer's house. He has also just asked me to put his pyjamas to warm on the towel rail so they are ready for when he gets out of the bath! This indulgence has also been instigated by my mum. How come I didn't get that kind of treatment from them when I was a child?!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-47444135710094916252013-09-08T18:39:00.001+01:002013-09-08T18:39:57.303+01:0010 Strange Facts About Me<span style="font-size: large;">1. I am not sure if I am left or right handed. I can't totally use either interchangeably so am not a true ambidexter, but I have different tasks for my right and left hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. I like those crisps which have folded over on themselves the best.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. I once appeared on Pebble Mill with a group of friends and met Richard Stilgoe in the corridor. I like to think I haven't let fame change me though.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. I know all the lyrics to every Wham song ever released. When I finally lose my mind you will find me in the care home unable to remember my own name but singing Young Guns and possibly conjugating Spanish verbs. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. I took 7 driving tests. People have got their own TV series based on a lot less than that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. I actually enjoy ironing but no, I don't want to do yours too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7. When I was at school my nick name was 'Piglet' and somewhere I still have a collection of about 200 pigs. Think that could be one for e-bay unless the V&A wants them?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">8. I am a Marmite hater married to a Marmite lover.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">9. I have a body piercing but no tattoos.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">10. I lose the will to live in winter. Is there not a job which you can just do from March - October so I could hibernate the rest of the year?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-39413557243244278232013-09-06T10:57:00.001+01:002013-09-12T14:33:49.677+01:00A Day In The Life Of ... Ronnie Harrison<span style="font-size: large;">My name is Ronnie Harrison apparently and, for a cat, I have a remarkably fine command of the English language. If you don't agree then please keep your opinions to yourself. I'm a cat. I don't engage in pointless argument. It's such a waste of energy and usually involves a loss of dignity, both of which I abhor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, last August I was born in Somerset and was happily enjoying life with my mum and siblings when SOMEONE decides it would be a good plan to put cute photos of us on facebook. The next thing I know I'm being stuffed in a box and driven all the way to a place called Norfolk. My new 'owner' (ha ha, that always makes me laugh - as if anyone could OWN a cat) had seen the aforementioned pictures of me and, after a few glasses of something called 'wine', had decided to adopt me as a pet.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, life here isn't too bad I suppose. There are three two-legged animals in the house; I think they're called humans or maybe slaves, I'm not sure. Two are fairly big and weary looking and the other one is small and quite frankly a bit too noisy at times. I don't do noise. I'm rather finely-tuned you understand, and also it interferes with my sleep. The small one always wants to cuddle me but his lap is too small and not awfully comfortable, and if you can't be comfortable what's the point? The older lady one has a nice squishy lap and a fluffy dressing gown so I tend to go to her most of the time. She is also the one who feeds me so I need to keep in her good books.</span><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jl92DjkjPbk/UimmukBCGHI/AAAAAAAAAQU/PumxukkYqng/s1600/WP_20130601_20_11_28_SmartShoot%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jl92DjkjPbk/UimmukBCGHI/AAAAAAAAAQU/PumxukkYqng/s320/WP_20130601_20_11_28_SmartShoot%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">I normally start my day around 5 am when I go upstairs, meow a lot, scratch the carpet (works every time) and jump up on the lady's face. I can tell she's really pleased to see me because she always uses the same greeting, "Bugger off, Ronnie".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Once I've been fed I go outside to go to the loo. I'm a martyr to my bowels, I don't mind telling you, but find that a nice bit of grass from time to time helps keeps things regular in that department. The slaves tend to disappear during the day so I spend my time lying under bushes, annoying the hedgehog Rocket and catching flies. Our neighbours are nice too and one of them has even built a lovely little house up in a tree for me to sleep in. Nice touch guys!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sometime during the day I go back inside and sit on the dining room table for a bit. I get a great view of the bird-table from here and also like to make sure that the rest of the family gets a fair crack at sharing my toxoplasma gondii. It's good to give something back I always think.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Later on, depending on the weather, I might come back in and see the humans and then it's time to think about settling down for a well-earned rest before the whole hectic business starts again the next day. It really is a cat's life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If you enjoyed this post you might also like <a href="http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/if-pets-could-talk.html">http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/if-pets-could-talk.html</a> or just click on the label 'Ronnie' below for more feline frolicks!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-41988937369844079962013-09-04T18:51:00.000+01:002013-09-04T19:17:12.552+01:00New Year's Resolutions: 24 Hours In<span style="font-size: large;">For those of you who didn't see yesterday's resolutions please see </span><a href="http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions.html"><span style="font-size: large;">http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions.html</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This is how I am doing so far.