LOST that loving feeling.

You know what they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

So I am overlooking the fact that it's 9pm and the only place I really want to be is in bed.

Because there is something I have to say.

Something very important.

What on earth have they done to Sawyer?

Come on ladies, who doesn't watch LOST and secretly think if they had to be marooned on a desert island it would be slightly more bearable if Sawyer were around to ogle all day long and maybe share a mango with?

Don't get me wrong I am still a LOST devotee (despite all these seasons in still having no flaming clue what is going on or what might potentially happen next) but this 'Lafleur' Sawyer I just cannot get on board with.

The shiny straight groomed hair and general cleanliness just don't cut it.

Though I have to admit seeing him shacked up with Juliet does may me go 'ahhh how lovely'. (but I'm pregnant remember and the crazy hormones get me thinking just about everything is lovely.)

TV executives please bring back the old Sawyer just the way we love him.
Smouldering,

Sweaty,

Sarcastic,

But most importantly shirtless.

Because after all that is what makes good TV.

Completely Mental with a side Order of Judgement

On November 20th I was driving home from work and noticed the unmistakable twinkliness (I am aware that isn't an actual word) of a Christmas tree illuminating someones front window.

Sure I was listening (and singing along) to Christmas music in my car but that's not the point is it?

Regardless, I judged the unknown occupants of that house because we all know November 20th is just too flaming early to have your Christmas tree up.

I recall guffawing at their stupidity because it was a living tree and it's chances of surviving until December 25th were highly unlikely.

Every day as I drove home I would stare in complete disbelief at their ridiculously early Christmas tree erection. Even when December 1st rolled around and I put our tree up (totally for the kids benefit of course) I still thought about those crazy folks on the next street who had beat me to it by 1o days.

Soon all the world was a place of twinkly lighted beauty and the ridiculously early Christmas decorators were lost from my thoughts.

New Years Day rolled around and we took our decorations down.

I noticed others must have done the same.

Gradually all the twinkly lights disappeared.

All the twinkly lights but one house.

The crazy folks house.

January 10th came around and their illuminated tree (which hadn't yet died as I predicted, apparently I do not possess the wealth of Christmas tree knowledge that I had previously assigned myself) still had pride of place in the window.

Surely this wasn't normal behaviour.

Then the cogs in my brain started turning. This definitely wasn't normal behaviour.

Obviously whoever occupied that house had died during the Christmas season.

Surely that was the only explanation as to why these people were still enjoying Christmas when the rest of us were anxiously anticipating the arrival of Spring.

On my birthday 3 days later. I noticed the tree was still there but not lit.

Evidence that the occupant was very much still alive, right?

Well that or they'd been dead for so long and hadn't paid their electricity bill that their supplier disconnected them.

A week on the tree still stood there sad and un-illuminated.

Several times I had to force myself not to share my theory with my friend who is a police officer (and has filled my mind of stories of decomposing corpses being eaten by their own pets) in the hopes that he'd go discover the truth and all would be right in the world once more.

Instead I just forced myself to drive by without looking at the house.

Today I looked.

The tree was gone and I came to the conclusion that the most likely explanation is simply that I am a massive drama queen.

The truth hurts!

Lucky Charms

I've never been a big believer in lucky charms.

As a kid my mum had a white rabbit foot brooch.

I'm not exaggerating when I say it completely traumatised me.

We were after all big rabbit owners as kids.

She ensured me it was lucky. I didn't and still don't believe her.

How lucky could that foot really be? The poor flaming rabbit got murdered and had it's foot chopped off and turned into a truly hideous brooch.

It certainly wasn't lucky for the poor innocent rabbit.

Oh and mum if you're reading this I honestly don't want it when you leave this mortal coil thank you very much.

Along the same lines I never understood the hoarding of horseshoes, wishbones (that's part of a chicken carcass people), endless searching for Four leaf clovers and lucky pennies.

I was always of the opinion that in life you make your own luck.

But finally a lucky charm I can get on board with, fashionably created in Milan.

Yep that's right folks.

Over at AC Milan they're giving David Beckham's backside a good old squeeze for luck.

Turns out that since his arrival on loan they haven't lost a single match.

If only Milan were closer and it wouldn't result in a restraining order.

What Exactly Does Carol Need?

I saw this on my lovely friend Rachael's blog and it made me chuckle so I figured I'd give it a go.

Basically you type your name followed by the word 'needs' and see what Google kindly throws back at you.

Put the Top 10 in a post and voila, entertainment for all the world to see.

1. Carol needs to be grounded in some very basic things. I SO do not.

2. Carol needs assessment information request. Honestly I could live without it.

3. Carol needs our help, will be killing her dogs. Luckily for all of you and dogs nationwide I am not a dog owner, and probably should never be allowed to be. The forecast apparently isn't looking good.

4. Carol needs licenced real estate agent. In this global recession? I think not. I'd be better off attempting to win the lottery.

5. Carol needs a pacemaker. I may well do if Eli decides to make more poop masterpieces on his bedroom wall.

6. Carol needs to change. It's true I do, but where to start?

7. Carol needs a power source. I really do Caffeine just isn't kicking it these days.

8. Carol needs YOU! Indeed I do, don't go forgetting it.

9. Carol needs a 1995 retired Tony Carter teapot of a chaise lounge with the gramophone on a small table. I don't think legally anybody should be able to manufacture such a hideous object. That is definitely not going on my wish list.

