Introducing Miss Pixie Lott

I've got so many blogs waiting to write - if only I had more time! I could write one every day but I've got too much to do - take for example this morning I have a tennis lesson with the lovely young Simon which (cough, cough) must take priority...... well you know my backhand does need improving... and of course I'm doing this for the boys so that I can play better with them as its become rather embarrassing being beaten by a 10 year old. And of course one day I also hope to beat the lovely Mrs D, my friend the tennis coach, in a game of finely tuned skills, strength and cunnning strategy. (Calling all her shots "out" and cutting the strings on her racquet.)

After tennis it's the hairdressers where I will be humbly apologizing for forgetting to go to my last appointment which was March 5th. I don't normally bother making appointments in advance because I have a habit of ..well..forgetting. But I thought I'd be able to remember that one as it was the day before my birthday and every gal wants to look good on her b-day doesn't she?

Well every gal except me obviously. Now that I look like Worzel Gummidge I thought I'd better have it cut. Blimey Mr T doesn't realise how lucky he is having a wife who hasn't had her hair cut since January!

Have you noticed that once I start writing I can't stop? I only popped in here to introduce to you Miss Pixie Lott who at the tender age of 18 is forecasted here to be the next singing sensation. Have a look and see what you think!



Not sure? Let's have another look...



Hmm... somehow I don't think One Republic and Gary Barlow will be complaining.

See you all soon for some silliness!

Little Miss Tigga (aka The Cat from Hell)

Yes, Miss Tigga was the ultimate Cat from Hell but you know folks I was more than a little fond of her.

Above is a piccy of Tigga aged about 12 months, along with Master Sam aged about 3 months. As you can see at this stage she was still pretty curious about the new arrival and in this particular photo was staking her claim to be in no 1 pole position in my affections. Fortunately, after circling Master Sam's cot on top of the rails about a thousand times (she used to walk around the bath rim as well and once fell in) she realised he was not going to feed her and cater to her every whim so I didn't have many worries about her invading his space. Instead, Miss Tigga took to biting my ankles and scratching the doors for my attention.... sometimes if she was a little too enthusiastic I had a indoor plant spray that I was forced to use in the early hours just to get some rest!

I don't think Tigga grew any more after this photo and was probably the smallest cat I've ever seen. Quite often she would leap upon my back or shoulders when I was least expecting it and sit on my shoulder like a parrot where she would peruse the surroundings or make the occasional leap to the wardrobe for an even greater vantage point. My legs, arms and back frequently bore the scars of her surprise attacks; a more wily adversary could not be found! And I'm afraid that even Mrs T whose verbal wit has reduce many to the a jelly-like state was no match for Tigga, the ultimate Cat from Hell.

But you know folks, even though she drove me bonkers, especially in this last year as her health declined, I guess she'll always have a special place in my heart because her love was totally unconditional and I'm so glad that on Friday morning when she didn't appear I found her in time to say our last goodbyes. In the end it was just her and me - as she always wanted.

It's hard when you know the inevitable is waiting round the corner and the loss of Tigga, despite her frustrating ways, has been hanging over for me for a long time. There isn't a good way to die; I lost my mother suddenly and dramatically and my father in a long drawn out battle against cancer and medical negligence. Each was traumatic in very different ways. However, what I have learnt is that is very good to have those you love around you.

And even though she was only a cat, I'm so glad that I was able to be there for Tigga, my little feline friend.

Music Monday; X rated!

The song I'm playing today is one of my favourites for getting into the groove and boy what a sexy little number it is! I'd like to think that I looked as good as the young ladies in this video but alas the curlers, pinny and 50 denier tights just don't have the same effect. Shame. But in my mind well.....you know...things are a lot better.....

Just a Little by Liberty X was released in 2001 when they were running high from their failure in the reality show Popstars. Yep ... that's failure. This is because the band comprised the five losing finalists. Bizarrely, the winning five contestants who landed a prized record contract went onto to abysmal failure after their intial popularity and sank without trace in about 18 months as the floptastic group Hear'Say. In contrast Liberty X stayed together until 2006 and although they have now officially separated continue to do the odd performance for charity.

Enjoy!

Come join Music Monday and share your songs with us. One simple rule, leave ONLY the actual post link here. You can grab this code at LJL Please note these links are STRICTLY for Music Monday participants only. All others will be deleted without prejudice.

Maths defies Logic!

Okay, okay I know I haven't exactly had a good track record in the car department of late but it's not my fault. Really.

