I know, I know. I’ve been a very bad blogger.

But in my defence, it IS the school holidays and I do have an 8 year old B to keep entertained and an M who works the worlds shitiest hours.

So far though, this summer we have been all over the place.  Thorpe Park, Chessington World of Adventures, Alton Towers, Warwick Caste (x2) and Legoland.

I’m sure I’m missing something out, but you get the general idea.

It was also B’s 8th birthday on Monday. 8! I have a son who is 8!

And yes, I am far too young and attractive to have an 8 year old ~ I was indeed a child bride and he was born way before he was conceived*.

*Some of this may not, actually be true.

Dad…so many images come to mind
whenever I speak your name;
It seems without you in my life
things have never been the same.

What happened to those lazy days
when I was just a child;
When my life was consumed in you
in your love, and in your smile.

What happened to all those times
when I always looked to you;
No matter what happened in my life
you could make my gray skies blue.

Dad, some days I hear your voice
and turn to see your face;
Yet in my turning…it seems
the sound has been erased.

Dad, who will I turn to for answers
when life does not make sense;
Who will be there to hold me close
when the pieces just don’t fit.

Oh, Dad, if I could turn back time
and once more hear your voice;
I’d tell you that out of all the dads
you would still be my choice.

Please always know I love you
and no one can take your place;
Years may come and go
but your memory will never be erased.

Today, Jesus, as You are listening
in your home above;
Would you go and find my dad
and give him all my love.

By Leah Wells

So, the countdown is on.

In just 10 days time I will be completing my final stint as an After School Club organiser at B’s school. Seriously, I can’t wait to hand in my bleeper when I finish.

In 12 days, my buddy, Emma and I are driving 341 miles up to Edinburgh to see Duran Duran play at Edinburgh Castle. I’m so excited about this that I may well pop.

And when I come back, B will have finished school for the summer and we’ll be faced with hoping that the weather stays good so that we can find stuff to fill those 7 weeks with.

Then, come September, B will be starting year 4 of primary school, he’ll have had his 8th birthday and I will have freaked out at how he got so old, so quickly.

I’ve been helping the run the After School Club at B’s school for over a year now.  When I first started doing it, it was just me and the woman (who was weird as fuck) who had been doing it for five years.   She had plans on moving up from the AS Club to becoming a TA, but B’s school is tiny and the two TA’s who were already there weren’t leaving for love nor money.   She was also desperate for a baby. Her words not mine, and I think that working at the school was a way for her to surround herself with kids as she had no luck in concieving.  These are all things that she told me within the first hour of me meeting her.  Why she felt the need to share such things with me, I’ll never know.

Then, out of the blue, last September she handed in her notice. She’d had a huge tax rebate, her husband was going to be having major surgery so she decided to nurse him back to health and then start looking, in earnest for a TA job.  Bravo I thought. Somebody who is actualy going out for what they want. There aren’t enough people like that, in my opinion.

So then the search for another person to join the AS club began.  The main person who would be running it as well as doing all of the crappy jobs that go with it, was eventually given to a lovely girl, of about 20.  Let’s call her Rebecca. And then another position was created and another Mum got that job. Let’s call her Cindy.

Cindy is, in short, a shit stirrer.  She caused so much trouble with her lies and stirring that I actually considered moving B to another school. Thankfully, I came to my senses and had a nice long chat with B’s teacher, who put everything into perspective for me and I’m once again very happy with the school that B goes to.

She’s also one of the reason’s that I have handed in my notice at the AS club and won’t be doing it anymore after this month.

Last week, or it may have been the week before I had my appraisel at the school. Although I’m leaving, it’s one of those things that just has to be done.

The Head even said as much as the success of the after school club was down to me.
And they asked if there was anything they could do to stop me from leaving. But I said no and was perfectly straight with them about some of the things that Cindy had told me about the way that B had been treated by the teachers at the school and that I was just sick and tired of all of the backstabbing, the gossip and the lies.

The Head and the Secretary told me that they had already had complaints about Cindy and her behaviour and that they had suspected for a while that she was the reason that I was leaving.
The following day, Cindy had her appraisal.
Cindy did not have such a good one.  She sent me a text the  afternoon after her appraisal saying that the Head had ripped into her.
The Head had had complaints that Cindy was talking (gossipping) with her friends about some of the kids at school, and some other parents had overheard and told the head.
Cindy came out of the office after the meeting and just burst into tears. She’s been told that the only reason that she wasn’t sacked was because none of the other parents were willing to sign anything, and that the school are keeping a very close eye on her. She was also made to re~sign her confidentiality agreement.

The thing is, that I know the above to be true. She does gossip with her little group of shitstirrers about the kids and their parents, and I’m not surprised that it’s got back to the Head, as our school is so small, so it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Cindy and the Head don’t like each other either, and this really hasn’t helped matters. Cindy is always bitching to me about the Head and isn’t discreet at all.
Her son goes up into the final year in September, which the Head teaches and her son is in a complete frenzy about it because Cindy keeps telling him (and anyone else who will listen) that the Head is a bully and that she doesn’t like boys unless they’re the weird little creepy good boys. So now Cindy’s son is all at the thought of being taught only by her next year.
I’ve asked her why she doesn’t just move her son to another school and have it over and done with, but she says that she doesn’t want to move him again (this is his 2nd school) and she doesn’t want him to miss out on the fun in the final year.
But. If he’s so worried about the Head he’s not going to have a good final year is he?
But, if it was your child and you truly believed this, wouldn’t you move him?

