Those were the days

Found this lurking in a pile of 'memory stuff':

It's a photo of school sports day 1980.  Our class (4L) won that year, and I can say, the rose-tinted hue of halcyon days aside, it was the best year of school for me.  My memory of it is that I was (for some obscure reason) very popular, and being in the top year of the school (the last before high school), I had the confidence of feeling a big fish in a small pond.  Even the most popular boy in the school fancied me.  Haaaa haaaaa.  Lordy knows why because I was a scrawny boyish looking thing with a foul temper.  Still - it's all about confidence and I was quite settled in my peer group back then, and I was very sporty and hence popular with the boys because I could beat them at PE and I played football at lunchtime. 

That's me in the middle, in white.  The one that looks like a boy Oliver says.  I rest my case.  The blonde girl on my right is Michelle, who I was re-acquainted with when I went to the Rosemary Conley classes in recent years.  She still has lovely thick blonde hair and married her high-school boyfriend.  She is still married to him and is a very, very nice woman.  The boy on my left is Stephen - the most popular boy in school of whom I speak.  He went by the nickname of 'Bogie'.  Don't ask.  Blonde girl next to Michelle is Carol, who had large breasts from the age of about 10, and was therefore extremely popular with the boys.  Her tits were the complete opposite to mine, which didn't put in an appearance until about 1983.  Funny isn't it, it was a deal then.  Now,  tits is tits.  Time is a great leveller. 

Next to Carol and partly obscured by Deanna, is Vanessa.  She is holding a smurf aloft.  They were popular then, the smurfs - the first wave of smurfs.  Smurf was my nickname, because I was a virtual dwarf at middle school.  I seem to recall being the smallest girl in the year. (with the worst clothes).   Anyhoo, I digress.  Vanessa was my best buddy then.  We drifted apart in high school while she dabbled with another friend (I have never quite forgiven her) but we held on to friendship, and now we email and meet up (by accident the last time) and I value her enormously.  (She won't quite believe that I am sure).

This happy golden year was led by Mrs Lee.  A fabulous teacher who liked me, and, sensing her liking for me, I flourished in my schoolwork and self belief.  She told me I would go a long way.  Have I gone a long way?  It's been 32 years, and that's a long way I suppose.  I haven't achieved something like 'hey, I'm a neuro surgeon', but I chose to home-teach my son, and I think she would like that.  She called me Chatterbox.  Ha ha.

Enough reminiscing.  The present is slipping away from me while I sit here.

Laters.

just remembered

Thought of something vaguely interesting to blog about.

 My last visit to the dentist resulted in being referred to the hospital to check out the 'callousing' on the inside of my cheeks and on my tongue.  I have to say at that point I was completely pissed off with my dentist, as the waiting room was filled with displays of pictures of rotting teeth and gums and grim messages about oral cancer, and an unexpected referral to the hospital is going to get ones heart racing somewhat.  I assumed that as I had Oliver with me, he didn't want to cause alarm by mentioning the C word, and I think, from memory, and in his limited social skills way he tried to say he didn't think it was anything serious, but I have carried a niggling panic at the back of my mind since then. 

Well, said hospital appointment came around last Tuesday, and I obediently trotted off to my appointment, expecting (and to be fair, praying and hoping for)  a quick poke around with a torch and a curt dismissal.  Instead I got a room full of kindly nurses and a chat about a tongue biopsy which they had lined up for me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fuckarooney.  It truly was a bottom-clenching 10 minutes.  I think I must have visibly paled with the realisation that invasive action was required, as they were incredibly sweet and gentle with me, as you would be with an simple elderly person, or a naive child.  Picture the scene: A nurse sat on one side held firmly onto my protruding tongue with a piece of gauze whilst the other gave me a local anaesthetic in my tongue.  She then sliced off a piece from the side (I'm sure it was no more than a sliver....) and put in a couple of stitches!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
Since I couldn't talk properly and was quite shaken by the time I got back to the waiting room, I had to tell Oliver the bare bones of my experience.  I then got to see him pale visibly. 

Anyhoo, the lovely lady said they think it's Lichen Planus - not cancerous, not contagious, not a quality -of-life impinging condition.  That's if it is that......or it just might be callousing.  will get biopsy results probably in a couple of months.  And it was bloody sore when the anaesthetic wore off.  I sat in McDonalds with Oliver watching him scoff a happy meal whilst I sipped at a SlimFast.  Yum.  Not. 

