What shall I do?

As you may remember if you read this blog regularly, I have been investigating various possibilities for an alternative source of income.

I am very tempted to try and use the opportunity we have at the moment to do something completely different. That might mean some sort of consultancy using our public sector experience, it might mean a completely different job or it might mean setting up a little business to do something, probably on line.

When you type in ‘setting up an online business’ to Google it’s quite staggering how many returns you get. Many of them are, if course, aiming to sell you something and a very large number are web design companies because, not surprisingly, to sell online you need a smart, well laid out and easy to use web site. Weeding out the good stuff from the rubbish takes quite some time.

It’s also quite amazing that when you type in say ‘wholesale suppliers of…’ you get thousands of companies aiming to sell stuff to you in bulk for you to sell on to the public as a retailer. No wonder life is getting expensive for a consumer, with all these middle men taking a mark up. I’ve read quite a few articles recently of people who have resorted to getting their bulk supplies from as far afield as China and Russia because UK suppliers are simply too expensive, even taking into account the increased cost of bulk postage from abroad.

I’ve also considered some sort of housekeeping service. When I say ‘housekeeping’ I don’t mean just cleaning but a whole range of domestic services including gardening, maintenance, dog walking, pet sitting, waiting in for the gas man to service the boiler, babysitting, cooking for special occasions and, of course, cleaning. I live in the middle of one of the wealthiest areas of the UK and even in the depths of the recession, there is money to spare. You only have to look around the coffee shops and designer dress shops in Oxted and Reigate to know that the proportion of yummy mummies with good levels of disposable income remains high.

The trouble is, I can’t decide what to do. There are also businesses for sale in Crete which, although not something I had really considered before, are another option. But I do have to ask myself whether I want to spend my time in Crete slaving away when really my aspiration is to move there and relax after a lifetime of slaving away in England. I have a friend who has been brave enough to make the change and moved to the other side of the planet but still has to work; I don’t know if I want to do that. If I’m going to be in the sun, I’d rather not be beholden to anyone or anything (least of all the bank!). I’ve worked for 36 years pretty much without a break and I’d like to stop now.

I am also very conscious that the window of opportunity is very small, because to start up most businesses you need capital and the tiny amount we have due to circumstances will soon erode through the general cost of living. So I can’t prevaricate about this for months, we have to discuss it and come to some sort of decision.

Of course if The Hubby gets another job fairly quickly, the opportunities are endless. Instead of waiting to be made redundant myself, perhaps I could resign and use our capital to set up something on my own. Or we could use it to pay the debts, sell the house anyway and I could stop work – what bliss that would be!

We have a couple of holidays this year still to go and we’re going to use that time to talk all this through. It’s highly likely that by this time next year one way or another, life will be very different! Argh !!!

(Another) update on the fitness regime.

I’ve been unusually silent on my fitness regime recently, so it’s probably about time for an update.

My fully catered, hideously expensive diet is paying off, and over two months I have lost about a stone in weight. For a while I didn’t do the diet foods regime because we had lots of social events on and it would have been wasted. And I have probably drunk more wine that I ought, but by and large I think that sort of weight loss in a slow sustainable way is pretty good.

Over the same two month period I have started doing more exercise (the dog walking, as I blogged the other day) and even over my non diet ‘break’ I didn’t put any weight on due to the extra exercise. So I am hoping that when I do exercise and dieting at the same time, I will lose even more.

I have two more months of my catered diet to go, and a goal to lose at least another stone, which will bring me down to the weight I was when I got married in 2003 and hopefully reduce my blood pressure into the bargain. Then I am hoping that with what I have learned about portion control and ‘good’ foods, I will be able to cater for myself and lose even more. I would dearly love to be ten stone again (until I was almost 30, I weighed eight stone but that may be somewhat unrealistic!).

I am on a promise from The Hubby that if I lose enough weight to bring me down to my goal of 10st 10lb, he will buy me a pair of Armani jeans. I don’t think he realised they cost about £350 when he made that promise, but he’ll have to stand by it now, because I’m going to do my utmost to achieve it.

I’m also determined to have a bikini body by the time I go away at the end of the year, and if that could be by the end of September I’d be even more pleased. I haven’t worn a bikini for donkey’s years (probably pre baby) but there’s no reason why not if I can lose my fat belly – I mean, God! The sights you see on the beach and I wonder why I’m worrying.

Apparently you can see the weight loss so far in my face, which was a surprise to me and rather motivating. I knew I had several chins to rival any idol of the Buddha, but I had no idea they had got so bad as too be commented upon. Clearly, they had, and now some of them have gone. Never mind – chin up darling, all of them!

