Night of a thousand poos

Firstly, let me tell you that I now know what it sounds like when lightening strikes a spot just a few yards from your flat. The answer is: extremely bloody pant-wettingly loud.

Secondly, yesterday morning heralded a two hour cleaning session to remove kitten poo from pretty much every surface of the flat. Bless their little furry socks. Rudy has diarrhoea and left a trail, in a similar vein to Hansel and Gretel, that showed exactly where he'd spent his evening. Then at some point, the kittens somehow shut themselves in the bathroom (i.e. far away from their litter tray) and...no, I'm not even going there. Suffice to say that tiled flooring and close proximity of a shower are truly a blessing.

Furry babies

Ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen: meet Rudy & Gertie. They are 11 weeks old brother & sister and are currently chasing each other like crazy around the flat!

They were donated to the Mayhew Animal Home when they were about 3 days old and have been there ever since. Now they've come home to Weybridge and I hope they'll be happy here next to the lake. I mean, what cat wouldn't be?

My sister is going to kill me. She reads this blog so: Sorry Jen. She's allergic to cats and didn't want me to get one, but then again she does live in Yorkshire...

They're gooooooorgeous.

Sleep is for wimps

Well, the rose-tinted spectacles I've been wearing for the past 3 years at work have finally slipped and I'm seeing the cold, grey, light of day peeping above the rims. It's been a bloody nightmare for the past month or so and I'm now officially exhausted. I mean, I'm not pretending that I've enjoyed every single day for the past 3 years (6 if you count my training) but overall I've still been able to say 'yes, I do really love my job!' with a smile on my face. Now, the smile is more of a grimace and the best I can manage is 'it's alright...'

Ah, it'll pass I'm sure. It's just that boring office politics happens in the midwifery world too and staff shortages are...well, I'm sure you only need to read the Daily Mail* to get an idea of how bad they are. Now I'm the boss (ha!) I'm being dumped on all the time and I'm fed up. I would like to have a weekend off. Or even a day off. No chance sister.

Oh stop your bleedin' moaning.

*Not that I'm suggesting for a second that you actually would

The question is: does he do children's parties?

Canvassing opinion

So here's the thing. I was chatting to a friend of mine today, Abby, on messenger (she's currently living in Koh Samui - yes, yes I know I have the most glamorous friends) and we got to talking about life frustrations an' all. You know: work; money; men. The usual. She suggested that I'm in a perfect position to go and do a bit of travelling. I mean, I'm single, own a nice flat which would rent easily and should cover the mortgage, have transferable skills. I countered with the fact that I'm actually a bit of a scaredy cat.

But the more I think about it, the more I think it might - just might - be a good idea. To be honest, I probably wouldn't go and work as a midwife abroad (too many variables in the job which, along with a high level of responsiblity, I'm not sure I fancy much) but as long as I could cover the costs of my flat here with rent (which I should be able to do - just - I reckon) and I could earn enough doing bar work or whatever to live on abroad, it might be do-able.

So. What do you think?
a) Should I do it (or at least look into it seriously)?
b) Where should I go?
c) What should I do when I get there?

Comments please...

Ahoy!

Wow! Amongst all the fab presents I got for my birthday - gorgeous bracelet, DVDs & CDs, beautiful flowers, jug/vase, Come to Denmark Ladybird book, Hairy Biker's Cookbook, jug with Weybridge coat of arms on it, Cath Kidston designed picnic backpack and many more besides - my dad & step-mother Jackie bought me a boat. Yup, a real life beautiful wooden rowing boat, which they bought from eBay and have spend the last couple of weeks doing up. It's amazing and am so chuffed I can't begin to say. So much time and effort has gone into it that I'm really touched, quite aside from the fact that I clearly now have the nicest boat on the lake! I couldn't resist a quick jaunt out before I headed out for dinner this evening:


I'm just off to pick up Mole and Badger...

Isn't it fantabulous? If you've over this way and fancy a tour of the Broadwater, I'd love any excuse to take it out!

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear meee, happy birthday to me...

Great Danes

...and so I had a lovely time in Denmark with my cousin. They live in the northern part of Jutland, in a tiny, two road town called Ørsø. Very rural. I'm talking 'walk over to the next farm to buy eggs, only one shop in the village' kinda thing. They have two bedrooms, one of which is normally their son Benjamin's, but which (unbeknown to him) he kindly offered to me. This meant, gawd bless 'em, the whole family were squashed into one room for the week.

