Blog 54 m...08.05am...

 

 Blog 54 m...08.05am...

This morning at 5 minutes after 8 I was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee listening to the rain falling gently. I was intrigued to see the way the birds flew quickly in and out of the nesting boxes…we have two fully occupied by the great tit and the blue tit families. As they darted back and forth with food for their young the blackbird was washing herself in the overflowing bird bath and another little bird was at the far end of the garden where it floods the most and ‘he’ was splashing about in the puddle. It was peaceful. I was feeling quite calm after having a reasonable few hours of sleep from round about 11.30pm to almost 4 o’clock am; which is quite a treat for me these days. So the usual grogginess wasn’t there to spoil the morning routine for everyone else and as they all left to start their day I sat down with my coffee. Do you know how wonderful that sounds? In fact do you know how wonderful it felt to be able to do that?

I wonder how many people get the chance these days to take five minutes to themselves: just five minutes out of the stress of the working day whether you are working at home or in an office or anywhere really: how precious our days are and how few the chances are to take in the day in all its beauty. So this morning I got the chance to do just that and I didn’t want to waste a moment.

We have had a lot of rain just lately but we need it, we have water butts to keep full so as to survive the imposed water hosepipe ban…which actually doesn’t affect us as we don’t have a hose pipe as we are on a water meter and the thing whirrs round so fast just when I’m filling the kettle that the thought of watering our little back yard fills me with dread. We need the rain I know and I’m not complaining but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it just rained at night and then the days were fresh and sunny? Not too hot, just warm enough to throw the windows open and stroll about without coats instead of dashing about under umbrellas.

I have fabulous photographs of the ‘Intelligent-one’ and the ‘Cutie-pie’ splashing about in the puddles in the garden…they have Mr. Men wellingtons on, Tele-tubby raincoats and they are dancing with Bob the Builder umbrellas in their hands and they were singing and laughing: I must say at this point that they were both only little ones at the time! The garden was completely flooded due to the ‘Hubby’ having sealed the block paving with some magical potion that was guaranteed to stop the weeds from growing ever again. However, all it stopped was the rain from soaking into the ground in between the block work meaning that we had to don our wellingtons and brush the rainwater in to the drain…including the plastic duck one of the children had floated in the middle and yelled that we had a duck in the garden… all much to the amusement of our wonderful neighbours who heckled us from their upstairs window! 

Hence the reason why the yard is deep in water today after so much rainfall. The wind makes tiny ripples on the water surface and here and there little air bubbles appear. It’s not good for the worms or insects but the birds love it.

Whilst reflecting on a what a nice way to start the day I thought about what ‘Hubby’ would be doing at this time of the morning. Well, he would have dropped the ‘Cutie-pie’ off at school, sat in a traffic jam for a while and then finally got to work and would now be answering phone calls and dealing with deliveries. At the same time the ‘Intelligent-one’ would be sitting on his college coach, ear pieces in and listening to ‘The Wanted’ or ‘The Killers’ or some other top notch band whilst looking at Facebook or texting…I’m sure the art of conversation is slipping away from the younger generation! Meanwhile the ‘Cutie-pie’ will be sitting in the school dinner hall revising his Mathematics …er no not really, he will be in the hall but only because they serve hot chocolate and bagels to the early pupils! What about the ‘Bridezilla’? Ah well at this ungodly hour she would normally be choosing her outfit, putting on her make up or making her bed. She is very good actually at always leaving her bed made and her room tidy. [I trained her well…seem to have failed in that department where the boys are concerned!]I said ‘normally’ because this week she is on holiday and has left in the early hours in order to put a second coat of white paint on her bannister railing…ah the pleasures and the excitement of a new home…still can’t persuade her to take her washing with her to be whirring in her new washing machine whilst they decorate though.