I’m now hoping that the knees and back hold up for me to continue with the walking. It’s a real test, and ideally they will strengthen so that I can do even more and tone up the saggy areas which have embedded themselves due to lack of exercise over the past few years due to injury. I’m not sure what I’ll do if they give way, seeing as we don’t have health insurance any more and I’d be dead before the NHS got round to treating something like that. Resort to crawling, I suppose.

So wish me luck with the next two months. There will be a week’s break in late September when I go on holiday (yes, again!) but apart from that I should be able to focus with few distractions.

Here goes…..

The power of the negative press

As you read this, I will be sunning myself on a Greek beach (again). For a week, I will be mercifully far away from the realities of life and the stress inducing reporting of British news and newspapers.

Don’t get me wrong, in many ways the British media and in particular the Beeb are the best in the world, but they do tend to take rather a pessimistic view of things and take great delight in reporting bad news.

In the few weeks before I left to come on holiday, as many column inches were given to what I think were four very tragic deaths by drowning in English rivers and around the coast as to the whole of Team GB’s Paralympic victories, or so it seemed (but then I don’t even bother to open the back pages of the newspaper, so may be I am wrong).

I won’t miss being away from reality at all. I always hate it when you get on the plane to come home and they give you an English newspaper (don’t sell you one, mind, but give them away). That doesn’t happen with the budget airlines that have to watch every penny, which is another reason for using them since once I open the Daily Mail or the Times I can feel my stress levels rising and my impatience growing.

A little while ago I was blogging about why people feel so negative today and want to get away from it all for a fresh start, and I do think that the press must take their share of the blame here. They drag you down, because bad news sells papers. Their justification about some bits of scandalous or negative reporting (“It’s in the public interest” or “we have a right to know”) is just nonsense. They are in business to make a profit, and as I said bad news sells papers. By and large sensationalism turns us all into voyeurs by proxy, whereas a good news story about success or someone doing a good deed just makes a lot of people sneer.

Yes, sneer! There seems to be a real downer on kindness, which has always been a much undervalued trait, and positive news reports. The euphoria which surrounded big good news stories such as the wedding of Wills and Kate in 2011 or the Olympics doesn’t reflect itself in smaller good news stories like children getting the care they need or a kind person helping an injured animal. Those sorts of things just aren’t juicy enough to sustain our interest.

There’s also something in the British psyche which rejoices in the misfortunes of others. It’s a most unattractive trait, and one we should do our utmost to quash. ‘Serves them right’ or ‘told you so’ are phrases which I used to hear my mother parrot on numerous occasions with extreme relish. As a child I didn’t think anything of it, but now as an adult I realise how unkind and uncaring she was when she said this with such enjoyment. There is nothing good to be had rejoicing at others’ bad luck and nothing commendable about it.

I have learned through my own situations in life not to judge others. I have suffered at the hands of unthinking, unkind and shallow individuals who have said unpleasant things about me and never stopped to consider that there are several sides to every story. Because of the distress this has caused me, I have learned valuable lessons and now never do this to others. Yes, I gossip, but I don’t judge.

And that is what is wrong with the newspapers and the media today. It’s not wrong to report, but it is wrong to report with such bias and strong judgement that your subjective opinion comes across as fact. People that read the Daily Mail and don’t take it with a pinch of salt ought to be ashamed of themselves, because it is one of the worst offenders of the lot. If there’s a bandwagon rolling, that paper will jump on it without hesitation, and it’s responsible for many of the biased and prejudiced opinions of middle England today.

So when I’m on holiday I never read a newspaper. I am trying to avoid it when I’m at home. As far as I am concerned, they are fit only for lining the dog’s toilet training tray!

Hols again

I’m off back to Greece tomorrow after a three month break (yes, yes, I know, most of you get just one holiday a year so I should stop moaning).

Once again, potential burglars can stop short of even thinking about burgling my house because my daughter and her boyfriend are there and also, this time, my fast growing and ferocious Labrador puppy, which they are supposedly generally looking after, walking and feeding.

My flight is at a hideous time on Saturday morning and we have to be at Gatwick at 4am. But at least that does mean we get to our apartment at lunch time and have most of the day available to us (even if we do sleep for quite a lot of the afternoon). A nice dinner, and early night and we will be raring to go on Sunday.

Unfortunately the flight back is also at a rubbish time and we land at Gatwick about 2am. That is more knackering, as when you come home you don’t have a holiday to look forward to. But I suppose you have to come home some time!

Being adopted, I have no idea whether I have Mediterranean blood in me anywhere but it would certainly seem like it. There is very little of the English temperament in me as far as I can see, and I have never minded being out on a limb with my lifestyle and preferences. I dislike so much of the UK and adore being in southern Europe where the climate suits my health issues and where, being a keen cook, I love the variety of fresh, vibrant and nourishing food, in particular the fish, fruit and vegetables.