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. I haven't got too wound up on the journey into work though today was touch and go. The 15 miles to the outskirts of Norwich was OK but it then took me at least as long again to get to the centre. This was mainly due to the parents of pupils at a certain private school who feel duty bound to drop their little darlings at the door with no regard for the other motorists they are holding up. Surely Tristan and Olivia can get the damn bus like everyone else?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. The not swearing is going pretty well so far. I have managed to stop myself most times so can be heard going 'fff....' or 'shhhhh'. At present I probably have enough in the swear box for a fun size bottle of Blue Nun.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. My Mark Book looks beautiful but that's because it hasn't been written in yet. I have purchased a special little folder to keep it in, along with pens, stickers and a stamp saying 'Mrs Harrison says where the **** is your homework'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. I thought I was doing so well. Ok, it's only September 4th but tonight I prepared a lovely little seafood pasta dish and sat with Geof when he came home and ate together, discussing how our days had gone like a proper family. Then, at 6.30 Bryn said to me "Mummy, I haven't had any tea." It's not quite as bad as it sounds. He'd had lunch at a friend's house so a sandwich was enough. Phew!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Full marks here. Not threatened to resign yet but then I haven't had direct contact with any children yet!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. I don't think I'll live long enough to get my pension so I might as well stop worrying about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7. I managed to stay up until gone 9 last night but it is only September. I don't fancy my chances once it's dark at 4.00.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-5338429598420312882013-09-03T18:13:00.004+01:002013-09-19T19:45:39.921+01:00New Year's Resolutions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2WZf7hOOr-I/UjtGPtLseFI/AAAAAAAAAQk/iQS1lTLXBa4/s1600/CS20130914150529%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2WZf7hOOr-I/UjtGPtLseFI/AAAAAAAAAQk/iQS1lTLXBa4/s320/CS20130914150529%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Many of you will already know or will have worked out that I am a teacher and I so I have always treated September as my New Year rather than the traditional January 1st. As the new term begins I thought I would share a few of my resolutions with you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. I will not get wound up by slow drivers on the way into work. 42 miles per hour is a perfectly reasonable speed on a straight open road in perfect weather conditions. Tractors have every right to be on the road during the morning rush hour without pulling over to let people pass and the mobile speed camera van going at 15 miles an hour below the speed limit ALL the way from North Walsham to Norwich is absolutely fine by me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. I am not going to swear, at least not much, unless it really is necessary. I think I'll have a 'swear box' and put a pound into my Sancerre fund every time I use a profanity.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. I am going to keep my Mark Book beautiful. This has been one of my resolutions for the last 17 years and I still haven't achieved it. There will be no crossings out, no gaps, no use of multi-coloured pens. If a new pupil joins my class late in the term they will have to change their surname to something beginning with 'Y' or 'Z' so I can put them on the end without ruining the alphabetical list. For example 'Jack Cooke' would be offered the choice of 'Jack Yooke' or 'Jack Zooke'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. I will not get half way through September and start feeding my family ready meals, pizza or Weetabix for tea.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. I will not even once threaten to resign and go and work in Tesco. However, Waitrose might be a different matter altogether. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. I will not get depressed about the fact that I probably have another 24 years teaching ahead of me and that my pension is currently something like £26.78 lump sum and £1.54 a month. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7. I won't hit November and start going to bed at 8.30 just so I can survive the next day. Sad lamp and vitamin D instead.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">To see how I am getting on visit <a href="http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions-24-hours-in.html">http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions-24-hours-in.html</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-12261726609660085062013-08-31T10:23:00.001+01:002013-08-31T14:27:42.010+01:00Legal Highs<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4f7WlUC0f8U/UiHvI1SUWrI/AAAAAAAAAOw/3DjZZrLaEzo/s1600/WP_20130831_001%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4f7WlUC0f8U/UiHvI1SUWrI/AAAAAAAAAOw/3DjZZrLaEzo/s320/WP_20130831_001%5B1%5D.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How about a nice mug of cocoa?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">So-called 'Legal Highs' have been in the news a lot recently, with deaths associated with taking these substances soaring. I have to confess to being very boring/sensible, depending on your perspective, when it comes to drugs, and little has passed my lips other than the odd Marlborough Light in my teens/twenties and rather more than the odd glass of Chardonnay in my thirties/forties.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As a teacher, pupils often ask if you've ever done drugs, and I am rather relieved to be able to answer honestly that I haven't. They do know about my Haribo habit though! I remember one girl commenting how young I looked for my age - it was my 40th birthday and I'd taken some cake in for my favourite group of delinquents. Another pupil butted in "Yeah, that's because all she does at the weekend is stay at home and drink water". Sad, but oh so very true!