10. Carol needs a forever family, and desires a placement where she can feel safe. I honestly do, preferably somewhere sunny where they let you eat chocolate for breakfast and let you sleep til noon. Also no chores required.

So what do you need?

If Only

Friday night I found myself at a loss.

I had nothing specific I actually wanted to do.

My choices were these:

Tackle the ironing pile, this I hasten to add isn't my actual pile of ironing mine is at least neatly-ish folded awaiting it's date with the iron (my house doesn't contain an unhealthy collection of pictures of Roses either I assure you, floral and I just do not gel).

Or watch this movie which was taking up precious space on our Sky+,
It shouldn't take Einstein to figure out I chose the latter.

I just want to say that should my marriage to Rob come to an untimely end either through some tragedy or the fact that he scarpered with Catherine Zeta Jones or Liz Hurley when the opportunity presented itself I want to marry Matthew McConaughey next.

Due to my lack of diligence in the ironing department he'd no doubt be forced to exist in a shirtless state.

But I could live with that. It's not a big deal.

Seriously.

Obsessed. Strictly Speaking.

I have added yet another addiction to my list.

Joining the ranks of chocolate, Pepsi, Blogging and laminating is my current obsession, Strictly Come Dancing. (That'd be Dancing with the Stars for my US readers. Pretty much the same show even including Len & Bruno but much more traditional in format, you know us Brits we love tradition.)

I got slightly engrossed at the very end of Season 4 back in 2006.

I was an avid viewer of season 5 last year.

This year I admit I am a truly obsessed super fan.

Phew, feels so much better to say that out loud. Well in type anyhow. I watch the show on Saturday, I watch the result show on Sunday and every week day I watch the behind scenes show to see who is dancing what on Saturday and how they're getting along.

See I really wasn't exaggerating when I used the word addicted, was I?

Looking back to how this addiction may have started I can look back no further than my first ever viewing of Dirty Dancing, at the tender age of 11 I got to watch it at the cinema despite being 4 years too young for the age 15 certificate. Lucky for me the light of good fortune favoured me because my mum worked there so I just sneaked in the back and stood completely enthralled watching the whole thing. What girl didn't want to be Baby? And who didn't want to marry Johnny? Patrick Swayze you will always have a special place in my heart (and probably a few billion others).

After the first viewing I was totally hooked. I remember watching it on video over and over and over again. Even attempting to write all the dialogue down in script fashion (though I got bored on about scene 4, I was lazy it would appear even then). I wanted desperately to be a dancer.

But I was missing one particularly vital thing.

Any sense of coordination.

Being somewhat statuesque in build, well maybe that's too generous, a more apt term to describe me would be gangly.

It's true, I admit it. I am gangly. At 5' 10'' I have arms that are longer than most women's legs and hands that truly are bigger than most boys.

I was never gonna be a dancer. Aerobics is too challenging a feat for my level of coordination let alone actual dancing where you're supposed to look refined and elegant while you do it.

But still in my heart I want to wear those divine gowns (even the really immodest ones) and have gorgeous hair and make up and wear those dainty heels.

But in reality even one of those gowns wouldn't distract from my truly hideous varicose vein on my left calf (courtesy of pregnancy number 1), even if I managed to get my pig trotter type feet into dainty heels there is no chance I'd actually manage to walk in them, never mind dance. I don't even remember the last time I wore heels, at least 10 years, I have none in my shoe collection. Victoria Beckham would be utterly appalled.

But that is why Strictly Come Dancing brings me such tremendous joy. Ordinary celebrity people get to fulfil my fantasy. Some are excellent and some are appalling (which entertains me to a completely other degree I have to tell you) but they are dancing and every week I feel a little bit fulfilled just from watching them.

Oh and the eye candy in tight pants and shirts split to the waist really doesn't hurt either.

Letters, Laxatives & ?

Dear Thomas,

Lets make ourselves a little agreement. From now on unless informed otherwise by your good self I'll just assume that you would like every toy on every advertisement you see between now and Christmas. Not having the same conversation 3681 times every day will help keep me on the verge of sanity which I'd greatly appreciate.

I have to say when you told me you wanted that shampoo for Christmas, that was a low point.

I think you might have fallen over the materialistic edge of Christmas. I think it is time to overdose on our nativity books to get you back on track.

Love mum

*******

I am intrigued by the laxative effect playing with cars appears to have on Eli's bowels. Without fail if he plays cars for longer than a few minutes it kicks his intestines into overdrive. If only we had known what we know now when Thomas suffered with excruciating constipation for 18 months. Ah well, you live and learn.

*******

Not to brag (well maybe a little) last night I got Christmas wrapped up and all stored in the loft. The kids were beginning to get a bit suspicious of odd shaped packages appearing around the house. Only 4 more presents to buy. Yay!

******

Dear Sweet cute brown eyed but incredibly devilish Eli,

If you could not throw a massive tantrum every single day when we have to leave Thomas at school I'd really appreciate it. Especially on those days when just ten minutes before I was picking you up from playgroup after a 3 hour stint where you got to do all the exact same things you are so enamoured with at Thomas' school, on those days I find your behaviour beyond unreasonable.

Frankly I could live without my hefty daily dose of humiliation. Nobody else's younger sibling gives an ounce of resistance about leaving. Clearly you are trying to make up for them all.

