What's in a name?

I remember between the ages of 7 and 11, 

being obsessed with finding out the first names of all of the teachers that worked in my primary school.

In the school dining hall 

(trust me, that sounds a lot more fancy than it was) 

there would be a little board with all of the teacher's initials that would be rotated depending of whose turn it was to have lunch first that week.

(As a little side note, I absolutely hated when my class was the last in for lunch, because I was such a slow eater that I would literally end up sat entirely alone whilst I finished up.

Sad, huh?)

I have no idea how I would find them out, but I was so happy when the day came that I could sit in the dining hall, look up at that little board and full name all of the teachers.

Now, I can only remember a few.

June Dunkley.

Malcolm Richardson.

Mark Abbott.

Jennifer Butler.

It blows my mind that in less than a year, my first name will be the subject of so much young fascination and intrigue.

Am I ready for that -

To be on the opposite side of my own childhood memory?

It scares me a bit, but I think that I might be.

A lesson in tact and imagination

It's probably a universally accepted fact that children are hilarious.

The two that I work with are absolute crack ups. 

Being all young and innocent (usually) they are lacking in tact.
Completely.

(As a side note, I remember when I learnt what the word tact meant. 

I was probably about nine years old and my Mum had just told me for telling my Uncle that if he carried on smoking he would DIE!)

Anyways, back to a more current story.

Yesterday, we're walking around the park and a man with a half sleeve tattoo is walking towards us.

Amy notices it as he's about two meters in front of us and then looks up at me, then back to the tattooed guy, points her finger and then very loudly declares...

 "he is a very bad man!"

I squeeze her hand and quietly shush her whilst offering the tattooed man an apologetic smile, and then she says...
"WHAAAT?! Look at all of his DIRTY tattoos.
That means that he is a BAD man!"
Que me quickly dragging her away before she opens her mouth again.

Fast forward half an hour and we're back at home.
I climb the two flights of stairs up to her room, where I find her wearing a purple dressing up outfit with matching high heels in her bedroom.
I stand outside her door for a minute and listen to what she's doing.
I peek around the door and see her twirling and spinning around her bedroom.
"I wandering and spinning through this magical forest.
The birds are singing and everything is just wonderful.
Oh no! I've fallen over a baby squirrel."
Que her dramatically falling to the floor with her hand resting on her forehead.
"Where or where is my handsome Prince Charming."
It was at this point she noticed me watching her.
I was kinda disappointed that the show was over.
So I took her downstairs and put on another Disney film and hoped that she would get inspiration for the next time she dresses up and pops off into her little imagination.

There's a snake in my boot

When I don't know what to write about, I take a look through my photo albums until something jumps out at me.

Well, it doesn't literally jump out, but.....

Anyway, today is such a day, which is way I'm going to write about a snake.

I vaguely remember having a snake draped around my shoulders when I was just a wee one. 

Maybe on holiday or in a pet shop.

I don't remember.

Actually, when I really think about it I'm not sure if either of those things ever happened.

It might be a made up memory.

Or maybe a dream that I had a very long time ago that I've confused as a memory.

Anyways, so seeing as I don't really remember it, 

when I was asked last week if I'd ever touched a snake, I said errrrm no.

Then I went right ahead and touched one.

It was...unexpected.

It was warm and not at all slimey or slippery.

Like I said, unexpected.

At least that's one thing I can tick off my bucket list now.

That was a lie.

I don't even have a bucket list.

And even if I did I don't think touching a snake would be on there.

Lemon-aid

When I was a little chiddler, my Mom didn't really let me watch lots and lots of TV.

But it must have been enough for me to one day conjure up the idea that I wanted to sell lemonade from a little stall out on my street. 

I'm blaming this idea on watching TV, specifically American TV, because selling lemonade is something that a little English girl would have never thought of all by herself.

So yeah, one day I hauled my red plastic table out onto the driveway with my lemonade sign and set up shop.

