Daffodils

Fair point Auntie Gwen – here goes!

My dad is not a detective in any sense of the word, but he knows his daffodils in the same way as he knows all the plants in all their many and variegated forms. This is, therefore, how he came to be involved in a little mystery of the daffodil variety.

The evening was by no means balmy, but the rawness of winter had left only a few traces in forgotten corners of the house. It was the end of a busy day and I had just settled down with Mansfield Park (Fanny Price is just so soppy but that’s another story - well Mansfield Park actually). A hard day in the office combined with the relative warmth of the evening (not the writing of Jane Austen surely) soon had me dozing off on the sofa.

I awoke around 9.45pm and decided to check the house before getting ready for bed. Moving to the front door (actually at the side of the house, but you know what I mean) I spotted something yellow through the glass. When I opened the door I wondered if I was still asleep and dreaming the episode. There on the doorstep lay about a dozen daffodils, freshly picked, neatly arranged and ready for water. I did what can only be described as a double take, feeling a strange mixture of fear and elation (felation if you will – or perhaps not). I looked this way and that to ensure that no one was about (a resurrected Jeremy Beadle perhaps) but the place was as quiet as normal. No one about, just a dozen daffodils lying on the doorstep. I couldn’t just leave them there could I? After deciding that I was quite wide awake and that this was no dream or other metaphysical realm in which I was inhabiting I brought them inside and put them in a rather nice glass of water. Then I phoned my dad.

My dad is a bit of an (amateur) plant expert (Geoff Hamilton is a hero) and I felt that any flower mystery could be solved by such an expert. Depending on your view of things both Geoff and Jeremy could have been looking down from on high at the moment the deed was done with grins of celestial and herborial pleasure.

My dad was, as you can imagine, quite intrigued by the evening’s events and promised to investigate. The very next day he let himself into my house while I was at work and was able to tell exactly the spot that the daffodils had come from. There wasn’t any sign I could see – I told you he was good. Sadly he was not able to tell me any more than that so it was up to me to try and figure out the rest. The daffodils came from my neighbour’s garden but there is no one living there at the moment so it couldn’t have been her. Perhaps I have a secret admirer, although leaving some daffodils is fine, some follow up would have been appreciated. I wondered whether it had been a group of kids pulling up daffodils and then, with some remorse at what they had done, had decided to leave them on the nearest doorstep which is actually mine due to an odd garden to house layout issue on our street.

Sadly I’m not Agatha Christie and I never did get to the root (ahem) of the mystery. Maybe one day a middle aged lady will come to my door and relate the story of how she and her friends pulled up daffodils in a lady’s garden all those years ago and left them on her doorstep. I will thank her and tell her that I immediately put them in water and that for a week she gave me a dozen little suns to melt the last ice of winter.

La Gomera and the Quest for Achievable Deadlines

Well, back once again having been on holiday and the usual work keeping me busy.

As I have said before I do have a bit of an obsession with the weather. Perhaps all Brits do. On hearing that someone is going on holiday, my first thought would not be along the lines of finding out what interesting things have planned. Oh no, I would be much more concerned about the weather, worried that the prospective holiday maker may travel for half a day or more on a plane, and land to be met with the same sorry weather they had hoped to leave many miles behind. Surely just too hideous to contemplate. And so it was that my self and my fellow travellers studied the weather forecast in La Gomera for at least three months before we went, just to make sure that the prospect of actually seeing some sun was a likely one. Fortunately it was and we spent a wonderful, balmy time in brilliant sunshine amongst palm trees and cacti with just a cool breeze to stop us melting completely. Nasty beasties were also few and far between. We saw one cockroach which we got rid of over the edge of the balcony with the aid of a rather decrepid brush, all the while wondering if cockroaches can do your average human any harm.

A colony of ants also decided to hold regular strategy meetings next to my bed and against my strongest temptations I refrained from killing them all (massacre at plastic light switch if you will).

We did a lot of walking (there not being a lot to do in La Gomera otherwise) through steep mountainous passes where one wrong foot could result in serious trouble. I also got through three books (Alan Bennett, Saul Bellow and Zadie Smith having decided that my quest for classic literature can include modern classics too!)

And then it was home time. I actually missed home even if the temperature plummeted about 20 degrees on reaching Glasgow and the idea of going from T-Shirts to polo necks and scarves in one short day was a rather disconcerting one. As my mum would say “It’s back to auld claes and purridge" but these claes are not really so bad and I’m glad to be home.

Now it’s onwards and upward to finishing organizing the arrangements for a get together of friends next weekend. I think it is now close to 30 people including at least 4 small children to get into China Buffet King and bowling. Despite having a deadline date which passed a good week ago a number of people have been rather last minute about getting back to me with numbers. I kind of hope that China Buffet King can cope. And more to the point, can I?

Until the next time…..

Hello Again

I just wanted to reassure you that I hadn’t fallen down a big hole. I wish I could tell you that I had been away doing something really exciting like trekking across the Andes or idling away my time under a Caribbean sunset. Sadly the truth is that work has been extraordinarily busy and I have had to do a lot of work at home. I am also going on holiday in a couple of weeks to La Gomera and have had to start now to plan for all the things that will need to be reallocated while I am away. It has all been a lot of fun but hard work.