I don't really appreciate the fact that everybody stares like we're a car crash as I have to physically remove your screaming, crying self from the building while all the parents are no doubt thanking their lucky stars that you're not their child and the staff are probably making a mental note to look for new employment by January 2010 when you'd be in their class.

Come on kid, give me a break.

Love mum

*******

Tonight we start choir rehearsals for our Carol service at church. I signed up immediately. Don't get me wrong I am not a great singer. I know that. But still I can be found in my car belting the hits out like no ones business. But if nothing else at least my paltry singing talents will make the rest of the choir look good. Plus biggest bonus of all I have to it on the stand in church for the duration of the Carol service, so when December 21st rolls around I will have a child free church experience. Bliss!

*******

Monday Musings

It seems like a while since I have actually blogged, in reality it was only Thursday, but whatever.

Firstly, having recently remarked that I never get spam in my email inbox it seems this one opened a tidal wave of epic proportions. This week alone I have been busy winning both the British and Australian lotteries, I have become beneficiary to millions and millions of pounds due to numerous deaths of obscure relatives I have never heard of or met. Plus on top of that kindly strangers are frequently offering me the opportunity to put all of their gazillions in my bank account while they leave their homelands and move westward for a cut of their cash. Clearly the light of fortune is shining on me brightly right now. Well, either that or I need to change my email address.

Secondly, Eli is happily settled at playgroup (HOORAY!). His teachers tell me by his second session it was like he had always been there. Sadly that did not save me from the look of complete horror I received at his first session from his key worker (who was brand new) when I explained he would bite someone if he got into a scuffle and it wasn't sorted out immediately. She won't be nominating me for any parenting awards that is for sure.

Thirdly, last Monday in celebration of having successfully offloaded Eli at playgroup for 3 hours I hit the supermarket with Thomas (I know, I know how to have a good time don't I?). Having purchased all my groceries without having to reprimand or bribe anyone I headed to get petrol. I was filling up my tank with £1.09 litre/£4.36 per gallon (Yes that is like $8 per gallon, don't feel so hard done to now do you?) when my phone starting ringing. My gut instinct immediately told me it was playgroup calling and that Eli had bitten some unsuspecting child and that he'd been expelled on his very first day. In a state of panic I finished up and found my phone. To my great relief it wasn't playgroup calling, phew! 5 minutes into my journey I heard something on the roof of my car, I glanced into my rear view mirror only to see something flying through the air and hitting the car behind me. Confusion turned to clarity as I realised in my Eli induced panic I had forgotten to put the petrol cap back on and had left it on the car roof. Yes, I am that stupid!

Apparently I am just not satisfied with paying ridiculous money for petrol, I want to fill up and let it freely evaporate into the atmosphere just so that it can be as costly as possible. I had to go to the Peugeot dealer and attempt to buy a new one. After having explained my story to 2 rather amused men I was informed they didn't actually have one in stock so had to go elsewhere but I finally found one. It made for a rather frenzied 3 hours (I didn't even end up with time to bring Thomas home for lunch before dropping him at nursery so he had to make do with a feast of crusty french baguette in his carseat, dry and with no juice to wash it down) without Eli rather than the calm and serene and leisurely time I had envisioned. Fortunately Wednesday was vastly better.

Fourthly, when Thomas arrives at school it is lunchtime for all the kids who are in full time schooling aged 4-7. That means 250ish kids are playing in the playground merrily enjoying their freedom. Three weeks into dropping Thomas off he still without fail says 'The boys and girls are so happy I made it' as we pull up, yep my three year old is in such a happy state of thinking the world revolves about him that he has interpreted their high spirits as simply the whole school being thrilled that he, Thomas Siswick, has arrived for his 2.5 hour stint that takes him into zero contact with the rest of the school.

Lastly, I am wondering when we will walk home from school without the following conversation. We get to this alleyway about 5 seconds from our house where once about 7 months ago there happened to be some dog poop. We now frequent this alley on a daily basis and without fail as soon as we enter it I hear, "where that dog poo go?", "It's gone Thomas that was a really long time ago, someone cleaned it up.", "Who clean that poo, why?" seriously have we nothing better to discuss than the disappearance of some 7 month old dog poo? Maybe I'll have to consider a new route home or talk someone into letting their canine friend poop there because apparently all is just not right in the world if our alley is a poop-less place.

The Day I lost 15.2 Million Dollars

On Monday I was checking my email and amazingly I get very little spam so I was surprised to see an unfamiliar name in my inbox. Intrigued I opened the email and read intently.

You'll find my thoughts in italics and brackets.

From: Law***** CHAMBERS
To: carolsiswick@yahoo.co.uk
Sent: Monday, 15 September, 2008 21:19:33
Subject: Attn:


LAW***** FOO (Seriously, does anyone with the surname Foo sound trustworthy? I'll answer that, NO!) & ASSOCIATE SOLICITORS & LEGAL PRACTITIONER

Dear Carol Siswick,

I have an obscure (good choice of word Mr Foo) business interest to share with you. It's understandable that you might be a little apprehensive (Oh no, not at all, it's perfectly normal to get random emails from legal folks after all) because you do not know me (fair point). I am Barrister Law***** Foo (Foo? May I suggest a name change. I think you'd be taken more seriously in legal circles with a less amusing name), a solicitor at law and personal attorney to my late client Mr. Raymond A. Siswick (who I have never heard of and doubt exists), a nationality of your country, He died in March 2005 as a result of heart condition.

