Monday 10 October 2011
Monday 26 September 2011
My daughter, My Hero
The other day the sciatic nerves in my back produced a pain so bad that I lost my footing on the way to the fridge and fell backwards onto my tiled floor. The pain was so bad that I couldn't actually speak, then I erupted into a series of short sharp breaths as I tried to call for Stephen. Poor Allana who was playing upstairs with daddy at the time came down the stairs to find mummy in a terrible state on the floor, I was crying due to the pain shooting up my spine when she ran in saying, 'whats wrong mummy, mummy what's wrong.' Still winded all I could say was, 'get daddy.'
She stood up to walk towards the living room then she looked at me and turned back, she knelt on the floor and stayed with me as she shouted for daddy. My little angel wouldn't leave her mummy's side. She was very brave, despite getting upset. She stroked my cheeks saying, 'it'll be OK mummy, daddy's coming soon.'
Stephen ran downstairs to help me to my feet and put me to bed with my medication whilst Allana brought my sticks, got my drink and wet a flannel for my face. She was a real superhero as she closed the curtains and sat next to me and read 'Aliens in their Underpants.' I couldn't be prouder of my caring little sparkly bloo.
For a three year old child she has not only had to master how to put on her own socks but how to help mummy put hers on as well. She has learnt how to call for help if I'm rendered unconscious and has a lot of responsibility for a toddler. She makes her own bed, washes herself and gets dressed and even gets her own breakfast, all under my supervision. You see I had to teach her these skills early on so she would become as independent as possible. It makes me feel like utter shit at times, that my child has to help me so much. But she is always keen to help.
My spinal injury occurred during childbirth as a result of scoliosis. I never had many problems with my back as a teenager or even going into early adulthood. I was really quite lucky at the time. But now the doctors can do nothing for me, there is no surgery that can be done, the only treatment available to me is pain management. Which consists of lots of painkillers and horrid injections every few months. I had to teach myself to walk again after Allana was born, we kinda learnt together which was fun. And every day I have gotten stronger because of her.
She is the reason I strive to better myself; to push myself to become more than what I am. I have a special bond with my daughter. And when she looked into my eyes as I lay in crippling agony on the floor. I saw the best of me reflected in her eyes and it was a beautiful but very painful moment. She is bright, cheeky, sensitive, caring, loving, moral, naughty and adventurous just like her mum. She stood firm even when she was scared and she is only 3 years old. The woman she will grow to be, will be a woman worth knowing. She already is someone magnificent who has touched the lives of the many people around her. If I do nothing else with my life I will die a happy woman knowing that I gave the world a great gift; I gave the world Allana-Rose.
I will love you forever my precious baby girl.
Hugs and Kisses
Mummy
xxxxx
She stood up to walk towards the living room then she looked at me and turned back, she knelt on the floor and stayed with me as she shouted for daddy. My little angel wouldn't leave her mummy's side. She was very brave, despite getting upset. She stroked my cheeks saying, 'it'll be OK mummy, daddy's coming soon.'
Stephen ran downstairs to help me to my feet and put me to bed with my medication whilst Allana brought my sticks, got my drink and wet a flannel for my face. She was a real superhero as she closed the curtains and sat next to me and read 'Aliens in their Underpants.' I couldn't be prouder of my caring little sparkly bloo.
For a three year old child she has not only had to master how to put on her own socks but how to help mummy put hers on as well. She has learnt how to call for help if I'm rendered unconscious and has a lot of responsibility for a toddler. She makes her own bed, washes herself and gets dressed and even gets her own breakfast, all under my supervision. You see I had to teach her these skills early on so she would become as independent as possible. It makes me feel like utter shit at times, that my child has to help me so much. But she is always keen to help.
My spinal injury occurred during childbirth as a result of scoliosis. I never had many problems with my back as a teenager or even going into early adulthood. I was really quite lucky at the time. But now the doctors can do nothing for me, there is no surgery that can be done, the only treatment available to me is pain management. Which consists of lots of painkillers and horrid injections every few months. I had to teach myself to walk again after Allana was born, we kinda learnt together which was fun. And every day I have gotten stronger because of her.
She is the reason I strive to better myself; to push myself to become more than what I am. I have a special bond with my daughter. And when she looked into my eyes as I lay in crippling agony on the floor. I saw the best of me reflected in her eyes and it was a beautiful but very painful moment. She is bright, cheeky, sensitive, caring, loving, moral, naughty and adventurous just like her mum. She stood firm even when she was scared and she is only 3 years old. The woman she will grow to be, will be a woman worth knowing. She already is someone magnificent who has touched the lives of the many people around her. If I do nothing else with my life I will die a happy woman knowing that I gave the world a great gift; I gave the world Allana-Rose.
I will love you forever my precious baby girl.
Hugs and Kisses
Mummy
xxxxx
Sunday 25 September 2011
Would You Stop An Intruder?
A recent debate has erupted surrounding the law regarding a home-owners right to defend their property after Vincent Cooke 39 stabbed and killed Raymond Jacob with his own knife whilst trying to force his way into Cooke's home. This subject that has sparked outrage with victims of burglary crime since farmer Tony Martin was sentenced to life after shooting and killing 16 year old Fred Barras in 1999. At that time new laws were introduced that allowed home-owners the right to defend one's property with 'reasonable force.' But with burglary and knife-point robberies increasing, the law needs to clarify exactly what is deemed as 'reasonable force.'
Under the terms of the 2008 Criminal Justice and Immigration Act, home-owners can use "reasonable force" to protect themselves against intruders. However the term 'reasonable force' has been under scrutiny after Munir Hussain chased down and beat a burglar with a cricket bat causing brain damage after his family were tied up and held hostage at knife-point. He was told he was going to be killed by the attackers. Hussain was sentenced to 30 months because his attack on the robbers was viewed as a 'revenge attack' that happened after the burglary had taken place. One of the attackers Salem was awarded an absolute discharge as he was deemed unfit to plead after the attack. 'Philip Davies, MP for Shipley said, 'It is as if he (Salem) has got a licence to commit as many crimes as he likes, knowing he'll never be sent to prison. This is what happens when the rights of criminals are put before law-abiding people.'
It is the general opinion of many home-owners and victims of burglary that they should have the more rights than the criminals. Mick 43 London said, 'I would use force against an intruder, after all I don't know what their intentions are, that person could rob, rape or murder my family; so I would do whatever I could to protect them. It's wrong that victims of crime are sent down for protecting their homes whilst the criminals go free.' It is the general consensus of most, that people just don't feel safe in their own homes any-more and that the judicial system is crumbling under the weight of repeat offenders because we need our justice system to be tougher. My late grandmother was attcked and mugged on her own doorstep, the attackers were never caught.
The Government recently pledged that they would alter legislation in order to clarify what constitutes as 'reasonable force.' Justice Secretary Ken Clarke commented. 'If an old lady finds she's got an 18 year old burgling her house and she picks up a kitchen knife and sticks it in him she has not committed a criminal offence and we will make that clear. We will make it quite clear you can hit the burglar with the poker if he's in the house and you have a perfect defence when you do so. However Mr Clark did continue to say that you would not be entitled to protection if you chase them down the street, shoot them in the back when they are running away or organise gangs to go and beat them up." However wether this government can deviler on these promises is another matter entirely.
Defining this law is essential, it could strengthen our judicial system by restoring the faith of victims who feel that injustices have been served. These steps will help people feel secure and protected knowing that they are not going to prison if they defend their homes and families. Burglary is a crime that goes beyond the stealing material possessions, it is an invasion of your home and people are often left feeling violated, helpless, unsafe and frightened for a long time afterwards. So these changes are welcomed but will take time to put into place.
In the meantime, until these changes take effect here are some guidelines issued by The Crown Prosecution Service regarding this issue.
http://www.cps.gov.uk/publications/prosecution/householders.html
If the content of this article has affected you please contact.
@lushworldtweets
www.kat-lushworld.blogspot.com
Saturday 10 September 2011
Why George Lucas has become the Emperor
Rant of the month
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUkCJDkG3fg
What made the originals so great was the interaction with all the actors. The script was well written and the actors delivered believable performances and was then coupled with great special effects. CGI should never carry a movie, grand landscapes do not tell a story, it should be invisible to the eye and used to allow the film to progress the narrative in the correct setting according to the plot. But Lucas went overboard with the CGI and neglected the fundamentals of movie making which was to deliver a captivating story with believable characters. And if that wasn't disappointing enough then came the whoring of Star Wars.
I do not class myself as a Star Wars fan by choice, it happened whilst under duress. You see when I married my husband, I also had to accept I was also marrying George fricking Lucas because my husband is a massive Star Wars fan. The strange thing is he doesn't consider himself a geek; yet we have a loft full of books, board games, computer games, toys, AT-AT's, Storm troopers plus we have a large statue of Boba Fett that sits in our office. He has an intimate knowledge of solar systems, can speak Mandalorian and knows the background stories for characters you only glimpse in the film, because of the amount of literature he reads regarding the Star Wars universe. And so after 16 years together his unwavering passion for Star Wars has inevitably rubbed off on me. I've had to listen to Star Wars inter galactic politics over dinner for so long, I could apply to become a senator myself. I can't go a single day without my ears bleeding Star Wars trivia. So imagine my outrage when my husband heard that Lucas was releasing the original trilogy on Blue-Ray format and decided to tamper with the original footage – AGAIN.
Now before I begin my rant I have to pay homage to Lucas for his innovation and ability to entertain. He unknowingly created a universe within a film that would capture the imaginations of children and adults for generations. He created timeless cinema and used cutting edge technology and special effects which lead the way to a new frontier of film making. And then he went and screwed it all up by making the worst prequel trilogy ever.
Now I don't care what the films, (that shall not be named) grossed. Because it's financial success does not equate to the poor quality of movie that we endured under the Star Wars Logo. If the Phantom Menace was released on it's own without the strength of the original trilogy behind it. It would have flopped in the first week of opening. It was utter tripe, the actors were wooden mainly due to the appalling script; good lord don't get me started on that, the bad guys had no presence or character and the ones that were cool weren't utilised enough, The romantic interest between Padame and Anakin was unbelievable and I couldn't care less if they all died horrible, horrible deaths.