As for the classic reads, I am still attempting to read Lolita, which is, I am sure a very good book, but at the end of a tiring day I tend to fall asleep while reading it so I haven’t got very far. Having said that, I am feeling good as I, like a machete wielding explorer, successfully clear my way through the undergrowth of my to do list. Sadly, I must go again as reports are calling and the vegetation is rising. I shall be back soon.

A Good Read

This year my new year’s resolution was not to make one. Resolutions, especially at this time of the year are generally made with bright hopes and high spirits. However, come the middle of the year (or the middle of January in many cases) those well-meaning resolutions have been quietly forgotten. That is why the following “thing that I have decided to try to do” is most definitely NOT a resolution!

I have decided to read more “classic” literature. I found myself in company, very pleasant it must be said, over the holidays where authors such as Dickens and DH Lawrence were mentioned. It occurred to me that the closest I had come to classics of this sort was while at school and the nearest I had ever come to Dickens was being in the chorus of “Oliver” many moons ago. My boss has also tried to draw me into literary conversations which seem to end at the mention of “John le Carre”. I felt that this situation should be remedied. On discussing this with my boss, her eyes lit up and she suggested “Brave New World”. My mum, however looked a bit doubtful and suggested “anything by Jane Austen”. I dutifully considered these suggestions and decided to start with “Lolita”. Whether this is what my mum or my boss had in mind is a moot point, but my copy has an introduction and notes and rather a lot of big words which does give it the air of something that one might have read in school. Providing I haven’t lost my appetite for the classics by the time I have finished the book, I might just move on to, oh I don’t know “War and Peace”. Any other suggestions would be warmly welcomed, just please don’t mention “Ulysses”.

It’s OK because there’s no Blood

Post Christmas and New Year, with my new boiler settling into its new home and, for the time being, fulfilling its purpose, what better way to celebrate than to throw a party. However, when expecting anyone under the age of, oh about 10, just remember what you might be letting yourself in for.

Most of the guests had arrived and we were just settling down to a glass of two of Vino Collapso. The doorbell rang and I answered it to an excited six year old waggling her tooth. (Now here is where readers of a nervous disposition should look away and, if not, I did warn you!)

“I’ve got a loose tooth”, N. informed me “and it’s about to come out. Look if I just waggle it a bit more it will just pop out.

Forgetting the important law of reverse psychology (Why oh why!!!) I broke in “Look sweetheart I’m a bit squeamish so why don’t you wait until you are home again before you attempt to disengage your tooth from its moorings?”

“But it’s OK” she said perhaps thinking that I was not aware of the intricacies of losing teeth “because there’s no blood and it’s not painful”.

‘Not painful for you’ was my first thought, followed by ‘it was painful in my day – so what’s changed?’

“That’s really not the point” I countered but already she was giving me that “adults are no fun” look perfected by children over many millennia and running into the house.

She then sat opposite me and, with a demonic grin most definitely directed at me, proceeded to wiggle the tooth for about the next half an hour. If I dared to look away she would lean over and inform me of the progress of the tooth from mouth to within wrenching distance of the tooth fairy.

I pleaded with her to stop and think of my other guests. Sadly their enjoyment of the fun seemed in direct proportion to my squeamish agonies.

And then it was all over. I must have been looking away when the actual deed was done because the next thing I knew, a small sharp pearly white tooth was thrust in my direction and then laid triumphantly on the coffee table.

The idea of spending the rest of the night staring at a dislocated tooth lying on my table (and I’m sure there was some blood on it by the way) was just a bit more than I could take.

“Look sweetheart” I said “We don’t want you losing that tooth do we? Why don’t I wrap it up in this nice hankie and give it to your mum. You want to be able to get some money from the tooth fairy, don’t you?”

“Well ok” she said and allowed me, somewhat reluctantly to pass the object, now bundled up in the hankie to her mother who was finding the whole thing somewhat amusing.

“Now that that’s over” I said with some relief to the other guests, who’s for more wine?”

I’m not finished yet” N assured me. “I think there is another one loose. If I just give it a twist……”

Normal Service has been Resumed

Slowly the fingers of heat found their way through the cold frostbitten pipes. From the pipes the heat danced through the air replacing the cold with fabulous warmth, for so long missing from this poor house. Oh yes, many hoorays I now have a new boiler!!

The two chaps who came to fit said boiler could have been a double act although Laurel and Hardy they were not. More Good Cop, Bad Cop. In a display of stereotypical nonsense that you just could not make up we had a cheery happy bloke and a miserable bad tempered fellow. Cheery fellow would attempt any feat of plumbing or electrical bravery with a kindly smile and a pleasant word while bad tempered fellow just looked on in disgust. Attempts at pleasing the customer were far from his priority. Bad tempered fellow informed me with some pleasure that he could not fit the thermostat to my new boiler while cheery fellow managed the simple task without problems. Bad tempered fellow was not amused, but regained his bad tempered ground on telling me that I was going to have a large hole in the wall to fill. With glee he took me to the kitchen to show me the rather disturbing spectacle of daylight forced through a large rough hole in the wall. A hole large enough that a window could comfortably have fitted into its circumference. However, the hand, and Pollyfilla, of cheery fellow was in on this, as when I next looked the hole was miraculously filled in. If you hold a light object up to it there is a slight motion but I’m not going to let that worry me.

