Day 31: ‘Friendships don’t age, even if we do’

I WENT out with Laura, Adam and Lee last night, who I may not see as often as I used to, but when we’re together, it’s always the same - outrageous, daft and far too open and honest! 

We missed our fifth member (a little like Take That without Robbie) cause Sloth was MIA representing the UK down under - pathetic excuse!

Having known Laura since we were in nappies, there’s very little we don’t know about each other, and having spent the biggest drinking years of my life around the boys too, they also know far too much!

It is funny what sitting together with the same group of friends does to your state of mind. When I’m in the hearty bosom of Team Akabussi (as our former quiz team name would define us), I may as well be in my early twenties again, having forgotten the responsibilities of being a mum, running my own business and being, well, reasonably grown up!

I think Laura would join me in being quite proud of the fact that we’ve never really grown up. The word ‘willy’ still makes us giggle, we still dance anywhere - as if nobody is watching, still make each other juice rather than tea when we pop over, and both still call each other’s mum “mummy” every time we see them - even though we don’t call our own mum “mummy”.

Some would say that perhaps we should grow up, but I say balls to that!

The best affirmation that we’re all still as daft as we used to be, came from the elderly gentleman on the table next to us in The Broomhill last night. As we left I heard him say to his wife: “Thank goodness for that.” 

Kudos Team Akabussi!

Day 30: ‘Dressed to impress’

ME and Erin went to see my Gran this afternoon after nursery.

I’d been out to a meeting today and happened to be wearing a suit. I was looking reasonably smart I suppose, but I didn’t think too much of it - until I arrived at Chez Shelbourne that is.

Gran welcomed Erin, complimented her pretty dress, and mentioned a number of times how much she looked like a little girl (I don’t often put her in pink dresses, but the old folks love a bit of gender stereotyping don’t they?!). 

Then the attention turned to my attire.

My Mum was there, and she’d already said: “You look lovely today”, which is always nice to hear, particularly when you did make a bit more of an effort than normal. Gran echoed the sentiment, which was very much appreciated - until she continued to do so…a number of times.

On the tenth mention of my ‘smart’ and ‘lovely’ outfit, my limit had been reached:

“I’m getting the impression I don’t normally look that nice?” (What happened next is why I bloomin love the elders.)

Most people would have stuttered and become awkward in their response to this question, perhaps a little embarrassed they’d made a point of it. But not my Gran, she just carried on: “Well you normally look, well you know, like a Mum don’t you?”

An interesting point. 

I am of course a Mum, but I am pretty sure if you lined up all the Mums who drop their children off at our nursery, not one of us would look the same, or be wearing the same clothes - we’re not in ‘Mummy’ uniform every day. 

Smirking to myself, I decided it wasn’t worth responding. But I did make a mental note to make sure I was dressed a little more appropriately for an audience with my Gran next time - I’m thinking fairy princess meets Karen Brady?

Day 29: “Degree or not degree”

BEFORE your child has even made it past the teething stage, some parents seem to start talking to you about your little one’s future. And by that, I don’t mean when they’ll be stringing their first sentence together, I mean when they’ll be striking their first corporate law deal, or how long it will take them to pay your mortgage off for you.

I try not to think about what Erin will be doing in 20 years’ time. In fact I don’t want to think about where she’ll be, or what she’ll be doing, as that means she won’t be my little girl anymore and won’t be entertained by a rendition of Incy Wincy Spider, or pretending to eat the invisible omelette she’s just made me in her play kitchen.

Even better are the parents that are convinced their little munchkin is incredibly intelligent, and will of course be pursuing a career in law, medicine or politics. This is usually based on a child’s ability to write their own initials, or repeat some long words that have been religiously drilled into them to impress friends and relatives (although when the word ‘incidentally’ is pronounced ‘infiwentawy’ you have to question their point).

I recently sat holding my tongue when one mother sneered at the prospect of her daughter becoming an apprentice, or (god forbid) not going to university. Oh the narrow mind of it all! 

If Erin decided she did want to go to university, then we would of course support her unquestionably. However we would be just as supportive if she decided to be a plumber or a hairdresser. Whatever she wants to do, as long as it makes her happy and she’s prepared to work hard, we would give her all the support she needs. 

I asked my mum the other day if her and dad were in any way disappointed me and my sister didn’t go to university. She said quite emphatically: “No, why would we be?” 