My mind wandered off as to what would I have normally been doing at this time in the early years when I was working? Well believe it or not I would have been in school for half and hour or more already and would have put the kettle on, made a coffee, gone to my classroom and my day would have already begun…lifting chairs off desks, setting out books, sharpening pencils, writing the day and date and spellings on the board…yes I’m from the old school days when we used blackboards and chalk and there wasn’t an electronic whiteboard to be seen… added finishing touches to a display, sorted the reading corner out…forever these books have been the bane of my life why no one can replace a book where they got it from has always bugged me…it happens at home too! There would always be something to do before the children arrived and if I wasn’t on playground duty or cloakroom duty or supporting a heart broken child or angry parent then there would be a chance of a second coffee with a few minutes to spare before the bell rang…oh yes that’s something else that’s on the scrapheap!

When the boys were little at this time of the morning I was sitting in the traffic on the way back from dropping them off at the child minder in order to get to work…my head full of shopping lists and to do lists…after having been up for hours during which time I had filled the washer, hung out the clean washing weather permitting, made the beds, checked all the packed lunches were in bags and not still in the fridge…yes that does happen and yes also sometimes I forgot to put the sandwich filler in the sandwich…I would also have dumped the breakfast pots in the sink and drawn back all the curtains to give the impression that I was an organised mum…thank goodness no one could see the mess on the floor of abandoned toys and newspapers or the towels or the socks…STOP! My mind needs to stop wandering that far back, it’s too hectic to remember…I need to think of calm things like for example when I was on maternity leave with the ‘Cutie-pie.’ Ah yes, this time of the day with him was magical. He was such a happy chappy first thing and so cuddly that it was hard to put him down. I would be snuggling him under my chin…well not quite he was rather a large baby but you get the picture…and he was all warm in his fluffy baby-suit. By 08.05am there was just the two of us and he was ready for his next feed. [The ‘Intelligent-one' used to still go to his child-minder that I used when I was working other wise I’d lose his place...the ‘Cutie-pie’ would eventually join him at the end of the maternity leave.] I’d still be in my pyjamas as well and we would snuggle up on my bed propped up with pillows and start the day together …and once his little tummy was full of milk he would dose, his beautiful eyes closed and his long eyelashes gently flickering as he drifted into his sleep and I would set his bottle down, kiss his sweet smelling forehead and lie him next to me...then I'd drink a coffee and snooze next to him. Ah yes now those were the days!

08.05am was totally different for the ‘Intelligent–one’ when he was little; I had a shorter maternity leave and as I’ve said before the mother-in-law used to arrive very early to do her child minding duties: she had the pleasure of giving him his first bottle of the day. But when he started school and I was still at home with ‘Cutie-pie’ I had the opportunity to take him to school. Due to the traffic near us and the fact that I needed to get to the other side of town we needed to set off early and then we would sit in the car outside his school. The ‘Cutie-pie’ would still be in his pyjamas under his blue quilted snuggle suit but was quite happy to sit in his rear car seat with his teddy and his blanket. Sometimes we dashed out of the house so fast I don’t think I had the chance to comb my hair and I did become attached to a woolly hat and pull on fleece. I suppose I was one step away from being the kind of mother who drove children to school still wearing their nightwear! [The mothers that is!] The three of us would sit come rain or sunshine in the car and go through spellings, times-tables and the reading book as we were the first to arrive and didn't want to stand in the playground like three stranded beings. We used to play ‘I spy with my little eye…’ it was a great way to help the ‘Intelligent–one’ with his spellings. One morning I named the object I had ‘spied’ as beginning with the sound sh …now at this point neither of us had ever guessed that the ‘Cutie-pie’ was ever taking any notice…suddenly a little voice from the back of the car chirped up ‘shit…’ What on earth? Who had taught him that word? Of course at the age of 5 the ‘Intelligent-one’ was not to foresee the consequences of telling me that when daddy drives he uses the sh word if someone stops suddenly at the traffic lights or parks in his spot…mmm it was obvious daddy needed a talking to. Didn’t he know that all children pick up all words but only repeat the ones you don’t want to hear and at a time when you definitely do not want to hear them. Luckily there was only the ‘Intelligent-one’ and myself to hear this profanity…ah well at least I suppose it was great to know that the ‘Cutie-pie’ was aware of his sounds and letters from an early age!   

