Tag Archives: Family

Newsflash: Millions Of Marriages Saved By Science

27 Aug
Inside every Silk Concept duvet you will find ...

Image via Wikipedia

The Hub is a generous man, I admit that; but even he draws the line at bedtime…usually right down the middle, indicating his (his) and hers (mine) sides of the bed.  I go to bed before him and though I always start on my side of the bed, I usually end up in the middle, wrapped in the duvet.  That wasn’t a problem when I was young and slim and living in a hot country and he didn’t want the sheet and used it to roll me over; but now…poor bloke; no wonder he’s got a back problem.

Because, of course, it’s not just the bed I hog; it’s the duvet.  I am a woman, after all; despite what my children think.

Duvets are a common cause of hostilities in most marriages: who gets how much being the obvious fight.  But a more covert battle is often waged over what thickness the duvet should be: a 4.5 tog being the thickest he’s prepared to tolerate, no matter how much it’s snowing outside; a 13 tog being my minimum requirement during summer and two of them, at least, in winter.

Him: I’m a hot-blooded male, you frigid swear word!  I need to let me bits breathe.

Her: Of course I’m freezing, you swear word; you only let me have three duvets tonight!  Oh, you said ‘frigid’?  I couldn’t hear you over my chattering teeth. That’s an argument for tomorrow, if I haven’t frozen to death in my bed.  Turn the heating up I hate August in England

Now, however, spurred on by right-wing governments and to the chagrin of divorce lawyers everywhere, scientists have come up with a simple plan to keep the Hub trapped:

[A]n invention has gone on sale that promises to end duvet wars for good.

Bedding experts at John Lewis have designed a
split-warmth quilt that is thicker on one side than the other.

It means cold fishes can snuggle down under the cosier
side, while their hot-blooded partners who regularly throw off the covers can choose the lighter option.

The article in the Johannesburg broadsheet, The Star (I always have to point that out in case anyone mistakenly thinks I read the execrable British tabloid of the same name) goes on to say:

Almost half of those questioned by the Sleep Council said snoring topped the list of complaints, but “hogging the bedclothes” came a close second.

I hope they don’t find a cure for snoring too quickly: if they take away my duvet, how else can I punish the Hub in my sleep?

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101/1001 (19) A Re-Think

5 Aug

I have been forced to re-think some of my targets because I have reached and even surpassed quite a few.  Not this first one, though; I may have set my sights a mite too high on this one:

Ride my bike twenty out of thirty days. (0/30)

Decorating, an absent child and several migraines mean I have barely been out on my new old bike; certainly not enough to say I have started this challenge.  I tell you this in an effort to shame myself into getting back in the saddle again.

Find another 64 challenges for the list.  (27/64)

I have a new challenge, inspired by Elizabeth of 1sojournal, who did it with poetry:

Find 26 unfamiliar words, one for each letter of the alphabet; then use them in a post a day for 26 days. (Words: 5/26)

Expose myself to four new experiences (3/4)

This week’s enjoyment of baking was definitely a new experience for me!

I think I set my target too low for 1001 days, so I will adjust it to twenty new experiences.

This challenge is related to

Try out three new recipes (6/3)

I didn’t expect to complete this one so soon, if at all, so I will up the target to 15.  I don’t want to put too much pressure on me; who knows when I’ll next feel like cooking?  The urge may never come around again in my lifetime.

Submit thirty poems to competitions or publishers (7/30)

I sent off a poem this week; and I plan to send another to a different competition.

The poem I sent is probably too lighthearted for the judges; but I adhered to the theme and it was free to enter, so I sent it anyway.  If only to stop Viv nagging me.

Read thirty books (15/30)

I’m already halfway through this challenge so I think I’d better up the ante to 101 books.

This week I read the last Dick Francis; and finally finished a book I started two years ago and came across when I was rearranging the bedroom in an effort to locate the power lead for my netbook.  I failed, but the book was compensation.

Called Dear First Lady, it’s a selection of letters to and from, well, American First Ladies.  A fascinating insight if you’re into that sort of thing, which I am.  And a reminder that my husband buys the most thoughtful presents in the world.  If only I would stop misplacing them.

Write 101 new poems (153/101)

We are at Day 133 of 1001 and I have already written 153 poems.  I think I may have underestimated my poem-writing capacity just a little.  As a result, this target is going up to…drum roll please…1001.  A poem a day.

