tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34544744774642670322024-02-19T04:29:00.441-08:00Where Ponders Never EndAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-2733204640806587612015-03-03T03:46:00.003-08:002015-03-03T03:46:43.201-08:00Guess what...?<h2>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeOFn7GLAZ7cKxjsfRsAYGlzq2ni2GiDuP7ua1j_2UshBvThtU-_LRZi_8YnhdLkLRGeVhFDKi5F0ePu2X2sCWK_pigvmAdEIKoxYyUd-zPqpuQDH1ZoEuL492GAE8T0yGsQijt4f4Cs/s1600/NewSiteScreenShot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: center;">
We have a new home!</div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">www.<a href="http://www.pondersneverend.com/" target="_blank">PondersNeverEnd</a>.com</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeOFn7GLAZ7cKxjsfRsAYGlzq2ni2GiDuP7ua1j_2UshBvThtU-_LRZi_8YnhdLkLRGeVhFDKi5F0ePu2X2sCWK_pigvmAdEIKoxYyUd-zPqpuQDH1ZoEuL492GAE8T0yGsQijt4f4Cs/s1600/NewSiteScreenShot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeOFn7GLAZ7cKxjsfRsAYGlzq2ni2GiDuP7ua1j_2UshBvThtU-_LRZi_8YnhdLkLRGeVhFDKi5F0ePu2X2sCWK_pigvmAdEIKoxYyUd-zPqpuQDH1ZoEuL492GAE8T0yGsQijt4f4Cs/s1600/NewSiteScreenShot.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drop by and visit the fruits of my toil. It turns out, designing & building your own website when you have no previous experience in either...is tricky. But I did it! Just goes to show that anything is possible if you try (3 times, at least!) and have access to Google, Tech Support, an emergency credit card and unlimited amounts of tea & coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ponder on, People!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And don't forget you can still join the fun on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pondersneverend" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>, <a href="https://instagram.com/pondersneverend/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, <a href="https://plus.google.com/b/111429731130554148802/" target="_blank">Google+</a>. And you can see what I'm up to on <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=57407717" target="_blank">LinkedIn </a>too.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">www.<a href="http://www.pondersneverend.com/" target="_blank">PondersNeverEnd</a>.com</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLPIOU9tcGB2IIP1KDTKXJ6gRxd-ZnafQ5Leeqgg3ZFRFktBmG4kEULBwkpqwhks2iylr2zuaJKOiqN231rXciIaTZp_AvufppRbwcAmZkJ0Eic2Q1o_obmfqi-SVDDnuJ8dNBCc4eek/s1600/Untitled4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLPIOU9tcGB2IIP1KDTKXJ6gRxd-ZnafQ5Leeqgg3ZFRFktBmG4kEULBwkpqwhks2iylr2zuaJKOiqN231rXciIaTZp_AvufppRbwcAmZkJ0Eic2Q1o_obmfqi-SVDDnuJ8dNBCc4eek/s1600/Untitled4.jpeg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, it's snot-season again. And that sucks because no matter what you do, you'll probably catch a cold sooner or later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To make matters worse, Yale University have just published <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-30685732" target="_blank">research</a> which is only going to encourage your mum to add a verse of "I told you so" to the usual refrain of "You'll catch a cold going out like that". Yes, apparently the common cold - rhinovirus - thrives in a cold nose. Quite how we are supposed to keep our noses warm without wrapping a scarf up to our eyeballs, I don't know!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I do know is this. When you catch a cold, there are a few things you can do to make the whole sticky misery that little bit easier to handle:</span></div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you feel that first nasty scratch at the back of your throat, <b>drink vinegar</b>. The best option is usually to go for Cider Vinegar but I have resorted to Wine Vinegar when that was all I could find in the back of the cupboard. Don't go knocking it back, just one or two dessertspoons is plenty. The science behind it is the vinegar's virus-killing properties.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drink <b>lots of fluids</b>. And lots! Don't worry if your appetite dwindles - that's only natural. Eat whatever you fancy though, just to keep your energy levels up. But the most important thing is that you are drinking. The fluids seem to help flush out your system and also replace the fluids you are losing through the copious amounts of snot your nose is producing.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Manuka honey</b> sounds like some hippy remedy, about as useful as dancing round daisies. However, it is jam-packed with scientific goodies. The bees that make it gather pollen from the tea tree which makes the honey anti-septic, anaesthetic, anti-fungal...you name it. There are as many who discredit the evidence as produce it but I find it helps and that's enough for me. A good dollop in a mug with some slices of lemon and very hot water is like an enormous hug in a mug - anything else is a bonus.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pop some <b>cold & flu tablets</b>. They don't need to be expensive - you'll only be paying for the brand marketing - most of them have the same ingredients anyway. They work by drying up excess fluids in the body. However, they aren't great for everyone. Some people find they just make their heads feel like they are filled with glue instead of snot. For others, they work wonders. They are a big no-no if you happen to be a breastfeeding mother though - last thing you need is your milk supply drying up!</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Don't blow </b>your nose. Wipe away anything that makes its own way to the exit, but blowing it will only block your sinuses. I'm not sure how - maybe it just messes with the internal pressure. Or perhaps it leaves the sinuses inflamed. Either way, be kind to your poor nose and treat it to the softest thing you have to hand. It sounds gross but you can't beat a proper hanky. The sort your granny used to give you for Christmas. Have a look at the back of the wardrobe - bound to be a packet loitering somewhere.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Stay away from the doctor</b>'s surgery at all costs. They can't help you anyway - it's a virus, remember, antibiotics only kill bacteria. You'll simply leave yourself open to picking up everything else that's hanging around in the waiting room. If you need advice on treating your symptoms - other than this blog, of course - speak to a pharmacist.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is virtually nothing better than <b>Olbas Oil</b>, in my humble opinion. Anyone who knows me personally will be quite familiar with the little puff of menthol air emanating from my person when I have a cold. Go easy with it at first - it's strong. Just pop a couple of drops onto a tissue/hanky and keep that in your pocket. You can waft it around under your nose for a faster effect! If you want the absolute best treatment ever, get yourself in a steamy shower and splash the Olbas Oil around the walls/doors. Epic!</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Don't forget to <b>give yourself a break</b>. It's easy to be dismissive - "It's just a cold" - but try to remember that your body is using energy to fight a virus. Take things easier than usual to give your body a chance to recover.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When your head is bunged up entirely, <b>get up</b>. Change rooms, floors or get outdoors. For some reason, it works. Change of air (or maybe altitude!) clears your head, at least temporarily!</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you get to the last stage of your battle against the snot-monster, you're bound to pass through the coughing chapter. It sucks. Some of the above will help. And if it keeps you awake at night, spread a layer of <b>Vicks Vapour Rub</b> on the soles of your feet (and a pair of socks too). And sleeeeeeep.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So there you have it. What else works for you? What's the weirdest suggestion anyone's ever made - whether it worked or not?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>*aaaaaaaiiiitttcchhhhhoooooooo*</b></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-12655189392730787902015-01-12T15:58:00.000-08:002015-01-12T15:58:03.635-08:00Where to next...?