Did I tell you about the time I managed to avoid a boat trailer on the M1? (That's a very busy UK motorway if you're not familiar with our terminology.) It had detached from the car in front and was wavering about all over the motorway. Yep, somehow I managed to avoid it without causing a pile up. Amazing! I admit though that Young Master Jacob may have had his hands over his face and may have been screaming words to the effect of "We are all going to die!" (He's watched Zulu too many times.)

Right, what was I going to talk about before I got sidetracked on that bit of conceited "make myself feel better at driving because no one else does will do it for me" routine?

Ah yes. Maths, logic....and driving; they do not compute. Well, not in my brain with its thespian inclinations. In fact, to compensate for my lack of mathematical skills I did a maths course a couple of years back which incorporated logic, numbers, circles, squares and other dull and confusing stuff. In fact it was soooo hideously boring I was almost compelled to start listening to classical music as therapy. However, I restrained myself and opted for breaking my chocolate into pieces and methodically counting them into my mouth with the purpose of seeing if 1/3 pie X 250g sq dark chocolate= 1 cm expansion of my tummy. (That's apple pie obviously, not 3.14)

Oh and the answer is "Yes" by the way.

Ummm.. I should say at this juncture my apologies for any weird meanderings in this post folks -the kids have gone back to school today and my mind is all over the place - that's what euphoria does to you. Anyway, the maths course also had some revisionary stuff about working out speeds, distances and miles per hour etc etc for the idiots who had forgotten it. (i.e - me) Therefore, unsurprisingly, I 've now forgotten all the formulas again but I have worked out that whilst in theory it all seemed to make sense, in real life such formulas are complete rubbish.

Take for instance a few weeks back when the clocks went forward (Yes, I know it's a Brit thing - does anyone else do it?) I found myself in the awkward situation of having to be at a tennis tournament on a Sunday morning and needing to travel 43 miles in 50 minutes or risk the wrath of Master Benedict's team mates. ( And believe me those racquets can hurt a botty at close range.) Now theoretically, if I travelled at 48 miles per hour I should have got there with a few minutes to spare. Yes??

Okay I actually got there in 48 minutes. BUT (and it's a big BUT) for most of the journey I was travelling at a speed in excess of 48 mph.

Yes, whilst I was driving along the (nice, clear) motorway I fell into one of those Mrs T dream-like stances and IMAGINED I was travelling at 85mph.... in fact at one point at the height of my dream I IMAGINED that little pointy thingy on the speedometer was even higher. I even DREAMT that Master Benedict was in the back crying "Go faster, faster!!" I DREAMT that small little Renault Clios and those disgusting Smart Cars (which look like they get to the end of the production line and then someone drops a really big hammer on them) were just fading into the distance as I sailed past them. And I'm not even going to mention the cheetahs on the inside lane......

So tell me if you had a dream like that - where for approximately 5 miles you travelled at a speed averaging between 30 and 50 mph and then for the remainder you were like....going really, really fast.... how come I.... how come you.... didn't get to your destination quicker? Uh huh? Someone please explain.....

Humph. What's more none of these speed/distance formulas mention the other contributory factor that so often accounts for your journey taking twice as long as normal. Yep, you know the one I mean....

Yeah.....SUNDAY DRIVERS

I'm sorry but people who drive at 30 mph in a 60mph zone drive me nuts! Inevitably, a huge queue of traffic builds up behind these people. Drivers who are normally completely sane start to make dangerous manoeuvres to overtake in the vague hope that they can complete their journey before the end of the century. Passengers throw themselves out of windows screaming "I can't take anymore!" or are forced to urinate in plastic bottles because they know it will be at least another 2 hours before the Sunday Driver looks in his mirror and sees a queue as long as the Mississippi behind him and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might be causing a hold-up. Yep, Sunday Drivers are sooo slow that even the farmers towing a year's supply of hay behind them consider stabbing themselves to death with their pitch forks because even they can go faster.

It's no wonder farmers have a high rate of suicide - It must be hell for them stuck behind a Sunday Driver. Imagine the top speed in your tractor is 35 miles mph and there's some nincompoop in front of you doing 29mph? The frustration! Instead of having the cows milked, the field ploughed and the sheep sheared bymidday you'll still be sitting behind a 1973 Ford Cortina while the 75 year old occupant is trying to shift between first and second gear and his wife is unpacking the picnic basket in the front seat. Let's face it, in those situations sticking a pitchfork through your brain would be an easy death compared to a long drawn out descent into mental illness and ultimately shutting yourself inside your cab and suffocating yourself on petrol fumes.....

