Archive for the ‘Just Stuff’ Category
Make sure you are sitting down cos I’m going to say something nice
September 3rd, 2010
For 12 years I have (almost) religiously harangued my son whenever he leaves the house to check he has his drugs with him. The little one even started joining in as soon as he could talk. Very cute it was too.
So I have absolutely so explanation as to why we turned up at Edinburgh Airport a few weeks ago with 1 epipen, half an inch of Piriton syrup and absolutely no prednisolone steroids for our 12 hours journey to the USA. There was a full, in fact double, complement of drugs in our checked in luggage but for the plane that was it. Woefully inadequate.
British Airways carry a supply of epipens on board, their cabin crew are trained to administer them and their meals are all nut-free but I was still uncomfortable travelling without any steroids. Andrew’s awkwardly allergic to more than just nuts.
I was carrying the tear off bit from his last prescription, the bit you use for repeat orders, just in case we needed to fill it in the US. On the off chance, a bleary eyed 6am off chance, I popped into the Boots branch in the airport departure lounge to see if I could buy steroids over the counter. That wasn’t an option but the pharmacist on duty took my slip, called the out of hours service in Perthshire, managed to get permission to dispense the drugs without prescription and made me a very happy and contented, if somewhat doofus mother.
Now it might surprise you to hear I write letters. Real letters. Usually whining moaning letters to whoever’s made me feel fed up that week. I very rarely post them as I find the writing process is usually enough to placate me (or make me feel like a right prat – one or t’other).
Back home from our holiday I decided to write a nice letter. A thank you letter. A boy did that lovely pharmacist save me from a hideous journey full of angst and panic letter. A cheers for saving my son from 9 hours of “You’re 13 – for crying out loud check your own bag!” letter.
I even posted it.
And not only did the people at Boots thank me for thanking them… they thanked me for thanking them and promised to pass on my thanks to the branch and sent me a thank you for thanking us gift.
Aren’t Boots lovely?
Just my colours too.
Should I thank them?
If Carlsberg did bad nights out
February 6th, 2010
I owe my mate an apology. A couple actually.
My mate is full of fun and bubbly (preferably pink and chilled). You all need one. She is fair, she is kind, she is generous and she throws fabulous parties. She suffers fools with a smile I couldn’t possibly muster and wants everyone to get on. She thinks of everything and her attention to detail ensures everyone has a terrific time in her company. Even people she’s just met.
Well mostly.
There are some people who no matter what you do will just be vile.
A few months ago my mate organised a day out and distributed an open invitation to bring as many friends along as we wished. It proved to be a bit too far for most people, the idea being to blag our way to complementary drinks and reserved VIP seating throughout town on the pretense that we were attending a same sex wedding. On the day only a few of us were prepared to don our finery complete with corsages and hats. We hit the town early with plans to meet the chickens later. Obviously we cancelled the free drinks and seating with there being a small number of us. But we kept the hats and the flowers.
For two of the women it was their first time in our company, but we knew them vaguely, the village is small and they weren’t exactly strangers. They were friends of each other and with someone who had planned to come along then bailed out at the last minute. Let’s call them Jemima (40s, married, kids) and Tallulah (30s, married, kids). And the day started off really well. Really well. The fact that Jemima paid more attention to the blokes at the table next to us after a couple of Woo-Woos probably should have been an indication of how things would go, but they were good company. To start with.
Forward wind a few hours to when we met up with the evening guests and the downhill nature of things was proving difficult to ignore. Jemima by now had her legs round and her tongue down one of Tallulah’s friend’s ex-husband and Tallulah was showing an unhealthy interest in my mates 19 year old son who’d popped in to cadge beer money off his Mum.
Here’s my first apology. I vouched for Tallulah. I’m really sorry about that. From the little I knew of her through the few times we’d spoken I assumed she was happy with her gorgeous husband, beautiful kids, lovely home… blah blah blah. Her words. I assured my mate, indeed everyone, several times that Tallulah was just a bit drunk and mucking about. Harmless fun.
