My First Attempt at Jam

Is the full moon over yet folks? I couldn't tell with all that cloud cover last night. But I can't stand much more of this cleaning lark. Yesterday, I was forced to clean out the fridge and, as a consequence, for the first time in my 46 years I did what millions of women have done before me - I made jam.

Now, come on, avoiding making jam for 46 years is pretty good isn't it? Especially when you're a full time housewife. If it takes me another 46 years to build up the courage for a second batch - I wouldn't actually do it - as I'd be dead. A comforting thought.

I should say that I made jam because we had a surplus of strawberries in the fridge due to the boys having a sudden desire for fruit smoothies - and then suddenly not having a desire for fruit smoothies. Kids they're so fickle aren't they? So I had three tubs of strawberries, including one mega box from Costco. That's a lot of strawberries.

Anyway, I followed this recipe which was the first hit that came up on Google (you can tell I did a lot of research) and I made the sticky stuff. I got a bit confused with how long I had to boil the fruit and sugar for until after about 90 mins I realised that the preparation time said 70 minutes so by a process of deduction if it was 60 mins for simmering the strawberries before adding the sugar, the boiling time need only be 10 mins. So since I'd already simmered the strawberries for 90 minutes (just to be on the safe side), boiled it for a further 90 minutes, plus another 15- 30 for generally making a sticky mess, making little paper thingies and and sterilizing jars, all in all, it was just short of 4 hours for 3 and a half pots of jam.

Hmmm.... it's probably just as well I don't do this kind of stuff often. I wouldn't win any prizes for output.

So here's a piccy of my first attempt at jam:

I should point out that I had none of those pretty paper things your suppose to put over the top so I made my own with some Star Wars wrapping paper. George Lucas would be proud of me.

Now, I did think about auctioning off my jam for charity but then I got a little worried that during transportation things might get a little...runny. I'll check it out tomorrow - since it's boiled for so long it might actually be so hard that folks will break their teeth on it.

Anyway, the boys ate the half jar last night. All of it. Master Jacob said it was "the best jam I've ever tasted."

Hmm... I not sure what he's after but no doubt I'll find out soon enough. Either that or he's got sinusitis.

Strange Goings On in The Turley Household

"Don't let your mother outside Boys. There's a full moon. Things are bad enough anyway."

It's true. For several days I have been feeling "odd" and it doesn't appear to be PMT. Strangely, I've been drawn to the night sky, mesmerized by the fullness of the moon. Spine tingling shivers have alternated with sudden bouts of feverish activity. At night, the ever cautious Mr T has chained me to the bed - worried that whilst he snores his wife might be carving up celebrity chefs. And, in the mornings, when he's seen all is not lost I've been set free to roam the house, wandering amongst the rooms like some lost, forlorn soul.

What's been wrong with me?

This morning, Readers, it finally dawned on me what the problem has been and what I had to do about it.

So, with a sense of urgency, I pulled on my tracksuit bottoms, tied the laces on my trainers and set my stopwatch. I unlocked the front door and stepped outside, taking a deep breath ready to face an almost insurmountable task; a challenge I had not faced since the last supermoon in 1995. It was a challenge that would require all my skill, tenacity, courage and discipline. It would need every ounce of  Mrs T's determination and guts to see it through to the very end....




I vacuumed out my car.

He's Good, He's Bad, He's Master Benedict

So I was on way back from tennis last night with the boys. It's Master Ben's turn to sit in the front seat. We're listening to a Michael Jackson CD  so I've already had a series of whoops and squeals from the Young Master in true Michael Jackson style...

Suddenly, he turns to me and says;

Mum? Have you ever seen a person with no arms or no legs?

(Obviously had been thinking about Michael Jackson's sorties into plastic surgery - I can think of no other explanation.)

Mrs T: Why, yes. (Pause) In fact, I was at school who a girl who only had one hand. She had a false, plastic one that she wore... and at dinner time she used to unscrew it and screw in a fork.

Master Ben: Didn't you have nightmares?

Mrs T: No. Why would I?

Master Ben: Didn't you dream she unscrewed it and screwed in a chainsaw?