<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2elpxW3aid16y5lLSsoJM01JMRgKWZXnhGmnuCkMHgapQoQQgi_jJ9xjmR0hIGLe42gM6dx1sd9XK1Cshr8Tl1riAszPAWNWbsRO-ll3muydFDu2ViwsCbWnJ_aZMMmZYXRI9CH4hyg/s1600/wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2elpxW3aid16y5lLSsoJM01JMRgKWZXnhGmnuCkMHgapQoQQgi_jJ9xjmR0hIGLe42gM6dx1sd9XK1Cshr8Tl1riAszPAWNWbsRO-ll3muydFDu2ViwsCbWnJ_aZMMmZYXRI9CH4hyg/s1600/wall.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes...you hit a wall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe you can't decide if it's shorts weather. Perhaps there's a gift to be bought but you'll be buggered if you have any ideas. Did you make a New Year's resolution to blog every day and don't know what to say one week in?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe it's your life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe you're speeding towards that wall with no idea how to avoid it. You can't even be certain where it is. It's somewhere up ahead - you can definitely make it out - but there's no knowing how long you have before you go hurtling into it. That's where I am. And it's scary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a baby - as you do - in June 2012. I took my maternity leave with the intention of returning to the job I thrived in, the people I loved working with and the clients I'd forged relationships with. Yes, I was looking forward to the break - I think I needed to step off the wheel for a while (and onto that of sharing life with a newborn again - hardly a rest!) ;) It was a tough thing to do in so many ways, especially in an environment where things changed so much and so quickly - Who would have gone by the time I came back? What new projects would have been created? Would there be a new position for me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will never forget the intense feeling of loss that lasted for many months when the company closed the office. It wasn't the fact that I found out on Facebook that hurt me the most. It wasn't the fact that my only chance of returning would be to accept a role at the head office and subject myself and my family to at least four hours travelling per day. It wasn't, therefore, the weeks of inevitable negotiation of my redundancy terms. It was gone. Our office - our team - the heartbeat of the whole company - the people - the silly traditions - gone. There was nothing that could be done to bring any of that back. Moving to another office - as some had done - wasn't going to be anywhere near the same. There was nothing I could do about it. The announcement was made on a Friday afternoon, effective Monday morning. Done.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBt3RXarOblOEx_xOM1KfiEam2jhrfnxXjkq-SBXm8RAZCkjDZ-BaYNhBFBDez65h79mYp7rR1Ysb15CU6zWdyLKINbVb-y5f4rhWd_1MHIlKaJtIRNbBv5Hlq1udFYr11aM-jryOXiw/s1600/5-stages-of-grief-kubler-ross-22.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxBt3RXarOblOEx_xOM1KfiEam2jhrfnxXjkq-SBXm8RAZCkjDZ-BaYNhBFBDez65h79mYp7rR1Ysb15CU6zWdyLKINbVb-y5f4rhWd_1MHIlKaJtIRNbBv5Hlq1udFYr11aM-jryOXiw/s1600/5-stages-of-grief-kubler-ross-22.png" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It may seem melodramatic to assimilate an office closure with a death. But that's just what it felt like. There are seven stages of grief and that is what I went through. I didn't realise at the time, but it is so clear to me now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in shock for such a long time. There was no Denial phase for me - it was definitely done and dusted and I knew that straight away. But it took months before I got angry. And once I did, it didn't last very long. Then there were tears. And eventually...it was over.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went on to have another baby - at 35 there didn't seem much sense in finding a new job, settling in again, carving a career for myself, building a reputation, forging relationships and then putting it all on hold for maternity leave again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truth be told - I just wasn't ready to look for another job. The idea of working somewhere else seemed entirely implausible. I knew nothing would measure up to what I'd had before. I still carried a torch that I wasn't yet ready to cast aside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The baby is now nine months old and racing towards that point where he will rely far less on me for sustenance, care and comfort. In just a few months he will be supping cow's milk and my feeding will be no more than a comforting habit and little snack, no doubt. There will be far less holding me back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What am I going to do then? Unfortunately being a stay-at-home mum doesn't pay well enough for my liking. As a household, we really could use another income. As an individual, I need something else to challenge me. Not that my three children aren't a challenge - far from it - but I'm just not good enough to face that same challenge every day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm still not convinced I'm ready to extinguish that flame that still flickers inside me. Maybe I never will be. Perhaps I could start my own business instead. But what would I do? Yes, the possibilities are limitless but with that comes a total lack of direction. And that's assuming I can find the time and discipline I would need to try working for myself and looking after the children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know exactly where that wall is...but I know I'm heading for it. Will it break me in to a thousand pieces? Or will it me the making of me somehow?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish I knew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Follow on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><br />
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<p dir="ltr">Apparently, we are not. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Inevitably December's arrival has heralded the moment to dig out the six - yup, I said six - boxes of Christmas tat from the back of the garage. And today my 2 year old witnessed the rediscovery of many items; both the treasured and the tired!</p>
<p dir="ltr">The red and green baubles had been sifted, those missing their ties cast aside to make way for those managing to remain intact for the last 11 months whilst lying dormant in a cardboard box. How do they get in to such a pickle? I blame the fairy lights.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Eventually, he happened upon several handmade decorations given to us in recent years by a very clever crafting friend. A cupcake. A gkittery Christmas tree. And what he instantly declared, with a somewhat scrunched up nose, to be q "smelly sock".</p>
<p dir="ltr">That boy makes me chuckle.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitayJ2-Isur0Z2ib2i3E61ktCQl0PNhObRQbiYLxF92Fum9_qm2LYCjrOjct9pt3oUMDDopk6kAlRZJmH52wP4zMmdhAzdqCOoV8WMqEnLJ_cJ1TpeD2JomGCbtxHHZvQfmrurUROudMc/s1600/20141204_122339-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitayJ2-Isur0Z2ib2i3E61ktCQl0PNhObRQbiYLxF92Fum9_qm2LYCjrOjct9pt3oUMDDopk6kAlRZJmH52wP4zMmdhAzdqCOoV8WMqEnLJ_cJ1TpeD2JomGCbtxHHZvQfmrurUROudMc/s640/20141204_122339-1.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-9278784738929558492014-12-03T06:49:00.000-08:002014-12-03T06:49:38.353-08:00How early is too early?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLW-XGnL8jEXnhK0Pem1f3FZ-8rGU_cmV4QQmedg2VvAwLBPvaMOsm9tisR6UrLc1OsD0y6mMbpu8v9nzW-bZWIxErzCDyREq3_1x8AzPCYAzatQpY2rnji9-AVxpacqAzrQpWVB0rrEQ/s640/20140805_165722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLW-XGnL8jEXnhK0Pem1f3FZ-8rGU_cmV4QQmedg2VvAwLBPvaMOsm9tisR6UrLc1OsD0y6mMbpu8v9nzW-bZWIxErzCDyREq3_1x8AzPCYAzatQpY2rnji9-AVxpacqAzrQpWVB0rrEQ/s640/20140805_165722.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm all for easing in gently - taking your time and getting prepared without all the hustle and bustle. Otherwise, the stress takes away from the fun that can be had.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But I have my limits!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I took this photo in ASDA on...wait for it...<b>5th August!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That's the middle of the summer holidays - in fact, it was before we'd even been on our family summer holiday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What's that all about?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When do you start preparing for Chrimbo? Where is the line between getting a head start and ruining the whole season by making it last half the bloody year?