We have some friends who have recently moved up to Cumbria. Apparently they dislike being too warm and like the outdoorsy life. The fact that it is bloody cold and wet most of the time up there as well as being miles from anywhere would appear to have escaped them, but perhaps they like that too? Personally, it wouldn’t suit me. As I have blogged before, I like being warm, I love the sun and I hate being cold and wet. Tramping across the moors and sitting by a roaring fire in country pubs is alright for a holiday, but I would dislike the remoteness which, although it might be a novelty for a short while, would eventually grate on me and I’d be wondering where the next Chinese takeaway was coming from or where I could buy Clarins.

Greece is, of course, even further up shit creek than the UK at the moment and to make things worse would appear to have also lost the paddle. And they’re drifting even further upstream as you read with no hope whatever, if my layman’s observational view is worth anything, of paying back their debts and repairing their infrastructure in the next decade or even possibly within my life time.

But it’s still my favourite place. Even before I get off the plane, I relax. At home I’m ancie (I’ve no idea if that’s how you spell it, and the spell checker suggested ancient as an alternative – totally useless!) if things take too long or people are late, out there it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m sure I’m less stressed and my blood pressure goes down.

So early start or not, I can’t wait. I have been applying the tinted moisturiser for weeks now to make sure I’m not totally ‘engleesh white skin’ on the beach and my bag is packed – passport, cash, tickets, ipod and book. Gatwick, here I come!

Thirty one years ago. Blimey!

Today (19^th September) if I had remained married to Hubby Number One, I would have been married for thirty one years. I was 20 when I got married, and I thought I knew it all. Yeah, right!

A lot has happened in those thirty one years, some of it good and some of it pretty shitty. I have made and lost friends on the way and have learned a great deal.

Twenty was, of course, far too young. Looking back with the wisdom of middle age, at 20 you are still a baby in many ways. I think it should be law to have to live with someone for at least two years, or live away and independently from your smothering parents for that long, before you commit to something as serious as marriage.  Nothing prepares you for the shock of leaving the family bosom and having to fend for yourself.

Of course these days teenagers are much more worldly than I ever was, and when I look back I was incredibly square and unaware of the ways of the world even by standards in the 70s. I mean for God’s sake, my 18^th birthday party was in my parents’ lounge with them and their neighbours as the principal guests! Not one contemporary, not even my close friend from college Fizz Currie (actually she can’t have been that close as she buggered off to Uni and I never heard from her again!) (Oh, and her proper name was Felicity and she was mad about cats).

I have made some monumental mistakes in the past thirty one years, but I suppose it is all credit to me that I can recognise that and admit it. Hubby Number Two is perhaps the most monumental of all, and my excuse is that I was suffering so much backlash from my divorce from so called ‘friends’ that any port in a storm seemed attractive. And I have certainly paid for my mistakes, both emotionally and financially.

One thing that 24 years of turmoil (the amount of time since my first divorce) shows you is who your true friends are, and I think I can count them on the fingers of one hand. Yes I know a lot of people, but true friends have been hard to find. It is disappointing that I have so few but I think I am being more truthful when I say that then most people are who say “Oh, I have hundreds of friends”. True friends will tell you what they think but not be judgemental, will be there for you in times of trouble, stand up for you if necessary and will not gossip and spread nastiness about you even in fun. How many people can you honestly say that about? At the last count I had over 100 Facebook friends, but really that’s a misnomer; most of them are acquaintances and very nice people to boot, but they don’t fall into the definition I have just given.

Despite my somewhat chequered marital escapades, I think I’ve got it right this time, even if it did take me three attempts. The Hubby puts up with me, supports me, provides advice, affection and cuddles when needed, and is generally a good chap. He thinks like me (although he thinks I am also slightly bonkers) and even if he goes about things somewhat differently, has a common view of the desired end result. We have been married for nine years this year, and they have been the best nine years of my life.

Long may it continue.

I'm full of good ideas!

I have an idea!

In fact, I’m always full of bright ideas, most of them impractical and totally useless but all the same, brilliant thoughts!

The Hubby dreads my ideas. He says they always mean more work for him, expense and usually some difficult DIY task. I disagree, and often accuse him of putting unnecessary obstacles in the way of innovative progress. As you can imagine, those are interesting discussions.

I always get very excited about my ideas, which I am convinced will change my life for ever and in the wider sense will be a force for good for all mankind. Once I get a thought in my head, I am allegedly like a rat on a rag, going on and on about it until I either get my own way or I can be convinced the idea won’t work and is absolute rubbish!

I maintain that when we do go with one of them, they always turn out well and we should have done it years ago. If I’m really honest, I’m not sure that’s always the case but there have been very few notable failures or disasters.