Most of the people who went to see these film's were the original fans who had grown up loving a New Hope and the Empire Strikes Back; and so they took their children, with the HOPE that their kids could experience the magic of the Star Wars universe as they once did as children. And they were faced with Jar Jar Binks, the most annoying character ever created, glorified special effects and a film with characterless characters.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUkCJDkG3fg
What made the originals so great was the interaction with all the actors. The script was well written and the actors delivered believable performances and was then coupled with great special effects. CGI should never carry a movie, grand landscapes do not tell a story, it should be invisible to the eye and used to allow the film to progress the narrative in the correct setting according to the plot. But Lucas went overboard with the CGI and neglected the fundamentals of movie making which was to deliver a captivating story with believable characters. And if that wasn't disappointing enough then came the whoring of Star Wars.
I have no problems with the Lucas making tons money from his creation, it's his right. But I feel that all them years ago in 1976 when Star Wars was in production, Lucas was in it for his love of movie making, he was a true creative artist, and his ambition allowed him to create a film that has stood the test of time. However somewhere along the line it became all about the dollar sign. He has become Hollywood's most notorious movie pimp. I can't count how many times he has whored Star Wars to make a quick buck, especially with all the multiple DVD releases with added features and bonuses and blah blah blah.
Currently his latest endeavour to cash in on the classic trilogy is just a step to far in my opinion. His Blue-Ray release with altered scenes of Vader yelling, 'Noooooo' when the Emperor is killing Luke with his force lightening shows how little he thinks of his fans. We were very aware that Darth Vader made the good choice when he decided to throw the Emperor over the railings. It doesn't need explained further with dialogue. The added enlarge door and the Ewoks blinking isn't really gonna make a big difference to our viewing experiance so why do it? And what's worse is that the world is full of stupid, stupid people who will rant and rave about the injustice of him tampering yet again with the originals; then the same morons will run out and buy it, perpetuating the cycle of being pocket raped by George Lucas. It makes me very angry.
If he was just re-releasing the originals on Blu-Ray as an upgrade then fair enough, technology moves on and the films will move along with these advances too, but WHY does he feel the need to aggravate the fans by altering them. I'll tell you why! Because he's playing you. You see he will release this new tampered version and make a fortune despite the outrage because as I said people are stupid and will still buy it anyway. And then he will release the original again without the new additions and he will cash in twice which will then start the prequel trilogy revamps and it's a never ending loop of 'Ch Ching.'
Currently his latest endeavour to cash in on the classic trilogy is just a step to far in my opinion. His Blue-Ray release with altered scenes of Vader yelling, 'Noooooo' when the Emperor is killing Luke with his force lightening shows how little he thinks of his fans. We were very aware that Darth Vader made the good choice when he decided to throw the Emperor over the railings. It doesn't need explained further with dialogue. The added enlarge door and the Ewoks blinking isn't really gonna make a big difference to our viewing experiance so why do it? And what's worse is that the world is full of stupid, stupid people who will rant and rave about the injustice of him tampering yet again with the originals; then the same morons will run out and buy it, perpetuating the cycle of being pocket raped by George Lucas. It makes me very angry.
If he was just re-releasing the originals on Blu-Ray as an upgrade then fair enough, technology moves on and the films will move along with these advances too, but WHY does he feel the need to aggravate the fans by altering them. I'll tell you why! Because he's playing you. You see he will release this new tampered version and make a fortune despite the outrage because as I said people are stupid and will still buy it anyway. And then he will release the original again without the new additions and he will cash in twice which will then start the prequel trilogy revamps and it's a never ending loop of 'Ch Ching.'
Lucas needs stopped. He needs to let go and leave it alone. Instead of constantly altering his originals, why doesn't he create something NEW! He's like a one trick pony flogging the same success over and over again. Star Wars has become a profitable industry that supports itself on it's own brand name. But it has become a parody of itself, with the Star Wars Corporation as the Galactic Empire with Lucas sitting firmly in his seat of power as the Emperor raping us for our pennies.
To sum up it is only us, the geeks, nerds, fans and self proclaimed Jedi's that can over throw the evil Emperor Lucas by hitting him with your plastic lightsabers right where it hurts. In his pocket. I know I won't be buying the new releases and even my husband who has been a devoted fan since he was five has refused to jump on this bandwagon. We have to take a stand and say 'Noooooo!' We won't be giving our hard earned money to Lucas because it's the only way to break the cycle.
May the force be with you.
Thanks for reading this months rant.
@lushworldtweets
Tuesday 30 August 2011
OMG I broke my iPhone
It's no secret that I am addicted to my iPhone, it's sleek black casing and sensitive touch screen pad make communicating a thing of beauty and wonder. So you can imagine my utter horror when I dropped the phone in the middle of town and the screen shattered. Now for the last few weeks I have had this feeling, call it gut instinct or a self fulfilling prophecy that something bad was going to happen to my phone. So I began taking precautions to protect my baby. I stopped taking it to the bathroom, stopped carelessly putting it on the side of the bath tub full of water and I even started using my protective case cover.
So when I took a photo of my little girl posing with a stick of candy floss as big as she was and the phone slide out of it's casing and crashed onto the brick floor I was stunned into silence.
My facial reaction and the prolonged breath in told my little girl that I needed comforting as she reassuringly said 'It's OK mummy, it's was just an accident.' Now bearing in mind I was in a public bustling market on a bank holiday weekend, my husband could hear my reaction from eight shops away as I repeatedly cried. 'OH NO I broke my phone.'
My facial reaction and the prolonged breath in told my little girl that I needed comforting as she reassuringly said 'It's OK mummy, it's was just an accident.' Now bearing in mind I was in a public bustling market on a bank holiday weekend, my husband could hear my reaction from eight shops away as I repeatedly cried. 'OH NO I broke my phone.'
Stephen approached me and asked what had happened. I told him and then put the broken phone in my pocket. Now despite my initial shock reaction the reality of my phone being damaged didn't register for at least 2 hours. After the phone went into my pocket I went into denial. If I couldn't see the phone was broken then it wasn't broken. Sad I know but I am an addict. Stephen commented on how well I was handling it because he'd be totally gutted if he smashed his phone. I just shrugged my shoulders and said. 'Well these things happen don't they.' Then carried on with my shopping. It was only when the thought of checking Facebook crossed my mind and I pulled the phone absent mindedly out of my pocket that reality kicked in. The next stage was fear thoughts of not being able to social network made me feel a little sick. It was Coms blackout for me and there was nothing I could do. I was unplugged. The fear took control as terrifying thoughts crossed my mind. 'What if the phone can't be fixed? What if I have to use my old phone until the end of my contract? What if I lose followers because I'm not tweeting enough?' These thoughts went around and around in a perpetual loop until I could got home and called the insurance company.
'For Feks sake £100 pound excess and my insurance will increase next year... by how much?' I really should read the small print. The next step was to call Apple as a claim to the insurance company was out of the question. 'Fekking 'ell £146 quid to repair the screen. Your all righ' mate I don't wanna book an appointment.' I finally found a local lad that would fix it for me for £65 quid. I was quoted £40 online but I'd have to send the phone away and I wasn't keen on that idea. But with the Bank Holiday the phone wouldn't be fixed until Wednesday. 'Breath deep breaths it's OK.' I reassured myself that I could last 5 days without my iPhone.
Not only am I an iPhone survivor but I have been released from the body-snatchers at Apple. I woke up from my virtual dream. I had taken the red pill and it was painful. I have only had my iPhone for a 9 months and it's vice like grip took over my entire being. And now for the first time in months I finally found time to do all those little things I wanted to do. I cleaned out all of the wardrobes and threw away four bin liners of stained or bleached clothes and broken toys. Dinner was made on time, I started phoning people and having conversations rather than reporting my life through brief messages. Engaging in conversation with my husband became richer and more entertaining because I wasn't checking the phone every few minutes to see if a friends Facebook status had changed. But the most shocking of all truths was that I started actually listening and chatting to my 3 year old. I hadn't realised that for months I had been having part conversations with her because I was updating or commenting on someones status or replying to a tweet. This really upset me when it dawned on me.
The world inside of the iPhone is miraculous, everything you could ever want at your finger tips. You can book a flight, buy someones virginity, It will answer any question you throw at it. You can watch films, play games and listen to music. It has voice control and every kind of social networking setting possible. It is truly a marvel of the modern world and a powerful tool. Information, knowledge and entertainment all wrapped up in a device smaller than your palm. Is there any wonder why I became addicted to my iPhone. The problem is my iPhone can't hold me when I'm scared or sad. It will never love me like my daughter and husband. The time I have spent investing in my phone has made me realise what I have been missing in my own home. Tomorrow the phone gets repaired and although I am happy about it. The social networking world no longer holds the sex appeal it once did. The iPhone's shiny lustre has eroded as I realise I have been living a half life in a machine. My attitude has shifted again. I thought I had my addiction under control until I went cold turkey. Guess I was wrong.
Saturday 6 August 2011
I was worried she wouldn't speak.
You know it's funny. As a mum you spend your time raising your children so that they reach their full potential and milestones when they are "supposed" to. So when Allana's speech wasn't developing as fast as the other children she played with, I became concerned.
I was so worried (I mean ridiculously worried) that I felt like I wasn't a good enough mother and that it was somehow my fault that she wasn't speaking. Allana was still gurgling and making shrieking noises whilst other mum's were showing off their child's new talent, and I felt useless.
Mum's say things like, 'you shouldn't compare kids.' But when you are a first time mum you have no reference points as to what is normal development and what isn't, so ultimately you compare where they are at out of necessity. I was silly to worry really because I haven't come across many people who can't speak. So my fears were unjustified.
As time went by she wasn't making any real improvements so I took her to the doctors and was referred to speech therapy. I went to one session got some tips to try at home and was told that they weren't concerned about her and to come back in 6 weeks. Well it was the next week that she started coming out with words. Oh I was so proud of my little munchkin, she could say 'star,' 'ook' and 'juice' I swelled on the inside.
But now she has developed into a cheeky monkey who imitates all my negative traits and reflects them back at me like a mirror. She picks up on everything and you really have to choose your words wisely around her, So I thought I'd list a few of her more poular phrases and see if you recognise any of them.
'Mummy I said NO!'