Yet again Pilling HQ is the voice of reason. We will do our best to follow their lead.

Day 28: ‘I’ve started, so I’ll finish’

I hadn’t realised Mastermind was back on TV until Richard Whitehead was on it the other night. Needless to say, you can’t win a Gold medal for everything, but he was wearing a lovely cardie!

It made me weigh up my options for Mastermind…you know, just in case I was to ever get the call.

I pondered a few specialist subjects, cause you can literally pick anything! Doing my research, I discovered some past gems include ‘The banana industry’, ‘Cremation practice and law in Britain’ and even ‘The Female Agents of the Special Operations Executive’. 

For my specialist subject? A few considerations sprang to mind. 

If I wanted to sound intellectual and well read, I could have gone for the life and works of Jane Austen, but as much as I love her novels, that might easily have kept me in single figures.

No, it had to be something a little more ingrained into my brain.

The magical world of Harry Potter has to be a contender. Even as a muggle, I think with the right equipment (a wand crafted from Willow and Phoenix feather let’s say - not that I’ve ever thought about it) the correct training, and a browse through Bathilda Bagshot’s A History of Magic, I would be able to take on any question John Humphrys could throw at me.

As confident as I am in my Potter knowledge, I think my parents, husband and anyone who spends any time at our house would agree that my specialist subject would have to be The Complete Series of Friends.

I have almost certainly seen every episode of Friends at least three or four times - and I still can’t get enough. If I’m ironing, cooking, looking for something to watch while Erin has a nap, or even just want something on ‘in the background’ while I work, my first thought is always Friends. 

It’s a comfort, a home-from-home, in fact I’ve been watching it for so long, it’s almost become a soundtrack to my life - even Erin knows how to clap when The Rembrandts burst into song.

“Yes John, my specialist subject is Friends..and I expect to win this bad boy!”

Day 27: ‘From little acorns’

WE’VE been watching Dragons’ Den tonight, with some of the more weird and wonderful business ideas and products that I’ve seen in a while.

When the lunatic Bulgarian chap turned up with his home automation system that runs your bath for you, Mark was instantly intrigued - he loves anything he can control from his iPhone. 

Incidentally my dearest husband has been known to purchase such items as the Steam Mop and the ‘Nicer Dicer’ (a complete flop for the record) from the shopping channel at 2am, just because he couldn’t sleep! So you can understand my raised eyebrow when his little face lit up.

It was a shame for the Bulgarian that he was daft enough to ask for £1million investment, and when asked how he would use it, responded with “I would like to have a new office, maybe in The Shard”. If the Dragons weren’t already about to waste him for the product they didn’t like, he’d just  given them the perfect ammunition to annihilate any hope he had for the future of his business.

He was laughed out the room, but still walked out smiling and truly believing in his business. I for one think that’s pretty admirable - however crazy he is!

Bill Gates and Steve Jobs were once starting out in a new age of technology, and would possibly have been laughed out of a room by a group of Dragons. But these men changed the way we all live and work.

I literally don’t know how I’d cope with daily cleaning chores had James Dyson not invented the dual cyclone bagless vacuum cleaner. And having just seen a 20-year-old lad introduce a kit to mend water-damaged smart phones - that he’s invented in his mum’s utility room, bless -  I’m heartened that the age of inventors is still very much alive.

As a woman I must thank Sara Blakely, Moe Nadler, Lady Jennifer Bell Schofield and Yves Saint Laurent, without whose inventions I would rarely leave the house (Google them!)

Day 26: ‘Duty calls’

I have never really been one for computer games. I may have played the odd level of Aladdin on my friends’ (the Wiggs) Sega Mega Drive and even Superfrog - with a large old school joystick - on our Atari 1200 in the early nineties. But ever since childhood I really haven’t had an interest in the virtual world.

I suppose in my head it’s something that is reserved for children and teenagers. It would appear I am wrong. 

My husband has a Playstation 3 and I have always been aware of the shooting fest that is ‘Call of Duty’. ‘Aware’ is pretty much where the interest ends though.

Anyway, the berk’s gone and sold his original Call of Duty on Amazon (if you sit still for too long in this house, you’ll end up on Ebay or Amazon!). 

Although he set up this sale himself, the remorseful look on his face when he realised the game had to be posted to its new owner, was like a puppy who’s just had his favourite tennis ball taken away.

