Highs and lows

Yep, you said it Garfield.  I confess, I've been in a bit of a dark place lately.  You see, it turns out when it comes to money there is broke and broke.  There is the broke where you THINK you're broke and the broke where you really ARE broke.   There have been a lot of times over the years where I have thought I've been broke but none of these have compared to the last month.  I remember reading a discussion on the Simple Savings website not so long ago entitled 'How broke have you been?'  and sat wide-eyed as people described not being able to afford to buy a tube of toothpaste or worse, tampons.  I was horrified.  I couldn't possibly imagine what that was like.  Not being able to afford life's most basic essentials, how bad would that be?  How things have changed since I read those stories.  I apologise for imparting too much information but I can now say that I DO know what it's like not to be able to afford tampons.  And whilst surviving without buying them was empowering in an odd sort of way, it's not really an experience I am keen to repeat.

The good thing about not being able to spend any money whatsover is that the results are rather like Pantene.  It won't happen overnight, but it will happen.  Eventually, your living expenses get to the stage where they are so low that you start to notice the difference in your bank balance.  I'm still waiting for it to get to the stage where we actually get to KEEP some but just knowing that you are actually making a difference is enough to keep you going. 

Which is good, because there have been a few days where I've been gloomier than Eeyore and not even a beach walk has helped.  I guess we all feel like the most useless, worthless being on the planet now and again and I am a champion of beating myself up. Fortunately when this happens I have the love of some wonderful people to talk me out of it.  Except they don't pat me on the shoulder and tell me how nice and lovely I am, or bring me cups of strong, sweet tea.  Instead they make me laugh until I cry and my stomach muscles ache from being doubled over.  They are my boys.

Liam has mercifully made it through the teenage grunting stage and has now progressed to using proper words and sentences once again.  He still doesn't say much as a rule but what he does say is usually hilarious.  When it comes to cheering me up however it's more about the things he does than the things he says.  As any mother of a 15-year-old boy will know, hugs are pretty few and far between so to get one means a lot.  In Liam's case they come in the form of a great bear hug which just about squeezes the life out of me and lifts my feet considerably off the ground.  To get a hug like that - correction - for someone as gloriously and perpetually vague as Liam to even NOTICE that I'm sad enough to need a hug like that - usually means I must look like absolute crap.  Which makes me snap out of it pretty darn quick because I hate for my boys to see me sad.

Ali on the other hand knows exactly which buttons to push to make me laugh.  And I mean literally because usually he'll call me in to show me something funny on YouTube.  Seeing as we're both equally mad he knows instinctively which gems of insanity to share with me, from my favourite Miranda Hart clip to the rather disturbing Dubstep Dentist.  However I think the other day was his biggest triumph yet, and all thanks to the humble iPod Touch.  'Talking Pierre' is an app which features a talking parrot.



Basically, you can record whatever you like into the microphone and he will say it back at you, parrot fashion.  This sounds funny enough in itself when you listen to it but then dear old Pierre started throwing in random words in random places and I was soon an absolute mess.  Once again I was in tears - but this time it was because I was laughing so hard I thought I was going to die.  Ali on the other hand was being heartily congratulated by the rest of the family for being the only person who had successfully pulled me out of my hideous black hole of gloom all day.  Mind you, I think they were kind of over my virtual feathered friend when I was still shrieking with hysterical laughter two hours later!

It goes both ways of course.  Nobody knows how to cheer up my boys when the chips are down better than I do. I've got it down to a fine art, not that it happens very often.  If Ali's the one with the problem we head out with the dogs for a long walk where he can rant and rave to his heart's content.  Or, if I'm feeling really generous I'll let him watch one of my recorded episodes of 'The Weakest Link'.  Precious because usually I have to watch these without him, otherwise all I get is 'MUM!  STOP ANSWERING ALL THE QUESTIONS!' even if they are answers he couldn't possibly know.  By the time we've beaten the rest of the other contestants, slagged them all off for being thicker than us, won £3,000 (being the UK version) and congratulated each other on being true geniuses he's usually stopped worrying about whatever was bothering him in the first place.  With Liam the answer to regaining happiness lies in his stomach.  As yet, I've found there's nothing a potato top pie or a banana split can't fix.  Throw in 'The Inbetweeners' on DVD for good measure and he's soon back to his cheery self. 

