Death by Lozenge

Do you ever get that feeling that only really cringey things happen to you? You know in the Guardian's Weekend magazine there is a questionnaire for various people, usually people who are lovies, asking them things like 'When were you most happy?', 'What are your worst traits?' .. that sort of thing? Well you know the question where the mag asks them what their most embarrassing moment is, is it just me or, apart from Fergie from Black Eyed Peas who peed herself onstage, are most of their answers pretty tame?.. Some even saying they never have been embarrassed, or have been turned slightly scarlet forgetting their lines in a theatre dress rehearsal. This is NOTHING.
I have had LOADS of embarrassing moments in my life, and what happened to me today will DEFINITELY be in the top 5.
(And by the way- I'll tell you all about Iceland trip shortly...)
I've just started working for the NHS and have just been on an intensive 3-day induction course. I've also recently developed a hacking, chesty cough which doesn't seem to want to go away .. I don't think going to a country which was -3 degrees during the day helped but anyway... So on Monday in our first "lecture", and bear in mind there are about 40 of us all crammed into this room, most of which are nurses, midwives, radiographers etc, not just us admin staff, I got a big coughing fit that went on for some time and was annoying and embarrassing, to the point where the man teaching us about infection control (coincidentally) stopped his talk to pass me a cough lozenge. But this is just the start- get this: I then, "cleverly" I thought, purchased some cough lozenges of my own for the next couple of days, knowing it was likely to occur again. This was all very well, the lozenges did their job, but today, feeling a little more relaxed, when I started my morning spluttering, I popped in a Locket. Only thing was the big fat smooth slidey thing suddenly became wedged in my throat so that I was almost convulsing on the spot like some sort of deranged woman, gargling and making weird wheezing noises. I must have gone bright purple and the sounds were similar something out of 'Gremlins'. And considering I was in a hospital, surrounded by medical staff, it was only the IT girl who came and gave me a huge slap on the back and managed to dislodge it. Oh how the shame. And thankfully, my humourous quips about it afterwards slightly diverted people somewhat from the dick I had made of myself. And oh how I breezed through my presentation that afternoon as nothing was ever going to beat the morning's spectacle in terms of humiliation.
And maybe, just maybe, it was my body's way of reacting to the shock of going back to work... scary stuff this work. It nearly killed me.

Soundtrack: Kaiser Chiefs- Oh My God

Wool

Just finished packing for my Iceland trip- oh it's a hard life. My rucksack is so full of woolly things I can barely close it,and tucked in there somewhere is my skimpy bikini for the thermal baths. I can't bloody wait! We fly out tomorrow from Heathrow, and I'm off to London tonight to join the gang for a pre-trip Babyshambles gig to start things off with a bang. I'm meeting Ellie at London Bridge dressed in my Bette Lynch fur coat and Ugg boots. I may well stand out from the suits. For the trip the four of us are staying in Hotel Bjork in Reykjavik and hiring a car to explore the geysers and beautiful scenery. Watch this space for Iceland adventures.....

Soundtrack: Sigur Ros- Glosoli

Look where pulling gets you...

After yesterday's 10 hour proofreading stint my eyes were so dried out I felt I had been on a 20 hour long haul plane journey. Luckily I got everything done so I didn't need to go in today. If I had I think my eyes would have bled.
BTW has anyone been watching 'Pulling' on Monday nights on BBC2? It's absolutely brilliant- like a cross between Sex and the City, Smack the Pony and Shameless. So funny and, sadly, so true to life. It's the kind of TV comedy I would love to write if only I had the motivation.
Onto a completely different tangent, Louise Wener was on Radio 4 yesterday (thanks Joy for the tip off) talking about child rearing and how much she loves it. Woman's Hour did a special on how bringing up children really effects you, and how there are lots of myths about how wonderful having kids is, even though some people find out different, and experience bringing up children akin to being thrown in a fire. There was Wener arguing my kind of corner, saying that although motherhood is really challenging, it is in fact the most rewarding thing you can ever do. She said that she knows that when she's older it won't be the gigs she's played or the books she's written that make her most proud, but it will be her two kids. Ah- what a lady. I agree, although I haven't had The Book published yet so you never know, it might take precedence. No seriously-I understand that for some women having a child turns out to be something they simply don't enjoy, and find hard to naturally get into. I have been very lucky, or should that be clucky, that I have loved and easily adjusted to it. Mind you- if you were one of the people who saw me liturally on my knees in the middle of Churchill Square Shopping Centre two years ago, weeping, while Sadie tantrumed beside me, you wouldn't know it. It took an hour for her to stop screaming, if I tried to move her she spat at me or kicked me, and people were staring horrified or giving me sympathetic 'maybe we should call Social Services' smiles..
Oh happy days.