Two days later, the new Call of Duty ‘Ghosts’ was purchased. Mark has since been involved in some rather catastrophic wartime situations, shot a number of ‘baddies’, not to mention quite a few ‘goodies’, civilians and palm trees.

I know he’s not the only adult to be engrossed by this thumb and finger twitching phenomenon. In fact, as I understand it, this latest version of COD (as I’m apparently supposed to call it) was the biggest selling entertainment product of 2013, outstripping all blockbusting movies, One Direction albums, and even James Bond. Eh? 

I’m sure I’m in the minority in being a little shocked by this, but how many times can you shoot someone in the head, before you get a bit bored? 

I myself will be finding my entertainment in the COD of the 19th century, as I re-read Pride and Prejudice for the 15th time!

Day 25: ‘Anything is possible’

I’M not sure whether you watched Splash tonight? (not the film from the eighties, but the Tom Daley six-pack-fest on Saturday night prime time.)

I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t normally. But tonight Nottingham lad, Paralympic Gold Medalist,  and ’40 Marathons in 40 Days’ runner, Richard Whitehead MBE was on the diving board, and ready to take the plunge.

Over the past two years we’ve watched Richard not just win Gold at the London 2012 Paralympics, but run 40 Marathons in 40 Days in aid of Sarcoma UK and Scope, and do everything he can to inspire others to take their own journey.

We have been lucky enough to get to know Rich, his lovely lady, Val and their gorgeous little girl Zarah over the past year, and we were there in Land’s End at the very end of his 40 marathon journey last September.

He genuinely believes anything is possible, and tonight he showed that despite being a double amputee, and diving not even being allowed to be a Paralympic event because of its level of difficulty, Richard yet again defied the odds. 

Following his handstand dive, from the ten-metre-high board, our boy got the highest marks in the competition so far, and sailed through to the semi finals.

I’m sure he’ll be determined to be the best, and achieve as highly as he can in this competition. But I’m guessing more than anything, Richard will be determined to use this platform (if you pardon the pun) to raise as much awareness of Sarcoma UK, the charity closest to his heart.

Every time I see anything Rich achieves, it makes me remember to stop myself when I think it’s not possible to get all my jobs done in a day, or to achieve the goals I set myself at work. 

When I have a tough day, I suppose I have to remember I haven’t just run a marathon..not to mention 39 before that!

Thanks for the inspiration Rich and good luck with the semi finals!

Day 24: ‘Impervious to the cold’

A friend was once quoted as saying: “Chavs must be impervious to heat or cold, they wear the same thing all year round!”

Somewhat of a generalisation I know. But not entirely wrong.

Anyone who has been watching the ‘throw shoes at the telly’ misery fest that is Benefits Street, will perhaps agree these are the sort of specimens my friend may have been referring to - and if you watch again with this in mind, you’ll see his point. 

I’m afraid to say ladies and gentleman that this morning James Turner Street had arrived in Hucknall. Well either that or ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. 

I was having a walk down the High Street with my little lady in the pram, wondering when that ruddy Costa is going to open and allow me the luxury of a Black Forest Hot Chocolate of a Friday morning, when she appeared opposite me on the pedestrian crossing.

I may have stared and appeared a little aghast.

Surrounded by my fellow towns folk, all wrapped up in hefty winter garments, with flushed red cheeks and an unholy amount of bobble hats, there she was. Clutching the hand of her suitably wrapped up daughter, was a woman dressed in a lycra boob tube and matching skirt in an orange and brown Aztec pattern. 

The outfit was exposing her washboard stomach (which would have been impressive, had it not been a deep shade of orange, crinkly and mottled with sun damage). Her eight inch platform heels and flasher mac, did little to compliment the outfit, and the straggly peroxide blonde extensions flapping in the wind didn’t quite have the ‘L’oreal’ desired effect. 

Had I seen this vision in the middle of summer, I would still probably have stopped and stared. But today, this woman was on another level of crazy! I have to say, despite the scowl she gave me, that woman kept me smiling for the rest of the day!

Thanks Cruella!

Day 23: ‘The office brunch’

I’M no longer an office-based incumbent.

However, despite now being a slippers-wearing ‘namby pamby’ freelancer, I have spent the majority of my working life to date in an office environment, seven years of which in open plan council offices. 

Much like Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant once observed, the weird and wonderful variety of people in any office space, makes for entertaining viewing.

Today I was reminded about one of the key events in such an institution - ‘the office brunch’.