Mrs T:  (Laughing) Umm... No.

Master Ben: A Bazooka?

Mrs T (Laughing) No!

Okay, so then Master Ben worked his way through about half a dozen weapons (with accompanying sound effects and visual demonstrations.) Eventually he fell silent and we listen to MJ again.

Pause.

Master Ben: Mummy?

Mrs T: Yes?

Master Ben: Do you think if everyone in the world moved onto one side of the world and farted the earth would shoot across the other side of the galaxy?

Mrs T: (Laughing) Um... No!

Okay, so that was followed by an even more bizarre conversation about global warming. And if that isn't enough, I got home and looked at my brother in law's wedding photographs and there's a picture of Master Ben standing next to my brother in law with his face dramatically poised over the edge of my brother in law's beer glass.

Blimey, I tell you this boy is trouble. I might even post a video of him next week doing his Michael Jackson impersonation on his newly acquired treadmill. It's a corker, I can tell you.

Trouble in the Office (Advice Wanted)

Right you lot get your thinking caps on. Mrs T's friend, who shall be known as Mrs Doe, needs some advice on a tricky situation at work.

Let me explain:

Mrs Doe has been working in the same job for a good few years. It's a specialized job and requires quite a lot of time in a small, confined room. Mostly, Mrs Doe is by herself but sometimes with a male colleague. Mrs Doe works part time so she doesn't see this gentlemen all the time so when they meet he is always pleased to see her and quite generous in his greetings - in that he likes to hug her and give a peck on the cheek. Now this friendly greeting has been going on for a number of years and although Mrs Doe is not really comfortable with it, she has accepted that it's part of his nature and with him being in a happy (in so far as she knows) relationship she thought there was nothing to worry about.

Or is there?

A couple of weeks ago she had reason to call him on the phone regarding a work matter. There was no answer and after a while she was able to resolve the problem and no further contact was necessary. However, the next day he politely texts and apologizes and enquires what the problem was. She replies that everything is taken care of and that no further action is required. Then she gets a text that reads;

So, no chance of gratuitous sex then?

Now Mrs Doe is a little disturbed by this and not sure if it's a joke or not. So she decides to ignore it and the following day he texts saying "You do realise that was a joke?" Mrs Doe decides that it probably was and texts back to that effect.

All well and good. Everything back to normal.

Until they meet again in their small, confined office. The gentlemen is the same as usual with his effervescent greeting.... but somehow or other he also manages to slip his arm round her waist. Nothing more. It's a momentary touch....but now Mrs Doe is not sure that the text was just a joke. Was he just testing the waters? Alarm bells begin to ring.

Now Mrs Doe likes her job, it's very convenient and fits in well her family commitments. She also likes her colleague but being very happily married she's not up for gratuitous sex. What's more, she's not even sure if what has happened means anything at all and whether it was just a series of unfortunate events. Was it a joke that went wrong and he's tried to make up for it, not realising his behaviour is even more inappropriate? Hmm. Questions, questions....

Now Mrs Doe asked Mrs T for her advice.Obviously I thought we should job share but Mrs Doe thought that maybe I wasn't ideally suited to a specialized job. She kindly refrained saying "Any job" so I took the refusal quite well. Humph. Anyway, so my initial thought was that until the point where there was the touching business  it was probably a joke - that's how I would have taken it. Although I have to say that if Mrs Doe was uncomfortable with all the hugging and kissing beforehand, even though it seemed inoffensive, that could have been the women's early warning system triggering off. But now, after the second incident even Mrs T is not so sure...

So what do you lot think? What should Mrs Doe do, if anything? Should she clear the air and, if so, how? Or should she bide her time and see what happens? One thing Mrs Doe does not want is for the situation to escalate or to be put in a position where she feels so uncomfortable she has to leave her job. So what should she do?

So let's have some thoughts please both Gentlemen and Ladies please!

( Don't forget - those of you who normally read but don't comment you can leave a comment anonymously or under a pseudonym. Let's give Mrs Doe some help here!)

