January 2019

D-Day!

Wednesday 2 January 2019
This blog may be a New Years Resolution, but a notable D-Day for me actually came back in August, my first GCSE results day as a parent….

August 2018

After precious little sleep, my eldest and I drive to school. Into a babbling crowd of teenagers, surging towards the hall, she dives and I am left in the carpark, with only anxiety and panic for company. I’m unsettled, on edge and my mind is whirring out of control with images that career chaotically between scenarios of delight and utter despair.

Children begin to emerge; some waving results slips aloft, punching the air in triumph; others in tears hurrying to the anonymity of a parent’s car, results in brown envelopes, hidden from view. The contrast is shocking. I feel completely sick. What will I do if my daughter, who has worked her socks off, is one of the inconsolable ones?

I swipe and scroll my phone like a lunatic; no messages. Do I dare to send one? No I do not! I turn the radio on. I turn it off. I say a prayer. Then, after what feels like an age, comes a text

“Should be out soon, sorry for the delay!“

I bite my lip and risk a reply,

“Any news? …….. “

“All good”

flashes onto the screen, and I begin to breathe again! I stop worrying about what the grades are – let’s face it, happy kids means happy parents at moment like this!

But as my daughter slips back into the car, and hands me her results…I do get a real wake-up call. A sea of top grade 9s and the occasional grade 8, swim across the page. Her results are, by any measure, phenomenal. And I hadn’t expected that. I realise, with a jolt, that I really hadn’t expected it.

Why had I assumed that top grades simply weren’t for us? Because in my head, they were for children from ‘other families’; two-parent families . Here, in my ridiculous imagination, one adult could seminar through science revision, whilst the the other rattled off a few French flashcards. One could be on hand to support tuition whilst the second attended to nutrition, rest and well-being. Plainly put, I’d equated more parent time, or even just more parents, with an entitlement to better results. We’d do okay. We’d be content with that. We’d admire the others from a respectable distance. Why oh why oh why?

Was it me? Was it my circle of friends? Was it society? Who can tell…!

So here’s to the one person in the house who hadn’t done this; my amazing daughter. Determined, driven and totally focused upon her own goals, she had simply planned, prepped and made sure of the GCSE grades she wanted and needed.

And so, having had a few months to absorb the shock and delight, she is my inspiration for 2019. No more living in the shade of everyone else for us. It is more than time for me to forget seeing single parenthood, as the poor relation of the family unit and start celebrating our little unit on an equal footing. I need to allow my kids to enjoy working hard and pursuing dreams and I, as a mum, want to remember and cherish the laughter the fun and yes, sometimes even the sadness, of the everyday. That is what I want my blog to be for. So here goes ….

No Man-uary!

Saturday 5 January 2019

It’s the 5th January and time for me to re-connect with the world. Over a coffee, I catch up on my emails and find my inbox flooded with eye-catching discounts from online dating sites. I am technically “in the market for love” and I adore a good bargain, but even faced with a 75% saving, I find myself wavering.

I have been single for a few months now, having parted company with a pretty nice fella after a 7 year relationship. A hopeless and hapless romantic, I did stock up on gin and whisky in preparation for some dark weeks of devastation following our separation. However my drinks cabinet remains intact as I found, instead of despair, an energising boost of freedom as I stepped back into the world of the singleton.

For various reasons we had never lived together. The irony of this, for us, was this. Although my bloke was a committed runner (believe you me, what I dont know about heart rates, marathon pace, strengthening and conditioning and training schedules in general really isn’t worth knowing), our relationship stood still and eventually ground to a terminal halt. As we went out separate ways I feel as if I’ve come back to life, have enjoyed loads of new opportunities and have had real fun with friends….and my children?!

Yes, I discovered, children change a lot in 7 years. Back then they were all at primary school. I was expert as packing them off to bed and was beyond grateful to sink down with a glass of red and some adult conversation of an evening. But now they are young adults and they are really good company. At weekends, they are usually off in 3 different directions but when not, we’ve teamed up for some great family outings. During the week, now that my time isn’t divided between them and my fella, we’ve shared far more laughs, tears, popcorn and time together over films, “I’m a Celebrity” and just general silliness. It’s been wonderful.

And I know the clock is ticking for this precious time together as within 5 years they’ll all have spread their wings. I really need to make the most of it. So I think the dating sites can keep their offers for now. At the very least, I am resolved to make it to February and commit to a No-Manuary…

This is going to hurt!

Tuesday 8 January 2019

It’s the first week back after the Christmas Holidays, what doesn’t hurt? My ears hurt as the alarm clock nags me into wakefulness, my eyes hurt as the bedroom light pierces through the heavy darkness of a 6am January morning and most of all my soul hurts. The lovely lazy days of the festive season, when its nationally acceptable to do little other than eat, drink and make merry, are gone and we are back to the military operation that is working parent life! It’s school, it’s dinner money, it’s bus passes, it’s PE kits, it’s trip letters, it’s work, it’s commuting, it’s presentatons, it’s meetings….it’s just exhausting.

However, for some reason simply surviving a first week back is not enough for me. Oh no, for some reason, long forgotten I have decided to throw into the mix a mid-week trip to the Theatre for me, my eldest and some friends. I duly dash in on Tuesday night, feed children, slap on a bit of make-up, dash out with daughter, pick up our friends and career through Manchester’s roadworks and diversions to the Lowry in Salford.

Finally parked and drinks bought we take our seats and I begin to relax. We are here for a night of comedy with the touring show ‘Adam Kay – This is Going to Hurt’. Adam was a Doctor who has produced a best seller based on his diary extracts from Junior Doctor days onwards. I haven’t read the book but my daughter and our friends have and have “loved it”. My daughter wants to go Medical School, I am sure it will all be very enlightening and educational. And I do like the Lowry. It’s usually my mum who organises our outings here and I wonder if we should have brought her along …

Ten minutes into the show I am thanking the Lord that we left 80 year old mum at home! Adam bawdily romps through diary extracts featuring every kind of bodily fluid and mishaps to our cheekiest body parts and his language is rather fruity! Glancing around the auditorium I now notice that it’s a very adult audience, in fact we are possibly accompanying the only 2 teenagers in the place! Adam moves onto performing some hilarious songs, again adult-humour edgy. Or are they? My daughter is certainly laughing along with the best of them at the chorus-punchline to a song about a colonic irrigation tube! I swig my diet coke, knock back a handful of M & Ms and soon I too am singing enthusiastically along to the ‘Medical Quiz Round’. It’s tons of fun!

In case you go to see the show I wont spoil the ending but this is suddenly and startlingly, shocking and sad and we walk back to the car buzzing and talking about it all. The others tell me that I must read the book and I promise that I will. Laughter is a great medicine and January certainly hurts a little less than it did 24 hours ago ….

Sometimes the wheels just come off.

Thursday 10 January 2019
This morning one of my children had an severe asthma attack and any plans I had for the day go up in smoke. I hope that she will recover quickly and am thankful that the doctor does, at least, allow us back home on this occasion. 

But I am worried about the asthma and I am worried about Thursday’s workload which now all gets added to Friday’s workload. I am worried about deadines which are now 24 hours closer and suddenly seem like a mountain to climb. I am worried that there’s only ever me to sort everything out and that one day I might break. I am worried that it’s now 7pm and we all still need to eat. I tearily try to remember the last time anybody said “you look really worn out love, sit down and let me sort the tea”

Oh ‘get a grip‘ I shout inwardly… and laugh, as it does make me feel better. I recall the numerous times when the kids have sorted out tea… well to be precise have turned the oven on as I leave work! I smile as I think about the times they have noticed that I need a cup of tea and with varying degrees of skill have made me one.

As any kind of parent, it’s is never ‘only me’. You always have an unbeatable team by your side. And at work its the same. I’m blessed with fantastic colleagues, ever ready to lend a hand whenever I seem to be going under. And we’ll keep postive about the asthma too, with our GP and a fabulous specialist. I fire up the laptop and read through some updates on the Asthma UK site. I decide to sign up for their lottery. I remind myself that it’s 2019, time to stop seeing problems and concentrate on smashing them  … 

The Miracle of Time

Saturday 19th January 

The children’s Dad is visiting this weekend, ‘up’ from ‘The South’. It’s a pretty long trek and so we tend to see him about once a month. After a frenetic week at work, it is blooming fantastic to wave them all off on Saturday morning and enjoy  some time to myself. I luxuriate in solitude and pleasing myself. I fit in a run, I finish an overdue report for work, I spruce the house up a bit, potter about  and then just sit in peace and quiet enjoying a very large cup of coffee and feeling more on top of things than I have for several days  – it’s utter bliss.

On Saturday evening we all head out for a meal at a local Italian I’ve been meaning to try try for ages.
Out for a meal with your ex-husband!‘ I hear you cry, ‘How  nauseatingly mature of you!’
Fear not, it has taken us an awfully long time to reach this stage! And we haven’t got there my being mature, or having any clever conversations it’s simply this…time. It’s the oldest cliche in the book but, time is a great healer. It heals the wounds and takes away the hurt, until you are just 2 people again who know each other pretty well. My ex is an astonishingly well- read guy and a truly original thinker. It would be easy for anyone to while away a few hours in his company on this ticket alone. But for me above all of that, it’s just nice to spend some time with the one other person on the planet who finds our children as fascinating as I do. 

Anyway, back to the meal! We all love the restaurant, a typical buzzing and busy Italian. Ex and I catch up on work news and then both listen with amusement, at first, to my eldest who has chosen this moment to try and convince her Dad that he should buy her a car. But she puts together a strong and rather moving case which is very much about closing the travel gap between the children and their Dad and their ‘Down South family’ . I can tell that he’s considering it…which is a surprise! It’s a lovely evening.

Whether or not the car idea ever materialises, only time will tell, but he is on our doorstep on Sunday at 9am as promised to take my eldest for her first ‘driving lesson’. It’s the traditional, jolting your parent’s car around Tesco car park experience, and she loves it! If someone gave me a ‘ magic hour of time ‘ I know I would use it to see my Dad … just for one more time. And I might well take us both back 30 years to my first faltering steps, as a learner driver, edging his Leyland Princess along the beach in Wales. It’s a special time, it’s been a good weekend….

When your realise you’ve overdone it!

Friday 25 January 2019
Oh my goodness, a day that began at 6am finally finishes as I arrive home at 10:30 pm and I am spent! As I head to the fridge and find it stocked with wine but no milk, I also feel like  pretty feckless specimen of parenthood! 

I pour myself a glass anyway and decide I deserve it. I am back from a rehearsal and it’s not exactly the first rehearsal of the week. No, I am a musician, strictly amateur, who has said yes to a few too many job offers in recent weeks and I now find myself juggling about four different sets of orchestral commitments. I have spent a glorious week hurtling around Lancashire, in the fog and snow, to exotic locations such as Chorley, Blackburn and Bolton to tootle my oboe notes and make music. I have loved nearly every minute of it (petrol light flashing on a dark blizzard-hit M65 was a bit of a stress point), but upon reflection…..I wonder it I have overdone it? It’s not just the lack of milk, nor the fact that only a cheese pie, produced my my youngest in school cookery class, saved us from food disaster this evening, it’s also that, as I fly in and out, I hear children, muttering ‘again?‘ or ‘another rehearsal?’ with a definite accusing edge to their voices…

As the spawn of musical parents, it was never really an option not to play an instrument and I began lessons at the age of 12. And now, I am grateful to my core, because, at times, music has been the only thing that has kept me sane and I have always fought hard to keep playing. When my marriage broke up I managed to get to a few rehearsals by giving up (amongst many other things) a cleaner and spending the money paying for the same lovely lady to babysit instead. And those rehearsals were an absolute lifeline!

These days playing music mostly makes me feel  incredibly happy. I love being part of the noise, I love feeling my soul stir, I love my mind being overtaken by melody and emotion … it’s just utterly fantastic! It’s also a link to the past which can be sadder. Dad was a musician and sometimes, as I hear a piece of music that I can picture him conducting or playing, I still feel myself wobble. In particular, I cannot reach the end of Beethoven’s Pastoral without big fat tears rolling down my face,  because whenever Mum went to hear him perform, Dad would always serenade her with one of its Horn solos as she entered the auditorium. I guess I am just a ‘Real Emotional Girl‘ and that makes music a perfect companion. 

But, whilst I may have music in my soul, whilst I may thrive on the excitement of a week eating on the go and caring little about the state of the house, I’m not flying solo through life. I am part of, in fact I am captain of, a team. And the balance, that trickiest of balances between personal freedom and parental responsibility, hasn’t worked for my super-squad this week. I can have music, just not quite this much!  I look at the calendar, life looks a little crazier than usual until Easter,  but I resolve, with only a slightly heavy heart, to say ‘Yes, I’ll play’ a little less after that…

Pay Day!

Wednesday 30 January 2019

Praise the Lord for tomorrow is PAY DAY! A day when money goes in and, for a blissful 24 hours, nothing goes out,  and I can have one day when I pretend to have no money worries.  Because, and I can’t find a positive slant on this one, when you move from parenting as a couple to parenting alone you are screwed financially!

The excellent report, The Cost of a Child in 2018 by the Child Poverty Action Group (CPAG) presents data showing that the actual cost of raising a child is higher for lone parents than couples. They calculate that “The overall cost of a child (over 18 years, including rent and childcare) is £150,753 for a couple and £183,335 for a lone parent”. In this report the ‘cost of a child’ is calculated as the difference the arrival of the child has made to the family outgoings. With this definition it’s easier to see why some costs, such a Child Care, have a greater impact for a lone parent, who has less flexibilty and choice,than a couple. What is a surprise is that the financial imbalance continues throughout the child’s life. Or is it. The single mums I meet who have jobs in the care and health sectors often have night shifts and this means paying for overnight child care until their children are quite old. It’s a cost many couples don’t have. From a personal point of view, I know that my earning potential is more limited than when I was married, because working hours, location, ability to travel for work are all constrained by childcare. Cuts in personal tax thresholds only impact one salary in my home in comparison to two for many of my couple friends. I am sure there are other reasons too,  because the figures look indisputable and the relentless disparity between the ability of lone parent families to cover their outgoings in comparison to families parented by a couple, is a tough read. One finding that hits home for me is this, 

“For families on median earnings, the contrast between lone parents and couple families is particularly pronounced. The former now fall 15%  short of an adequate income even with a reasonably paid job…. For a couple with two young children, on the other hand, median wages produce disposable income 10% above the minimum.”

I have certainly found it a constant battle to stay afloat. Ex contributes, but it’s less than a quarter of the money that previously came into the home. Even with his contribution, divorce led to a 50% drop in my household income, which was a body blow. I work full time,  I think I am quite good with money but I still cannot stay out of the red most months and have precisely £0 in my ‘rainy day fund‘. There is also discrimination at every turn. Council Tax, Child Benefit, lack of Married Person’s Tax Allowance, Benefits Sanctions and many other costs hit single parents disproportionately and that just isn’t fair. We deserve a level playing field, but you’d have to be innumerate and deluded to think a lone parent can look forward to the same financial security as a couple in the UK of 2019.

There is plenty more I could say but it’s not for now, because now is almost the ‘last working day of the month’ when for a full day my bank balance will look rosy and the financial future bright and I don’t want to waste a single minute of that day on angry rants…

February 2019

Friday 1 February 2019

Wow made it through January and as this cartoon pops upon my social media, whilst marvelling at the will power of those stoics who have made it through a dry month, I am compelled to wonder, 
‘If that’s what the end of Dry-January looks like, what on earth am I supposed to be doing to mark the end of No-Manuary?!!’

Should it be flirty-February? Our Book Club read for this month is the tantalisingly titled ‘The Lover‘ and I wonder if it’s an omen. Fitting a few first dates into the weekly chaos would be a challenge,  but it could be fun to try! On the other hand, do I enjoy another luxurious month of balancing fabulous family time with time for me and doing the things I really enjoy?January was hectic but very happy. Perhaps I’ve found my perfect formula and there’s no need to change it? I guess time will tell…

February Finances

Saturday 2 February 2019

You could call February my momentous month. Two of my children have February birthdays, it’s the month I bought my current home and, many moons ago, my first ever car. Alternatively, as birthday plans collide with car and home insurance renewals, you could just call it a month of financial catastrophe… and this year I also have to throw a Prom dress into the mix !

Saturday is earmarked for our first foray into the wonderful world of Prom dress shopping, with an appointment booked at a local boutique. However my Saturday morning run is interrupted by a frantic call from the shop. Our slot has been booked at a time when another girl, from the same school, is on the premises … and apparently this is a ‘Disaster!’

“No no no!” a woman gasps in horror down the phone, “The girls can’t have anyone else seeing their dress before the ‘Big Day!'”

I long to shout ‘Are you for real?’ down the line but instead I keep my opinions to myself and calmly book us in for the following weekend, because it will keep the peace in our household. Keep the peace because, though I may join the ‘No prom in my day!’ brigade in finding the whole thing a complete palaver, I accept that ‘The Prom’ is now an important date in the school leaver’s diary? Not really! It will keep the peace because of parity – the golden rule of family life. This is my second prom-ing daughter. Last year this shop was on our Prom-circuit and that means we go again this year… end of discussion.

The upshot however is that Saturday afternoon is now free and my other two children, the February birthday duo, spot their opportunity and swoop in. Their birthday gifts this year are phone upgrades and so we find ourselves off on a family trip to take on the might of the mobile moguls and root ourselves out a good deal. It doesn’t start well, I disgrace myself in the first shop by confusing storage with data and having to ask what an ‘XR’ is and all three kids are rolling their eyes and making furious ‘keep quiet mum!‘ gestures in my direction. However, by shop 3,  as we start to talk money- numbers, I come into my own. My arthimetic is quicker than the computer and that throws the salesman off his stride. When I also produce bits of paper with comparative deals on, he is putty in my hands and we are soon offered extra discounts and extra data to beat the very best deals we’d researched in advance …I think even the kids are impressed! They are certainly very happy with their new phones, even if neither of them comes close to being an XR!  

Back home I feel I’ve well and truly earned my Saturday glass of wine. Just the small matter of home insurance, car insurance and a Prom dress to squeeze out of my monthly salary now… oh bring it on!!!

Birthday Season!

Saturday 9 February 2019 Y7

Oh dear, it’s been a truly, terrible week and I’ve spent much of it feeling like the worst parent on the planet. My head has been overloaded with deadlines and difficult decisions at work, and overloaded at home with demands for my time, the mum taxi and my wallet. My body is exhausted with day-in day-out drudgery. If only my big mouth could have been too weary to make an appearance this week. But alas no, feeling the stress, it has been guilty of firing out stupid, and at time awful, comments at the people I work with and live with. With horrendously bad timing, this has hit Birthday Week for two of my children and so, in move to drag myself away from the whirlpool of gloom that is threatening to submerge me, I have decided to concentrate on them, worry about everything else later. So here is a paragraph about each of my Birthday duo.