We all have highs and lows and our family has adopted a new dinner time regime which we have shamelessly pinched from six university students who are flatting together.  Every day they sit down at dinner and share the high and low points of their day with each other.  I really liked this idea and as soon as the boys reach the dinner table they race each other to say 'Highs and Lows!'  We have found this awesome because let's face it, who REALLY talks about their day?  Aside from the 'Hi honey, I'm home!' or 'Hey, how was school?'  'Alright', how many of us really get beyond that?  Since we have been sharing our highs and lows everyone is communicating much better and we are finding out much more about what is going on in each others' lives and more importantly, how we are all really feeling.  I'm so glad we started doing this and am very grateful for the idea.  Give it a go, you may be very surprised!

TODAY I LEARNED: That there is still a great deal of wisdom to be learned from younger people.  Just don't tell them I said that!

Gaga, ooh lala!

I was shocked a few months back when my best mate called me judgemental.  Judgemental, moi?  You've got to be kidding!  I'm as open minded as - as - OK well as it turns out I am more judgemental than I considered myself to be.  However I had my eyes well and truly opened a few nights ago and all thanks to someone I thought I hated - Lady Gaga!

Whilst I would admit to humming along to some of her songs, on the whole my opinion of Lady Gaga was rather low to say the least.  Here was a person who was making a fortune out of deliberately shocking people - crude, sleazy and on occasion even meaty.  Every time I saw her on TV my reaction was more 'Gaah!' than Gaga.  I honestly thought she was repulsive and when it was announced she was coming to our shores I couldn't imagine anyone I would rather see less.  Until a couple of weeks ago when quite by chance I saw her perform 'Marry the Night' live on the Alan Carr chat show, just her and a piano. I was absolutely gobsmacked.  What a voice!  I literally sat in the lounge with my jaw on the floor - and kicked myself for not getting tickets.

Fortunately for me, as destiny would have it the opportunity presented itself quite unexpectedly to go along to her first Auckland concert and I grabbed it with both hands (oh thank you cousin Jenny I am eternally in your debt *mwah*!) I also grabbed the opportunity to wear the new purple dress which had been sitting in my wardrobe for months, unworn and begging for an outing.  As we made our way to Vector Arena I was worried I was overdressed for the occasion.  I couldn't have been more wrong.

As we entered the venue we were immediately greeted by the most colourful, outlandish throng of people I had ever set eyes on.  There were glow-in-the-dark cats' ears, wigs of every colour, bows intricately woven into the wearer's hair, there were bra-tops, stockings of every description, sparkle, lipgloss, leather, sequins and pearls - and I don't just mean the women.  Ahh yes, I had completely forgotten.  Lady Gaga has a big gay following.  It was like being a fly on the wall at the annual convention of the Village People - and it was brilliant!

You know when people say things like 'I'm not racist, but...' and immediately follow with something which IS totally racist?  I'm embarrassed to admit to being a bit like that when it comes to 'I'm not homophobic, but...'  I have several gay friends who I went to school with and am still friends with today and I was absolutely fine when they 'came out' to me.  I didn't have a problem with it at all and it didn't change my perception of them.  Because I was at a safe distance of 12,000 miles away.  I know, I know, how small minded can you get...

Yet here I was now, laughing and chatting away like old friends with the bloke next to me; a very sweet young chap with stars and butterflies all over his face.  And who could help but notice what surely must have been the outfit of the night - an elderly man with snowy white hair dressed from head to foot in a silver and white sequined suit.  Now that takes a lot of guts! He was having a blast too, bless him and as I looked around I realised something about Lady Gaga that had never crossed my mind before.  She brings people together.  All kinds of people.

Suddenly the curtain lifted and we were greeted with the sight of an enormous Gothic castle.  Before we knew it, the great Gaga was making an entrance on her unicorn (as you do) and 12,000 people were immediately gobsmacked, just as I had been in my lounge a few weeks before.  Her voice was amazing; powerful and flawless throughout, which was no small feat when you consider how much she was dancing and jumping around.  Even when she was singing upside down she never missed a beat!

Once again I was impressed.  Yep, this was what we had all bought our tickets for.  OK, it was weird - how many singers do you know who actually give birth to themselves on stage?  Or shove their dancers into a giant mincer and appear in the next instant sitting on a meat couch (yes, you read right) wearing a meat dress?  But hey, I expected her to be weird.  What I didn't expect was for her to be so... nice.