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The whole Legal High thing got me thinking about what I have in my life to give me a much needed lift from time to time. I know I am opening myself up to derision from those younger than me, but I may raise a wry smile of recognition in some of my middle-aged readers out there?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Getting into bed with freshly laundered sheets and pillow cases, with a cup of tea and a good book, especially if you know you haven't got to get up early the next day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. Watching the hedgehogs in the garden on a summer evening - glass of wine optional (or in my case obligatory)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. Snuggling up with a sleeping baby - preferably someone else's so you can hand it back when it wakes up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. Looking back at old photos and laughing at how awful you looked in 70s/80s fashions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Having a good sing. Usually Thine be the Glory! For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about see <a href="http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/thine-be-glory.html">http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/thine-be-glory.html</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. Watching The Inbetweeners and laughing until you cry.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">7. Learning to be content with what you have. I'm still working on this but the very old system of 'counting your blessings' works oh so well.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">8. Listening to an amazing piece of music on your own in the dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">9. Looking at the moon. (I said looking, not howling)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">10. Being kind to someone you really don't like much. If nothing else it will make them paranoid!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm sure these will not be everyone's cup of tea but I hope you've found one or two you can identify with. Do leave your own comments below if you'd like to share your own Legal Highs.</span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-21889109748552283252013-08-30T20:25:00.000+01:002013-08-30T21:03:48.266+01:00The Optician<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5IUdB8QC1_s/UiDu2WoKAII/AAAAAAAAAOg/G-8msfAc4t8/s1600/CS20130830201200%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5IUdB8QC1_s/UiDu2WoKAII/AAAAAAAAAOg/G-8msfAc4t8/s320/CS20130830201200%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am obscenely excited at the moment and all because of one simple fact. For the first time in my 30+ years of wearing glasses I am actually sporting some proper, grown-up, adult frames. Never let it be said that I am hard to please.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This rollercoaster ride of dizzy highs and stomach churning lows began a couple of weeks back when I went for my regular sight test. A young, male 'para-optician' (not sure what the proper job title is as you may have surmised - you know, the person who does all the tests before you see the proper qualified person earning lots of money) approached me with the words "I'd love to measure the distance between your pupils." Well, I've heard a few chat-up lines in my time (actually, not that many thinking about it) but that one had to be amongst the strangest. Clearly he wasn't trying to chat me up but simply do his job, and anyway I was just about old enough to be his mother.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't like to be a tease, so he got his way and measured the distance between my pupils. I also let him blindfold me (well, cover one eye) and do that little test where you say how many dots you can see. Then he pushed his luck a bit too far and asked if he could take a picture. I said no. It was an extra £10 for goodness sake and who needs a photo of the back of their eye? Not exactly one to hang over the mantelpiece or send to aunties at Christmas.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After having my sight test it turned out that I needed a slightly stronger prescription. The lovely young woman explained that I had a stigmatism in one eye, a slight squint in the other and that my sight had deteriorated a bit. If it gets much worse I should think I could qualify for a nice Labrador, but that's middle-age for you. Perhaps I could get a hearing dog at the same time, or maybe they could train one to do both jobs and possibly teach a bit of Spanish too?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, back to the nice young para-optician who, I must say, had just my kind of sense of humour. He looked at my pupil measurement, at my prescription, did some calculations and then sucked his breath in through his teeth à la dodgy plumber about to give you an extortionate quote. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"That's a very small measurement and quite a chunky prescription", he offered by way of explanation. He got his 'chunky chart' out to work out what size frames we could get away with. "We can't go past a 50", he said. I wasn't quite sure what this meant, but felt fairly certain that we were talking Disney Princess again. My face must have fallen as he said "This is going to be a challenge but I think I can do it". He set off round the shop picking up frames, checking codes on the sides and putting the ones which passed muster into a little box. We weren't quite there yet. We had to go back to the 'chunky chart' a few more times and decided I needed to have 'ultra thin plus' to make it work. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So I am now the proud owner of some nice glasses. They do have something of 'Nana Mouskouri' about them but I am pleased with them and glad to have been spared the humiliation of the kids' section for once.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-52400219525447108832013-08-28T17:52:00.000+01:002013-08-28T20:28:06.286+01:00A Nice Bit of DIY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">...and so the bathroom, which was started at the beginning of the summer holidays, is pretty much complete. I have never had such a posh new room in any house, and it makes me feel quite nervous. It also makes the rest of the house look even more shabby!