My First Limerick

There once was a girl born in Hackney
Near Bow Bells - a genuine cockney!
Every day she would look
In the ladybird book
Just to torment her lovely John Oakey!

Klose Enkounters of the KiKiKind

"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."

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'.

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...

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!)

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.

All I can liken it to is 'love at first sight' (without the sex).

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).

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).

How do we end up with people in our lives - in whichever capacity - who just seem to fit? Divine intervention? Fate? Serendipity?

Reckon if K and I pondered this over a few Raspberripolitans we could come up with the answers...might forget the question though.

An EPIC Party, summer 2008 (c) Sarah Grimwood 2013

How the caretaker almost lost his life

As 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.

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.

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!

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.

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'.

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!

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.

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".

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!

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.

Erm...

I sit here. Boyfriend out of the way. Baby sleeping soundly. Pretty Woman for background company. Laptop in front of me (iPad & mobile adjacent).
I am literate. Highly-opinionated. Articulate by nature. A true lover of language and expression.
And I find myself on mute. Nothing to say. Or rather, no specific subject in mind. Why is this?
I can only surmise that it is, in fact, caused by having too many things to say. Having just (9.5 weeks ago but I'm sure I can get away with 'just' for a little while longer) 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).
One can only hope this will pass as the knot untangles and the threads return to coherent thoughts & opinions.
Watch this space...my next blog could be about cucumbers, jet engines or the state of modern telephone directories.
Interesting times ahead.

Silence 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.
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?"
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.
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.
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.

Distance

I 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.
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.
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).

I miss him.

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...

T-bloody-mesis

Tmesis. What a great word (for one) and (secondly) what a fabulous little linguistic phenomenon.

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.

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.