North Walsham in Bloom?

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.
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?"
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.
The more I think about it, the more being a middle-aged delinquent appeals. I think I'd better start making my list now!

Plus ça change...

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.

Things which are the same

1. My husband and I have survived to celebrate another wedding anniversary.

2. I am proud that I have managed to keep son, cat and hedgehog alive for another year, not necessarily in that order ...

3. Aforementioned son still knows more than I do about everything.

4. The mechanic at our local garage continues to hide when he sees me pull onto the forecourt.

5. I am still doing the same job and still threatening to go and stack shelves in Lidl instead.

6. I have not won Euromillions.

Things which are different

1. Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education.

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.

3. I no longer drink alcohol. This means I save money, don't get headaches and don't find myself, late at night, agreeing to take ownership, via Facebook, of random kittens.

4. Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education.

5. Did I mention that Michael Gove is no longer Secretary of State for Education?

Things Which Are Just Plain Wrong

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.

1. Grown women wearing items of clothing with cartoon characters or animals on them.

2. People who use 'The Daily Mail' to inform their social and political conscience.

3. Michael Gove. No more need be said.

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?

5. Golf. What is right about it? The outfits, the 'networking', the sexism, the elitism...?

6. Having Christmas items in the shops in September. I LOVE Christmas but not until about December 19th.

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'!

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.

Being Insulted by your Children

My son has unfortunately inherited my rather wicked sense of humour. I say 'unfortunately' as I am often on the receiving end of it.
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".
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.
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!

The Harrison Theory of Mediocrity

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.

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.
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.
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.
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.

Keeping up with the Grandparents

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?!

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 Day In The Life Of ... Ronnie Harrison

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.
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.
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.
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".
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!
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.
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.

If you enjoyed this post you might also like http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/if-pets-could-talk.html or just click on the label 'Ronnie' below for more feline frolicks!

New Year's Resolutions: 24 Hours In

For those of you who didn't see yesterday's resolutions please see http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions.html
This is how I am doing so far.

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?


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.

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'.

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!

5. Full marks here. Not threatened to resign yet but then I haven't had direct contact with any children yet!

6. I don't think I'll live long enough to get my pension so I might as well stop worrying about it.

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.

New Year's Resolutions

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.

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.

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.

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'.

4. I will not get half way through September and start feeding my family ready meals, pizza or Weetabix for tea.

5. I will not even once threaten to resign and go and work in Tesco. However, Waitrose might be a different matter altogether.

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.

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.

To see how I am getting on visit http://normalfornnorfolk.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/new-years-resolutions-24-hours-in.html

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 Optician

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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
"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.
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.

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!

 

An Old Norfolk Proverb

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.
'Caravan behind you, happiness. Caravan in front of you, misery.'
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.

Fussy Eaters

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.
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.
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!
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.
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.

GCSE Results

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.
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.
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
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.
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!

Questions I Would Like Answers To

http://www.aaa-clipart.com

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.

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?

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?


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?


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.


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?

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.

Happy Birthday Ronnie!

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.

Ronnie as a cute kitten

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.

• 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.

• 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.

• 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.

• 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.

• 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.

• 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.

Home Sweet Home

...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.
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.
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.

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?

Nev, Iwan and Bassong

From left to right: Nev, Iwan and Bassong

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.

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!