Blue Collar Monday

Help! I've just been out and bought some office clothes and it's freaking me out. I guess I'm joining the rat race once more, albeit part time and in a role that I can throw myself into semi-consciously. Well- that's what I'm hoping anyway. If I used my whole brain I might start wondering what the hell I am doing as a writer working as a secretary again, and start foaming at the mouth or something. Oh well. Roll on the regular pay cheques, paid holidays and office politics. Ah- how I have missed it. Next Monday is my start date, which annoyingly meant I had to cut back my Iceland trip by 2 days. I will almost liturally be leaping out of the plane from Reykjavik into my Brighton Royal Sussex County Hospital Kidney Unit chair. Should be an interesting shock to the system.

Soundtrack: Black Box Recorder-Straight Life

Home

Having said that I love Devon for all it's tranquility, I actually started to go a bit loony on our last day there on Friday. Sadie had a high temperature so we stayed in the house all day and the cabin-fever proved to much for me; me who is used to a fairly hectic life, usually consisting of some time outdoors ('Her Indoors' I really am not). Sadie's constant whinging didn't help my waning sanity either. Luckily Saturday a.m we headed off, having blatantly spent too much time just with each other and in the middle of nowhere. We headed straight to London town for a complete antidote to all things rural. Don't get me wrong- I love the countryside, but it was a pleasant surprise to realise that I am an urban girl at heart, who likes to visit green open spaces once in a while, and not the frustrated country-bumpkin wannabe that I thought I was. It's great to realise that where you are is where you really are best.
London was a mad social whirl; we visited my in laws in Hampstead first for lunch. They've got this beautiful big house right by the Heath and it's always a pleasure to drop by. The Who all stayed there when they were filming 'The Kids Are Alright'. How cool is that? And Ridley Scott lives next door! Andy's mum, ever the opposite of all things glamourous, pulled out all the stops for us, and dug out another of her mystery casseroles. This time it had been in the freezer for less than 5 years, unlike the usuals, and we all sat around and did our usual 'guess what animal we're eating' competition, as she never knows one meaty stew from another. I guessed correctly that it was the succulent flesh and small bones of rabbit. She then remembered that the rabbit in question was one she had run over a few years ago and bunged in the boot of her car. She's a salt-of-the-earth Aussie you see. This type of culinery economy is the norm. Incidentally, the bunny stew was delicious.
That evening I ventured across to another of my old haunts, the Betsey Trotwood on Farrigdon Road. I used to enjoy many a lunchtime pint in there when I worked at the Guardian over the road. It's been done up now and taken over by the charming Scotty, Punk Rock Dolly's mate, who is lovely and looks like a young George Best. He's also from Sleaford which is the shithole I come from. He escaped aged 17 just like I did. Punk Rock Dolly and I were at the Betsey to see Pocketbooks, who were fab, despite the very cramped conditions in the basement venue. I took a while to spot my good friend Em, who is the band's singer, as all her fans have exactly the same haircut. When I found her it was great to catch up. I was designated photographer for the night (see blurry pic) and kept getting funny looks from people because I didn't have a black bobbed haircut and I was sort of leaping about to get some shots. Pocketbooks were great and I was sorry that I couldn't join the band later for Singstar back at Em's, but my motherly duties mean I have a midnight curfew most nights. Happy birthday today Em by the way!
We've then spent today gallavanting between Highbury and Hackney, catching up with relatives and friends over wine and food. Andy's brother Prof Tim Spector shared with me his "expert" knowledge of a woman's G-spot (ew- brother in law! but then he's just been quoted in the New Scientist so fair play), while Tom Andrews, ever the sophisticated host, shared with us his ever-revolting tales of too many drugs and porno clips. His poor wife. Unfortunately he is very entertaining company, plus he's Andy's best mate, so I have to grin and bear it. I sometimes miss London and the people we know there, but maybe like Devon, it's always more appealing in small doses.
Back in Brighton now and it's fab to be home. Always is.