'You'd better listen to me now.'
'Shut up and stop being cheeky.'
'Mummy you do what I say.'
'Mummy you naughty girl, go to time out and calm down.'
But my absolute favourite is 'Mummy you do my head in.'
Now I spend my time trying to get the girl to shut up, she talks all the time. She interrupts, shouts and sings at the top of her voice right at the good part of a movie. It's a constant battle trying to get her to stop copying all the things I have said throughout the day. It's exhausting. But at least I don't worry that she still can't say her 'F's or 'Z's' properly because they will come with time and I know her speech development had nothing to do with me being an inadequate mother.
So new mum's rejoice that your little darling can't speak yet, because when they do, boy oh boy the list of demands is incredible.
Lushworld
I was so worried (I mean ridiculously worried) that I felt like I wasn't a good enough mother and that it was somehow my fault that she wasn't speaking. Allana was still gurgling and making shrieking noises whilst other mum's were showing off their child's new talent, and I felt useless.
Mum's say things like, 'you shouldn't compare kids.' But when you are a first time mum you have no reference points as to what is normal development and what isn't, so ultimately you compare where they are at out of necessity. I was silly to worry really because I haven't come across many people who can't speak. So my fears were unjustified.
As time went by she wasn't making any real improvements so I took her to the doctors and was referred to speech therapy. I went to one session got some tips to try at home and was told that they weren't concerned about her and to come back in 6 weeks. Well it was the next week that she started coming out with words. Oh I was so proud of my little munchkin, she could say 'star,' 'ook' and 'juice' I swelled on the inside.
But now she has developed into a cheeky monkey who imitates all my negative traits and reflects them back at me like a mirror. She picks up on everything and you really have to choose your words wisely around her, So I thought I'd list a few of her more poular phrases and see if you recognise any of them.
'Mummy I said NO!'
'You'd better listen to me now.'
'Shut up and stop being cheeky.'
'Mummy you do what I say.'
'Mummy you naughty girl, go to time out and calm down.'
But my absolute favourite is 'Mummy you do my head in.'
Now I spend my time trying to get the girl to shut up, she talks all the time. She interrupts, shouts and sings at the top of her voice right at the good part of a movie. It's a constant battle trying to get her to stop copying all the things I have said throughout the day. It's exhausting. But at least I don't worry that she still can't say her 'F's or 'Z's' properly because they will come with time and I know her speech development had nothing to do with me being an inadequate mother.
So new mum's rejoice that your little darling can't speak yet, because when they do, boy oh boy the list of demands is incredible.
Lushworld
Friday 15 July 2011
The fart to end all farts
What is it about a fart that is so disgustingly humorous? Is it the tone, is it the situation in which the fart happened? I'm not sure, but the sound of a fluff can make you smile and laugh.
Stephen had let rip one of the most smelly noxious farts I think I have ever smelt. It was so epic that I felt it deserved it's own blog space.
If toilet humour is your thing then read on. if not STOP NOW!
It all started about 24 hours ago, when Stephen overloaded his stomach with Mexican food, San Miguel and sweeties. Then Today the assault continued with an African sweet and spicy lamb stew that was topped with a suspicious egg custard, (all one dish) aptly named Baboti, followed by a half cooked crepe (made by a chav cretin) that was smeared with hard bottom of the tub peanut butter and squirty chocolate sauce. I then cooked a veg packed stir fry with egg fried rice. I also have to mention that prior to the food assault he ate chips that had been reheated twice and then microwaved with a burnt Cumberland sausage. So he was fully loaded and ready to blow and this list isn't everything he ate.
The caravan was cramped and hot but the bed was incredibly comfortable, we were lying in bed and I was drifting of into a light sleep when, I coughed a little because something caught in the back of my throat. I rolled my tongue around the inside of my mouth trying to decipher what I was tasting before I inhaled. The bomb had been dropped and I was a casualty of the nuclear mushroom cloud that engulfed our room. There are around 220,000 words in the Oxford dictionary and I cannot find one to describe that smell. I can only use smelling references it was like the bog of eternal stench crossed with a dead skunk. I gagged and ran out of the room choking on the noxious gas. Stephen just lay there rolling around in his own filth, he was sniffing it up whilst laughing saying, 'Jesssus tha's baaad, phew... that's really bad." It was the silent and deadly kind.
Now what is it with men and farts that they fell its necessary to grade the smell of a guff. The fouler and nastier the smell the better the grade given. This one would have won a trophy but he said it lacked skid marks. He wafted it for a while trying to escape the methane gas, he was both disgusted yet proud of his accomplishment. After several minutes I re-entered the bedroom. The smell still hung in the air, I shouted abuse at him for being so vile. He could have at least warned me, nudged me awake so I had time to get out of the drop zone. But his infectious laughter and glee transferred to me and the shouting turned into laughing as I told him how vulgar he was.
We played food Cluedo for about and hour trying to deduce what food dish was the culprit for the murder of my sense of smell I think it was the Baboti, with a name like that it had to be. I laughed so much that I accidentally played the musical trumpet too. It was one of those fluffs where you laugh and rasp at the same time, and the more you laugh the more you fart. The more you fart the more you laugh. Classic fart humour is the best.
Holidays are filled with special memories for a variety of reasons, our trip to Conwy Castle was breathtaking, standing on the turret at it's highest peak with no railings was scary. The day at the seaside when we were all alone building sandcastles writing notes to each other in the sand, but nothing is as memorable as the fart of all farts, it holds a repulsive bittersweet place in my memory banks.
Thank you my loving revolting husband for making me laugh till I pumped.
Stephen had let rip one of the most smelly noxious farts I think I have ever smelt. It was so epic that I felt it deserved it's own blog space.
If toilet humour is your thing then read on. if not STOP NOW!
It all started about 24 hours ago, when Stephen overloaded his stomach with Mexican food, San Miguel and sweeties. Then Today the assault continued with an African sweet and spicy lamb stew that was topped with a suspicious egg custard, (all one dish) aptly named Baboti, followed by a half cooked crepe (made by a chav cretin) that was smeared with hard bottom of the tub peanut butter and squirty chocolate sauce. I then cooked a veg packed stir fry with egg fried rice. I also have to mention that prior to the food assault he ate chips that had been reheated twice and then microwaved with a burnt Cumberland sausage. So he was fully loaded and ready to blow and this list isn't everything he ate.
The caravan was cramped and hot but the bed was incredibly comfortable, we were lying in bed and I was drifting of into a light sleep when, I coughed a little because something caught in the back of my throat. I rolled my tongue around the inside of my mouth trying to decipher what I was tasting before I inhaled. The bomb had been dropped and I was a casualty of the nuclear mushroom cloud that engulfed our room. There are around 220,000 words in the Oxford dictionary and I cannot find one to describe that smell. I can only use smelling references it was like the bog of eternal stench crossed with a dead skunk. I gagged and ran out of the room choking on the noxious gas. Stephen just lay there rolling around in his own filth, he was sniffing it up whilst laughing saying, 'Jesssus tha's baaad, phew... that's really bad." It was the silent and deadly kind.
Now what is it with men and farts that they fell its necessary to grade the smell of a guff. The fouler and nastier the smell the better the grade given. This one would have won a trophy but he said it lacked skid marks. He wafted it for a while trying to escape the methane gas, he was both disgusted yet proud of his accomplishment. After several minutes I re-entered the bedroom. The smell still hung in the air, I shouted abuse at him for being so vile. He could have at least warned me, nudged me awake so I had time to get out of the drop zone. But his infectious laughter and glee transferred to me and the shouting turned into laughing as I told him how vulgar he was.
We played food Cluedo for about and hour trying to deduce what food dish was the culprit for the murder of my sense of smell I think it was the Baboti, with a name like that it had to be. I laughed so much that I accidentally played the musical trumpet too. It was one of those fluffs where you laugh and rasp at the same time, and the more you laugh the more you fart. The more you fart the more you laugh. Classic fart humour is the best.
Holidays are filled with special memories for a variety of reasons, our trip to Conwy Castle was breathtaking, standing on the turret at it's highest peak with no railings was scary. The day at the seaside when we were all alone building sandcastles writing notes to each other in the sand, but nothing is as memorable as the fart of all farts, it holds a repulsive bittersweet place in my memory banks.
Thank you my loving revolting husband for making me laugh till I pumped.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
If you could hear me Nan I'd say...
It's been 3 years but I can still remember the last day I saw you like it was yesterday. You were in the hospice near the ocean wearing your blue dressing gown, you really didn't want to be there at all because you wanted to be at home. You were smiling and waving at me and I was smiling back as I walked through the doors heading back to the car. In our hearts we knew we would never see each other again but we never said goodbye. I wanted to say so much to you that day. But we just watched the waves instead. I kept hugging you and smiling.
Your memory lives in the tears we cry today for your loss. You have left a hole in the hearts of your family.
I can't be at the graveside to honour your memory today with mum and the rest of the family so I'll do it with words instead of flowers.
![]()
If you could hear me now I'd say:
I loved you more today than ever before.
I was blessed to be your grandchild and that we are all keeping well.
Allana is growing up so big now, I wish you could see her. She is cheeky just like me and has your nose.
I miss the little sniffle you used to do.
I miss the smell of your home. I can still smell the soups and curries you taught me to make.
I miss your smile.
I miss your laugh.
I miss the way you used to fall asleep at parties after one glass of sherry.
I miss the way you always listened and never took sides.
I miss the fact you'd sneak me 50p to buy sweets.
I miss your famous Ice cream soda's.
I miss the way you used to hide letters from Mum and Aunty Pauline because they were con's you signed up for that I had to get you out of.
I miss the way you wouldn't take your medicine.
I loved you way you held me when I was in trouble.
Thank you for all the support you gave me.
I loved it when you'd tuck me up at night even in my twenties with a hot chocolate.
I loved eating your strawberries and raiding your pantry.
I loved they way you saved paper bags and elastic bands.
I'm sorry I was the only one missing at the end. Everyone was there apart from me.
I'm sorry I was so far away.
I'd say goodbye.
But most of all I'd tell you that you were one of the most beautiful people I knew and I will never forget your kindness, patience and courage.
I Love you Nan.
x
Your memory lives in the tears we cry today for your loss. You have left a hole in the hearts of your family.