My deceased client made some fixed deposit valued 15.2million United States Dollars (Woohoo!), in a finance firm here in Malaysia (So likely that a British man would deposit 15.2 million dollars and in Malaysia of all places). Upon maturity legal responsibilities, I have been given deadline mandate by the Bank Management to provide the next of kin and beneficiary to the fund hence failure to that (Oh, well that is obviously me then being that I have been a Siswick for five years and only by marriage), the fund will be confiscated and declared unserviceable by the Bank (now wouldn't that be a tragedy?). Regards to this, I have exhaustively made efforts to locate the next of kin/beneficiary, or any relative of my deceased client (and you assume email the best way to achieve that? May I suggest Facebook? You''ll find plenty of Siswick's there. Though Rob did appreciate his email from you also), which was not successful (May I suggest that is because your 'client' is a figment of your imagination?). My purpose of contacting you (is to no doubt scam me out of my life savings which would amount to about £4.63 a present) is to seek your consent and to present you to the bank as the next of kin/beneficiary of my late client's fund since you have the same last name and country origin.

MODALITIES:
I want you to know that I have had everything planned out (Oh I am sure you have Mr Foo) so that we shall come Out (I don't believe that letter O needed to be a capital) successfully. I will prepare you with the necessary document that will back you up as the next of kin/beneficiary to the fund inter alia that will enable onward transfer to your local account (you mean the account you're hoping to withdraw my life savings from?) in your country. We are going to adopt a legalized (is that fancy talk for fraud?) method in the whole matter that will protect you from any infraction of the law (somehow I don't believe you). There is a reward for this project (tempt me, tempt me)and it is a task worth undertaking.

However, if the proposal does not conform to your ethics, please do accept my sincere apologies. If on the contrary, could you kindly open a correspondence with me, after which I shall furnish you with more information on this transaction.

Please write me direct at l.l******88@yahoo.com.

Best Regards,

Barr. Lawrence Foo
(Attorney at Law) Esq.

And that is how I sadly lost 15.2 Million Dollars. But managed to avoid having my bank account assaulted by a naughty man who hoped I'd be greedy/stupid enough to fall for this whole spiel.

Oh and Mr Foo may I recommend you add a letter L to your name. I think the surname Fool is far more fitting.

The Booker Prize? Not So Much

Well this is the place to be today if you're looking for a recommendation or two. That is of course if you're all finished with the Twilight saga because apparently I am the only human being on God's green earth who hasn't succumbed (yet!) to the literary talents of that Stephanie Meyer woman.

So this is what you really should be reading....

1. Because you never know when your shopping cart ID skills may come in handy. They'll be begging for you on CSI with your newly acquired skills for sure.

2. Because it is always wise to be prepared
3. Because apparently they're not happy with us eating their relatives
4. Because it's cheaper and less scary than a boob job (I can only assume this must be endorsed by Victoria Beckham)
5. Because if you can learn to live with your crazy buttocks you can wave exercise bye-bye!
6. Because if someone was kind enough to write such a book we should at least be courteous and read it. (Please publishers everywhere do not make an Old Tractors and the men who love them calendar, particularly one involving any kind of nudity!)
And finally, 7. Because think of all the money you'll save on knitwear, Christmas gifts and vacuums. We are living in a credit crunch people!
So which do you want to read first? Be sure to let me know.

I can pop over to Amazon and start my Christmas shopping early.

The Best Invention Ever

I know what you're thinking how could I ever possibly single out one individual invention and give it the high acclaim of being the best invention ever?

It's true I'll admit there are a gazillion and one inventions that have improved my life immeasurably and if I have to endure another old lady at church telling me the tale of how easy life is these days for us mothers because back in her day there were no washing machines and they had to wash their clothes laboriously by hand and blah, blah, blah and so on I swear I think I will honestly spontaneously combust.

Yes I get it. I do. Life was immensely harder a generation or two ago but in those days they didn't have to contend with kids high on sugar or who knows what else that is contained in every item my child actually wants to eat without putting up a fight that has them bouncing off the walls from time to time.

Old ladies my life is hard too! Yes I have indoor plumbing and 3 televisions (2 of which we have lost the remotes for, now that is true hardship) in my house. But even these blessings come with their own disadvantages. Cleaning up pee residue left by boys and having to endure Max & Ruby is no walk in the park either I'll have you know.

Anyhow back to the point. Best invention ever?

Seriously....

Baby Wipes.

Now I had been considering this post for a while and then for 6 days our hot water boiler was broken and on day 1 I almost convinced myself that hot water totally eclipses baby wipes at the top of my best ever invention list.

For 6 long days we were showerless (unless we wanted to risk hypothermia) I had actually been sick so I hadn't showered for a day or two before that. I'm disgusting, I know! We had to resort to icy cold washes and washing my hair in the cold shower bent over double. It was so cold I had to come up with the ingenious idea of using my shampoo and conditioner simultaneously (apply shampoo get the bubbles bubbling then add a generous slathering of conditioner on top of the bubbles then rinse but do not repeat as needed in case you're wondering). It may not have been the best care for my hair by far but it vastly reduced my scalps exposure to the icy cold water spray.

My head is currently still thawing thanks for asking.

You know what got me through our hot water famine?

Baby wipes.

I for sure was never gonna expose my body to a subzero showering experience and baby wipes saved the day. They and they alone made me acceptable to be out in public.

Baby wipes have entirely revolutionised my life. There is truly no end to the uses these handy wipes have. I use mine for everything and anything.