I’ll start with ‘Small Boy’ my youngest, but tallest child who marched on through the teenage years this week. Described by one teacher, at a recent Parent’s Evening, as ‘remarkable’, he really is a remarkable bundle of creativity.  He tootles away for hours on the piano my mum gave us, re-creating and then rearranging his favourite rock and pop tunes, he’s just teaching himself the guitar and already does a brilliant rendition of Phoebe‘s ‘Smelly Cat’  (from Friends) and his writing is so amazing, I once accused him of copying his English homework from a published novel!  He’s witty, he’s clever, he’s unbelievably good company. More importantly he is also incredibly kind and thoughtful, gets spiders out of rooms, takes his Nana on day’s out, always gives money to people begging on the streets and once called the RSPCA to rescue an injured bird in the garden. He also does an amazing job of coping, as the lone man,  in our home of females. We may all shout  ‘Shut the door !’ whenever music from the piano,or his latest vinyl, starts to fill the house, but the truth is ‘Small Boy’ rocks our world!

My eldest child also celebrated her Birthday this week. She is an unstoppable force who just takes our breath away. When my girl sets her sights on a goal, her drive, determination and discipline kick in and she grafts her way to glory!  But, while we all marvel at her achievements, we all love her because she is just beautiful on the inside and out. Day to day, she quietly tries to make my life easier by doing jobs around the house, but in a crisis, such as the time Small Boy cut his eye open and I passed out, or the time I forgot to collect him from the school Panto, she just takes over and completely comes into her own. When the chips are down, there’s simply no-one alive I’d rather have by my side. We may all groan as she launches into her latest scientific fact at mealtimes, gets potassium into a game of I-spy, or insists on sharing a pack of Smarties into equally coloured as well as equally sized portions, but the truth is she is our oxygen, our carbon, our hydrogen, our nitrogen, she is the essential element in our lives and we would not survive without her.

Well…. that was good therapy as it goes!  I feel much better and thinking about how wonderful and unique all three of my children are,  I conclude that whilst there are many better in this world, I am possibly not the worst parent on the planet after all.  Hopefully by Monday I might even be up for ‘Smashing’ this single parent life again…

The pen is mightier than the sword!

Thursday 14 February 2019
This week Top Shop and I went into battle over the case of the ‘Missing Parcel’. I followed the suggested Customer Service channels, only to be fobbed off with standard replies about 48 hour response windows and nobody taking responsibilty for anything. The thing is, I’d paid for next day delivery, because I didn’t have 48 hours to spare. And, I’m a single mum who is used to fighting her corner, so I abandoned politeness and patience with their incompetence and wrote this review on Trust Pilot.

The parcel that still hasn’t arrived.
Ordered online from Top Shop on 10th Feb and paid £6 for next day delivery. Received a confirmation email from Top Shop on 10th .
That was the last I heard from Top Shop until, by the end of 12th Feb, we wondered where our parcel was. No emails and no texts from Top Shop but, on my account, a tracking message claiming that my parcel of 4 winter jumpers had been delivered ‘through your letter box’. I contacted them to say that we had no parcel and that fitting jumpers through my letter-sized letter box was unlikely. Thereupon, they suggested checking with ‘neighbours’ and in my ‘safe place’. I did check the shed and the bins. I even knocked on a few neighbours’ doors before I came to my senses and thought ‘What are you doing? You have paid for premium delivery, not to be out after dark scouring bins and randomly knocking on doors!’
Contacted Top Shop on 13th requesting a call, no call came so I called them. I now have to wait for 48 hours for them to contact Yodel. I have no parcel, a £75 hole in my account, and no confidence at all that Top Shop will ever resolve this. Learn from my mistakes and AVOID this store!!

Lo and behold, within 12 hours of the review being published, the parcel arrives, along with a 10% discount code for future orders! I shall modify my review when my delivery charge is refunded, but until then it’s a celebratory cup of tea raised to that old adage,  ‘The pen is mightier than the sword!’ 

Book Club

Friday 15 February 2019

Dropped my middle child, Prom-dress daughter, off at 2:30 am this morning for a school trip. Not wearing her prom dress, I hasten to add, rather sporting a new Top Shop jumper and very excited. I found the ungodly hour a little harder to cope with and the 6 am work alarm, chirping into action after only a few hours of snatched sleep, particularly tough. Somehow I made my way through a busy and productive day but I am now fading fast and relishing the thought of curling up in bed with ‘The Lover‘ … this month’s Book Club read!

Inspired by last Summer’s holiday in Sligo, and a trip to the Yeats Visitor Centre, I joined a Book Club a few months ago. If you don’t know it, the Sligo Yeats Visitor Centre is a pretty inauspicious building and I’d probably have seen off the display of artifacts and extracts in under 10 minutes, had it not been for the tour guide. Brimming with enthusiasm, knowledge and a whole ton of Irish charm, this man brought the world of Yeats, in an era of political unrest and a thirst for national self-determination, to life. Suddenly I was reading every word in the place with fresh eyes and a brain stretched completely out of its comfort zone and I was converted. Converted away from the ‘easy read’ drivel clogging up my Kindle and back to a world I’d once loved of challenging, beautifully crafted literature, steeped in the culture of its time that stirs your emotions and sometimes makes your head hurt with questions and conflicts. I did think seriously about signing up for some OU literature course, but looked at the calendar, had a reality check and have put that one on hold for a few years. Small steps then, I’d start reading better books and discussing them with better minds than mine. I’d join a Book Club. 

After a fair bit of searching I found one. We meet each month in a local pub. It’s actually the pub of my teenage years and I do often giggle inwardly, wondering what my teenage self would make of our room of middle-agers, nursing our drinks, and talking books! That is …when we do talk books! A little like Yeats himself, who,  I learned last Summer, found time not only to discuss matters literary but also to talk politics and pursue affairs of the heart, we can often wander from the plot of the book.  Current affairs, personal memories, stirred by a setting or a story-line, and even Piers Morgan have all been topics of debate but that’s the joy of a good book; you never know quite where the journey will take you! And the books have been good. I’ve read more and read better in the last 4 months than I have in the last 4 years. Much as I would recommend running as the physical exercise of choice for any parent, but particularly us doughty single parents, I’d go for reading for the mind. For me it’s affordable, it fits into any spare moment and it’s a total brain stretch, sparking curiosity, overtaking my thoughts and just transporting me away from the every-day grind for a few precious moments each day. 

But enough blogging for tonight, ‘The Lover‘  is calling this weary woman to bed …

I have no words…

18 February 2019
Prom-dress daughter is safely back from her school History trip to Krakow. This time the pick up is 1am and when we get home we make two drinks and sit on her bed to look at her pictures.

I see the photos she’s taken in the Jewish Quarter and those she’s been allowed to take at Schindler’s Factory, Auschwitz and Birkenau. It is deeply shocking and …. I have no words….

Spring time spruce up!

Tuesday 19 February 2019

Marie Kondo eat your heart out!
Half term has met Spring fever and we are clearing out and sprucing up with avengeance. A seemingly endless array of outgrown, sometimes never worn, teenage clobber is tempting buyers on Ebay. Kitchen and lounge cupboards have been ruthlessly cleared and we have made several satisfied trips to the Charity Shop and the tip. But best of all, decorators are in my house…

Three years ago, I did naively take on the task of decorating all three of the kids’ bedrooms myself. It was a week of untold misery, chaos, back pain and as, one by one, my initially enthusiatic trio of helpers trickled away, isolation from the world. I got paint on the carpet, on the furniture, on the bed sheets and I swear some of it is still in my hair. ‘Never again!’ I vowed by the end and have been saving up,  since that day, to get other rooms done by a professional. That day has arrived and it’s a whole new world. I sit sipping coffee, taking a breather from our Spring clean fest,  whilst Soft Taupe brings warmth to my lounge and Goose Down’ grey, adds pazzazz to the kitchen. I have nodded sagely and I hope convincingly, as the the decorators have talked a new language of  ‘filling cracks and holes’, ’emulsion’ and ‘primer’. I have certainly made them plentiful cups of coffee and think that tomorrow my gratitude will extend to a plate of biscuits too!

But that can wait for tomorrow because tonight I am out with a friend exploring some of the newest  bars in our corner of the North West. Which means, even though there’s no paint under my nails, I better start getting  myself spruced up…

Slam dunk!

22nd Februarybeckyjo125

Thursday 21 February 2019

One definite advantage of single parenting is that you are always learning new skills. This week it was assembling a basket ball stand…

Small Boy ordered the stand in question with his birthday money, and it is delivered at the start of the week. It’s quite a large parcel to arrive in a house already coping with decorators. By the end of Tuesday, we all bear the scars of at least one encounter with a sticky doorway and Small Boy holds the record, with gloss paint on his feet, his arm and his bum! In addition, we have the daily challenge of rehousing the contents of whichever room the decorators next plan to whip back into shape with their rollers and brushes. In the middle of this interior upheaval, it seems perfectly sensible to ask Small Boy to wait until Friday for his hoop to be built.

‘Friday is going to be dry‘ I reason, ‘We shall be able to put it all together outside‘ 

Small Boy however is a third child, and he has learned to ignore parental procrastination if he ever wants to get anything done. And so it is that I return home on Tuesday night, from top night out of cocktails and catching-up , to find not only the entire contents of the lounge in my kitchen but also a semi-assembled basketball stand!

I decide to bow to the inevitable. Next morning, with two of us on the job, we make quick work of the allen keys, nuts and bolts and presently the only job remaining is sand, to weigh down the base. I head out to Wickes on this seemingly simple mission but soon find myself gazing in bewilderment at an unfathomable array of choices for our ballast. Who knew that there were such things as ‘sharp sand’, ‘tarmac sand’,  ‘flagging sand’ , ‘yellow’ and  ‘grey’ and ‘silver’ sand  in this world? Thankfully, a very helpful woman points me towards the ‘Building Sand’ shelf and I am soon staggering back to my car with two 25kg bags clearly up to the task of ensuring that our basket ball stand, once filled, will never move again!

Back home, despite the grey gloom and drizzle, Small Boy and I wheel the stand outside and now face a whole new challenge. How on earth do we get 50kg of heavy wet sand into the tiny aperture available on the plastic base? Small Boy is an inventive child and fashions a few funnels out of paper and card but none of them are a match for the sand and eventually we are just scooping the stuff up with an old kitchen jug and ramming it through the hole. Our hands and clothes are covered in soggy red sand, we see the decorators chortling away from an upstairs window and we thank the Lord that next doors’ builders had finished their tea break before we began. We brave it out, as a team, to the very end. Triumphantly we wheel the completed stand into place and high five with gritty hands and grubby grins. 

Not the prettiest of jobs but we did get the job done and it feels great.  As Small Boy happily heads out for a few slam dunks, I do feel like a half decent mum….

Some days are an up-hill struggle…

24 February 2019
A mood of back-to-school gloom hovers over the house today and for me the weather is only making it worse! Whilst everyone else rejoices in the unseasonably warm weather, my single-mum eyes just look out of the window and think ‘Garden!‘

Assisted by my trusty team of decorators, I was feeling on top of the house and my grown-up homestead duties until the sun came out! The garden, which I’d hoped to cheerfully ignore until mid-April, is suddenly a verdant abundance of weeds and rapidly growing grass and it demands more immediate attention. With a sinking, and all too familiar, feeling of being impossibly overwhelmed, I add ‘weeds’ and ‘lawn’ to my to do list! Coping with the endless demands, of all the adult jobs at home, is a daily battle for any single parent and, for me, the garden has to be the worst. I think about starting a Single-Parent co-operative where we all help each other out. I don’t mind a bit of extra ironing or a few more bathrooms to clean, if someone is going to weed my garden, and deal with drains and pipes in return! However, as that’s not likely to happen soon, I consider heading out in search of weedkiller.

But the thought of gardening is not the worst thing for me today. The sunny weather has reminded me of the ‘pretty nice fella’ I broke up with a few months ago. This is just his kind of day. I picture him dusting down his shorts and heading out for a glorious hilly bike ride. I remember how he used to come clattering triumphantly back from his adventures into my kitchen, a little bit sweaty, but his face alive with energy and smiles.And I know he won’t be clattering into my kitchen anymore, because he clatters into someone else’s now, and that hurts. And what hurts even more, is that the sunny weather marks the arrival of Spring and I realise that it’s not enough that I have made it through Winter, I have to make it through Spring, Summer and all the seasons ahead. I have to make it through year upon year without my ‘pretty nice’ friend, partner and lover by my side. And that is …heartbreaking… I am overcome by a wave of sadness and I know I need to do something to stop it, because if I let these tears start to fall I don’t think they will ever stop. I decide that weed killer can wait, pull on my trainers and head out for a run instead. One thing to love about running is that it’s a perfect analogy for life. You know that the reward for every up-hill struggle is a downhill where you can recover and repair. There’s sometimes even a fantastic finishing line. And although I know there’s no magical happy ending for me this time, I’ll settle or a bit of recovery and repair right now …

March 2019

This mum runs too!

1 March 2019
March gets off to a great start with the return of the work Friday Run Club!

I have been running for about 5 years now. It began with me huffing and puffing my way ‘around the block’ which was exactly a mile. Gradually, I’ve built it up, to a Park Run, then a first 10K, and I now manage a couple of 5 or 6 miles runs each week. It is the perfect sport for a single parent because it’s cheap (all you need is a pair of running shoes), and it’s totally flexible (you go running when you have a spare hour.) But what a huge struggle and often a dreaded chore it was at first! I think it was about 3 years ago, that someone recommended running a bit slower and that was a complete revelation! I went from enduring running to loving it overnight! I did slow down and now I run further and, ironically, faster than I ever thought possible. To quote Matt Frazier, author of ‘No-Meat Athlete Cookbook’,
“If all you know of running is running fast, then you don’t know running. You know gym class mile-run torture, and almost nobody (not even runners) thrive on that kind of pain. If you’re having trouble running consistently, just slow down.”

Anyway, back to our Friday Run Club. Friday was once a day when I just didn’t want to get up. The teens have a Friday rehearsal which finishes at 7 and I am the ‘pick-up’ parent! By the time I finish work it’s not possible to make the pick up if I go home first. So every Friday, I’d leave for work at 7:30 am, and finally make it back home by 7:30 pm, instantly have to start cooking so that our hungry and grumpy household could eat before 9! There was also dismal, dead time at the end of the working day when I’d try, but utterly fail, to be productive and get ahead with jobs for Monday. Let’s be honest, who wants to work late on a Friday?

At the start of October, a work colleague suggested a Friday run and it has been a ‘Friday transformation!’ My week now ends with a small group of us running together for an hour, clad in bright clothes (even I’ve dug out a pink running top) and never once mentioning, ‘pace’ or ‘PBs’. Instead for the first 2 miles we talk work, and with every sentence and every step I feel work being put aside and laid to rest until the start of the next week. For the next 2 miles, as the incline we’ve been climbing steadily intensifies in steepness, I actually can’t speak! But I come back to life on the glorious 2 mile descent back to work , and now we discuss weekend plans and life, the good parts and the bad. ‘Never stop!’ is our motto, but if anyone gets tired or feels under the weather we all slow down. It’s running for fitness but, more importantly, for friendship and it is the perfect start to my weekend. Back home, Small Boy’s Friday technology class have been cooking since January and so we have had the added bonus of (cooking class) meals ready on the stroke of 7:30 pm too!

I marvel at the achievements of Jasmine Pace, a mum who became the first female winner of the Ultra Marathon. At Christmas, one of our runners bought us all buffs in support of the ‘Doing it for Laura‘ campaign, that you may have seen on the the BBC news, and I marvel, not only at this inspirational teen, but at her runner mum, too. I marvel at my own mum friends who have run with their children, or around their children, and now complete astonishing running feats. And because of them and because running keeps me fit and sane and because running’s made me appreciate that my amazing workmates are so much more than the jobs they do, I am proud to say ‘This mum runs too…”

What’s NOT on your CV?

Pancake Tuesday 2019

Feeling pretty proud today as I review my ‘to do list’ for last week:

• House painted
• Weeds killed
• Prom dress bought
• Driving lessons booked
• First College Parent Evening survived

Believe me, behind every tick there’s a story and tonight proves to be no exception. The next item on my list is a school ‘Mock Job Interview’ for Prom-dress daughter…

Prom-dress daughter is the style guru of our household, with a passion for Pinterest pages on design and decor. It is she who guided me away from a dull Magnolia paint of the house last week, and persuaded me to be a little bolder with colour. When she tidies a room or re-organises Small Boy’s den of despair, it really does look as if the professionals have been in. She’s a dab hand with a flat pack, daring with DIY, never misses an episode of ‘Grand Designs‘ and mathematics is her favourite subject at school. So, we thought, let’s pick Architecture for our ‘Mock Job’. A few weeks ago, we spent a Sunday afternoon penning a ‘Mock Application Letter’ for our ‘Mock Job’ and tonight we set off to school, a little nervously, into the unknown world of interviews for fictional jobs with fictional bosses…

It’s an abrupt start. Prom-dress daughter’s interviewer has a free slot and so instead of joining me in the waiting area for a calming coffee she is whisked off instantly for her grilling. I am catching up with a friend, over a polystyrene cuppa, when she re-appears. Her 20 minute interview has only taken 12 minutes so I know it can’t have gone too well. In addition although she is smiling bravely and telling everyone that it has been ‘fine‘, the eyes that meet mine are screaming ‘Get me out of here!‘ We hurry back to the car, pausing only to collect our ‘Invitation to the Prom’ – the reward for completing the interview – as we pass School Reception.

Back in the car she relives the experience. The interviewer claimed to be so impressed with her ‘Mock Application Letter’ that he elected to put aside the standard question sheet and use some of his own! So it is that Prom-dress daughter, a shy 15 year old, sitting in a school room, talking to a complete stranger about a job that doesn’t exist, is completely thrown by an opening question of

“Tell me something that’s not on your CV?” 

followed by “What’s the biggest decision you’ve ever had to make?” and “Who has been the most inspirational figure in your life so far?” (It’s not quite the ‘Tell me a little bit about yourself and why you are interested in Architecture‘ that we were expecting!)

” I said you mum” she says, shrugging forlornly , ‘Would it have been better to say Zaha Hadid?”