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Don't be that guy, ASDA. <b>#GetYourFestiveOn</b> but not until your tan has faded!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Follow on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">#GetYourFestiveOn #PondersNeverEnd</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It would seem that not everyone realises there are still some 23 days until Christmas. Take Rio de Janeiro for example. Not at all easing into the season - oh no - they just leapt in with both feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>And it was spectacular!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/F55mhaCYxXg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you can't see the embedded clip, click here </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">http://youtu.be/F55mhaCYxXg</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As you stand in the drizzle around a spindly fir, waiting for the mayor/minor local celeb/local newspaper competition winner to switch on the much-anticipated 27 fairy lights, try not to be jealous.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>#GetYourFestiveOn</b> however you can. We can't all be Rio!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Follow on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">#GetYourFestiveOn #PondersNeverEnd</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-19697093140730779082014-12-01T15:45:00.001-08:002014-12-03T06:51:51.528-08:00Wo! Ho! Ho!<div dir="ltr">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzYuGxj6_Vm9wJ_RyNgtaswgn4NswQlTS7wsBJO1OrgjPnrqMnGz-NGRDtrvrNu_9G5ZvBMYRFuzDyTpDDSjmtli4UbO-Z9BReR88M24yfEcHIAumXLzcKtWAZNl8GjdZVc0Vpjk2KQw/s640/20141201_133501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzYuGxj6_Vm9wJ_RyNgtaswgn4NswQlTS7wsBJO1OrgjPnrqMnGz-NGRDtrvrNu_9G5ZvBMYRFuzDyTpDDSjmtli4UbO-Z9BReR88M24yfEcHIAumXLzcKtWAZNl8GjdZVc0Vpjk2KQw/s640/20141201_133501.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm doing it. I'm going to attempt another month of daily posts and, as it's December, things are about to get festive.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I put together an afternoon snack to combat my incredible sleep deprivation. And it looked like this. All I needed was a sprig of holly on my tea and it'd be Christmas on a plate.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Epic. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Join me for a ride on Santa's sleigh straight to Christmas Day and #GetYourFestiveOn</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Easing you into the season, one mince pie at a time</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Follow on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">#GetYourFestiveOn #PondersNeverEnd</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Posts</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. <a href="http://pondersneverend.blogspot.com/2014/12/lights-camera-christmas.html" target="_blank">Lights! Camera! CHRISTMAS!</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3. <a href="http://pondersneverend.blogspot.com/2014/12/how-early-is-too-early.html" target="_blank">How early is too early?</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">4. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5wQ_Mi03Xg63hyO6N-Iwdlzv77BMzbHflPsH2H8FzivIJdMpXMjBs3L7uwoOYRxTRKGlxqmJerx2vQnTaQ7fnSBX-T_EVzXFztcDph_dFrag9nv-3v_JXttTatzTlt60U6S4ntS2rbw/s1600/achievement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL5wQ_Mi03Xg63hyO6N-Iwdlzv77BMzbHflPsH2H8FzivIJdMpXMjBs3L7uwoOYRxTRKGlxqmJerx2vQnTaQ7fnSBX-T_EVzXFztcDph_dFrag9nv-3v_JXttTatzTlt60U6S4ntS2rbw/s1600/achievement.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you ever wonder what you did with your day?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's quite common for me to be awoken at 6:30 and not to return to the comfortable dent in my pillow until midnight. And yet, I struggle to see what it is I have achieved with those 18.5 waking hours!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's not to say I am participating in some experiment to test the 'lady-of-leisure' title to breaking point by lollopping on the sofa all day - far from it. My time is occupied by a plethora of roles, responsibilities and tasks. I wear so many different hats, I often can't keep track of them all. But being busy doesn't necessarily mean you've achieved anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think the difference for me is satisfaction. That's the missing element required to convert 'busy'ness to 'achievement'. And when you go for long enough without feeling like you've got anything to show for your efforts, it is soul-destroying. Yes, I have managed to keep the children alive, the washing in its constant clean-dirty-wet-dry-clean cycle, the dishwasher churning. I have even maintained some standard of personal hygiene, playful affection with my partner and optimism that life won't always feel like this! But these things have to be done again, and again, and again without moving life forwards in any way. If I didn't do them one day, we wouldn't move backwards, life would merely hiccup.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My partner can't always see what I'm whinging about. He can see how busy I've been and thinks I'm knitting with only one needle when I suggest at 11pm I might go and unpack some boxes (from our house move in July)/audit the kids toy collection/hoover the ground floor. He doesn't realise that these are things on the other list of stuff I want to get done and that will make me feel a sense of achievement. I can tick them off life's 'To Do' list. No-one has 'Provide breakfast/lunch/dinner' on their list. 'Breastfeed the baby'. 'Put the shopping away'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Crazy though this behaviour might seem, it can make a real difference. Anyone who has experienced depression will be familiar with the negativity surrounding a feeling of not being in control of one's life, being on auto-pilot, marking time. It's a slippery slope and allowing days to trickle by without so much as a teeny step being taken in the right direction can be the first step on that slope which will have you on your arse before you can say bugger.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I started a list today. Actually, I created a group on a messaging app for just me and my partner. It's called Achievements. We have plenty of lists around with umpteen tasks we should have done before we moved. They do work for us. But I wanted somewhere we could go to remind us what we've got done rather than haven't even looked at yet. Some days it will only be something little - I realise that. ubt at least it's something. Today, my achievements are [just checking my messaging group with a smug grin in place] enquiring about nursery places for our toddler (and ending up with an appointment for Monday morning!), sourcing this year's real Christmas tree (IKEA from 26th November and only £30 for 6-7ft!) and WRITING THIS POST! Genius!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not going to cure cancer, end famine or achieve world peace. But it might make me feel better about staying at home all day wiping up sick, snot and skids!</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Follow on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/PondersNeverEnd" target="_blank">Twitter</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">#PondersNeverEnd #CrazyStupidDepression</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-45340226911343209082014-01-06T08:52:00.000-08:002014-01-06T08:58:49.812-08:00MemoriesThey are funny old things. I often worry about just how much the brain retains, largely without my knowledge let alone blessing. Old phone numbers for houses we moved from when I was 7. Birthdays for almost anyone I don't like. Song lyrics - dear lord - the song lyrics. As soon as you hear the opening bar, that's it, your brain produces all of the lyrics that 5 seconds earlier you would have sworn you didn't know.<br />
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However annoying or inefficient our brains may seem at retaining rubbish and forgetting the important neural Post-Its, just occassionally it digs up a gem. Like yesterday. I was out in the car and I was hungry. Decided to get a McDriveThru on my way home and, having wrongly recalled the location of one McShits', I found myself almost home, parked in the 'local' with the radio on. With trepidation I had plumped for the Radio 1 Chart Show (a risky selection for a 30-something these days but it treated me relatively kindly).<br />
