10 Strange Facts About Me

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.

2. I like those crisps which have folded over on themselves the best.

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.

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.

5. I took 7 driving tests. People have got their own TV series based on a lot less than that.

6. I actually enjoy ironing but no, I don't want to do yours too.

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?

8. I am a Marmite hater married to a Marmite lover.

9. I have a body piercing but no tattoos.

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?

A Nice Bit of DIY

...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!

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?

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!

 

The Village Fete

This afternoon I am helping out at the Worstead Festival in the Children's Craft Tent. As I see it there are two major flaws in this arrangement. First of all I have no discernible creative talent whatsoever and second, I don't much like children. If I mess up enough today they hopefully won't ask me again next year, or that's the plan.
It is incredible the level of emotion which a seemingly simple and supposedly enjoyable event can generate. Life-long friendships, akin to those formed whilst in the trenches, can be made or broken over the best technique to win the tug-of-war. I have witnessed grow men weep as they lose their 'how hard can you hit the hammer' title to a rival. Potential prize marrows are closely guarded by their owners in case of sabotage. Poor old Jack Carter was a broken man after his ended up as ratatouille before the judging was done. He was last seen trashing his allotment before retreating to his shed with a bottle of grow-more muttering incoherently.
However, by far the ugliest incident to date was back in 2009 when paramedics were called to the Women's Institute tent where Linda Pilkington-Smythe had been found choking on her own Victoria Sponge, the whole sponge. Thank goodness it was so light and fluffy or the outcome could have been more along 'Midsomer Murders' lines.
...and so off we all go for an afternoon of fun and frolics, small children with temporary (we hope) tattoos, the smell of hot-dogs and my son returning home full of E numbers and with £10 worth of junk. All I can say is thank the Lord there isn't any Morris Dancing.


P.S - lots of my lovely friends are involved in this festival and a lot of hard work goes into it. It is a fantastic event and you need to dismiss all of the above as poetic licence!