Well by the time I had finished reminiscing I was ready for another coffee and my next round of pain killers. So I decided to sit in the conservatory where I’d get a better view of the birds and their daily routine. Which actually was a suggestion from one of the other sufferers at the Pain Management Group: he said that when the pain was really bad it was a good idea to take some time out, get a drink and sit and look out of the window in an effort to take your mind off the pain. To a point he was right.
Looking out at the garden, I wondered if this was how my mother had started her day once all four children had gone to school? I know when I was at college if I ever came home early I would find her sitting in the breakfast room with a china cup and saucer, a small plate with a fried egg ‘butty’ and she would be gazing out of the window watching her birds on their feeding table. So she definitely stopped and had her quiet moment. I also wondered what would my father be doing at this time of his day? He’s always been an early riser and has only just retired from his day job at the ripe old age of 84! Somehow I think he’ll be sitting with a boiled egg, brown bread toast, pot of tea and his newspaper whilst the soft sounds of his radio play away in the back ground…I can presume all this as this is how he started his Saturdays and Sundays when we were all still living at home and I doubt he’d change his routine now…just extend it to week days.

I also wondered what would my mother-in-law be doing at this time of the day? Do you know I haven’t a clue. I’ve known her for nearly 30 years and I haven’t any idea what she does. Maybe she will be sitting at her table with a paper and a cup of tea? I cannot imagine her watching the birds or listening to the radio. I’m actually thinking now how hard it must be to get up in a quiet house, sit alone at the table in the quiet, spend all day in the quiet and go back to bed in the quiet. With this chilling thought a pang of guilt gripped me and so I decided to give her a ring.

“What’s wrong? Who’s died?”

“No one, I just thought I’d say hello…”

“At this time of the day? I was just sorting my flower baskets out, they were looking forlorn with all this rain…”

“That’s good, I was just wondering what you were up to.”

“Good god, there’s no peace, you’re as bad her next door, always wanting to know where I’m going…”

Ah well, at least I know that she’s not lonely or moping ; and I could hear her T.V. in the background so she wasn't in silence either. So I returned to my coffee and my chair by the window.

This definitely was a lovely way to start today but wait what was that I saw out of the corner of my eye? I sat perfectly still…on no…tiny little black flecks on the window sill…tiny little black moving flecks…those bloody ants are back and guess where the ant powder is? 

Yes… in the shed at the other side of the pond that was once my garden…best get my wellies on then…

...good job I don’t have to be anywhere else then isn’t it…

 

 Blog 54 n...coming soon...next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 l...Conversations...

Blog54 l...

Does this ever happen to you? You are having a conversation about one thing and then it switches to another topic and then another topic and before you know where you are the original topic of conversation is lost in amongst everything else that is being discussed?

I have a cousin, who is a few years younger than me and is more like a friend, who visits and we talk non stop about a thousand things all at once and we move from one topic to another and back again. Over the years we have  almost refined it to perfection whereby no matter what distractions, interruptions or mishaps occur whilst we indulge in coffee, Earl Grey tea and home made cakes [her cakes that is, I’m afraid mine rarely turn out how they should and when they do even all cries of “Don’t eat the cake I’ve got visitors…” fall on deaf ears!] we continue our conversations right to the end. We start off slowly and talk in circles, smoothly changing the topics and covering everything from childbirth to weight loss or weight gain to house moving to education to health issues to decision making. We discuss more than a week’s worth of ladies’ magazines and in greater depth sometimes. As the day progresses we talk faster and try hard to resist the temptation to interrupt one another for fear of not finishing what we want to say. But always, well nearly always, we get back to the unfinished conversations that we had started off the day with after we had said our hellos and put the kettle on, several hours earlier!   

Or does this ever happen to you? A conversation can trigger a memory which takes over the whole conversation all together. This was the case for me and the ‘Hubby’ this past week.