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qd7PIX2_gj0/Uh4hPCrX8EI/AAAAAAAAAMA/E5ElMRfv-6c/s1600/CS20130828170437%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qd7PIX2_gj0/Uh4hPCrX8EI/AAAAAAAAAMA/E5ElMRfv-6c/s320/CS20130828170437%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday saw the final painting spree. I had done the walls a couple of weeks ago but kept looking up at the bare plaster of the ceiling and finding some excuse, any excuse, to put it off for another day. The iron needed de-scaling, my books had to be put into alphabetical order, the sofa needed sitting on...However, yesterday, spurred on by the fact that the summer holidays are fast drawing to a close, I armed myself with the necessary items and set to work. Step ladder, emulsion, brushes, dust sheet and beautiful new bathroom ready to be splattered with paint. Oh, and Ronnie of course, who is always happy to help just when you'd rather he wouldn't. The new bathroom is black, white and grey which, I have since realised, is great camouflage for our little tabby friend. He practically disappears when he goes in there, especially if he stands on the stripy bath mat. Perhaps I should paint him a vivid shade of pink so we don't lose him?</span></div>
<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, I spent several happy hours working away and to be honest the ceiling was nowhere near as difficult as I had feared. It is quite a modest sized space which helps in one way but hinders in others, and at one point I found myself having to stand the ladder in the bath to reach the difficult bits. One thing we used to have on our old step ladder which I miss (see post on 'Ladders I have Loved and Lost' - no I'm joking) is one of those shelves to put your paint on. I spent much of my time going up and down the ladder and by evening my legs as well as my arms were aching. My glutes have never had such a good workout, and I now quite fancy my chances of being called upon to be Kylie's bum double at some point. Thank goodness I never got that tattoo of Jason Donovan done!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-81255041319226856352013-08-26T12:37:00.000+01:002013-08-26T12:37:30.682+01:00An Old Norfolk Proverb<span style="font-size: large;">Having just travelled the familiar road from North Walsham to Fakenham on a Bank Holiday Monday, I have come up with my very own Norfolk Proverb. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">'Caravan behind you, happiness. Caravan in front of you, misery.'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This would also apply if you are towing a caravan (or thought you were), so I like to think there is something for everyone here.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-31084263421236440232013-08-24T16:37:00.000+01:002013-08-29T13:14:37.865+01:00Fussy Eaters<span style="font-size: large;">I write this sitting alone, Bryn having stormed off in an impressive 8 year old flounce, muttering incantations and the usual stuff about this being the worst day of his life etc, etc. What could possibly have happened to cause such an outburst? Has a close relative died, the cat been told he has a incurable disease? Are we moving home and forcing him to leave all his friends behind? Perhaps I have banned TV, football and ipods for a year? No, my crime, dear reader is this. I put a tiny sliver of cucumber and a morsel of tomato on the plate next to his cheese sandwich. NEXT TO, you understand. Not IN. Not even TOUCHING. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I really don't know how I ended up with such a fussy eater but no doubt it is my fault. As someone who will try any food and enjoy 99% of it, it just doesn't really cross my mind to not like something. OK, I prefer some things to others, and the time I tried sheep's brains was not my finest gastronomic moment to date, but I survived and apparently it's very good for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When Bryn was tiny I did all the right things. I slaved over Annabelle Bloody Karmel's toddler cookery book and rustled up fish pies, fruit compotes, rice puddings and the like. He ate most things as long as they were fairly mushed up as babies do. Then, one tea time when he was about 18 months old I was happily spooning homemade food into him when he turned to me and uttered his first phrase. "Broccoli, off!" Stupidly, I took the broccoli off and never put it back on again and that, I suppose, marked the beginning of the end of my wholesome eating regime and also the start of my son trying to boss me around!</span><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TfXI9PpMYQM/Uh87EUPZ8SI/AAAAAAAAANg/vsTvoBFgRSk/s1600/249479_181019868701401_2091521912_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TfXI9PpMYQM/Uh87EUPZ8SI/AAAAAAAAANg/vsTvoBFgRSk/s320/249479_181019868701401_2091521912_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">The thing is, as a busy mum, you just want to make sure they eat...something...anything. Fill them up so they sleep through and you don't get any calls from social services. I can remember being very reassured by a friend whose first born ate anything. She told me she would look on in disgust at the parents feeding crisps and chocolate to their toddlers as she smugly thought to herself "Well, Sam has just eaten shepherd's pie with cabbage and carrots followed by fruit salad." A few years on she had another child, a girl, and soon found that she became one of the crisps and chocolate brigade, just desperate to get something into her daughter. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, my eight year old appears to be fit and healthy. He would cheerfully eat nothing but cheese sandwiches, on white bread of course, but I do manage to get chicken, carrots, parsnips and fruit smoothies into him too. I do hope that one day he will eat a more varied diet, but if not at least he could get himself a place on 'Freaky Eaters' long with those poor souls who eat only potato-based products or jam sandwiches.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-52184115751061332122013-08-22T11:32:00.000+01:002013-08-22T12:58:44.293+01:00GCSE Results<span style="font-size: large;">I have been a nervous wreck for the past few days waiting for GCSE results. Not my own, you understand, or even a nephew or niece this year. No, I have been waiting, as a teacher, for my Spanish class' results. You teenagers and parents have it easy you see. You may get this terrifying, stomach churning, nail biting wait two or three times in a lifetime. I have had it just about every August for the last 17 years, and the experience only gets worse as the responsibility for results gets placed more and more on teachers, and less on less on pupils. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On the whole I am pleased with the results my pupils have achieved this year. They range from a grade B to F. This time around I had a middle ability group, all lovely kids, all received the same teaching, encouragement, support, feedback over the two year course. How then can the results vary so much? In Mr Gove's world, they should all have achieved a B/C grade. I'll tell you how. The pupil with the F grade did the minimum of work. He did not submit a single piece of coursework of any consequence. The same applies to the E and D grades. I can teach to the very best of my ability but I cannot do the work for them That would be illegal and disciplinary action for fraud is something I could do without to be honest.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So now I wait to see what my 'residuals' are. This I how much I am deemed to have improved or not on the grades the pupils SHOULD have achieved. This is worked out by some ridiculous system called the FFT - Fisher Family Trust, or Fisher Price as most of my colleagues prefer to call it. From what I can tell this is an entirely random calculation based on where you live, what you ate for breakfast and what newspaper your parents read. For example Lowestoft/Quavers and Red Bull/The Mirror = E</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Burnham Market/Homemade Muesli and Fresh Orange Juice/The Guardian = A*. OK, it is based loosely around how a child is doing at Key Stage 2, when they are aged 8-11. Now, I could be going out on a pedagogical limb here, but I would guess that at this age most children are a) fairly amenable to doing what their teachers and parents say b) not full of hormones and interested only in their social life and the opposite sex c) not experimenting with alcohol and recreational drugs. How a child is performing at 9 can surely not determine how they should do at 16 and yet this is what we are all judged on. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I have my own system for working out what grade they should get called the Sian Harrison Indicator Test. It goes like this. Take the average grade the pupil achieves aged 13. Divide by the number of piercings they have. Take away the amount of time they spend on a games console. Add the amount of time they spend doing homework. Take away the number of units of alcohol they consumed the night before the exam. Divide by the number of times they say 'Why do we have to learn Spanish anyway'. Based on the above system I would say I am outstanding and deserve a pay rise!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-41843086634818960882013-08-21T09:08:00.000+01:002013-09-01T11:36:15.740+01:00Questions I Would Like Answers To<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V1RGVytpJDg/UiMYXEcI-8I/AAAAAAAAAPA/ksU-qJO6iQ0/s1600/quest11.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V1RGVytpJDg/UiMYXEcI-8I/AAAAAAAAAPA/ksU-qJO6iQ0/s200/quest11.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aaa-clipart.com/">http://www.aaa-clipart.com</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are areas of life which, along with some of the finer points of thermo-dynamics, remain a mystery to me. Here are a few of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Where are the lids for my Tupperware boxes? Or looking at it from a different angle, where are the boxes for my Tupperware lids? I have a plentiful supply of both but they don't fit each other. I feel reasonably confident that when I purchased the said items they had matching tops so what has happened to them?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. Why do the men in my life suffer from a complete inability to close things? Cupboard doors are left ajar and drawers wide open. The back gate is never shut - we might as well have just left a big gap in the fence. This handicap also seems to extend to leaving the tops off toothpaste and the caps off pens. I really don't understand this affliction. Is it a recognised medical condition and if so is there any cure?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. After weeks of playing silly buggers, why does my hair always look really nice on the day I have an appointment for a cut booked? Perhaps I should try making multiple appointments in the hope of confusing it into submission?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. What happened to my Adam Ant mug? It was last seen circa 1982 in the Melton Constable area. I'd quite like it back even after all these years, and despite the fact that Adam is now a fat, middle-aged bloke with quite a lot of issues who is rubbish live.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. Why, in all the houses I have lived in, have I never been up to the loft? Is there some 11th commandment that women are not allowed into this area of the house? I have stood at the bottom of the ladder passing things up to Geof to put in the loft but have never got any further than that. Even Bryn has been up there and he is 8. What is up there that they are hiding from me? Perhaps the Adam Ant mug and Tupperware lids are up there?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I am sure there are other questions which I haven't included here, leaving the door wide open for a sequel. Do leave comments with your own un-answered mysteries too and perhaps together we can come up with answers to some of life's conundrums.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-20728551571377572062013-08-19T22:28:00.001+01:002013-08-29T13:16:10.617+01:00Happy Birthday Ronnie!<span style="font-size: large;">I have just found myself singing Happy Birthday to our cat Ronnie who is a year old today. This was at Bryn's insistence, you understand, and not something I would have freely engaged in otherwise. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pjEeAx8Rx5c/Uh87V4KdtfI/AAAAAAAAANo/4f8tdr8FvAI/s1600/182043_197037157099672_1857052618_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pjEeAx8Rx5c/Uh87V4KdtfI/AAAAAAAAANo/4f8tdr8FvAI/s320/182043_197037157099672_1857052618_n.