Gulp.

Reach 13000 comments on my blog (11,878/13,000)

The rate at which I am reaching this one caught me by surprise.  I thought I was stretching a point by aiming for 13000.  I’m going to double it and add the number I first thought of, to make it 30,000.

Double gulp.

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As you can see, a lot of re-thinking of original targets has taken place.  Either I was unrealistic to start with, or the cake-baking success has gone straight to my head.  Time will tell.

Don’t forget to check out the other 101ers, to my right.  And we still welcome new challengers.  You should think about it – I never had so much fun doing things I mostly want to do anyway.

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101/1001 (16)

15 Jul

One task completed this week:

Manage ten real sit-ups.  (10/10)

I’ve been gradually building up from one and I reached ten a while back, but Spud told me I was doing them wrong so I had to start again.

We have been encouraging each other.  He will walk into the room and quietly ask, ‘Have you done your sit-ups today?’  The answer is always ‘No.’  He then barks at me to drop and give him three-seven-nine-whatever number I’m up to, plus one.

I did my first proper ten yesterday and I can already feel the difference in my stomach: intense pain and an inability to straighten up.

We are encouraging each other for two reasons: to get fit, and to get girls (that last bit is just him).  He has reached 50 sit-ups, 50 press-ups, morning and evening; and ten pull-ups on the crossbar of the swings in the park.  He excitedly showed his Dad and I the real lump in his bicep that has started to appear; not one of those imaginary ones we’ve been feeling since he was three.

He is also fixing up his bike and intends to ride it many miles every day.  I guess the child is serious.  Those girls had better look out: there’s a new boy in town and he’s got a bumpy bicep.

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Don’t forget to click the links on the right, under 101/1001ers, to see how everyone else is doing.  And think about joining us!

Blog And The World Laughs With You; If You’re Lucky, They’ll Help You Write It, Too

30 Jun
housewife [derogation]

Image by the|G|™ via Flickr

What have you feared that turned out to be much easier than you expected?

When Tory Boy nagged me to start a blog, I feared it was not for me.  I feared it so much it took me about eighteen months to put – I was going to say ‘pen to paper’ but I suppose it’s ‘finger to keyboard’; doesn’t have the same poetic ring to it, does it? – finger to keyboard and now, here I am, two years later, celebrating my blogaversary.

Yes, on this day in 2009, I dared to write my first post.  Here’s an extract:

I’ve just had my teenage son sort me out with my own blog; now I have to hope
1. I can think of something interesting to write and
2. I can get some people to read it.

Mission Statement: to be amusing (mission: impossible)

I don’t remember intending to be funny and yet there it is in black & white (pale grey, actually: I hadn’t learned to use the colour button then).  I guess I should have known because the blog name (which I chose) is a bit of a giveaway.

In those days, Tory Boy and Spud Bud were ‘Hur’ and ‘Spur’; I changed their names after protests from the family.  An extract from my second post:

A word of explanation: like Princess Diana I, too, have two sons, an heir and spare.  I am a Scouser, however, and although it was in another life, I still have Cilla Black Disease and can’t pronounce the ‘air’ sound in English.  To avoid embarrassing my sons more than the usual, I am going to refer to them in this blog as ‘Hur’ (first fruit of my womb, 19) and ‘Spur’ (last product of my now dried out loin, 13).

You won’t be surprised to learn that the main topic of that post was food; Maltesers were soon to follow, I’m sure; a poem appeared on Day One.

I am surprised to see how far I have come in the way of presentation: the font was pale grey and unjustified; paragraphs were long; photographs were rare.  By July 1st, however – my second day – I was already posting twice in twenty-four hours.  A warning of what was to come.

I couldn’t know then, and didn’t expect (though I did dream), that I would have so many returning visitors, as eager to laugh at the world, me, and my family, as I am; that I would have a fledgling poetry blog because I get the best audience for funny and the poems were getting in the way; that I would be posting up to four times a day and not driving visitors off; and that I would just have so much fun.  I couldn’t know, either, that you are brilliant: I say, I can’t find jokes, and you send them; I can’t think of anything to write about, and you give me prompts, topics, subjects; I can’t find enough tasks for my 101 challenge, and you tell me what to do.