Cleaning poo? Check.
Cleaning baby vomit? Check.
Cleaning toys? Check.
Cleaning windows? Check.
Dusting? Check.
Cleaning inside of my car? (thanks Rob) Check.
Cleaning leather sofa? Check.
Cleaning laminate floor? Check.
Cleaning all surfaces? Check.
Cleaning poop art of the walls? Check.
Cleaning the bathroom? Check.
Removing my make up when I am too bone lazy to take 8 steps to the bathroom? Check.
Styling my kids hair? check.

When Thomas was smaller and had somewhat crazy hair (though perfectly tame hair in comparison to Eli) we didn't wet and brush his unruly locks we baby wiped them into place and it worked a treat, honestly!

The multipurpose nature of the baby wipe has not passed my oldest child by. Recently I was off elsewhere baby wiping something clean no doubt and on my return I saw this sitting on the sofa watching Peter Pan. On enquiring what on earth was going on he replied:

"Well my feet hurt mummy and the baby wipes are fixing them."

See, absolutely no end to their uses. Though I haven't tried them out personally for hurting feet Thomas assures me they are very effective.

Now if the old ladies wanna spin me a tale about how tough life was without baby wipes that is one I am willing to listen to over and over (without fear of spontaneous combustion) because life without my baby wipes is completely unimaginable for me.

I'm telling you Best. Invention. Ever!

A Super Sad Realisation

You know as a teenager I could sleep like no ones business. Obviously I always stayed up far too late (I was a teenager after all) but I could sleep until lunch time with total ease. I have to admit I really loved it.

I could never comprehend why older people were up so flaming early when they had no logical reason to be, no kids to look after and no work to go to. Nothing pressing requiring them to leave their beds at some disgustingly unnecessary early hour.

As I got a bit older I still loved my quilt as much as life itself and on the days I could get away with it I would happily slumber my days away.

Then responsibility took over and my slumbering was confined only to weekends because earning a living required me to get my backside out of bed all week long. (Being a grown up is rubbish like that!)

Then I had a baby and sleeping in became almost as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Then I had another baby straight after and I had to reluctantly admit defeat. There would be no more sleeping until noon for me until the kids were older, even if I were sick or had been up all night keeping someone else company.

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to sleep in one morning. I smiled sleepily as Rob left our bedroom to entertain our offspring who have yet to realise how truly delicious sleep is. (Well generally they sleep 12 hours but I'd prefer they slept longer or I get to bed two hours earlier, the former being more likely than the latter.)

Then I lay there and tossed and turned and dozed but never actually fell asleep.

So I got up and started the day thinking nothing of it.

Fast forward to today. A repeat occurrence of the above. I snuggled under my covers for 40 minutes loving the cosiness and feeling cocooned in a wonderful snuggly world of warmth.

Willing sleep to come.

Sleep never came.

So I reluctantly got up.

My children have seriously damaged me. They have caused the part of me that can sleep like a champ to short circuit. I fear it is unrepairable.

Without even realising it I have become one of those older people who cannot sleep past 8am.

Could I be more devastated?

I am officially in mourning for my loss of ability to sleep soundly for more than 8 hours.

Yet another unexpected product of parenting that I didn't know I had signed up for.

I should have read that small print.

It's My Blog and I Can Write What I Want to...

I think we all know that I love to blog. I make no secret of it.

I love that I can write about whatever I want, completely uncensored and best of all I like that nobody can interrupt me while I do so.

Brilliant, right?

I don't mind at all that endless strangers the world over (yes, I am kidding myself a tiny bit) can come by and read about whatever I am considerate enough to share that day.

I have been known to whine (just the once and that was practically forever ago) that the majority of readers fail to comment. Anyone that blogs themselves will know that comments are the icing on the blog cake so to speak, and we all know how much I like cake. (Unless it's ginger cake of course, ginger cake I can live without.) But I have made my peace with that. If you comment that is super dooper great, if you don't that's fine too, but just know I won't like you so much.

From my very first blogging day I have had comment moderation enabled. That way I get to see who has commented and what delightful things they had to say and I then get the option to either publish or reject. I always publish my comments except for a couple of mishaps along the way where I rejected completely and honestly by accident. One of these mishaps involved 2 comments from Rob and he has never commented since. Can anyone say hold a grudge? (Come on Rob take the higher road and forgive me.)

From day 1 I also disabled search engines from finding my blog. Well, until the curiosity got to me and I started to wonder what people would actually have to Google to turn up right here (that is a whole other blog post in itself believe me) and I freely admit I have had my share of unwanted attention.

So this post goes out to the other people who arrived here by way of Google and commented on my blog and I chose to reject what they had to say to me.

Why did I choose to delete it?

Because I can.

I have the power.

So to half the population of Wales (who clearly have nothing better to do than search the Internet for critical things people may have said about their language) who responded to my post about our recent stay in Wales and gave me several lengthy and insightful lectures on the origins of the Welsh language and how it is purer in form than English. Those Welsh folk are fiercely patriotic (and evidently not big fans of the English) I have found. I thank you all but I reject you.

To the person who googled snakes in bed (seriously?) and then left me a comment telling me what I had just shared was an urban legend and they hoped very much that I was simply attempting to be entertaining because apparently an Anaconda couldn't eat an adult human due to the shoulders being wider than it's jaws could physically stretch and was kind enough to attach a link or two so I could re-educate myself more thoroughly on a snakes actual dining etiquette. I remind you that I never once said the snake actually ate her or even attempted to. I am not personally acquainted with this snake but I am willing to concede it may have been a snake with a low IQ that was shamelessly unaware of it's inability to swallow adult human shoulders. I thank you also but I reject you.