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronnie as a cute kitten</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, what has our little feline friend managed to accomplish in his first year of life? Here are a few of the highlights for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">He is pretty good at playing the piano and is often heard tinkling on the ivories late at night. Whilst this can be disconcerting it is not as alarming as his sister Coco who has learnt to turn the TV on and is apparently partial to a bit of late night viewing.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">He has managed to clock up 8 visits to the vet's including two anaesthetics, an operation, an endoscopy, several shots of steroids and two courses of antibiotics. Sounds like a normal night out in North Walsham to me.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">He has eaten approximately 30 kg of dried food and 600 pouches of meat but still prefers to chomp on rotting sparrow entrails and flies or to steal leftovers from the hedgehog.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">He is very helpful when it comes to wrapping presents, as I found out at Christmas. Even though it is August we are also still finding stray baubles which he knocked off the tree and rolled under sofas or behind furniture. They are currently sitting on the mantelpiece and will probably stay there until we decorate again in December.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">His best trick to date was jumping in a bowl of pea and ham soup and then proceeding to re-decorate the lounge with it.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">He is a handsome, affectionate, funny little chap and I hope he will be with us for many years to come just with fewer visits to the vet's.</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></ul>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-80352691452558010962013-08-18T20:16:00.002+01:002013-08-20T12:24:46.294+01:00Home Sweet Home<span style="font-size: large;">...and so, having spent a week exploring out west we are now back on home turf. The car still doesn't start unless you roll it down a hill, which was great in Wales but not so much in Norfolk, and I have a mobile phone which makes me look like I've just stepped out of 'Murder She Wrote', but apart from that we had a great time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The journey home was uneventful but tedious, especially once we hit King's Lynn. That winning combination of a dearth of decent roads and a plentiful supply of caravans conspired to make the last 40 miles slow and frustrating. I worried at one point that I might not make it back in time for the start of term, reminding me of the situation a couple of years ago when several colleagues were absent at the beginning of the Easter term due to the volcanic ash fiasco. Somehow I don't think the Head would accept the excuse that I was stuck in East Rudham behind a Ford Ka trying to tow a five berth caravan.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">For Bryn and I our first priority on arrival was to find Ronnie. He seemed reasonably pleased to see us in that inimitable nonchalant feline way, but distinctly more underwhelmed by the reunion than we were. Then, after a quick check of the post to make sure there wasn't anything exciting like an inheritance from a long-lost great aunt or a flyer about a new offer at Lidl, it was time to tackle the washing. What you need to know at this point is that before we went away there was already a massive mountain of ironing sitting there staring at me. I did what was absolutely necessary for the holiday and left the rest. As the laundry fairy doesn't seem to have made an appearance this week it is, as you would expect, still sitting there. The trouble is now there are three loads of washing at various stages of dampness waiting to join that pile. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KHCJqg4gjrM/UhNRslriDII/AAAAAAAAALs/QxTs7PsJTGQ/s1600/CS20130820115125%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KHCJqg4gjrM/UhNRslriDII/AAAAAAAAALs/QxTs7PsJTGQ/s320/CS20130820115125%5B1%5D.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then, about an hour ago people began to say they were hungry. I'd forgotten about the whole meal thing to be honest. I would love to say that I managed to produce a delicious pasta dish in seven minutes from scratch, or that I got a nutritious fish pie which I'd prepared last week out of the freezer and had it on the table within half an hour, along with fresh runner beans from the garden. What actually happened was that I began searching through the cupboards and fridge, desperately looking for something I could feed to my family which didn't come ready prepared with its own penicillin. I didn't have much luck to be honest. Meringue nest, kidney bean and marmite surprise anyone?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-8472329304701801392013-08-16T07:15:00.000+01:002013-08-19T07:48:19.249+01:00Nev, Iwan and Bassong<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-slv2vx7YjMw/Ug0hYTV9idI/AAAAAAAAALc/4YvnNqLPno4/s1600/picture008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-slv2vx7YjMw/Ug0hYTV9idI/AAAAAAAAALc/4YvnNqLPno4/s320/picture008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">From left to right: Nev, Iwan and Bassong</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Introducing Nev the RAF bear, Iwan the Welsh bear and Bassong the Norwich bear. This is them after spending the night in a rather seedy B&B in Llandudno. They want to know when the room was last cleaned and why the shower didn't work. Nev tried to plug his phone in to charge and nearly got electrocuted and Iwan asked how the fat, middle aged Lancashire owner managed to get a pretty young Thai wife, when all he could manage was Gwen from the valleys. I explained that all he needed was a computer, lots of cash and a rather warped view of matrimony.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently the three of them are coming up Snowdon with us today, although Bassong really should be in training for Saturday's match against Everton! </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-89035138653546221812013-08-15T19:18:00.001+01:002013-09-05T17:32:52.699+01:00The Safari Park: Three Out Of Five Aint Bad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CCD5e_0VoSA/Uh87qeG0QvI/AAAAAAAAANw/N4DgCIdsCFQ/s1600/423432_162447207225334_748283780_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CCD5e_0VoSA/Uh87qeG0QvI/AAAAAAAAANw/N4DgCIdsCFQ/s320/423432_162447207225334_748283780_n.