I had been told that all you need to do to ensure happy workmen is to offer them tea/coffee and lots of biscuits. This I attempted to do, but both workmen were not interested. Perhaps with some food and drink inside them things would have been very different.

My dad came over and we tried a new trick. He asked me to hold my head over the gas hob (on but not lit). This could be seen as a) Child Abuse or b) Testing to make sure that I could smell any potential gas leaks. I’m kind of hoping it was b). Scarily the upshot of it was that Cheery fellow could smell it but my dad and I couldn’t. Should I be worried?

Come the end of the day’s work and cheery fellow was dispatched to the van. I felt that things could now get difficult with my erstwhile saviour engaged removed from the house and currently lashing the ladder to the roof of the van. Bad tempered fellow probably felt the same way and he loaded his final bad tempered bullet, took aim and fired. All he needed was well over £1000 there and then, cash or cheque only. I looked at him and laughed. He didn’t return the laughter. I tried a smile but the effect was the same. Eventually I persuaded him that, as the invoice I had signed stated 30 days to pay (I had checked this before I signed) that that is just what would happen. He tried to tell me that the “30 days to pay” didn’t mean anything. “It’s just what we put on our invoices but you don’t really have 30 days to pay. We just get the money right away.” My dad came in at this point and laughed even more. Bad tempered man remained bad tempered. There was a moment (only a moment but it appeared to last) where we stared each other out wondering who would be the first to flinch, to back down, to capitulate. I actually wondered if he would attempt to dismantle the boiler. Fortunately he didn’t and we were able to negotiate. Reasoning with him that we simply did not have the money and therefore we would have to get the money together before he would see a penny of it seemed to do the trick. We did reassure him that we would get it to him soon but you can be sure that “soon” will be 30 days!!! He seemed to believe us on the subject of the speed of his receiving his money and left, still bad tempered. I wondered if, in fact, his bad temper is what his customers know and love him for and, probably come to expect from him. If he started being cheery would they not be a little disappointed? Added to this, what would cheery fellow do? Would he be forced to adopt the affectations of bad tempered fellow?

Once he was gone I moved through my newly warm house. It felt strange not to have to be moving large electric heaters about with me and thinking about where best to put then to gain the best heat advantage. A small part of me actually missed the security of the newly abandoned routine.

I sat down and sighed. Then, just because I could and they were there, I demolished all the uneaten biscuits.

Merry Christmas

So it’s that time of the year again. Apparently Dustin Hoffman celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas. That could either mean double the misery; visits from the dreaded in-laws or double the fun; loads more presents.

As for me I will be spending it very quietly; seeing a few friends and family. Whatever you are doing over Christmas, have a lovely time and I will see you all back here in 2008.

I hope you all have a merry and peaceful Christmas.

It's A Bit Parky Round These Here Parts

It's short and sweet today. So far this week I have: Bought all my Christmas Presents and actually wrapped some of them - Hooray, Bought and posted all my cards - Again Hooray, Organised and sent invitations for my Hogmanay Party - Phew. However just as I was congratulating myself on my amazing organisational abilities my boiler broke down. It hasn't exactly stopped working; more it's making a noise that sounds as if it is channelling all the agonies of the world out into my kitchen - ie it is none too pleasant. To put it out of its misery I have now turned it off in the vain hope that I will find a heating engineer before the Christmas Holidays and, more importantly, before my Hogmanay Party. Should I contact my friends now and ask them to bring woolly jumpers?

Cold Comfort

Slowly she inched towards me with a sharp implement in her hand. The damage she would inflict upon me would be cruel and terrifying.

My hairdresser had a cold and I would soon have a taste of the suffering she was experiencing.

The hairdressers I go to is not a state of the art affair with designer fittings and hairdressers with names like Anton and Marcus. Instead it’s a very small room filled with hairspray and mousse ready to fall from narrow counters and also doubles as a men’s barbers. A young boy was in the chair next to me in the barbers section eyed up his hairdresser with a deep suspicion.

With the usual pleasantaries over (ie “Are you doing anything nice tonight?” “No, are you?” “No” “Oh Well then”) she proceeded to tell me that she had a really wretched cold. A cold which, by her heroic attempts to struggle into work, I was now destined to catch. To give her her due she was able to tame the disaster zone which my hair had become but she also left the seeds of her virus in amongst the remaining follicles. This act of sharing complete, when next I touched my hair the cold time bomb would be released to choke my system.

My hair looked good but the timebomb duly went off. The sore throat started and I immediately took some Echinacea. Sadly this didn’t seem to have much effect but I took more just in case my cold would have been worse had I not taken any. Next I started to cough and tried some lockets. Strangely however, the coughing got worse the more lockets I took so I stopped that. By the time the runny nose started I know that the game was up and I might as well accept that I had a cold. Well, share and share alike I always say so I then took it into my own work and liberally spread it around.

I’m still snuffling. I wonder if I should go back to the hairdressers and give her it back?