So, thank you, dear readers, for sticking with me through thin and thin; and for writing half my stuff.  I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without you.

Happy Blogaversary!

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Hair Of The Dog

26 May
Donald Trump at a press conference announcing ...

Image via Wikipedia

Arts Jobs – Wig Mistress

This email was in my inbox this morning.  I didn’t bother opening it: I didn’t want to lose the mystery of what it might be: a request from Donald Trump, perhaps?

Is that real hair?  Does anybody know?  With all of his money, he could afford a better rug, a full hair transplant or even a new hairdresser.

Words are funny, the way they conjure images.  ‘Hippopotami’ always makes me laugh, though they’re nasty creatures who kill more people than lions do.  An animal that round and ugly has no business being grumpy…oh, wait…

I was sad to discover that about hippopotami; almost as sad as when I discovered cheese & onion crisps are not considered one of the major food groups. 

Lord Goldsmith once said, ‘A man who marries his mistress creates a vacancy.’  What a jerk.  I wonder if he and Arnold Schwarzenegger know each other?

Arnold Schwarzennegger…now there’s a man who ought to be given a Brazilian by the cheated wives of America…I’ll be waxed.

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I Like Not That

18 May
like

Image by debaird™ via Flickr

Some news items that caught my eye:

A father gave his child the name ‘Like’.  

Even though – get this – ‘he actually has fewer than 120 friends on Facebook and doesn’t really care for the social networking site.’

Well that’s alright then, as long as he doesn’t want to profit from it or get his name in the media…oh, oh, wait a minute…

It’s not as if he has the excuse of being famous; we all know how stupid that makes a parent at baby-naming time: Fifi Trixiebelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, Pixie, anyone?  What were you thinking, Mr Geldof?

Maybe I’m not such a bad mother after all: ‘Tory Boy’ and ‘Spud Bud’ have a nice ring to them in comparison, don’t they?

Over in Michigan – which I have always considered to be a sensible State – a woman sold a two-year-old child on eBay. 

It appears she did it to ‘see how eBay works.’  Wouldn’t a used DVD have sufficed?  I’ve often wanted to give my children away but it never occurred to me to make a profit from them.

In case you’re worried but too lazy to click on the link, the child was removed from the woman’s care and ‘is in her mother’s custody.’ 

I must confess I’m still worried: why wasn’t she with her mother in the first place?  When I said I’ve often wanted to give my children away, what I meant was, over my dead body, rigor mortised hands clenched round their pudgy little wrists and a ‘Noooooo’ scream etched on my blue yet still attractive face.

Have sex to save the rainforests

It’s a thing, apparently.  An article in the Metro discusses ‘Eco-porn organisation F*** For Forest,’ an ‘erotic, non-profit group.’  They have 1300 members.

There is going to be a ball of some sort, at which ‘a small space where people can be exhibitionists’ will be provided.

I got this last bit from Wikipedia but you’ll have to find the link yourself because this is a family blog: In their first six months of existence the group received seed funding from the government of Norway.

You couldn’t make it up.

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Catch-Up Time

5 Apr
2009 Five Presidents, President George W. Bush...

Image by Beverly & Pack via Flickr

When did you realize you were an adult? (If you haven’t yet, when do you think you will?)

When I stop feeling the need to answer every WordPress prompt.

Imagine you get a magic gold ticket that lets you travel through space and time to see any band, or music act, living or dead, together or broken up, live at a venue near you. Who would you pick? Why?

I’d go to see The Beatles in The Cavern before they were famous, and tell my Mum to save any tickets or programmes left lying around so we could live off the sales.  That woman had no prescience.

How do you recover lost trust?

Oh, I haven’t been on a train in ages.

If you could script tonights dream, would would the plot be?

Weeelll, I’d probably start with a WordPress prompter and a wood chipper; then I’d throw in all the missing apostrophes…

What is the best gift you’ve ever received?

This question, because it allows me to trot out once again my favourite punchline.  Apologies to my long-standing readers, who must have heard it at least twice. 

I collect American political memorabilia, including the signatures of American presidents (I have no affiliation and will take the bad with the good).  One Christmas the Hub bought me a golf ball signed by President George W. Bush.  I love being able to say, ‘I have the balls of the most powerful man in the world in my hand.’

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