It was an action-packed week, Camilla had lined up some cool visits for me. For example, we went up to see the birth centre where she had her daughter. I chatted to a couple of the people working there and we talked about work-load etc, whereupon I was told that they had around about 130 births. A month? I asked. No, I was told rather incredulously, 130 a year. Just to put this into perspective for you, my unit back home does 4,500-5,000 per year. There are no doctors there and they have two birth rooms, both with pools. Women and their partners can stay for up to a week following the birth and the food is fabulous and plentiful, as it is all over Denmark. Hmmm. I offered to learn better Danish and come and work there too. Because the weather was so good (it's ALWAYS good when I go to Denmark. I'm beginning to think the climate is somewhere akin to Antigua), we also popped over to have a quick dip in the sea in order to cool off. We paid a visit to one of Camilla's ex-boyfriends (also named Jesper) who is now married to one of her best friends, and who lives on a pig farm. Well, this is Denmark, after all.

On that note, I was disappointed to note that, once again, I came back from Denmark unable to speak the language fluently. Okay, so I suppose one week is not really long enough to learn a language but goddamn it I really feel like I ought to be able to speak this one. Very annoying. I did my best, and picked up a fair bit more than before I went, but still. Gah, as my friend Lisa might write. Maybe I'll go and live there for 3 months or so, that should do it.

Camilla and Jesper have two of the most gorgeous children around, Benjamin & Josefine. To Benjamin, I suspect that I remained 'that weird woman who stole my bedroom and talks funny', but I think I managed to win over Josefine, who, at 16 months old, wasn't that fussy about whether or not I spoke the same language as anyone else as long as I could feed her and help her put her wellies on. It was Benjamin's 4th birthday while I was out there and he had a party with some of his friends from Nursery. The cake was a damn cool giant Danish pastry (known as Weinerbrød in Denmark). The children sang Happy Birthday to him in English, which was fascinating because of course they had absolutely no idea what they were singing and, as a result, some of the words sounded a little odd. But then, I suppose, it's a bit like us learning Frère Jacques by rote...


On the Saturday evening the neighbours came over to throw an axe. That's not a metaphor. I had seen a large target out in the back garden and had idly assumed that it was for archery or something. But in fact, it was for the old Viking art of chucking axes, which is harder than it sounds. They're heavier than you think and to actually chuck it hard enough, and high enough, to get it to spin and hit the target is pretty bloody difficult. My first few efforts were disappointing - thought I should point out that several other members of the party couldn't hit the target either so I didn't feel too stupid - but, as I'm not a quitter, I kept on at it (long after everyone else had buggered off) until I managed to hit it bang on. Then I quickly stopped while I was ahead. I ached for several days following that. Then we played an old Viking game called 'Cube', which was like a cross between cricket, boule and quoits. We played boys vs. girls and although I hate to, ahem, boast, we thrashed them.

I brought my iPod over to Denmark with me and I showed it to Camilla and Jesper one afternoon. They couldn't believe how many songs you could fit onto it - my iPod is actually over four times bigger, memory-wise, than their home computer - and when I showed them my iTrip and began playing my songs wirelessly on their ancient kitchen radio their jaws hit the floor. They got the neighbours over to show them too! I thought for one horrifying moment that I was going to be burnt at the stake as a witch.

Oh one more thing. All week, I saw the kids watch telly precisely once. The rest of the time they were outside playing. Denmark has half an hour's children programmes every evening, between 6pm & 6.30pm. The one night we watched it, it was a Swedish programme called 'Emil' from 1972 (along the same lines as Heidi I suppose), about a boy who lived on a farm with HILARIOUS consequences, which the children watched rapt with attention. It was 25 minutes long and so when it finished, there was still 5 minutes of children's time left to go. So what do you think they showed to fill the time? Five whole minutes of someone stroking a parrot. Seriously. You have no idea just how long 5 minutes is until you have watched someone stroke a parrot for that long. I laughed so hard I thought I'd break something.

My cousin gave me a lift back to Aalborg station for my journey back to the airport, which because of the connections and the fact that it involved both a train and a bus, meant I got to the airport about 3 hours before the plane left. I'd thought that it would be okay, I'd have a wander round the shops. I arrived and looked on the flight board to check the flight was on time: well that was easy, since my flight was the only one left that day. Okay. So, time to hit the shops. Or should that in fact be 'shop'. Three minutes later I'd been there done that and now had 2 hours 57 minutes to kill before I flew... And I'd finished my book. Thank goodness for the iPod and The Geoff Show podcast I say!