Just for your mental picture, when I say that I was on the driveway, I mean that I was stood on the driveway but behind a closed gate because my Momma wouldn't let me go out onto the street by myself.

Also, for your mental picture, incase your imagining some big icy glass jug of traditional lemonade with real lemons in it and everything, all I had was a 2 litre bottle of fizzy lemonade from the shop.

I must have looked like a right idiot.

Me stood behind a closed gate with a bottle of lemonade asking every-single-person-that-passed if they wanted to buy a glass of lemonade off me.

Someone did though. 

Some kind and/or strange soul bought a glass of lemonade off me.

For 50p.

What a joke!

I don't know why I remembered this today, but when I did I laughed out loud and decided to share.

I think I must have been quite a peculiar child.

If this little memoir wasn't enough, this picture surely proves it.

My mind and my bloody hands.

I, dear readers, am one of those people that doesn't deal too well with being alone. But let me make this clear, I don't mind shopping alone or sitting by myself in the library. This is not the kind of alone of which I make reference to. I'm talking about the home alone kind of alone. 


My mind goes crazy. I convince myself I can hear noises, that someone is lurking outside my window, that someone is in the house. The usual kind of things I suppose. 


I remember a time when I was maybe about 13 years old. It was night time. My two younger brothers were already asleep in bed and my Mom was out of the house for some reason. I wish I could remember the reason. Anyway, wherever Mom was, Dad had to go and pick her up. Which meant that I was going to be left in the house alone. Not counting my brothers, but they were asleep already, so they didn't count. After about 10 minutes of being alone in the house I started to hear this really loud banging. It was coming from outside of the house but I could tell that it was close. I was terrified. There was no pattern to the banging, but it was happening often and did I mention already that I was terrified? The banging didn't stop and so by the time that Mom & Dad got home, which was only about 10 minutes later I was crying under my quilt. I thought that someone was breaking into the house. It turned out that it was only the gate. It hadn't been shut properly and the wind was making it bang against the fence. Very loudly.


And it's not something that I've grown out of. In our flat, the entrance and the hallway has no natural light. So when all of the doors that come off of the hallway are closed it is pitch black. And if I'm in the house by myself I hate it. I walk through and think that there is somebody crouching by the door or hiding in the corner. 


So, now knowing my sentiments of being alone you can imagine how I reacted to what happened last night. Mr.K & I had had a lovely evening, with excellent food and excellent company. And then he gone to play football and I had come home. So I was alone. With lots of lights on in the flat to make me feel better. I was going about my get ready for bed routine. Put on pjs, brush my teeth, use mouthwash, floss, take off make-up, wash face, tone face, moisturise face, get into bed. I was up to the wash face part. So I was obviously leaning over the sink, with my eyes closed and rubbing water all over my face. But when I stood up and opened my eyes, I saw that my face was covered with blood. So were my hands and the sink. I was seriously freaked out. Until I realised that it was just because I'd started to have a nose bleed while I was washing my face. But for the split second that stood up and all I saw was blood I was a wreck. A bloody wreck. 

Curly Nannan

On this day, this very exact day ninety years ago a baby girl was born. Constance Eileen. Although by the time I came to meet her, I would never refer to her as Constance or Eileen. (She does generally go by Eileen though.) No, no, to me she would be Curly Nannan. 

Curly Nannan on the left, regular Nannan on the right.

In 90 years you have seen a lot of life. Heck, you lived through World War 2. You were the same age as I am at that point. I imagine that it must have been a very hard time, but not you - you remember it differently. You fondly say that you had a lovely war. I think that that's funny and I love you all the more for it. 

You've had three darling children, three darling grandchildren and and six even more darling great-grandchildren. That makes you a Great-Nannan in name and in nature. 

Your great grandchildren.