As I explain the scene, perhaps imagine David Attenborough’s dulcet tones, delivering my words as if he’s actually perched on the Serengeti:

“They’re just walking in now. It seems to be taking a while to take their coats off and have the first conversation of the day - primarily weather-based or the morning’s ‘dreadful’ commute.

“The rustle of carrier bags and the clink of mugs and glasses almost plays a tune. One-by-one the females pick up their carrier bags, crockery and cutlery and head for the kitchen.

“As we approach the door to the kitchen, a sound of cackling fills the air, as well as the smell of freshly brewed coffee, toast and the ping of a microwave. It quickly becomes chaotic, almost pandemonium. 

“Getting closer we can see the ‘brunch brigade’ gathering for their feed. A sociable ritual perhaps? They’re talking, while eating. We could be here for some time”

Twenty minutes pass.

“The herd is dispersing. Females with freshly washed bowls, plates and mugs head back to their desks. They appear to be turning on their computers.”

Twenty minutes later.

“Half the herd is leaving for the morning fag break. The non smokers are rising to their feet, picking up a nearby tray and heading back to the kitchen to make the first ‘round’ of the morning.”

Lunchtime will commence in an hour. There you go Mr Osborne, that’s why!

Day 22: ‘We’re over the hump..well almost all of us’

COMING up with something to blog about every day is often somewhat of a challenge. Life isn’t always inspiring, and some days are even ‘pretty standard’, so the subject of today’s blog comes from my friend Theresa.

“Why not write something about it being hump day and how we’re now over the ‘hump’ of the week?”

Well she’s right, we are over the ‘hump’ of the week..Friday can only get closer now! She also pointed out that I should perhaps look at that from the point of a freelancer - me.

It’s an interesting point. When you work for yourself, I’m not sure there is ever really a beginning, middle or end of the week. There’s always the days when Erin’s at nursery and I am working constantly from the moment she’s dropped off, till the moment she’s picked up, so in a way that is my working week. 

But I’m never really off-duty. 

I used to be very particular in my old job. Despite working long hours - and often still being found there at 6.45pm on a Friday night because the Post needed a quote for the next day that someone internally just wasn’t prepared to give - when I went home, I went home.

My job now is amazing. I love it! No politics, no being dragged into the latest saga of the day, or listening to the conspiracy theories about what was happening in the boss’ office, and whether anyone was getting sacked next week or not. I get all the best bits of my job, without the rubbish.

However, this does mean that however knee deep in nappies I am, or however far away in the world I might be, I’ll always pick up my emails. 

Let us not forget, I am the woman who was still attempting to sort out approvals for a press release while in labour, and was still on the phone to the Post while having my stitches done. For some reason, it’s hard to let go!

I think what I’m trying to say is, I don’t really have a hump day..perhaps just a minor pimple!

Day 21: 'Give a little whistle'

Ahhhh..thought I'd forgotten today's entry?! Well in reality, I nearly did! 

But having just returned from the cinema with my lovely husband, thanks to the babysitting prowess of Katy Pilling after a long day at t'office (kitchen table), I believe the title of this much shorter blog has three meanings: 

1. I worked hard today in the seven dwarves' 'whistle while you work' kind of scenario

2. I discovered David Beckham will be featuring on a special edition of Only Fools and Horses in honour of Sport Relief, which I feel deserves a 'wit woo' sort of whistle

3. Just been to watch the 'Wolf of Wall Street' (which I am rather tenuously relating to a wolf whistle). It was by far the best thing I have seen Di Caprio do since Titanic - my only concern being the fact that I wasn't overtly offended by its now infamous overuse of the F word (when the C word showed it's little head I was of course mortified!) This leads me to believe an education at Holgate School and life in a news room as a young and easily influenced whipper snapper, toughened me up for the life of a Wall Street stockbroker. 

I won't be pursuing that career path of course as I don't need all that money...plus I could never do all the drugs, drink and loose women, I'm perfectly happy with a mug of tea, a Crunchie and the Harry Potter box set! 

Yes, it's been a long day! Adios amigos, or as they say on the continent: "Night Duck".

Day 20: ‘Blue Monday - well it will be if you read the news’

I WASN’T really sure what to write about today. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a hectic morning of feeding Erin, playing with her toy kitchen, building towers with wooden blocks (only to be knocked down in seconds), going out to feed the horses on the Misks, and attempting in some way to answer emails for work.