The Senior Ladies’ Social Committee

The Senior Ladies had decided that they must be seen to be doing something to encourage the youth of the local area. With this in mind they had devised a scheme involving a Youth Assembly, but not having any idea of what anyone under 40 actually enjoys doing, they had asked me to attend a meeting to offer some ideas.

The senior Senior Lady sat opposite me and eyed me with some suspicion and not a little fear for the future.

“If you could just give us some ideas we can take them away and work on them.” she said without any hint of a smile.

“Well, what about getting in the African Drummers. I’ve always fancied trying that out myself and I’m sure the youngsters would love them.”

Senior Senior Lady’s eyebrows arched away from her pearly blue eyeshadow as she pulled her lips in towards her teeth. “No, I’m not sure about drumming. Can you imagine the complaints about noise we would get. No, most definitely not.”

I wasn’t giving up that easily so I smiled sweetly and continued. “OK, well I’ve got a contact for a girl who does massage. That shouldn’t be too loud and I’m sure it would be enjoyable.”

“Oh no. That’s all that Reiki stuff isn’t it. That’s the invocation of evil spirits so we couldn’t have that.

At this point she may have heard the mini explosion as I attempted to stifle a laugh. “Erm I don’t think it’s got anything to do with evil spirits. I think its simply…”

“No dear, It’s just not what we were looking for”.

By this point the Youth Activities Section of my Mental Filing Cabinet was beginning to take on a rather sinister hue that I had never previously contemplated. “Well I do have a contact for a magician.”

By this point I could hear a few sharp intakes of breath. The more charitable amongst them were probably considering praying for my tainted soul. “A Magician!” Most certainly not. What have we just been saying about evil spirits?”

“But magic’s not evil. It’s just sleight of hand really.”

“Most certainly not. You really are not understanding our point. Look perhaps we will just leave our discussion of what we are going to do and think about how we are going to get sponsorship.

Now I should have been aware of the way the conversation was heading but the next words just seemed to slip out of my mouth without warning (It’ll be those pesky evil spirits I suppose).

“Well the Fox and Hounds has been good to us in the past.”

“THE PUB!” Oh my goodness well that certainly will not do. You don’t think that we would have anything to do with pubs do you. Oh dear oh dear.”

At this point my attempt to suppress my laughter was failing miserably and I felt that it was time to leave. To be fair I think that it was the only thing that we all agreed on all night.

“Oh all right I’ll admit it, I am in league with the Devil. Why don’t you just do crochet then. You’ll get a huge uptake of youngsters for that one”. *



*Of course I didn’t actually say this but the temptation was very strong.

56 Things About Me

I had already written a blog for this week but the lovely Kelly has tagged me to write about 56 things about me. To be honest this seemed much more fun, so how could I refuse:-

8 things I'm passionate about:
1. My family. There’s not a lot of us so there’s more passion to go around.
2. All things Scottish. Honestly how could you not be.
3. Reading – Anything and everything, whether I understand it or not.
4. The weather. A warm sunny day (rare though they are) can lift your spirits and make the world seem a better place.
5. Cooking. I just love eating so why not?
6. Singing. I constantly sing very loudly all around the house. My next door neighbours recently moved out. Mmm I wonder why.
7. My friends. A regular friendship fix whether over the phone or over a meal or a drink is tremendously important.
8. Youth Work as I’ve said before.

8 things to do before I die:
1. Find a wonderful caring man to be with for the rest of my life. I can but hope.
2. See a bit more of the world. I should really have set foot on every continent but so far I’ve only seen Europe with a tiny toe dip in North Africa. I must get out more.
3. Own a chic city apartment and a country pile. (Again I can but hope).
4. Return to horse riding which I haven’t done since I was 16.
5. Plant a tree in honour of someone. I’m not sure who yet but it feels like it should be done.
6. Learn to say “No”. I must harden my heart the next time someone comes to me with sorrowful eyes asking for help which I just do not have the time to give them.
7. Despite the above, learn to be more tolerant and caring. This is sometimes hard when dealing with a bunch of teenagers but I must try to remember that their view of the world is different to mine.
8. Learn how to make the perfect loaf of bread.

8 things I often say:
1. I lie on a regular basis – ie – “No really the cake you made is delicious”
And
2. “I’m sorry my boss didn’t call you back. No, it’s not that he didn’t want to talk to you, it’s just that he had to go into an urgent meeting and it will probably not finish now until the end of the day.”
3. “Yes, no problem. When do you need it done by?” Please see item 6 above.
4. “Have you seen the weather forecast for today?” I am a little obsessed.
5. “I’m sure that these recipes off the internet are fine to use”.
Followed by
6. “I haven’t a clue why it didn’t work out.”
7. “Good Morning” at work when it is really the afternoon and vice versa.
8. “Let me spell that for you”. I have a rather complicated second name which no one ever spells right.

8 books I've read recently:
1. The Big Sleep – Raymond Chandler – A whole lot of fun but a bit confusing at times.
2. The Amateur Marriage – Anne Tyler – Sad but very true.
3. Enduring Love – Ian McEwan – A fantastic build up of tension.
4. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay – Michael Chabon – I absolutely loved this book and the wonderful characters although it did take me 7 weeks to read!
5. Happiness – Will Ferguson – Very funny and thought provoking.
6. Wonder Boys – Michael Chabon – Probably the funniest fiction book I have read in a long time.
7. Absolute Friends – John Le Carre. Again, I enjoyed this but struggled to follow all that was going on.
8. Tales of the City – Armistead Maupin. A bit of harmless fun.