Apparently it’s easy to tell when I’ve got an idea which I’m keen on and want to push through. I become, I’m told, quite single minded. I research extensively (books, web, magazines), talk about it incessantly, pitch it to anyone who will listen and generally waste quite a lot of valuable time on it (I say waste, but of course if you go with it and it turns out to be a Good Thing then it isn’t a waste of time, is it?). I work on my idea at the expense of other things such as work, ironing, cooking dinner, cleaning or whatever. I tweak it and try to overcome objections with a sense of purpose that any self respecting dictator hell bent on taking over Poland would envy. In short, I won’t give up!

You might take the view that being so focused could lead to a life full of disappointments, which would be partially but not entirely true because, every so often, things go right and the idea pays off. And the feeling of elation that I thought of it, I put the wheels in motion and I saw it through beats anything else. It’s a similar feeling to when I direct a successful production, particularly from one of my own scripts (www.mylightproductions.co.uk – check it out!) and see the audience clapping and cheering and laughing at the jokes. A warm, fuzzy feeling because I had the vision and the ideas from the beginning, persuaded others to go along with it and it’s gone well. It genuinely does make you feel great when that happens.

So I will pursue this idea in my usual way. I’m not going to tell you what it is, just in case this is one of the rare occasions when it really is impractical or doesn’t work. But if it does work, you can be sure that you will be some of the first to know about it!

Here we go again! (Oh no we don't)

Well, the Christmas Carry On circus starts for another year with successful auditions yesterday for the annual panto, which this year is ‘Aladdin and his wonderful lamp’.

As always on these occasions, I am blown away by the quality of the auditions and the effort people have put in to learn their audition pieces and songs. Yesterday we had a huge variety of songs sung to us, from the classic audition songs from ‘Les Mis’ through to vintage Pink Floyd (a first in an audition as far as I am aware!).

We have ended up with a superb cast at the first attempt and were spoiled for choice for almost every role, which makes a nice change and is most unusual.

Another thing that is nice this year is that as well as the usual faces (I call it the Christmas Carry On because it really is like the ‘Carry On’ movies, with the same faces playing slightly different but very similar roles each year) we have some newbies in principal roles, which is healthy and refreshing. Every Director goes into auditions with ideas about who might be good in which part (show me a Director who says they don’t and I’ll show you a fibber!) but on the day it’s important to keep an open mind because people you expect to be excellent can simply fail to perform on the day, and others you expect to be less suitable or whom you don’t know can blow you away. We had a few of those yesterday, and a few ‘no shows’ who may well be waiting for the phone call to ‘come along and help us out’ which this year, won’t come!

I’m looking forward to this; not only is it my own script and my well honed vision, but it will be my last show for a while as I am planning on taking a break in 2013 and so it is a bit of a temporary swansong. Panto is always knackering with three rehearsals a week and extra busyness over the traditionally hectic festive period, but the end result with ten pretty much full and very appreciative houses is always worth it.

The best part of the day yesterday was the adult movement audition, which was much more fun than the dancers or kids who always seem to pick these things up quickly and move fluidly with very little tuition. I know all these people will get it right and perform in the end, but adult principal performers just don’t pick up the movement as quickly as youngsters and you can see by the expression on their faces that they are going through half an hour of purgatory. I know that I hate it, and they do too. But it’s a necessary evil and provides great amusement for the audition panel mid way through an exhausting day.

We also had almost 30 kids audition yesterday, from which we had to pick a maximum of twelve. It’s really hard to single kids out, and with such a large number sometimes some very good ones can get lost in the crowd. Four bravely came back for a recall late afternoon, and we have a great team in place.

There’s a bit of a lull now, and we start rehearsals on 5^th October. That’s earlier than usual due to other commitments amongst the production team, but it won’t do any harm for them to get some early learning under their belts. We start in earnest with the full on three times a week late October right through to late January, then we all get our lives back.

Bring it on…

The sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip hooray!

The sun is shining as I write this (although probably not by the time you read it!)

For me, the world always looks better when the sun shines, which is more than can be said for the human population. Lobster pink tans, cropped tops two sizes too small and mini skirts which are really just wide belts worn by girls with thighs the size of tree trunks are just some of the delights which await us on sunny days in the city. Either that or the ridiculously named ‘city shorts’ which just look like a pair of suit trousers that have been cut off just below the crutch by a reject from fashion school.

I love the sun! The two things I hate most in the world (outside of baseball caps, crap reality TV, offal and rats) are being cold and being wet. So when the sun shines, I am in my element.

The other week we had a few days of the temperature in the high twenties. That’s relatively mild by some European standards, but quite warm for the UK.

“Oh, isn’t it hot? Too much for me!”

“I hate this heat. So muggy!”

“Phew! What a scorcher!” (‘The Sun’ – predictably)

“Well, this is like being in Africa.”