That pulls me back from my own thoughts, (about my biggest life decisions), with a jolt! I hug my lovely girl and announce that we are ‘chalking this one up to experience’. She may feel she could have done better and can do next time, when there is an actual job to apply for. Surely that is the whole point of the ‘Mock experience’. At least the questions can’t actually get any worse and she has told the make-believe boss that I am her greatest inspiration in life -so Zaha Hadid, stand in line!!

We treat ourselves to take-away food, as a reward for coming out the other side of a tricky ordeal, and by the time I am flipping 9 pm pancakes for my trusty trio, her smile is beginning to creep back. I’ll tell you what’s not on my CV, Mr Make-believe Boss, it’s that I have the three greatest children in the world…

Time to think

Friday 8 March 2019

My house is quiet and full of space … and it’s utter bliss! Small Boy is out with friends and the children’s Dad has taken both girls out for tea. I have wine, I have egg and chips and I have precious hour of peace to stop and think about the week that has passed by.

It’s been very much my kind of week at work. Always on the go, with a couple of new projects reaching their peak and the demands of organising evening events and public presentations. And always full of buzz and excitement, such a welcome change from the usual routine. I sip on my wine and reflect on how much I happier I am at work when there’s something new and the challenging focus on. Perhaps instead of ‘giving up’ chocolate for Lent this year, I should be ‘taking up’ or even ‘making’up’ new opportunities in the workplace.

And as today is ‘International Women/s Day’, there’s no shortage of inspiring words to strengthen my resolve. I choose Countess Markievicz of Lissadell House, which I visited in Ireland last Summer,

“…. take up your responsibilities and be prepared to go
your own way, depending for safety on
your own courage, 
your own truth and 
your own common sense,
and not on the problematic chivalry of the men you may meet on the way ..”

Now clearly, chilvalrous men are rather less of a problem for me than for the lovely Countess! Otherwise, her call, to be guided by your own truth and courage, really does chime with me. I raise a glass to taking on fresh challenges and to learning new things, to aiming high and encouraging my children to do the same. I am revived and inspired, it has been good to have some time to think…

There’s a rat in my kitchen!

Tuesday 19 March 2019

It’s after 10 pm as I reach home from tonight’s rehearsal. I am pretty hungry and tired, but all thoughts of food and sleep are cast aside as I espy a parcel on my bookcase. My SparkPod Ultrasonic Pest Repeller has arrived – hip hip hooray!!

The girls are convinced that we have mice in the loft, following a few nights of ‘strange scratching’ noises. Now I do try to take most things on … but rodents are my limit. So I shot straight online to locate a skilled mouse remover, whereupon I came across the world of ultrasonic solutions to pest problems! They had absolutely rave reviews and so I was enticed to give home remedy one chance to succeed before I call in the pros!

And here it is! Feeling quite giddy with excitement, I rip open the packaging … oh goody there are three of them but yikes … they are plug in devices and I don’t think there’s a socket in my loft! Undeterred, even though it’s now close to 11pm, I turn the garage upside down to find my extension lead and am teetering up the stairs, with a SparkPod repeller under my chin, a chair (to stand on) in one hand and the extension lead in the other, when Prom Dress Daughter potters out. She shares my delight and upon hearing that they also deter spiders, whisks the device away and plugs it happily into her own room! ‘Never mind‘ I think smugly, ‘I have 2 more!‘

Sensibly I decide to leave the chair and extension lead in the bedroom that leads to the loft before popping back downstairs to get devices 2 and 3 and now I do hit an unstoppable barrier. In that bedroom, sleeping soundly like an angel is my eldest daughter! I do come to my senses and realise that I do need to resume this escapade tomorrow. Prom Dress daughter and I cheer ourselves up by plugging all three devices into various sockets around the house before I pack her off to bed and direct myself to the kitchen for a snack that’s now almost a midnight feast.

‘Til tomorrow rodents…

Hallelujah!!

Saturday 23 March 2019

What a mad and magnificently musical-March it has been! This week alone, I have performed in 2 concerts and the kids have been in 3. We have careered all over the Northwest, discovering new venues, such as Manchester’s classy Stoller Hall, as well as playing in familiar favourites. We have been offered tea, wine and even, on one occasion, chips! It’s been exhausting, exhilarating and exciting…it’s how to do life!

Tonight was an explosion of joy and sound, playing for a local Choral society who took on every major choral work of the 20th Century. It was truly stirring, if a tad lengthy. (The woodwind section actually took a book out on what time it would finish!) Emotional for me too, listening to the haunting Pie Jesu, which I played at Dad’s funeral and playing in extracts from the Dream of Gerontius, the source of the quote on his headstone “Farewell, but not forever” ….

I am winding down, with a well earned G&T, when a worrying thought pops into my head, What am I going to do when it’s all over? The musical mayhem, I’ve juggled since January, comes to a glorious end next Saturday with the mighty Mahler 5. Will I be able to cope as I scale back to one weekly rehearsal and a less hectic life? Then I remember that we have, GCSEs , Uni Open days, Work Experience for both girls and Summer Sun to plan for and fit in …something tells me it’s not going to quieten down at all! Well Hallelujah…

Stop growing for 5 minutes!

Wednesday 27 March 2019

Look what the painters left behind last month! Our treasured pencil marks charting the kids’ heights over time. This year, they record the meteoric rise of Small Boy (AT) from the smallest to the tallest person in the house. Yes, he is now even taller than me!

I’ve had a great day working at home, and am actually feeling more on top of my workload than usual, when Small Boy bursts through the door. I am astounded by how ravenous he is. He simply can’t stop eating! As he pauses for breath, having polished off two bowls of cereal, a bag of nuts and raisins and some left over sticky toffee pudding, we chat about his upcoming school trip – singing in Eurodysney with the school choir.

“Any chance of some new black trousers for the concert, Mum?” he asks.

Glancing at his school uniform I can see what he means. His trousers, new at Christmas, are now hovering in a distinctly ‘half-mast’ fashion above his ankles. I decide I don’t want the Eurodysney crowd thinking that he’s turned up to audition for the part of Oliver Twist and add ‘school trousers’ to m Thursday after-work shopping list.

“Can you just stop growing for 5 minutes!” I shout in mock-exasperation.

Small Boy grins and twirls me around the kitchen, before racing back outside to his basketball hoop. And I am left all alone in the kitchen, rooted to the spot. I’m not thinking about work anymore, because all I am thinking is that he won’t stop growing. None of them will. And soon life is going to start changing for us, in really significant ways. My eldest is already planning visits to Uni Open Days and into my head flashes an image of the day when we head out as a family of 4 to drop her off and return as a family of 3 … it makes me feel utterly panic-stricken. A momentary desire to stop time and freeze it right here and now, with us all together in this happy little bubble is palpable. But of course that can’t happen and I actually wouldn’t want it to. It’s the start of the exciting future, freedom an d independence I dream of for my kids and a reality all parents have to face at some point. I’m just not at all sure it’s one I’ll be smashing with any kind of dignity and without an awful lot of tissues ….

Becoming ‘Mum the Brave’

Mother’s Day March 2019

‘Happy Mother’s Day!’ pings a cheery text from Small Boy at precisely 7:37am British Summer Time! It is earlier than I was hoping to wake up, after a late Saturday night concert, but it does make me smile. Small Boy is in France, so probably doesn’t know that our clocks have ‘Sprung Forward’. In any case it is now a family tradition that Christmas, my Birthday and usually Mother’s Day too, start at some ungodly hour with my boy crashing enthusiastically into the bedroom with a tray of breakfast! The girls, by contrast, are far keener on their weekend lie-ins and so it’s very quiet house that greets me, as I creep downstairs for my first cup of tea. I decide that it’s the perfect time, on this National Day of Maternal-ness, to contemplate life as a mum!

The biggest change, that I can see, is that parenthood, life or maybe just becoming older and grumpier has lead to me being far more… forthright at best, and … confrontational at worst. ‘Quiet’ was always the adjective used to describe me at school and I am pretty sure I was a fairly diffident young adult too. Years ago for example, I recall how in a, now legendary, family incident my mum took on a grumpy ice-cream seller in Harlech, who was picking on one of the kids. It was she who defended our family honour and earned herself the title of ‘Nana the Brave’. The name stuck for years and if ever the kids faced a tricky situation I’d advise,

‘”Try and sort it out yourself, but if that doesn’t work …. we’ll send in Nana the Brave!’

This morning, I’m struggling to remember when we last called upon my mum to sort out any such issues. She’s still there, as fearless and feisty as ever, but I think that somewhere along the line … I became Mum the Brave!‘ It is me who was likened to a ‘Tigress defending her young‘ by a teacher when I disputed her comments at Parents Evening. (Let’s gloss over the fact that I have since been banned, by all 3 kids, from speaking any more than is absolutely necessary on such occasions!) It is me who takes on any retailer, any institution or any person who thinks they can mess with us. Hey, I’ve even taken on rodents this month!

So more outspoken for sure but is this is a single mum trait? You certainly do have to tough up and find your voice to survive, and to ‘smash it’ …well that’s a whole new level of determination. Read the incredible Dame Susan Black’s story for true inspiration. Whereas my ‘Mum the Brave’ exploits usually revolve around riding to the rescue of my family, she uses her strength to flourish in her own career too and to motivate other women to do the same…and that’s something I’ve been less good at. And I know it’s my next big challenge….

But today is Mothering Sunday, Small Boy calls to tell me that he’s having a star named after me and I decide that conquering the world of work can wait for 24 hours. Today of all days it feels pretty great just to be a mum!

April 2019

Who wants to be a Millionare?

Sunday 7 April 2019

That’s it! After one week of stay-at-home holidaying with the teens, I realise that drastic action is called for. Five days of cooking, cleaning and ferrying children around the relentlessly grey North West, to school-trip drop offs and school-trip pick ups, to dental appointments, to piano exams, to College, to volunteering, to friends’ houses and back again, has left me convinced that there has got to be more to holidays than this … for me! In particular, when the Summer holiday arrives, I simply cannot survive 6 weeks of this thankless servitude. We all need to get away, ideally on a plane, ideally to somewhere sunny and definitely to a place where someone else gets my meals ready. There is a slight snag however. My bank balance suggests that a day trip to Morecambe, with a Macdonald’s tea on the way home, is about all we can afford at the moment! It cannot be! I need some funds and I need them quickly. There must be something I can do…

I’ve tried Ebay-ing. It’s been quite successful recently and, my summary tells me, has netted me a profit of … £53.74. Hmmm… would that even pay for the taxi to the airport? I don’t bother with the National Lottery, as the odds are insane. In any case, I choose to support the Asthma Lottery and the Bury Hospice Lottery I’ve never won a penny on either, but I suppose my luck might change? I have a small monthly dabble on a betting site, but when I say small I mean really small. ‘Never bet more than you can afford to lose!‘ is my trusty motto. Wise words as these undoubtedly are, that equates to not a whole lot of money in my case! Whilst my betting summary shows that I am ‘Up‘ in all but one of the last 6 months, sadly it’s never by more than £20.36

Let’s face it, none of this small fry financial activity comes close. A family holiday is a 4 figure sum. I need a new approach. I need … a TV Gameshow? The kids and I discuss various possibilities. 

“Apply for them all mum!” cheers an enthusiatic Prom-dress daughter 
“Catch Phrase?” suggests my eldest

Now several years ago, I did apply for ‘Bargain Hunt’ and never heard a peep from them, so maybe I’ll just clear out the garage tomorrow. Who knows, there might be some priceless treasure buried somewhere in all that chaos? On the other hand, could Jeremy Clarkson hold the key to our Summer Holiday success? For the rest of this evening I dream of TV stardom, winning my fortune and perhaps becoming a Millionaire …

All together again

Thursday 11 April 2019

I am celebrating finally having all 3 kids back under one roof at the end of a hectic Easter Holiday! Small Boy has been to Paris and back, and also spent time away with his Dad. Prom-dress daughter has been revising for GCSEs but also hopping in and out of Manchester with her pals. And today my eldest limped home from a 4 day Duke of Edinburgh practice expedition to Yorkshire.

As she regales us with tales of 50 miles of trekking, freezing tents and surviving on very little sleep or food, I do feel quite in awe, and wonder, not for the first time,’where has she come from?’ My eldest just seems so much more driven and determined than either me or her father. She is also an incredibly attractive girl. (I do recall hooting with laughter once when my boss came into my office, saw a picture of her on the desk, looked at me and asked, “Do you ever think the hospital sent you home with the wrong baby?!!”) And as I pick her up from College, with her sunburnt nose and blistered lips and feet I think she has probably never looked more beautiful.

She is craving a Macdonalds and so we head to the Drive Thru’ for tea. We end up getting all the food for free, because I take issue with the feeble portions of ‘large fries’ and the fact that we have to go back for our missing ‘mozzarella sticks!’ I don’t even raise my voice to get a full refund, perhaps my ‘Mum the Brave’ reputation is spreading?

Back home , the family re-bond over an episode of ‘The Chase’ but decide that this is NOT the game show for me to try and win my fortune and I settle down to make the most of a rare evening with us altogether. Because tomorrow, I appear to be driving Prom-dress daughter, and half of Year 11, to a party and on Saturday, my eldest has a party, and volunteering and a driving lesson ! Some where in the middle of all of that I even get to go out too, for a meal (hooray no cooking!) It’s a good job I’m not one for a quiet life!

Hooray for a 4 day week!

Tuesday 16 April 2019

G & T on a Tuesday, don’t mind if I do! Most of the household went back to work and school this week. Now, whilst this felt like the end of the world on Sunday night, tonight the joy of a 4 day week is hitting home, as I realise that we are already ‘half-way through’ the week. Only a couple more early calls before I can cheerfully silence that alarm once more. It’s definitely cause for celebration!!

I’ve actually really enjoyed work too, bustling about with a joyful sense of purpose and energy. Am I just refreshed by my 2 week break, or is it the 4 week itself that has cast a positive and focused spell over the whole workplace?

A small handful of firms in the UK have moved to reduced weeks and do report encouraging results. The article ‘Miserable staff don’t make money’: the firms that have switched to a four-day week’ from the Guardian last year, provides some interesting evidence that reducing working hour, without reducing pay, does not affect productivity and has the added benefit of boosting happiness and well being in the workplace. Aidan Harper, founder of the 4 Day Week campaign also argues that a 4 day working week would benefit both over worked and underworked people by redistributing time and workload more fairly.

“In the UK, we have growing numbers of overworked people,” says Harper, “but we also have a growing number of underworked people, namely gig economy employees looking for more work…”

There is not universal support from employers for a reduction in weekly working hours, but I sit here tonight supping on a tasty mix of Bombay Sapphire and tonic, with the weather set fair from Friday onwards, , with friends planning to pop in and with a couple of lovely outings on the calendar, I am certainly raising my glass and cheering ‘Hooray for a 4 day week!’

Good Friday

Friday 19 April 2019

“Paracetamol…please!” I almost weep as I struggle into consciousness at the start of the long Easter weekend. Getting my pounding head up from the pillow is quite a challenge, but I do eventually manage to stumble downstairs grab a couple of pills and collapse onto the settee with a strong coffee.

There really is ‘no fool like an old fool‘ I conclude as I review, with a distinct queasiness, my decision to mix rather a lot of prosecco with rather a lot of porter on a work night out. I am not a mixer of drinks, never have been and never will be, so why oh why it always seems like such a top idea as I descend into tipsy-ness I will never know!

At least its the start of the lazy Bank Holiday weekend I think with relief, but the relief is short lived.

” I need a haircut!“, Small Boy yells cheerfully down the stairs, ” And we need to get some snacks for ‘The Boys”

With a nerve jangling start, I recall that teenage boys are actually arriving at my home, in a few hours, for …a sleepover! And I hate going to the Barbers- all that queuing and resisting the urge to scream out ” It’s just a haircut, get on with it!” as those craftsmen of the hair-trade coiffure and perfect each ‘Number 2 on the sides and a trim on top’ with a level of care and attention more appropriate to the final touches on a Michelangelo canvas!

Too weak to protest, I give Small Boy a pale grimace, grab my car keys and off we go. The queue, a pitiful 45 minute wait, is actually not as bad as usual. I even manage to shop the snacks as Small Boy holds his place in the line. It’s also a beautiful day and I find that, revived by some fresh air, I am feeling much better as we finally head for home. Whereupon, there’s more good news. A text from my mum bring the glad tidings that both Small Boy and my eldest have passed their recent piano exams. “Hooray!“

I am now totally transformed. From hangover despair to euphoric happiness with the world and my fabulous family in a few short hours. On a bit of a high, I speed back into town and blow most of next months salary on a holiday for us all in the sun – “Yikes!” Is that my best decision? Who knows, but it’s done now!

I spend the rest of Good Friday filling out an application for a place on ‘Tipping Point‘…

May 2019

One very scary prom-dress fitting!

Saturday 4 May 2019

It’s a very pleasant morning as Prom-dress daughter and I set out for an appointment with the seamstress recommended by our dress shop. Armed with our prom-dress and shoes, we innocently enter the shop to find the seamstress busy with another customer.

She gives us a dismissive glance and, with an authoritative Eastern European accent, very similar to Villanelle ( Killing Eve),motions towards the changing area and raps out the instructions ‘”In there! Dress on!“

The other customer has left as Prom-dress daughter emerges from the changing area. She looks completely stunning and I wait for the seamstress to notice. “Isn’t it a great fit!” I enthuse into the arkward silence, “we think just a little adjustment to the length?” the seamstress ignores me completely and views us both with utter disdain. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife as she tells Prom-dress daughter to stand on a circular platform . And then she reaches for the scissors!

” You must stand completely still, otherwise I cut it too short” she tells a petrified Prom-dress daughter, “You get the dress you stand for!“

We are both a little stunned as, with no hesitation, the seamstress starts to snip away and fabric falls to the floor. She is finished in minutes, informs us that she will adjust all the dress to ensure the line and shape is correct and then, as Prom-dress daughter takes the cue to get changed again, the seamstress is gone!

Another, clearly lesser, employee emerges to give us a ticket and a bill for £20. She seems unconcerned whether I pay now or upon collection. I read a foreboding notice about uncollected garments being ‘sold on‘ and timidly enquire when the dress might be ready. With a shrug, the woman suggests in 4 weeks time and I make a mental note NOT to be late.

It takes a breakfast at Morrisons cafe for Prom-dress daughter and I to recover fully. At least we have 4 weeks grace before we have to return to the scariest seamstress in the Northwest!

Somewhere….

Saturday 11 May 2019

I was once a big fan of the radio DJ Danny Baker, but this week, his tweet about the royal baby, at best seriously ill-judged, at worst shockingly offensive has seen him fall from grace publicly and definitely personally for me too. In a week where, sadly, the divisions between us can still feel stronger than the humanity that binds us, it is poignant that my musical journeys have also drawn upon themes of racial and social tension and the fear and mistrust of any groups who seem ‘different’.