I am slightly worried by the preponderance of American authors here. Pass me another John Le Carre will you.

8 songs I could listen to over and over:
1. Super Trouper - Abba – OK Glasgow comes into it but I would still love it anyway. This is by far and away my most favourite Abba track and to be honest I love them all.
2. Moonlight Shadow – Mike Oldfield. I know – weird and depressing but I love it.
3. One Night in Bangkok – Michael Head (From Chess). Again I can’t explain why but I still remember the moment my friend introduced me to this song in a small draughty study bedroom and it just blew me away.
4. Anything on the eponymous, hugely underrated album by a band called Silversun back in 1997. Whatever happened to them?
5. Ditto the above for a band called The Blessing from 1991.
4. Long Train Runnin’ – The Doobie Brothers
5. Goddess on a Hiway – Mercury Rev – I used to be able to play this on the guitar.
6. Orinoco Flow – Enya
7. Nkosi Sikele
8. Cannonball – the Breeders – I mean really how good???

8 qualities I look for in a best friend:
1. A sense of humour and a willingness to appreciate mine!
2. The ability to remain close even when we haven’t seen each other for weeks.
3. The ability to see the good in people
4. Optimism
5. The offering of encouragement when needed.
6. Patience
7. Someone who always returns things lent to them and in the same condition in which they were first lent.
8. Someone who respects you and all your quirky idiosyncrasies without a bad word.

Well that was fun. However I’m not going to pass this on to anyone in particular but if anyone is interested in taking up the challenge please do and I will enjoy reading about you.

A Blogging Story

Kelly has memed me to find out why I blog.

It started with a book. “Where Did It All Go Right by Andrew Collins. It’s a very funny, warm account of growing up in the 70’s however there was something else about that book which was to lead me to the world of blogging. On the front inside page was a website address (www.wherediditallgoright.com) and I was intrigued. Following the link (as I believe is the correct terminology) I found a whole website devoted to the book and further investigation uncovered the blog.

Discussions ranged (and in many occasions raged) from birdwatching to homeopathic remedies to 9/11 conspiracy theories all in the space of a couple of weeks. I was fascinated and began to experience the first flutterings of envy. In the best tradition of a small school child I wanted one of these toys too. Of course, not being technologically minded I hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get one. And to be perfectly honest I’m still not too sure how I got one. One day I clicked on a button which brought me to a menu. I followed the instructions and “hey presto” I had a blog of my own. Now, due consideration had to be taken with what to fill it with.

My first post was about Breadmaking. Not perhaps the most exciting subject but perhaps I hadn’t yet grasped blogging conventions. It would appear that most blogs are either controversial or funny. Sadly I fear I don’t really know enough to be controversial (I could quite easily confuse Osama bin Laden and Barack Obama and then there would be trouble) so I thought I would go down the humour route. Humour never hurt anyone apart from the man squashed by a sixteen stone comedian.

It may have been around this time that I started considering my fellow bloggers. If you post a blog and no one reads it, did it really exist in the first place? In the course of my travels in blogland I found a number of other blogs which I found to be funny, warm, amusing and lots of other lovely words. It’s wonderful to be able to visit all those other bloggers and read snippets of their lives – all in so many ways so different from my own. I visited and these kind people visited my blogs back. Now my blog posts really existed and it was, and still is a lovely feeling.

I blogged regularly (at least twice a week) until this summer when I lost one job but gained roughly three others in its place (including the one I lost but that’s a whole books worth of a story). As a result I haven’t been able to blog as much as I would like. I now have a routine of one blog post and visits to other blogs a week and if things change I might be able to come on more frequently again. I do miss it when I’m away and love the feeling now of sitting typing a load of daft words onto a page and knowing that someone out there will read them and hopefully put a comment into my comment box. And that my friends is why I still keep coming back for more.

It’s Only a Victoria Sponge

It was a Monday night and at the Youth Group we were attempting to make a Victoria Sponge. Not an onerous task you might think and not worthy of starting World War III over. Sadly ten teenagers begged to differ.

The trouble started almost at once when they decided that they would rather make Chocolate Cake. I tried to reason with them that the Victoria Sponge decision had been taken with their full support many weeks ago. “I wasn’t there that day” one whined “P. must have made that decision. Why does she always get her own way? It’s just so unfair.”

“Because life’s unfair.” I almost spat but then stopped myself. “We only have ingredients for Victoria Sponge and if you are going to keep on arguing you may as well all go home because I don’t have the patience for it.” was what I actually said. At this there were a few nervous laughs as they hoped that I was only joking. I assured them that I was not joking and, after some persuasion they finally helped in the cake making effort. When I say helped, I have never seen eggs broken and added to the mixture through a small hole in the bottom of the shell and have also never seen such a lacklustre effort made to cream a mixture. All this went on under the malevolent glare of a few of the girls, still unhappy, standing at the door of the kitchen with their arms crossed defiantly. If they were hoping to see some sorrow in my face they were disappointed.