But as you can appreciate - as entertaining as it’s been - so far I haven’t been offered a great deal of fresh fodder to babble about.

Apparently today is known as ‘Blue Monday’, which I think is just some sort of commercial trickery by travel companies. They want to take advantage of the general public’s propensity to fall into a lull following the festive period, and try and persuade people they need to book a holiday!

If today’s news is anything to go by, I’m wondering if Thomson and Easyjet are in cahoots with the media to try and maintain this constant state of misery - death, abuse, car accidents, bad weather and war. 

In the spirit of perhaps renaming today ‘Pretty Sparkly Pink Monday’, I did just about manage to trawl through the misery to find a story on the first public appearance of Bao Bao, the five month-old Panda in Washington Zoo, that was born in captivity last year.

This little 9kg wonder is a little belter toddling around his enclosure with his mum - just one look at those cute little chops should be enough to cheer up anyone’s day - I know it’s not really news, but I’m afraid it’s all the good people at Sky had to offer.

However if that hasn’t quite raised a smile, all I can offer you is this:

Gary Barlow turned 43 today, and is still looking spectacular! (that possibly won’t work for everyone!)

Day 19: ‘In and out in 30 minutes’

NOW before you start..get your heads out of the gutter, I’m talking about going for a meal.

Me and Mark I believe are the champions at a quick meal. We’re not the sort who like to peruse a wine list for days, wondering what is the best bottle we can select at the most inoffensive price. 

We both tend to know after reading a menu for about two minutes what we’re having, and there’s no list needed to pick the house wine or a Diet Coke.

I believe we may have hit a record today though with the Griffin’s Head in Papplewick. They happen to do the best Sunday roast, with the most monstrous Yorkshire puddings, that there’s no question where we’re going to pop while Erin’s with her grandparents.

After booking a table last minute (and promising we’d be out of their hair by 1pm) we arrived at 12.05pm. By 12.34pm we were back in the car and on our way home - and yes, before you ask, we did pay! In fact we queued at the bar to pay for a few minutes, which I’m not sure we should really account in our record breaking meal time, as that was out of our control.

Some would regard this as unsociable, or maybe even a little odd, but as much as we like going out for a meal - we don’t like to make a ‘big meal’ of it so to speak. 

When we’re with friends it’s a bit different. Going out for a meal is a chance to catch up, and we’re probably one of those tables that is in situ all evening. But we see each other all the time, we have no need to catch up!

I challenge anyone to beat a 29 minute turnaround. On your marks, get ready..eat!

Day 18: ‘Mine’s a Murray Mint thanks’

I MAY have in actual fact been living in a hole for the past week, but I only just realised today that the Australian Open is on. I have already missed out on three of Andy Murray’s victories, and there’s few potential wins left now he’s in the fourth round.

As it is taking place in that far off land of Oz it won’t exactly be featuring live at a particularly sociable hour - but thanks to the wonder of Tivo’s record button, it’ll be like being there (as long as I don’t watch any news, social media or read any papers before I hit play!)

I find it quite amusing the two rather extreme camps when it comes to Andy Murray. Even when he won Wimbledon last year, the first British man to do so since Fred Perry in 1936 (let’s not start the whole 1977 Virginia Wade debate again #wadegate) he was still berated in the press and on social media. 

I for one am in the Murray camp. 

Not in the way that I’m in the Barlow camp, it’s not that level of devotion! But I am British and incredibly proud of anyone who achieves something in sport for their country. To be honest, since the Olympic and Paralympic games, you may as well strap me to a Union Jack and fly me from the nearest flagpole, I’ve become so patriotic.

And let’s not forget this lad went through so much as a young boy, being a child of Dunblane, losing so many friends, and then being undoubtedly pushed and driven throughout his entire childhood to be the best. I can understand the occasional outburst or bout of misery!

I’m hoping lots of you will be joining me in cheering the lad on this week, he may pout a bit, he may not be much of a pin-up, but he’s ours, and I think it’s worth giving him our full support.

Who’s for a Murray Mint then?

Day 17: ‘The key to a happy marriage..forget Valentines Day’

MY eyes are still burning from the red glare in the card aisles at Tesco this morning. Poor Santa hadn’t even had time to pop the kettle on after his long trip ‘overseas’ before the shelves were being stripped of festive merriment and stocked with slushy nonsense!