Keep The Faith

I went to see Bon Jovi in concert last night at Milton Keynes National Bowl. Perfect weather for it of course, particularly given that doors opened around 3.30pm and you had to get their early to bag your space. There were ALOT of people there; around 70,000 if rumours are to be believed (and are they? Don't ask me, I'm a hopeless judge of crowds. I just know it was BIG).

Nickelback were supporting and they were excellent but the spectacular set only came into its own when Mr. Jonathan Bon Jovi Esq. and his boys came on stage. It sparkled and danced, whirled and entertained all on its own, which was just as well, given that - as you will no doubt note - the band might was well have been a bunch of performing ants for all we could see. The sun, not wishing to be outdown by a mere stage, also decided to put on a little performance of its own as it set.

Now, I've never been to a big stadium-style gig before. I'm much more used to turning up at the Shepherd's Bush Empire an hour or two before the gig, grabbing a pint of watery coke and trying not to stick to the floor all night. So, you can imagine, that this was a new experience for me. Also - and this is where I have to be careful not to come across as snobbish or elitist in anyway* - the clientele was a little different to my usual fayre. I am a dedicated people watcher at the best of times but this really was the most amazing fodder. Nuff said. You were not allowed to bring food or drink into the arena, other than SEALED bottles of WATER no larger than 500MLS - we brought four since it was so bloomin' hot - and the refreshments provided were ridiculously expensive, naturally.

Now think of how many people were there. If I tell you that between the two of us, we spent a total of £102 - £70 plus £10 booking fee for tickets, 4 beers, 1 Coke, 1 Calippo and a portion of chicken & chips - you can imagine how much money they must be making. And we didn't even buy any merchandise!

I think my favourite part of the evening was something that highlighted a modern phenomenon. When the old favourite Living on a Prayer came on, the view of the crowd in front of me suddenly looked like a million fireflies had appeared. It took me a moment to realise that it was in fact thousands of camera phones being held up...

I was supposed to have gone along with my friend Suzie, who originally bought the tickets, but she is quite heavily pregnant and has been really ill so the poor love very reluctantly handed me her ticket as she thought being stuck in the middle of a large crowd rocking out in a field whilst she was copiously vomiting was probably not the best plan. So instead I went with David, which meant that we got seats in the disabled enclosure and had our own toilets. Result! There really are advantages for the disadvantaged...

Now, here's the confessional: I'm not really a huge Bon Jovi fan. That said, I think they've done much for the rock scene over the past 20 or so years and not many bands have the staying power that they've shown so you gotta give 'em credit. They adopted Rock God Stance (legs wide apart and slightly bent: check. Upper body tilted slightly back: check. Orgasmic grimace: check) after relentless Rock God Stance and cheesed their way through hit after hit. Jon has aged terribly well and actually came out for the encore wearing an England shirt (last season's, I should point out) which made the crowd - bunch of footballing types that they were - go wild, so bless him.

There were three Norwegian girls behind us - clearly of the sapphic persuasion - one of whom was in a wheelchair and had 'Keep The Faith' tattooed on her arm. At the first note of Living on a Prayer, she was helped to stand by one of her companions and she then proceeded to blub her way through the rest of the concert. Aaahhh, you're probably thinking. Well I'd have had more sympathy if she'd SHUT THE HELL UP throughout the rest of the performance rather than jabbering away excessively loudly, nineteen to the dozen with her friends and blowing smoke in my bloody face.

How many of you have I lost now?

*and will no doubt fail

I'm in love. Seriously. You have to try this; it's amazing. I always knew their chocolate souffles (anyone know how to get an e with an accent over it without cutting and pasting from Word?) were fantastic but now they've moved their choco-expertise into the ice-cream market...well. And what's more, it comes in the coolest little polystyrene box - cool being the operative word. I just left mine out for the past hour and it didn't melt even one little bit.

Roll on summer picnics...

You put your left leg in, your left leg out...

So what exactly is it, do you suppose, about my left leg? This morning I woke up with an additional four - count 'em - bites, this time around my left knee. Terribly itchy. The buggers.

Three more bites - left ankle this time - and counting...

So Bland the Con of Man

Did the Da Vinci Code thing. Had to be done. It was just what I expected: ok.