Another Embarrassing Moment for Mrs T

What do children talk about at school? It's worrying when you believe you're teaching your children the right manners and behaviour and then they come under the influence of others and start to say and do things that you had no idea they were capable of. Take the following story for example...

On Thursday, I was at the tennis club with Master Ben who'd just had a lesson with a new coach, Coach Mark. Ben's next lesson should have been on the coming Saturday with his main coach but he was off representing the county. The following conversation ensued:

Mrs T: I wonder Coach Mark whether you could fill in on Saturday?

Coach Mark: I'm afraid not Mrs T, it's my birthday and my wife is taking me into London for a treat. 

Mrs T: Oh well never mind. Actually it's my birthday on Sunday too. Happy Birthday to us! Hurrah! (Yes, I do talk like that. It's sad.)

Master Ben (Relaxing on settee after lesson but still listening): It's your birthday on Sunday?

Mrs T: Yes! And don't get me any chocolates or sweets, I'm back on my diet.

Master Ben (with total deadpan face): So, you want a sex toy then?

Mrs T (Face aghast, momentarily speechless): ........Master Ben!

Much laughter at Mrs T's expense ensues around tennis pavilion...

Mrs T: I don't know where he gets this stuff from, I swear! Whose telling him this stuff at school?

Mrs N: I don't know Mrs T. The other day Miss K came back from school and said "Mum you know these STDs...."

Mrs T: Stop Mrs N! Master Ben's ears are like radar! Look at him!

Everyone looks at Master Ben whose looking particularly smug, knowing he's deliberately dropped his mother in the proverbial shite.

Mrs T; Yes your ears, Master Ben, are like radar!

( I should point out at this juncture that Master Ben has large (but cute) ears and until I can afford to have them pinned back I'm toughening up for any teasing that might happen at school.)

Master Ben: My ears?

Mrs T: They're beautiful, son. And next time we go to war with Germany, they'll stick you on the beaches as an early warning system. You'll be a prize commodity!

(Yes, I did say that. Just in case you wondering.)

Yes so, where do children get explicit knowledge from? I allow my children to watch degrees of violence but I like to think I moderate it to what I believe is a reasonable level. Children grow up far too fast, in my opinion, without being exposed to a diet of tawdry soap operas and violent, sexual films. Children should stay children for as long as possible. What's happened to parental responsibility? Is everyone just too busy working or so self absorbed to care? Look, I'm not really bothered about Master Ben knowing about sex toys, he's smart, savvy and well adjusted. But what about more vulnerable children? How will they cope? How ARE they coping? I look around me at society and there's a lot of things I don't actually like going on, particularly amongst the youth. So many children falling on the wayside, corrupted by society's failings...

Anyway, it's difficult to be cross with Master Ben because he's very clever and funny too. I could tell that he'd dropped me in it deliberately and that it wasn't an innocent remark. He got his laughs! I'm afraid he's inherited my sense of humour and well what can I say...but he's my son. In fact, here's another story that proves how clever he is and which Mr T related to me on Saturday.

Mr T and Master Ben are in the car on their way to town.

Mr T: What shall we get Mum for her birthday?

Master Ben; (deadpan) Washing powder?

There, that proves it. The kid's a comedian. He'll do anything for the joke. It also proves for a 10 year old he know his parents too well. Hmm.

Okay, on a final note: Unfortunately, I didn't get any interesting "toys" for my birthday. But Mr T gave me an ipod, Master Jacob gave me a ipod case, Master Ben gave me a packet of chilli Doritos and a jar of dip, Master Sam forgot.

Excellent.

Today I shall run around the block, listening to music and scoffing Doritos. And when I stop for a breath I'll text Master Sam and tell him I've stopped the direct debit.

An Audio Walkabout

Yesterday, after our family wedding in Ireland and a few further weeks of self indulgence, I finally stood on the scales.

And I stood on the scales.

And I stood on the scales.

And I stood on the scales.

When I'd recovered from the heart attack I thought to myself;

You stupid, stupid woman.