I've been to a fair few concerts in my time.  Everything from *cringe* New Kids on the Block when I was 16 to Jimmy Barnes, Robbie Williams and the Eagles - even Dame Kiri Te Kanawa. I am nothing if not cultured!  But I have never witnessed an artist take so much time to talk to their audience and make them feel special before.  If you're lucky you might get a 'WE LOVE YOU AUCKLAND!' or 'EVERYBODY PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!' but not Lady Gaga.  Instead, she sat on her motorbike - which, naturally had a piano built inside - and talked to us for around 15 minutes.  Except she didn't just talk, she  inspired us.  This woman was so humble, so genuinely grateful for everything she has and just wanted to give us the best show possible.  More than anything, she wanted us - this big, colourful crowd of Village People - to embrace our differences and not be scared of being ourselves.  And why not.  After all, look at where it got her!

She picked out individual people in the crowd and invited them backstage, much to the delight of the crowd.  She would be in the middle of a song and all of a sudden spot someone and say 'Look at you, you're so pretty! Oh don't cry, you'll ruin your Judas t-shirt!'  A definite high point of the night was when she interrupted a song to go and chat to a 78 year-old man and his wife.  'Look, you're probably wondering what on earth you're doing here and have thought about leaving at least 10 times already.  I understand if you would rather just sit here than dance.  I just want you to know that I think you're lovely and thank you for coming'.  By the end of the show, that same guy had his jacket off and was dancing his heart out.  Like I said, Lady Gaga brings all kinds of people together.

I left the concert buzzing.  It had been an incredible show and no mistake, but not just for the music and the special effects.  The lasting memories are of the woman herself.  I learned a lot that night about so many things and I am so very glad I went.  I guess you could say my opinion of Lady Gaga has undergone a complete turnaround - and I'll be first in line for tickets next time she comes to Auckland!

TODAY I LEARNED: Never judge a book by its cover.  Even if it's covered in meat.

Beaten by Beeton

A couple of years ago my mum presented me with a dog-eared copy of 'Mrs Beeton's Everyday Cookery and Housekeeping Book' dated 1894.  I was a very excited recipient, not least because I would finally get to see what all the fuss with the legendary Mrs B was about, but also because I saw it as a surefire way to make my fortune.  In my mind I was guaranteed a spot as the next Julie Powell.  I would follow in her footsteps, cook my way through all 1000+ pages of recipes and merrily blog my journey, gaining squillions of fans as I did so.  Before I knew it Warner Bros would be knocking on my door begging for movie rights and Jennifer Aniston and Sandra Bullock would be fighting over who would get to play the character of yours truly. 

Unfortunately this was before I had taken a good look at the revered recipes inside.  I had imagined a glorious anthology of timeless classics which would make everyone's mouth water just as Julia Child's had done.  Instead I opened the book at page 91 and was faced with my first obstacle - 'Calf's Head, Moulded' - closely followed by 'Calf's Head, To Carve'.  Ohh my giddy aunt.  I'm not even going to share the full instructions with you as they would turn even the strongest stomachs, even without the diagram which contains FAR too much information.  As to serving suggestions however, 'the eye and the flesh round are favourite morsels with many, and should be given to those at the table who are known to be the greatest connoisseurs.  On a separate dish there is always served the tongue and brains and each guest should be asked to take some of these'.  I can just picture the rush at our family dinner table over that, along with boiled marrow bones, whole sparrows or roast leveret (baby hare) for that matter, washed down with a generous glass of egg wine!  Egads!

It's not just the ingredients which proved challenging - I mean what on earth is 'flead' and where do I get it to make my flead crust? - it was the instructions themselves that were so lacking I wondered upon reading the recipes if I would ever actually be able to complete ANY of them.  For example 'as much honey as will flavour the mixture nicely' or 'sufficient pounded sugar to sweeten', I mean how long is a piece of string?  And how hot is 'a good oven' temperature?  Dodgy quantities aside though, I love all the old fashioned terms.  For example, to make beef curry one needs 'a few slices of tolerably lean cold roast beef' and you can be assured that when you go to make any one of the many cake recipes that you'll know exactly what it's for, such as 'Nice Useful Cake' and 'Common Cake, Suitable for sending to Children at School'.  