Yes, you can probably gather Iget stuck behind a lot of Sunday Drivers........

Okay there's another missing factor too...

ROADWORKS

Look, I don't mind about essential roadworks but what about all these roadworks where there's entire lanes closed for miles and miles and not a workman in sight and not even a trace of pothole???

WHAT ARE THEY DOING?

Is it some sort of government conspiracy to give me a heart attack? I dunno....Perhaps at midnight a fleet of helicopters sporting giant floodlights arrives and deposits a team of masked workman who "work" solidly all night long sipping tea and munching biscuits.......

But there IS one thing worse than inexplicable roadworks and that is...

BEING STUCK BEHIND A SUNDAY DRIVER IN ROADWORKS.

Noooooooooooooooooo!

Yep, last Bank Holiday I was off with both the Young Masters for yet another tennis tournament. The roads were virtually empty. Hurrah, hurrah! I was in seventh heaven believing I would get to my destination on time. In fact I hadn't felt so ecstatic since the last time I'd squeezed my arse in a pair of size 10 trousers.

But no, it was not to be.

The greater part of this journey (a regular of mine) is in a 60mph zone with a short duel carriageway (70mph) in case there's a surplus of tractors. But today ALL the 60 mph zone has been reduced to a 40 mph for some INVISIBLE roadworks..... and what happens?

Yep, you guessed it...

I got stuck behind the Sunday Driver plodding along at 38mph.

I want to grow wings.

Copyright Jane Turley 2009

Experimenting with writing.

As some of you are aware I have been experimenting with my writing. A while back I wrote a short story which was published on The View From Here which I've now also published below it's called In the Wink of an Eye. It marks quite a different departure for me as it's a war story which has quite a surreal element to it. It is also written in the Second Person; an idea which I'd been toying with for sometime but finally got the push to do it when I read that Georgie was experimenting with it too.

I'm sure that this story won't be to everyone's taste, especially as people are used to me being pretty silly, but any feedback is welcome, either positive or negative. I enjoy exploring different ideas, situations and emotions as much as I like writing humorous material. In fact, my book is turning out to be a combination of the humour and suspense - so I'm not exactly sure whether there will be a market for it! On Gary's advice I've sent the first 3 chapters to a professional critique service that he has used; I guess it will be pretty interesting to hear what they say. In the meantime I'll just keep on writing!

( Ps: There's plenty more silly stuff to come. And you won't believe this but I had one of those strange mystical experiences again the other day when I took the young masters to the zoo - I discovered something quite amazing... but you're gonna have to wait to find out! In the meantime you can always check out my latest BBC article Easter Bunny Blues for a giggle or two.)

In the Wink of an Eye

Caterpillar tracks. Fresh, impressed deep in the sucking mud. The enemy lurks nearby, somewhere close. You can feel them in your bones, taunting you.

A stench of sickly sulphur, fetid corpses and manic fear hangs in the air. Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Your heart pounds, trickles of sweat run down your grimy face. Anxiously you glance around, dilated pupils flickering over ravaged trees, burning trucks and smoldering wreckage. You pause only a second longer on the decapitated head of Sean Watts. Poor bastard.

You take another look. Fuck. Did he wink at you?

Sinking down into the mire, wet sludge clings onto your combats like curds of brown rancid butter. The heavy backpack weighs you down pushing you deeper into the sodden earth. Stay alive, stay hidden. Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Duty calls, there’s no time for sentiment or grief. Remember your training. Block out Sean’s face stricken in macabre astonishment.

But you wonder if he knows something that you don’t.

Fight, not flight. You crawl across the slime, belly wet, face blackened with stripes like a serpent of death and find Sergeant Hughes crouched in a shell hole. Where to now Sarge? No reply. You push his shoulder. Now what Sarge? Then you notice the warm stickiness on your fingers, the hands clasping a split stomach, slippery entrails protruding through bloody fingers. You slump back, breath short.

So Sean did know.

An eerie whistle screams overhead, the earth shakes, explodes. Mud rains down like a plague of locusts, consuming you. Pinpricks of rainbow light appear before your eyes and the sun begins to shine through the wetness. Heat spreads through your limbs and torso.