After a morning of our usual Saturday activities we grab a quick lunch, pick up my mum and head into Manchester, destination the Royal Exchange for a matinee performance of West Side Story. It was my Dad’s all time favourite musical, it’s music by Bernstein, lyrics by Sondheim , it’s an epic explosion of youthful energy, sassy dance routines and musical mastery. But at its core, it’s a heart-breaking love story, a 1950s New York setting of Rome and Juliet with rival gangs now divided by race. True to form, I am teary-eyed mess by the end – God the music, ‘I have a love..’ ‘Maria’ ‘Somewhere’ … it’s too much for this emotional girl. I manage to suppress any audible sobs but I see off an awful lot of tissues! Top top production – go and see it if you can!

As the show ends, mum and the teens head off to enjoy a post-performance Italian. I set the Satnav for home, speedily rustle up some pasta of my own. Then I don my little black dress and head out to tootle oboe notes at a concert for a local choral society. It’s an uplifting evening, with several lovely friends in the audience. The second oboist forgets a crucial page turn in my main solo, but no-one but me seems to notice the 2 awkward bars of silence. I even get a bow!

But the music is West Side Story for the second time today, South Pacific, which addresses racial issues in the 1940s, Porgy and Bess, controversial as the first ‘opera’ to feature an all African-American cast and folk/spiritual music in the 1930s, ShowBoat, with themes of racial prejudice in 1920s….. we seem to have been singing and dancing around these issues for hundreds of years and to have learned nothing. Trump’s Wall, Brexit, immigration, Grenfell, The Rohingya, gangs and knife crime rises in the UK, …. more trivially Danny Baker. …

Will we ever learn to live together…somehow, someday, somewhere?

Education – the great leveller?

Wednesday 15 May 2019

In the week when Prom-dress daughter starts her GCSEs, and half the teenage world shudders with stress and probably more than half of their parent do too, I wonder about the fairness of it all.

Education, as the ‘great leveller’ has been my lifelong passion. I’ve loved the fact that a set of top exam grades from your local comprehensive is every bit as good as the same grades from Eton or Harrow. I’ve been intoxicated by the concept of GCSE results day as the one day of true equality on the calendar, when any 16 year old who’s worked hard and aimed high is assessed on the same scale as, and can get better grades than …. even the future King of England.

Education undoubtedly was my liberator, and took me to places and opportunities, that I’d never dreamed possible. I recall on my journey to University, back in the 1980s, being too frightened to open my mouth, as the train headed south of Birmingham, for fear of my Northern accent inviting ridicule. Three years later, I was ready to take on the world! And I was grateful: for the boost of confidence and self esteem; for the privilege of 3 years with like-minded friends; for 3 years of being allowed to be myself and still fit in… and I wanted to give back. I moved into a career in Education.

But how much of a leveller is our Education system in 2019? Here’s the data; and I am, not surprised. but deeply saddened that, in 21st Century England, a well developed country, the progress of disadvantaged pupils falls so far behind that of their non-disadvantaged peers. A Progress 8 score of -0.44 suggests that across this substantial cohort of vulnerable pupils, almost half their results were one grade lower than you should expect for a pupil of the same starting point. If that was your child, and 4 of their 9 grades were lower than other children who arrived at high school with the same results, what you you think? And the actual picture is even starker than that. Research is emphatic that by the time a disadvantaged pupil reaches high school, they are already significantly behind…the gap just continues to widen throughout their school life.

So GCSE results day, “the one day of true equality on the calendar?” We could not be further from the truth! The data dispels my naive utopia and just leaves, as a bad wine on a long awaited night out, a very sour after taste. ‘Disadvantage’ predominantly indicates parental poverty, with the vast majority of the cohort drawn from the population who qualify for free school meals. The data screams out, that despite the same schooling, your family background will still be the key determinant your educational success. It’s a devastatingly far cry from the ‘cultural capital’ and social mobility we aspired to in Butler’s 1944 Education Act.

Does the over- involvement of parental affluence in education exacerbate the gap? Affluence can mean money for private tuition, money to keep your child away from a time consuming part time job, money for technology and a wealth of online revision resources, lack of financial worries so more time for home support. I don’t know if this is the reason. It’s a highly complex issue and one thing is for sure, it’s ridiculous to expect any parent not to do all they can to support their child’s education. I will certainly continue to make Prom-dress daughter ‘porridge and berry’ breakfasts until these GCSEs are over, and to head out for emergency chocolate after any tricky and tearful exam.

No, it remains the job of educators to relentlessly drive this cohort with more ambition and higher expectations. Where needed, and it clearly is needed, I’d advocate positive discrimination of time and resources too. But it’s not just a challenge for schools. Think Grenfell, media attitudes to asylum seekers, the Jeremy Kyle show, the refusal of all but a few commentators to listen to the 51% of the population who did vote for Brexit, the 51% who do not recognise Britain as a fair and prosperous land at the moment. Does our nation really care about and respect the most disadvantaged in our society? I think we could strive to do so a lot better….

In need of a boost…of juice!

Friday 17 May 2019

I am appalled at how rubbish I am on this Friday’s run and it leads me to commit to a week free from alcohol, free from toast and rich in … juices! Now that could be a real challenge!

It’s our first fine Friday for many weeks. We tough, Lancashire lasses have doggedly run through rain, sleet, snow and gales over the grim and grey winter months. Some colleagues have marvelled at our unstoppable madness, and many have chortled at the sight of us returning windswept and wild from our endeavours. So the upturn in the weather has us giddy with excitement. Many routes are proposed. Reservoirs and valleys are spoken of, as are fields and trails but eventually we settle on a beautiful route through the woods. It should be a glorious treat … but it’s also a three-hill-killer and I am quickly slain. I do get through it, mainly because the one rule of Run Club is that ‘we never stop’, but it is a huge struggle. I am at the back, I am red faced, I am dry mouthed, I am hot, I am bothered and I am slowing down with every step! How can this be, I ponder? How can I go running twice a week and now start to go backwards? It makes no sense and I start to puzzle about what is different.

I am under the weather this week, in fact I do have to confess to a ‘Granny Nap’ today, when I was shocked to jolt back into consciousness from confused doze on my desk at work. Could that be it? It was also an off road route. Is that too much for my trusty trainers? And continuing the doubt in my running shoes, I add, to sound like a bona-fide athlete, that I do carry a permanent and painful niggle in my right ankle. So like the proverbial bad workman, do I blame my tools? Umm …one thing that certainly cannot be helping is that break-time toast at work and wine-fuelled evenings, out and in, have developed into definite guilty pleasures of late! A doctor friend recently told me that he aims for 2 alcohol-free evenings a week … and I’d be struggling to meet that threshold at the moment. Here, at least, is somewhere for me to start, healthier diet.

I have a plan! After a few moment clattering around my kitchen cupboards, I unearth…the juicer! I place it proudly on the worktop, dust it down and then gingerly plug it in and risk the on- switch. It whirrs back encouragingly and I decide there’s no time like the present. I rummage around in the fridge for a few wizened fruits and vegetables and off we go! With in moment I am triumphantly sipping on a glass of green sludge which tastes…pretty good actually. It’s surely giving my weary body the boost of nutrition and energy it needs! I put aside, for now, the chore of of having to clean the thing, and raise my sludge glass ,

‘To a week free from wine and toast but rich in nutritious juices! To a fitter and faster me!‘ …

Juicing Diet: Day 1

Monday 20 May 2019

Day One of my healthy juicing diet does not go according to plan!

I am up before 6 am, but that is because Small Boy has been sick! As I am, bleary-eyed, dealing with this, Prom-dress daughter, who needs to set off “Now Mum!” because “I have a GCSE Warm-Up session this morning”, discovers that her school skirt is still damp. I finish with the disinfectant, steer Small Boy back to bed and hastily try to iron the skirt dry, whilst my on-edge daughter hops nervously around the living room in her tights spooning down porridge and some chopped up apple (because I have run out of berries!)

A few minutes later, slightly less damp, and cheered by many ‘Good Luck‘ hugs, Prom-dress daughter races off to catch the bus and I head towards the juicer armed with a chopping board and knife. But this is a day when not even one piece of veg is destined to feel the chop, because the phone now rings. It’s my Ex. He is very excited about a plan for Small Boy to head ‘Down South’ for a World Cup Cricket Match. But the travel is complicated …too complicated …for everyone … except my Ex. I try very hard to find a way to squeeze it onto the busy calendar but eventually, having entertained many of my Ex’s variations on a theme of me spending hours I don’t have driving the highways of our land, I have to say no! Small Boy will be disappointed but, as I hear him racing across the landing to chuck up once more, I decide that the news can wait!

Small Boy announces that he now feels ‘much better‘, but he is the colour of my magnolia walls and I decide that a day off school is due. I call his school, I call my mum, who agrees to pop in, I sort out dinner money and bus fare for my eldest and, grabbing the remains of Prom-dress daughter’s apple I now head to work.

I make it home again by 6:30 pm, Small Boy looks much better and even manages some tea. After eating, it’s GCSE Maths Revision for me and my middle child! We call it a day by 9:30pm and I am now alarmed at how much I am craving some alcohol. The only offering in the cupboard is the dreg-ends of some Cherry Brandy but even that looks tempting! Somehow I resist and sit back with a cuppa to evaluate Day 1. On the plus side, I did avoid break-time toast and alcohol. But the boost of juice-fuelled goodness? Errr …does eating half an apple count!

Juicing Diet: Day 2

Tuesday 21 May 2019

Day 2 gets off to a fine start and I actually leave for work, on time, with a green juice in my bag. At break, as others abuse their bodies with coffee and toast, I smugly sip upon my nutritious sludge feeling virtuous and … invigorated! (Whether this is the vitamin boost, of carrots, spinach and apple, to my system, or simply the euphoria of actually having got a juice ‘to bottle’ only time will tell.) Then comes the text…

Mum, it went really badly 

It’s disaster and despair from the maths GCSE paper for my lovely Prom-dress daughter. I try many encouraging replies but there is clearly no consoling her, and there is clearly only one remedy for this situation … ice cream! I arrive home early-evening, via Tesco, laden with tubs of Ben and Jerrys, a bar of dark chocolate and a bag of salted peanuts. It’s surely breaking every diet regime known to mankind but I really don’t care. The treats, some family time and a good old sing- along to a favourite ‘Adele‘ album brings the smile back to Prom-dress daughter’s sad and disappointed face. At least for a few hours. After tea it’s Physics revision …. not our favourite thing…

So Day 2 in review. Still no alcohol or toast and I even managed a juice! I doubt that a double bowl of ice-cream and a fistful of salted peanuts will have done much to improve my running speed … but let’s face it some things are more important. Being a ‘fitter and faster me’ would be awesome, but trying my best to be a half decent mum is surely what I’m really here for….

Juicing Diet: Day 4

Thursday 23 May 2019

I find myself really getting into the routine of a daily juice, and today I recklessly push the boat out with a daring dash of lime … for extra zingy goodness!

Break-time toast is definitely a thing of the past! It’s evenings without a glass of wine I’m finding tricky. Prom-dress daughter has no exams tomorrow, my eldest has a ‘Reading Day’, and Small Boy is teaching himself a bit of Billy Joel (Piano Man – aww he knows it’s my favourite) … so a mood of relaxed, happy holiday tranquility envelopes my homestead and a chilled glass of white would be just perfect. I resolve to be strong, which with only Cherry Brandy in the house, is not the most difficult challenge of the day! Also, tomorrow is a work night out, never an occasion for sobriety, and I decide to save myself for that. With my halo firmly in place, I opt for an evening cuppa and set off to investigate some new juicing recipes.

This set of tempters, from Juice Meister, Jason Vale look amazing https://juicemaster.com/recipes/juice-recipes/…

Who’s Bruce Hornsby Mum?

Sunday 26 May 2019

One of the things that is brilliant about families has to be the mix of generations. The ‘elders’ are often naturally assigned the role of ‘teacher’, and I do owe a lifetime of debt to the inspiration, spirit and sheer joyous times my parents and grandparents gave me. But, additionally, I learn tons from my kids about life, love, tolerance … and this week music!

This morning I am driving two of the teens to Wales, to spend some time with my mum. Small Boy and I rise early, to wrestle his bike into the car, alongside conventional cases, basketballs … and a set of weights! By 8:30 am, we are all done and just waiting for my eldest to complete her packing. I opt for a second cuppa. Small Boy heads for the piano and soon the lyrical runs and melodies of Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ fill the house. Wow – that is sounding amazing after only a few days. My talented son then moves onto Elton John (‘My Song’) and Bruce Hornsby and the Range (‘Just the way it is’). Spluttering into my tea, I realise, with a glow of pride, that this is a catalogue of many of my favourite songs. I have inspired my child to appreciate great songs of the 20th Century. I am passing on my wisdom and emotional depths to the next generation. I hurry to the piano room to share this thought, but am quickly knocked off my perch,

“Who is Bruce Hornsby Mum? I am playing ‘Changes’ by Tupac“

Ha ha ha … that’s me told!

Tupac (stage name 2pac) produced a rap version , featuring the Hornsby classic, in the 1990s. Small Boy plugs me into his phone to listen …. and I love it. The rap adds an angry relevance and urgency to Hornsby’s original track about poverty and racial division in the US. Here’s a mash up if you want a listen … the language on Small Boy’s version was a little too fruity for my blog… and I prefer the rap over piano, as opposed to key board!

And this is my second musical mash-up of the weekend. Had a great night listening to the Black Sheikhs in a Northern Quarter pub, as part of the Manchester Jazz Festival. I can really struggle with jazz , so was surprised at how much I enjoyed this gig. The quest of the Black Sheikhs is to jazz/swing-up a full range of pop tunes..anything from Bowie to Bieber; Adele to AHA. Some worked better than others; Bieber unexpectedly good, Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’ a bit of a low point for me, but the whole set, and the whole bar, was jumping with energy and humour from start to very late finish. Top night!

My eldest now appears with a plethora of bags for her short stay in Wales, so I only have time to say, let’s make the most of the range of ages in our households. Let’s rejoice in mixing old with young, mashing-up and mixing up…it can only make ideas grow and strengthen and build communication and respect across the generational divide. Rap on the car radio anyone?

June 2019

Saturday 1 June 2019

June gets off to a great start with the successful collection of the prom dress! Having read a rather alarming review of the shop, recounting the unfortunate tale of an altered dress being too small and the seamstress traumatising the customer in question by insisting that she must have put on weight and that ‘Chubby’ should aim to ‘lose a few pounds’, I decide to leave Prom-dress daughter at home ! As a solo crusader, I nervously venture inside ….to my relief (or is there a slight tinge of disappointment), the seamstress is not on the premises, but the dress does look great. I hand over my £20 and head swiftly for the exit.

On my Saturday run I am also faster – lots faster. I can’t be sure if its the juices, the lack of toast and wine or just the fact that I’ve had many more hours of sleep this week, but I don’t really care. I knock a full 5 minutes off last Friday’s 10K time and that feels fantastic.

So June, the start of Summer what will it bring? My musical calendar is filling up nicely and my head is happily full of Beethoven, Bach and Bernstein. Concerts and rehearsals jostle for space alongside University Open Days so it will certainly be a busy month. And as ever there’s bound to be some lessons about life, about love and about living in there too. But when it comes to those there is no calendar or forward planning…in many ways I think it’s what makes life so exciting!

When my job feels like the best job in the world!

Friday 7 June 2019

Today is leaving day for a lot of our young people at work. It’s a flurry of signing shirts and penning messages in leaving books. I get a lot of thank you cards then I get this…the letter above from one of my students. It just takes my breath away.

I feel emotional, I feel overcome and I feel very humbled. I can’t actually believe that a student would write this about me. But I am very glad that they did. I pin it proudly to my notice board and know it’ll be there for as long as I am.

What a privilege my job is!

To Gothic Spires and Birthday Cake

Saturday 8 June 2019

Woohoo, following a few false starts, with my tentative steps back into the dating world, I go out on a really great date!

We do theatre, we do roof-top drinks, we do food but above all we do laughter, at some points I am actually shaking with unstoppable laughter. My date is clever, easy to talk to and incredibly funny. He also does flowers, such a large bouquet in fact, that the waitress notices them and asks me the occasion. I nonchalantly fib that it’s my birthday and only blush slightly when, at the end of the meal, a large slice of birthday cake appears and the restaurant hears me serenaded with an Asian chorus of birthday song!

Fun-filled as the evening is, that’s where this liaison ends. For several reasons there is no romantic ending to relay. Nonetheless, it leaves a lasting impression because it reminds me of how much I love the company of an intelligent and cultured man who makes me smile and, more than that, makes me feel comfortable with being myself. Because I find that I am funny too, in fact I had forgotten how many great stories and anecdotes I have gathered over the years.

It’s fantastic being a mum and it brings me lots of happiness, but it’s terrific to just be yourself on occasion too, and to reminisce about your own childhood … with someone who was also alive back then! Some of my stories remind me of the amazing friends I have journeyed through life with and I have not been in touch with some of them for ages. I think it’s time to reconnect and I do. I spend a very happy evening messaging some old pals, even finally embracing the 21st Century world of Apps to reach the more far-flung. It’s a joyful experience and the wonders of new technology suddenly make the world feel like a much smaller, funnier and more friend-filled place. Now that has to be a lasting and lovely legacy of a great night out. As for the Gothic Spires…well that’s a private joke…

The beginner’s guide to…. Open Days!

Saturday 15 June 2019

Today my eldest and I head South for a University Open Day. But it’s not any old ‘South’, it’s the city where the children were born and I lived for over 10 years. So I am confident, I am calm, I am pretty ad hoc with my planning … and I learn the error of my ways!

We are on the road by 6:30 am and soon cruising down the motorway. It’s a familiar route I’ve driven many times but, as there are several ‘Queue Likely’ warnings, I boldly decide to experiment with a slightly altered course. Not my wisest move, as it turns out. I miss several key junctions and, even with my eldest using her navigation skills to get us back on track, we probably lose half an hour. (It suddenly strikes me that all my kids are pretty impressive with a map. I fear that with my sense of direction it’s become one of life’s necessities!) Despite the detour delays, we make time for a coffee stop, turn the volume up loud on the radio and sing our way merrily down South … until we hit the traffic!

We are about 2 miles from our destination when we grind to a complete halt, and we are still sitting in the jam as the time for our first Talk comes, and goes. Several packed buses, speed past us, in their designated bus lane, mocking us with their ‘Main Campus’ destination signs. My eldest chooses this moment to remind me that there had been a ‘Park and Ride’ option. I now regret waiving aside the regular emails the University sent me, trusting instead to the claim that “I know this town!”