I can't be at the graveside to honour your memory today with mum and the rest of the family so I'll do it with words instead of flowers.
If you could hear me now I'd say:
I loved you more today than ever before.
I was blessed to be your grandchild and that we are all keeping well.
Allana is growing up so big now, I wish you could see her. She is cheeky just like me and has your nose.
I miss the little sniffle you used to do.
I miss the smell of your home. I can still smell the soups and curries you taught me to make.
I miss your smile.
I miss your laugh.
I miss the way you used to fall asleep at parties after one glass of sherry.
I miss the way you always listened and never took sides.
I miss the fact you'd sneak me 50p to buy sweets.
I miss your famous Ice cream soda's.
I miss the way you used to hide letters from Mum and Aunty Pauline because they were con's you signed up for that I had to get you out of.
I miss the way you wouldn't take your medicine.
I loved you way you held me when I was in trouble.
Thank you for all the support you gave me.
I loved it when you'd tuck me up at night even in my twenties with a hot chocolate.
I loved eating your strawberries and raiding your pantry.
I loved they way you saved paper bags and elastic bands.
I'm sorry I was the only one missing at the end. Everyone was there apart from me.
I'm sorry I was so far away.
I'd say goodbye.
But most of all I'd tell you that you were one of the most beautiful people I knew and I will never forget your kindness, patience and courage.
I Love you Nan.
x
Monday 4 July 2011
Foo Fighters Milton Keynes 2nd July 2011
THEY HAVE ARRIVED.... I hurried to the post office to finally collect two tickets to see one of the most talented rock bands around the Foo Fighters. I wasn't even out of the post office door when I began carefully opening the envelope that I had waited weeks for. I was like Charlie from 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' The tickets were gold and shiny and when the sun shone brightly on them the dull surfaced gleamed. I shuffled back to the car, whilst squealing, 'We got them, we finally got them.'
You see I had to move heaven and earth to get these tickets. My husband bought me tickets four years ago to see the Foo Fighters for my 30th birthday whilst I was pregnant with our miracle baby. It was at Newcastle Arena and I turned up stayed for 3 songs and had to leave. You see they rocked so hard the baby didn't like the vibration and all I done was vomit, I vomited in the seats, in the toilets including the men's (where a man was bragging about the size of his dick whilst I'm chucking in the urinal) and in the corridor. My wonderful husband held my hair off my face as I vomited in the bin on the way out. He had a romantic plan to give me an eternity ring while 'Times like these.' were playing, but considering I was really ill he had to make do with giving me the ring in between retching and vomiting to the song instead. And since then I have tried for FOUR years to get tickets to see them. (see blog Music and grief for full story) and it finally happened on the 2nd of July 2011.
Our tickets arrived on Friday one day before the concert (cutting it close) and because we have been let down so many times before, I didn't bother planning this trip at all until I actually got the tickets in my hand. So on Saturday we jumped in the car with no plan and drove 5 hours, cleared security and walked up the tree lined mound at 4.30pm to a view I will never forget. The sun was shinning on a beautiful summers day whilst 70,000 people were drinking and laughing waiting for the Foo's to play. Me and Ste just looked at each other, we were dumb struck, we had never seen so many people all in the same place before and it was hypnotic. Armed with six bottles of booze, a bottle of coke, and a shed load of painkillers, we started the slow descent down the ramp to try and get close to the stage. A task which seemed impossible due to the sheer volume of people between us and point B. When we edged our way down the ramp, we tried to get closer to the stage but there were two barriers separating us from the inner circle. Stephen spotted a route to the gates of the inner pit, and I spotted that you needed and orange or grey wrist tag to gain access.
I had to try and work my mojo to get into this VIP area, I'd come this far and a pathetic barrier wasn't gonna stop me. So I done what any woman would do. I used my greatest assets. Yep the mighty boobies. The huge gorilla man with a large vein in his head that was standing at the entrance to the VIP area, was no match for my Jedi boob mind trick. Bottles were not allowed in the VIP area and those with tags were being stopped and asked to put there drinks in paper cups before entering, so I placed the bottles strategically near my cleavage leaned in real close and looked at him with my big brown eyes saying in a softest sexiest voice I could, 'excuse me but can you plllease help me with these' as I them heaved them closer to his face. 'Sure.' he said as he smiled. I giggled and fluttered the eye lashes saying how brilliant he was for helping me, while in the back of my mind I was thinking, 'He's buying it, he's buying it, I cant' believe he's buying it.' I then grabbed a protesting Stephen's hand (he didn't want to leave his booze) and dragged him past the gorilla whilst I occupied him by spilling a little beer on my boob. I know, I know it was a totally filthy stunt to pull, but I really wanted in. Now please bear in mind that Stephen had no idea that this was the VIP area, and had no idea about my plan or what I was doing to get us in. Tricks like that used to work when I was in my early 20's and I can't believe it actually worked again. Once we were in the 'PIT' Stephen finally realised where he was and said, 'How the fuck did you manage to get us in here.' He couldn't believe that with all the security, bodyguards, railings, fences and walkie talkies that my boobies managed to get us in the inner sanctum.
Once inside we sat down in the hot sunshine and laughed and drank happily whilst singing Biffy Clyro songs, and just as the hot summer day turned into a warm summer evening out walked four extraordinarily gifted musicians, no gimmicks, no tricks, no drama. Just a band of men with guitars, amps, drums and microphones and the crowd roared. I have never in my life heard the roar of that many people when they opened with, 'Burning Bridges.' The pit went CRAZY. It was like a prison riot. The circle of people around us thankfully created a barrier between us and the mosh pit that opened up close by, so I didn't get battered, but I did get swept up a few times and I'm a heavy girl. I sang as loud my vocal chords would allow whilst my voice connected with thousands of others that carried the musical vibration into the air, that could be heard for miles around.
As the set continued there were many unforgettable moments. But a few in particular stood out for me. When they sang 'Monkey wrench' the crowd became frenzied. Air guitars and air drums were played all around whilst we sand so loud the gods could have heard us. The crowd became an ocean of P-waves as people naturally expanded and contracted with musical motion. It was phenomenal. I remember only being able to see the sky and raised arms. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the lyrics with hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I bathed in the warm setting sun while the energy raised in the arena raised the roof off an open aired venue.
'The Best' was another of my favourites for obvious reasons. I can't remember much of what happened during the song, as it was all a blur. But I do remember the feeling it left me with, delight. The fans went berserk at the chorus and all I remember was singing, 'oh oh o, oh oh o' over and over again until Dave caved and he sang it again.
Earlier that day we met a couple of really nice lads called Rich and Paul from Swindon, and as we were all chatting Stephen told them that he would have to stand behind me to protect my back from getting bashed. So the lads interlocked arms around me which created this safe little bubble and I rocked and sang harder than I ever had before. The atmosphere was electrifying, and if the amount of positive energy generated from that event could have been contained it would have have fueled London for a year.
Of course because we snuck into the VIP area we couldn't risk leaving in case we didn't get back in. So we stayed where we were. Busting for the toilet Stephen resorted to urinating in a large paper cup which was concealed by my jacket. As he started to pee he said, 'What do I do if I fill the cup.' Shrugging my shoulders I said, 'I don't think you have to worry about that it's a pretty big cup.' Well his face turned to horror as he whispered as quiet as he could as a rock concert. 'The end of my knob is wet and warm, shit I've nearly filled the cup. what do I do?' I really couldn't help him I was laughing to much, plus I was having my own problems with that department. I actually thought I could squeeze a jumbo cup down my trousers, pull me knickers aside and squat pee in the cup. Just as I was about to begin this crazy feat, I thought, 'how do I pull out a full cup of pee from my jeans without spilling any. So I had to resort to the ultimate challenge. HOLD IT IN!! I truly showed the power of clenching my muscles as I held it in for 5 hours. After that the pain was so bad I thought I was going to get a kidney infection so I decided we had to leave the pit. I walked like Shakira dances, trying to make it to the toilets before I realised they were at the entrance. So I resorted to creating a ladies toilet in the bushes near the edge of the bowl. I was gutted because we missed 'All my Life,' Thanks to my bladder. But we ended up getting back in the VIP area surprisingly. I tore off a grey chord from my hoodie and tied it around my wrist to get past the female guard, while Stephen just walked in.
Towards the end of the gig people were urinating where ever they could. Mostly it was guys pissing in cups and then hurling them into the crowd. I had a Bacardi Breezer that I had been nursing for an hour when a cup of pee got flung over and went into my cup as I drank it. Totally Gross. The thing was that it was so warm. it was nice to get showered with cool water, until you played the 'smell my finger' game to see if it was booze or piss. Piss was met with a 'ah fuck.' whilst booze was met with, 'another man down.' And by the end of the night I could have turned a skunks nose up. Between the attack of the annoying Green fly and people hurling all manner of wet liquids, I was covered in hundreds of dead bugs, piss, Bacardi, cider, beer, cigarette smoke and sweat. I smelt of The Foo's latest fragrance aptly named 'Gig Crud.' It's like 'Sex Panther' and has a pungent aroma which singes the nostril hair for added kick.
As the band played classic Foo's material, mixed it with tracks from their new album, they performed solidly for just under 3 hours with surprise guests from the awesome Roger Taylor and Alice Copper, As the band produced one surprise after another the casualties of war began happening more frequently. The girl stood next to me who was wasted, fell asleep standing up. Something I've never seen before. A man forced his way through the crowd like a RHINO with his hand over his mouth before he stopped in front of us, my heart stopped I couldn't have coped he he vomited on me, luckily he wretched, caught it and ploughed through the rest of the crowd. I do hope it made it away from people before he hurled. And then there was the miserable twat who moaned the whole time she was at the gig. Clearly she wasn't a fan and had been dragged their by her partner. She twiddled her bracelet and yawned a lot and periodically sighed whilst asking her fella if they could move and go somewhere else. Based on her feeble attempt to enjoy herself and her annoying behaviour I didn't think their relationship was going to last the night especially when at nearly 7ft tall he stood in front of her blocking her view of the stage whilst hitting her in the face with his back pack as he jumped up and down. She was a massive twat. I would have done the same.
