Bits and bobs; odds and sods

The Boy has received a commendation at school...none of us (including The Boy) are entirely sure why. He was given a mini-torch by the headmistress, who said "I know it's crap, but it's all we've got. Well done." I'm not sure whether to be shocked or impressed at her use of the word crap... I like it when people say it as it is!

I recently went to a family reunion. The eldest there was Uncle Jack, who's pushing towards his 100th. He has an e-mail account. I think that's pretty cool.

Tuesday evening riding home on the Mid-Life Crisis, I was overtaken by another biker who was weaving in and out of the traffic and going about twice the speed limit. I thought 'He's going to have an accident'. Indeed he did...about 10 yards in front of me. Given this was the busy A12 dual carriageway in the rush hour, I thought he would die as his bike slid in one direction with sparks flying everywhere whilst he headed in the opposite direction, bouncing between cars. The traffic came to a halt, and he staggered up, quite bruised and battered. Half of me was pleased, the other half thought he deserved what he got and worse. He got torn jeans and bike jacket, a few bruises and scratches...I left before the ambulance and police arrived. But not before giving my contact details to the woman whose car his bike had skidded into - he accused her of pulling out in front of him. What a shame he couldn't take responsibility for his own stupidity.

The Cat has bought some shorts for the summer. The Cat's Mum's eyebrows are raised. I'm looking forward to seeing this develop....

We parked in Loughton yesterday, and the ticket machine wasn't working...which is usual these days. And this is because they are trying to encourage people to pay by mobile phone. Which is fine for those who have them, but not for people (such as many pensioners) who don't. The system is slow and cumbersome, and prone to not working...it took me several goes before their system finally recognised the location number on the parking machine. So for one hour I paid the 65 pence plus however much the call was....and what has really enraged me is the '20pence convenience charge'. Convenient for whom - certainly not for me, nor any of the half dozen people also trying to pay. I can't tell you how much I hate bureaucratic double-speak.

Saw The Kings of Leon last night in Hyde Park. When I say saw, I mean we were so far back that we could watch them on the video screens. I love their music, but his is the second time I've seen them and been completely underwhelmed by their stage presence - so next time I'll save my money. I'm glad my companions brought the gin and vermouth and olives and ice to make martinis because this made my birthday treat very palatable.

Emotions...for Tara's gallery

What a lovely subject for Tara to choose and I could think of no other photo than this one taken at the school sports day when The Boy had just thrown his javelin further than anyone else. Tara has done this week's gallery in conjunction with the Writing Workshop...somewhere I'm yet to venture



This is joy.
Pure unadulterated joy.
The joy of victory.
The joy of friends savouring each other's success.
The joy of the moment.

There will be giants

Me: "Are we doing anything on Friday night?"
The Cat's Mum: "No"
"Let's meet at St Pancras then"
"What are we doing?"
"Not telling"

Friday night
"Why are we here?"
"We're catching a train"
"Oooh how exciting - the Eurostar!"
"No, we're going to Stratford"
"WHAT! YOU MEAN I CAME THROUGH STRATFORD HALF AN HOUR AGO, ON THE HOT, SWEATY, STICKY TUBE, JUST TO TAKE THE TRAIN BACK? ARE YOU MAD?"
"This is a different Stratford. This is Stratford International"

Later
"Ok I think you'd better tell me what's happening...you know I'm not good with surprises"
"We're going to a car park"
"WHAT?"
"Yes. A car park in a shopping centre. But it's not finished yet.

A little later

"We're here"



And magically, this becomes:



We were greeted by an Amazonian giant...I'd say 6'5, but I can't be sure as my neck was stiff from trying to look up.

And inside it's like this:



The views were spectacular:





The food was delicious, and it was an amazing, evening. We were so very lucky to be able to go. I loved it. Read all about it here - what a brilliant idea. And it was a shame to leave at the end of a very lively evening.

Falling Down

The Boy finished his summer exams today, which is a relief to us all. Amazing how the stress permeates even those of us that don't sit in the exam hall.

This week, we went to see the Divine Comedy...music that I've enjoyed, but not quite got round to buying at any stage. Anyway, the lovely gentle Irishman was a delight, and the whole evening was enhanced by our surroundings. I took some pictures:





And you can see more (and better) here.