Still I do know my way around and remember a pretty handy place to park, when we eventually clear the traffic. And then we dive into the throngs and the cut and thrust of the modern University Open Day. Blimey, a lot has changed since I trundled around my Universities of choice, back in the 1980s! In my decade, it was a day off college, eating marmalade sandwiches on the train, meeting a student, having a quick tour of the lecture halls and accommodation before heading back home for tea. Absolutely no-one came with their parents! Today, the entire city centre is taken over by Open Day visitees and their attached families. Student guides, in brightly coloured T-shirts, congregate on every street corner, handing our maps and giving directions. There are traffic wardens, stopping the traffic to shepherd the crowds across the road, pop-up food stalls and drinks stations. It’s insane! It’s bewildering!

But, whilst I am a chaos of dis-organisation, frantically failing to make sense of a University map, made soggy and dog-eared by the torrential rain, my eldest has done her homework. She waves her phone expertly at student guides, to register us for a terrific schedule of pre-booked talks and lectures. We have an amazing tour of some Science labs, where lecturers, passionate about their subjects, actually blow out minds with their knowledge, brilliance and enthusiasm. Suddenly I know that this is the world for my girl. She has had the sense to prepare as well for the Open Day as she does for everything, and that why, despite a slightly delayed start, we get so much out of it and she will get so much out of a University Education. I feel super-proud to be her mum.

We sing our way back up the motorway and finally arrive home at 8 pm. I have had plenty of time to learn some lessons. Here they are, as my tips for other beginners to the Open Day carousel:

1. Do book overnight accommodation if you can: our 14 hour day was a bit of a killer!
2. Do have a look at the road map and plan your route in advance.
3. Do read the emails the Unis send you and follow their advice on parking: I am first in the queue for any future Park and Rides on offer!
4. Do think about what your child wants to get our of University life and book the tours and talks to match
5. Definitely do look forward to some fun quality time with your brilliant child and enjoy every minute, including the road trip itself!

Festival Time !

Sunday 16 June 2019

This week I hear that The Cure are playing Glastonbury and it makes me smile because, back in 1986, when I hitch-hiked to Glastonbury, they were the headline act. Unfortunately on that occasion, I went for a ‘little lie down’ in my tent and managed to sleep through the entire set! I briefly contemplate pulling on my green wellies and heading South Westward in 2019, to see if I can actually hear them play this time… but I realise that the full-on-festival chapter of life has probably passed. The Buxton Festival, that’s more my scene these days! And it’s to Buxton I head today, for a concert where I have agreed to dep for an oboe-playing friend…

It’s my debut performance with the Buxton Musical Society, the friend I am depping for is a brilliant player, the only rehearsal before today’s concert is today’s rehearsal and … I am not the best with directions. Taking all of this into account, I set off ridiculously early and am calmly on the approach to Buxton when I hit local roadworks and grind to a complete halt. And so it is that instead of making an elegant and timely entrance I race in, flustered, windswept, my head pounding and …. spectacularly late.

The rehearsal is in full swing and I have completely missed one of the pieces. From this point on however, my stress levels are eased and soothed away, for this is the Buxton Music Society, who, I am to discover, are the loveliest of people. They are delightfully posh and I crash into the middle of much guffawing over an anecdote about ‘the young Simon Rattle‘ and someone called ‘Jonty‘. But as I stand there looking forlorn and a little frazzled, they divert their cultured and eloquent tones to making me feel like a VIP, rather than a hapless and hopeless time keeper. Calmed with hot tea and kind words, I am soon in my seat and ready to play. The orchestra sound superb, which means that, as I float my oboe notes into the mix, it’s easy to sound good too, and I am soon really enjoying myself.

As the rehearsal ends, talk turns to tea. My friend has told me that I will ‘be fed‘. Expecting a few sandwiches and a long wait in a cold church before the concert, I have loaded up my Kindle and put some work into the car boot. But, oh no, this is not the Buxton way! I am collected, with 3 other orchestra members and driven off to the home of a Musical Society member for an amazing home cooked meal and just outstanding hospitality. As I tuck into my second helping of crumble and custard, I notice that my headache has gone and that I am feeling relaxed, content and very well fed. It is certainly rare but very agreeable to feel this well looked after, and it clearly suits me! I chat enthusiastically about ‘triumph’ of our hosts’ fine fireplaces and share musical moment and musical acquaintances with my fellow orchestral colleagues. It is gloriously civilised and I love it!

The concert goes very well, with committed performances from the orchestra and choir, and the young violin soloist, in particular, is astounding. It’s after 11 when I finally arrive home. I may have missed The Cure back in 1986 but today, not missing all of my rehearsal and not missing any of the concert or my fabulous meal, seems like more than a fair exchange…

The Prom

Thursday 27 June 2019

Today it’s Prom-dress daughter’s big night.

We have had such lot of fun on this year’s Prom-dress quest; from our initial shopping outings, to the ‘Very Scary Prom-dress fitting’ and now the evening itself. I recognise that ‘The Prom’ has becomes a landmark in the UK school calendar, in a way it simply wasn’t when I was this age. And I am a mum who likes to embrace a landmark! I find such special occasions perfect for building memories and laughter to share, long into our family future!

Prom-dress Daughter looks so happy among her lovely friends and I know she’ll have a terrific evening. In 16 years she’s come a very long way. This is my little girl, who spent her first week of life in SCBU (Special Care Baby Unit), who was too shy to answer the register for her first 6 months at school and who, on the day her dad left us and her siblings were overcome with anger and sadness, baked cakes to cheer everyone up. Tonight she stands before me as an amazing and poised young woman and I could not feel any prouder.

Road Trip!

Friday 28 June – Sunday 30 June 2019

Oh my goodness- what a weekend! My brain is fried and I am almost too exhausted to speak, after a whirlwind of Open Days, concerts, shopping and ….driving!

Friday is Nottingham Open Day for my eldest and I. At home, Prom-dress daughter has slept at a friend’s house, and so we only have Small Boy to worry about. He has managed to lose his school bus pass this morning, but it’s his lucky day. I am far to preoccupied to launch into my usual ‘that bus pass cost me good money!’ tirade. We simply drop him off on the way and then hit the motorway.

Having been promised a heat wave, we have donned summer outfits and view the clouds and drizzle of Yorkshire, and then Nottinghamshire, with slight alarm from the windows of our trusty vehicle. And though dry, it is distinctly chilly as, upon arrival, car safely parked, we step out to explore the University campus. We really enjoy the day; mixing talks and tours with the chance to look at lots of accommodation. The promised sun does eventually make an appearance too, and the first leg of our trip draws to a close with a stroll back to the car, ice cream in hand.

We now set the SatNav for …Newcastle! As the marvellous machine recalculates our route, it’s time to check in with the rest of my teens. Small Boy has successfully made it to my mum’s house. A weary Prom-dress daughter, a little jaded from her night of prom-ing, has, impressively, managed to get herself to a College Induction Day, and a rehearsal in one piece and hopes to join the others shortly. It all sounds good, and with the navigation device promising a 2 hour and 45 minute trip to the North East we set off…

Over 4 hours, and much Friday night rush hour traffic later, we are driving past the Angel of the North and finally checking in at the Holiday Inn Express in Newcastle! It’s been a very long day and after sharing Pizza, nachos and a cheeky glass of Prosecco at the bar, it’s PJ and telly time, then sleep!

By 9:30 am, on a very sunny Saturday, we are sitting, triumphant in our summer outfits, in the Medicine talk at Newcastle Uni. By 1:30 pm, having done Bio Medial Sciences, Neuro-Science, Chemical Engineering and two hall of residence tours, we are ready to hit the road and head home.

Travel fatigue is now beginning to set in. My right ankle (old running injury) and right arm are pretty sore and my eldest sighs like an old lady as she casts her shoes off in the passenger seat. Nonetheless, our spirits are high, possibly veering on hysterical – we find everything amusing, from ‘no hard shoulder’ signs to the M62 Summit sign- as we head back to our corner of the North West.

We are home by 4pm, whereupon an anxious Prom-dress daughter, who is preparing for a week of work experience (at an architecture firm ‘down south’), announces that she has ‘no work clothes‘ in her wardrobe. My eldest also needs to stock up on provisions for her Duke of Edinburgh Gold expedition. And so it is that, after a quick cuppa and pressing a few buttons on the washing machine, we are off to the shops and eventually sit down, to a take-away curry, at about eight.

Next morning, it’s off to York Uni for my eldest, whilst Small Boy, Prom-dress daughter and I set out for the drive ‘down south’ to deliver our would-be architect to her dad. My arm and ankle are now strapped up to ease the pain. The bandages work well and our outward journey is a jolly one. We while away the motorway hours with ‘I Spy‘ , ‘Guess who‘ and much laughter. ‘Guess who‘ features lots of rappers from Small Boy and figures from Elizabethan England from Prom-dress daughter… I do struggle to get a turn!

The return journey is far less fun. Not only does Small Boy feel a little deflated to be travelling back without his lovely sister, but I am now very tired and find myself drifting off at the wheel. I do stop to revive myself, with coffee and fresh air, but it uses up time and we only just manage to collect my eldest from the train station as she returns from her third Open Day in an many days.

We dine on the dregs of left-over curry, and just have time to nip out to buy a new bus pass for Small Boy before my eldest and I race to a local city hall for her concert. My beautiful girl takes my breath away with some stunning solo playing and for a happy couple of hours I do relax and clear my brain of the logistical load it has carried for the last few days.

When we do arrive home, I gaze catatonically at the TV for less than an hour before turning in. Tomorrow is July and tomorrow is also Duke of Edinburgh Gold expedition, a concert for Small Boy, Prom-dress daughter’s first day at work experience, oh and a full day of work for me. Do you know what, tomorrow can just wait for a few hours…

July 2019

Go Girls!

Saturday 6 July 2019

Small Boy and I have had the house to ourselves this week, but this weekend, both girls are back and we listen with great pride and awe to all that they have accomplished.

Last night, my eldest got back from her final Duke of Edinburgh Gold expedition. She has walked for miles and miles, she is low on sleep, she has more Compeed than flesh visible on her feet, her bones and muscles ache and cramp, one toe is horribly swollen and …..she is starving. She is craving comfort food and we feed her pizza and garlic bread which she devours ravenously. Then it’s iboprufen, hot water bottles and bed. She is visibly tearful with the pain, and that only makes me feel prouder because I can see what a tough ordeal it must have been. But tough or not, my girl has done it – she is bloomin’ amazing!

Prom-dress daughter bursts through the door this afternoon. She has returned from a week of work experience in an Architecture firm ‘down south’. She is buzzing, with tales of 3D software packages, architectural research, trips to ‘the site’, hard hats and full high vis …and above all the fact that, shy as she is, she has done this. Yes she has pressed that button, announced her arrival, introduced herself in the Open Plan Office, accepted offers to go out for lunch and even presented her final ‘house design’ to her supervisors. What an amazing experience and what a brilliant boost to Prom-dress daughter’s confidence. I am super proud of her!

Small Boy has planned a basket ball tournament to celebrate their return, and I can tell that the girls are glad to be home because they actually agree! Basketball is so much more fun with four than two! My muscles ache now, but it’s mostly with laughter and only the occasional bruise – this is family play after all, not always fair, but ever-fiercely aggressive. Small Boy’s team, inevitably, triumph but there are no losers here today. Today all my brilliant kids are winners and it’s lovely to be a family of four again.

I am done …

Saturday 13 July 2019

I arrive home from my final concert of the season, pour myself a brandy, sink onto the sofa and realise that I am… done!

In the last month, my amazing eldest has: traversed the UK to attend Uni Open Days, coped with Y12 mocks, trekked the Lake District peaks with pack on her pack, camped with fellow DOE expeditioners, surviving on cuppa-soup and pasta, volunteered at a local care home and performed in several concerts. Nonetheless, this week, as others break up for Summer, she completes a week of work experience in a local hospital … and I have chauffered her there daily.

On top of this extra driving, I have survived another week at work. I have found the evening-energy to rehearse and practise. There’s been no time to run. I am low on sleep and nutrition and, I am ashamed to admit, getting through most days with anadin and alcohol.

Tonight was my concert. Usually this would bring my mood soaring right back up, but all the logistics and demands of recent weeks have taken their toll, and I am now just finished. I think it goes quite well, although it’s a very fast and jazzy piece and in places I am just hanging on for dear life. But there is no buzz and I feel a little flat. I admit that the engine has stalled on my ‘Smashing Single Parenthood’ machine this week and I am squarely in survival gear right now!

I have, in all the chaos, missed important hospital appointments for myself and Prom-dress Daughter. I feel frustrated and frazzled by endless driving and traffic lights and traffic jams and hear myself screaming unspeakable abuse at unsuspecting drivers. I feel dragged down by routines and cooking and washing and ironing and just all the dreary decisions and jobs that come about when you are the only adult in the household. I feel trapped and low and on the verge of tears.

I need to cheer up and, as if sent from heaven, I switch on the TV to Simon Pegg lighting up my screen! (I’ll confess, he is a bit of a hero of mine, Run Fat Boy Run, Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead– comedy classics that I’ve watched many times) I’ve never heard of tonight’s film, ‘Man-Up‘. It is a totally ridiculous romcom but, as ever with ‘The Pegster’, the scenes just make me laugh out loud … and laughter always works for me. My gloom lifts like a glorious magical mist and I head to bed knowing that tomorrow is another day and a new opportunity to do things a bit better. I also wonder if Simon Pegg is single …

Cracking the code…

Tuesday 16 July 2019

After a long day at work, there’s no rest for me. My eldest has a driving theory test and I have agreed to be her chauffeur. Upon reaching our location, we are greeted by a sign announcing that ‘Candidates may NOT park at the Centre’. And so it it that I drop her off and then park myself on a dodgy side street, where I try to get on with some work.

Up ahead, a group of youths are knocking on car windows and asking for money. The driver, two cars in front of me hands over some cash and they disappear. The street is quiet after that, nonetheless I decide to keep my window shut and it starts to get very stuffy. Feeling drowsy and struggling to concentrate on my task, I turn to the internet for diversion, and am woken up by Dr Emily Grossman’s article in the Guardian,

Putting Alan Turing on the £50 note is a triumph for British science – and for equality

Hip hip hooray! Back in the Autumn, when the Bank of England launched the public vote on this issue, Turing was my man! There’s the incredible contribution his mathematical brain made to the development of computing, which is mind blowing. And, of course, his legendary code-breaking at Bletchley Park,

“You needed exceptional talent, you needed genius at Bletchley and Turing’s was that genius.” ( Asa Briggs )

But with Turing, the human story is equally powerful. Under the Official Secrets Act, much of his work was to remain hidden for a long time, denying him deserved recognition. At the age of 39, he was convicted of ‘gross indecency’ due to a relationship with another man, a judgement that led to the removal of his security clearance. Despite his outstanding contribution to war time intelligence, he was barred from continuing with his cryptographic consultancy for the GCHQ. Far more shockingly, Turing also underwent ‘chemical castration’ treatment, to avoid imprisonment, and died 2 years later, an inquest ruled by suicide.

About 10 years ago, petitions began for his pardon. In 2014, the Queen granted a full pardon and by 2016 the “Alan Turing law” paved the way to retroactively pardon other men too.

We ask the HM Government to grant a pardon to Alan Turing for the conviction of “gross indecency” … Alan Turing was driven to a terrible despair and early death by the nation he’d done so much to save….A pardon can go some way to healing this damage. It may act as an apology to many of the other gay men, not as well-known as Alan Turing, who were subjected to these laws.

So one of the founding fathers of computing, an unsung hero of our war effort and a significant icon for equality. If, like me, you are a mathematician, its is a wonderful privilege to have lived this life seeing the world through the eyes of many of the greatest minds humankind has ever known. And this man is undoubtedly up there at the top, for his immense and lasting contribution to our modern society. I am overjoyed that he has won a place on our £50 note and, as I look closely, the image also features a short piece of binary code. Cocooned as I may be, within the confines of my clammy car, trying to decode this keeps me busy until my eldest emerges triumphant from her theory test…

Tao of Glass and end of term

Sunday 21 July 2019

On Thursday, I try to cast aside my end of term exhaustion and head out for the evening to see ‘Tao of Glass’ , a world premiere piece of theatre, produced by the Manchester International Festival. This one will divide opinion, but I find it a mesmerising performance; visually stunning, very emotive and gently humorous.

However the final 10-15 minutes feature our protagonist lying on a revolving stage, next to a Steinway recorder playing an original piece of Philip Glass music, recorded by Philip Glass himself. It is beautiful and very relaxing …a little too relaxing as it transpires. I nod off and have to be nudged back into wakefulness by my companion. Next morning, it is still only in this semi-awake state, I stumble through a half-Friday to reach the end of term.

And so the sun sets on another school year and a hectic few weeks at home. As I collapse into bed, I am feeling shattered, dizzy and very unwell. I don’t emerge again until today and I have little idea where the previous 40 hours have gone.

Teens welcome me back to the world, and fill me in on the missing day and a half. They’ve certainly made the most of it! The girls have lots of shopping bags, all three have been to the cinema and Prom-dress daughter informs me that she’s cancelled her violin lesson! Oh well, reassuring to know that I’ve reared three independent souls, who can survive the odd day without a fully-functioning parent in the house. Thank the lord for my mum, who will doubtless have ensured that no-one starved, and bring on the Summer holidays…

Spa Day!

Thursday 25 July 2019

I do follow other single-mum bloggers; and they are often passionate about the need for we lone-parents to treat and take care of ourselves. I have always been sceptical, genuinely so challenged by keeping kids, wider family, work and my bank manager happy that I cannot face the thought of making time to think about my own well-being as well. But after a glorious day at the spa…I think they may have a point!

It’s the hottest day of the year, when records are set to break in distant corners of the South of England, as Spa Day dawns. Two of my teens are on a Youth Orchestra tour of Belgium and the third has gone to spend a day with his nana, so I am already childfree. There is however an added bonus. I have a lift and so, in what feels like the ultimate luxury, I am car-free too. As a result, my mood is already joyful as, unable to believe our weather-luck, four of us rendez-vous in the foyer, change into our swimwear and make a beeline for the outdoor pool(s) area.