Just a few of the fatuous and stupid remarks I heard! What’s wrong with the British? We spend all of our time moaning about how chilly it is (‘chilly’ being about minus ten) and how much it rains, and at the first gleam of a sunbeam everyone is moaning it’s too hot!

Brits are, of course, famous for their obsession with the weather and for their world renowned wet and temperate climate. The rest of Europe sees it as something of a laughing matter, but most Brits take the weather extremely seriously and we are all guilty of poring over the forecast before a day out and agonising about what to wear (me included). And that’s because it’s so bloody unreliable and changeable.

This morning, for example, when I left the house for work it was misty, damp and rather nippy (I had goose pimples and my car thermometer said twelve degrees!). By the time I got up to London an hour later, the sun was out and it was 20 degrees. In between, we had grey skies which looked like they were about to dump Noah’s flood on us, but actually never did. You just don’t know what to expect or what to wear. So, we are obsessed.

I know global warming is supposedly well on its way and means wetter and warmer weather, and it seems reckless to say I don’t care. I know some crops and populations will suffer, but there will be advantageous changes too. And I like the sun! I would be happy if it shone every day of the year and it was summer for the whole twelve months. Some respite from the searing heat of a forty degree August would be nice, but nothing lower than fifteen degrees even in February, please.

Even when you feel low, the sun makes you smile. It is a natural human instinct to turn your face to the light and warmth, and we should relish it and learn to manage our changing world rather than complain about it. And we should harness the energy and feelgood factor the sun brings, because overall, it makes the world a better place.

Coco has settled in!

Coco the puppy is now an established member of the family and four times the size she was when she arrived. She appears, apart from the physical scars, to have got over her trauma of a couple of days ago when she was attacked by the neighbour's Staffie and be all well and good.

Yesterday, she finished puppy classes and by all accounts ought to now be able to sit, down, stay, leave, heel and come. Ought to be able to.

Coco is a thug! At each puppy class, she mugs a cute little cocker spaniel pup called Norman and terrorises a fluffy golden retriever called Orla who, being of a nervous disposition, wets and poos herself whenever this happens. Nothing I do will stop this behaviour; putting Coco into the ‘calm’ position, keeping her lead tight, giving treats, nothing. She is obviously intent on being the leader of the notorious  RH1 Doggie Gang (although of course Staffie down the road is presumably Boss Dog now, and sees his position being threatened).

Yet she has endeared herself to us in more ways than we could imagine. Despite the mess, smells, need for a vast amount of equipment and the trouble she has caused. The sheer delight with which she greets you when you have been out, her enthusiasm for games, her little character traits and idiosyncrasy and her simply gorgeous face all conspire to make her lovable.

The other weekend we took her round the local agricultural show, not without some trepidation at how she would react. But we needn’t have worried, she was an absolute star and even though it was socialising in a big way, loved every minute and new experience. Only two things worried her – the fox hounds en masse, and the motorbike display team. It took hours to go round; it’s unbelievable how soppy most people – including grown men - are about Labrador pups and every few steps someone would stop me and say “Aw, cute! Can I stroke your puppy?”

The one thing we haven’t yet cracked is her relationship with the moggies, all of whom continue to view her with suspicion. She, on the other hand, sees them as an untapped source of play and amusement and chases after them at every opportunity. She has had several scratches on the nose, none of which have deterred her, and the cats have resorted to slinking in at night for food and only coming in during the evening if it’s very cold or inclement. We need a good snap of cold weather to force the issue, I think, when the cats want to weld themselves to the radiator and the dog is too tired after a long walk to do anything about it.  

I’ve never really thought of myself as a doggy person, although I’ve never been anti dog. Lots of people think I am, but what I really don’t like are ill disciplined and badly behaved dogs. That’s why we have gone to puppy class, and our fault haven’t practised as much as we should have (these classes aren’t really for the dog, who takes longer than an hour to learn a new behaviour, but for the owners to learn the skills, gestures and behaviours to train their pet in their own time). In the coming weeks we will have to reinforce the good behaviour and standard responses that Coco needs to embed, as it’s a longer term ambition to be able to take her everywhere with everyone. She won’t jump up, eat food from the coffee table, scratch, bite or do any of the things which p**s people off about other people’s dogs. She will have exemplary behaviour as befits a Surrey Dog!

She already knows that the ultimate punishment is to be ‘sin binned’ which basically means being locked in her puppy cage for outrageous behaviour or failing to follow instructions. She hates it!

My daughter is looking after her when we are on holiday, and I am going to leave her a written sheet of instructions! She will also have to learn the commands and discipline instructions as consistency is very important. And no lazing in bed until noon, she’ll have to get up and do the early walk or clear up massive piles of poo!

When we come back Coco will no doubt have morphed into a wild wolf!

An awful thing happened - poor Coco!