Wilton's is evidently the world's oldest Music Hall and it's a sheer delight. Worth visiting just to have a gander...and it has a lovely bar too. It's just off Cable Street...and provided shelter from Oswald Mosley's fascists during the Battle of Cable Street. For me this is living, breathing history, and something to be savoured. Here's a mural from just down the road which I tried to capture, but the architecture didn't really help.




Tonight, we are dining in the open on top of a multi-storey car park in the middle of Europe's largest building site.....

Creatures for Tara's Gallery

Well I wonder what everyone will be contributing to Tara's Gallery today...it's always fascinating to see, and this is a topic that can be interpreted in all sorts of ways...

... for my entry in this week's gallery, I present a couple of creatures, nay beasts. Eye-catching graffiti the size of a house on my way home. They're not Bansky's, but aren't they beautiful? I spotted them on the way home from work - they must have taken ages to paint, and have a real artistic merit to them. I absolutely love them, and they liven up an otherwise uninteresting road....

It comes round just once a year....

I keep meaning to mention that I've added a Twitter feed...not sure why, but I have. At the moment I'm just putting links to the post, but if I can ever work out how to use it properly, I might venture into putting mini-posts up there in between the proper one. I think the link is http://twitter.com/Bradstockboy

...Dad's Day of course...and I was delighted to be brought breakfast in bed. This is a notable occasion. This was not just any breakfast, this was a Fifteen year old's take on breakfast:

Poached eggs on toast - yippee
Coffee - yippee
Bucks Fizz - yippee
Chocolate - yippee....


and


and


wait for it


Samosa - erm yip erm ee!

The samosa had been perfectly warmed by thirty seconds in the microwave, and was pretty much all that was left of the day before's haul. It had been Sports Day at the school, and given the summer showers, and wintry gales, the Parents Association Indian food stall hadn't done too well. So samosas which started off at 50p each were soon reduced to four for a pound. We took twenty. Half an hour after we got home three were left. Teenagers are hungry beasts after a day of sporting prowess.

Anyway the breakfast was more than welcome and appreciated. I was also showered with gifts - a sword straight from the four musketeers for use on the barbecue.



And two rolls of loo paper. Not just any loo paper though. One roll is printed with 'Brain training' challenges. I'm not sure whether you're supposed to use it - before or afterwards. And the second was glow in the dark. It mentions that the glow in the dark stuff is not dangerous, but may wipe off. So potentially I get up in the middle of the night and return to bed with green glowing nether regions.


It's a picture I wouldn't want to wish on anyone.

Meet The Parents

For a short period, Grandma in Cyprus is once more Grandma in Cyprus Not in Cyprus - a name she acquired during the months it took from her declaration that she was moving to the Mediterranean island to actually achieving it - selling a house, even three and a half years ago was not the easiest of tasks.

Anyway, she's over in Engerland, enjoying the cold summer we're having. In Cyprus, when the temperature drops below 25, she dons woollen mittens and a thick scarf...here in Blighty, she should add several more layers of clothing. She understands the suffering of the Eskimos.

The fact that she's here at all is testament to her remarkable stamina and will-power - it's just a couple of weeks since she had a major operation that's been known to floor women half her age.

Anyway, we invited her over for dinner. Which I feel is better than when she first met The Boys mother. That was a few days after we got married. Yes I know, but it's provided conversation for years since.

There was nervousness aplenty. As a menu, I suggested that we heat something in a packet from Marks and Spencer, but that didn't seem to go down too well. So The Boy and The Cat stuffed peppers, whilst The Cat's Mum did something nice with chicken. I did strategy and supervision. And bit my nails. And was made to tidy my stuff away. Again. This is really quite tough for me.

GinCnotinC was accompanied, of course, by Stepgrandad in Cyprus not in Cyprus. I guess it all went pretty well as everyone is talking to each other today. I'm not sure what we talked about over dinner in the conservatory, but the evening rattled past quite nicely. Of course the bottle of red wine helped us, whilst SGinCnotinC quaffed his favourite white wine...you may know it - it has a colourful religious order on it.