Everyday I walk Gemma.  And almost every day we walk in this field. The exception being if I’m in a major hurry to do something or go somewhere and on those days, we have a walk around the park, but 9 times out of 10, we walk around this field.

There is a tree in the field which we imaginatively have named the “lonely tree”.  Because it stands alone in the middle of the field. In the summer it’s somewhere to get a bit of shade, and in the winter it’s somewhere for the horses to shelter from the wind, rain, sleet and snow.   As you can see in this photo which was taken on a cold and windy day.

One day last week, I made my way up to the lonely tree with Gemma. As I got closer I could see that there was something on the trunk of the tree.   It turned out to be a couple of pieces of paper.   The bottom piece says “Rest in Peace Curly. Sleep tight” and then on top of that was a pink heart shape.    The photo isn’t great. I only had my camera-phone with me and Gemma kept pouncing on me as I wasn’t throwing her toy nearly enough.

Today, I returned to the field, and to the lonely tree, where the message above had been taken away and replaced with this:

It’s a nice piece of A4 paper, telling a few more details about the person who has obviously passed away and a small bunch of flowers.

I’ve no idea of who this chap is. I’ve searched the local newspapers online but it’s not throwing up any information, so all I can assume is that he loved this field, the hill that it leads to , or maybe the village that I live in and his family have decided that it’s as good a place as any to remember him by.

Back in January, I made a half arsed New Years Resolution to start wearing make~up on a regular basis.  I can look back now and say with conviction that it was a half arsed resolution, because it didn’t last long and I didn’t really believe it when I said, wrote, typed it.

But. Since becoming a regular reader of a certain blog, I have realised that I really ought to crack on and try again.  I’ve always known that I feel better, perhaps more confident, when wearing Make Up and have managed to nick a couple of ideas, hints and tricks from PJB in the meantime.

Last month, I took stock of my make up.  And believe me, for some reason, I have loads. 1 vanity case and 2 reasonably sized bags. All of them full of crap, that I just don’t use.  I threw out everything that had been opened, made a list of the things that I simply had to have ~ which thankfully only consisted of 3 items ~ and trundled off to town.

I started off well. I wore make up for at least a week, but once again I have since become rather lazy about it.

The thing is. I don’t mind putting it on.  In fact, it gives me a pretty much guaranteed few minutes to sit down in the morning, when I’m usually running around sorting out B’s breakfast, lunch, feeding the bloody cat who meows as though she’s not been fed for a month and trying not to trip over the dog-bot.

The thing that I’ve always hated ~ and yes, I really do resent having to do it ~ is the removal of the bloody stuff.

I’ve always been more of a “quick wash of the face, moisturise, bed” kind of bedtime routine girl, and that just doesn’t seem possible when you’ve been wearing mascara.  Or maybe it’s the way that I put mascara on or the crap that I use to take it off again.  I seem to need industrial strength remover and even with that, I still end up with it flaked beneath my eyes in the morning. And there’s nothing better to see first thing in the morning than that ever attractive Bride of Frankenstein look.

So, basically, I think what I’m saying, is that, the reason that I don’t really wear make up is that I’m just too damn lazy to take the stuff off again. But. I already knew that.  So, I’m not actually saying anything that will come as a surprise to me.

But, I’m also going to persevere. I may give up again, for a while, but as long as I pick myself up again, I don’t see that it matters.

Plus, I think I’m getting to that age where I can’t shouldn’t really been seen in public without at least a little help.

I have, at last, told the school that I will no longer be doing the After~school club after next month. As much as I would like to just walk away without so much as a backward glance, I wouldn’t just leave them in the lurch.

Well, no. That’s not quite true. I would do that, if they had pissed me about, but they haven’t so that would just be a shitty thing to do. Mainly to the kids, as they’d be lumbered with one of the teachers, or God forbid, the Headmistress in my place ~ and that just woudn’t be any fun for anyone ~ except perhaps me, who would be laughing from the sidelines.

I’ve been working there for over a year now, and have never really enjoyed it. Mainly because on the nights that I work there, the children that I despise the most are always there. And because I’m so fucking unlucky, they’re always booked in for the full 2 hours.  It’s got to the point where I hate these kids so much, that when they misbehave ~ which they always do ~ I can’t tell them off. I have to get one of the other staff members to do it, because I would just go too far and end up banning them from the club.

As you can see. When I dislike someone, I go the whole hog but thankfully, I am aware of this and manage to work around it.