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So there I was. Intrigued to hear that James Blunt was back in the charts - who knew? - and unsurprised by the volume of well-known, well-trodden paths through Memory Lane my brain was trying to direct me towards. I wasn't in the mood. There was a guy, a break-up, tears, and James Blunt's first album on repeat for many months of 2005...(and 2006, to be honest). But then two worlds - or at least cranial continents - collided. The combination of already having connected to 'that' chapter of my past, fused with the taste of my Big Tasty (or McNasty as one of my friend's calls it.) You see, I thought to myself just how delicious (not a word I EVER usually associate with burgers of said calibre) the Big Tasty sauce is. And it is. Creamy, the colour of thousand island, the taste of, erm, Big Tasty sauce.<br />
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Suddenly, there he was. I was sat in my car back in 2005 with the James Blunt guy. Outside McDonald's in Tonypandy (yes, non-Welshies, that's a real place. You're thinking of Pontypandy where Fireman Sam lives). And I was being told I simply had to lose my virginity - I had to try my first ever Big Tasty and discover the wonder that is the sauce.<br />
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From then until now, I have never recalled that tiny and insignificant fact - he was responsible for me trying that burger, way back when. Regardless of how many I've had since (almost none, obviously, as my body is a temple). Regardless of the number of conversations I've had with my boyfriend about how incredible I find his choice to always have his burgers plain - even the Big Tasty! Can you imagine choosing NOT to have the only yummy part of the whole menu?!<br />
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Nope. My brain chose that moment, 9 years later, when I was alone, in my car, listening to James Blunt and eating a burger to poke at me with a 'new' memory stick, probably to see if it could make me cry. I, thus, conclude that our memory has a mind of its own (ironically?) and behaves like a bigger boy in the playground, just waiting for the perfect moment to pull a girl's pigtails and make her cry.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I would like to point out that a) I didn't cry but was more 'well bugger me' about the whole thing and b), this post was in no way endorsed by McD's or any of their affiliates in the sauce-making arena (although I am open to free Big Tasty sauce for life as some kind of sponsorship deal).</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0Tonypandy, Rhondda Cynon Taff, UK51.624351999999988 -3.458067000000028251.545482499999984 -3.6194285000000281 51.703221499999991 -3.2967055000000283tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-28757242085435193272013-12-25T00:55:00.001-08:002013-12-25T00:56:35.562-08:00So this is Christmas...<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So this is Christmas<br />And what have we done?<br />Another year over<br />A new one just begun<br /><br />Five years ago I was facing my first Christmas Eve & Christmas morning without my little girl. It was her dad's turn to have her. As a fully fledged member of Adulthood, there was no real problem with this although I wasn't relishing the thought of spending the beginning of the yuletide festivities at home with my cats - that was a life statement I was ready to make!<br /><br />And there he was. My knight in shining armour. He suggested he stay over on Christmas Eve and head off to his mum's Christmas dinner the next day. I hadn't asked him to. I hadn't even dropped subtle hints, ready to get annoyed at him if he didn't pick up on them. We'd only been seeing each other a matter of weeks (about 6 by my calculation) so I was still trying to dish out the 'crazy' in very small portions, if at all!<br /><br />Fast-forward a few years and he stepped up in a far more important way. Despite having done it before, it would seem that giving birth for a second time - to our enormous son - was a task for which I was ill-equipped. And without him right by my side I would still be there now trying to deliver an 18 month old! <br /><br />But that little gesture five years ago - that act of kindness - is what he is all about. He hides it well under the façade of being a grumpy bugger most of the time. Bah Humbug and all that. But when something matters, large or small, he knows.<br /><br />Merry Christmas, I love you.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-78442989231407715352013-09-27T12:14:00.003-07:002013-09-27T12:17:32.026-07:00The Human Body is an Amazing Thing, but...The human body is an amazing thing.<br />
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However, you'd think it would be able to distinguish between a human embryo and a cold virus. As I am writing this from the discomfort and inconvenience of my cold-filled pregnant body, I can confirm that this is not the case.<br />
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I am grateful that my body has placed my immune system on 'standby', so as not to reject the tiny person growing inside me. I just wish that didn't mean that, along with all of the other changes and challenges my first trimester body has been dealing with, it has to also deal with a migraine-turned 2 day headache-turned sword swallowers sore throat-turned snot fest.<br />
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As if the first trimester weren't bad enough... We all know how pregnancy takes its toll. Obviously the most drastic changes come between not being pregnant and being pregnant. But aside from the physical, there are plenty of psychological hurdles to overcome too.<br />
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Firstly, there's the overwhelming excitement that comes with finding out you're pregnant. This very quickly becomes overshadowed by what could easily be described as parenthood. What if there's something 'wrong' with the baby? What if I miscarry? What if there's more than one?!<br />
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And no-one can answer these questions until the 'dating' scan at around 12 weeks pregnant!<br />
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As if THAT little lot weren't enough to add to the sleepless nights (already facilitated by the hormone-induced need to pee each individual teaspoon of fluid consumed and the hormone-induced aching joints), there's the anxiety over whether anyone has noticed that you're looking tubby/tired/tormented/ecstatic and whether, in turn, you've made the right decision NOT to tell anyone til you've had the all-clear.<br />
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You see, the hardest part of all is having no-one to share it with other than daddy-to-be. And we all now that, no matter how great he might be, no-one's quite like your mum/best mate/sis-in-law when it comes to having a good whinge!<br />
<br />
Thankfully, tomorrow marks the beginning of the second trimester for me and Sprout. I expect to wake up devoid of lurgy and feeling bright and glowing. At least, that's what my pregnancy app suggested would happen...soon.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-90415477078767404042013-07-09T09:24:00.001-07:002013-07-09T09:24:58.943-07:00A blog's a funny thing...<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />It starts off as a thought, an idea, an aspiration</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Quickly it becomes a project, an outlet, an escape</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Quicker still, a responsibility, a weight, a burden</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Rather than freeing, it has become a prison</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Rather than inspiring, it conspires</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />No longer harnessing creativity but harbouring impotence</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Finally, it becomes what it is:</span></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-7223648582302307632013-03-22T08:08:00.001-07:002013-03-22T08:08:10.632-07:00I am NOT your slave!This morning I was awoken by the BabyBoy so I fed him in bed. Then I got up. And it went rapidly downhill from there.