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"I'd get back in the car now", said the friendly ranger to me from the relative safety of her land-rover, adding helpfully, "...just in case the rhinos decide to charge".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This was yesterday, three days into our holiday. On the way to Bewdley Safari Park I had been musing about my five holiday predictions (<a href="http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/five-predictions-about-our-holiday.html">http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/five-predictions-about-our-holiday.html</a>) and thinking how badly I had done. None of them had come to fruition so far. Geof was in disgustingly good health, Bryn was enjoying himself despite having said that the highlight of the holiday so far had been driving past Daventry on the M6, and my moderate wine consumption could have put me in the running for Band of Hope Queen. Little did I know that the holiday gremlin was just round the corner and that everything was about to change.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The day began happily enough as we set off on our trip round the safari park, looking at the lions and giraffes from the comfort of our vehicle. After a while the traffic slowed to a standstill whilst people ahead stopped to take photos of the animals. At this point I did what I thought was the sensible thing and turned off the ignition. When I tried to re-start a few moments later it was dead. Nothing. I tried a few more times. Same result. By now Bryn was starting to get agitated in the back of the car. We were stuck in the 'fast lane' at the safari park and could not budge. I stuck my hazard lights on and people started to undertake us and go past us on the grass to the right. This went on for some 20 minutes or so until we finally managed to attract the attention of a passing ranger. From the back seat I distinctly heard the words 'This is the worst holiday EVER', from number one son. Result! Numbers 1 and 3 of my list covered without so much as breaking a sweat. Jump leads were radioed for but by now Geof had managed to roll the car down the hill and get it to start. Later on in the day I managed to smash my beloved phone out of existence and was told a new handset would be over £300! I could probably get a small property in Albania for that. How can something so small cost that much? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My car doesn't start unless it's running down a hill, I have a £10 phone which doesn't even have a camera and have lost all my contacts and my 8 year old is mutinying ...and so prediction no.5 came to pass...</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-21196778360005903502013-08-11T07:48:00.003+01:002013-08-11T07:48:51.724+01:00Five Predictions About Our Holiday <span style="font-size: large;">So, today we are off on holiday to Shropshire also calling in on the Land of my Fathers (or in my case mother) at some point. Based on previous experience I should like to make the following predictions. When we get back next weekend I shall let you know how many were correct.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1. Something will go wrong with the car - previous mishaps have included a puncture, car refusing to start and scraping it against a pillar.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. Geof will be ill.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. We will have an argument over directions. I drive, Geof navigates and likes what he calls 'short cuts'. I prefer to call it 'getting lost'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. At some point Bryn will say 'This is the worst holiday EVER'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. I will get through a lot of wine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There will be very little internet access most of the time we are away so this may be it for a week or so. In the meantime do keep looking over my old posts. I am sure the holiday will provide me with plenty of new material for my return!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-84199387036012531812013-08-10T09:13:00.000+01:002013-09-01T15:04:09.704+01:00Lists<span style="font-size: large;">By rights I should not be writing this post. It goes against all the rules of what is decent and proper because I haven't got it on my 'to do list'. The things which are currently on my list are;</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F75fTBKVTQY/UiNJI9rqUUI/AAAAAAAAAP0/sp5HYBZw2aQ/s1600/CS20130901150011%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F75fTBKVTQY/UiNJI9rqUUI/AAAAAAAAAP0/sp5HYBZw2aQ/s320/CS20130901150011%5B1%5D.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I am an inveterate list maker. I have lists of things to do, lists of stuff to pack for the holiday, shopping lists, ideas for blog list. The list is almost literally endless. Up in my bedroom I even have a list of hymns I might like at my funeral. I'm hoping that one will not be put to use in the near future, but you never know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I can't speak for other people but I have my own fairly rigid view of 'list etiquette'.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1) Lists have to be written by hand on a piece of scruffy paper - an envelope, a page torn out of a diary. It has to be a stand alone piece of paper. Writing a list in a notebook is not acceptable. I have even tried writing a list on my phone on a special app I got but I can't do it. It just doesn't feel right.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2) You have to cross things off the list once you've done them. This is necessary for that sense of smug satisfaction. If you do something 'extra' (such as writing this blog) it has to be added to the list and crossed off anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3) You are allowed to add sub-sections. For example, if I am writing reports and have 60 to do I can have reports a, reports b and reports c and cross off one for every 20 reports I complete.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4) I am not strict about doing my lists in order but I am sure that some people reading this have just started screaming at the very thought of doing lists randomly. These people are 'extreme listers'.