When I read the book - before much of the hype fortunately - my friend Rosie told me that I'd probably really enjoy it, but I would hate myself for doing so; I knew exactly what she meant. You felt like you were being manipulated on every page and I wanted to rig up some sort of sound effect button so at the end of every chapter I could go 'Da da DAAAHHHH...' Hmmm. That might not come across. Anyway, I actually thought it was written like a film script so I was unsurprised to find that the film worked quite well as a thriller, if you like that kind of thing. Which, generally, I don't. Thought Audrey Tatou was underused and just came across as a bit petulant to be honest. Ian McKellan was the best thing in it.

Have discovered the downside to living next to a lake: the insects. If I leave my window open of an evening, the place is stuffed full of them and boy! do they like me. I suppose I should be flattered, but I woke up with 9 bites the other day and it's hard to take that the right way. The strange thing is, the bites were nearly all along my stomach, right where the waistband of my pyjamas were, not to mention the duvet that was on top. Maybe they took pity on my sad, single status and were just trying to snuggle with me.

My television blew up the day before yesterday. Well, to be honest, it's not even my television, which makes it worse of course. I've been borrowing it from my dad & stepmum while to try to save up for one of my own (proving harder than I thought - this 'owning a flat' business is bloody expensive) and the other day it suddenly went BANG! and the picture died. The sound is fine, strangely. Any ideas? Worth getting it repaired or would it be prohibitively expensive? I need to get one of my own anyway so maybe I should just bite the bullet and buy one, there seems to be loads on eBay but too much choice leads to much indecision, I usually find. In the meantime, I have a 14" portable that I've put in the lounge which is fine, as long as I remember to bring my binoculars...

So: any makes I should avoid/seek? Any features you find are indispensible?

The Web Co-operative

I love a good podcast, me. And they don't come no better* than The Geoff Show, which is the most consistently fabulous show on radio. For example, a couple of weeks ago they did a podcast-only broadcast, where they discovered that if you put cheap white wine through a soda stream, it tasted just like the very best champagne. Tomato soup was less successful. Just so's you know. They also have 101 phone-in topics (listed on their website) which include: 'I work in a photo developing lab and guess what I once saw', 'Shop names/road signs/people's names that make you sing a little song in your head' and 'Inanimate objects which you can't help putting on your head or wearing in some way'. Tonight they mentioned that they are starting a 'web co-operative' where, if you link to their show from your blog (check), mention them in a posting (check) and then inform them (check), they'll link to your blog from their website. Coolerama.

They also have been discussing the following legal quandry: if a conjoined twin was found guilty of committing a murder, but the other twin had nothing to do with it and was found innocent, what kind of sentence (if any) could they expect?

Answers on an e-postcard please...

*You just can't tell I'm from Surrey, can you?

Wonderful Wonderful Dronninglund

I'm off to Denmark! I'm going for a week next month, when I was just going to be arsing around on annual leave anyway, to visit my cousin Camilla and her husband Jesper. I shall also get to finally meet her daughter Josefine and see her son Benjamin for the first time since he was 6 weeks old. Cool. And the best bit? The total cost of the flights came to a whopping £22.

Taking orders now for stinky Danish cheese and flaeskesvaer...

Did you see this? One of those 'watch through your fingers' moments. Oh the look of shock/horror on his face when they announce his name...

Crack open the champagne...

...dust down the chandeliers and give me a leg up onto the back of a Polo pony; I have finally joined the ranks of the rich and famous and got myself a Gold credit card. Oh yes.

It all started when I received a letter from Virgin (boo! hiss!) telling me that the rate on my current card was being increased to 25%. What?! I only have a fairly modest balance on there - by most people's standards anyway - a balance I'm trying at the moment to clear completely, but at that rate it was going to take me forever. I also have one other credit card with a much smaller balance with my wonderful bank, First Direct. I decided to take the advice of the most excellent Martin Lewis, at Money Saving Expert, and called First Direct to ask them if they'd cut my rate. They said well, no, but given that you earn so much money (yes, the secret's out, I am the only person the NHS pays a FORTUNE!) we can convert your card to a Gold card and then we'll give you a preferential rate. That will do nicely. I've now transferred my balance from Virgin so they can stick their 25% right up their...