And finally to who can only be described as Matthew McFadyen biggest fan who was ever so offended that I dared have the audacity to suggest Colin Firth was a far superior Mr Darcy (which he is) than Mr McFadyen would ever be. I thank you for your opinion (as utterly incorrect as it is) but I reject you.

I beg of you no more silly interruptions.

Because after all it's my blog and I can write what I want to.

Randomly Me

Jennie at Beehive and Bird's Nest tagged me to share six random things about myself.

Oh goodness, only 6?

Then I got to worrying about how random they really needed to be.

Random but informative?

Random but amusing?

Or Random to the point you think (most probably justifiably) that I am a crazy person?

Well I shall have to let you be the judge of that.

Here goes (I am embarrassed already BTW):

1. Christmas.
I LOVE Christmas. I really, really love it. As soon as the temperatures begin to drop (so that is pretty much any day here) and the evenings get gradually darker I start feeling it, the good old Christmas spirit. Rob (aka The Grinch, though he has vastly increased in Christmas enthusiasm since we had kids) has me on a Christmas curfew. I am not allowed to make plans or mention said holiday until after his birthday on October 19th. When October 20th hits I am finally allowed to let the Christmas in. I have been known to eagerly crack out my Bing & Frank CD's that early. But in general I am not a fan of Winter and so Christmas is an incredibly welcome distraction from all the gloom and incessant rain going on outside. Plus gifts and the fact that it is completely acceptable to eat your own body weight in chocolate are rather lovely perks also.

2. I cannot whistle, do handstands or cartwheels, roll my tongue and to top it all off I have horrific balance.

I was simply not assembled correctly. I completely blame my parents. They probably owe me hefty amounts of compensation for the embarrassment my lack of these fundamental life skills has caused me my entire life. Maybe I'll look into that.....

3. I cry when I laugh.

Not just a tear or two either but a full on cascade of tears that would push any waterproof mascara to it's limits. I don't even need to be laughing at anything particularly funny, even mildly amusing set the tears a-flowing. A tear streaked face is not an attractive look, it is a wonder that anyone ever consented to marry me.

4. I like Cricket.

This is something that has come as a surprise even to me. Rob loves cricket (and pretty much every other sport in existence) and so living in the same house and the fact that some of these matches go on for 4 long days I have been exposed to more cricket than most women could bear.

But instead of complaining (which was obviously my first instinct) I figured that I may as well embrace the cricket and at least attempt to understand it. After asking Rob the very same questions at least 40 times I now have a pretty sound general understanding of what is going on. In fact I can be found watching it when Rob isn't even home, but then truly anything is an improvement on Max and Ruby.

Though the fact that cricket players no longer look like this

but instead more like this has really aided my concentration.

5. I have never voted

I haven't 'tis true but now at the grand old age of 32 (will it ever become less painful to type those numbers in reference to myself?) 14 entire years since I have been of age to vote I have had a political awakening. The cause of this awakening you may wonder? Well nothing less than a combination of Robert McAllister from Brothers & Sisters and the current American Presidential Election. So next time the opportunity arises here I shall indeed be voting and hopefully that will be the end of Gordon Brown.

6. Post shower or bath I dry myself with hairdryer

I don't know when I started doing this and it is not a fact I freely share. Well until now when I shared it with the universe. I love baths, the hotter the better. We sadly don't have a bath in our current house but we do have a super whooshy shower. There is nothing worse (maybe that's a little dramatic) than leaving a hot bath or shower. No matter how hot your house is you always feel really cold. I detest being cold. I feel cheated that of all warm places on earth God could have sent me to dwell he sent me here to England where if we have 30 sunny days out of 365 we regard it a pretty good year. Pah! So to rectify the coldness post showering I warm myself thoroughly with my hair dryer.

I highly recommend it, honestly.

So now that I have fully exposed myself you had better comment before I end up in a corner in the foetal position wondering why oh why I had to be so honest!

Oh Mr Darcy What Have You Done?

Every girl that ever had the incredibly good fortune to see the BBC adaptation of Pride & Prejudice in the mid 90's (and hundreds of times since, obviously) must hold in their hearts a very special place for Colin Firth as Mr Darcy (sorry but that Matthew MacFadyen fella just doesn't compare at all).

Who could watch without being consumed with envy for that lucky old Elizabeth Bennett?

Who didn't secretly wish he uttered to them 'In vain have I struggled, it will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.' (Well I'm actually hoping more than just me had that thought or else I am gonna look a tad crazy.) So in my mind Colin Firth and Mr Darcy became one and the same person. Completely inseparable.

So imagine my despair at having to see my Mr. Darcy-Firth in another role when I wanted to go see Bridget Jones Diary.

I'm not gonna lie it was slightly painful to come to the realisation that Colin Firth had a life beyond Mr Darcy. That he didn't just sit around at home constantly in Jane Austen-esque apparel, brooding.

But, all was redeemed when as Mark Darcy he says these very words. 'I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever is in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are. '

And my adoration was maintained. (Despite the reindeer jumper).

So then he became to me Mr Darcy-Darcy-Firth and all was right in the world.