It is utter bliss. We are a trusty quartet who have survived several years of work together, have run together, drunk together and failed hilariously in the work quiz together. So I know that the company will be great and it is. We share laughter, lunch and lots of lovely chilled white wine. But another stand out feature of today is the luxury. As I lower myself into the warm embrace of a bubbling jacuzzi, I feel the pain lift from my poor aching limbs, which carry the scars of overworking and overdriving in recent months. I feel pampered. I feel cared for. I feel at peace. Those bubbles seem to tell me that I do matter and I am worth it! And I realise that this is often the missing ingredient in my busy life. And it feels fantastic!

Now, wondrous as my day is, I cannot see myself finding the time or money to make a spa day a regular feature on the calendar. However, I do think making a bit of time for myself and my wellbeing probably is essential. So I re-read a great post on this topics from The Perfect Juggler, 7 types of Self Care that don’t cost a penny…. Actually, I find that I already do several of the suggestions, but here is my challenge. When life gets frantic, make sure that the first thing to fall by the wayside is not me and my time and my happiness. Now that sounds like a plan!

Single-parenthood necessity – what does it invent?

Sunday 28 July 2019

Now I am obviously biased, but I do think my three teens are growing up to be pretty incredible young people. This week, as I am out with a friend, enjoying fine beers and cocktails, and talking life, they suggest that this is not despite their single parent upbringing… but because of it! Can there really be advantages to this challenging life we lead? It’s certainly not the usual media message but as I mull it over it does start to make a sense, and I decide to do some research.

I have yet to unearth a recent, comprehensive study in this area, however there is an abundance of current writing that is now prepared to acknowledge advantages, alongside disadvantages of lone-parenting for children. Before I look at these, I can only stress that I am not going to pretend it isn’t an unbelievable tough path. Jenni Lee’s heartbreaking poem Secret’s of a single mum, contains verses I’ve certainly experienced and would love to share with my Ex and his family, if only I thought they would listen or care. However the poem also encapsulates the key to using your circumstances to your childrens’ advantage. Here’s the moment,

“When I feel like a failure, that I am just letting you down, that I wish I could do more for you, you snuggle up to me on the sofa, you make a cup of tea, you look at me and smile, you come up to me and tell me you love me. Those little things mean the world to me.…”

In short, children will help, if you communicate and ask for their support, and this in turn helps them to grow and develop as people. And it’s possibly in the single parent unit that we need to ask for their help a little more often than elsewhere.

So where are the potential benefits? Top of most lists comes that it teaches independence and responsibility. “Because single parents are already so busy, children should be encouraged to be like the member of a team …” argues one report. That is a definite strength our our family unit. As we all grow up, we play to each other’s strengths and work most successfully when we work as a team. This celebrates and develops strengths, confidence and self-esteem. And it has developed me as a team player too . Most importantly, I have learned and continue to learn, to listen ‘with my ears’!

Another suggested advantage, cited in several reports, is the good ‘role -modelling’ of issues like: problem solving, money management, and resilience. I know that I have been forced to learn so many new skills since taking on sole responsibility for the management of the household, and my children have seen me do it, often sharing the challenge. In consequence possibly they are more resourceful, less likely to think ‘I can’t do…’ and more likely to think instead ‘How will I learn to do …’ than others? One terrifying Ballet Class ordeal aside (and that’s another story!), they certainly don’t seem to be quitters and we have battled through some very tricky times together.

Different reports debate different gains and losses, but I don’t feel the need to read anymore because I think my research has already taught me an important lesson. Your family circumstances will undeniably shape you. The key, to making the most of this, is to see your particular situation as an opportunity, not as I have often done , a mountain to climb in trying to catch up with ‘more fortunate’ others. If necessity is indeed the mother of invention, then perhaps in the single parent household, embracing the tough challenges it presents can invent some very remarkable children. It feels like a very new outlook on life and it feels very exciting…

August 2019

Single Parent Holidaying

11 August 2019

After a wonderful 2 weeks in Spain, I really should reconnect with reality. But, my TV is broken and only shows BBC1 and BBC2, (tonight’s schedule of Country File, followed by The Antiques Roadshow threatens to be a real low point), my curtain rail has fallen down, the garden is a wet wilderness of overgrown greenery, there’s no food in the house and no-one has any clean clothes left. It proves just too tempting to leave it all for another 24 hours and instead look back fondly over the last fortnight…

The truth be told, I had been quite anxious about this holiday. For the first time ever, I was taking the kids abroad on my own, which felt pretty daunting to me. Not to them thankfully. Capabilities boosted by several school trips and a lifetime with a mother incapable of planning ahead, they breezed through packing and API and boarding passes and passports with a few lists and that supreme confidence teenagers ooze with anything ‘online’. At the airport, as I fumbled about with too much paperwork and some outdated 1980s bumbag, they waved phones at check in gates, and expertly fitted medication and ‘essential toiletries’ into plastic bags like seasoned pros.

And so it was that , within a few hours, with what seemed liked unbelievable ease, I found myself at our Spanish appartment, dipping my toes in the pool and looking forward to making my way through a Kindle loaded up with holiday reading.

And I did have time to relax and read loads and loads of great books. I caught up on, and even got ahead of, my Book Club list and several more books to boot. We also did trips. Now this isn’t a new idea, and I would list as a top tip for anyone holidaying with teens; wherever we go, I always let each child choose one trip that we all agree to go on. This time it was water parks, animal parks and an, at times terrifying, boat trip into the choppy Atlantic to see whales and dolphins. We explored various local beaches and enjoyed lots of different restaurants and bars.

But none of this is my real highlight. The best features of the time away was the quality time we spent together as a family. The kids nearly taught me to swim underwater, we took air hockey and crazy golf to a whole new level and we laughed until we cried over Uno and other of games cards. Great memories and great times.

Now I am ready for tomorrow, when I shall get the TV fixed and tackle the garden…

Another results day…

Thursday 22 August 2019

Today is Prom-dress daughter’s results day and, if last year, results day for my eldest marked my D-Day as a single parent, then this year’s seems a great time to reflect upon how far we have come, as a family unit, in 2019.

The drive to school is still tense, and that’s not just because my eldest is at the learner-driver wheel. The GCSE exam month is a tough and relentless grind for most pupils, and for Prom-dress daughter it was no exception. The highest stakes and the highest emotion, came with subjects she really cared about, and here papers often seemed to be ‘a disaster’ or ‘just awful’. (We certainly got through a lot of emergency chocolate in May and June!) In consequence, she is on edge about some key results, and her young face is etched with worry. To my surprise however, I feel far less stressed than I did 12 months ago, for a number of reasons.

After last year, I resolved never again to assume that everyone else’s children would do better than mine. More importantly this year, I find that I haven’t given anyone else’s children a second thought – it’s just about my lovely girl and her future plans for me today. And Prom-dress daughter has a number of qualities that calm my nerves as we jolt towards the school carpark. Firstly, she has a quick and clever mind and doesn’t tend to write or burble nonsense under pressure. I feel pretty certain that in many subjects, things cannot have gone as badly as she fears. Secondly, as with my eldest, her teachers have consistently predicted good results, and this year I have the confidence to trust this. And finally, life, particularly the demands of our single parent household and coping with serious asthma, has made her tough. I know that she will not go to pieces if some grades are a little lower than she wanted. There will be a way forward. Of course there will, GCSE results don’t define us ….

However, as she disappears into school… I do suddenly really want to know what those results are and the familiar old jitters start to return. I am struggling to concentrate on anything when we get the ‘thumbs up’ emoji. And that is enough…if she’ happy then I’m happy. More than happy in fact. As she bursts from the school, her face radiant with delight, and a smile that seems to last forever, I am truly thrilled for her. Today, me and my trio of teens, feel like an unbeatable team. It’s time to celebrate …

Small Boy’s new bed…

Wednesday 28 August 2019

Have I earned my glass of red tonight! Not only have I survived a full day at work and cooked a passable Spaghetti Bolognese … I have also completed my latest DIY project; Small Boy’s new bed.

Yes, Small Boy’s refusal to stop growing has finally taken its toll on the cabin bed he has slept in for the last 7 years. The mattress went to the tip a month ago and the frame is due to be collected by the British Heart Foundation (BHF) at the end of the week. To his utter joy, over the Summer holiday, I have allowed Small Boy to sleep on the sofa- bed downstairs with full and unfettered access to the TV … and the xbox! But, with the return to school fast approaching, I have resolved that enough, of this parental slackness, is quite enough. The new bed has been delivered…my only task now is to build the thing!

Now when I say my task, ‘our’ would be a more honest pronoun. In choosing my building day, I have wisely waited until the return of Prom-dress daughter from a trip, ‘Down South’, to her dad’s house. Did I mention that my girl is a dab-hand with a flat pack? Well tonight she excel’s herself. It is a slightly stumbling start, as we find that we need an allen key I don’t have to dismantle the old frame. However after a quick flit to Screw Fix, I am soon jangling a 10-set of those hexagonal rods, like a triumphant gaoler. Prom dress daughter is impressed by the new tools, which in her deft, little hands soon reduce the old cabin bed to a neat stack of flat sections, ready for the BHF van. Then, like a seasoned pro, she turns her attention to the newly delivered bed, unfolds the plans, casts a quick eye over them, before slotting, sliding and assembling the various sections into Small Boy’s new and infinitely more grown-up bed.

She does need my muscle a little bit, to tighten the odd screw and bang occasional sections into perfect alignment, but I am clearly the brawn and not the brains of this operation. Well ‘play to your strengths’ has always been my motto and we do make a great team. Small Boy still looks a little too long, as he now tries out his new berth but Prom dress daughter cheerily tells him to ‘curl up’ a little , as opposed to ‘sprawling out flat’ and everyone is happy. I celebrate with wine, it’s popcorn for the teens and together it’s been a fine day’s work…

Thanks Dad …

Thursday 29 August 2019

Today is a day when the past and future come together in wonderful harmony.

It’s a nervous morning, the date of the UKCAT for my eldest, and a very early start. By 07:30 am, we have forced down a bit of breakfast, driven through Manchester’s rush hour and parked near the city-centre testing venue. As we approach the building however I am stopped in my tracks. It is the very same building that my Dad worked in, many years ago, in his days as an advertising executive. I feel a wave of optimism sweep over me. This is surely a sign!

“Pops is bound to be looking down on you today.” I hear myself telling my daughter ” It must be a good omen!”

She does attempt a brave smile, but is still looking rather green as she is registered in the exam room and I am directed to the waiting area.

Over a very welcome latte, I try to settle down to some work but my mind drifts into memories of my father. Dad didn’t set out to be any kind of advertising executive. He was a musician and also worked as a cinema manager, in the more glamorous era of regional premieres and red carpets, in the 1960s. He and mum used to tell of fun nights, early in their marriage, spent watching new releases, feet up on the seats with bottles of beer, after the cinema has closed. And then … me and my brothers came along. And it turns out that jobs with late nights and concerts and gigs, just didn’t fit with family life. So he gave it all up, took exams, retrained … and joined a catalogue firm. And I realise, with a truly humbling shock, that it must have been awful, completely soul destroying. But I never heard him complain once. Dad did it all for us.

Now I do complain … a lot. I complain about my job. I complain about not been free to play in every concert that I hear about. I complain about money. I complain about…..too blinkin’ much! Great parents have been quietly putting their families ahead of their personal hopes and dreams for time immemorial. And one of them did that all for me. The very least I can do, in honour of that memory, is to either just get on with things or take action to improve things, but whatever I decide, ditch the moaning. Feeling focused and suddenly very sure of what I do want to do, I fire up my laptop and give my full attention to polishing my presentation for that scary extra-job interview next week.

I am interrupted by my eldest, who emerges, delighted with her UKCAT results, and we head home feeling fantastic. Back at the house, Prom dress daughter is in full flow, redesigning Small Boy’s room to better suit his new bed. Her total excavation of every drawer, box and corner of his dusty den has unearthed three Nintendo DS consoles, and the teens pounce upon these and retreat into their own nostalgia trip down memory lane. Now the notion that a DS is already a part of history does make me feel completely ancient, but today I don’t mind at all. Hey I am the old person in this house. I am the parent and proud to be so. There’s only one way for me to celebrate. I may not have a new film release but I do have Netflix. I grab a beer, get my feet up on the seats and toast the skies, “Thanks Dad!” …

September 2019

September

Friday 6 September 2019

September marks the return to school in our household and by Thursday, all the teens have made it back to school or college, back to A levels and GCSES, new courses and classmates, new PE kits and pencil cases, new timetables and teachers, new dreams and possibilities. If you’ve not already guessed it, I am usually quite a September fan and relish its sparkle of energy and optimism.

It’s back to school for me too and here I find, maybe it’s my age, that along with the promise of new opportunity, a few of last year’s loveliest ghosts still haunt my thoughts. There’s a definite buzz at work and staff, tanned and refreshed by the long August break, seem different people to those exhausted colleagues who crawled home on their knees at the end of the Summer term. I exchange cheery greetings, news and smiles on the way to my office. As I open the door however, I am surprised to find that the wall of ‘Thank you’ cards from last year’s leavers makes me wobble. I can now match their beautiful words and carefully chosen sentences to the very highest examination grades. And, of course, I am thrilled by their success and I cannot wait to see where they go in life, but I do feel a wave of sadness that I won’t be working with them anymore. In addition, some of my favourite work friends have also moved on and, as I look around our morning meeting and take in the unfamiliar faces at the table, that feels a little odd too.

But the busyness of the first day; my staff presentation, running mini-workshops, meetings and yet more meetings, all manages to push the nostalgia away … at least for the time being. Or maybe it doesn’t and maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe I learn from the memories to get re-inspired and fired me up for the year ahead. To quote from one of my ‘Thank you’ cards,

“It’s not really about the grades for me. The lessons I have learned from you in your classroom are far more important than that ….”

You know what, my amazing class and fantastic workmates, that goes “right back at you” !

And before I know it, it’s home …to an unusual barrage of news from the teens. Give that a few days and they’ll be back to their customary grunts of “It’s just school!”, whenever I am reckless enough to enquire about their day!

Well September, month of 30 days, you will bring us to the season of ‘Mists and mellow fruitfulness’. What else will you be serving up though? Now that is an interesting question…

The Job Interview

Wednesday 11 September 2019

Today is my scary job interview. It’s in town. It’s in a new location. I find that without any of my trusty trio to guide me…I get a little lost!

I am awake by 5am, my bag is packed, my reflection is looking groomed and professional and I am on the road before seven. My interview is not until nine and the SatNav tells me it’s a 36 minute journey, but I am not taking any chances. To say that I really am “not great” at navigating in unfamiliar places, would be an understatement.

The traffic is horrendous but nonetheless, feeling rather smug, I am parked, within half a mile of my destination, by 8 am. And not just parked in any of your usual car parks. Oh no! In an unusual moment of travel-inspiration, I have discovered Just Park and for the bargain price of £3.40, I find myself manoeuvering, my loyal Toyota Winston, into a space on a quiet road, having avoided the stress of Manchester’s ominous one way systems and endless ‘Bus and Taxi only’ zones.

“This is all going perfectly” I am foolish enough to think, as I step out of the car.

Now the rain often ‘falls hard on this humdrum town’, and today is no exception. As I pause to load Google Maps onto my phone, I am regretting the decision to wear my hair down. In the relentless drizzle, my interview-straightened locks are beginning to spring their way back to a cheerful frizz. I tell myself it just adds a bit of personality to my look, twirl my phone around a few times, trying to fathom what on earth those little blue arrows on the screen have to do with my route, choose a direction and set off. After 5 minutes, my screen informs me that my 12 minute walk is now a 17 minute walk and I deduce that I am probably not going the right way.

I decide to abandon the phone and fish a paper map out of my bag. I am squinting to read crumpled road names when a lorry rumbles by, through the puddles and, in a moment reminiscent of that famous Bridget Jones scene, drenches me from top to toe. I am now very soggy. I am now visibly bedraggled. But it’s still only 8.10 am. Plenty of time… hey, I can spruce myself up in the Ladies upon arrival!

Several wrong turns later, but with my watch showing a timely 8:37 am, I am joyfully outside the building with the perfect amount of time to spare. Through the revolving doors I go and into…a very quiet and deserted lobby. Rather oddly, there is no reception, but looking around I find a lift showing the floors for several different companies. Mine is found on floors 2 and 3. I start with 2. There’s a glass walled office here, with a few people tapping away on computers. It doesn’t look too promising, so I am back, riding that lift to floor 3. This takes me to a corridor, where a man in an anorak, who tells me he is from ‘IT‘, helpfully stops to find out … what, in the name of goodness, I am doing wandering, unsupervised around his place of work! He has never heard of the man I am supposed to report to and looks puzzled when I explain that I am here for an interview.

“Did they definitely tell you to come to this building, not our main site ?’“he asks.

“You .. you have more than one building?” I hear myself whisper hoarsely, a wave of panic beginning to take hold.

Listening with grim determination, I take in Anorak-man’s instructions on how to find the main site. I hurry to the exit and then I run , as fast as my heels can take me, to the correct location. Damp, red faced, frizzy haired, and gasping for breath, I fly into at Reception with four minutes to spare. There’s no time for sprucing-up, there’s no time to reread my notes there’s no time at all before I am called in.

How does it go? I’ll tell you in a week …

Fantastique Day!

Saturday 21 September 2019

As Saturdays go, that was a pretty perfect one!

The morning sees the resumption of Saturday activities for the teens freshened up with a change of location. And this, in turn means exploring a new run route for me. I swap my well-trodden tracks, through a scenery of urban streets and sassy bars, for parkland and lush greenery. It is glorious in the warm September sunshine, the oxygen coursing through my veins and fuelling my heart with energy and optimism.

The afternoon takes me to a rehearsal for a performance of the dream-like Symphonie Fantastique by Berlioz. Mine is a small part, the ‘off-stage’ oboe player in Movement 3. I find myself positioned in a dark dusty side room for my solo, with only a partial sight of the conductor and totally hidden from audience view. One of my GC (Group Chat) friends makes me laugh out loud with the comment that this sounds like a metaphor for her life, and I think that it many ways it probably is for mine too. Perhaps all parents feel that, much as they strive to play a beautiful part in the symphony of life, their contribution can feel a little invisible at times. But I don’t feel unappreciated this afternoon. The solo may be written to sound distant but it is so haunting that I absolutely love it and many member of the orchestra are kind enough to compliment my playing too.

The additional bonus, of only appearing in one movement, is that my rehearsal time is very short and frees up the afternoon for catching up with the teens, doing the laundry, sorting out the weekly shop and doing my share of ferrying to volunteering … and to parties. I experience an usual sensation of being almost on top of things.

And tonight I am relishing a chilled glass of white after an awesome concert. My little moment goes well, but above all I am blown away by the Symphony itself, which I hear in full for the first time this evening. It’s testament to a great orchestra , where players commit fully to a truly emotional performance, but it’s also the music itself . Bernstein describes it as “a first musical expedition into psychedelia“ and it certainly sends me home on a real high.