Perhaps the most scary thing ever happened yesterday.

The Hubby and his youngest son were taking the little Labrador pup, Coco for her early evening walk, taking a route we have taken with her several times before.

This walk takes us past our neighbour’s house on the corner, where a Staffordshire Bull Terrier lives. In the past the gate has been closed and he has been sitting quite calmly behind it just watching the world go by. Yesterday, The Hubby and Son walked past the neighbour's house just as they came home and as I understand it, four things happened at pretty much the same time:-

1.    Their front gate opened to allow their car in

2.    Their front door opened as their son saw them come home

3.    Coco, The Hubby and Son walked past on the other side of the road.  

4.    This Staffie that has sat so calmly in the past few weeks caught sight of Coco from the hallway of the house, and in the space of about three seconds covered the 20 yards gap, leapt up and grabbed Coco by the neck, then…..

5.    Mayhem ensued.

It took four adults to get this Staffie to let go, and only then by brute force. Despite the fact that The Hubby had acted quickly and picked Coco up, the Staffie locked its jaws on her neck, tasted blood then hung on for grim death. My neighbour was apparently screaming and crying in the road at what was happening, having just got out of the car to admire the puppy, while her husband was unsuccessfully trying to get his dog under control. Poor Coco has a fairly deep puncture wound on her shoulder where this dog was swinging round in mid air refusing to let go. She cried, emptied her bowels and presumably bladder too, and was understandably totally petrified as any baby of just over three months old would be in that situation. Clearly her wound is causing her a lot of discomfort and needless to say she is off to the vet today to be checked out, probably jabbed with antibiotics and generally cosseted. If there is a substantial bill, they can bloody well pay it.

Staffies do have a reputation of being aggressive fighting dogs and one glance at Battersea’s or the RSPCA’s web sites will show you plenty of unwanted Staffies looking for homes, presumably for this very reason. The Hubby says what scared him was firstly the speed with which it all took place, but also the unbridled aggression from a dog that has sat so peacefully previously and given no inkling that it would do anything like this.

The walk was, of course, abandoned and The Hubby and Son were much shaken. The Hubby has scratches on his arm and one or two quite deep wounds on the heel of his thumb, that fleshy bit which can be extremely painful and is now throbbing like mad. We’ll give it another day or so then he’ll be off to the docs – fortunately our tetanus jabs are up to date! Son wasn’t scratched but was clearly shocked not only at what happened but at the level of force that was required to get the Staffie to release. There used to be a theory that to get a dog to let go you shoved a finger up it's a**e (thank you Barbara Woodhouse!) but all this happened so quickly that even if they had thought of it, they probably wouldn't have had time to get the rubber glove on!

Fortunately (or perhaps not) the animal didn’t attempt to attack a human, because if it had we would have to report it to the police as a dangerous dog which wouldn’t do a great deal for neighbourly relations. As it is, we’re not sure what to do; provided Coco is alright and no real harm is done, we probably won’t do anything except take extra care when going past and be vigilant near other dogs. Poor little puppy has gone out for a walk this morning and wasn’t reluctant or frightened, but didn’t meet any other dogs so it remains to be seen whether she has any psychological scars by association.

Our neighbours have apologised profusely and were obviously profoundly shocked at what their animal had done. To say the (nice) lady who it belongs to was devastated would be understating it. But still she made excuses for her dog along the lines of “He doesn’t mean it / he’s a softie really” etc. Rubbish! Yes, this was an accident, but unpredictable animals bred for aggression shouldn’t be family pets.

Poor Coco – what a traumatic evening. For all of us!

Time flies!

We are almost a week into September, and it’ll soon be Christmas!

This coming weekend is the read through for panto (oh, yes it is!). I am hoping for a good turn out; it’s a great script, we’ve picked some cracking music and the annual pantomime is for me the highlight of the theatre’s calendar. It will be colourful, noisy and hectic, and gone in a flash (literally, as far as the Genies are concerned!).

It’s unbelievable that we have got to the panto season already, though. It seems not long ago that I was away at Easter and not even considering the niceties of rehearsal schedules, community songs and the appropriate dimensions of a dancer’s bra top.

Someone once told me that the older you get the quicker the time passes and that certainly seems to be true. Each year it seems to go quicker and quicker, and events creep up on us and pass more swiftly than the year before. Of course that can’t be the case, after all 24 hours is always going to be the same 24 hours lengthwise or worldwide chaos would ensue, but it does seem like it and I don’t know what to do to slow it down. At this rate, in another few years things will have finished before they have begun!

Mentally, I don’t feel any older than I did in my late twenties. I think I make better, more considered and less judgemental decisions now and my experience in dealing with other people and situations means I do things differently, but in my mind I am still slightly alternative and non conformist. In reality, I am probably a typical middle England Tory living in an increasingly unrealistic fantasy world. But the real difference is in my physical capacity, which is definitely reduced.