Soon the cake was ready for the oven and in it went, with cries of “It doesn’t look right”. “You’ve ruined it.” and many more I have erased from my memory.

Despite all the valiant hopes of the youngsters that the Victoria Sponge that was not a Chocolate Cake would be ruined thereby giving them some small measure of vindication, it popped out of the oven 20 minutes later no less than perfect. You might think that that would be the end of our woes, but sadly it was not to be.

The traditional method of filling and topping of a Victoria Sponge is jam in the middle and icing sugar on top. Generations will testify to the unblemished nature of this method and the exquisite taste therein. However, for the sake of my teenagers I was prepared to use whatever filling and topping they desired. Somewhat naively I considered this to be a good ploy. Of course I didn’t count on the fact that 10 teenage girls are not readily going to come to a unanimous decision. Not knowing the meaning of the word unanimous probably also doesn’t help.

“We can fill it with jam” I started “ but I’ve also got skooshy cream and chocolate spread so we….”

“Eurgh it’s not Nutella” said one “I’m not eating that.”

“OK, I’ll put it away so what will we do then?”

“We should use jam” said another starting to enthusiastically dump dollops of jam all over the cake and spread it in.

“That’s not fair” a small voice wailed “I’m allergic to jam and she always gets what she wants and I never do”.

This may of course have been “It’s just so unfair” from earlier on but I forget.

“But it’s got to be jam” said the enthusiastic spreader of the sticky stuff.

“Well I don’t like it, and I also don’t like Chocolate spread or cream so that means I can’t have any. It’s just (you will now be able to fill in the blanks).

Her cries were then taken up by all ten girls each arguing with one another about what should or should not go on the cake and the reasons for each thing meaning the ruination of the cake for each individual. Eventually I cut through their cries, but not with the jammy knife because that would just have been messy.

“Right, that’s enough” I said. “I’ve had it up to here with you lot. I’m going to take the cake into work tomorrow and give it to people who will appreciate it since you certainly don’t. Out of my way”. As I bore down on the cake the opinions of the girls remarkably gelled as one as if exposed to extra strong jam making pectin.

“OK” they said, and I could see real fear in their eyes “we’ll eat it ourselves”. At that all thoughts of allergies and personal dislikes were miraculously lost and the cake was reduced to a few paltry crumbs in less than five minutes. It was a truly remarkable transformation.

After that they went home and I thank singledom that I don’t have to take one home myself.

The best quote of the night came at the end from one of the girls in the older group who had been watching their antics and stuck her head round the door as they were leaving and said “You guys suck”!

On the basis of Monday night’s performance I was very inclined to agree.

Pulling Teeth

The phone call came early in the morning, at the point at which I had arrived at work but long before I had officially woken up. “This is your Dentist’s surgery” snapped the voice at the end of the line. “Are you aware that you haven’t been in to see us since APRIL?” The word April was exaggerated to give the impression of the committing of some heinous crime. “We don’t exactly FORCE our patients to come into the surgery but when we haven’t seen you for such a LONG TIME we do feel the need to contact you.”

As you can imagine the idea of visiting the dentist is not exactly one of those things which I excitedly mark in the diary and then count the days down to with a heightening sense of eager anticipation. The last time an appointment had been made for me I had managed to get out of it by having to go to a meeting at work. After sending them a letter explaining how sorry I was I just stopped contacting them and hoped that they would forget about me. Little did I know that the receptionist had a detection system second only to that of an over enthusiastic bloodhound. For all I know she had been trailing me for months, waiting for just the right moment to pounce.

I’m not actually very strong willed in the face of such administrative authority and mumbled that yes, I would take the next available appointment.

“Ah but that’s not good enough” she said, with what I’m sure was a note of satisfaction in her voice.
“You have been away so long now that you will need TWO appointments”. “One for a check up and one for a scale and polish.”
“What’s a scale and polish” I said feeling like a car about to face an MOT.
She didn’t give me a definitive answer apart from saying ominously “The dentist wouldn’t suggest one if he didn’t think you needed one”.

By now, feeling utterly press ganged and not even receiving a king’s shilling to show for it, I asked her to suggest a date.

“Well, by this stage there’s no free dates until January, but we SHOULD be able to fit you in then”. she said with a sigh which appeared to indicate that there being no free dates until January was in some way my fault.

The date made, she rang off, in order to harass some other poor individual who also was under the false apprehension that he had thrown the dentist off his scent.

Shaken, I resumed my work and to prove how out of sorts I was, proceeded to ask a colleague who lives in Glasgow if she needed travel and accommodation organised in order to attend a training course in (yes, you’ve guessed it) Glasgow.

I think I need a holiday!

Not Mountain Biking

Obviously I’m devastated. Due to the likelihood of inclement weather and the fact that many of our number were not very well, our bike ride was cancelled. All I can say is that, as of this moment, I would much rather be sitting here in my nice warm house than struggling through the countryside while others much fitter than me purposefully cycled on ahead.

The text message to inform me of the lifting of the terror which has been hanging over my head for well over a week now came last night as a friend and I left the cinema after seeing Ratatouille. The film was OK and I felt for the rat as he juggled multiple jobs for many and varied bosses. Let us just say that I can relate all too well too the joy of multitasking with a wide variety of hats, although none of them, as yet, is that of a chef. I suppose however, that that might come one of those days.