Well what would you do? Here we had two beautiful women who we were beginning to suspect were rather unhappily married, both with some serious self esteem issues and both very drunk. What could we do? We excused their behaviour. We really didn’t know them all that well, who were we to judge them? But since my mate’s son was only 19, a bit full of beer, and still lives at home with his Mum and Dad only a 2 minute walk away from where Tallulah and her family live, everyone agreed it was inappropriate for Tallulah to be buying the boy cocktails, sitting on his knee, stroking him and telling Jemima in the toilets that she was “Going for it”. You don’t shit on your own doorstep. And you don’t let your kids shit on your doorstep either! So my mate punted her son some cash and sent him on his way to find his friends with a warning to steer clear of the married neighbour.
Which should have been the end of it.
We moved on to another pub, taking Jemima and Tallulah with us, making sure Jemima, who by now could hardly walk, was safe and sound whilst she continued to resist any suggestion that we put her in a taxi home. Not altogether unexpectedly Jemima took umbrage at something or other and started a huge and nasty argument which eventually saw her led away home by a sober friend who’d just arrived.
Our party had swelled to include nieces and daughters, mates and colleagues and as the night wore on the young ones headed off to a night club, others set out for home and four of us went for a Chinese buffet. We failed to pick up on the fact that Tallulah hadn’t gone home, rather she’d tagged along with the 18 year olds heading for the club.
My clubbing days are well behind me so after the food I jumped in a taxi and was home in bed before midnight. My mate, however, being the bubbly party animal she is, headed off to the club along with her BFF. The first thing she did when she got there was take some photos of Tallulah on the dance floor wrapped around, through, all over and down the throat of her son. Then, whilst the daft laddie was dragged off for a drink, my mate took Tallulah aside for a quiet word, along the lines of… go home to your husband and kids, leave my boy alone, you’re drunk, he’s drunk, we’re neighbours, he’s 19, he’ll screw anything that offers him it on a stick and you will both regret it in the morning… go home, and by the way, don’t tell my son I said any of this… he’ll find someone else to spend tonight with and won’t even notice you’re gone. And what did Tallulah do? She ran straight back and told the boy. So the evening that started off so well ended up with this bloody woman screaming at my mate, in front of her child, that she would “shag” (her word) her son if she wanted to and there was nothing my mate could do to stop it.
Actually there was plenty she could do to stop it, like not letting Tallulah in her home for starters. To this day I don’t know what the silly bitch was thinking… was she planning on the two of them going back to his Mum and Dad’s house? Or perhaps she was going to sneak him back to her bed past her husband and sleeping kids? Stupid cow.
When Tallulah, clearly overestimating her allure, presented the boy with an ultimatum…. come with me now I am leaving. He stayed. Through the fug of alcohol I like to think that in the harsh glare of the halogen lighting he had a good look and realised this was no Barbie doll propositioning him, but an old, drunk, married woman with three kids. When he got home the next morning the first thing he did was thank his Mum for saving him from a horrible mistake.
And here’s my second apology. I persuaded my mate not to go round to Tallulah’s house the next day and confront her. Despite the fact that Tallulah had no problem whatsoever trying to drive a wedge between my mate and her son for the dubious thrill of a quickie up some alley, I didn’t think it would make her feel good to split this family up. We have no idea what Tallulah’s marriage is like, what is so awful that it drives her to throw herself at a teenager to make herself feel good.
I shouldn’t have stopped her and I’m sorry for that because Tallulah has since grabbed the only innocent looking photo of herself and the boy taken that night and posted it on her Facebook for all to see along with a lot of tripe about how it was “strangely one of the best” nights out she’s had. What.The.Fuck? She has also grabbed and uploaded a photo with us all in it and since none of us who met her that night have any wish to be associated with her we are not best pleased about it.
I have no idea why she thought it would be fine to carry on as if nothing happened and not apologise to my mate, or me for that matter. I vouched for her over and over again. Once she’d sobered up you’d think she’d be a bit ashamed yes? Well…. apparently not.
We haven’t kept the story of this night ultra-secret but neither have we spread it round like a wildfire vendetta. A few people we know have heard and reacted in various ways from “I always heard she was a slut” to “Oh you don’t want to cause trouble”.