Even though we are in the same house and indeed the same rooms for the best part of our time together, we rarely get the opportunity to just sit and talk; uninterrupted; peacefully listening to one another.

We used to sit at the breakfast bar and chat comfortably with a glass of wine, a glass of lager and a dish of crisps. Nowadays the house is busy with the sound of computers as the boys do their homework, the sound of quotations floating through the air as the ‘Intelligent One’ revises his Literature, the sound of “bloody hell that’s how it works!” as the ’Cutie-pie’ solves a Mathematical problem and the sound of music above the whirring of the hairdryer as the ‘Bridezilla’ performs her beauty regime. Not a night passes without the phone ringing or texting occurring. The noise of the television is mostly a background to the rest of the house and our routines.

So it was a pleasant trip to the polling station at the local school that gave us a few snatched moments of peace and conversation.

I have no idea what we were originally talking about but I suddenly got the fit of giggles as a memory of going to vote many years ago came flooding back to me. It was something I hadn’t thought about for years. ‘Hubby’ patiently listened as I recounted going voting with my sister, which I suppose was not as funny to him as it was to me, I suppose you needed to be there to see the funny side of it.

My big sister and I lived together in a grotty bedsitter on the outskirts of the City of Liverpool. We were both teaching and both disorganised when it came to anything outside of the classroom. So it came about one night after tea that we realised we had not voted. We set off with every good intention of placing our most important vote. We decided that as we had not lived in the bed sitter for long then we needed to go to where we had been living previously in order to be in the right polling station. As it was cold and raining we popped into the local for a swift half of lager, or two. Then we needed a local paper to see who we were voting for. Then we had to wait a good 20 minutes for the train which would take us on the 15 minute journey to our old place. 5 stops along the line and we were there. Alighting the train giggling we decided to set off in the direction that we thought we used to live in, but soon realised we were on the wrong road and doubled back to the station and started again. Then we came to what had been the regular pub and my sister couldn’t resist popping in to see if there was anyone we knew by the bar. After a couple more lagers we set off again with the intention of arriving at the local school which would be the polling station. Or to be truthful what should have been the polling station. Don’t they always use schools? This school was locked up and in total darkness. Slightly confused and most definitely lost my big sister admitted that she thought the school she had voted in the previous year was this one…however it could be a different one. So, a bit deflated we set off down the next street, along a few others, past the shopping centre and along the main road towards another school that she remembered. Then we saw the sign ‘Polling Station’ and a few people going into what looked like the Library. By this time it was very dark, we were cold and extremely giggly and there was no one about when we entered this building. The people we had seen were in the process of folding tables and moving boxes.

“We’ve come to vote.”

“Where’ve you come from?”

“Preston originally…”

“You can’t vote here.”

“Because we’re from Preston? That’s a bit off.”

“You can’t vote here…”

 “We may be woolly backs but we live in this area now.”

“You still can’t vote here…”

“Because we’re not Liverpudlian?”

“No, because we’re shut!”

Well of course ‘Hubby’ did understand totally what I was laughing about as he knew my big sister and knew what we could both be like together.

Naturally this recount led to another conversation about living in Liverpool; it also triggered the memory of another occasion when my sister and I were living together…patiently the ‘Hubby’ listened to this one sided conversation as I began…

You see the bedsitter was dreadful, cold, damp and cost a fortune in ten penny pieces and fifty pence pieces in the meter just to try to take the edge off the chill in the room. Heating the bath water was a nightmare as not only was it expensive but we had to stand guard to make sure that other tenants didn’t jump into the bathroom before us. A lot of the time it was warmer to get into bed and sit in the dark and watch television [A black and white one at that!] When the winter came we did everything we could to try to keep warm…and sane!

We each ate a school dinner, which usually involved a dinner duty but it was worth it as it was hot and cheap, we both stayed as late at our schools as we could in order to complete marking and planning in the warmth and light of the buildings. Then we met up at the bus station and walked to our grotty bedsit which was on the top floor of a Victorian terrace; it resembled a building out of the Dracula movies more than a building where you’d want to be.

