It's a game - but not as we know it

So, Canada.

I started to keep a diary whilst I was there, thinking this would be a good, cathartic exercise.  I used to keep a diary in my late teens, full of babyish twaddle, of course, but I felt as if I was achieving something at the time.  This time I did about three days, found it not to be as easy as blogging and subsequently couldn't be arsed.  Also I was pretty shocked at the state of my handwriting. 

So I am left to cobble together an account of our trip - aiming for a concise, witty, meaningful and accurate report.  Phnarf.

It all started so well - the dreaded journey by coach up to Heathrow wasn't half bad.  Made a little better by getting front seats and sniggering about the coach driver, Ron, who was a miserable Scottish bastard who I liked to think of as 'Laughing Boy Ron.'  Thus followed the flight.  Jaysus, long haul flying is truly a misery for those of us not fortunate enough to be prepared to part with a substantial amount of Wonga to fly above cattle class.  Awful, awful, awful.  I feel empathy with the humble sardine.  This coupled with trying to eat a meal (and I use the term meal loosely there) with your elbows tucked firmly into your ribcage whilst rubbing your nose against the video screen in the back of the seat in front of you, makes for a sense of real achievement upon reaching your destination without a) reaching for tranquilisers, or b) losing it completely mid-flight and screaming obscenities at all and sundry.

The relief upon flopping down upon soft, freshly laundered sparkly white duvets in our deluxe room was palpable.  The time difference meant of course that I awoke fully refreshed and raring to go at 2am.  An again at 4am, 5am and 6am.  Then I gave up, got up and went for a run along the waterfront, which was peaceful, beautiful and had the sense of a city waking up and ready to go - all very novel and exciting to me.  Followed by a swim in the hotel pool, a sit in the (very) hot tub under a blue morning sky and a (not to be repeated) hotel breakfast which cost us a jaw-dropping $80.  The breakfast was our first clue as to the cost of living in Vancouver.  We arrived with what I consider shed loads of cash, only to discover we were going to need to eat and sightsee fairly frugally if we wanted to get back to the UK financially unscathed.

A routine of early rising, exercise, swim and dip, doughnut and coffee breakfast, sightsee, Pokémon, tea, more Pokémon and early to bed left us all feeling a bit more vitalised with life in general.  (Well it did me, anyhow).  I vowed I would be early to rise and early(ish) to bed when I came back, but I seem to be needing at least 10 hours sleep all of a sudden, and cannot haul my cookies out of bed much before 10am right now.  Oh dear.  Maybe I should be trying to go to bed earlier than midnight, my body clock is all over the place. 

Oliver did not have a great tournament at the Worlds.  He was very disappointed and tearful, as were many other of the junior players who did not get as far in the competition as they hoped, but that's the way the cookie crumbles in the world of Pokémon.  Sometimes you just don't pull the right cards at the right time, sometimes you are playing against a player who has cards to foil even the strongest of carefully constructed decks.  He did, as kids do, recover his equilibrium quickly, and has come out of it having thoroughly enjoying the experience of playing Pokémon for 3 days solid against kids from around the world, not only during the competition itself, but socially in the evenings. 

I really enjoyed the buzz of the sheer scale of this competition.  Being US backed, there is a lot of money in it, and Oliver got some fabulous competitor freebies.  The prizes for actually becoming World Champion include an invite to next years Worlds with paid travel and accommodation, gazillions of dollars worth of Pokémon cards for a year and thousand of dollars in scholarship fees to cover tuition, books fees, whatever up to the age of 28.  I am very impressed with this prize, and think it a very forward thinking idea to combine a 'game' with such a fantastic educational opportunity.

All in all, I feel very much in love with Pokémon and we are in the throes of planning Oliver's road to qualifying for next year - to be held in Washington DC. 