This year will be the seventh Valentine’s Day since me and Mark got together, and I believe a grand total of two Valentine’s cards have been exchanged in that time - one each, on that first year, cause I think we both felt we should really. And we’re happy.

It may not be true for everyone, but my observations have taught me that an over-zealous approach to this annual event, can only lead to heartbreak. 

One particular couple, I was friends with for a long time (note the past tense), are a prime example. If she didn’t have a large bouquet of roses delivered to her at work in front of the masses, or wasn’t taken out for an expensive meal with champagne, chocolates - the works - he was in massive trouble.

They are no longer together. 

My case in point on longstanding apathy with Valentine’s Day, comes from no other than Mickallaaar and Paulinellaaar (Mum and Dad). They have almost certainly ignored every Valentine’s Day for the past 34 years, yet they are still together, happy (apart from when the Stags are losing) and, I hope, have another 34 years left in them! What better role models can you ask for?

I chose to replace the grand gestures, with the small everyday things - taking Mark’s socks off for him at night, cutting his toe nails, making him a brew, picking his spots, lifting concrete slabs to help in the garden and, occasionally remembering to shave my legs! 

I think Valentine’s has its place - for all those singletons out there! The shops are fully stocked with helium balloons, flowers, teddies, Milk Tray and edible underwear - fill your boots and bag yourself a cracker!

Day 16: ‘The mobile goldfish bowl’

I’M going to admit it…I love people watching! 

Today my ‘people watching’ fix came while driving into Nottingham for a meeting.

In a car we’re all in our own world and it’s so easy to forget you’re driving a mobile goldfish bowl - I regularly forget while singing along to the radio like I’m some sort of Mariah Carey tribute (a bad one)!

Today’s journey, for example. 

I’d hardly left Hucknall before I pulled up next to a group of girls in a white Nova - complete with those weird oversized eyelashes on the headlights. They were clearly listening to something with a bouncy tune, shamelessly shimmying and pointing to each other, with their air microphones and the occasional brass accompaniment. 

I tootled passed them smiling, as it’s something myself, Laura and Tracey have been guilty of, while en route to many a Take That extravaganza!

In contrast, while sat at the next traffic lights, I looked in my rear view mirror to see a middle-aged couple in a Land Rover, not speaking. Their vague motionless expressions were only broken by the occasional pull down of the passenger mirror, as ‘the Mrs’ attempted to squeeze a spot on her chin. Brilliantly ‘the Mr’ looked to his right, with a mix of disgust and indifference that can only come from 30 years of marriage.

Finally, and possibly my favourite, was the elderly lady on my way back. Her little legs must have been so short, she was practically glued to the steering wheel, her eyes could hardly see over the dashboard, and with neck stretched and eyes squinted, she was struggling to see the traffic lights against the low winter sunshine. 

But that wasn’t the best bit. We were side-by-side at the lights and, as I looked over a little face popped up at the passenger window - her little Yorkshire Terrier. I found myself waving at the dog, who, as the traffic moved off and she pulled in front of me, bounced onto the back seat, then up onto the parcel shelf. Wagging his tail, I like to think he waved back! 

That little critter made my day!

Day 15: ‘Playing dress-up’

YESTERDAY when we got back from nursery, I hung my coat on the chair while I took Erin’s many layers off. 

As is her want as a child of 17 months, she stood and pointed at my coat, loudly proclaiming the rather articulate and clear demand of “geeerrr”, which I understood at this point to mean: “Mummy I want to wear your coat!”

Toddling away, looking from the back like ET in fancy dress, she was perfectly happy, and a particular fan of the faux fur collar, leaning to one side as if to give it a little cuddle.

Not that I’m particularly precious about my clothes, but I was once a little girl too, and I seem to remember both me and Katy, parading around with our tiny feet wedged into the toe end of Mum’s pointy heels, pretending we were actually able to walk in them.

I particularly remember my late Grandma’s dressing up box. There were hats she’d worn to weddings, furs (actual real fox furs), bright red and orange necklaces, silk scarves and floral dresses. We would regularly dress up and put on shows for the family - to my husband’s horror might I add (he descends from a family of am-drams and narrowly escaped a lifetime of dressing up!)

In fact, I think me and my sis, were the key protagonists in the downfall of my Mum’s wedding dress, and have probably been responsible for the demise of many other outfits over the years.