I got to sing to my beloved 'Times like these,' and loved every moment, although it was a song I had waited to hear all gig, surprisingly I wasn't disappointed when Dave ran down the centre stage to join the small stage at the centre of the bowl to perform it to all the people at the back of the crowd. I thought it was a good thing he done for those fans who thought they got the 'shitty seats,' as he put it. But the pinnacle of the night was 'Everlong.' The vibration of pure melodic harmony sung by 70,000 fans in unison with the band whilst fireworks blazed the night sky felt like all my past dreams and future desires of seeing this particular band perform collided into a single moment captured in time. As the sound waves pounded through my bones all that existed was that moment. A moment of pure intoxication which brought many people to tears and then the gig ended as it began with a band of extraordinary musicians saying 'Thank you' to the crowd as they left the stage with the amp screeching feedback, to hold that moment for a few seconds longer.
Today it seems that last night was a blur, I can't walk at all, I punished my back more than I ever have in three years, I can't talk because I lost my voice, I ache from my throat down to my feet. I have blisters and headache from hell, my stomach hurts from all the meds I had to take and even my shins hurt. I am fatigued and have survived most of the day sucking cherry lozenges and popping double dose pain killers with litres of Lucozade. Well it's not a good concert if you still have your stomach lining is it?. There is so much I haven't written about in this blog, the men dressed in mullets, the curly haired knob in the Motorhead t-shirt who got sucker punched by a 4ft blond lass, or the journey home which was an adventure in itself. And I'm left with a longing to recapture moments gone. But they are now memories and will fade with time which is why this is a long blog.
In years to come I can read this blog and I will remember all the little moments and terrific people that made the night special. And I finally got to say Thank You to the Foo's the only way I knew how, by rocking the night away.
You see I had to move heaven and earth to get these tickets. My husband bought me tickets four years ago to see the Foo Fighters for my 30th birthday whilst I was pregnant with our miracle baby. It was at Newcastle Arena and I turned up stayed for 3 songs and had to leave. You see they rocked so hard the baby didn't like the vibration and all I done was vomit, I vomited in the seats, in the toilets including the men's (where a man was bragging about the size of his dick whilst I'm chucking in the urinal) and in the corridor. My wonderful husband held my hair off my face as I vomited in the bin on the way out. He had a romantic plan to give me an eternity ring while 'Times like these.' were playing, but considering I was really ill he had to make do with giving me the ring in between retching and vomiting to the song instead. And since then I have tried for FOUR years to get tickets to see them. (see blog Music and grief for full story) and it finally happened on the 2nd of July 2011.
Our tickets arrived on Friday one day before the concert (cutting it close) and because we have been let down so many times before, I didn't bother planning this trip at all until I actually got the tickets in my hand. So on Saturday we jumped in the car with no plan and drove 5 hours, cleared security and walked up the tree lined mound at 4.30pm to a view I will never forget. The sun was shinning on a beautiful summers day whilst 70,000 people were drinking and laughing waiting for the Foo's to play. Me and Ste just looked at each other, we were dumb struck, we had never seen so many people all in the same place before and it was hypnotic. Armed with six bottles of booze, a bottle of coke, and a shed load of painkillers, we started the slow descent down the ramp to try and get close to the stage. A task which seemed impossible due to the sheer volume of people between us and point B. When we edged our way down the ramp, we tried to get closer to the stage but there were two barriers separating us from the inner circle. Stephen spotted a route to the gates of the inner pit, and I spotted that you needed and orange or grey wrist tag to gain access.
I had to try and work my mojo to get into this VIP area, I'd come this far and a pathetic barrier wasn't gonna stop me. So I done what any woman would do. I used my greatest assets. Yep the mighty boobies. The huge gorilla man with a large vein in his head that was standing at the entrance to the VIP area, was no match for my Jedi boob mind trick. Bottles were not allowed in the VIP area and those with tags were being stopped and asked to put there drinks in paper cups before entering, so I placed the bottles strategically near my cleavage leaned in real close and looked at him with my big brown eyes saying in a softest sexiest voice I could, 'excuse me but can you plllease help me with these' as I them heaved them closer to his face. 'Sure.' he said as he smiled. I giggled and fluttered the eye lashes saying how brilliant he was for helping me, while in the back of my mind I was thinking, 'He's buying it, he's buying it, I cant' believe he's buying it.' I then grabbed a protesting Stephen's hand (he didn't want to leave his booze) and dragged him past the gorilla whilst I occupied him by spilling a little beer on my boob. I know, I know it was a totally filthy stunt to pull, but I really wanted in. Now please bear in mind that Stephen had no idea that this was the VIP area, and had no idea about my plan or what I was doing to get us in. Tricks like that used to work when I was in my early 20's and I can't believe it actually worked again. Once we were in the 'PIT' Stephen finally realised where he was and said, 'How the fuck did you manage to get us in here.' He couldn't believe that with all the security, bodyguards, railings, fences and walkie talkies that my boobies managed to get us in the inner sanctum.
Once inside we sat down in the hot sunshine and laughed and drank happily whilst singing Biffy Clyro songs, and just as the hot summer day turned into a warm summer evening out walked four extraordinarily gifted musicians, no gimmicks, no tricks, no drama. Just a band of men with guitars, amps, drums and microphones and the crowd roared. I have never in my life heard the roar of that many people when they opened with, 'Burning Bridges.' The pit went CRAZY. It was like a prison riot. The circle of people around us thankfully created a barrier between us and the mosh pit that opened up close by, so I didn't get battered, but I did get swept up a few times and I'm a heavy girl. I sang as loud my vocal chords would allow whilst my voice connected with thousands of others that carried the musical vibration into the air, that could be heard for miles around.
As the set continued there were many unforgettable moments. But a few in particular stood out for me. When they sang 'Monkey wrench' the crowd became frenzied. Air guitars and air drums were played all around whilst we sand so loud the gods could have heard us. The crowd became an ocean of P-waves as people naturally expanded and contracted with musical motion. It was phenomenal. I remember only being able to see the sky and raised arms. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the lyrics with hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I bathed in the warm setting sun while the energy raised in the arena raised the roof off an open aired venue.
'The Best' was another of my favourites for obvious reasons. I can't remember much of what happened during the song, as it was all a blur. But I do remember the feeling it left me with, delight. The fans went berserk at the chorus and all I remember was singing, 'oh oh o, oh oh o' over and over again until Dave caved and he sang it again.
Earlier that day we met a couple of really nice lads called Rich and Paul from Swindon, and as we were all chatting Stephen told them that he would have to stand behind me to protect my back from getting bashed. So the lads interlocked arms around me which created this safe little bubble and I rocked and sang harder than I ever had before. The atmosphere was electrifying, and if the amount of positive energy generated from that event could have been contained it would have have fueled London for a year.
Of course because we snuck into the VIP area we couldn't risk leaving in case we didn't get back in. So we stayed where we were. Busting for the toilet Stephen resorted to urinating in a large paper cup which was concealed by my jacket. As he started to pee he said, 'What do I do if I fill the cup.' Shrugging my shoulders I said, 'I don't think you have to worry about that it's a pretty big cup.' Well his face turned to horror as he whispered as quiet as he could as a rock concert. 'The end of my knob is wet and warm, shit I've nearly filled the cup. what do I do?' I really couldn't help him I was laughing to much, plus I was having my own problems with that department. I actually thought I could squeeze a jumbo cup down my trousers, pull me knickers aside and squat pee in the cup. Just as I was about to begin this crazy feat, I thought, 'how do I pull out a full cup of pee from my jeans without spilling any. So I had to resort to the ultimate challenge. HOLD IT IN!! I truly showed the power of clenching my muscles as I held it in for 5 hours. After that the pain was so bad I thought I was going to get a kidney infection so I decided we had to leave the pit. I walked like Shakira dances, trying to make it to the toilets before I realised they were at the entrance. So I resorted to creating a ladies toilet in the bushes near the edge of the bowl. I was gutted because we missed 'All my Life,' Thanks to my bladder. But we ended up getting back in the VIP area surprisingly. I tore off a grey chord from my hoodie and tied it around my wrist to get past the female guard, while Stephen just walked in.
Towards the end of the gig people were urinating where ever they could. Mostly it was guys pissing in cups and then hurling them into the crowd. I had a Bacardi Breezer that I had been nursing for an hour when a cup of pee got flung over and went into my cup as I drank it. Totally Gross. The thing was that it was so warm. it was nice to get showered with cool water, until you played the 'smell my finger' game to see if it was booze or piss. Piss was met with a 'ah fuck.' whilst booze was met with, 'another man down.' And by the end of the night I could have turned a skunks nose up. Between the attack of the annoying Green fly and people hurling all manner of wet liquids, I was covered in hundreds of dead bugs, piss, Bacardi, cider, beer, cigarette smoke and sweat. I smelt of The Foo's latest fragrance aptly named 'Gig Crud.' It's like 'Sex Panther' and has a pungent aroma which singes the nostril hair for added kick.
As the band played classic Foo's material, mixed it with tracks from their new album, they performed solidly for just under 3 hours with surprise guests from the awesome Roger Taylor and Alice Copper, As the band produced one surprise after another the casualties of war began happening more frequently. The girl stood next to me who was wasted, fell asleep standing up. Something I've never seen before. A man forced his way through the crowd like a RHINO with his hand over his mouth before he stopped in front of us, my heart stopped I couldn't have coped he he vomited on me, luckily he wretched, caught it and ploughed through the rest of the crowd. I do hope it made it away from people before he hurled. And then there was the miserable twat who moaned the whole time she was at the gig. Clearly she wasn't a fan and had been dragged their by her partner. She twiddled her bracelet and yawned a lot and periodically sighed whilst asking her fella if they could move and go somewhere else. Based on her feeble attempt to enjoy herself and her annoying behaviour I didn't think their relationship was going to last the night especially when at nearly 7ft tall he stood in front of her blocking her view of the stage whilst hitting her in the face with his back pack as he jumped up and down. She was a massive twat. I would have done the same.