I do remember that I was just about to talk about the fox and her cubs that live at the bottom of the garden, when a scrawny example walked past the window. He didn't seem that interested in us too much, he didn't look too well either...just a passing traveller I think. Passing travellers....

The Gallery - Motherhood

Initially, I thought that this week's photo gallery was not for me...it's on the topic of motherhood...a subject that I'm not strong on (sorry Mum)...but then I realised I'm never one to miss a challenge and had two things I would like to share with you:

This is The Cat and The Cat's Mum...and if ever a picture summed up two people, this is it. The Cat's Mum is messing around (as usual) and The Cat is there to pick her up (as usual). They are both having fun (as usual). Their mutual love and respect shines out loud and clear (as usual).



And then, I think the second picture is self-explanatory - it's why boys need their mum...

Make me smile

On the one hand I would seriously recommend against going to see Ben Stiller's new film...Greenberg. Two hours of unadulterated drivel. I should have learned my lesson that if you don't like the actor in the lead role, then you're not going to like the film. In the same way, I spend my life avoiding Tom Hanks films. I was recently persuaded that this was absurd, so I should try Saving Private Ryan. Having sat through the film, I wished they left him to the Germans. So I'm back into, if I don't like the main character, I'm going to avoid the film. Please support me.

As you can gather, I didn't sleep so well last night, and it is Monday morning.

On the other hand, when I was a lad, I did enjoy the likes of Slade, Sweet, T-Rex, Mud and so on. I wasn't so keen on Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel, but they did have a few good hits. And I'm one for a good pop tune. Friends asked us if we'd like to go and see Steve Harley last week, so I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Why not?". The night before we spent the evening on You Tube trying to remember all those Steve Harley songs which have long been forgotten and found such gems as Judy Teen, Mr Raffles, Here comes the Sun (yes, yes, I know it wasn't his originally, but he does sing it pretty damned well) and of course Come Up and make Me Smile. Along we trotted to Shepherds Bush to listen for a couple of hours. And what a cracking couple of hours it was. New, songs, old songs sung with energy, enthusiasm and gusto...he clearly loves to be on the stage. And it was nice that for once I was the youngest in the audience rather than the oldest.

Only one mystery. By the end of the '70's he was definitely as bald as Elton John. And now he has a full head of hair. How can that be?



Another evening's pleasure has been to see the extraordinary Money by Shunt. It's pretty hard to describe...an interactive performance about why people are motivated by speculation...of the money kind. That totally undersells it, and if you have an evening free, chance an arm and go along and see it...it's on in dear Bermondsey Street for the rest of June...and if you're passing I'll buy you a pint in The Garrison before you get shunted into place by Banksy-esque policemen with their pretty balloons. The boy was given a Mars Bar as part of the performance , "An indulgent choice youn man" which he scoffed down in one mouthful...I'd have treasured it until it was rotten myself.

MONEY BY SHUNT from Susanne Dietz on Vimeo.

And here's the mad, mad, song that got us all going....

Money from Susanne Dietz on Vimeo.

It can be found at www.shuntmoney.co.uk

You're toast

Breakfast is generally a fairly solemn....erm I mean sullen...affair.

The Boy's always been a grumpy old man first thing in the morning, and the rest of us keep a low profile just in case. The Cat doesn't really wake up until nine o'clock on school days...and at the weekend, will sleep until sunset given half a chance. On the other hand, The Cats Mother is up with the larks and making lists of things to do, folding the washing and harrumphing if we've left anything lying around. As I generally leave a lot lying around, I often start the day with a slap.

In the kitchen, The Cat's Mother reigns supreme. Except where it comes to important things...the gadgets.

The radio has been strategically placed on a high window ledge so she can't reach it and change the station. The Boy and I favour Q Radio or XFM, but she would happily listen to Radio 4 or Magic. They are wholly inappropriate.

There is also a very nice shiny toaster made by that fine British institution, Dualit. If you're not familiar with them, and let's face it if you've not just got married, why would you be? It has a clockwork timer that you turn to toast your bread. It's clearly marked and numbered, with a little notch to let you know the 'optimum' toasting time...it's just beyond the number 2. When the Boy and I use it, we turn the dial to the notch and get perfect toast. Every time. The Cats Mother and The Cat, however, just turn the dial as far as they can. And get burnt toast every time. Sometimes this can be scraped, but is mostly put in the recycling bin. They greet the smoke and smell of burning with the yelps of the utmost surprise. Every time.

