Monthly Archives: August 2004

Mud,mud, glorious mud

is what Ms M adorned the carpet with at 7.30 this morning as she crawled in from the annual mud fest at Reading. She then crawled off to bed, and was still there snoozing away when I got back from the last lap of our church weekend. A good time was had by all; she’s learned how to wash her hair in a bucket of cold water, and is the proud owner of a pair of green wellies. We’re hoping that the rain will hold off long enough for her to dry her tent out in the garden. Having sat unaired and undried in the loft since Reading 2003, its likely to sprout mushrooms if we’re not careful.

Meanwhile I’m recovering from our annual church weekend. Strange beasts, these… In the past I’ve found them to be a bit of a mixed blessing. There are similarities to Reading and its ilk, I’d guess. You end up panda eyed through lack of sleep, plus have a splitting headache from a hangover or three, There seems so often to be this hothouse atmosphere – a sort of general consensus that if there aren’t spritual fireworks the weekend hasn’t succeeded. I find this hard to cope with, being a quiet, retiring (and cynical) sort of bunny. This appears to be changing, now, or maybe it’s just me that’s changed. (Actually, it’s more likely due to the fact that this year I decided that the call of my own nice, comfy bed was too strong, and booked to travel in each day. Hence a happy absence of panda eyes, hangovers etc). Instead, I had the delights of how shall we put it, waterworks problems, due to overenthusiastic consumption of tea and coffee. I reckon you can learn far more in those conversations over a cuppa, than ever you can in the offical ‘sessions’ however good they might be. (And they were good – just in case anyone I know is reading this! :D)

I also learned that my British Trampoline Federation bronze jumps do NOT work on a bouncy castle (ouch), and will be checking my life insurance before next I take part in a barn dance. I shall however, be seeking counselling for the trauma inflicted by compulsory participation in kiddies’ worship songs. Come back, ‘If I were a butterfly,’ all is forgiven!

Here’s one I made earlier…

Yay’s Olympic desserts put me in mind of the old ‘Blue Peter’ Oxford-Cambridge boat race jelly I made when I was a little Miffy. Any Britblogs out there old enough to remember it? No, I thought not. Lime jelly, boats carved from bannanas, and peanuts for the crew. Being a consiencious (sp) child I worried that the water wasn’t the correct colour, but blue jelly is hard to come by.

I was also put in mind of the famous ‘R’ from far off schooldays this week, as I cleared up the cat’s latest offering. She was famed for having informed the careers teacher that she wanted to be a ….ahem….well…let’s just say remover of waste matter with a shovel. It was the first thing most of us remembered about her nearly twenty years later when we all met up for a grand reunion. I only wish I’d had the nerve to say similar. Although R ended up in teaching, I think.

Anyway, this week’s little ‘pile’ was probably my fault. I’d tossed the dog’s blanket into his toy box the night before, and the poor cat being caught short miles from his litter tray must have thought someone had kindly left a second toilet out for him. Not what you want to discover at crack of dawn when your mind should be on other things! Of course, the cat is probably paying me back for depriving him of his favourite meat in gravy. Since the kennels discovered that the high protein content of the gravy gives him the runs and put him onto dry food, we’ve followed suit. Only to find that the dry food does exactly the same! And again, it could be the effect of hourly running for his life from the dog. That’s enough to make any respecting cat lose control of his faculties.

I wonder, does St Paul have ‘ahem’ removal down on one of his nifty little lists of spiritual gifts? If so, I may have stumbled across my calling (the usual ‘calling’ being "Muuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm! M’s thrown up/done a poo on the carpet/the dog’s eating it!") I fear Mr M feels much the same way at the moment with all the stuff being thrown at him by family, social services etc. Lately as I’ve been sitting there in hospital, unit, on the phone (well, not literally), in the street or like this week, in the shop listening to people chuntering on (must be something to do with the fact that I don’t talk much), it’s occurred to me, we could open a recycling plant with the amount of other folks’ mess we’ve shovelled.

Profound thoughts for me, I know, but it is Sunday tomorrow, after all!

p.s. Talking of the shop, I nearly passed out in it on Thursday, and no, I’d not been slain in the spirit; Ms M had just told me her As results. 🙂 Don’t know where she gets it from, I really don’t.

Which reminds me

… Mr M has said that he’d be delighted to go to ‘Let God Spring into etc etc’ campsite (just down the road from where we were staying), if I’m willling to accompany him to a site (also situated conveniently nearby) where the use of my bright blue lycra tankini is rendered unecessary. 😉

And no, this is nothing to do with my summer school revelations!

I’m back!

From a fortnight ensconced in a mobile home with three males – Mr M, little M and his friend D. And despite the distinctly scatological atmosphere, we managed to settle into a happy routine of sleeping in, cycle rides to town (the boys), pool (both kinds), beach (Mr M), nightly games of Risk etc (males – I’m not sure D’s mum will thank us for teaching him Poker), and general pottering around, (me).

And judging by the sounds heard over the phone when we called Ms M at home, a good time was being had by all there, too. I could have sworn I overheard one night that they were having a ‘heater party.’ Enchilada? Empahda? Either way, it needed a lot of washing down – if the pile of smirnoff ice and Jack Daniels bottles we found occupying the cat’s feeding area yesterday had anything to do with it! But to give Ms M credit, she did make them all plough through umpteen healthy stir fries, courtesy of our weekly organic delivery man and his boxes of goodies. I reckon some of them will have consumed their entire year’s worth of fruit ‘n veg during the first two weeks of August!

Also a medal goes to Ms M for her decorating of her little brother’s room. It’s absolutely fantastic – blue and white with a skateboarding theme. She even fixed lights, made a mini window seat and hairy cushions, matching chair upholstery, curtains, a blackboard, and as a finishing touch, bought little M a pile of box files – each labelled with its respective GCSE subject. She’s exhausted, and no wonder. (Although I’m sure the 5 am bedtimes didn’t help!)

I’m wondering what that mysterious reference I made to the aftermath of summer school back in my last entry was all about? It’s strange how things fade so fast after a few weeks away. What was I supposed to be revved up about? Can anybody enlighten me, please?