You looked after me when I was but a slip of a girl. You and Curly Grandad. I remember days spent at your house watching Bewitched and classic old musicals. I remember marvelling at your video collection and how completely organised and arranged it was. Still is. I remember your film fair treasures and your stories of meeting the man that played Darth Vader in Star Wars. I remember you taking me to dancing classes and tumble tots. I remember you making egg and chips for everyone. The famous Egg-and-Chips.  But not for me, because I don't like eggs, so I would always get bacon and chips and I thought that this was brilliant. You told me the stories to Treasure Island and Tom Sawyer, the great classics. I completely accredit my love of books and reading to you. In fact I'm sure that I would be entirely different had I not had such a sweet Curly Nannan to dote on me.

My memories of these times are fresh in my mind and heart and I'm grateful that today, on your 90th birthday, we get to have a party and all tell you how we love you and make yet more memories with you to carry in our hearts. We love you. I love you.

Happy birthday Curly Nannan. 

Whadda Gem

Mr. K is playing COD. If you know what COD is and if your woman and if your a women that knows what COD is not because you enjoy playing it yourself, but frequently you are a COD widow, then I salute you. I bow to you in fact. I am still learning how to be a gracious COD widow. 

Anyway, this is not what I wanted to talk about. 2010 has been good to me. It's been good to many. For me, 2010 has been a very good year. Very likeable, very enjoyable and very memorable. And seeing as we're now practically at the end of 2010, I thought I'd make a quick list of some of my most likeable, enjoyable and memorable times. Here we go.

/ Getting married

/ Seeing the colosseum with my very own eyes

/ Going to the temple for the first time

/ Opening predictions with my beloved housemates

/ Buying a sofa (not a big deal for many, but it was our very own sofa. The first thing we bought together)

/ CentreParcs with my family

/ Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 1

/ A Thousand Splendid Suns

/ The heat in Rome

/ The best lasagne I've ever eaten

/ The mafia lord in the white suit and crocodile shoes

/ Peter Kay

/ Mr. K's promotion

/ Lots of firsts

/ The X factor

/ The birth of this here blog

/ Fireflies playlist

/ The creation of my plan (not an evil plan, a lovely plan)
/ Seeing so many friends get married
/ Random trip to A Month of Sundaes
/ These photos/times....

Happy Halloween

I have to stay, I do quite like Halloween. As a child, I can only remember going trick-or-treating up and down the street possibly once. My Mum for some reason never really liked us doing that. So most of my halloween memories revolve around going to each different family members homes. Me and my two brothers and our cousins Chris & Chloe would all dress up together, then we would bundle into the car. We'd go to my Nannan's, Uncle Andrew & Aunty Michelle's, Uncle Patrick's & Aunty Julie's & then the pinnacle my Aunty Debbie's. Aunty Debbie would always have put up spooky decorations and have a proper Halloween costume. And she would make little spooky games for us to play. Plus she'd give us loads of sweets too. I absolutely loved it as a child. To be fair, I think that I would love it as an adult too. Good memories.Now I'm older and Halloween no longer means dressing up and knocking on random people's doors or visiting all of my family dressed as a black cat or witch. What I loved about those childhood costumes was that I would literally just have my face painted and basically wear a black bin bag and KAPOW! I was a cat or witch. I look forward to dressing my kids in bin liners.

The sad thing about Halloween is year that me & Mr. K live in an apartment now which is quite hidden away from any main roads or houses. So no cute trick-or-treaters come to the door. The good thing about Halloween this year is the YSA house party that we went to. FUN. TIMES. Mr. K made a robot outfit from cardboard boxes and tin foil. A very crude creation but everyone loved it. Best costume there I think. And I went dressed as Where's Wally. Less creative but appropriate nonetheless.

Check out me & Mr. K in the background. Also worth note are the M&Ms, karate kid & thunderbird.

Speaking of costumes reminds me of a story that Mr. K told me a few days ago. We were discussing what we were going to go to this party and he told me about a time he went to a fancy dress child as a child. All his little friends were dressed as vampires and zombies and ghosts and things like that. Scary Halloween things. And do you know what Mr. K was sent as? His Mum put him in his church suit, but with the jacket & trousers of backwards and so back-to-front-man was created. Pure genius. That story absolutely cracked me up.