It ain't over 'til it's over

The kitchen is looking mighty cool, I can tell you.  I daren't go in there to take photos as Mark is doing the walls today and is a pretty pissy mood that he is having to work over the weekend again.  I think he thinks I don't appreciate it.  I do, I really do, but he doesn't accept praise very well, and indeed is quite ungracious with it, so I have stopped trying to offer it.  Also a bit tricky because I haven't much idea about how much work actually goes into what he does, so I am reduced to saying things like 'hmmm, nice hole in the wall there', or 'good brickwork', at which point he looks at me with such disgust that I wish I hadn't spoken at all. 

We went out to pick tiles this morning, and whilst at the checkout there was a display touting the joys of underfloor heating.  I sidled up to Mark to highlight the joys of underfloor heating in case the display hadn't caught his eye, and he seemed 'interested'.  The thought of warm tiles underfoot is a jolly cosy one, and will help keep the room warmer, as it is now pretty chilly as it is bigger, and we have lost a radiator. 

Here is the colour we chose, Sweet Caramel by Dulux:

Not going to set the world alight, I grant you, but it was on offer at £10 for a big tin, and I found that terribly appealing.  The tiles we picked are very pretty, in tones of beiges, pinks and an odd bluey one - mosaic-y. 

Think this is the most boring blog post I have ever done.

Sorry.

back in the saddle again

Well, it's been a week, I have access to the kitchen, and look where we are:

This is an amazing amount of space for me compared to what I had.

Look at my lovely long, clear work surface.

And my sexy under-the-cupboard lights.

And here is where Mark can put his crap when he comes in, so no more tripping over shoes and rucksacks.  Oh joy is mine.

He really has done an incredible amount of work in just seven days.  Taking down a whole wall, securing a supporting beam in its place, bricking up a doorway, plastering to cover all the yuck bits and both sides of the bricked up door, putting in new worktops and cupboards, installing lights, installing the cooker hood, and on and on.... I'm very proud of him and the way he applies himself. 

The less said about this end, the better tee hee.

There but for the Grace of God

I would like to share a couple of things with you which I chanced upon today, both of which moved me to free-flowing tears for very similar reasons.

The first was an email from Samaritans Purse about Operation Christmas Child, for which I have made up two shoeboxes of gifts/other items every year.  I stopped to read the story of some of the children who receive these shoeboxes and felt quite overwhelmed by the thought that for some kids, this was the only gift they would receive at Christmas.  For some kids, living in poverty, this represents the only toys they will have throughout their entire childhood.  And the fact that someone somewhere has bothered to put some things into a box for them seems to really be a thing of wonder for them.  Never again will I moan about the financial cost of putting these boxes together, I will be glad to do it.  In fact, I intend to do four boxes next Christmas instead of the normal two, and I will fund the cost somehow. 

The second thing was disturbing, and squeezed at my heart. 

This link was on a blog, and once I read it, and got a little concept and persepective on this lady's life, I felt lost for words.  Then this link completes a heartbreaking tale.  Don't read it unless you are prepared to cry.  I post it because I personally want the reminder on my blog that I am living the dream.  It wouldn't hurt me once in a while to stop and fucking appreciate it. 

!

another day another dollar

Wall down day 4.  Still dust, dirt and teeth-gnashing stress every time you want anything to eat or drink, but galloping along well - nothing much exciting to look at, but big steps in such a short time.

The ceiling supports came down this morning following installation of a new supporting beam.  That tardis in the middle is my fridge freezer btw. 

This is the sort of view that nightmares are made of:

Gave me a bit of a start in the small hours as I stumbled down the hallway for a wee.  Actually, I had a view from a hotel window once which was not unlike this......

For the crochet square swap,  (the very title of which caused Oliver much merriment and giggling) is up and a-running and here are my squares thus far:

The third one was a bugger I can tell you, and required assistance in the early stages. (thank you Kim). 

Finally got XBox live working - what a bloody hassle that turned out to be.  I'm sure it should be an easy process, and it's just me, but there was much swearing and fits of rage over that little debacle.  Also bought Just Dance 3 on Kinect - it's fabbo. I am still unbeaten, though Lordy knows how.  I am obviously just really good at hiding my worst errors and hitting the pertinent points at the right time, because, according to Oliver, I look more like I am 'having a fit' than auditioning for Pineapple Studios. In my minds eye I am a lithe and supple creature in slinky black with funky moves, but for the sake of reality, just picture the polar opposite.  And I ache all over.  Wonder if you can get a refund if you don't resemble Arlene Phillips after two days.

It reminds me of a time in the distant past that I popped into Tesco after a netball match one evening, all tight leggings, trainers and ponytail, bouncing along all skippy and fame-like, then I caught sight of myself in a full length mirror.  Blimey, the audibly shocked intake of breath had assistants running from all corners of the store to see what was wrong with the midget fat-arse in aisle 3. (yep, that was me, that was).