I got to sing to my beloved 'Times like these,' and loved every moment, although it was a song I had waited to hear all gig, surprisingly I wasn't disappointed when Dave ran down the centre stage to join the small stage at the centre of the bowl to perform it to all the people at the back of the crowd. I thought it was a good thing he done for those fans who thought they got the 'shitty seats,' as he put it. But the pinnacle of the night was 'Everlong.' The vibration of pure melodic harmony sung by 70,000 fans in unison with the band whilst fireworks blazed the night sky felt like all my past dreams and future desires of seeing this particular band perform collided into a single moment captured in time. As the sound waves pounded through my bones all that existed was that moment. A moment of pure intoxication which brought many people to tears and then the gig ended as it began with a band of extraordinary musicians saying 'Thank you' to the crowd as they left the stage with the amp screeching feedback, to hold that moment for a few seconds longer.
Today it seems that last night was a blur, I can't walk at all, I punished my back more than I ever have in three years, I can't talk because I lost my voice, I ache from my throat down to my feet. I have blisters and headache from hell, my stomach hurts from all the meds I had to take and even my shins hurt. I am fatigued and have survived most of the day sucking cherry lozenges and popping double dose pain killers with litres of Lucozade. Well it's not a good concert if you still have your stomach lining is it?. There is so much I haven't written about in this blog, the men dressed in mullets, the curly haired knob in the Motorhead t-shirt who got sucker punched by a 4ft blond lass, or the journey home which was an adventure in itself. And I'm left with a longing to recapture moments gone. But they are now memories and will fade with time which is why this is a long blog.
In years to come I can read this blog and I will remember all the little moments and terrific people that made the night special. And I finally got to say Thank You to the Foo's the only way I knew how, by rocking the night away.
Thursday 23 June 2011
Facebook and iPhone Infatuation/Addiction
Hello, my name is Kat and I am addicted to my my iPhone.
Being an early thirties stay at home mum of a small toddler, I never saw the appeal of the unhealthy lifestyle people led within on-line communities. I was to busy with real life, chores, smelly nappies and endless cleaning, to worry about what was happening on the Internet. The real world was hard enough.
And then cupids bow struck and I met my beloved. My contract ended with the 3 network, and in a bid to keep me as a valued customer. I got offered an iPhone with all the Internet consumption I could digest. I took the deal and sold my soul to Apple for a further two years.
I now have the ability to post random crazy outbursts followed by endless streams of pish like never before. As a Samurai's blade is an extension of his arm. My iPhone is now an extension of my rather loud voice. The vast chaotic wonder of Facebook was an eye opener, being introduced to poking, blocking, games, comments, networks, blogging and random adverts for celebrity fad diets was intriguing.
I was reluctant to be part of this world, believing that the social interaction skills of the youth of today was eroding with each comment posted. I believed the new text language written had become a bastardisation of the English language, and when this new abbreviated language spawned a new dictionary, I just shook my head in disappointment. I had become a technological relic at 32. Despite growing up with computers, I never really embraced the fast paced technological advancements in communications that surrounded me. I preferred (and still do) fresh air, meeting with people, mountains and kids playing in the sunshine with a real football rather than computer generated one.
But I sold out when I got my sexy phone. The sleek, black, thin, touch screen pad took minutes to caress and seconds to fall in love with. All new iPhone users have this experience, that first hit is intoxicating. Just the feel of the phone in your hand is enough for you to plunder your granny's jewels to get one. I had no idea what an app was when I held this little beauty for the first time, I was mesmerised by the fact it had no keys. But when I got to grips with the basics, I began the endless search for apps. Facebook was the first to be downloaded. They say you always remember your first.
With all addictions it starts with a single hit, followed by another then another, always chasing that first sensation. Stephen would tell me I used facebook to much, 'you always got your head buried in that thing.' was a constant remark. Like any true addict I defended my habit and reasoned that my behaviour was acceptable because, 'everyone was doing it.' Then I became secretive about my Facebook use, I didn't want to cause a row. I would sneak to the toilet to check messages, and post comments, so no one would get upset with me. I was actually having a sleazy toilet affair with my iPhone and Facebook.
And with all addictions and secret affairs you eventually get found out! My dirty secret was out after my daughter dropped my phone and it stopped working. I went into utter panic, critical meltdown began. I frantically tried reviving my phone, my link to the worldwide web was severed and I craved it like crack. In a tail spin I grabbed my laptop and began troubleshooting Apple, luckily I managed to fix the phone, which was utter relief, but my unhealthy infatuation was out.
As with all addictions the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. I was checking facebook every few minutes, just flicking open the screen to discover if any new developments had taken place since the last few minutes. I needed to get to the route of my problem, and over dinner my husband enlightened me. Facebook had become the only adult conversation I had whilst I studied for my exams. You see I rarely saw Stephen because he was working a lot and Allana was my only company for a long time.Then I noticed a huge majority of my friends on Facebook that commented regularly (3 or 4 times a day) were all mums with children.
You see a recent study (unsure of it's validation as it came out of a glossy magazine) showed that mothers get on average a total of 15 minutes alone time a day. And mothers with young toddlers get even less. So when I got the chance for adult conversation, I grabbed it with both hands. Being a house wife is tough, day's are filled with endless demands, endless cleaning, endless running around, late nights, early mornings, snotty noses, coughs and colds that require constant nursing. It is a rewarding job, but any person with an ounce of honesty will admit that you need a break from them, no matter how much you love the bundle of joy who comes running at you at high speed to tell you they 'wuv you.' But when your home all day, with your child, you NEVER get that break. And then I found one. Facebook.
Facebook became my fresh air, it was gateway to another world and I didn't have to leave the house to be apart of it. By using Facebook I discovered that I could be me again. I could be Kat. With no demands, no sandwiches to make, no beds to change. cats to feed or dogs to walk. I could relax and be myself and interact with witty lovely people.
I cherish reading about Gemma's pregnancy food updates, I like hearing how her little one is developing and how she feels about being pregnant. I adore reading Kerry's comments about her dog Rog. It's epic. I know everything about that little pooch including his trips to the vets. I can't get enough of Lizzie's comments and blogs, I love the dark, witty and often inappropriate banter I have with the bandit Gary. And as for Charmaine always keeping me on the straight and narrow. What would I do without her. Not to mention the many hours of constant entertainment from the other guys and girls.
You can sometimes lose yourself in the duty of parenting. Losing your old identity and adjusting to the new one can have side effects. And mine was not being able to express the other side of me that wasn't wife and mother. So when I got the chance to post comments, I found freedom on-line.
For me personally my attitude towards the on-line communities has now changed. I have a healthy bias towards them now. I see that there is room for that world within my life but it has to be balanced with a balanced perspective. Knowing that I can still be me, wife and mother gives me a sense of relief and the infatuation of Facebook has now passed as all I craved and needed was adult company. Thank you Facebooker's for giving me that you precious people.
As for my iPhone... well we are still an item. All marriages have their ups and down. But I wouldn't be without the beauty now.
Being an early thirties stay at home mum of a small toddler, I never saw the appeal of the unhealthy lifestyle people led within on-line communities. I was to busy with real life, chores, smelly nappies and endless cleaning, to worry about what was happening on the Internet. The real world was hard enough.
And then cupids bow struck and I met my beloved. My contract ended with the 3 network, and in a bid to keep me as a valued customer. I got offered an iPhone with all the Internet consumption I could digest. I took the deal and sold my soul to Apple for a further two years.
I now have the ability to post random crazy outbursts followed by endless streams of pish like never before. As a Samurai's blade is an extension of his arm. My iPhone is now an extension of my rather loud voice. The vast chaotic wonder of Facebook was an eye opener, being introduced to poking, blocking, games, comments, networks, blogging and random adverts for celebrity fad diets was intriguing.
I was reluctant to be part of this world, believing that the social interaction skills of the youth of today was eroding with each comment posted. I believed the new text language written had become a bastardisation of the English language, and when this new abbreviated language spawned a new dictionary, I just shook my head in disappointment. I had become a technological relic at 32. Despite growing up with computers, I never really embraced the fast paced technological advancements in communications that surrounded me. I preferred (and still do) fresh air, meeting with people, mountains and kids playing in the sunshine with a real football rather than computer generated one.
But I sold out when I got my sexy phone. The sleek, black, thin, touch screen pad took minutes to caress and seconds to fall in love with. All new iPhone users have this experience, that first hit is intoxicating. Just the feel of the phone in your hand is enough for you to plunder your granny's jewels to get one. I had no idea what an app was when I held this little beauty for the first time, I was mesmerised by the fact it had no keys. But when I got to grips with the basics, I began the endless search for apps. Facebook was the first to be downloaded. They say you always remember your first.
With all addictions it starts with a single hit, followed by another then another, always chasing that first sensation. Stephen would tell me I used facebook to much, 'you always got your head buried in that thing.' was a constant remark. Like any true addict I defended my habit and reasoned that my behaviour was acceptable because, 'everyone was doing it.' Then I became secretive about my Facebook use, I didn't want to cause a row. I would sneak to the toilet to check messages, and post comments, so no one would get upset with me. I was actually having a sleazy toilet affair with my iPhone and Facebook.
And with all addictions and secret affairs you eventually get found out! My dirty secret was out after my daughter dropped my phone and it stopped working. I went into utter panic, critical meltdown began. I frantically tried reviving my phone, my link to the worldwide web was severed and I craved it like crack. In a tail spin I grabbed my laptop and began troubleshooting Apple, luckily I managed to fix the phone, which was utter relief, but my unhealthy infatuation was out.
As with all addictions the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. I was checking facebook every few minutes, just flicking open the screen to discover if any new developments had taken place since the last few minutes. I needed to get to the route of my problem, and over dinner my husband enlightened me. Facebook had become the only adult conversation I had whilst I studied for my exams. You see I rarely saw Stephen because he was working a lot and Allana was my only company for a long time.Then I noticed a huge majority of my friends on Facebook that commented regularly (3 or 4 times a day) were all mums with children.
You see a recent study (unsure of it's validation as it came out of a glossy magazine) showed that mothers get on average a total of 15 minutes alone time a day. And mothers with young toddlers get even less. So when I got the chance for adult conversation, I grabbed it with both hands. Being a house wife is tough, day's are filled with endless demands, endless cleaning, endless running around, late nights, early mornings, snotty noses, coughs and colds that require constant nursing. It is a rewarding job, but any person with an ounce of honesty will admit that you need a break from them, no matter how much you love the bundle of joy who comes running at you at high speed to tell you they 'wuv you.' But when your home all day, with your child, you NEVER get that break. And then I found one. Facebook.