Glasgow last night was filled with hundreds of kilted chaps and chapesses celebrating the result of some football match which apparently we had won. I had to ask because I just don’t have a clue about such things. I was accompanied on the train journey home by a vast number of fans – all very drunk but very happy nonetheless. As I sat down in my seat I put my foot in what I can only hope was tomato ketchup. On getting up to leave the train I slid in this gloop and sailed down the aisle to the bemusement of the befuddled supporters. It was only through sheer luck or perhaps my relative sobriety that I did not land on one of them. I suppose it might have made for a more interesting end to the evening.

I have only just switched my mobile phone back on. My theory being that if, by some strange twist of fate, the cycle ride was back on, I would not have known about it. I believe that there is talk of it being postponed to another date. You can be assured that on the appointed date, I will have a prior engagement.

The Loneliness of The Long Distance Mountain Biker.

One might ask what a supposedly responsible PA in high heels was doing riding a muddy mountain bike around a dingy garage. One might even wonder why she was pulled out of a high level meeting in order to do so. It’s a dark tale of cruelty and despair – or at least it will be come Sunday!

A couple of weeks ago we were, at work, invited (if that is the correct term) to take part in a sponsored cycle. Not wanting to appear uncharitable I feigned interest. This was of course a mistake as this pseudo interest was immediately snatched upon in the manner of a door-to-door seller persuading you to buy something you neither need nor want. I was, in a word, sucked in to taking part in an activity which now fills me with much fear and dread. On Sunday I will be expected to cycle for 26 miles and then “we might catch the train back home or depending how we are feeling we might just cycle back”. Can I just say here and now that when I agreed to this, the exact number of miles was cruelly kept from me. A couple of miles I could have coped with. 26 of them is an entirely different journey of fear. Abject terror would now be an understatement.

Back to the mountain bike. In a futile attempt to get out of this horror, I stated that I didn’t have a bike. In actual fact I do, but it is currently slowly decomposing in my parents’ garage so I would imagine that in its present state it would be somewhat inoperable. It may not even resemble a bike anymore. Sadly this lame attempt at an excuse held little truck with the organisers of the event and an alternative bike was procured. This bike (the aforementioned muddy mountain bike) was ceremoniously rushed to the garage underneath my office. The important meeting I was attending at the time was stopped in order that I could go out and check that the bike and I were compatible.

I tentatively descended to meet my fate in the basement. The bike leaned nonchalantly against the wall and silently laughed at my unsuitability for riding it in full suit and high heels. I swung a rather stiff leg over the bar straining to keep my shoes on my feet and started pedalling. As I wobbled all over the garage I wondered how long ago it was that I had actually ridden a bike. Ten years might be a possible count. You know what they say about never forgetting how to ride a bike – it may have been a lie – especially in my case. Eventually I seemed to be able to make it go and more importantly make it go straight. My high heels rattled about the pedals in a most ungainly way and threatened to either get jammed in the pedals or fall onto the floor. That’s when I bashed my knee against the very low handle bar. “Aha” I thought. A last ditch opportunity for forgoing the bike ride presented itself and was immediately dashed as someone fetched a handy allan key and righted the problem. He tried very hard not to laugh.

The day of doom draws closer and the fear I am feeling is rapidly accelerating in a manner which I am unlikely ever to attain on the bike itself. All the known excuses are gone and no more will be accepted. It’s down to me and the bike and I think I know who will come out on top.

Fresh Faces and Sticky Paws

Sometimes I just love the synchronicity. I’m working at the moment with two quite different groups of girls within our Youth Group, I’m doing Cookery and, oh joy, they both want to do something involving chicken. This makes my job very much easier when negotiating the aisles at Asda. If these girls had any inkling whatsoever that they had caused my life to be made easier they would at once have changed their minds so I won’t be letting on any time soon.

I have been working in and around Youth Groups since I officially ended my tenure as a youth myself. In my local community there has always been a strong emphasis on promoting activities for teenagers so the natural progression for me was to work as a youth group leader as soon as I was old enough. I have put on plays with youth drama groups, made the most delicious messes in numerous kitchens, eaten myself silly at sleepovers and taken trips to places like Alton Towers. How else could an adult do these things without fear of ridicule.

Of course this is not the only reason that I do it. There are of course some people who would beg to differ but I feel that it is vitally important to support and help the youth of any community. Kids these days (as at any time) face enormous challenges, whether it be something such as their best friend falling out with them or problems with parents. To have someone other than a parent or a teacher who they feel that they can talk to or who simply takes an interest in them can make all the difference.

I admit that sometimes all the good feelings can be forgotten when you have a group of 20 screaming teenagers in a room who cannot master the correct dance moves for the show taking place next week. However the mere fact that they come back week after week gives me some confidence that we must be doing something right and that one day they may look back and admit that they had fun.

And that, my friends, is a brief resume of the life of a Youth Group Worker. If you have any specific questions, please ask and I will do my best to answer them. I think as a last word I would add that, if nothing else, it keeps you young.