This prompts the Boy and I to roar loudly and tell them how to cook the toast. It's easy we say, just turn the dial to 2. You'll get perfect toast we say. Don't turn the dial any further.

They look at us as if we are daft. Don't be ridiculous, we like our toast more toasted than you.

But you always burn it we say incredulously. Very loudly. We may even shout.

We don't know why this upsets you so much they say.

Because it's so bleeding obvious we say.

Yes but why? They say.

Toast is easy to cook. You burn it everytime we say. Steam hissing out of our ears

And so it goes on.

The Boy and I are as one.

The Cat and The Cat's Mother are as one.

I think they do it just to upset us.

I don't think they like toast at all.

Buzz, buzz, buzz went the bee

Wasps are a pain in summer aren't they?

As far as I know they have no worthwhile function other than to try and steal your jam and lemonade whilst having a picnic. When I was younger and crueler, and spending my summer working in the Bavarian Alps, we used to pour a few drops of beer on to the table whilst we ate our lunch and wait for the hornet-sized wasps to come and settle. We'd quickly turn our beer glasses over them, like a glass cage, and then throw a lighted cigarette in. They never lasted long, either burning themselves on the lit fag, or suffocating. With thirty years of hindsight I can see that this was cruel, nasty and sadistic. So I'd like to apologise to the Wasp God, and claim folly of youth.

Since then I've seen a friend who had a wasps nest on the side of his house decide that a good hit with a baseball bat was an excellent way to let them know they weren't welcome - they begged to disagree. And in Buckhurst Hill we had one in the hedge, so that every time I opened the car door, the wasps came out to see who was home. I asked them to leave nicely by spraying their nest with something I bought at Robert Dyas. They never spoke to me again.

Bees on the other hand are brilliant. Beautiful in a gawky kind of way, even they don't know how they fly, I'm told. The decline of the great honey bee has been much documented in recent years, so they are very precious creatures indeed.

On the side of the garage we have a bird box which has remained empty this year. We've been told that in 2010 this is a very common phenomenon. I'm hoping it's just that pesky Icelandic volcano which has kept the birds grounded in their summer habitats, but I'm affeared it may be worse.

Claiming squatters rights, we discovered this weekend, was a troupe of bees. They were big black and yellow and very buzzy when I went close. As I'm not one for bravado, we thought it best just to get the professionals in. The council suggested some beekeepers who came round in a jiffy...only marginally disappointed to find that these are Bumble Bees so don't produce honey...but good for pollinating. So as the bees dozed, the bird/bee box was sealed and taken away in the back of their car. They've promised to invite us round for a hog roast later in the year....and indeed sell us back the bird box. So we'll be able to see how our bees are fairing.



At the other end of the garden, we have a family of foxes. Mum and three cubs...one has been brave enough to peer through the windows in the conservatory. I'd like to say how sweet and lovely they are, but foxes are getting very bad press this week, so I'll merely mention their existence in passing.

"Hello I'm the Cat's Mum"

We all have our different reasons for writing a blog...some people have amazing writing talents, some share their humour and some just like writing about their kids. I started having been prompted by Nappy Valley Girl and started writing about what it was like to bring up my boy...I write professionally for a living, but have been quite determined to keep this as amateur as possible...hence the regular typos and poor grammar. I quickly had another couple of reasons - the boy's grandmother, my mum - Grandma in Cyprus lives in erm Cyprus, so it has become a good way of keeping in touch and letting her know what we've been up to....at least I think that's why she never feels the need to ring any more! Of course, I vaguely remember now a conversation when she said she was moving there to get away from her family....but I'm sure she was joking. And secondly it's a bit of a diary so I don't forget all those precious moments we live through. But I have to be honest, over the last few months, Don't Panic. RTFM has studiously avoided a very big chunk of my life.