Facebook became my fresh air, it was gateway to another world and I didn't have to leave the house to be apart of it. By using Facebook I discovered that I could be me again. I could be Kat. With no demands, no sandwiches to make, no beds to change. cats to feed or dogs to walk. I could relax and be myself and interact with witty lovely people.
I cherish reading about Gemma's pregnancy food updates, I like hearing how her little one is developing and how she feels about being pregnant. I adore reading Kerry's comments about her dog Rog. It's epic. I know everything about that little pooch including his trips to the vets. I can't get enough of Lizzie's comments and blogs, I love the dark, witty and often inappropriate banter I have with the bandit Gary. And as for Charmaine always keeping me on the straight and narrow. What would I do without her. Not to mention the many hours of constant entertainment from the other guys and girls.
You can sometimes lose yourself in the duty of parenting. Losing your old identity and adjusting to the new one can have side effects. And mine was not being able to express the other side of me that wasn't wife and mother. So when I got the chance to post comments, I found freedom on-line.
For me personally my attitude towards the on-line communities has now changed. I have a healthy bias towards them now. I see that there is room for that world within my life but it has to be balanced with a balanced perspective. Knowing that I can still be me, wife and mother gives me a sense of relief and the infatuation of Facebook has now passed as all I craved and needed was adult company. Thank you Facebooker's for giving me that you precious people.
As for my iPhone... well we are still an item. All marriages have their ups and down. But I wouldn't be without the beauty now.
Monday 30 May 2011
The day I got spat on
Friday was a special and horrible day for me. It was my daughter Allana's birthday she turned three. After a hectic and wonderful morning I sent an excited birthday girl to nursery for her party, whilst I sauntered of to the hairdressers. I got my hair done at Boo, Kathryn the owner works wonders with my hair and I wanted to look my best for the wedding I was attending the next day. When I left the salon I felt really positive about how I looked, going to the hairdressers does that. You feel great when you leave if you have a good hairdo.
I travelled up the arcade and I was lost in thought at the hundred small little tasks I had to do before leaving for Liverpool in the morning, when a young lad who was part of a small group of hoodies, spat on me. Some went in my face but the majority ran down the sleeve of my coat. The others laughed whilst the idiot shouted racial abuse as they carried on walking. I had nothing to clean myself with so I took my coat off until I got to the car.
So what does that do for someones confidence and well being? Well I'll tell you. It crushes it.
The act of spitting on someone is ONE of the most demeaning and insulting things that can happen to a person. There are worst things that can happen of course; but this was really bad for me as I hate spitting. At first I was shocked, I don't know why, because it's happened before. Sad to admit but it's the price I pay for being mixed race, overweight and unusual looking. To be who I am comes at a price living in a place like Carlisle. I am considered a fourth class citizen, lower down the ranks than the unemployed drug addicts. You see no one fucks with the drug addicts they are to unpredictable and you could end up with a syringe in your eye socket. Fatties are an easy target though, yet the insults are predicable and unimaginative they still get it pretty bad. Now the blacks, well they get eyed balled a lot with suspicious eyes. They are put in the category of dangerous villain, protect yourself at all cost. I actually saw a black woman being followed around Tesco's by a security guard, she bought a few groceries and left. The same security guard didn't stop the unsavory looking white male walking out with a laptop tucked under one arm and 20 bottles of Becks in the other despite the alarms going off. And then you come to me. I'm ripe as a target. I am a woman, fat and mixed race. I'm like sweetie land to the thugs and ignorant people.
All my life I have tolerated racial abuse, when I was a little girl I was the skinny bean pole, a paki, wog wog, a gypo nig nog, and a nigger. As a teenager, I was fatty, bessy bunter, Somali shagger, nigger or paki. And as a woman the abuse got worse when I put on more weight due to my PCOS and insulin resistance (Blog to follow on this topic) plus I married a white Englishman from a small city. Stephen had experienced terrible bullying in his younger years but he never had to suffer racial abuse, he never knew what it was like, until he married me.
Over time I have developed armour, I have become hardened to the abuse, I get angry and hurt because I am a person, with a voice, a heart, a mind and a soul. I am not an animal to be spat on or punched. I am not there for your own amusement to torment and ridicule. After the anger subsides then the pain starts to set in. I guess it's the knowing that even if the President is black today, I will still get spat on tomorrow, and my child will also get spat on. The feeling of worthlessness that follows is always the crippler, I'm made to feel my position in life with spit and vicious words from children. And then I get strong again, stronger than the last time. Strong enough not to worry about those people; then I think of my little pooh bear. What do I teach my little girl? How do I prepare her for the jaunts and teasing she will get at school because of how her mum looks. How do I explain to her why people spit on her mummy? I don't know. Maybe between now and the next time I get spit on I'll have figured it out.
I couldn't wait to see my Allana that evening. She had a lovely day at nursery and we ate cake, sang songs and danced before she went to sleep. A good dose of Larney cuddles and daddy cuddles was enough to remind me of my worth. I got loads and loads of comments, calls and support off friends and family that day all of whom I'd like to thank for piecing back my confidence. The older I get the less it hurts, don't get me wrong, when it happens I feel awful, but the recovery for it takes less time than it used to. I feel sad and pity for the spitters, for those are the people who will spend theier whole life seeing without looking. If they had the foresight to look beyond my shell they would see someone worth knowing.
I travelled up the arcade and I was lost in thought at the hundred small little tasks I had to do before leaving for Liverpool in the morning, when a young lad who was part of a small group of hoodies, spat on me. Some went in my face but the majority ran down the sleeve of my coat. The others laughed whilst the idiot shouted racial abuse as they carried on walking. I had nothing to clean myself with so I took my coat off until I got to the car.
So what does that do for someones confidence and well being? Well I'll tell you. It crushes it.
The act of spitting on someone is ONE of the most demeaning and insulting things that can happen to a person. There are worst things that can happen of course; but this was really bad for me as I hate spitting. At first I was shocked, I don't know why, because it's happened before. Sad to admit but it's the price I pay for being mixed race, overweight and unusual looking. To be who I am comes at a price living in a place like Carlisle. I am considered a fourth class citizen, lower down the ranks than the unemployed drug addicts. You see no one fucks with the drug addicts they are to unpredictable and you could end up with a syringe in your eye socket. Fatties are an easy target though, yet the insults are predicable and unimaginative they still get it pretty bad. Now the blacks, well they get eyed balled a lot with suspicious eyes. They are put in the category of dangerous villain, protect yourself at all cost. I actually saw a black woman being followed around Tesco's by a security guard, she bought a few groceries and left. The same security guard didn't stop the unsavory looking white male walking out with a laptop tucked under one arm and 20 bottles of Becks in the other despite the alarms going off. And then you come to me. I'm ripe as a target. I am a woman, fat and mixed race. I'm like sweetie land to the thugs and ignorant people.
All my life I have tolerated racial abuse, when I was a little girl I was the skinny bean pole, a paki, wog wog, a gypo nig nog, and a nigger. As a teenager, I was fatty, bessy bunter, Somali shagger, nigger or paki. And as a woman the abuse got worse when I put on more weight due to my PCOS and insulin resistance (Blog to follow on this topic) plus I married a white Englishman from a small city. Stephen had experienced terrible bullying in his younger years but he never had to suffer racial abuse, he never knew what it was like, until he married me.
Over time I have developed armour, I have become hardened to the abuse, I get angry and hurt because I am a person, with a voice, a heart, a mind and a soul. I am not an animal to be spat on or punched. I am not there for your own amusement to torment and ridicule. After the anger subsides then the pain starts to set in. I guess it's the knowing that even if the President is black today, I will still get spat on tomorrow, and my child will also get spat on. The feeling of worthlessness that follows is always the crippler, I'm made to feel my position in life with spit and vicious words from children. And then I get strong again, stronger than the last time. Strong enough not to worry about those people; then I think of my little pooh bear. What do I teach my little girl? How do I prepare her for the jaunts and teasing she will get at school because of how her mum looks. How do I explain to her why people spit on her mummy? I don't know. Maybe between now and the next time I get spit on I'll have figured it out.
I couldn't wait to see my Allana that evening. She had a lovely day at nursery and we ate cake, sang songs and danced before she went to sleep. A good dose of Larney cuddles and daddy cuddles was enough to remind me of my worth. I got loads and loads of comments, calls and support off friends and family that day all of whom I'd like to thank for piecing back my confidence. The older I get the less it hurts, don't get me wrong, when it happens I feel awful, but the recovery for it takes less time than it used to. I feel sad and pity for the spitters, for those are the people who will spend theier whole life seeing without looking. If they had the foresight to look beyond my shell they would see someone worth knowing.
Wednesday 18 May 2011
Spiders
I have been afraid of spiders since I was a small child. I don't know why I developed this fear, maybe it's a survival code gentically embedded within my conscious mind to fear anything with 8 eyes. Anyway the orgin of my arachnophobia is not important, the fact that I have an irrational fear of spiders is.
Well since my daughter was born, I swore that I would not pass on my phobias to her, and so when ever I saw a spider I would encourage her to be inquisitive rather than afraid. This has helped me face my own fears. Now I don't scream, hyperventilate and run out of the room when I see a spider anymore. But I still don't like them.
My fear was so intense I would have my husband tear apart the bedroom to catch the spider that crawled under the bed, because I wouldn't be able to rest with it in the room. But he had to catch them, I wouldn't let him just stamp on them. All life is precious to me, even the ugly creepy spider that makes my skin crawl. He would moan and grumble about having to get out of bed at midnight to catch the spider that had trapped me in the bathroom. The spider would sit in the doorway waiting for me to take a step before it would make a dash for the other side, trapping me like an evil genius. My brother would often catch spiders and then throw them at me, or he would chase me around the house with the spider for his amusement.
But over the last 3 years I pushed my fear to the edge, with trembling arms and sweat pouring of my forehead, I'd catch the big hairy bastards in a glass then run to the nearest window to throw it out shrieking the whole time. But like a true huntress, I became adept at trapping the little demons and then releasing them back into the urban jungle.