P.S. Apologies for the lack of regular blogging in these parts. I am now working for my current boss, my previous boss and doing quite a bit of preparation work for the youth group. It makes life interesting but time melt away. I will try and keep up the blogging but it may be a little less frequent for a while.

Bananas, Bats and Boats

Perhaps it was a last ditch attempt to make up for the rotten summer. Whatever the reason, despite being encircled by a number of threatening clouds, the sun shone all day today. Why the sun couldn’t have fought off the advances of the clouds any other day this summer is quite beyond me but there you have it. The glorious sunshine and a slight wind made it a perfect day for a walk.

The walking group had decided to drive up to Balmaha and walk round a part of Loch Lomond (also a part of the West Highland Way.) It would be a gross understatement to say that the scenery is magnificent. When the sun sends brilliant rays of white light through the water and that water is surrounded by lush woodland which draws the eye up dramatic mountainsides, the sight is awe inspiring and nothing less. I do hope that you will permit me a little bias here, but I truly believe that Scotland is one of the most beautiful countries in the world – especially when the sun is shining.

We set off along the waters edge where little yachts with brown sails were already starting their passages across the loch. We pondered on the reason for the brown sails, could find none, and moved on. We passed some fishermen on the hunt for trout and salmon and watched with some disgust as they scooped out their worms which wriggled and crawled all over their grimy hands. On entering the woods we heard strange shouts which we variously attributed to the spirits of the forests or neds having a drinking session. It was then that we spied the three jogging bananas.

I have seen many strange sights but none quite as strange as three grown men dressed in banana suits approaching along a forest track. It turned out that they were running for charity. Quite why running for charity justifies the wearing of a banana suit I will never know, but it made our walk that bit more interesting I can tell you.

At one point the woodland path had become so eroded that we had to continue our walk on the beach. Bemused families making sandcastles with their children watched as we strode past them in walking boots with rucksacks on our backs.

Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, thinking that it is time to get up? It would appear that bats are just as susceptible to body clock dysfunction as we can be. Just as we were nearing the end of our walk we noticed what looked like either large moths or small birds darting over the path. On realising that they were bats and it was daylight; we can only assume that they had been rudely awakened from their slumber – perhaps by the banana joggers although we will never know.

At the end of our walk we did the sensible thing and repaired to the pub for a well deserved rest after all the strenuous exercise we had just undertaken. However, when working out just how hard and strenuous that exercise had been we discovered that we had been walking an average of 1.5 miles an hour. So not that strenuous then? Perhaps not, but just the kind of walking group that I am quite happy to remain a member of.

Plan B

As a result of the rain on Saturday it was with regret (who am I trying to kid) that Plan B was put into operation. Perhaps Plan B should have concerned itself with maintaining the commitment to some sort of fitness but sadly it did not. In fact we ended up with “A Play, A Pie and a Pint”.

The aforementioned Play, Pie and Pint is an excellent idea offered by Oran Mor on the corner of Byers Road and Great Western Road in Glasgow. It does what it says on the tin and for £10.00 of your British Money you get a drink, a pie (it literally is just a small pie on a small plate, but we managed to get two of them each) and a play.

The play in question concerned your average female with two men in her lives; a cross dresser and a chap with a drink and anger management problem. Of course she chose the cross dresser over the charming other fellow (well you would wouldn’t you?).

After the play and after rescuing my very badly parked (ie abandoned) car we decided to have a wander along Byers Road.

There are a number of very good second hand shops in Byers Road and taking me anywhere near them is a very bad idea indeed, for my friends in any case. At a good 50 paces I can already smell the gloriously musty books, authentic vintage clothing and other assorted nick nacks. By the time I’m in the door I’m drooling and counting my available cash. And that cash was spent liberally in a fair selection of Aladdin’s Caves full of bright colours, interesting smells and mystery. Well, they were “bargains” after all.

We ended our day in Thornton’s where we shamelessly ate ice cream despite the fact that it was pouring with freezing rain and summer had given up trying to perform its intended task and gone home.

So that was our day out in the name of Plan B. A pretty good Plan B by my reckoning. I’m supposed to be going on a hike on Saturday, so, if it’s raining I’ll meet you in Byres Road for Plan B – The Sequel.

Saved by the Hail

For once it would appear that the vagaries of British weather will save me tomorrow from the agony of physical exertion. It had been suggested by friends much fitter than I that tomorrow we would go cycling. For fit people this might consist of a jolly day freewheeling up hill and down dale, but for me it would tend to offer the prospect of hoisting myself in a rather ungainly manner into the saddle and puffing and panting up steep hills with every muscle in my body protesting at my lack of training. When I looked at the weather forecast in the middle of the week it showed glorious sunshine for Saturday, making my heart sink every so slightly and my muscles tremble in fearful anticipation. Everything however changed today. As so often happens, despite the fact that we are at present bathed in glorious sunshine, the forecast for tomorrow has changed from a sunshine symbol to one depicting a cloud and three drops of rain. There will of course be many more than three drops of rain but there is only so much space available on a weather symbol.

In the event of rain, Plan B will be put into operation. I have to admit that Plan B has not actually been planned but here’s hoping that it will involve as little physical activity as possible.

I will keep you posted.