Another reason is that one of the other people that run the club with me is another mum from the school and I’ve never particularly trusted her but now I just can’t bear to speak to her.  This woman has a real bee in her bonnet about the Headmistress at B’s school and is doing her best to go round all the other mums and spread the hate.  In fact there’s actually a little group of mum’s who are doing this, all without any actual reason and of course, without proof and to be honest, the sooner I get away from them, the better, because after every conversation that I have with them, I just end up walking away feeling drained. No matter what we start the conversation talking about, within a minute (and I have tested this out) we she turns the subject around to the Head.

Seriously, if she has such an issue, why the fuck doesn’t she just get her son and move him to another school?   Especially since in September he’ll be in his final year at our school and he will be taught exclusively by the Head.  It’s not rocket science, is it?

There are a pair of twins that are in the Reception class at B’s school. (Reception is what we called Infants ~ when I were a lad) They are a boy and a girl ~ shall we call them Willy and Billie?  OK, yes, lets.

Poor Billie is dressed as a boy. By that, I mean, she wears boys trousers, boys shoes, boys coats and boys pants. Yes, PANTS. I don’t make a habit of checking kids pants, which I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear, but she takes forever in the toilet that I’m forever having to follow in after her and herd her out.  This includes, occasionally having to pull her trousers up for her in order for her to get a bloody wiggle on!!

For the first four weeks after meeting the twins, I deliberately wouldn’t call either of them by their names because I just didn’t know which was which.  Occasionally I would call B over to me in the playground and get him to pass on messages for me. :-)   Kids seem to have an uncanny knack for knowing these kinds of things.

I feel so sorry for Billie. All well and good if she’s a tomboy but it’s my opinion that a four year old is not capable (or likely) to be demanding that she be allowed to dress as a boy.

Also, both Willy and Billie were conceived by IVF.  I could be wrong ~ it’s been known to have happened at least once before ~ but if I were to go through the heartbreak, hassle and emotional roller-coaster of IVF, and then to be blessed with twins, I’d want to dress them as individuals.  Wouldn’t you?

The parents though are a different kettle of fish. The mum is friendly enough but the dad looks like a typical local yokel.  With crazy hair n’all.

Just to give you an idea. . . Rebecca, one of the other women that does the After School Club with me was on her own in the school house washing out the paint pots that the children had been using while I had the twins out in the playground.    Rebecca has long hair and was bent over the sink washing out the pots and when she looked up there was Willy and Billie’s dad, just standing at the door watching her.  This guy is as skinny as a rake, about 6′ 3″ although with his crazy hair I’d say he’s more like 6′5″.  He wears dodgy baggy trousers ~ but to be honest, I think they’re actually called slacks ~ and home knitted cardigans or jumpers that are always the same colour as diarrhoa and at least 20 years old.

Is it any wonder that Rebecca looked up and screamed the school down?

The best bit though, was a message that was left on the school answer machine.  The message was left during lunch time when the phone is very rarely answered and one by one, all of the staff from the school were called into the office to listen to the message to try and decipher who had left it.

The message, in a very creepy voice with lots of odd pauses, was:

“Hello.

I am just …………………

phoning …………………

to tell you ……………..

that I will be ………….

coming to get………..

the………………………

little……………………

kiddies……………..

this afternoon.”

Click

Oh My God. Who was it? Some weirdo local pheadophile being considerate enough to warn us before he comes to pick up some poor unsuspecting kid?

No.

It turns out that it was Willy and Billie’s uncle.

A Love Story Written In The Stars

Words cannot describe how much I love this film and how much it means to me.

Faith (our Heroine) is given a name by a Ouija Board when she is 11 after she has asked it who she is going to marry. A few days later, she goes to a fair and a Fortune Teller there tells her the exact same name. That name being Damon Bradley.

Fast forward fourteen years and we’re just ten days away from Faith’s wedding ~ to a man, who is definatley NOT right for her and Faith answers the phone and takes a message from Damon Bradley!

Along with her best friend, who also happens to be her Sister~in~Law, they hop on the next available plane to follow Damon to Venice and then Rome.  They follow Damon from hotels, to restaurants but never manage to get quite close enough to meet him.

AFter Faith looses a shoe whilst chasing a figure who she believes to be Damon, she seems almost ready to give up all hope of actually meeting Damon, when a handsome stranger who just happened to pick up the shoe that lost (how very Cinderella) informs her that he is, in fact, Damon Bradley.

I really don’t want to spoil the film anymore for those of you who haven’t seen it and might actually go and rent it, based on my love of the film, so I shall say no more, but seriously, this is my favourite film in the world and I just can’t recommend it enough.

Plus, there are actually two love stories in this film, and I think that the result for both of them is just perfect.

One of my very favourite lines from the film comes from Peter.. . and you’re going to have to watch the film if you want to know who he is.

Peter: This guy, by the way, could be the biggest loser who ever walked the face of the earth. He could be a grump, a jerk, a pervert, a cynic, a man who’s mind is infested with dark thoughts, he could be a criminal… he could be… truly sick.

Plus, you have to watch the film, just to see the beautiful red dress and shoes that Faith is wearing on the evening that she meets Damon.   I’ve been searching for that dress for over ten years, and still haven’t found it.