Ring, ring ring. You shake your head furiously. Ring, ring, ring. It’s 8.50 am. Your knees are grubby from the fall. Don’t get messy before school Robbie. Clean up quickly before the teacher sees you. Hurry, before you line up. You struggle to your feet, body aching as a voice calls across the playground. Robbie! Robbie! Too late. You’re in trouble now.

But it’s not the teacher, it’s Karen. She runs towards you, arms outstretched, white veil billowing behind, the train of her dress catching on thorny shrubs. A small boy follows, thumb in mouth, clasping a toy rabbit by the foot, the long soft ears stroking the uneven ground. You drop your gun and reach out to greet them, overjoyed. Karen, Tommo, I’m here! But Karen runs passed, across the pitted clearing and back into the woods. Tommo trails after her, mud squelching through his toes.

And Superman on his pyjamas winks at you.

The ringing fades as you hear the crushing of undergrowth, the tearing of branches, an unmistakable throbbing, pulling engine. Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Shouts, screams, rise above the shuddering ground. A grey, hideous monster appears, compressing debris, churning the earth. It strikes fear in you standing defenceless in its deadly shadow. Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. You turn to run and wonder if God is on your side.

When you awake you hear gentle murmuring in your ear and distant echoing voices. You feel warmth, comfort. Safe at last. Maybe God was on your side. Slowly, you open your eyes, blurred shapes move to and fro. Gradually you begin to focus on the black silhouette at your side, the white collar, the familiar face.

And then he winks at you.

Hello Mate.


© Copyright Jane Turley 2009

Photograph courtesy of K M Ellen/Flickr

Music Monday; Seven beautiful seconds.

I first heard the song I'm playing today back in 1994 when it was an international hit and I'm not sure quite what is is about this song but it has really got under my skin - in a positive way. It has a quite a repetitive beat and lyrics which is nothing new in a song obviously but I never get tired listening to it. Vocally, there are no highs or lows it's just very melodic and easy to listen to and it's just slipped under my skin and every time I hear it I want to hear it over and over again.

I think sometimes videos add to the addictiveness and potency of a song but whilst looking for this song on You Tube I realised that I'd never actually seen the accompanying video. But actually it is quite an interesting one made simply in black and white and just concentrating on the faces of the two singers who have a sort of quiet passion about them; visually and harmonically I think this song works really well as a duet; it adds to the subtle strength of this song. As the video progresses the faces of the singers are interspersed with faces of adults and children from many different backgrounds, some superimposed on top of each other, and as I watched it it actually brought tears to my eyes - there's a brief section where there's a violin solo which maybe more than other instruments can produced a very melancholic sound - it was at this point the montage of black and white faces reminded me of all those dreadful photographs of The Holocaust.

As for the lyrics - I don't even understand half of them as they are French but the few I do understand have always been enough to realise what this song is about; it's about the first 7 seconds of a child's life before they are exposed to the violence and horrors of our world.

This song is by Neneh Cherry and Youssou N'Dour and is called Seven Seconds. I find it a very beautiful and moving song. I hope you like it too.

Come join Music Monday and share your songs with us. One simple rule, leave ONLY the actual post link here. You can grab this code at LJL Please note these links are STRICTLY for Music Monday participants only. All others will be deleted without prejudice.

More philosophical questions (For Easter)

I know I have a curious mind as you can probably tell from my last philosophical questions post. However, as it's Easter I've been thinking some more (a dangerous situation I know). Here's a few questions that have been plaguing me over the Easter Holiday:

1. Why didn't Jesus change the bread into chocolate?

2. Why is it when I'm at the kitchen sink that my glass of water magically changes into wine?

3. Do bunny rabbits have big ears so you can peg them on the washing line?

4. Why isn't there a spare place in all those pictures of the Last Supper? Cos, you know, there's always someone who doesn't turn up...

5. Why is it that my bread doesn't rise even with yeast?

6. Why is it that that at Christmas, Easter and on my birthday I get chocolate but on my wedding anniversary I get a bank statement?

7. Why hasn't someone marketed miniature chocolate Pierce Brosnans? And why stop there? I'd happily eat a chocolate Kevin Costner, Keenau Reeves or a Hugh Jackman. And as for a chocolate Will Smith... mmm....I just love a dark chocolate, especially one that tickles the taste buds.

8. Why do Easter Eggs have to come in boxes so big you could stick two together and make a jumbo jet? (You might need a few extras but let's not be too picky please.)

9. Why is that nuns wear habits but priests wear frocks?

10. Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dream Coat - Why did he write a song for the Eurovision song contest??