Then one Thursday night we decided that enough was enough; we were struggling all week and then coming home to our parent’s house at the weekend. We deserved something good after working so hard. We deserved a treat. So, Thursday was to be our treat night.

In the village within walking distance of the bus station there was a row of shops and nestled in amongst these shops there was a tiny vegetarian restaurant. Just perfect for me as I was going through my vegetarian stage whereby no meat crossed my lips except after a few too many drinks on a Saturday night when I would happily succumb to the odd beef burger from the burger stand or the occasional vindaloo.

So it was decided that we would treat ourselves to the warmth of this eatery and gaily sat down to view the menu. It was a fabulous place. The dishes of the day were written in chalk on a huge blackboard. We were greeted by a young man who looked more like a drop out from the sixties due to his long hair and ear piercings as well as rows of home made bracelets. He was a friendly chap very keen to enthuse about the freshness of his vegetables. We ordered bowls of hot, home made soup and crusty bread and we washed it all down with schooners of sweet sherry [An old trick from years ago; drink a few sherries and the warmth glows within!] We sat at the table laughing and talking and discussing lessons. We were warm and happy and looking forward to the weekend ahead.

Each Thursday night we ventured cold and hungry into this restaurant and sat at the same table. We worked our way through the menu. The food just got better and better and with each trip the prices seemed to be cheaper and the portions larger. There were special offers and the deserts were meals in themselves! The staff were always happy to see us and the young manager always brought our first sherries to the table and stopped to speak, just general chit chat about the weather and shopping in the area. It was a great place to be. It was warm, friendly, cheaper than shopping and cooking in our bedsit and we could sit at the table and over a pot of coffee we would fill in report forms or pupil reading assessment grades without being disturbed: whilst making the most of the free lighting. One or two regulars would come in, nod, say good evening and sit further down the room. We arrived cold and hungry at the same time every Thursday and we left, warm and fed at the same time every Thursday night.

The months passed and we were facing the long summer holiday after which we would not be staying in that bed sitter. We decided that for our final Thursday evening we would like to treat the manager to a drink as a way of saying thank you but he refused to join us, thanking us profusely but he understood that we needed to work in peace. We enjoyed a fabulous meal, deserts and coffee followed by a celebratory glass of sherry. Before we left we both visited the toilets and on coming out we were chatting about how beautiful and clean they always were with fresh towels and sweet smelling soap and hand cream. The manager looked up at us and there was a look of relief on his face. We stood at the long, hand polished wooden bar to pay our bill and explained that this was our last visit as we were relocating…to which he commented; “We hope you will recommend us…” well naturally we replied that of course we would, our friends would love this place but unfortunately it was too far from home for them for a night out… looking puzzled he then added “Will we be getting your report soon?” We had no idea what he was talking about. I chipped in that the reports he had seen me drafting were for school and confidential. A look of horror crossed his face…he muttered “School…?”

'Yes,' I replied, and explained that we were both school teachers and that we came to his restaurant for the warmth but then the food and service was so good we carried on even when the weather was warmer and the nights lighter. [His nut and bean salad was to die for…] “But I thought…you… were Health Inspectors…” he stammered and pointed to my leather case bulging with files and paper work. For a brief moment we were both speechless…in fact all three of us were and then we laughed and he laughed and he shouted to his waiters and informed them that we were not inspectors but teachers…and that they would never see us on a Thursday night again!

We were not sure if we should have been flattered by that remark but nonetheless the situation was quite funny: no wonder we had such good treatment, prompt ordering and chatty waiters, good portions and then there was  the relief on the manager’s face when we complimented him on the state of his toilets…they obviously mistook our discussions and lesson writing to be connected with restaurant inspecting…the fact that we worked our way through his menu most likely confirmed what he was concerned about.