Vancouver, all in all, felt very 'new', which, of course, it actually is.  It's history only stretches back as far as our Victorian era, and the oldest building there is a church which you can find ten-a-penny over here.  One of the tourist officers was telling us how her children were studying history as a series of projects, and that the UK was going to be left to last because 'there's so much of it'.  And that makes me feel very smug.  We are a country of a long, rich and varied history, and it's a nice feeling.

Enough blatherings.

So to pics. 

Nutritional delights, ahem: breakfast from Tim Hortons.

Night side view from our room:

 

Panoramic view from the hotel pool:

 

Mark and Oliver sampling the delights of the too-hot tub.

The Pokémon vehicle rolls into town:

Competitor's badge: a very proud moment:

Improptu gaming around the hotel: 

 

Tournament day.  Here are the GB boys.  These were the top four Junior finishers in the UK Nationals, and whilst they had very little to do with each other that day, at this tournament they gravitated to each other - nice to see.

 

Good game,

Not so good game.

Oliver is the one in the hat in front of the scary looking judge.

The last game of the weekend:  In the gaming room with his new-found friend from Tasmania, who he is staying in touch with.  The kid spectating here is the US National Junior Champion, who came 6th in this Worlds.  Apparently on the day he and the judge did not see eye to eye, causing the boy to fling his cards down and refuse to shake his opponent's hand.  Ooer. 

Out and about:

We picked the coldest day to go up to Grouse Mountain.  In shorts.  Bloody freezing.  We did not get off at the top to see anything, just jumped right back on the chair lift to come down and sprint to the café.  Bloody tourists.

Lions Gate bridge:

Capilano:

 

That's me blogged out for now.

 

Laters.

Welcome home

Yesterday we arrived back from Vancouver.

I have lots to say, but today I am tired, tired, tired.

Flying long haul is nothing but vile.  Travelling by coach from one dirty grim coach station to another in order to fly long haul is worse than vile.

I hate travel.

I miss Vancouver with it's big, wide streets and big, wide harbour with sea planes coming and going and cruise ships arriving and departing with loud blasts of their horns.  I miss Starbucks coffee at every turn and I miss the view of tall buildings from our large hotel windows.  I miss sunny skies and afternoons spent by the hotel pool and the only decisions needed are whether I go for a run or go to the gym, and whether I scoff one doughnut or two for breakfast.

And this morning it is raining.

Sigh.

But I don't miss the impersonal way of city life.

Or the homeless beggars. 

I'm off to feel flat and fed up.  And to the supermarket because we have no food. 

The only way is up.

Laters.

on me uppers

Howdy Doody.

I find myself with time to spare, so a little catch up is in order.

I should like to note the arrival of the new heir to the throne.  I am a big Royalist, and it makes me happy to see the British Monarchy thriving and drawing interest from around the world.  I am also happy that I have earned myself £45 from betting he would be called George.  Heh heh. 

This is a turning into a great summer.  Having spent many summers whining and spitting furious embittered rants at the sun, heat, and anyone within earshot, this year is different. 

Different for a few reasons.  Firstly, I have had my colours done, and gained some confidence in the clothes I am buying and wearing.  Secondly, I have lost over a stone in weight meaning that choosing new clothes in my colour spectrum has been from a wider range of styles than previously.  Thirdly, I have been wearing shorts.  That's - shorts.  Short shorts.  For knocking around in the hot days at home, out and about, and walking to the park to play tennis in.  And not worrying about pale cellulite-covered flabby thighs.  They are still a bit flabby, but thinner in width, and lightly tanned from my fourth reason that this summer is different - a week in Lanzarote in June, meaning that my English summer got off to a good start by not having to work on pasty body parts in the confines of the back garden for weeks on end with endless layers of factor 50.

O joy to the world. 

This is the new wardrobe I am dressing myself from, give or take:

And this is me today:

In teal and aubergine.  If Picasa Photo Editing let me, I would have whittled a couple of inches from my hips and pasted on a smile, but hey, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. 