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway I had better stop now and add this blog post to my list so I can have the joy of crossing it off. Then I am going to phone the repeat prescription line and go and pay for my bathroom. Hooray! Only just gone 9 o'clock and three things pretty much done!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-42029763632169921762013-08-09T11:33:00.001+01:002013-09-01T13:58:39.369+01:00The North Walsham Mafia<span style="font-size: large;">I don't like to talk about this much in public for fear of waking up one morning to find a horse's head in my bed, but my husband is a member of a big North Walsham gang. I blame his friend Dennis for getting him into it. He came home one day a few years ago and told me he was going to a Rotary meeting. I thought this seemed harmless enough at the time but how wrong I was. It has taken over his life and is much more than the innocent fund-raising jamboree which it presents itself as. That is the acceptable face of Rotary. I am going to take you into an underworld of politics, back-biting and pavlovas that you never knew existed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">To begin with I managed to keep out of it but then the phone calls started. These mainly came during the afternoon at about 3.30 when the advert break during Countdown was on. Sometimes I was home from work by this time and would see the 01692 area code on my caller display and know it was one of them. "Oh hello my dear, Cedric here. Is Geof in? No? Oh, you're his secretary are you? Ha ha. Could you just take down this message for him please." On other occasions I would be out, but pick up a message. It is worth mentioning at this point that many Rotarians are ex services and old habits die hard. "Geof! Reg here.Thursday 3.01 pm. Just phoning with some figures for you to look at so maybe you could get back to me. Message ends Thursday 3.02"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Next came Geof's involvement in various events, </span><span style="font-size: large;">with pieces of paper blu-tacked to the kitchen cupboards. My personal favourite was in the early months of his membership when he was called upon to help put up a stall for the Rotary stand at the Christmas Fair in town. When he joined he was 50 and managed overnight to halve the average age of members. Therefore, being a 'youngster' he would get called upon for any jobs which involved physical activity. As I glanced up at my kitchen cupboard I could not believe what I saw. There in bold font were instructions for the Christmas Fair under the heading 'ERECTION TEAM'. Perhaps this was going to end up being one of North Walsham's more memorable events?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, the years passed, the Rotary Chairmen died and were replaced. Then in December last year things took a nasty turn. The new Waitrose had opened here and it was time for the Christmas collection. Naturally our Rotary wanted to collect outside Waitrose but the Bure Valley branch had already bagged that spot, and so the Turf War began. By now I was the North Walsham Treasurer's Bitch and was worried that I might start getting death threats from the Inner Wheel (that's the one they let the little ladies join apparently). How would I meet my end? By eating ricin-laced lemon curd? Maybe I would be found with crochet needles in my eyes or get bundled into the boot of a Honda and driven off Cromer Pier? </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uoHwJg_MHxk/UiM5Xix_VFI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/QJh1JO4UWuA/s1600/936129_10151638202807229_1728943357_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uoHwJg_MHxk/UiM5Xix_VFI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/QJh1JO4UWuA/s320/936129_10151638202807229_1728943357_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">However, there's not much that a change of name and identity and a bit of help from the witness protection programme can't resolve. They still haven't caught up with us and I even managed to make a public appearance at the Lord Mayor's Banquet earlier this year. I nearly gave the game away what with being about the only person there who could walk un-aided but I think I got away with it ...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188129626996207843.post-70346817571949458702013-08-08T07:30:00.000+01:002013-08-29T14:54:41.309+01:00Match of the Day<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_520241995909e0534543308">
<span class="userContent"><span style="font-size: large;">Having spent what seems like an awful long time yesterday watching 'A Decade of Great Goals' with my son and his friend, and listening to them talk football incessantly I have the following Breaking News for you. </span></span></div>
<span class="userContent">
</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fQ_fc_NniyE/Uh9SPOec7lI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/6X-r9XMOi6U/s1600/CS20130829143625%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="82" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fQ_fc_NniyE/Uh9SPOec7lI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/6X-r9XMOi6U/s320/CS20130829143625%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="userContent"><span style="font-size: large;"></span> </span></div>
<span class="userContent">
</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent"><span style="font-size: large;">The BBC have announced that, due to cost cutting, Match of the Day is no longer going to be broadcast from Salford Quays but from the less well known Millfield Road studios in North Walsham. Further savings will be made by replacing the regula<span class="text_exposed_show">r presenters with Bryn 'they think it's all over' Harrison and Josh 'it's a game of 2 halves' Parker with guest appearances from Ronnie 'which one is Iniesta?' Harrison. Concerns have been raised about the relative lack of experience of these two unknown pundits, but fears have been laid to rest given that they are 8 years old and therefore know everything.</span></span></span></div>
<span class="userContent">
</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_520241995909e0534543308">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01854070094381489252noreply@blogger.com0