On reflection I think I’ll: 

A - find somewhere to hide my wedding dress

B - make sure our future ‘dressing up box’ has a clear ‘I don’t wear this anymore’ policy

C - attempt to calm the husband down at the thought of anyone dressing up and putting on a show!

Right, I’m off to borrow one of my Mum’s coats!

Day 14: ‘A waiting room with a view’

Had to visit the nurse today for one of those tests we women all dread..yes ladies, breath in and grind your teeth, it’s the smear. 

I expect all males to now recoil in horror, hide behind the sofa and rock in the foetal position - but don’t worry boys, this isn’t about the actual procedure, I will be saying nothing about the frighteningly large conical shaped equipment, or the highly inappropriate jokes the nurse made at rather poignant moments - oh, how we laughed (ahem)! 

No, this is about the twenty minutes spent waiting for said appointment.

My bottom hadn’t even touched the seat in the waiting room before I was greeted by a three-year-old boy who asked me if my feet smelt. Apparently not expecting a response to his question, he went on to present me with a leaflet about bladder problems, and trotted off towards his mum, informing her: “That lady is long.” I’ve heard worse.

Thankfully Harry (hopefully named after Potter, not Styles) was called through to see the doctor shortly after.

Sat quietly tapping the bladder problems leaflet on my thigh, with the patience of a labrador waiting for his bowl to be filled, I saw a man I used to work with. He bounded over - his eyes darting to my choice of reading material and enthusiastically said: “Hi Helen, how are you?” 

*Sigh*. 

You think you might be marginally memorable, and then you’re mistaken for the work experience girl who worked on the floor below. I chose the only response I could under the circumstances: “Hi Rob, yeah I’m OK thanks, and you?” His name is James. 

Finally, just seconds before being called in for the annual internal poke-athon, the receptionist, who was randomly also my dinner lady 25 years ago, shouts across the waiting room at the top of her rather gruff, yet bellowing voice: “Clare, love, it’s you having the smear isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s me - the one being swallowed up by the ground. You’ve gotta love Hucknall!

Day 13: ‘Keep your smoke to yourself’

THIS year the House of Lords will be debating a ban on smoking in the same car as children. 

The announcement at the end of last year followed research by the British Lung Foundation that said more than 430,000 children between 11 and 15-years-old are exposed to second-hand smoke in the family car, at least once a week. They’re aren’t any figures for younger children, but sadly I imagine it’s the same sort of numbers, if not worse. 

How on earth is something like that even possible?

Over the weekend we watched a woman pulling out of a car park with three young children in the car, puffing on a cigarette, with the window open about two inches. To all intent and purposes, this woman looked ‘normal’, seemed well turned out, was driving a nice car, and had you seen her in the street, you would never consider she’s someone who would harm her children.

But clearly appearances can be deceptive. 

I’ve never smoked, but I have many friends and family members who have either smoked in the past, or still do. These days I’ve stood down from my teenage soapbox and just accept that as much as I personally don’t understand it, smoking is a choice, and people make that choice with all the knowledge and awareness about its harmful effects. 

But anyone who smokes around their children is poisoning their little lungs. 

These people wouldn’t slip arsenic, ammonia, butane or acetone into the kids’ shepherd’s pie, so why on earth let them breath in such harmful chemicals?

I have no idea how they will police this law if it comes in, but I’m all in favour, even if it only serves to shame parents into not doing it. 

Day 12: ‘Scuppered by socks..again’

Sunday is generally wash day in our house. 

For some reason the phrase ‘wash day’ conjures images of a band of ‘washer women’ from the late 19th century, all gathered around large tubs, twisting and pressing large wooden ‘dollies’ and rubbing colourless garments against large washboards. 

Sadly wash day in the 21st century Hitchings household is far less nostalgic, and requires significantly less effort. The three standard loads (whites, brights and darks) were today rather quickly processed due to the family coming round for a Sunday roast. 

Whether I rush this job through, or take my time to think about it, it always comes with three regularly encountered occupational hazards:

The special laundry bags for delicates and bras will almost certainly open up, releasing said garments into the main wash, and spectacularly failing in their primary purpose 
A blouse or two will somehow become tangled, and appear from the washer more like a game of cats cradle than an item of clothing
There are always at least two odd socks.

And what is it about socks when it comes to a clean laundry pile? 

I don’t think I have ever picked up a sock and found its partner straight away. I can literally almost empty the basket of socks before I seem to be able to make a matching pair - if this was a game of snap, I would lose every time. 