Mrs Beeton was nothing if not organised bless her, and should I ever be able to make any of her recipes I will never have to worry about what to cook for dinner thanks to her handy menu planner, with such gems as Lark Pie and Roast Ptarmigan topping the billing, complete with French translation if I really want to impress the household!  The parts I love best however which are a real joy to read are the chapters on household management, which recommends everything from the best time to serve meals to cultivating a good relationship between mistress and servant.  Speaking of which, I wish I'd had dear old Mrs Beeton's book around when my kids were small.  Not that I wish them to be servants you understand, but they would have been experts at setting the table and cleaning their rooms from a much earlier age!

All things considered though I feel I must admit defeat.  Alas I will NOT be following in the footsteps of Julie Powell a la Julie and Julia, instead I have been resoundingly beaten by Beeton.  Mind you upon learning that the poor woman contracted syphilis from her husband and died at just 28 I have decided that I would rather be me, servants or no servants.  And besides, as it turns out I can't even make an old fashioned steamed from the modern day Edmonds cookery book!  Full of nostalgia for the yummy, sticky golden syrup puddings my mum used to make me, I was keen to share this childhood memory with my boys.  The recipe was easy enough, it was tying the blasted string around the bowl to keep the foil lid on which proved most challenging!  By the time I had got it to stay put and refrain from ricocheting off the bottom of the bowl the air in the kitchen was a brilliant shade of blue but I did it and triumphantly popped it into the biggest pot that I had. 

Well, I figured that was what I was supposed to do; to be honest the Edmonds people were about as clear with their instructions as Mrs Beeton.  It said the recipe was for a 'steamed pudding' but it didn't actually tell you HOW to steam it.  I had no idea whether I was supposed to bring the water to a boil before plopping the pudding in and let it simmer, or chuck it in and bring it all to the boil or what!  Still, it looked alright to me as it bubbled away and before I knew it, the cooking time was done.  Or so I thought.  Upon excitedly removing the foil I was gutted to find just a big brown gooey mess - a bit like when you make bread and you're waiting for the yeast to rise.  'Stuff this, I'll finish it off in the microwave!' I said huffily.  Five minutes later it was done.  It looked and felt like a concrete brick and the syrup, which I remember being all warm and drizzly on top of the pudding had all evaporated IN to the pudding and was dry as a bone.  On the positive side the kids had never eaten it before so didn't know what they were missing and attacked it with their usual enthusiasm.  Even so, from now on I'll be sticking to Aunt Betty's!

TODAY I LEARNED: That progress is sometimes a very good thing!

Following my heart

One of my dearest friends said to me recently 'I believe you should always follow your heart - and you have'.  At the time I thought 'Aw, what a lovely thing to say!' but upon mulling things over further I can categorically say that I am indeed a heart follower, if there is such a term.  Sure, I may not always make the smartest or most logical decision but when it happens I can no more ignore it than the nose on my face and I can't imagine this will ever change.

One prime example of following my heart was running off to the other side of the world with the local barman when I was 19.  That's me on the left, with one of my best mates Julie shortly before I left.  Prior to meeting a real Kiwi bloke it was fair to say my knowledge of New Zealand was limited.  I thought it was about as far away as France, that the entire population was Maori and wore grass skirts and lived predominantly on kiwi fruit.  Such was my enormous life experience.  I had no money, no qualifications, no real job prospects and my domestic skills were limited to say the least.  I remember the first conversation I ever had with my prospective father-in-law, in which I was stuffed into a public phone box and handed the phone.  It went something like this:

'Hello!  Um - is it alright if I come and stay then?'
'Well that all depends!  Can you clean?'
'Er yes, yes I can clean!'
'Oh that's good.  Can you cook?'
'Well... I can cook scrambled eggs!'
'Ah.  Well it should be alright then.'

Of course as soon as I met him in person a few weeks later I realised he was the biggest joker I had - and would - ever come across but after that I spent many a sleepless night worrying about my lack of domestic prowess.  It didn't help that everyone said I wouldn't last five minutes over there.  My friends, when I announced I was going to live in New Zealand in six weeks' time naturally thought I was mad.  After all, I had never managed to hold down a relationship for longer than three weeks before, what in heaven's name was I thinking?  'You'll be back in six weeks', my best friend's mum said confidently, patting me on the shoulder.  As for my elderly next door neighbours, they were utterly convinced I was being taken over there to join the white slave trade and that would be the last they saw of me.  'How can you let her go?!' they asked my parents in genuine horror.  Granted, mum and dad had more than a few misgivings but were working on the theory that if they kept me on a long enough piece of elastic eventually I would bounce back.