March last year, the boy was in the school's production of Macbeth which meant going along for two of the three nights it was performed. if I was truly dedicated, it would have been three...but I had to have some sort of a social life. It had been a slightly traumatic time getting there, and many tears were shed as the boy hadn't buckled down to learning his lines as he should. So as I sat in the audience, he looked at me nervously from the stage desperately trying to remember his words. He did, and played his part very well. I was very proud. Whilst loitering during the interval, someone came up to me and introduced herself: "Hello I'm the Cat's mum" she said, and we exchanged a few words about pocket money and kids wanting to spend their time in Costa Coffee.

Not so many weeks afterwards it was the school trip to Sorrento, and we met again. 5 o'clock in the morning as we waited for the tour bus to depart. I'm not so sure I was very sociable.

And then a couple of weeks later I dropped him round at The Cat's house for a party (her Dad's 50th - they were being picked up by limo and taken to his house). And I may have mentioned before, I was asked if I fancied meeting for a drink. By the Cat's mum. I did indeed drive away thinking this was quite funny. It's not that often I get asked out.

It took a couple of weeks for me to sort out the drinks...I wasn't playing it cool...I was just rubbish. Even losing her number. And her name. So eventually we went out for a drink. As friends. And did so a couple of weeks later. And so this pattern continued for a pretty long time. I had a laugh...lots of laughs in fact even as the summer rolled on. It was going no where, but it was quite fun...we shared a sense of humour and had lots of similar interests. But I was resolute in my singularity.

And then as the Autumn rolled round something changed. It would be hard to say what, although I can say precisely when (although I won't). And suddenly fortnightly or monthly meetings-up became more and more regular. We spent Christmas together.

So regular in fact that The Boy's and my house in Buckhurst Hill has been all but abandoned. Weeds are growing through the paved drive and the crazy-paving in the back yard, dust is gathering in the corners of the sitting room, there are cobwebs everywhere, the garden hedges have run riot and the food in the fridge is rotten.

So life has changed more than I could have imagined a year ago. And only for the good.

The challenge now is not so much how to bring the boy up, but how we both adapt to our new circumstances. It's been a magical time, and I think it will be for a very long time ahead.

The stress test

Half term. It's been half term all week. And after a spate of exams before, the return to school will mean a further week of 'You may turn the paper over now'. And bar a few ups and downs, it's been a relatively stress free experience.

The boy has a completely different revision technique to me (not that I've had to revise for two decades). I used to work out how many topics were the minimum I could get away with, but then learn each one in depth. I read, read again, read yet again and finally read again. I'd make notes, and then notes on my notes. I'd look at text books and note books and work from dawn 'til dusk. I rarely came unstuck, but when I did it was spectacular - if I misjudged which topics would come up in the exam then I was sunk. But I was always good enough to get through 'O's, 'A's, 'AS's, and even managed to come top in my degree course.

The boy's revision technique is as follows:

1. Turn on computer
2. Listen to itunes
3. Start texting friends
4. Read a bit
5. Find some more music to listen to
6. Text some more friends
7. Play on the X-Box
8. Read a bit
9. Check out a cycling web site
10. Call a couple of friends
11. Rest
12. Put a new CD on the computer
13. Read a bit
14. Keep texting
15. Go grab a snack
16. Look at the BBC revision web site
17. Rest

....and so on. He has a remarkable ability to remember things, and can generally apply himself when it comes to science and maths. But his revision is nothing like I've seen before.

It's very stressful for me....

One of those days...

Today (and it's only 10.00 a.m.) I have:

1. Overslept (turned the alarm off because of the Bank holiday)
2. Peed into the bidet because I was still asleep when i got up(yes...yes...don't say it...)
3. Left my keys in the front door as I biked off to work (found by the boy a couple of hours later)
4. Forgotten my filled up coffee loyalty card so I actually had to pay...
5. Just about set the alarm off because I forgot to unlock the office door before activating the alarm
6. Locked myself out of my internet bank by entering the wrong security code
7. Locked myself out of my bank account my trying to enter an old pin number
8. Posted on Facebook that I have 'One and a half kilos of it in the cupboard' thinking I was sending a private message to someone who would understand the context.

I'm not sure I'll make it 'til lunchtime....