<br /><br />My daughter was dithering when faced with the insurmountable task of getting herself 'uniformed'. Apparently the required items hadn't miraculously appeared before her while she lingered in the middle of her room scratching her head. So I helped her sort it out. "Not that ball of trousers, they were the ones you stepped out of yesterday that, if I remember correctly, were soggy round the ankles from this joyous weather" (or words to that effect!<br /><br />Having quickly ascertained that the clean washing would hold the key, I trotted downstairs (with my extremely achey back - no idea why when I'd just got up unless I have started night-time dead-lifting again). Oh good - both over-laden baskets of clean washing were easy to locate having remained in the same place at the bottom of the stairs for the last three days (amazing how no-one else in the family can SEE them). I trudged no. 1 upstairs, followed closely by no. 2. Sifted, sorted, folded, as I went, and found the necessary garments. Job 1 done, daughter clothed.<br /><br />Now to rustle-up brekkie and a packed lunch - simple. I enter the dining room to be greeted by last night's dinner plates, leftovers and crumb-strewn table. Nice. I clear all that I can carry, juggling it towards the kitchen where, lo and behold, there is nowhere to abandon my unscheduled delivery. Last night's dinner preparations come screaming back to me - dirty chopping boards, vegetable off-cuts, used tin foil. Yummy. Lucky me. The thought flashes across my brain - I'll just load the dishwasher with it all and the kitchen will look more culinary arena than war-torn cityscape. But wait, the gift that keeps on giving has one last little joy to reveal. No-one has even managed to empty the clean things from the dishwasher. <br /><br />This is the kitchen equivalent of a cul de sac. Nowhere left to go. So I plump for the only option at my disposal. I clear an area the size of a postage stamp by lobbing any rubbish (I don't care which bin it should have gone it, Mr Council Refuse Collector, it's all gone in the 'general' bin - up yours!), piling dirty utensils, crockery and cutlery on top of other dirty utensils, crockery and cutlery and proceed to the brekkie and lunch making. Breakfast is easy really - grab a bowl, balance in one hand whilst tipping cereal into it, follow with milk, seek clean spoon (remember, there are plenty in the dishwasher even if the drawer is empty) serve to half-cleared table. Make lunch. I think that's Job 2 done!<br /><br />Crap. It's Friday. PE kit day. Back up the stairs to find tracksuit (for some reason this has been placed in two different parts of the bedroom (!), t-shirt, trainers...well, we had to have the customary discussion first as to why someone's 'fashion' trainers are not appropriate for school PE. But it wouldn't be Friday without covering our friendly familiar ground now would it?! We'll call the school bag, Job 3, done.<br /><br />COFFEE BREAK<br /><br />By that, I mean I made time to put the coffee machine on (tiptoeing all the while through the kitchen detritus) and washed up my cup. Drinking it would actually happen as an ongoing coffee phase rather than a break as such.<br /><br />With my daughter's hair done (plait-ponytail combo today, if you're interested) she was safely an d swiftly shoved (with love) into the car to be dropped at school. Great - I'll pop BabyBoy into the snug, take my cooling coffee in there and park my rear end on the sofa. Seems fair considering... Of course, that is exactly what I did. The End.*<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXTV05d4l_wL6PSylixVgNYgH5pXk3vM7w5QRyzdosxXD0Ph9iinx7jolH9IuqGXzQ6Antqzb_ckrmp3uogDWh0JVu2eJqhVvpn6B06qfy3wvfWL0Sv9l5_5sRv_f8LWFUd0JEYgGr20/s1600/slave.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXTV05d4l_wL6PSylixVgNYgH5pXk3vM7w5QRyzdosxXD0Ph9iinx7jolH9IuqGXzQ6Antqzb_ckrmp3uogDWh0JVu2eJqhVvpn6B06qfy3wvfWL0Sv9l5_5sRv_f8LWFUd0JEYgGr20/s320/slave.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><br />*Having cleared the dirty plates, cups, glasses and rubbish from every possible surface, seat and portion of floor which was not concealed under the toy-carpet... The toys can bugger off - they can wait 'til later - I have a bathroom to scrub today, a kitchen to retrieve, dinner to cook and a nervous breakdown to fit in first $|Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-5723056353822778202013-02-08T16:10:00.006-08:002013-02-08T16:11:57.390-08:00Friday's Film Feast - Number 1.<h3>
Friday's Film Festival</h3>
Not quite as simple as it sounds, I assure you. Every Friday (hopefully!) I plan on choosing a film from my modest collection of DVDs but there will be nothing so straightforward as a review/summary/synopsis/critique. I plan on drawing inspiration from it - either a direct experience or memory associated with watching said film or perhaps something less direct... We'll see how it goes!<br />
--------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
This week's film...could easily be dismissed as a slushy rom-com. But hear me out.<br />
<br />
I have a huge problem with online dating and computer match-making. On the one hand, it makes sense: logical, thorough, efficient. Everything that appeals to my scientific brain. In pursuit of the right career, the best-performing car, a good builder, why not use a computer system which matches your 'wanted' criteria with 'offered' criteria and advise of the results? Brilliant. <br />
<br />
Why can't we apply the same process to meeting the right person? We just can't! How many people end up with someone who would actually fit their 'wanted' criteria? How many people go on dates with the perfect 'on-paper' partner and find that there is a chasm between them? It is as if we're hoping that, by process of elimination, we will eventually sift through the world's population until we are finally left with that one person who is The One! Only 7 billion to get through - easy.<br />
<br />
I suppose it could work. But in reality, the head has no place in matters of the heart. That's the whole point. That's why we fall for people we meet at University, at work, through mutual friends, bumping into them in Starbucks every lunchtime... For me, there has to be an element of romance to it all. It doesn't have to be the Disney fairytale - all sweeping off feet etc... That almost never happens. But just sometimes you get the feeling you were meant to meet that special someone.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Serendipity. "...the accident of finding something good or useful while not specifically searching for it."</blockquote>
Exactly my point. Everyone knows that when you are actually looking for something, you won't find it. Stop looking and you're bound to fall over it! To me, I think it means that it's written in the stars (feel free to puke at this point but there is a little science in my sloppiness!) The word 'seren' means 'stars' in more than just the Welsh language. Not got much to say about the 'dipity'.<br />
<br />
Watch the film. It's a lovely story. And it somehow eases the blow when you really thought it was going to work out with someone and, for whatever reason, it didn't. Maybe that's just because it wasn't the right time. Maybe it will happen, but not yet. Perhaps what happened was exactly what was meant to be - you were supposed to be friends and nothing more. They were supposed to play a 'bit part' rather than a 'recurring character'. Some people may not play the role in our lives that we had expected, predicted or desired. That's no bad thing. It should give hope that 'things' will work out in the end. Somehow. Even when they seem to be going wrong, perhaps they're taking you one step closer to 'right'.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7Xqea2Ld_UWZGzP22g_x81VPl9dxO5VA81Oi0W16ciL1AFJOfrzv7DplAhxSt689XmDrj7am6JaizA7PjjuKPGVda0P1rm_D1NrTUkK6xDZ3CoV7M4JIRNI_Ow3tbz99e3X_NqK_Bpk/s1600/Serendipity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7Xqea2Ld_UWZGzP22g_x81VPl9dxO5VA81Oi0W16ciL1AFJOfrzv7DplAhxSt689XmDrj7am6JaizA7PjjuKPGVda0P1rm_D1NrTUkK6xDZ3CoV7M4JIRNI_Ow3tbz99e3X_NqK_Bpk/s320/Serendipity.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Serendipity-DVD/dp/B004UGANCU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1360368397&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Buy it on Amazon for £6</a> - Can't argue!<br />
<br />
Happy Friday! Have a good weekend Ponderers.<br />
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<br />