Feeling ‘fantastique’, long may it last…

“Did somebody say…”

Friday 27 September 2019

“Anyone fancy a Dominoes for tea?” is all I innocently ask at 7am this morning. The house goes wild with joy. Smiling faces appear at usually firmly shut bedroom doors. My eldest starts belting out “Did somebody say…”, the well known refrain to Just East’s ad campaign, at the top of her voice. And before I know it, we’ve all joined in. There are harmonies, there is a congo and there is a lot of volume. Gosh they are easily pleased … or is my cooking really that bad?

Actually .. .it probably is. And I do try. In truth, I feel huge societal pressure to try. It began with the weaning years, when the ‘alpha mothers’, waving their Annabel Karmel bibles, briskly steered me away from those lovely, neat rows of supermarket food jars and persuaded me to embrace the messy, lumpy and thankless world of mashed sweet potato and spinach and potato goo. Ever since then, I have felt a huge pressure, not only to cook for the family ‘from scratch’… but to enjoy it too! And do you know what, “I dont!”

Ooooh, I’ve said it out loud. Might say it again. “I don’t like cooking! It’s a dull, dreary, chore sent relentlessly to ruin the loveliest of days.

“What’s for tea mum?”,

“When’s dinner ready mum?”

Is there any breakfast mum?”

It just goes on and on! One of the worst suggestions I ever listened to was ‘batch cooking’. Now there’s a day, of the Autumn half term of 2015, I’ll never get back! Lasagnes exploding all over the oven, seething pots of curry bubbling madly on the stove, triumphant vegetable bakes, collapsing into mush, as I tried to portion them into tupperware containers. Simply hell on earth! My children never have forgiven me, (and never should), for a hideous creation known as ‘vegetable crumble’. As for my recent pea and mint risotto, well the only place for that bowl of gloop was as the food recycling bin!

Oh, fear not foodies and responsible parents of the land, I will, of course, continue to try. I accept that we cannot survive, nutritionally or financially, on take-away meals alone. But this Friday, which will drag on until 8 pm with various after school activities, I feel justified in casting my cook books aside and joining the teens in joyful song …

“Did somebody say….”

The End of September

Monday 30 September 2019

As the sun sets on another September, it’s a good time to reflect upon the last 30 days.

Now I use the term ‘sun’ metaphorically, because the skies have actually pelted us with rain for most of the last 30 days and there are flood warnings in place across much of the UK, as the ninth month of the year comes to an end. I also read that 2019 has been the wettest across the USA as well. Is it a result of global warming and the alarming acceleration in the impact of humankind on the plant? Greta Thunberg would certainly say so, and September has seen this remarkable young woman deliver her passionate address to the UN Climate Action Summit, supported by further waves of, predominantly youth Climate Strikes, across the globe.

Closer to home, my young people have also has a productive month. My eldest has finally completed her personal statement, applied to Uni, started partying with a vengeance, as the entire year group begins to turn 18, … and booked her driving test. Prom-dress daughter has made an impressive start to College life, joined the Production, re-joined the gym, signed up for various trips and blows my maths-geek mind, as she ponders her philosophy and history at the dinner table. Small Boy has ambled on quietly, possibly a little lost, as the girls have taken up a lot of my attention, but he seems okay.

As for me, well I did secure one new work opportunity but wasn’t successful with the other. So, whilst 1 out of 2 isn’t bad, I search on for a substantial change in my working life. Maybe my fortunes will change in October 2019? It’s a month when Mondays all fall on multiples of 7, which is always a bonus for me. I resolve to apply for at least one new job per month, pour myself a glass of wine and bid a fond farewell to a pretty good September, for the young people of the world as well as three I live with…

October 2019

I just can’t get enough…

Thursday 3 October 2019

October arrives this week. As I awake to icy mornings and the central heating clicking into gear, my thoughts turn to the challenge of turning up the temperature in other areas of my life too!

Very unexpectedly, quite out of the blue, I have recently met a rather nice man. It’s very, very early days, but he does make me smile … quite a lot. I’ll even confess that occasionally, as I come off the phone I have even found myself feeling a little dreamy, warm and fuzzy too. Now youngsters, block your revolted ears, but older readers, possibly having to contemplate a new relationship, take heart from my next relevation. Whilst marital break-up isn’t an experience I’d wish on anyone, one upside, of being flung back into world of dating in later life, has been the discovery that love, romance and that initial spark of connection, are every bit as exciting in middle age as they were in my younger years. The reflection in the mirror may well show the ravages of time but on the inside … we are all still in our mid-twenties!

But I digress, back to the rather nice man. We have managed a couple of outings, but I fear, I really do, for our fledgling relationship ever really taking flight … because it is so blinkin’ difficult to meet up as a single parent! With my ex due to visit, this Saturday was supposed to be a night of togetherness, but ex-hub has just called to tell me that he is ‘busy’. ‘Busy?’ I’d like to too busy to look after ‘our’, children until I have a gap in the diary, just once in a while! And my beloved teens don’t help the situation either. Is it just my offspring, or do all children assume that a mum’s only goal and motivation in life is to run them, fund them, and organise weekend life around them and their social lives?

“I just assumed you would be able to pick me up from my party mum!”

was my eldest’s response when I suggested that I might be out on Saturday night.

I put it off, but eventually do call, apologetically, to explain my dilemma and brace myself for the brush off. But the rather nice man, who is very laid back and incredibly considerate simply says ‘Wherever and whenever you can”, as we rearrange our plans. And I am sure that a mid afternoon movie will be great. It’s just that, at the risk of sounding like a complete floozy, I had hoped for a little more from my Saturday night!

Could I invite him here? I think not, far too soon. I have no intention of parading any men around the home and into the teens’ world, until I am sure of how I feel about them. But how do I ever get to that stage? It’s a veritable, vicious circle and I am not sure there’s a way out. I turn to alcohol. I turn to music. And on comes Depeche Mode “I just can’t get enough” ….it speaks to me on many levels!

There’s no use crying over it…

Sunday 6 October 2019

I can’t actually pinpoint when I began to notice that Windsor, our trusty Toyota, was beginning to whiff a little. But it is two days ago that Small boy finally voices what we’ve all started thinking,

“Mum, why does our car smell like poo?”

A rummage around in the boot quickly unearths the culprit, one carton of milk … one empty carton of milk! Yes a full 4 pints of the white stuff, purchased almost 2 weeks ago, must have fallen from our ‘bag for life’ as we unloaded the shopping. It has settled happily into life in the car boot and gradually leaked all its contents over fabric, the folders, the picnic blankets, the emergency jumpers, yes everything single thing in the back of our car. And my goodness does it smell … it absolutely honks !!

And it still does. I have washed lots, binned even more, scrubbed and sprayed like a woman possessed, but nothing gets rid of the stench. I discover that there’s a whole industry of websites and YouTube videos devoted to the dilemma of ‘Milk in the Car’, and I am left befuddled about where to start. Additionally, a friend cheerfully informs me that it is the very longevity of those noxious, sour odours that makes ‘spilling milk all over the ex’s car’ a favourite revenge act for wronged spouses and scorned lovers!

So ignoring the Autumnal nip in the air, we drive around town with the windows permanently wide open. If some unfortunate friend needs a lift from us, I leap from the vehicle when they are still yards away to pre-warn and apologise for the ghastly horrors that await as they open the door! We are getting desperate and I decide that my only option is to throw money at the problem.

On Saturday , after dropping the teens at their morning rehearsal, I postpone my run in favour of a trip to the car valeter. But the professionals are not optimistic,

“It’s milk love, its a killer. There’s really nothing we can do!”

Despondently, I decide to leave the car anyway, downgrading to a £12 mini-valet, and turn my thoughts back to my Saturday run. Suddenly inspiration strikes. I smile. I brush my hair out of my eyes. I tighten my laces. I straighten my running top and I set a course … to my mum’s house.

Within 15 minutes, I am enjoying a coffee in mum’s kitchen and she is a confident reassurance of home grown remedies for any stain or odour that you can mention. Sour milk does not daunt her. No, she laughs in the face of this feared opponent and fills me a bag of ingredients ‘guaranteed’ to send those stomach-churning stenches packing. Now I’ll not lie, running back to the car with a plastic bag jangling with bottles of white vinegar, brushes and pots of bicarbonate of soda is a bit of challenge. The streamlined Strava brigade, I meet along the way, refuse to make eye contact as I clank and clatter past. But I don’t care, it is utterly worth it, because I now have a plan. I know my next step…I have hope in my heart!

So tonight, as I sit mulling over … bathroom sealant (it’s my next DIY adventure!), Windsor is a frivolous froth of baking soda, vinegar and water. Will it work? I guess I’ll know in the morning…

Three cheers for the baking soda!

Monday 7 October 2019

It actually works! Windsor no longer smells of stank sour milk. My car smells of … a glorious nothing! And I gratefully put baking soda alongside Anadin Extra as products I would be honoured to advertise for free.

My mum, ‘The magnificent’ is in the house when I get home. Not only is she teaching piano to all three teens and not only has she cooked a delicious pie for tea, but her bicarb has also seen off the filfthsome, foul odour that has ruined my motorised voyages for several days.

I waltz her triumphantly around the kitchen, the teens cheer in joyous relief and that glorious smell of nothing in the car, it seems like the sweetest smell any of us have ever known…

England 6 Racists 0…

Monday 14 October

Stunned!

I arrive home pretty late this evening. As I turn the key in the lock, an excited Small Boy comes flying out of the lounge.

“Mum, come quick, they’ve stopped the match!”

And they have. England in a Euro 2020 qualifier against Bulgaria. England under intense public scrutiny after a defeat in their previous match with the Czech Republic. England leading this game 2-0. England have left the pitch, in unison and in protest against the racist chants from the Bulgarian fans.

Small Boy and I watch open mouthed. The team come back on and then leave again 10 minutes later continuing to make a stand against the unacceptable level of abuse from the terraces. I have never seen anything like it. Such a move from the manager of England, a nation obsessed with football, seems truly ground breaking and very brave.

The half time commentators applaud the action. Small Boy is adamant that they should have stopped the match completely, and on my facebook feed, many of my footballing friends agree. Nonetheless, it is a bold and decisive step from our team, executed with dignity and unity. The match does resume and England do go on to win 6-0, But this is a night when they have won a far more important victory. This is a night when they have drawn a line, so that never again will footballers have to endure racist abuse, simply because they are ‘paid a fortune’ and expected to ‘turn the other cheek‘ and ‘beat the racists on the pitch‘. This is a night when, to quote Back Pages it’s ‘England 6, racists 0’. This is a night when I feel truly proud to the English.

“Now we’ve seen what’s happened and what’s good about it is it has got a generation of players now, not just black players, a generation of players and people that won’t tolerate it any more,”

Ian Wright 2019

London Town

Sunday 20 October 2019

There is no better way to recharge the batteries than a change of location and after a terrific weekend in London, I feel like a new woman.

It’s the start of half term and the teens are away with their dad, leaving me free to hop on an Intercity train and head for the capital. It’s a change of place and a change of pace and it a few days to just be myself rather than an overstretched and sightly frazzled single-mum.

In under 2 hours, I am at Euston, meeting an old Uni friend and catching up over coffee. Armed with our Oyster cards, we head to Tate Britain for Mark Leckey’s O’ Magic Power of Bleakness exhibition. Leckey’s ambitious and theatrical show, takes us on a nostalgic trip through his younger years, and as contempories, his nostalgia matches ours and we lounge on the floor letting the clever images wash over us and feeling the year roll back, until we are teenagers again too. I really enjoy it and reminiscing about my childhood, with someone else who was also alive at the time is the perfect way to remind myself that, much as Iove being a mum, there is also a side of me that’s…just me!

And over a two day trip, London just seems to exude effortless style and endless opportunity. There’s great food, great cinema, great art, great strolling along the elegant streets and great striding through the muddy paths of the glorious Hampstead Heath. Above all there’s great company. It is a rare luxury having someone to talk to about everything from work and kids, to books and art. My Uni friends are a clever bunch and I do miss the College climate of learning and knowledge. Who knows, maybe I’ll go back and do some more study one day?

But that’s for some distant day, in the future. It’s ‘back up North’ that I’m heading now on the 16:17 from Euston. Mark Leckey’s familiar yet forgotten images of the the 70s, 80s and 90s remind me of how easy it is to overlook the happy memories stored in the ordinariness of the everyday, when you have the right people in your life. And even as we leave the bright lights of London behind and head for the less inspiring facades of my corner of the North West, rejuvenated by my short break, I am looking forward to being home again.

Magical Manchester

Tuesday 22 October 2019

The teens return from a holiday with their dad tomorrow. That gives me 24 hours of blissful freedom and I spend them exploring my home town. It’s a day that comes as close to perfect as you could ever hope a day to be. Sometimes you don’t need to travel far for new adventure and experience, sometimes your just need to open your eyes and see what’s right under your nose.

My friend and I hop off our tram and straight into the Northern Quarter’s characteristic chaos of cafes. The Manchester skies are unusually clear and blue and we perch on high stools at an outdoor grilled cheese bar for a quick lunch stop. It’s simple, speedy and mouth-wateringly delicious and happily replenished we take a leisurely stroll through the lovely Victorian streets to a concert hall for a lunchtime recital.

I am not sure that I’ve ever been to a lunchtime concert before and it blows me away. We step out of the hustle and bustle of city life to enjoy an hour of peace and some beautiful piano playing. Mozart and Chopin fill the hall and fill my soul. I am transported far from all the worries and niggles that fill my mind on a daily basis … it is just amazing!

Manchester is famed for its lively bar and cafe scene, indeed it was recently dubbed “the most hungover city in the world”. So without too much difficulty, we find ourselves a bar to discuss the concert and over several glasses of Merlot, review the playing, catch up on news and generally while the afternoon away until it’s time to catch the tram home again.

I feel relaxed, happy and, at least for today, free of all responsibility. My mind is stirred, my heart is too. This is city life at its best. A 2019 Time Out survey ranked Manchester 15th out of the ‘48 Best Cities in the World to Visit’. Well I challenge those Time Outers to find me a city on this planet or beyond that can give me a better day than the one I’ve just had…

Sealant is tricky!

Monday 21 October 2019

As the teens are away, I earmark the start of half-term week for the task of repairing the sealant in the bathroom. I ordered the cartridge weeks ago and already, with only a few cuts and minor injuries, I have cleared the old sealant out. There’s a short delay; I find I have no sealant gun. But the oasis that is ‘Screw Fix‘ is but minutes from my home, and within the hour I am proudly unwrapping my first ever sealant gun. The instructions seem clear and I confidently snip open the correct sections of the cartridge, hook up with YouTube to uncover the secrets of loading the cartridge into the gun and I am ready. I feel euphoric! I feel invincible! I actually pose in front of the mirror, like one of Charlie’s Angels, brandishing my gun.

“You are good!“, I tell my reflection with a cheeky wink, ” Let’s go and seal that sink!”

You’d think at my age, I would have learnt that pride invariably comes before a fall! I have indeed successfully snipped open the cartridge seal and the applicator nozzle, but I what I have failed to do, is to secure these two parts back together. As I start to to pump, the sealant seeps gloriously out of both the top and bottom of the applicator and plummets heavily into the sink. I try to remove it, but discover that silicone is sticky. It sticks to everything. My hands, my clothes, my hair, the sink, the floor, the door. In desperation, I manage to re-fasten the device and stem the flow, but I coat my hands, arms, body and bathroom even more completely in the gruesome glue. And I don’t stop here. For some unfathomable reason, I choose to plough on, ineptly firing sealant, sealant and yet more sealant at the gap in my sink. It is one almighty mess. With a face drained of colour and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I survey the carnage… it has taken me less than 10 minutes, to completely ruin the bathroom.

I scrape the silcone from my hands with a towel, head to the kitchen for an emergency cuppa and put in a mildly hysterical call to one of my friends. By the time the rescue squad appears, I have managed to clean the floor and some of the bathroom units. My jumper, however, is in the bin and the sink itself is a horror story of silicone mingled with my blood. I am lead away and placed onto kettle duties.

It takes a good 2 hours for my heroic pal to restore and re-seal the bathroom to it’s former glory. I am still a sticky, sorry specimen of gratitude as I pour us a celebratory glass of fizz. My friend tells me kindly that ‘Sealant is tricky!‘ and I vow to never go near it again…unless perhaps Prom-dress daughter is at home!

November 2019

November blues

Monday 4 November 2019

November gets off to a sad start. For various reasons, I decide to call time on the relationship with the rather nice man I met several weeks ago. Everything tells me it’s a sensible decision. Everything tells me it’s the right decision. But it is very much a decision of the head; and that can’t stop my little heart from plummeting into the depths of missing and loss for a few days.

I miss his smile. I miss his lovely voice. I miss our long chats about nothing and nonsense. I miss feeling special. For now I just feel pretty down … and I know that I have probably made the rather nice man feel pretty down too. Breaking up, as a teenager or a middle-aged mum, it’s just never good!

I know I’ll shake it, but for this week I’m allowed to be sad. Let’s face it, if you don’t care enough to cry…what is the point?

Fridaaaaay!

Friday 8 November 2019

What a week! I raise a very well earned glass of Vouvray to making it to Friday in one piece.

I love to be busy but when, at the end of the week you cannot be sure what any of your kids have done for food, you know one of them went to a lecture in Manchester but not how they got there or back, you know that two of them have been doing important assessment weeks but have no idea how any of it went …it’s clear that you have not spent enough time at home.

It’s been tough decisions about my personal life. It’s been concerts. It’s been rehearsals. It’s been late nights at work. It’s literally been something every night and the wheels have slightly come off as a result. On two mornings this week, Small Boy has run out of uniform. Today he ran out of dinner money. I’ve lost my work shoes. I’ve helped no-one with revision. When I called to see how Spaghetti Bolognese was going on Tuesday, it sounded like World War 3. There’s even a cry for attention from the car as Windsor’s dashboard announces that ‘Oil Maintenance is needed soon!’ It’s just not good enough. Time to say ‘no’ to anything non-essential next week.