I went to bed at 8.30pm the other night. The combination of dieting (which saps your energy anyway), extra walking with the dog (actually all walking with the dog is extra because I didn’t do any walking at all before) and just the pace of life are getting the better of me. I am looking decidedly haggard, or at least I think I am. The Hubby, bless him, always tells me I look beautiful but he’s a consummate liar about that sort of thing and will say anything to make me feel better (ie stop me whinging) so I have to take it with a pinch of salt (either that or he really thinks so, in which case he’s deluded and should be committed).

Does everyone feel like this? Or have I been unlucky and allowed myself to get into an unfit, overweight and isolated state and my chickens are coming home to roost?

If other people feel like it they don’t let on, so perhaps I just don’t have any backbone and ought to pull my socks up and have a stiff upper lip (a few slightly confused metaphors there, but you get the drift). I’ve always been a cope-er, but at the moment I feel like I’m sinking. Or maybe this is the state that everyone goes through when they try and do something about their health and get fitter, because doing exercise knackers you and then you don’t have any energy for anything else until you are fit enough not to need to do the exercise in the first place? It’s always been one of life’s paradoxes that the more you exercise, eventually the more energy you have.

I’ve obviously got some way to go! And lets hope that I don’t arrive before I’ve set off.

Call me Ma'am from now on!

I have just realised that I haven't yet blogged about my trip around Buckingham Palace the other week, and my extensive gawp at Her Madge's diamonds.

The Hubby and I went round Buck House last year to see Kate Middleton's wedding dress, and much to our surprise (particularly The Hubby's) thoroughly enjoyed what was a very well organised and informative visit. Apparently it's 20 years since they started opening the place up to the public, which is amazing, and it is certainly a very polished and professional experience. This year, we got free re-entry for returning within the calendar year, which actually makes the entrance fee we paid last time (£18 each) seem pretty reasonable, as it's a good half day out.

You get to see all the State Rooms and oodles of just jaw dropping art including some by my favourite artist, Canaletto. I can stand and look at his work for hours and am constantly seeing something new in it. There are fifteen Canalettos on the Palace walls to see; I took ages! There is also a very good commentary through a little mobile unit with personal headphones so you can go at your own pace and no one rushes you so you have plenty of time.

This year, the special exhibition to coincide with the Diamond Jubilee is the vast collection of diamond jewellery, swords and trinkets owned by the Queen, including almost all the pieces made from the famous Cullinan diamond which was found in South Africa about 80 years ago and presented to the Royal Family as a gift. The original stone was huge, and there are now nine pieces of jewellery made from it, seven of which were on display at the Palace (the other two are part of the Crown Jewels at the Tower of London, with the main stone the centrepiece of the Imperial State Crown). I adore sparklies, and these were just magnificent, in particular a necklace made from some of the Cullinan stones and some enormous iridescent emeralds which shone like the green eyes of a cat. There was also a beautiful tiara originally owned by Queen Alexander in 1905 which looked like it ought to have belonged to the Snow Queen with its spiky tips and almost frosty gleam.  

We then stuffed ourselves with coffee and posh cakes in the cafe (amazing confections including little chocolate disks on top which had gold crowns painted on them in edible paint!) and then had a trip round the gift shop which has a large amount of surprisingly affordable stuff (magnets, stationery, tea towels etc) as well as the eye wateringly expensive porcelain and glassware. Despite having my eye on a replica tiara, I was persuaded instead to a replica pair of diamond and pearl earrings (fake diamonds, but real pearls) and treated by The Hubby, which was very nice and a surprise.

All in all, whether you are a royalist or not, this is a worthy day out and if you haven't been I'd recommend it. Wear good walking shoes and don't carry too much (security is phenomenal and airport style), and do use the audio guide, which is excellent. And like us, if you go in this year you will get free re-entry next year too.

So go along. And oh, call me ma'am from now on, will you?

So lots of you agree with me, then?

Clearly my blog of yesterday struck a chord with quite a lot of you, and judging by the number of comments on the blog itself, on Facebook and by e-mail lots of you feel the same. And it’s always reassuring to know that you are not alone; even talking to people about a (at the moment) very vague feeling of wanting to jack it all in and start again with something more fulfilling, refreshing and less stressful gets comments of “I know, I’ve felt exactly the same recently”.

So what has changed about the world that so many of us feel like this? I don’t ever recall my parents having these sorts of conversations or coming home from their work (which was manual and working class and therefore had its significant downsides including the fact that it was very poorly paid) feeling that it just isn’t worth it and wanting a new start.

Is it that we have had our horizons widened, that we have become more ambitious, more materialistic or simply that much more is expected of us now?