Walking through the departure gate and leaving my parents and my friends behind, all of us in floods of tears, was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  They had given me letters and gifts, which I had strict instructions not to open until I was on the plane, but not being a patient type I opened them as soon as I sat down in the departure lounge.  Upon reading them I swear the only reason I didn't run back out to join them was because I knew it was too late, they would already have left Heathrow and be on their way home.  There were no mobile phones back in 1992 either, which was probably just as well!

I knew I had no choice but to stay put in the departure lounge and nervously await my fate.  To say I hate flying is an understatement.  Even just being in the airport is traumatic for me as I eye everyone up suspiciously, assessing whether they are likely terrorist material.  So I was more than a little perturbed to spot a dodgy looking bloke across the other side of the lounge carrying nothing more than a guitar.  Covered in tattoos and with dreadlocks Bob Marley himself would have envied, I hoped and prayed he wasn't on my plane.  Not only was he on my plane, I was soon to discover he would be my constant companion all the way from England to Australia as we occupied the two seats next to each other at the very back of the plane.

'Hi, I'm Danny', he said with a huge grin and shook my hand.  Appearances can of course be deceiving and apart from his overpowering body odour and a rather sort of - herbal scent, I soon decided Danny was alright.  'So where are you off to?' he asked.  'I'm going to stay with my boyfriend in New Zealand', I told him.  'Oh cool!  Yeah, I'm going to visit my girlfriend.  She's in Sydney'.  However as we settled into deeper conversation I realised that Danny's situation was quite a lot different to mine.  Instead of being met at the airport by his adoring girlfriend, she had no idea that he was coming.  I mean, she knew he was coming one day, but just not exactly when.  On top of that, he didn't know where she lived and had no way of getting in touch with her.  Talk about a leap of faith!  I was more than a little concerned at the prospect of my new friend being unceremoniously deposited on the other side of the world without knowing a soul and nothing but a guitar to his name but he didn't seem remotely worried.  'If it's meant to be, I'll find her', he said confidently.  I still wonder what happened to Danny and hope everything worked out for him.  At the time I thought he was mad - brave, but mad - but this morning I realised for the first time that he was simply following his heart.  That's pretty cool!

I left Danny in Sydney and continued the final few hours to Auckland.  As we began our descent I took one look at the new country I was flying in to and burst into tears.  I was a long, long way from home.  At this point I also got really scared.  Noel and I had only been together four months - what if he had changed his mind?  After all, our first date was going to London on the train to book his plane ticket back home.  Hardly the most reassuring start to a relationship!  I came through the arrival gates in fear and trepidation - but he was there and hadn't changed his mind.  I knew right then and there that things were going to be alright, although it showed how little we really knew about each other when he packed my cases into the car.  'Um - are you sure you know how to drive?' I asked him nervously.  'Of course I do! I got here didn't I?' he laughed.  So off we went, to my new home where my new family was waiting for me.  Turns out my father-in-law wasn't scary after all.  And he never did make me cook him scrambled eggs!

The rest, as they say is history and it struck me today that, although the situation is somewhat different, once again I'm following my heart.  And, like Danny I'm taking a huge leap of faith.  I basically have six months to prove to myself and my family that I can really write and make my dreams of being a novelist come true.  If not, to put it bluntly we're screwed.  We could literally lose everything we have worked the last eight years for.  Nothing like a bit of pressure to make life interesting!  Oh - and Danny - if by some miracle you happen to be reading this, drop me a line :-)

TODAY I LEARNED: That if we all spent our lives saying 'what if?' we would never achieve anything at all.

Carpe Diem and all that

Years ago I came across a lady who finished all her emails with 'Dominus tecum' before signing off.  No doubt she still does it and I always thought it was a very cool thing to do but I never had the foggiest idea what it meant until just now when I finally looked it up.  Turns out it means 'May the Lord be with you'.  Now I admit I'm not a religious person by any stretch but what a nice thing to say!  Sounds really caring, don't you think? Much better than 'cheers' or the dreaded 'laterz' my children favour.  It makes you sound really intelligent too I reckon.  I mean, I've never even met the 'Dominus tecum' lady but nonetheless I've always pictured her as someone super smart and assertive.  This is a lady who knows her stuff; someone not to be messed with.  It would be brilliant for writing letters of complaint too!  It doesn't even matter if like me, the recipient has absolutely no idea what it means, it just gives your correspondence that added edge.  Don't argue with me buster, I know Latin!