So last night I went to see Mamma Mia. I hadn't actually wanted to see it but I went along to see what all the hype was about. I came away effected three fold:

1. I will hear Abba songs in my head until the very end of time and maybe considerably longer.
2. Bless that man for his courage but Pierce Brosnan should never ever be allowed to sing (it's really not very 007 is it?) I was embarrassed for him, not just a little embarrassed either but embarrassed to my very inner core. The kind of embarrassment where you can't even look at the screen or sit still in your chair.
3. Sadly My Mr Darcy adoration has now unexpectedly expired. Having seen Mr Darcy-Darcy-Firth decked out in a 70's style Bee Gee's inspired get up (containing more Lycra than a man should ever wear) dancing extremely happily to Abba without any utterance of words such as ardently or just the way you are led me down a road I really wasn't prepared for. My adoration is now officially over.

A sad day indeed.

Excuse me while I go watch Pride & Prejudice for 6 hours in the vain hope that I can salvage the magic.

TAGeriffic!

I got tagged to do this again by Kelli at Writing the waves of Motherhood this is a slightly different variation of the tag I had previously completed so I figured I'd just merge the two of them together. I am resourceful like that, or just plain lazy. I'll let you decide.

So my favourite native of Utah, Alisha, tagged me, considering she was forced to live with me 24/7 for two months 11 years ago (as LDS Missionary companions) and put up with oh SO much I guess it's only good and polite to fulfill her request especially considering I spent the majority of our time together saying 'Amen' half way through her prayers. (Hey, I was tired and her prayers were long!)

Here goes,

4 Places I go over and over
1. To work
2. To the park. I'm not complaining, it's summer. I LOVE Summer.
3. To church
4. To Tesco (I love the supermarket, what's not to like? That's where all the food comes from and they never run out of chocolate unlike my fridge.)

4 People who email me the most (email? So 90's! I do all my corresponding via Facebook thank you very much.)
1. Slightly insane lady from church
2. Ironic considering above comment but Facebook telling me I have a message to read
3. Amazon (I love online shopping, or any shopping)
4. Some random Spanish company offering me both Viagra and Penis enlargement. (I'm assuming that combination of words will increase undesired traffic to my blog no end!)

4 of my favourite foods
1. Anything with chocolate
2. Anything with sour cream
3. Anything with butter
4. Anything with meat

4 Places I'd rather be
1. Some place hot
2. Some place quiet
3. Some place alone
4. In bed

4 movies I can watch over and over
1. It's a wonderful life
2. Any of the Oceans films, 11,12 or 13, heck I don't even need the sound on to enjoy those!
3. Anchorman, totally courtesy of Rob, I hated it on first viewing but having watched it 2539 times it has grown on me.
4. Pretty Woman

4 Places I have worked
1. Burger King (I know, you're envious!!)
2. When saving for my mission and living at home I worked in a textiles factory (for 3 months)putting PJ's on hangers before they go to stores. Seriously. That really is a job.
3. At a bakers, where I got 50% discount and put it to really good use. I am pretty sure that my arteries are well clogged up with pastry and cream courtesy of that discount.
4. In a hospital

4 Places I have lived
1. London, England
2. Mansfield, England (That is where Robin Hood hails from you know.)
3. Huddersfield, England
4. Coventry, England

4 TV Shows I love
1. Friends, we have every single episode.
2. Lost, have you seen Sawyer?
3. Brothers & Sisters
4. Scrubs

4 Places I have Vacationed/Holidayed
1. Florida
2. Spain
3. Holland
4. I guess Wales considering we were just there.

4 of my favourite dishes
1. Lasagne (yes that's how we spell it in England)
2. Anything Mexican
3. Rice Pudding
4. Brownies

4 sites I visit daily
1. Facebook
2.Yahoo Mail
3. Blogger.....obviously!
4. Online banking. In the vain hope someone will accidentally deposit a few million in my account and not notice.

4 People I Tag
1. Dana @ Supernanny Where are you?
2. Shannon @ Simply Shannon
3. Rach @ Mommy learns to blog
4. Melissa @ Wollman's blogspot

Deeply Sanitised/Sanitized (A bilingual post)

My very last recycled post. I will be back blogging current events this weekend!

I know cleanliness is next to Godliness but I can't help thinking we're all going a bit OTT.

When I was a child I had a weekly Sunday evening bath in preparation for the new week of school. It was sufficient. We were posh though, we each had our very own bath water. I recall going to sleepover at a friends house and being told we needed to go get in the bath that had been vacated firstly by my friends father and then her older brother. Even to this day I am suspicious that third hand bath water probably has very few cleansing properties. I actually think I needed a bath when I got home to cleanse me of my earlier third hand bath.

When I was a child and went to the farm or Zoo there were no signs telling me to sanitise my hands every 10 metres, or child height sinks provided to give my germ infested hands a good scrubbing before exiting. I fed goats and pigs from my hands happily and didn't wash them. In fact I probably fed them and then sat down and had a picnic without considering the fact that I had pig saliva on my hand and subsequently my sandwich.

But guess what??

I survived!

When I worked at the hospital we had a big change of policy from washing our hands every 30 minutes to using hand sanitiser every 15 minutes. Sometimes I'd go a good 45 minutes between doses of sanitiser because frankly it's just not good etiquette to leave someone in mid Barium enema to go sanitise yourself up to your wrists. To my knowledge nobody ever died from my lack of hand sanitiser diligence.