I suspect it’s a combination of the lot and the sad fact is that we are paying the price not only for the previous generation that is living in comfortable retirement now, but also for better health care that means we all live longer and so can’t possibly expect the state to keep us for an extra decade or so and for the lack of planning and foresight on the part of companies, banks and government who should have seen this coming. And it seems unfair that one or two generations should have to pay for the sins of the previous ten and of the few big, hideously wealthy corporations that brought it all to a head.

It would seem that for most of us life is, quite simply, too cluttered and busy. The chase for material possessions which in the wider scale of things might be relatively modest is urged upon us all the time by the irresponsible advertising and finance industries, and our children expect more and more to keep up with their friends. As an example, between us, The Hubby and I now have five children who drive. They all have their own vehicle with the costs that incurs and although we don’t pay for all of them, that is a constant financial pressure. The insurance companies penalise young people regardless of background or education knowing it is the parents that pay. The same parents who are hard pressed in every other way.

Anyone who has had a major change thrust upon them will tell you that after the initial shock, it enabled them to see much more clearly what was important and have the courage to take big decisions and make major changes that otherwise they wouldn’t have been brave enough to do.

So, I come back to a personal note. We need to de-clutter, both mentally and physically. Physically, we have too much stuff (although obviously not too many shoes or, according to The Hubby, power tools). We should have done it ages ago, had a good chuck out and made a few quid at a car boot sale. Just recently, I sold a load of stuff on e-bay and to my surprise made £170. Obviously one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. So that’s something that we can carry on with over the winter with a view to getting rid of a load of it in the spring.

Mentally, it’s more difficult and this is where the life changing decisions come in. If I have to work, I’d very much like to work for myself again, having previously spent eight years self employed and loving every minute although not, at that time, being dependent upon it for my living. But I’m good at that stuff! I’m focused, organised and can, I’m told, be very ruthless. And we now have a window of opportunity which I can’t help but feel we ought to take advantage of. It would mean selling the house and living somewhere cheap to rent (and which takes puppies and cats), but it would give us freedom. In addition over the past two weeks due to changed circumstances I’ve seen loads more of The Hubby, and I like it! We’ve worked together before, maybe we could do it again?

Of course I haven’t discussed any of this with him (in fact he’ll probably find out about it through this blog – oops!) and it would be an enormous risk – our window of opportunity has come about a year or two too soon. But I am beginning to wonder whether we oughtn’t to take it anyway!

I might do something drastic!

I haven’t blogged for a few days. It’s not laziness or lack of opinions (as if) but lack of time.

I am sick to death of life being so busy and having so many things to think about. And I am even more fed up of everyone being such a pain in the arse.

I have worked hard all my life to be where I am today, and whatever else I have been, I have always been true to myself. I have never taken anything which isn’t mine, never swindled anyone (well, I did tell a white lie to the insurance company once about how my computer got damaged, but that’s all) never sponged off the state and never deliberately or maliciously set out to hurt or annoy anyone. And yet somehow, a succession of people one after the other seem hell bent on making my life or The Hubby’s life difficult.

I have decided that most people simply cannot cope with honesty and would rather live in a customised fantasy land where no one ever tells them the time of day or any home truths. I was brought up to always tell the truth, and by and large I’ve always done so. Experience and age has taught me to dress it up sometimes into a palatable form – when I can be bothered - but I have never shied away from confronting a situation and dealing with it face on. But I think it is that uncompromising honesty and straightforwardness which sets me into a different mindset than most and makes me no friends.

It’s been a crap few years, by and large. Health issues which have piled one upon the other, stagnant salaries and increasing bills, ever more unsatisfying work, bereavements, difficulties with family and having to deal with deluded and twisted individuals in a social environment have all contributed to a feeling that I really want to cut ties, do something drastic and start again. I don’t mean something dreadful drastic (ie suicide/divorce/giving away my shoe collection) but simply to re-evaluate life and decide what is important. The bugger is that I will, still, have to work. I’m not going to beat myself up over decisions I’ve made in the past few years, but they have now in the current situation come back to haunt us and life is going to be considerably more difficult than it might have been if I had been more prudent.

A very recent event has forced some difficult decisions about money, and it is becoming increasingly clear to me that striving to earn a senior manager’s salary and hang on for a final salary-ish pension is really not worth the price I am now paying. Nor is hanging onto the UK property ladder worth losing your sanity over. I’ve never really had an ambition to be a ‘lady who lunches’, but I really don’t want to carry on being a ‘lady who commutes and works her socks off’. It’s incredibly tempting to simply sell up, pay off both the mortgages (don’t forget I have a house in Greece which I adore) work out how much money we need to live in a basic way, resign and do something more fulfilling.

I’m not sure I’d have the guts, but it’s very tempting.