I decided I should take a leaf out of her book and from now on sign off with a suitably intelligent sounding phrase.  It didn't take me long to find one; it's been my favourite for years, ever since I watched Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society.  Wow, guess I've been a Latin buff all along, who knew?

This picture is in a frame to the left of me as I type.  For anyone who isn't familiar with it, 'Carpe Diem' means 'Seize the Day' - in other words, life is short so make the most of it and grab whatever it has to throw at you.  Very apt at the moment I feel!  Mind you, upon doing a little extra research as to its origin I also uncovered this wee gem "Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero pulsanda tellus" ("Now is the time to drink, now the time to dance footloose upon the earth").  Yep, I could live with that!  It's not really short and snappy enough for signing off your emails with though, is it?

Each to their own though I suppose.  For a more modern, distinctly un-Latin twist I rather like 'When the world slips you a Jeffrey, stroke the furry wall' as famously quoted by Russell Brand in 'Get Him to the Greek'.  OK it sounds weird but basically it's saying when the world gets you down, find peace in the things around you.  Strange but true!  Not sure I'd hang that one on my wall but other favourites I have next to my desk are 'If you're going through hell, keep going' by Winston Churchill and I love this one my family gave me - 'To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world'. Aw shucks :)

In case you're wondering where I got the above picture from, it came from a brilliant website called 'Feed Your Soul' - it's so cool!  I know absolutely nothing about art but I know what I like and here you can find a huge bunch of talented artists who are all nice enough to share their works of art online and allow you, me and everyone else to browse to our heart's content and download and print whatever we like for free.  You can choose as many as you like, all it will cost you is the ink and the paper!  Well worth a look and art lover or not, I guarantee you'll find something there that will make your day that little bit brighter.

Carpe Diem!

Jackie:-)

TODAY I LEARNED: That you can talk about getting completely legless and still sound cool and intelligent!  As long as you do it in Latin...

Puppetry of the...

My life is full of 'moments' at the er - moment.  It's full of 'Ahh, bless!' moments, such as watching Liam the learner driver expertly swing his father's tank into the gate like a pro.  It's full of feelgood moments, such as listening to the tui's going crazy outside and feeling the beat of their wings above my head as they swoop across the garden.  It's full of lightbulb moments such as suddenly knowing EXACTLY what I'm going to write my next book about (no I'm not going to tell you yet!) But none of these is quite so memorable as the moment I recently experienced, thanks to my youngest son - and rest assured it will be stashed safely away in the 'Really Embarrassing Things I'm Going To Drag Up At Your 21st Birthday Party' category.

Ali is, quite simply bonkers.  I can say that quite comfortably because he gets it from me.  At 13 people try to blame it on his age but he's always been bonkers and I've known him longer than anyone.  We have the exact same sense of humour and we crack each other up.  Together we are walking jukeboxes, champion face pullers and masters of impersonation.  He is no angel but basically he is an all round Good Kid.  Still, even good kids have their moments and lately Ali has been misbehaving at school.  He is however nothing if not honest and when he does do something wrong he always owns up as soon as he gets home.  Which is rather fortunate as it turns out because it meant at least I was slightly prepared when I was called in to meet with the school principal. 

The principal of the boys' school is a very nice man and, as the indulgent dad of two teenage boys himself he knows just how they can be.  Even so, as I took a seat in his office I could tell things were rather serious.  'Tell me' he said, waving a large object in front of me, 'Do you know what this is?'  'I have heard something about this, yes' I confessed.  As mentioned, Ali is unfailingly honest but I was still a little taken aback at the sight before me.  It's not every day you get to witness a school principal wielding a giant penis.  Because that's what I had been dragged in there for.  Unbeknown to me, my youngest son had a hidden creative side and together with a couple of sidekicks had constructed a really quite impressive three-dimensional structure using nothing but plain paper and masking tape.  Had it been anything else - a flower, a cat, pretty much anything else - their efforts would no doubt have gained them recognition for an entirely different reason.  However, the English teacher whose desk it was generously left upon was by no means a grateful recipient.