We have been making impromptu trips to the seaside, which has been simply lovely.  There are so many beaches within ten miles of us, it is wonderful to live in Devon.  The sea has been divine this summer - cold, but not icy.  Refreshing in the extreme, and the smell - the smell whilst swimming in the sea is beyond compare.

Only one of these Mr Whippys is actually mine.

Really.

Today we ventured into town for a long overdue eye test for me.  After many years of wearing glasses due to short sight, I had my eyeballs zapped in 2006.  Since then I have had no problems with vision, but find that lately I am having to squint at small print and hold jars and packets at arms length to read them clearly.  The optician told me with some glee that I could do with getting reading glasses now.  READING glasses??!  I tried to argue the toss, but he rolled his eyes, sighed audibly, and in a very pained voice, said, 'don't look so depressed - jeez.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyway.' 

Fuck me! 

Is this the standard of eye care I can look forward to in my dotage?

I very sulkily, and with much ill-grace it has to be said, chose the cheapest pair in the shop.  I can't see me getting them out the drawer anytime soon, particularly as Oliver fell about laughing as I was trying them on. 

Might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Shady Pines Rest Home for Gentlefolk and have done with it. 

A lunch in Starbucks was a tonic after this - I had a £10 gift voucher for my birthday (thank you Kim!) and as our chosen foodies and drinkies came to £9.95, I could not have been happier.  The only thing which would have made it better was if I had noticed that Starbucks was actually situated opposite the opticians in the High Street as I came out, and not, as I thought, half a mile away opposite the museum.  Buggeration. 

Lastly, we went top shopping in H&M.  It's good to take Oliver with me - his unique perspective on suitable clothes is always helpful.  In between admiring himself from several different angles in the changing room mirrors, he throws me a 'yeah, that's alright, get it', or 'oh God no, that's awful' and an occasional 'that shows your flabby bits'.   Truly he is an invaluable personal shopper, as he doesn't seem to give a shit about my feelings, only what I look like on the outside. 

That's my boy.

a change is not ALWAYS as good as a rest........

Once Mark starts a job, things really start to rock and roll.

We (the Royal we, obvs) are converting the loft into a room for Oliver, thereby offering him more room, more privacy and Mark and I get an office to share from his old room, to boot.  Happy days.  I knew I would have to not whinge and whine about mess, inconvenience and actual, physical work as things progressed, but even I was stunned by the sudden announcement that I would have to clear the office in preparation for the ceiling to come down - like - almost now.  Cripes, it's only day 1.

I am often overwhelmed by the enormity of tasks.  In fact they usually become insurmountable as I stand and observe with growing horror.  I obviously knew this room would have to be cleared out as that is where the staircase will be going, but had given no thought whatsoever to when or how this was going to actually, physically happen. 

Whimpering like a girl, I went with a heavy heart to gaze upon the chamber of horrors. 

I leaned against the door for support, lest I fell into a state of hyperventilation and gibbering.

And the computer lives in there too.  Zut alors.  Not only did I manage to disconnect the four zillion and twenty two leads and wires that go with it and move it to it's new (and very snug) location, but I also re-connected it and got it working again.  Yes - Internet and everything.  I am a computer genius.  Bill Gates eat your heart out.  The printer foxed me though.  I had a spare lead when all was said and done, and the printer wouldn't come on.  After some cussing and mechanical pokings I thought to myself, oh fuck it.  Don't need it anyway.  It seemed to work much better several hours later after Mark connected the spare lead from the printer to the mains.  Haaaa haaaa.

To cut a long story short, 'tis done.  The sense of achievement is huge, I don't mind telling you.  Our bins are nearly full of shite that I clearly should have been living without anyway, but everything is stored neatly into boxes, and I feel like a really Good Person. 

In fact, buoyed up by my sense of worthiness and accomplishment, I announced over lunch that I would cut the hedge.  With garden shears, no less.  No electrical equipment necessary.  It took fucking hours.  But I did it.  Not with much good grace I have to confess, but I didn't moan out loud, so that's good.

Look how bleeding long and huge it is. 