But it’s Friday night. The best moment of the week. We do takeaway. We do The Apprentice (on i-player.) We order some more uniform for Small Boy. I book my car in for a service. I listen to news about lectures, trips and school exams. I cross a few things off next week’s calendar. And I feel calmer. My head is clearer. My heart is lighter. My mood is high. I love Friday…

The wonder of a Wall

Saturday 9 November 2019

Today marks the 30 year anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. What an iconic event it was; the lasting symbol of a wave of revolutions that swept the Eastern Bloc in Europe at the end of the 1980s, whilst in China, by contrast, the popular demonstrations demanding greater political freedom were crushed by the authorities in Tiannamen Square. And all of this happened in my lifetime. Thirty years, gosh these were such moments of living history, that I still can remember where I was. I heard about the events in China in a Youth Hostel in Singapore, backpacking across SE Asia. (Here are some of the (many) pics!) By the time the Berlin Wall fell, I was back at University, watching the incredible images on the TV, feeling stunned, scared and inspired by the power of people to change the world.

And I’ve been privileged to walk this earth at the same time as other hugely significant people too. I also remember where I was the day Barack Obama was elected and the day the first TV pictures appeared of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. Unthinkable drive and determination, resilience and resolve to fight on and make this world a better and fairer place. It is awe-inspiring.

When I was a teenager, trekking and travelling and exploring new places, life felt fantastic; exciting and full of promise. Faced the challenges of growing up, shouldering responsibility and the daily grind of working life, I have sometimes felt a little lost however. So it’s good to pause and be more outward looking. Because today, the remarkable people in this world and the momentous events I’ve witnessed, make this seem like a wonderful and precious place to be. I cannot wait to see what the next few decades bring … and to play a part in it…

What’s worth fighting for…

Wednesday 20 November 2019

As part of my working week, I am sent on a course that involves a ‘cultural tour’ of Manchester. What a memorable day! It showcases the industry, the creativity and the inspirational spirit of equality that has shaped my home town.

We start at the Whitworth Art Gallery, deep in University land. There is gallery upon gallery of stunning displays: photography; textiles (in honour of the proud industry of “Cottonopolis“); a Cezanne exhibition… but the gallery that really blows me away is “The Reno“. This celebration of the famous Moss Side club, not only charts some significant shifts in societal attitudes during the 1970s, but also sums up the journey we all make from youth into adulthood and responsibility.

“What was your club called?.… Where it mattered if it rained cos your hair wouldn’t hold up. And what was his name? Before your wage. And the person you became. That bears no relation to the person you were then. When you believed in magic. Ours was called The Reno “

Well mine was called The Hacienda or The Cellar at Uni. And I was a very different person back then. But gosh … do we really stop believing in magic… do we really give up on happy endings…. is our teenage self really lost forever?

My mind is still whirring with this one as we stride off to visit other Mancunian treasures. The Manchester Art Gallery, the National Football Museum and finally The People’s History Museum. We see great objects, some beautiful, some innovative, some highly emotive. We watch film archives and listen to iconic commentaries. We relive the struggles of women, of working men and of ethnic minorities for acceptance and equality. It’s a treat for our eyes, our ears …. and our hearts.

At the People’s History Museum, exhibitions are united around the theme of ‘Ideas worth fighting for’ and the contribution that ordinary people have made to building a fairer world where all are valued . It’s inspiring and very much epitomises Manchester and these streets that have seen Peterloo, Emmeline Pankhurst and the founding of the Co-op Group. For a Mancunian, there can be no better way to close our cultural tour.

And so ends a lovely day. But in a few weeks it will also be the end of a decade. As we welcome the start of a new one; and one in which my role as the primary carer for 3 children will end, I ask myself ‘What will I be fighting for?’ And I just don’t know. But I am sure that I want to make the most of the time I have left and try to make a story…. a story about ideas worth fighting for or just a story about making mischief? I really cannot decide. But I do want a story worth telling. In the words of ‘The Reno’,

“We are all pages in the book of our time on earth.”

Baroque n roll !

Sunday 25th November

I arrive home from a film music concert…where I’ve had to dress as a pirate! As ever, at the end of a concert, I need a drink. And as I sink down onto the sofa, almost-festive Bailey’s in hand, I realise how tired I am.

I have done concert after concert this month, which has meant rehearsal after rehearsal, which has meant late night drink after late night drink. And it has taken its toll. A ‘baroque n’ roll’ lifestyle when you are the only adult in the house isn’t always the wisest choice.

I think the problem for a single parent is this. When you take on a hobby, which is essential to your well-being I might add, there is no-one else at home to take up the slack. So on top of all my rehearsals and concerts, I am still doing all the cleaning, cooking and ironing for four. I am doing the bins. Doing the tax return. Raking the leaves. Helping with homework. Helping to prep for GCSEs, UKCATS, driving tests (and next week Uni interviews.) Sorting out asthma checks and trips to the orthodontist (I am so often at the local hospital, I actually have a loyalty card for the WRVS cafe!!) Oh and did I mention I also hold down a pretty demanding full time job.

I’ve always said that I fear boredom more than fatigue but I’ve reached the point where I am really struggling to get up in the morning and I am very snappy and irritable …with everyone…most of the time. Something’s gotta give and I resign myself to the fact that, for December, this is my music. In my inbox is an invitation to play for a Christmas concert in 2 weeks time. It even has a fee. I push away angry and resentful thoughts about the life my ex-husband leads these days. I blink back a few self-indulgent tears and start to type a polite decline…

Its beginning to look a lot like….

Saturday 30 November

Love, love, love the season of goodwill. Sparkly lights. Christmas coffees. Everybody keen for a meet-up, a catch-up and a get together. Today, even though it is technically still November, heralds my first festive outing, and I just can’t wait!

My tram delivers me to Victoria with forty minutes to spare. Feeling ready to get straight into the party spirit, I opt for the warmth of a station bar and order a glass of Malbec. I fish out my Kindle and for about 5 minutes, attempt to look the very picture of sophistication, reading my novel and sipping my wine. But it’s Mansfield Park. I’ve been struggling with it for weeks and this afternoon the torturous timidity of Fanny Price just doesn’t hold my attention. Instead my mind turns to recent events.

It’s been quite a week! Mum has been in, and thankfully, out of hospital. My work run-buddy has suffered a nasty car accident but, in her inimitable cheery fashion, seems to be coping with the bruises and severe whiplash. And my eldest has made it through a first University interview. That was quite an ordeal. Much has changed since I journeyed off, 30 years ago, to impress admissions tutors with my abilities to solve mathematical problems. For the 2019 interview, we prepped for days on medical ethics, NHS hot topics and our insights into life a doctor. My eldest then had to survive the MMI (Multi-Mini Interview) with 7 stations of challenging questions and the occasional role play. By the time she eventually made it home, following a 3 hour inter-city train journey and 2 hours of Mancunian tram delays, she did just burst into tears. Hopefully the interviews will get better with practice!

Phew, no wonder I’m ready to let my hair down. I savour the final moments of my Malbec and then step out. Not sure if it’s because of Black Friday or Pay Day but the city is packed and pulsating. I make my way through the throngs to find my friends and together we dive into the merriment and madness ….

December 2019

December

1 December 2019

First windows on Advent calendars opened. Tree up. Lights on. Love Actually watched. Card bought…if not sent!

Of all the months of the year, December is definitely my favourite. Christmas season…bring it on!

Poor Old Christmas Cards!

Sunday 8 December 2019

Henry Cole, founding director of the V & A, may have sent the first Christmas card as long ago as 1843. But tonight, as I sit down to pen my annual festive greetings, the reaction of my teens make me feel like the historic exhibit in the house!

“Is my address book on the desk?” I shout up the stairs, as I prepare to settle down with three shiny packs of new cards, stamps and nice pen. Small Boy, who is in the study dashing off a bit of last minute homework, pops his head over the bannister.

“What’s an address book?” he puzzles back.

‘Hilarious!’ I mutter, stomping up the stairs to ‘look for it myself’. But, as I dwell upon his words, it strikes me that I have never bought one for any of my children. Which means that they have never asked for one. Which means that the innocent address book, at least in hard copy, could well be becoming obsolete. And that is where I start feeling pretty outdated.

When it eventually turns up, I view my address book affectionately … as an endangered species in fact. I carry it carefully down to the lounge and open the page at ‘A’. True the corners are a little dog-eared but I smile at addresses crossed out and updated many, many times for some of my oldest friends. It’s a flashback to other times and places. It’s a visual reminder of past chapters of life and memories happy and sad. It’s …. I don’t actually have much time to feel wistful because my eldest now appears. She gives me a kindly smile

“Aww, are you actually going to sit there going through your little book and writing cards? You are so cute!”

I now feel like an utter curiosity. Is it really so unusual to see someone spending an evening penning Christmas cards to their friends … and addressing them? Am I really such a quaint relic of a bygone age?

A glance at social media would suggest that I might be. Every year, the number of folk announcing to the world that they are ‘donating to charity‘ instead of sending festive cards grows longer. Many do this in a way that raises valuable awareness of, and funds for, great organisations. But I suspect that some are too-busy people and a part of me wishes that, for variety, a few would boldly say ‘Look I just can’t be bothered to write any cards this year. I think it’s all a bit pointless. Hope you understand!’ No-one would mind.

Poor old cards are not the only wasteful and unnecessary extravagance of the yuletide season? They do at least re-cycle, unlike the plastic tat in in our Christmas crackers. Poor old cards are not single handedly keeping funds from the charity coffers? You could, for example, cry ‘I am buying 3 fewer bottles of Prosecco and cutting out the tubs of Quality Streets this year, to give more money to good causes’ But we don’t often hear that one!

But card writing does eat into the evening hours. Ironically, it is said that Henry Cole designed the card as a way to save time in the hectic festive period. Would he, I ponder, have been keener than me to move with the times and speed things up in the 21st century with a witty e-card? I can only wonder! Do I think that we ought to give up a bit of time for card writing? Do I worry that if we abandon this tradition, we just replace it with … nothing of value and yet more consumerism and shopping? To be honest I really don’t. Call me an old romantic, but I chime with the opening scene of ‘Love Actually‘ and believe that,

‘Love actually is all around‘.

I know that most people are busy at this time of year with social activities, making things magical for their kids and spending time with loved ones. So given this, why do I, even when my teens think I am a complete dinosaur, resolve to carry on penning and posting my seasonal cards. Simply this, I quite enjoy it. For me it is just one of our nicer Christmas traditions. A great way to quickly touch base with old friends and keep them in my thoughts. Each year I settle down with a nice drink, a cheesy movie, my pile of cards and of course my faithful address book. It’s familar, its comforting and … it’s time for me to get back to it! I am still on ‘A’ and that last posting date won’t wait ….

Christmas carols, Christmas chaos….

Monday 16 December 2019

The last few days have been a hectic mix of the familiar; traditional Christmas carols concerts, parties and drinks, with the unfamiliar and definitely less festive challenge of University interviews for my eldest.

Friday takes us to Yorkshire. The University grilling takes almost 3 hours. The drive home, along a flood hit M62 even longer. The alpha-mothers in the parent room, whose knowledge of UKCAT scores and entry criteria for every Medical school in the land is encyclopedic, have left me feeling like a total failure as a mum. I am agitated by the motorway queues and lane-closure confusion. And my lovely girl is clearly deflated by her interview. Nonetheless upon our return, she summons up the energy to don her party dress and step out for the evening, and I rally enough reserves to drive Prom-dress daughter to another social gathering and feed Small Boy, before heading gratefully to bed.

My eldest gets to sleep somewhat later than this. She is home not long after midnight. And I am sure of the time because she stumbles into my room upon her return, a little the worse for wear, switches on the light and slurrily gushes ,

” I really, really love you mum!”

I reciprocate the sentiments, persuade her that now not the best time to go and visit her brother, and steer her off to bed.

To her credit, by 10am on Saturday morning, both she and Small-boy are at Victoria Station in Manchester to play 2 hours of Christmas carols and songs with their local band. Quite a few of my family gather to listen, over cheery cups of Costa coffee and a catch -up on the latest news. It’s a lovely event that stirs the heart and replenishes the seasonal community cheer. I stay in town for a number of afternoon/evening drinks with friends and, as Sunday dawns and my eldest and I now pack our bags for a trip to University interview number 3, I have only a mildly banging head to contend with. We hit the motorway again and are checking into our hotel by 5pm.

Our Monday interview starts at an astonishingly early 8am but again it is 3 hours before my eldest emerges. This one is ‘the worst yet’ and feeling pretty sad and despondent we slink back to the car and set the satnav for home. I feel that sickening terror that every parents knows of wondering how we will cope with the disappointment if all the hard work, and I’d make that 3 years of hard work, ends with rejection and the end of my daughter’s dreams. But today it takes me less time than usual to shift this paralyzing dread. Because… she is such an amazing, driven and talented girl. And that means lots of alternatives, lots of choices and lots of ways to have a bright and happy future. Hey, at least when she’s tipsy, my girl ‘really,really loves her mum‘, I’ll make sure of it !

Even if I hadn’t cheered myself up, back home the usual chaos is enough to distract anyone. Prom-dress daughter and Small Boy both have a Christmas concert to play in … at 6:30pm. In a last minute change of plan however, Small Boy has also been selected to make his debut on the school basketball team, in another venue…ending at 5:30pm. Fortunately it’s Monday. My mum arrives for piano lessons. We shelve these and she agrees instead to feed the girls and drop Prom-dress daughter at the concert hall. Without stopping for food, I head out to the basketball tournament to cheer on my tall, gangly bean of a boy. It just so happens that the venue for this sporting spectacle is about 3 minutes from my mum’s house…and I have a key. At the final claxon tolls, at 5:45 pm, I whisk him, off to mum’s. She is not there, because … you’ve got it … she is at my house! Small Boy changes with the speed of Clark Kent himself, I thrust 2 packets of crisps and a bottle of Lucozade at him and we speed off to the concert.

We arrive with moment to spare. Small Boy’s grinning face races off to take his place in the orchestra. Prom-dress daughter, already in situ, gives us a smirk and a wave. I sink gratefully into my seat and the carols begin. ‘Silent Night‘ … how lovely … and if only….

Its the most wonderful night of the year …

Sunday 22 December 2019

The best moment of any school holiday is the first Sunday night. In place of the usual grim evening of ironing, of planning lessons, of finishing reports, of last minute homework, of sorting out dinner money, bus passes and gym kits … in place of all of this is just an excited glow of freedom. Pressure and deadlines melt away and two weeks of seemingly endless time and opportunity spread out in front of me.

Christmas is a busy time of course and I still have much present purchasing and wrapping to do. I still have to brave the food shop for my contributions to this year’s big family Christmas dinner.(Thankfully, for all, I am put on desserts and instructed to ‘buy them’. Surely even I cannot go wrong with this one?) And my teens are a popular trio at the moment, which means lots of ferrying around to meals, movies, skate-dates and parties But compared to my usual day job …

So will I be doing any school work at all in the next 2 weeks? Of course I shall. But it certainly wont be in the next 10 days and it will only be finite and manageable tasks. I intend to start back in January, replenished and refreshed. And the experts agree with me. In her 2015 article, “It’s official, teachers must relax over Christmas to avoid burnout” , Sarah Marsh examines the evidence from a City University, London study of 90 teachers which concludes that time off allows teachers to “restore their emotional energy” . Those who fail to switch off and continue to worry about work were found to have made far less good a recovery from the demands of the term than others. Relaxation should be our quest and amidst all the tips from the teaching and health care professional come many of my familiar lifelines: reading, exercise, family time, trash TV ….and laughter.

A glance at the time tells me I have an hour to kill before I collect Prom-dress daughter from her a friend’s house. I think feet up, a mince pie and a bit of Daniel Craig sounds just perfect ….

And so the year ends…

Sunday 29 December 2019

As I pull into Norton Canes, the service station on the M6 Toll Road, it seems as good a place as any to reflect back on 2019 and put together my final post of the year.

It is homeward bound after a lovely Christmas break in Oxford and Cambridge. My old university stomping ground as it happens, but on this occasion, just exciting to be visiting friends and family, as opposed to wandering around the dreaming spires. The closest we come to anything you could deem an ‘Oxbridge activity’ is breaking out of a Cold War themed Escape Room (with 5 minutes to spare.) We are the ‘Squad of Seven’ – move over Cambridge Five!

The Toll Road on the return journey, now that is my guilty pleasure! I loathe queuing. I am really not a patient waiter. In my time I’ve driven huge (and probably time-costly) detours to avoid the grim misery of gridlocked traffic. So paltry charge of £5.60 for the utter luxury of 27 miles of well-lit motorway, wide lanes and a joyous lack of other road users seems a very small price to pay! Eventually, of course, it will be a return to the endless cone-lined crawl of the 50 mph zone on the M6, but a coffee break delays that for another half an hour, so here goes…let’s review 2019. I take a deep breath, I fire up my blog on the laptop, click on ‘January’ and step back in time.

It is not just the end of the year in a couple of days, but also the end of a decade. As I re-read my blog however, re-visiting each month in turn, I realise that one year is more enough for me to look back upon. I try to decide if, as the midnight bells chime on Tuesday, 2019 will it count as a good year or one to regret? But there’s no answer to that…because it’s neither. What it is, is just one full calendar year… 365 unforgettable days of ups and downs. And I like that. There have been moments of great happiness; fun times, cloud-9 times, laugh-until-you-cry times. Equally, I’ve shed a fair few tears and I re-live days of disappointment, even sadness. I’ve met new people and I’ve had to say ‘farewell’ to others. I’ve relished new challenges and I’ve battled with the drudgery of daily routines. I think it’s called life! It strikes me that we don’t actually need significant temporal landmarks such as years and decades to make sense of our lives. In actual fact every day matters. And that is true of any year. The difference for me in 2019 is that so many more days have been captured and will be remembered. Because I have written their stories down and that’s one thing that is not going to stop.

Exactly one year ago, the blog was my New Year’s Resolution. Little did I know how much I was going to love it … just love writing again. It’s not enough to tell you that it’s fun to have a record of the year to re-read and share. It has been a complete joy. I start with a blank screen. I set off. I rarely know where I’m going or what I want to say. The words just dance on the page, then blend and reform into thoughts, sentences and stories. It feels exciting, it feels creative and it has been, without question, astonishingly therapeutic. I recommend it to anyone. Whether it’s building basket ball stands (Slam dunk – my most popular post of the year) or conversations with your friends that transform your outlook on life (Single parenthood necessity) any day or event can make a memorable tale.

Carrying on with my blog, that’s a definite ‘Yes’ for me. I would also add writing to my previous tips of running and reading, for any stretched and stressed parent. All three pastimes are free and flexible. They fit around you and your schedule and are fantastic for health and well being. Hey, reading, running and writing – the veritable 3R’s of sanity, for people of all shapes and sizes.

Glancing up from my reveries, I notice that it’s getting quite dark. I drain the last of my coffee and reluctantly, resign myself to the fact that my therapy time is up for today. If I ever want to get home again, I need to face the M6 ….