Now don't get me wrong, Ali was severely dealt with and make no mistake but I'm sorry, I really did find it quite amusing.  Make that hilarious.  And no matter how I tried to keep a stern face when Ali arrived home from school that afternoon, I took one look at him and he took one look at me and we both fell about laughing until our ribs hurt.  'Mum, I'm really sorry', Ali spluttered.  'I promise I'll behave in class from now on.  But honestly - I don't think I'll forget the sight of my principal waving that thing around for as long as I live!'  You and me both mate, you and me both...

TODAY I LEARNED: That it is possible to keep a straight face when absolutely necessary - but you can't hold it in forever!

Comfortable Nub

I don't know what it is about winter but year after year it never fails to transform me into a raging hippy.  Aside from the previously mentioned candles taking over the house I also have accumulated Himalayan rock salt lamps for almost every room in the house over the years - all purchased over various winters, and I love lava lamps so much I even plonked one in each of my children's bedrooms from an early age.  Still, I think I reached new hippy heights recently when I was hit by an overwhelming urge to listen to Pink Floyd on a rainy Sunday afternoon.  The fire was roaring, the soup was simmering, the lamps were glowing and all was well in my little world.  'Ohh!  Comfortable Nub!' Ali remarked appreciatively as the soothing vocals of Roger Waters helped me through an enormous pile of ironing.  Liam however was not so impressed.  'What's HAPPENED to you Mum?  What is this gay music anyway?!'


Honestly, when I was growing up gay meant nothing more than happy but even 30 years ago I think we would have struggled to call Pink Floyd's music gay.  In fact, quite the opposite as I learned a couple of days later.  I cannot drive without music, the louder the better, much to my kids' embarrassment and faced with a two hour drive to the city I thought Roger and Dave would provide the perfect soundtrack for my journey.  How wrong I was!  Isn't it amazing how music affects your emotional state?  Only a couple of minutes into 'Hey You' I found myself wanting to hurl myself off the nearest cliff.  Which was worryingly easy to do considering I was driving over a winding mountain road at the time.  I was late, I was frazzled and these poor unassuming legends of rock just were not helping my state of mind.

Yet amazingly, on the journey home the following day they were exactly what the doctor ordered!  I was happy, I was relaxed and positive and I sang along joyfully at the top of my voice all the way home until my voice literally conked out and Dave Gilmour had to be a lost soul swimming in a fish bowl without me.  What a difference a day makes! 

I have to say that now the dust has settled, the grieving is over and I have got over the shock of no longer having the job I thought I was going to have until death, I am surprised to find that I am actually happier than I have been in a very long time.  I have discovered I can get through life quite contentedly without all sorts of things I used to buy without thinking.  After taking a carload of hulking great teenage boys to their rugby game at the weekend I realised how if I had still had a job I would have thought nothing of shouting them all McDonalds on the way home and not even noticed the $40 or so coming out of my bank account.  Now however that seems incomprehensible to me.  $40 is HUGE!  In comparison, the biggest luxury we've splurged on in the past week is a jar of tartare sauce to accompany the fresh fish we caught.  I don't really need anything - and I don't care.  Although I do admit to struggling a little at morning tea time without my Russian Fudge Yoghurt from The Collective Dairy but as it was rightly pointed out to me, I can't justify spending the same amount on a pot of yoghurt just for me when it costs the same as a whole frozen chicken to feed our entire family.  I daresay I'll survive...

What does make me rather miffed however is that even after a whole week of not spending anything - and I mean ANYTHING - there is still money haemorraghing out of our bank account.  Oh curse you direct debits and automatic payments!  It may be convenient and it's nice to know the bills are being paid but it's pretty soul destroying when one minute you're patting yourself on the back for a job well done and then you go and check your bank balance only to find you've got almost $2,000 less in there than when you last looked and you haven't even left the house or got as much as a stick of chewing gum to show for it.  Still, I refuse to lose any more sleep.  We're all doing the best we can and can take comfort from that - and better still, we're happy! 

TODAY I LEARNED: Money is magic - it disappears without a trace and nobody has a clue where or how it went.  And I still emphatically believe you can never have too many salt lamps.

PS: Ali's interpretation of 'Comfortably Numb' made me chuckle but not as much as my friend's eight-year-old did at the weekend.  Happily plugged into his dad's iPod he had his parents in stitches at his loud vocal pleas to 'Free Nelson Nutella!'