I attended the wedding of my dear friend John in February. The last person in the welcoming line had a big old pump bottle of hand sanitiser to protect us from the germs we just contracted shaking hands with the Bride and Groom and the rest of the wedding party. My friends dad sent me on my way with a handshake and a complimentary pumping of sanitiser.

So if cleanliness really is next to Godliness thanks to that unexpected dose of hand sanitiser I'm happily one step closer.

Anaconda

This is another recycled instalment for your reading pleasure.

If you're not a fan of snakes look away now.

My Step dad told me this story and I am still seriously haunted by it.

A guy my step dad works with has a sister and this is her experience. One she'll never ever forget I am sure. In fact one I'll never forget and I heard it third hand.

I have no idea why anyone has a snake as a pet, I have no idea why anyone has any reptile as a pet if I'm completely honest. They're not cute, they're not fun, they're not nice to stroke and frankly they really don't wanna be friends with us humans.

Anyhow Step dad's colleagues sister (Who is clearly insane!) had an Anaconda, which is an exceptionally unsociable kind of snake, for fun they like to curl around a live animal, crush it to death and then eat it all up. (Why wouldn't anyone want an Anaconda as a pet?) She happily let her Anaconda sleep on the end of her bed coiled up each night.

One day she became concerned when she noticed her pet had lost his appetite and promptly took him to the vet for a check up. The vet said he didn't have much experience with snakes but said to keep an eye on him and if he still hadn't eaten in a month to bring him back and they'd have another look.

A month went by and the snake still hadn't eaten so she went back to the vet as he requested. She explained how he still wasn't eating and that he'd recently had an odd change in behaviour. He'd always slept coiled up at the end of the bed and had recently started sleeping outstretched on the bed alongside her instead.

The vet said "Well I don't know much about snakes, one thing I do know, if they're laying stretched out like that, they're sizing you up to eat you!"

So this clever snake had been starving himself to get ready for his super size meal of his lady owner. Stretching himself out alongside her to see if he could fit her in, after he'd kindly crushed her to death first of course.

So there you have it, reason 3421 why people shouldn't have snakes as pets!

As if I needed any more convincing.

Unwanted Attention

On July 10th my blog received an unusually high amount of visits. Of course I quickly came to the realisation that word had finally got out that my blog is truly brilliant. (About time too!)

Then I came to my senses.

Then I thought it must simply be because my new pal Wendi who thinks I'm 'cool' (I'm really not I assure you!) had linked my blog from hers (Cheers Wendi!) and she is supremely popular in Blogland so obviously the masses (very slight exaggeration) would follow.

Turns out Wendi wasn't responsible.

Later I noticed one of my favourite people in the whole wide world, Heidi, had linked my blog from hers too. Heidi and I were missionary companions 10 years ago in Birmingham and I have the fondest memories of the 3ish months we spent together 24/7. Hailing from Las Vegas I was her very first companion and I really do have to applaud myself for the excellent job I made of Anglicising her. Her personality is the perfect combination of sarcasm and the ability to laugh at the misfortune of others to perfectly compliment my own. In response to my belated 4th of July post she did a British version so go check that out so you can see from an American perspective all that is good about England.

To my surprise it turned out Heidi wasn't responsible either.

I started to wonder if maybe my first instinct was actually correct and the world had simply just come to the conclusion that my blog is terrific.

Then I came to my senses again.

Finally I remembered something my friend Rachael had told me about and so I went to check out Google Analytics.

This is what I learned, if you put the words b00bs (notice I'm using zero's there not O's and will always do so from now on I assure you) in a post as I had on the July 9th you're gonna attract a lot of visits to your blog.

Google had a super busy day that day directing people looking for the following:

Abbie Hawkins b00bs,
b00bs,
Abbie Hawkins b00b,
Big b00b blogger,
34FF bra,
Abbie Hawkins,
Abbie Hawkins big b00bies,
Abbie Hawkins bra 34FF b00bs,
Big b00bed Abbie Hawkins,
Big b00bs,
B00b check,
Hawkins 34FF big b00bs,
and finally,
How big is 34FF bra,

Do you know what is really incredibly sad? Not one person googled to see how the bat was doing.

That poor unfortunate bat squished in the padding of a humongous bra cup for 5 hours and nobody in the world cared enough to google about its well being. What kind of world do we live in?

So it would seem that Abbie Hawkins (and yes she is blond) is an international superstar because I got hits from Saudi Arabia to Finland and Hong Kong to Germany.

I can only imagine the calibre of individual who would out of intrigue (and no doubt seeking photographic evidence) google her bra size.

I can only laugh when I consider how ultra disappointed they must have been when they arrived right here.

Where the only b00bs on show belong to preschool boys.

And if they were foolish enough to scroll down in their search they would have been faced with Poop art!

Mwahahahahaha! That'll teach them.

Big B**bs? Check Your Bra

I guess having a bounteous b0s0m isn't all I ever imagined after all:

Bat in the bra
A teenager spoke of her shock after finding a bat curled up in the bra she had been wearing for five hours.
Abbie Hawkins, 19, of Norwich, initially thought it was her mobile phone causing movement in her clothing.
But when she investigated, she found the stowaway creature, hidden in the padding pocket of her 34FF black bra.

(If you wear a 34FF bra do you really require any padding? I think not!)

At least I have no fear of losing a bat in my less than ample chest.

Do you think someone should forward this to Dolly Parton? Just in case.

Who knows what could be dwelling in that cleavage.