Feel free to leave a comment. Or come join us on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd">www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-63328634457849353222013-02-07T03:51:00.002-08:002013-02-07T03:51:57.183-08:00A Picture Speaks a Thousand Words...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifypeTAeRWyWenTfDnvBCv8qbclC5rZXHji0qcA6VoqIt-99kQuJ35Fhc7uWoho6Gx3INOIzPj2DCNcisb8ngclPqj0TfveDFtM78yhq7zPW6juaAi2PERjSPSxH9na6XCIbQk2L-OCw0/s1600/DSC00644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifypeTAeRWyWenTfDnvBCv8qbclC5rZXHji0qcA6VoqIt-99kQuJ35Fhc7uWoho6Gx3INOIzPj2DCNcisb8ngclPqj0TfveDFtM78yhq7zPW6juaAi2PERjSPSxH9na6XCIbQk2L-OCw0/s320/DSC00644.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Grimwood (c) Taken 27/07/2008 @ 16:21</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
They say a picture speaks a thousand words...so welcome to <span style="color: orange;">Thursday's Thousand Words!</span></h2>
<br />
I figured it would get boring if I just rambled away all the time so Thursdays are now photo days. Not entirely word-free, you understand.<br />
<br />
So why this pic, you ask? Hmm... First of all, I took this photo. Secondly, I am extremely proud of it. To a proper photographer there are undoubtedly countless flaws but as a hapless amateur I have the advantage of being able to simply revel in my simple-minded appreciation of it.<br />
<br />
One of my favourite things about this picture is all the things it doesn't tell you. Things you wouldn't even guess.<br />
<ul>
<li>This was taken in the UK, despite the tropical sky in the background.</li>
<li>Nope, not Devon or some renowned beauty spot but Wythenshawe (Manchester).</li>
<li>And I didn't visit the nearest botanical gardens where dahlias like these are tended by horticultural manicurists every five minutes</li>
<li>These belong to my best friend's Mumsy who grows them on her allotment.</li>
</ul>
See, told you you'd never guess.<br />
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Find me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd">http://www.Facebook.com/PondersNeverEnd</a> and give me a little LIKEAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-69926941813201582582013-02-05T16:06:00.000-08:002013-02-05T16:06:23.633-08:00Wednesdays, I Love Wales?Yes, there is a question mark.<br /><br />I spent the first 27 years of my life living in England (well, except for the travelling overseas I did whilst at Uni but for argument's sake...) I considered myself British and lived in a lovely little bubble whereby I believed all Brits thought of themselves as British and that frictions between the individual countries which make up our 'Isles' were non-existent. (Except, perhaps, between the English and Scottish which was based purely on an unpleasant experience whilst in Paris when the World Cup (1998) was on and the Scots had invaded the City of Light to inflict mean-ness on a young English girl - more about this in a Travelling Tuesday post to follow soon...)<br /><br />Anyway, 8 years ago (can it really have been that long?!) I found myself separated and in need of cheap (free!) childcare for my little girl so circumstance found me moving from the Motherland to Wales (to lean on Mum & Not-da-mama). No big deal...I loved visiting them in Wales and had spent many a weekend in enjoying the mountainous terrain and monstrous weather.<br /><br />I managed to find a teeny-tiny house right at the bottom of a mountain which was nothing special at all...and I loved it. Spectacular views, whatever the weather. Exhilarating driving up and over the mountains wherever I wanted to go. Starrier skies than I can remember seeing before or since. Being snowed in (something I would never have believed genuinely possible before). Enjoying every show the local brass band had to offer. Adopting the word 'cwtch' - a favourite with my daughter. I was falling in love with this place.<br /><br />As the years passed however, that love has faltered. Died, perhaps. It became painfully clear that there are some very nasty Anti-English currents running through Wales' green Valleys and they, amongst other things, have taken their toll on my sunny outlook. I find myself disenchanted. Not just because of this animosity (which, by the way, is bound to reach its annual peak in the coming weeks with the Six Nations Rugby now underway - great!) It should also be pointed out that I haven't had much luck with the local men either. That makes it sound as though I've tried to mount any Welsh farmer within a thirty mile radius which, despite a few alcohol-fuelled weekends in Cardiff, I am almost certain I have never done. Not that I can claim enormous success with English (or French) men. If I had, I wouldn't have been moving to Wales post-divorce. But still, I'd managed to have my heart broken by Wales' answer to Charlie Sheen, swiftly followed by a love that was promised and yet (with hindsight) most definitely unrequited (in any real way).<br /><br />So, why not move? (Or perhaps the Welsh reading this will be urging me to bugger off if I don't like it!) Well, I would have. Only, while I was busy finding the wrong Welshmen, my ex-husband and father of my lovely daughter had gone and found the right Welshwoman. Relocation would have had to have been a team effort and that just wasn't something I could have proposed! Stuck. Trapped. Perfect conditions for resentment to set in and grow...and I think it has laid down some fairly firm roots.<br /><br />So, why not just be miserable about Wales and bitch about it every chance I get? Call me a glutton for punishment but I somehow ended up getting involved with Welshie III and, who knew, it would seem this is third time lucky. Four and a half years later and we are going strong. And I don't want to hate my man's homeland. And as if that weren't enough, I am now the proud joint-owner of a beautiful half-Welsh baby boy. Not to mention that my daughter has lived here since she was 18 months old. My parents live here full-time now. My brother and his family have followed.<br /><br />Here's what I propose.<br /><br />I'm going to endeavour to force myself to fall back in love with this nation. Is it even possible? I don't believe we can force ourselves to fall in love with a person. In fact, that song about "if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with" angers me greatly! But perhaps we can nurture a little seed of affection for the country we live in... Maybe all I need is to find that seed.<br /><br />Where love is concerned, I am certain it is the little things that count. So, I think I'll start there. I'm going to make an effort to notice the little things again and, who knows, maybe we'll be in love before the year's out.<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-39014090268935674132013-01-23T14:45:00.001-08:002013-01-23T14:51:20.786-08:00My First LimerickThere once was a girl born in Hackney<br />
Near Bow Bells - a genuine cockney!<br />
Every day she would look<br />
In the ladybird book<br />
Just to torment her lovely John Oakey!<br />
<br />
<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQBlY5HsuZ5s65bda4uC5GMzRFE-znY6QKwGgode9i5nrL0zn32ahBP8nY67JCCrq_vq6LRPifzsk5ycUJhOLG6oEsUVWt6o7wnm2FbltqNsus90aLXM28zFTDNSe2BvHxu7mKI22rDQ/s640/blogger-image-198208855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQBlY5HsuZ5s65bda4uC5GMzRFE-znY6QKwGgode9i5nrL0zn32ahBP8nY67JCCrq_vq6LRPifzsk5ycUJhOLG6oEsUVWt6o7wnm2FbltqNsus90aLXM28zFTDNSe2BvHxu7mKI22rDQ/s640/blogger-image-198208855.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-55273753370125963452013-01-17T12:26:00.000-08:002013-01-17T12:26:57.642-08:00Klose Enkounters of the KiKiKind<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
"K has a doctor's appointment so she'll be in a little
later this morning. Once she's here she'll show you the ropes."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I sat my 20 year-old butt down and waited...That was
both the bane and bliss of temping - not too much expected of you but often
frustrating when you can't seem to find anything to pass the time because
you're 'just a temp'.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually K arrived. Smart, organised, younger than I'd
thought she'd be. We danced the usual jig of getting to know each other whilst
at the same time working through the basics – phone system, toilets, tea-making
facilities, what the point of our office was... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It turned out she was also 20 (although she had a grown-up
job and wasn't a student on summer holidays) but then she mentioned her husband
and daughter! How could she have a husband (teehee!) Sounded far too grown-up!