 

Meh.

 

 

And there's one to match the other side. 

Don't even go there. 

Literally.

And look who I found whilst a-snipping.

Mr Big Spider having his lunch.

And at the end of day 2, here is where 'we' are:

Laters.

of cabbages and kings.

As the walrus said.

It's been so long mes amis. 

I'll start with the biggest news.

A few weekends ago we travelled to Birmingham NEC, where Oliver competed in the UK National Pokémon Trading Card Game Tournament.   You can see Oliver, wearing the black hat, in this clip at about 1 minute 25 seconds along. 

To cut a veerrrry long day short, he won!  He didn't drop a game all day and took the Junior title.  It was all a bit of an adrenaline-fuelled blur at the end, with overhead cameras filming the finalists' every move, and endless camera shots being taken by a professional photographer.  As well as the massive thrill of being UK Champion, he has won an expenses paid invitation to the World Championships in Vancouver in August. 

I know.

Scream scream.

Pokémon.inc will pay for Oliver plus parent to travel there (and back, thankfully) and hotel accommodation for 5 nights at this hotel.

Some prize huh?

Forgive the crappy photos, because of course, I left my camera at home and had to use my mobile.  Of which I am not Master.

 

 

 

 

This also means his player ranking has been boosted to 2nd in the UK, and 100th Globally.  I am amazed at his ability to play such a game under the kind of pressure there was on the day.  I was, quite frankly but not literally, shitting myself.  It was a day filled with squirmy tummies and caffeine-packed lattes.  Mark had to keep 'going off for a walk' as he couldn't stand sitting still and waiting for the more crucial games to finish. 

The day culminated in an near anxiety attack on the way home for me - something which has not happened to me for almost twenty years.  I blame the excess of caffeine (I have massively cut down in the last couple of weeks) and my seeming inability to distinguish between excitement and anxiety.  This is now my ongoing project to deal with - ending my swift descent into fear and anxiety in situations where a normal person would feel joy and excitement. 

The following weekend saw us flying off to Lanzarote for a week with my parents.

It was quite lovely, and a balm to my soul after the jitters of the previous week. 

Oliver enjoyed his 11th birthday, and grew tanned and taller. (that last bit may just be my imagination).

 

View late afternoon from the cool shade of my sunbed on our terrace.  Ahhh, be still and soothed, my troubled mind.

 

Mark and I are growing thinner, which is a very weird thing to be part of, having suffered with the podges for several years.  The 5/2 is really working well for both of us.  I have now lost a stone - a whole stone, which I thought I would get nowhere near - but it has been a fairly painless - only suffering intense dieting boredom for my waking hours on two days a week is a very bearable price to pay.

In a moment of weakness, I have succumbed to the bunting frenzy. 

Truthfully I have been 'working' on bunting for a while, with a seasonal project in mind, but kept shelving it.  So I gave in to the quick fix bunting here.  Sigh.

Some other good news is that Oliver had one of his regular hospital check ups and his HbA1c result is the best it has been since he was diagnosed.  The consultant said that this was 'as good as it gets' for a diabetic child -  and all is 'well'.  I use the inverted commas for obvious reasons there.  I feel ridiculously pleased that he is still emotionally coping admirably with his condition and that we are managing his diabetes well.

There is probably other major stuff I have omitted, but I haven't typed this much in weeks, so must rest a-while. 

Gadzooks.

Edited to add:  We have coughed up the extra zillion quid to go for a few extra days and for us both to go with him.  Judging by the cost of flying to Canada, I cannot see us ever going there again so we will make a bit of a holiday of it this time!

a quacktastic weekend

On our way to Shute Barton (more in a minute) on Saturday, we almost ran over a dozen little ducklings running aimlessly in a little team all over the road.  There was no sign of their Mum, so we turned around and drove back with ill-conceived thoughts of a duckling rescue.