Soundtrack: Ash-Burn Baby Burn

Only You

Having an only child is a rather intense experience- all the love and focus goes completely into Sadie, and sometimes it's hard to make sure she doesn't turn out a bit of a prima donna. Hopefully the occassional beatings I give her will put paid to that. No really I'm kidding, but it's rather heartbreaking when your one and only is growing up so rapidly. My broodiness I'm sure stems solely from wanting the last five years (or at least the rose tinted version) to happen all over again. Now that Little Spec has started school her development has been really speedy and it's freaking me out a bit. Not only is she about 3 inches taller, she is now reading, writing and talking a bit like a teenager (she actually now impersonates Homer Simpson when she makes a mistake...doh!). So I am savouring every last sign of her chubby, clumsy babyness, which still pokes it's cute little head out from time to time to remind me that she is still so young and vulnerable. I don't, for example, correct her when she says certain words wrong. I've kept the last remaining few for my own enjoyment. Of course, by secondary school I hope to have elimated them to avoid her head being flushed down various toilet bowls, but for now I'm keeping them.
Here they are:

Oxford Dictionary: Guitar
Sadie's version: Catarrh
OD: Spaghetti, SV: Sabessi
OD: Surprise, SV: Purise
OD: Magazine, SV: Magza-ine

I can only hope the next five years don't go by so quick.

Soundtrack: Stevie Wonder- Isn't She Lovely (cue mild nausea, but I couldn't resist)

P.S Hello to my new readers Andy and Sara who we weirdly bumped into in Slapton yesterday. Andy is Andy Spec's oldest friend from London so it was a bit of a coincidence. We had a great rest of the day with them as they invited us to their Dartmouth harbour-side holiday appartment for a take away. Lovely to see you all and enjoy the view with you, and do keep in touch x

Thursdays are bunged up

After last night's chilli con carne and beer we had a bad night's sleep. We were frequently awoken by one of us parping very loudly. We would then argue groggily about who was the culprit. It was more often than not Andy who had let off but we won't say any more about it. All very amusing and our bedroom smelt like a greek sauna by the morning.
Did anyone see the Brit Awards last night? I remember when it seemed to mean something and I am saddened by it's demise. We ended up turning over to a documentary about hypochondria for some proper entertainment. The Brits wasn't a programme about music talent but just a giant drinking competition. Most of the champagne-soaked guests made Amy Winehouse look remarkably sober. I found myself relieved to see Take That up on the stage. "Oh at last- some really nice chaps on the Brits for once instead of some arrogant pissheads..." I thought in my increasingly middle-aged way, and then Jason Orange slavvered into the mic like some sort of lairy bloke at a stag do and made absolutely no sense at all (not that I was that interested in what the chiselled jawed bore had to say anyway). God only knows what strength bubbly they were plying the celebs with but it seemed the whole place was pickled.
Finding it hard to write anything this week. Every time I sit down to try I get thoughts about the school's Book Week into my head, which I'm writing and reading out some children's poems for. I've already prepared three but it's like my brain has entered ga-ga land and I can't write anything decent anymore unless it involves fluffy small animals. I obviously can't multi-task with my creativity. My blog, for one, has lost it's irreverent edge I feel. I'm supposed to be creating a ten minute play for a competition in a fortnight (sounds easier than it is) and I need to get some more articles sold but it's gone to pot until book week is done and dusted. One thing at a time so apologies for lack of entertaining posts until then.
Oh oh- the Slapton ghost is back- he just put the radio on...oh no- he's put on a CD which is even more bizarre. And god he seems to like KT Tunstall.

Soundtrack: Suede-Everything will flow