I’m sure this is something to do with the law of averages, and one day I’ll have a load of laundry where every sock that comes out forms a matching pair.

Of course this is one of those ridiculously small innate concerns that has no effect on any real life issues. It does make me realise, however, that I have to be pretty lucky in life to bother myself with such trivia. 

Day 11: ‘Gross…just gross’

There were no other words to describe the one occasion today that will remain the sole focus of my blog.

It doesn’t refer to one of Erin’s nappies, it has nothing to do with the final scene in the credits of Hangover 3, and has no relevance whatsoever to the large woman at the swimming baths this morning who bent over in a short towel, right next to my face while I was crouched down putting Erin’s shoes on!

It refers to a large spot on Mark’s neck.

Now, I am a bit of a weirdo. I like to pick scabs, squeeze spots, and have a penchant for perusing Mark’s back to find any stray ingrown hairs. 

So when he discovered a rather large lump on his neck, which was starting to produce a head, I was rather looking forward to having a good squeeze. 

However. This little critter caused me some problems. For days, I’ve been messing with the blasted thing, and it just wouldn’t budge. Until this morning that is.

On close inspection, it looked like Vesuvius, ready to erupt. What happened next, would not have been out of place on one of the Facebook videos entitled ‘Most people can only watch for 20 seconds’. 

The first squeeze showed signs of popping, so I got a little closer - big mistake. On the second squeeze, it popped and gunk shot out onto my jumper. On the next squeeze, what can only be described as a tissue’s worth of snot, shot out at 100mph onto..

I don’t even want to say it..

…my forehead. AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

I’ve just been informed, there’s still something in there, but I’m not sure I can do it this time. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever squeeze a spot again. 

Day 10: ‘EPIC FAIL’

We’re only ten days into my 365 day blog and I have already failed you. Not to mention failed myself.

I take solace in the fact that yesterday (which will from now on be known as the ‘infamous Day 10’) was busy, hectic, but fun and very productive..apart from not being productive enough to write a blog.

In summation, as I have slept since then, and my baby brain has kicked in somewhat, yesterday showed me four things:

 - never ask a hairdresser for a ‘dip dye’ without previous evidence they have successfully executed such a style (thanks Debs for the insight!) 
 - always check your tights before you’ve left the house and realised there is a great whacking whole in the gusset, that you’ve been walking round with in front of actual humans all morning
 - next time the cleaner arrives, remember to pay her
 - don’t allow events of the day to prevent you from writing your blog! 

I promised to do better next time..which is today, so I’d better get my skates on!

Day 9: ’24 hours of Happy’

Pharrell Williams 'Happy"

Anyone who knows me well, will know my musical taste is ‘interesting’. So, it is rather strange for me to blog about something that is musically cool, urban and dare I say it, current.

And don’t worry (Laura) I haven’t lost my taste for Wham, I just came across something on t’internet today about Pharrell Williams (he sings songs for those living in the same dark corner of 80s and 90s music as I normally do) and his song ‘Happy’. 

Pharrell made a 24-hour-long video for ‘Happy’, featuring lots of different people just bopping along the streets of LA (I’ve just made it uncool haven’t I? Can I use the word ‘bopping’ without a free bus pass?)

As much as I like the song (http://www.capitalfm.com/artists/pharrell-williams/videos/happy/), it’s the words that inspired today’s blog…

“Clap along if you know what happiness is to you..”

Clapping along as I am - on my own, in the kitchen, currently with no music playing at all - here’s what made me happy in the past 24 hours:

 - Picking Erin up from nursery yesterday to see her showing three of the nursery girls her tummy, then attempting to lift their tabards to see theirs

 - Visiting my little sis and watching Piglet the dog round Erin up on the rug

 - Eating curry, followed by ice cream

 - Sleeping for eight hours straight 

 - Watching Erin wake up, sitting up, grinning at me and saying: “Hiya”

- Watching our new wood floor going down in the lounge

 - Being thanked by the cats, in their own way, for filling their bowls with food

 - Having a walk with Katy’s dogs in the beautiful sunshine 

 - Seeing some great coverage for a story I sent out this week

 - Singing along to the B52s ‘Love Shack’ in the car at the top of my voice

 - Eating a Jaffa Cake (..alright three Jaffa Cakes!).

“Because I’m happy”..cheers Pharrell for the insight.