Seemingly, a couple of other motorists had similar ideas, as between us, we stopped traffic completely on one side and two chappies and myself herded panicked baby quacklets into the hedgerow where we scooped them up, passed them to Mark stood on high on a bank and er, tossed them into the neighbouring field.  One of the blighters was comically waddling off, at some bloody speed it has to be said, down the road so I had to leg it after it.  Had a bit of a scare that after committing myself to chasing it in front of an audience that I wouldn't be able to match it's pace and I would be exposed as a failed Townie Huntress.  Ducklings are surprisingly easy to catch.  And very sweet, and very tiny.  As there was an adult duck flying around I have dreamy hopes they were reunited and have lived happily ever after.  A lady shouted 'good job guys' from her car window with the thumbs up, and the whole little episode left me feeling happy and heart-warmed that sometimes people do still give a shit and will put themselves out to collectively do some good. 

So, with dirty hands and aglow with the milk of human kindness we pressed on to Shute Barton.  This place is only open four weekends a year, and by guided tour only.  Personally I like guided tours, as you do learn more, but it is hard going sometimes what with the pedigree of every beam and brick being pointed out.  When not having its innards gawped at by tourists, the house is let out by the NT for £3000 per week to up to 10 guests.  'Tis nicely done. 

 

 

 

 

Here we are, a little slimmer I like to think than we were after Christmas.

Since Friday I have been trying to knit socks, ably assisted by this aggressive American chick.  So far my success has begun and ended with the purchase of wool and needles, as my attempts to cast on 40 stitches have now reached double figures and undertaken with the fierce concentration of someone studying for a degree in astrophysics.  I have empty needles and a crossly crumpled pattern to show for my efforts, but I will give it another go when I have an empty house and four hours to spare.  Ha ha. 

Cooked this egg curry on Saturday night.  Sorry the pic is blurred.  I was under pressure because my very hungry and impatient husband was stood behind me tapping his foot and tutting as only he knows how.  It was spookily good, and not at all the seriously bad wind-giver I feared it might be.

Fasting continues and I have now lost 9lbs since 22nd April.  I am now at my lightest weight and fast approaching the stage where I get bored with the relentless necessity of calorie patrol.   Blimey, it's only been a month and I've had enough already.  Staying power is not really my thing, clearly.  I am however really pleased that the jeans I had to undo in order to eat my lunch comfortably are now needing to be pulled in by my belt for a good fit.  I have also taken to regular plods round the block again - much easier on my hips and knees at over half a stone lighter.  Yesterday I went twice around and still didn't collapse on the pavement afterwards from respiratory arrest.  It is a good, good feeling.  As Janet Dibley likes to say in the very hilarious Fat Friends:  'Nothing tastes as good as thin feels'.  She is more than probably right, but life is short my friends,  and there are many calories to get through. 

I have spent the last two weeks buying clothes in chocolate brown, navy and apricot, with scarves in orange and red.  As silver is apparently not the colour jewellery for me (gutted) and fake gold looks veeerrrrry shiny and tacky, I have gone for bronze-y stuff.  To this end this caught my eye on ebay:

Which, when it arrived, is approximately the size of a mobile phone.  I threw my head back and howled with laughter.  Again, I have fallen foul of paying heed to measurement when buying on line.  All is not lost however, as it does look ok.  I think.  Although Mark did snigger and say 'twit twOOOOOO' when I got in the car on Saturday wearing said amulet. 


Sunday saw us giving this a go:

Which I found all terribly complicated and involved much rule-reading.  It's so old that the rules talk about the money in terms of  guineas and shillings.  Flip.  As if I weren't confused enough.  I think it's me - I am getting denser by the bloody day.  But an enjoyable family afternoon nonetheless.

I have had a hankering for a Barbour jacket since last Wednesday.  My well-heeled friend at work wears one and this has immediately appealed to my sense of being easily influenced.  I spotted this one (new with tags and all) on ebay. (I love you ebay):

Which is in my colour range, and I wanted it to be mine.  But I missed the end of the auction, and it sold for £77.  Which is a bona fide bargain in Barbour world.  Ironically, I missed the end of the auction because I was covering a shift for the friend who is the Barbour-wearer whilst earning the money to pay for the bloody thing.  Meh.