My final obstacle and fear to conquer, was to actually hold a spider. And my daughter forced me to face the ultimate challenge. I was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by revision papers when my daughter started bringing me pirate treasure. She would go into the garden and collect small stones that she would hand to me. I would then inspect the stone and deem it worthy or unworthy for the pirate chest. Can you guess what happened next! Yep. 'Mummy mummy ook wot I foud,' Without thinking or looking I opened my palm, I assumed it was another rare gem from the garden of treasure. But she handed me a big black hairy but dead spider. My daughter looked at me with those big adorable brown eyes, searching for praise at the wonderful gift she had just given me. And I frozen with fear. But I couldn't show her my fear, all that hard work would have been for nothing. I could hear my heart thumping in my throat, My eye balls and mouth dried up and I held my breath wondering what to do. Then It happened, the dead balled up spider suddenly began unravelling it's long black legs. It was ALIVE!!!!!! I took a massive breath in. I felt like I was going to pass out, then the spider darted up my arm. 'Mummy it wants to go home now.' The paralysis soon wore off as I shot out of the chair as composed as I could. I tried creating a force field between my stretched out arm and the creature. I slowly walked to the back door as if I was carrying a bomb which was about to detonate. And then tried to shake the thing off. But it just kept on clinging on. The more I shook the further up my arm it went. Allana began giggling before she rescued me from this living hell. She grabbed the spider and put it in the flower pot next to the back door like it was her best friend. 'pider home now mummy.' She had put the spider back where she found it. I stood by the back door for a few minutes just trying to breath properly, because of the huge amount of adrenaline that had surged through my body I found it difficult.
Now I am calm and in a safe place, I can reveal that I have NOT overcome my fear of spiders, I don't think I ever will. But I didn't lose my cool in front of Allana. It paid off, lessons taught, courage in the face of fear and to be inquisitive rather than fearful of strange things. Phew.
Would I do it again? Hell No! Not at least without an element of choice involved. So My next challenge on the spider battle is to catch a spider with my bare hands. Yeah I said it. It may take me another 3 years to do this. But I held a big, black, hairy, eight eyed spider yesterday and so it feels more possible today. Although I'm not going to start looking for opportunities.
Well since my daughter was born, I swore that I would not pass on my phobias to her, and so when ever I saw a spider I would encourage her to be inquisitive rather than afraid. This has helped me face my own fears. Now I don't scream, hyperventilate and run out of the room when I see a spider anymore. But I still don't like them.
My fear was so intense I would have my husband tear apart the bedroom to catch the spider that crawled under the bed, because I wouldn't be able to rest with it in the room. But he had to catch them, I wouldn't let him just stamp on them. All life is precious to me, even the ugly creepy spider that makes my skin crawl. He would moan and grumble about having to get out of bed at midnight to catch the spider that had trapped me in the bathroom. The spider would sit in the doorway waiting for me to take a step before it would make a dash for the other side, trapping me like an evil genius. My brother would often catch spiders and then throw them at me, or he would chase me around the house with the spider for his amusement.
But over the last 3 years I pushed my fear to the edge, with trembling arms and sweat pouring of my forehead, I'd catch the big hairy bastards in a glass then run to the nearest window to throw it out shrieking the whole time. But like a true huntress, I became adept at trapping the little demons and then releasing them back into the urban jungle.
My final obstacle and fear to conquer, was to actually hold a spider. And my daughter forced me to face the ultimate challenge. I was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by revision papers when my daughter started bringing me pirate treasure. She would go into the garden and collect small stones that she would hand to me. I would then inspect the stone and deem it worthy or unworthy for the pirate chest. Can you guess what happened next! Yep. 'Mummy mummy ook wot I foud,' Without thinking or looking I opened my palm, I assumed it was another rare gem from the garden of treasure. But she handed me a big black hairy but dead spider. My daughter looked at me with those big adorable brown eyes, searching for praise at the wonderful gift she had just given me. And I frozen with fear. But I couldn't show her my fear, all that hard work would have been for nothing. I could hear my heart thumping in my throat, My eye balls and mouth dried up and I held my breath wondering what to do. Then It happened, the dead balled up spider suddenly began unravelling it's long black legs. It was ALIVE!!!!!! I took a massive breath in. I felt like I was going to pass out, then the spider darted up my arm. 'Mummy it wants to go home now.' The paralysis soon wore off as I shot out of the chair as composed as I could. I tried creating a force field between my stretched out arm and the creature. I slowly walked to the back door as if I was carrying a bomb which was about to detonate. And then tried to shake the thing off. But it just kept on clinging on. The more I shook the further up my arm it went. Allana began giggling before she rescued me from this living hell. She grabbed the spider and put it in the flower pot next to the back door like it was her best friend. 'pider home now mummy.' She had put the spider back where she found it. I stood by the back door for a few minutes just trying to breath properly, because of the huge amount of adrenaline that had surged through my body I found it difficult.
Now I am calm and in a safe place, I can reveal that I have NOT overcome my fear of spiders, I don't think I ever will. But I didn't lose my cool in front of Allana. It paid off, lessons taught, courage in the face of fear and to be inquisitive rather than fearful of strange things. Phew.
Would I do it again? Hell No! Not at least without an element of choice involved. So My next challenge on the spider battle is to catch a spider with my bare hands. Yeah I said it. It may take me another 3 years to do this. But I held a big, black, hairy, eight eyed spider yesterday and so it feels more possible today. Although I'm not going to start looking for opportunities.
Tuesday 17 May 2011
Music and Grief
The Foo Fighters have recently played a gig in Carlisle for Radio 1's Big Weekend. I of course never got to go, I wasn't lucky enough to get tickets, but my husband went with his sister. And what a performance I made about not being able to share in that experience. I sulked, I moaned, I threw wobblers, I had tantrums and cried. Eventually at the dinner table he asked me 'why' I wanted to see them so badly and 'why' I was so mad about not being able to go. And so for the first time I told him the truth...
There was a time in my life when I lost everything. And when I say everything. I mean everything. I had to cope with the deaths of 9 relatives in a 12 month period, 3 of those were very close. I was told I couldn't have children and so I lost my womanhood, I lost my husband to an 18 year old beauty, I lost my home, my husband's family (divorce does this), my job, my self respect, my self worth, my self confidence, my spirituality, most of my friends, and then my hope.
I felt a loneliness and grief that I can only describe as a black hole inside my body. Everything I loved was pulled into the black hole and I was left with emptiness that consumed me from the inside out. I woke up one sunny Saturday morning feeling like the universe had imploded in my chest and that I was dying. How I even functioned was a miracle. I remember asking myself, over and over, 'What do I do?' I was completely lost with no direction. I got showered jumped in the car and headed North. I always run North when I'm in trouble and I ended up in Scotland. I drove until the fuel ran out, I was lost, I had no idea where or how I got to where I was, and I just sat in the car with radio one playing. I cried until I couldn't breath anymore, I was drowning in my own sorrow. The Foo Fighters 'Times like these' was playing in the background as I planned to end it all. Then I heard the lyric 'It's times like these you learn to live again.' I listened to the lyrics and they somehow found me in the darkness and brought me back to life. They gave me air when I had none left.
You see from my point of view the music the band played that day is a symbol of my hope and my inner strength. A musical chorus from a rock band I hardly knew saved my life one sunny Saturday in Scotland. And it reminds me how music crosses all boundaries, it rips down emotional walls and can tear through the fabric of a crumbling universe. Music can make you dance, move, sway, jump and scream. It can make you cry, make you happy, make you feel sexy, give you inspiration, give you strength and reach you at a level that can change your life. Of course music cannot heal grief. Only time can do that, but it can help you move through grief. Music allows us an escape portal, it allows us to let our grief flow through lyric, beat, rhythm and rhyme when words fail us. Take away the glamour, take away the music star persona, take away the money and the industry and you simply have one person connecting with another.
I have tried to get to see the Foo Fighters now for the last 4 years and I have finally got tickets for Milton Keynes. And I will jump, scream and sing until my voice and my back breaks; because I want to celebrate their music the only way I know how, by throwing my hair up and down very fast. It is my way of saying THANK YOU!!!
There was a time in my life when I lost everything. And when I say everything. I mean everything. I had to cope with the deaths of 9 relatives in a 12 month period, 3 of those were very close. I was told I couldn't have children and so I lost my womanhood, I lost my husband to an 18 year old beauty, I lost my home, my husband's family (divorce does this), my job, my self respect, my self worth, my self confidence, my spirituality, most of my friends, and then my hope.
I felt a loneliness and grief that I can only describe as a black hole inside my body. Everything I loved was pulled into the black hole and I was left with emptiness that consumed me from the inside out. I woke up one sunny Saturday morning feeling like the universe had imploded in my chest and that I was dying. How I even functioned was a miracle. I remember asking myself, over and over, 'What do I do?' I was completely lost with no direction. I got showered jumped in the car and headed North. I always run North when I'm in trouble and I ended up in Scotland. I drove until the fuel ran out, I was lost, I had no idea where or how I got to where I was, and I just sat in the car with radio one playing. I cried until I couldn't breath anymore, I was drowning in my own sorrow. The Foo Fighters 'Times like these' was playing in the background as I planned to end it all. Then I heard the lyric 'It's times like these you learn to live again.' I listened to the lyrics and they somehow found me in the darkness and brought me back to life. They gave me air when I had none left.
You see from my point of view the music the band played that day is a symbol of my hope and my inner strength. A musical chorus from a rock band I hardly knew saved my life one sunny Saturday in Scotland. And it reminds me how music crosses all boundaries, it rips down emotional walls and can tear through the fabric of a crumbling universe. Music can make you dance, move, sway, jump and scream. It can make you cry, make you happy, make you feel sexy, give you inspiration, give you strength and reach you at a level that can change your life. Of course music cannot heal grief. Only time can do that, but it can help you move through grief. Music allows us an escape portal, it allows us to let our grief flow through lyric, beat, rhythm and rhyme when words fail us. Take away the glamour, take away the music star persona, take away the money and the industry and you simply have one person connecting with another.
I have tried to get to see the Foo Fighters now for the last 4 years and I have finally got tickets for Milton Keynes. And I will jump, scream and sing until my voice and my back breaks; because I want to celebrate their music the only way I know how, by throwing my hair up and down very fast. It is my way of saying THANK YOU!!!
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