Legal Highs

How about a nice mug of cocoa?

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.

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!

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?

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.

2. Watching the hedgehogs in the garden on a summer evening - glass of wine optional (or in my case obligatory)

3. Snuggling up with a sleeping baby - preferably someone else's so you can hand it back when it wakes up.

4. Looking back at old photos and laughing at how awful you looked in 70s/80s fashions.

5. Having a good sing. Usually Thine be the Glory! For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about see http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/thine-be-glory.html

6. Watching The Inbetweeners and laughing until you cry.

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.

8. Listening to an amazing piece of music on your own in the dark.

9. Looking at the moon. (I said looking, not howling)

10. Being kind to someone you really don't like much. If nothing else it will make them paranoid!

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.

The Great Kate Wait

So, apparently the Duchess of Cambridge is in labour. The coverage on Sky is hilarious as they scramble around trying to get a comment from just about anyone who has ever been a midwife/given birth/been born and as I write someone just said the word 'vaginal' on the BBC. Dear God, what is this world coming to? Anyway, good luck to Kate as to any woman giving birth today. Just have any drugs they offer you love and PUUUUUSH!

The Royal Baby

So, apparently the world's media is parked outside the Lindo Wing (or Lindor wing as I thought it was) where Kate is due to give birth and the whole country is eager with anticipation at the impending arrival of a new royal. Whilst not exactly gripped with fever-pitched excitement myself, I suppose the birth of any baby should be a cause for celebration and joy, unless the offspring in question is the result of some un-holy coupling such as Kim Kardashian and Kanye West. All this hype however, did get me thinking back to the birth of my own child and wondering how Kate's experience would differ from mine. Here's what I came up with. If anyone from the Royal Household is reading then I am happy to accept correction of any of the following points.

• Kate didn't see at least fifteen different midwives/doctors/health visitors during her pregnancy/delivery/post natal care. By the way, can anyone tell me if you have to be called 'Pam' to be a health visitor? It's just that all the ones I know have been.

• I bet her delivery midwife was not called 'Sarah Goodenough'. Not a name to inspire confidence. Sorry Sarah love but you weren't (good enough). You looked about 14 and nearly let me die. Be grateful I didn't sue you. I still could. (I'm not bitter. I'm totally over this, honest)

• I don't suppose William will take a snap of his wife post-partum with her legs in stirrups (yes girls, stirrups) and post it on facebook. (OK the fb bit probably isn't strictly accurate but it did get taken out of the 'Our Baby' album pretty darn quickly)

• The midwife will not be heard to exclaim 'How bloody big did you think this baby was going to be?' as she dresses him in age 0-3 month clothes with at lest 4 inches dangling off his arms and legs. Ok, I didn't know you were meant to get 'newborn' did I? He grew into them didn't he?

• Neither do I suppose that William will go to Boots in search of 'disposable knickers' and get removed by security. This happened to the husband of a friend of mine. We can only think that the assistant thought he meant 'edible knickers' and took offence.

• The lovely Kate will not slob around for at least 4 months in a dressing gown, watching Homes under the Hammer, crying, smelling of baby sick and shouting at her husband.

...but apart from that, we're just the same really.

Growing up and Growing Old

Last week saw the 40th birthday of my 'little' brother. My 'baby' brother still has a couple of years to go before hitting this milestone, by which point I shall be 44 and apparently officially middle-aged. Other people getting older always seems to take us by surprise which is a bit strange as time marches on for all of us at the same pace. I am constantly amazed that the toddlers I baby-sat for in my 20s are passing driving tests, going to University and even having children of their own. I can recall the look of bemused acceptance on my parents' faces at my own 40th birthday celebrations as they took in the fact that their 'little rag doll' (apparently that's what I looked like as I emerged into the world) was now entering her 5th decade. At least I have had the decency to remain petite. Looking at a strapping 6 foot 5 rugby player and thinking 'that was my baby once' must be quite disconcerting. Both my parents do little things which point to the fact that they can't get over the reality that my siblings and I are no longer 4, 6 and 8. When crossing the road with my dad he will always put his hand out in a protective gesture just in case I am taken by a sudden urge to run in front of a passing car. My mum still reads menus out loud to us if we are eating out as a family even though we are all reasonably literate.
Age is an odd thing, and the older I get the more I subscribe to the school of thought that it is 'just a number'. I have lived independently for 20 years, had what most would consider a responsible job for 18 years, got married and had a child. However, I still can't shake off the feeling that I am somehow 'pretending', a bit like playing 'Mummies and Daddies'. You see, I really don't feel any different from when I was in my late teens. I keep wondering if other people of my age feel the same way and whether I'll wake up one day and finally feel that I have made it and become a bona fide, fully fledged grown up. I don't know, so for the time being I shall continue living as a teenager in an adult's skin.

What's in a name?

Apparently the most likely names for the new Royal Baby are Alexandra for a girl, or George if it's a boy. The only reason I would be remotely interested in William and Kate's choice of name for their first-born would be if I had placed a hefty bet on it. I haven't, so I'm not.
Nevertheless, names do mean so much, don't they? I'm not sure how this works in other cultures and I would be most interested to hear from any overseas readers on this topic, but here in good old Blighty, you can definitely tell a thing or two about a chap (or chapess) from the name they have.
When we were choosing names for our first (and last) born my choice was definitely limited due to having been a teacher for so long. Every name seemed to have some sort of memory associated with it and more often than not it was a negative one. One of Geof's suggestions was 'Kyle'. Now I am really sorry but every Kyle I have taught has been trouble with a capital K. It's a name I associate with small children being yelled at in supermarkets (Lidl, not Waitrose of course). My dear husband also suggested 'Jamal', a gorgeous name I am sure, but possibly one which would result in him being stopped and interrogated at airports on a regular basis. Why not go the whole hog and christen him 'Death to the Infidel' just to be sure.
However, we both liked 'Bryn', each having separate but happy memories of holidays spent in Wales. Phew! Sorted and at only 20 weeks pregnant. Ah, but what about a middle name? I really wanted it to be 'Morgan' my mother's maiden name. At least that way I would always be able to answer the security question to reset my password. However, Geof thought that 'Bryn Morgan Harrison' sounded like an accountancy firm.  He had a point I suppose so we went for a bit of biblical with 'Reuben'.
You can have a lot of fun with names too. I'm sure you've all worked out you film star name using your middle name plus a park near to where you grew up. Mine would be 'Kathryn The Rec'. Mmmm maybe not. A recent one doing the rounds was your rock band name. For this you used the colour of your underwear plus the last food you ate. Following on from my 'Inner Baptist' post you won't believe this but mine was 'Black Quiche'!
I work in a Catholic school, and when the new pope was being elected we had a great time deciding what our 'Pope Name' would be. I know, we don't get out much. To do this we looked at the saints' names calendar, looked for our birthdays and selected a name. I went for 'Pope Casimir Humbert'.
So, names do mean quite a bit. That's why we are unlikely to ever see a 'Queen Chardonnay' in our green and pleasant land.