I often wonder if the restaurant is still there…it was the first of its kind and not popular to start with because it served unusual food combinations…but we loved it and we loved the smiles and waves of goodbye from ALL the staff as we left that last Thursday night…

So you see how a conversation can trigger memories leading to a different conversation…although perhaps ‘Hubby’ would probably say he was listening as opposed to conversing…

Blog 54 m...coming soon...next Wednesday...

[*the term woolly backs refers to people not born in Liverpool...from the North and refers to the sheep farming communities...!]
Copyright ©GML2012

Blog 54 k...Home Help...

Blog 54 k...Home help...

This morning I was out at the same time as the 'Hubby' and 'Cutie-pie' for an appointment and so I didn’t open the curtains quite as early as I should have. When I did, I was greeted with the Wednesday morning insight into our neighbours’ different lives. They are all so busy that for some of them the need for help in and around the home means that they have to have someone to do it whilst they are at work. So, looking out at the Cleaning Lady’s van and the gardener mowing the lawns and the window cleaner swilling his water down the drain and the dustbin cleaning van sterilising the re-cycling bins; I couldn’t help but think about when ‘Hubby’ and I were newly weds and I used to moan and say that I could have done with some extra help around the house to ease the burden of working and cooking and cleaning and shopping.    

Sometimes we should be careful what we wish for...

The mother-in-law was newly retired. She was bored at home. ‘Hubby’ asked her if she could pop round one afternoon and be in when the washing machine man came to repair the machine [again!] So happy was she to do this that she came early and set about the mound of ironing I had hidden in the airing cupboard [or hot press as it’s also known…or even the ‘keep’ according to the ‘Intelligent one’…he called it this because when I asked him as a youngster to get a towel he said where from and I replied sarcastically ‘from where we keep them...in the cupboard on the landing’ so having clued in on the word 'keep' it remains firmly in his brain as the Keep!]

Anyhow I digress, on returning from work later that day, early evening actually as was the case in those days due to Netball practice and then waiting for a lift home, I was faced with a mountain of freshly ironed clothes and bedding that I had been meaning to do but just never found the time…actually I used to save most of it for the holidays! ‘Hubby’ was delighted with his little self as his mother had also hoovered, swept, mopped the floor and polished all the brass ornaments…I used to have a lot in those days, it was the fashion but the novelty soon wore off once they kept turning dark brown as opposed to shiny! ‘Wasn’t it great to come home on a Friday night and have all your jobs done?’ he beamed…note the words ‘your jobs’…housekeeping has never been his strong point and of course this is what I had always said I would love...a home help just like other members of staff who had a cleaner, a lady dropping off the weekly ironing and a gardener keeping everything trim and weed-free leaving them with free time to enjoy their weekends.

Well, yes I was pleased, I could get drunk that night, sleep in on the Saturday morning and only start marking my school books and planning the lessons in the afternoon instead of trying to cram everything in. So that weekend I have to admit that I did feel less pressured. However, the following Friday morning, just as I was out of the shower, the mother-in-law arrived. ‘Hubby’ had decided it would be great if it was a weekly occurrence so as to help her get over her boredom and to stop me from moaning; and as she would be out of her house most of the day the dog had to come along too. OMG! I wasn’t exactly a slut in the household department but neither was I the most organised of creatures. My house had been a palace when I lived alone but since getting married and having ‘Hubby’ around somehow there were better things to do than fold clothes, tie back curtains, polish the brass and put the trash out. As for washing the supper pots…well there’s always tomorrow…same feeling about scrubbing the shower or dusting the window ledges…so on her return she must have been shocked to see that a whole week of living…and loving…had been going on in place of housework. Hair dripping, crumpled blouse disguised under a cardigan and laddered stockings, well yes I was a bit slutty in that department…I headed off to school with the worry of something I hadn't done. Deep in the back of my mind this something niggled away at me and just as I led my class into the Assembly Hall for Friday morning prayers I gasped as the realisation hit me… My diary... of course. And what had I written? Yes, you’ve guessed it…the ‘mother-in-law from hell’…blah blah…so fingers crossed she didn’t find it stuffed under the bed with a few odd socks and sweetie papers.