Okay, so I think that most days. But yesterday I really meant it. I mean, a couple of biscuits and a glass of wine and wham bam I'm half a stone heavier! It's that perimenopause I tell you, screwing up my system. So it's back to the diet of bran and yogurt and walking for at least an hour a day. Groan, groan, groan. Why me? Why couldn't I have been born some svelte-like willowy creature, instead of a tub of lard?

Anyway, so I put on my tracksuit and prepared to steel myself against the bitter wind. Then I had a thought, why not be daring Mrs T and try something new?

So I took off all my clothes and headed down the street....

No, seriously. I didn't. Although it may have crossed my mind. Instead, I decided I'd borrow Master Benedict's ipod and download an audio book. Daring, daring stuff I hear you say. What next? An electronic egg whisker for Mrs T? Well I popped onto itunes and looked at the the first few pages of the latest fiction releases...

The Red Queen by Philppa Gregory. Now I fancied that as I really enjoyed The Other Boleyn Girl. But £15.95? No can do Ms Gregory. Not for an experiment. I could buy 3 paperbacks for that price.

Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks. A great book but I've already read it. And listening to all that despair and gloom again? I might find myself under the wheels of a 10 ton truck.

The King's Speech by Mark Logue. Nope - as I was going to see it at the cinema that very night! And very good it was too. Colin Firth was first class and by the time I came out I was almost waving the Union Jack and singing Rule Britannia. Ah... A little jingoism does the soul good!

The Lollipop Shoes by Joanne Harris. Nope. Sorry. I was bored stiff by Chocolat, despite it starting off at a major advantage by possessing a rather attractive title. Darn good marketing ploy. I'm going to try it myself - I reckon if just rename my book Maltesers than should be enough to win that critic over. Unless she's a diabetic.

The Tycoon Takes A Wife by Catherine Mann. Hmm. I don't think that title is interesting enough. If it was The Tycoon Takes Several Wives I might have been tempted. But alas, only one wife in the usual wet rag of a woman meets self made millionaire I didn't know who I was till I met you! scenario isn't enough to whet my palette, let alone wet my knickers.

Pictures of Lily by Paige Toon. Alas, for obvious reasons, I didn't think that would work too well on audio. Stupid name as well. Hope it's a pseudonym.

Distant Voices by Barbara Eskine.  Ditto.

Miss Winthrope's Elopment by Christine Merrill. I could never in a million years purchase a book with such a stupid title. Somebody buys this stuff? Get a life! Try The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie if you must read about frustrated spinsters. Oh read this. Says it all.

Part of the Furniture by Mary Wesley. Okay...cover your ears. But f***k me that sounds boring. Somebody fire Wesley's publicist.

Electricity by Ray Robinson. Ah ha. Now we're getting interesting. I've already got Electricity sitting on my shelf waiting to read. Anything else? Yep, his latest novel, Forgetting Zoe, which comes highly recommended by Scott Pack. (Also I've a little self interest as Ray was one of the judges in Gary's writing competition that judged my flash fiction a piece of genius. Yeah, so okay, that's a little big headed of me. But hey, I'm on a morale boosting session! I need it! Just bear with me now. Remember the hormones, the weight gain and the critic. Have some sympathy.) Anyway,
Forgetting Zoe  is affordable at £6.95, so I decided to go for it.




So eventually, after much fiddling around with Master Ben's headphone thingys, (I wasn't aware that I had funny shaped ears till now) I set off on my walk and, blow me, did I have a shock. Well Ray Robinson is a bloke but it was read by an American woman! Who sounded just like Heather! (Go listen to one of her podcasts) Okay, okay the story is set in America but well you know I just didn't expect it.... I guess I was thinking of... Colin Firth? You know, stiff upper lip Brit, classically trained, proves he can do an American accent... I dunno. Sometimes I confuse myself.

Anyway, I'm off walking at a pace round the village trying hard to focus on the story. I found concentrating  pretty tricky as my brain just wanders off into its own small, peculiar world. Now there's a surprise. There's also the problem that when you're out walking there's lots of things to look at - like grass and stuff. That made it somewhat difficult for me...