The weekend was topped off nicely with the remains of a rather nice prosecco whilst watching Dr Who from the comfort of the sofa on my kindle.  Which I didn't understand.  At all.  In fact, reading back over this post it seems I have spent the last three days in a spaced out dream not knowing what the fuck is going on.  With anything. 

Tripping along happily in a world of my own: 8    Firing on all cylinders: nil.

I blame the lack of calories.

being done, in more ways than one.

I have been ticked off for lack of posts, so, suitably chastised, here I am.

I have been meaning to blog, because I want to bore the tits off you all with tales of calories, but I have been distracted by the thrills of my high-octane lifestyle. 

Not.

So - fasting.  The 5/2 diet.  Hmmmmmmmmmm.   I am 'doing it', although I feel a bit at sea with it as I am currently signed up for Rosemary Conley,  and when I go along to weigh in I feel a bit of a fraud as it isn't strictly down to that particular diet as the reason I am losing weight.  Although on my non-fast days I am still stringent on calorie consumption, and do not stray over 2000 for the day.  I find fast days ok, as I tend to do them when I am working in the evenings, and therefore not distracted by the 'bugger me I need a drink' Demon.  Coming home at bedtime sure helps the whole process along.  And I weigh a whole two pounds lighter after each fast day.  My next weigh-in is Thursday, and I should have added to my 6 pound loss by then.  Or else. 

Yesterday I had my colours 'done'.  Or rather, I attended a colour analysis session with an image consultant.  I don't know if I mentioned it before, but I have wanted to do this for quite a long time.  It is judged a girly pursuit, and therefore deemed 'not up my street' by anyone I have spoken to about this, but as I am a secret girl, I was very excited yesterday morning when I woke up. 

An article in a local mag led me to a House Of Colour consultant, and, buoyed up with the frustration of fruitless clothes shopping, I booked an appointment. 

It is a shocker to be faced with staring at yourself in a mirror with your hair covered and your body swathed in white whilst varying coloured scarves are draped around you to determine a colour palette.  I found it fascinating to note how very obvious it is that certain colours do nothing but drain and dull your face and how others immediately lighten and enliven.  Amazing.  All colours are blue-based (winter and summer palette) or yellow based (autumn and spring palette).  I am no colour-scientist, but there is a very visible difference between a cold shade and a warm shade of the same colour.  If you know what I mean.  Not sure I am making any sense, but anyways,  turns out I am a soft autumn.  And very pleased about it too, as these are shades I have always drifted towards, but 'grown away from' in later years. 

 

Whilst I will not be extravagant enough to bin my entire wardrobe as 'wrong', I will not be seeking to add to the colours which do me no favours, and instead will focus entirely on shades I know will make the best of my skin tone. 

Fab. 

Today has seen the arrival of the new Pokémon set of cards - Plasma Freeze.  Wa-hey.  Apparently.  Oliver has been banging on for a while about this set - being released 'pre nats'  (before the Pokémon National annual competition for those of us not fluent in poke-talk).  Out of saved pocket money and an amount we have stumped up towards his birthday present (which falls just after the 'nats'),it is still an eye-watering amount of dosh. 

He is still without the cards he absolutely essentially definitely must have, even after opening a box of 360 cards, and Mark and I are feeling a tad bum-sore after being royally shafted by Pokémon Inc. 

Moving swiftly on to something I actually do believe very worth the money - The National Treasure that is The National Trust.  On Monday, an unusually fine and glorious Bank Holiday in these parts, we went along to Barrington Court with Mark's sister and family.  It was my dear SiL's special birthday, and it was lovely to do something with them. 

A few piccies, but this is one of the best bits of the NT properties - the land and feeling of space around them.

And I love to see these two at play.