Of course she had found it, whether she had been tempted to read it was another story…it was placed NEATLY on my freshly made bed due to her having hoovered under the bed! That night she smiled as she explained how she had re-organised what little linen and towels I had so that they would not become damp in the cupboard, also explaining that she had hung all ‘Hubby’s’ shirts and trousers at one side of the wardrobe and mine on the other to avoid confusion in the rush to get ready for work…as if that would happen, imagine ‘Hubby’ donning a flowery dress and matching cardigan…mind you if the laundry was left to him he would be in danger of running out…same with the underwear…OMG my mother-in-law had seen all my knickers and suspender belts and naughty nighties…and she had ironed ‘Hubby’s’ poor neglected cotton briefs too! Nothing was sacred anymore!

This weekly onslaught of my home became more of an invasion, not deliberately I’m sure, but gradually it became like a hotel, nothing out of place, cupboards and drawers were neat, Thursday nights were now spent quickly swilling the bath, bleaching the loo, folding clothes and checking under the bed and sofa for any incriminating evidence…I even wiped inside the kitchen cupboards and finally got to the stage where Wednesday night had also become a pre-mother-in-law cleaning night too. During the day at break times when everyone was talking and drooling over the latest George Clooney episode of E.R. I was recovering from the late night of tidying up whilst ‘Hubby’ snored warm and snug in a freshly made bed.

This was no fun. This was not relaxing. ‘Hubby’ thought it all highly amusing until one Friday in particular…

We had a friend who was getting married and as was the tradition between us girlies we bought rude things for the hen party…you can guess the type of naughty undies and creams etc. We had a party whereby the lady selling these goodies would come to the house…this stuff is now so famous that it is a huge shopping experience with countless outlets across the land! Anyway, I had purchased some naughty flavoured condoms, a couple of bottles of creams, crotchless knickers and a blow up sheep…I know WHAT was I thinking!! But it would all be fun on the night to get the 'bride to be' to open these things and suggest ways they could be used on her honeymoon!

In a moment of madness ‘Hubby’ and I blew the sheep up to see what all the fuss was about…and we couldn’t get it to de-flate so we ended up putting it on the top shelf of the wardrobe in the spare bedroom: he looked the picture of fun in the crotchless knickers too! [The sheep that is…] The creams and things were not in boxes and so I popped them on the windowsill in the spare bedroom ready for wrapping. Now if you can picture this…many years ago a good friend of mine had bought me a real leather whip as a joke when I was teaching in an extremely challenging place and the joke was that I would soon “Whip” them all into shape. This whip was also in the spare bedroom on the shelf of the wardrobe next to the blown up sheep in the knickers…all safe and forgotten in preparation for the Hen–party…

Until that particular Friday…when I returned from work to be met by a stoney- faced mother-in-law and a very nervous looking ‘Hubby’…both left in silence as I thanked her for coming and waved them off. After he returned from taking her home he was not amused: he informed me that she had decided to tidy the spare room and after hoovering she progressed to dusting and looking in the wardrobe to see if there was anything in there that needed tidying also. She had come face to face with a blown up sheep which for some reason had actually fallen out of the wardrobe as she slid the door open and had become a source of great fun for her little dog;who lived up to his name and actually nipped a hole in it; he had managed to deflate it unlike us, plus he had run around the house with her in hot pursuit trying to retrieve the knickers [for which she apologised as he had ripped the crotch out of them…!] she had also noticed a whip with tassles no less and was most surprised if not a little disgusted by the names of the creams on the window sill…

Poor 'Hubby' had had an earful in the car from his mother whilst driving with her precious little doggy on the back seat…"if we didn’t want her to come over on a Friday we only needed to say; we did not need to blatantly display our preferences for the bedroom department…
...perhaps we could manage without her help on such a regular basis…" 

…if only I had known it was that easy I would have left the whip and stockings on the bed from the beginning…

Blog 54 l...coming soon...next Wednesday...
Copyright ©GML2012