Oh look  at the grass, and that tree and that car Mrs T! Watch out for that dog muck too! And don't look behind you, you might be followed by a strange dog. I wonder if Daniel Craig lives round here and will see my bottom as he drives past in his Aston? Mind that manhole cover now....

You know, I think there's actually an art to listening to audios which I haven't developed yet. I need to keep on trying.

It didn't help either that after a while I got really cold, stuck my hands in the my pocket and all of a sudden I heard this;



At this point, I decided it was time to head back home for a good old fashioned book. I shan't give up though, Readers. The night is young, the flesh is weak but Mrs T paid £6.95 and I'm gonna get to the end of if even it kills me. (It probably will too, as I can't hear the traffic.)

Pilates, Feng Shui and Early Morning Rantings (Yes, I know, it's a problem.)

It's 3 am. I'm cold and I can't sleep. Therefore I'm allowed to rant and be excused.

Now, I'm not saying the woman who critiqued my novel has no sense of humour but I bet even Bugs Bunny would get short shrift from her.

Bring it on Bugs that's what I say. Floppy ears and big teeth does it for me all the time. (And those silky ears can do wonders for your sex life as well.)

I think I should date Charlie Sheen actually. He's one hell of a comedian - whichever way you look at it. I would love to interview him. I reckon after a few drinks and we got talking about his dad and that great film Apocalypse Now I could easily get Charlie to pretend he was a helicopter and whizz around the studio making buzzy noises.

A tenner says I could do it.

Twenty says I could get him to drop his pants and pledge allegiance to Bugs Bunny.

Easy Money.

Humour is a very personal thing isn't it? I mean, I pretty much enjoy all sorts of humour, including slapstick, both verbal and visual. But the other day some folks and I were chatting at the tennis centre and one parent was saying how he disliked Steve Martin and Jim Carrey. He didn't even like that classic film Airplane.

And he was serious!

I reckon he has a part time job as a book critic.

Now the advice I've been given on my novel which is cross genre is to write in one genre only and obviously (she didn't actually say this but I sort of picked it up from her use of words) don't write anything funny or which might be misconstrued as fatuous, shallow and trite.

Oh alright. Let's all be serious all of the time. In fact, just to add to sense of seriousness why don't we all wear sackclothes and stick our hands in a tub of boiling tar!

Hmm.. I guess that's kind of fatuous eh?

Anyway, I have a dilemma. How do you fit a square peg in a round hole? How does Mrs T make herself not what she is? No can do folks, not for the sake of publication. Sure, I can develop characters more, put the humour more in context perhaps but never to write it? Never to make a silly joke? I might as well throw myself in that tub of boiling tar. No more jokes about Quasimodo having a nice set of bells, no more laughing at the thought of Charlie Sheen pretending he's a helicopter, no more laughing when folks trip over on the pavement.

Dear God, I might as well hang myself now. Or take up pilates.

Hmm... Maybe I should take up plates and yoga? They're supposed to be calming aren't they? Isn't pilates supposed to make you get better posture and look taller? I could do with looking taller. Then my arse wouldn't look so big.

Yes, that's the answer. I must take up pilates, buy some incense and smelly candles and do some chanting - that should make me calm down. I'm not sure I can sit cross legged though. I mean that would be like being back at school again and Mr T might remove my personal allowance and just give me dinner money.

Feng shui. I guess I could try that too. Isn't Feng Shui the idea that you move all your furniture around in order to get postive vibes? Hmm... I guess I sort of do that at the moment anyway. Well, you know, it's much easier to push the sofa a little forwards than actually do the vacuuming. That always gives me positive vibes. And I regularly put the toy boxes under the beds. That gotta be good for you, hasn't it?

Yeah, I don't think I need to any more Feng Shui. I mean what if I put the my bed up against the window? Mr T might be tempted. I dunno if I could do it to him. I mean he's not that bad really.

Hmm, what else could I try to calm me down? Beta blockers I suppose. But there for your heart really and this is a problem with my brain. Tranquilsers! Yep, that's what I need. That should do the trick!

Ah, tis a pity though. I did really fancy flying with Charlie Sheen.