Lake Perry Como; or Three Countries In One Day; or How To Come Back From Switzerland With Your Bag Zipping Up The Other Way Round

So Sunday morning my friend Suzie and I, deeply glamorous couple that we are, flew off to Milan. We landed in Bergamo and picked up the hire car I'd, erm, hired. I was the Tour Manager - as the blog name suggests - and had done all the booking, printing off of confirmation numbers and vouchers, took care of the passports and boarding cards and arranged for transport at 5am to Stansted (thanks Dad!). All went smoothly, natch. I drove us to Como (via Lecco in case you're interested, rather than taking the less interesting route via the motorway. Yes, more risk of getting lost but hey, we were in no hurry). Como, as many have since informed me, boasts George Clooney as one of its inhabitants and no, before you ask, he hadn't asked me to stay. This time.

We arrived in Como and called Linda (my friend/former student/client and mother of the baby - Chiara - being Christened), who informed us she and her boyfriend were having lunch with several couples who had flown in from England and we headed off to join them. During a meal featuring the best pesto I've ever had, Linda mentioned that Paddy and Anita, a couple from Australia living in England, were thinking of going to Switzerland. How lovely, I ventured, how long for? Oh just for a quick drink! came the reply. Huh? Where is Switzerland then? I asked. Oh, about 20 mins that way... Why not?

So after a long-winded attempt to find our hotel (Como, despite the best efforts of the Tour Manager with my usually excellent sense of direction, is a one-way tangle of a nightmare) which involved an urgent stop off to pass water in a highly unsuitable and unpleasant location (I'll leave that story there I think) we ended up meeting up with the lovely Chris & Sue, also staying at our hotel, and driving over to Switzerland. Three countries in one day. I'm practically American.

Switzerland was lovely and very picturesque as you can see. We went for a nice walk in a park and had a drink at a bar. I had to get some Swiss Francs out as we only had Euros - what fabulous looking currency! At some point I went to put something in my bag and to my dismay, the zip came off in my hand. Damn. I really like that bag (Clarks, would you believe?) and spent the rest of the time in Switzerland fiddling with it, trying to repair the damage. If anyone's ever tried to force a zipper back onto a zip, you'll know just what a futile experience it can be. So imagine my surprise when I attempted to be inventive and try fitting it on the opposite way it usually zipped and voila! (or the Italian equivalent) it slipped on a treat. I used the bobbin pin that I keep tucked inside the inside pocket of the bag for adjusting my windscreen washers (yes, I really am that person) to secure the dodgy end and the bag was as good as new. Practically. Still throws me when I try to zip it open but I'll get used to it I'm sure. Back to Como for a meal, although what with it being Sunday night and us not actually heading out till 9.30pm, we found it difficult to find a restaurant to accomodate us and ended up going to the only restaurant in Italy that microwaved pasta dishes for us. Hmmm.

The following morning was the Christening. We followed Linda to the church and sat through the service which was, naturally, in Italian, so we had no idea what was going on and just followed everyone's cues as to when we were supposed to sit/stand/kneel. I swear to God that at one point the priest said something about 'Joe Pasquale'. Suzie agrees. The church was elaborate, as all good Catholic churches must be. Chiara was very good when the priest tried to drown her and merely looked mildly surprised, as though this wasn't quite what she had planned for today, but hey, why not? The weather was lovely and we milled around afterwards whilst everyone fussed over Chiara, looking very pretty in her pink dress, and who eventually got a little bored of us all.

Afterwards we went to the church hall for a little light refreshments and chit chat. Linda's brother is a chef and had prepared a little bit of food...and then some. What a spread! Parma ham on the bone and a huge hunk of gorgeous parmesan, as well as lots of antipasti and little bits of, well, all sorts of stuff. Yum. Lots of Sicilian wine (I had orangeade). Also a chef outside deep frying little bits of artichoke, courgette and even courgette flower in batter, which was absolutely delicious.

When we'd eaten and drunk our fill the English contingent headed off to Como, as Linda's niece was being Confirmed - we couldn't take any more kneeling/standing confusion - and Suzie and I decided to head up the funicular railway to see the view. Very nice indeed. Back to the restaurant where we had the fab pesto for dinner - hey, if it ain't broke?

Back home on Tuesday morning. Boo!

Has anyone got any kirby grips?

I was just driving home with my friend Sophie after a lovely night out in Kingston (Gourmet Burger Kitchen followed by Carluccio's for after-dinner teas) and as we were travelling down Queen's Road from Hersham towards the roundabout by Sir Richard's Bridge (for those of you who know the area), we saw a baby deer leaping off the road and into some bushes. We think it might have been a monkjack deer, though heaven knows what it was doing there...

Inevitably, we went all gooey.