There was no chance we'd have anything in common then - apart from our age, we
were lifetime's apart! I'd not long returned from a year abroad as part of my
language degree (more of this another time) so was full of the joys of la liberté
and she was settled down (and, yes, a proper grown-up - all I could keep
thinking!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I couldn't tell you now what it was that clicked but there
we were no more than an hour in each other's company, working for a seemingly
very strict council GM (who was no doubt working on something important in the
adjacent office) and across the hall from a grump of an accounts clerk when
something must have just clicked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All I can liken it to is 'love at first sight' (without the
sex).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were in stitches - the type of genuine uncontrollable
laughter that is both agonising and ecstatic all at once. I wonder, if we
really thought long and hard about it, whether either of us could remember what
lead us so quickly to falling for each other the way we did (still in an
utterly asexual way, you understand).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast-forward 15 years and she's still my soulmate - always
there, usually doing something juvenile that only I would find hilarious (we
are truly hilarious).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do we end up with people in our lives - in whichever capacity
- who just seem to fit? Divine intervention? Fate? Serendipity?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Reckon if K and I pondered this over a few Raspberripolitans
we could come up with the answers...might forget the question though.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An EPIC Party, summer 2008 (c) Sarah Grimwood 2013</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<![endif]-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-52249521141662546602012-11-02T17:05:00.001-07:002012-11-02T17:05:12.388-07:00How the caretaker almost lost his lifeAs of 21:30 last night, I had been abandoned. Daughter tucked up in bed, baby boy fast asleep in his buggy downstairs and DaddyBear had turned in for the night. This could be construed as the perfect opportunity for some Me-time. But it wasn't. <br />
<br />
Apart from a severe allergy to going to bed so early that you can still taste your dessert, I was nominated (!) to stay up just until BabyBear awoke for his next change/feed. No point turning in before that - he'd be awake in an hour at most. <br />
<br />
Well, to cut a long story short, that's how it got to 1am before my head hit the pillow. And not because he finally woke up, because I gave up waiting! Lucky I did as he didn't wake 'til 5am!<br />
<br />
So, a very tired me went to bed grumpy only to be woken by DaddyBear when his alarm went off, again when he slammed the shower door, again when he dropped a coat hanger onto our wooden bedroom floor...you get the picture. This meant that BabyBear also awoke and the day began waaaaay too early.<br />
<br />
Despite the extra preparation time, we still ended up in a rush to get to school slightly late. Bugger. This meant I grabbed the car seat (and now sleeping contents!) and heaved it all the way to the main school entrance in order to sign my daughter in as 'late'.<br />
<br />
I would say I reached the brink of insanity when the Late Book asked for my "Reason for Lateness". It seemed a stupid question. Why does anyone arrive at their destination 3 minutes later than intended? Which of the contributory factors from my erghy morning did they want to hear about? The pooey leaky nappy? The last minute feed as we should have been out the door? The tractors/learner drivers/old folk who dawdle their way in front of us for as much of our journey as they can manage? I plumped for the most succinct response I could muster on 4 hours sleep: Life!<br />
<br />
Following my pithy answer and successful delivery of my sprog to her educational establishment, I was just beginning my decent into the pool of peaceful accomplishment. Enter said caretaker. He'd locked the gate I needed to use to reduce my trudge back to the car by about half. Grrrr. Then mumbled in the opposite direction about how I'm not allowed to park in that car park anyway.<br />
<br />
I always feel honestly is the very best policy. So I opted to advise this crap weasel that I didn't care a jot. Rather than detect the warning signs all around him - my barely-open eyes, grey complexion and straining muscles - he took his life is his own hands and dared to 'passive-aggressive' me! "I'll remember that".<br />
<br />
Oh really Mr Caretaker! Grrr. Fume. Growl. So many things rushing through my mind, desperately looking for a way out through my mouth and into the playground. If I hadn't been carrying a car seat full off baby, his life came close to ending via the means at my disposal - death by bike rack/school gate/flower pot!<br />
<br />
I took the high road and walked away, leaving him in perfect health. But I can't promise he'll survive another run in like that.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-83146478815067501482012-08-13T15:01:00.000-07:002012-08-13T15:01:13.987-07:00Erm...I sit here. Boyfriend out of the way. Baby sleeping soundly. Pretty Woman for background company. Laptop in front of me (iPad & mobile adjacent).<br />
I am literate. Highly-opinionated. Articulate by nature. A true lover of language and expression.<br />
And I find myself on mute. Nothing to say. Or rather, no specific subject in mind. Why is this?<br />
I can only surmise that it is, in fact, caused by having too many things to say. Having just <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(9.5 weeks ago but I'm sure I can get away with 'just' for a little while longer)</span> had a baby, I have spent the best part of a year with a brain made of holes held loosely together by disorganised nonsense and baby-related bunkem. Now the fog has lifted and I can't hone in on ONE sensible thread as there is a myriad thoughts which, once forming an orderly queue, awaiting their moment of glorious expression, now like toddlers - one enormous, undiscernible rabble (covered in dribble).<br />
One can only hope this will pass as the knot untangles and the threads return to coherent thoughts & opinions.<br />
Watch this space...my next blog could be about cucumbers, jet engines or the state of modern telephone directories.<br />
Interesting times ahead.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-8486686148068396152012-08-03T14:23:00.001-07:002012-08-03T14:24:09.984-07:00Silence is golden?I'm not impressed. It's fair to say that I am usually an advocate of modern technology, of advancements which render our lives that bit easier/more fun/more efficient.<br />
Take, for example, the iPad. Amazing invention which no-one actually needs and yet everyone wants. But what really impresses is the strange turn of events which follows the acquisition of said technological wonder. It becomes instantly indispensable. "How did we ever live without it?"<br />
Do not mistake me - being able to watch TV/listen to music/look-up a recipe/engage via the current plethora of social media from the comfort of your own sofa/kitchen/loo is a privilege which should be made available to all. Very handy. And instantly indispensable. <br />
However, I have a gripe. Typing on a touchscreen is a soulless experience. There is something missing. It just feels wrong somehow. And then it dawns on me. There is no satisfying 'tap tap' from the keyboard. The little clicks that mark your constant progress across the page. The comforting sound that harks back to the days of typewriters, ribbons and manual carriage returns "ding". Yes, "keyboard sounds" are available on all modern devices nowadays but their synthetic plinks and plonks are worse than this enforced and soulless silence.<br />
So, as I 'type' away on my iPad, occasionally making my own taps each time I catch my fingernails on the screen, it dawns on me that there is, in fact, one single advantage to this muffled prose - my sleeping baby remains just that, asleep.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-61777315601681514612011-10-11T12:25:00.000-07:002011-10-11T12:25:33.931-07:00DistanceI wonder whether we are supposed to think of distance in the same way as we consider age - just a number. If we are, then the number is a mere 5355 miles. Nothing really. Except it is so much more than a number.<br />
It's really not just the inconvenience. Well, having said that, I could have done with him being here when I came home to no electricity. When I realised there were far too many lightbulbs that need replacing. When I noticed the over-flowing bins. When I couldn't be bothered sorting the dirty washing. When I felt chilly curled up on the sofa.<br />
It isn't even the fact that I'm on my own. I quite enjoy my own company (if I do say so myself). I can manage to concoct my own dinner. Do the shopping. Watch some TV. Scout for films. Chat to friends & family. Avoid housework (at all costs).<br />
<br />
I miss him.<br />
<br />
Not in a pathetic way. He's my buddy. My bear. My true love. And today is only Day One. From tomorrow he moves even further away - 11412 miles! And there are 13 more days to go...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-44686297004033257732011-02-15T14:50:00.000-08:002011-02-15T14:50:40.924-08:00T-bloody-mesisTmesis. What a great word (for one) and (secondly) what a fabulous little linguistic phenomenon.<br />
<br />
Anyway...why is it that I think of great things to blog about when I am up to my eyes in something yet when the time comes for a little literary musing, my mind is blank. The nugget of knowledge that once had entered my mind has become hidden under a proverbial pile of paperwork in the in-tray of my life.<br />
<br />
I could witter about current affairs, recent cinematic experiences, life's ups-and-downs. But that would be dull. So I shall refrain and return to my author's cap another day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-83707030658013251612011-01-04T19:52:00.000-08:002011-01-04T19:54:40.789-08:00If in doubt, get outI've tried every single position but no joy. Under the covers. On top. With a pillow. Without. Pyjamas. Birthday suit. And now I've given up. I just can't sleep.<br />
<br />
It's easy to treat the symptoms and forget to look for the cause which is what I tried for some hours. Now at after 3:00am when I will be up at 7:00am, I find myself writing in an attempt to begin eradicating the cause. However, when it comes to a list as long as the M4 of general life-related stresses, this is merely the equivalent of a first dose of radiotherapy with a lot more work to be done to resolve a problem which many never conquer.<br />
<br />
Work sucks. Now I know that that is a familiar refrain and were I unfortunate enough to have a job involving handling dead things or any form of waste products, most would take my statement at face value and understand immediately. However, as my job (thankfully) does not force me to gut fish or analyse stool samples, I may simply be seen as yet another whinger. Far from it. What makes work suck so considerably is that I loved my job. And now I don't. Or rather, I am unable to get on with my work the way I always have (with a certain degree of autonomy as I was fortunate enough to have been born with a fully-functioning brain and earned my common-sense badge on Day One). Instead I am forced to partake in a work-by-numbers exercise, very much marched to a tune I barely recognise any longer, surrounded by people I am either unable to help (as it is not written in the Rules) or couldn't give two hoots about. Work sucks.<br />
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I hate money. I always used to hate it largely because I had none. Well, I had just enough to pay half of my bills each month, eat like a mouse and pay for the petrol to get me to work to earn the money to pay half of my bills... Now that I have some, I still hate it. I still find myself wishing I could pull a 'Tom & Barbara' and live a blissfully simple life trading eggs for sugar, carrots for loo roll and a smile for whatever I can get! But, alas, they only managed to achieve their 'Good Life' because they had had plenty of money previously and thus owned an enormous house and garden outright. To be honest, without a huge rent/mortgage payment each month, who couldn't enjoy their life to a far greater extent? I know I blooming well could, without having to convert my garden into a potato farm.<br />
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And if work and money weren't bad enough, there's always job-hunting to add to the list of woes. Not for me (well, not until this evening as a way of cleansing myself of the hideous day I had endured). The biggest problem, it seems, is looking for a job when you a) don't want one (not because you want to slack off watching Jeremy Kyle, rather you don't want to work for someone else) and b) you have no idea what you want to do. This is posing a problem for the man in my life and as the garden leave has come to an end, we are now living on borrowed time before my second point - Money - becomes a real pain in the ass. Furthermore, my delicious daydreams earlier of walking out of the office and never going back are far more dream than reality when it pays 100% of our current income. I couldn't feel more imprisoned if I worked for HMP.<br />
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All of the above (and a hundred other bug-bears) account for it being nearly 4:00am with me wide-awake, unable to drift off into my slumber. Here's hoping the glass of milk I have just consumed and the aromatherapy sleep potion I have applied liberally to my pillow will at least ease the symptoms enough to out-weigh the stresses which are fast-becoming my nemeses.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3454474477464267032.post-42728103785407317762011-01-04T19:27:00.000-08:002011-01-04T19:53:54.075-08:002011 - This is the yearOr at least it is supposed to be.<br />
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So how did this year begin? A year that felt as though it were the first spring dawn after a harsh winter. A year which brought much-anticipated hope; a release from the weights of 2010. A year in which our lives would crank up a notch - careers, family, finances. This oh-so-special year began when I fell in a river on New Year's Day whilst out hill-walking with my family and the future 'in-laws', of course. Perfect. The wonderful evening which followed involved baking my phone on a radiator until it was safe to replace the battery without fear of combustion, trying desperately to warm my cockles (bum, legs and feet to be more anatomically precise) and wondering whether the ankle agony would keep me company throughout 2011 or was merely a house-guest for the end of the festive period.<br />
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Of course, things have improved in the last four days. The ankle has regained movement (minus the excruciating pain) however said pain seems to have stopped-off in my foot and is making itself comfortable for a longer stay than was anticipated. Bugger. And that's about it. Possibly the only silver lining so far.<br />
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Today...I returned to work after a glorious two-week break. And as if it weren't enough of a shock to the system, our inspirational, motivational, "New year, fresh opportunities"-team briefing didn't quite hit the mark. No, I exaggerate the positivity of this activity. In fact, it was atrocious. Talk about kicking you when you're not just down but already looking for that bright light and the beckoning of angels to draw you away from the horrors of reality!<br />
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No-one's allowed to be ill, need a routine medical appointment, make plans for outside of working hours (which seem to have crept up by another half an hour or so each day), have a life, family or any interests which cannot be pursued whilst also working. Lovely. The fact that half of it is blatantly in contravention of employment law isn't even the worst of it. It all seems to boil down to the fact that I have clearly, although inadvertently, signed my soul away to the Beelzebub and in so doing have taken a vow of a) no fun whatsoever, and b) only ever look after number one, screw anyone else because it is you who will receive a b***ocking if you fail to be sufficiently blood-thirsty. Happy New Year!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02647171257979900006noreply@blogger.com0