I think everyone would agree that sitting back whilst your drunk teenage son swaps body fluids with a married mum who lives round the corner isn’t an option.
But in the aftermath I for one have found that taking the higher moral stance has been totally unsatisfying. If Tallulah had even pretended that she was sorry, rather than flaunting photos and proclaiming the evening a great night out, only then would ignoring her and forgetting her have been enough. To be honest if she’d groped away at any other teenager, or any other neighbour for that matter, we’d have left her to her fun and moved on, but not your neighbours kid… not in front of his Mum after she’s welcomed you into her company.
So I dunno now.
Carry on ignoring her no matter what she says or does?
Or fuck the higher moral stance, post the incriminating photos on Facebook and pull up a ringside seat?
What would you do?
People power
November 23rd, 2009
A couple of people have told me they missed the November 6th edition of the Perthshire Advertiser in which I ranted on about the proposed supermarket in Scone. Following publication the Community Council contacted me and asked for permission to reprint it in their next free newsletter, so an antidote to SCoPE will be forthcoming through every letter box in the village in the next few weeks. How exciting!
After my letter was published I was pleasantly surprised to receive phone calls, texts, Facebook messages and be stopped in the street by many people who not only agreed, but wanted to thank me for putting my neck on the line and speaking out. Apparently I’m only saying what a lot of people are thinking which, if you know me, makes a nice change! The following week a further two letters were published from residents who support a new supermarket in the village. Last week, on 20th November “Name and address supplied” sent in a cowardly unsigned letter brandishing my views stupid, selfish and dishonest. My reply has been sent to the PA and I’ll be reproducing it here once they have had a chance to publish (or not) on Friday.There’s really no need to get personal.
In the meantime I have setup an online survey, which I hope the PA will publish a link to, and I invite any local residents whether from Scone, Perth or the outlying villages, to make their views known. It’s all very well that the people I meet give me a slap on the back, but if the consensus is that we are opposed then it really needs more than the current handful of very vocal people to stand up and say “No” (or “Yes” or “Don’t Care”).
Several people have voiced a desire to see a local group setup in opposition to SCoPE, the main naysayers who seem to think they speak on behalf of the whole village. It may come to that if I can figure out what needs to be done to move it forward (or anyone else? hint hint!).
So, for now here’s a full draft of the letter I sent to the PA. It was only slightly altered, I think I laboured the wine point a bit much. Enjoy!
Who will it be now?
“It’s time someone spoke up on behalf of the thousands of Scone residents who didn’t protest at the Park and Ride on Saturday 31st October, who didn’t return their questionnaire in May this year and who aren’t being called to rally in support of the proposed supermarket development in Scone.
My family has lived in the village for four generations and each of those generations has witnessed some expansion or development that threatens to “kill-off” the village and turn it into an un-serviced suburb of Perth. Clearly this has not happened. I am not the first generation to stop, take a look around and not recognize the place I grew up in, yet when I was invited to protest against this supermarket by a group of parents I was amused to find that not one of them had lived here longer than seven years. “What do these people know of how the village has changed?” I asked myself. It changed to accommodate them! To claim that any further development would destroy their village, the same village that has expanded time and time again with the housing developments they live in, is surely a joke? It is utterly ridiculous that people move into villages that have had to grow and develop to allow them to live there then demand that they cease to change forthwith.
With the best will in the world, nobody who purchases a car load of groceries a week can do so in the village stores, they just don’t stock enough lines to provide that sort of service. People who use the village shops choose them because they are convenient, or perhaps they only need a few things, or they actively support small independent business or, it’s not beyond imagination, they have already downed a bottle of wine before they realised they would need two (it happens).
There are many reasons to use local shops and for some people they will be the only ones they use. The Scone shops manage quite happily despite the fact that many of us drive to Perth for our “main” shop. Building a supermarket on the edge of the village will replace the weekly trek into town for those of us who shop for a large family but it will not stop us nipping to the Co-Op for milk and bread (and maybe wine) if that’s what we already do. It will not stop people who only shop in Spar from continuing to only shop in Spar and nothing will ever replace taking your child to The Sweetie Shop so they can stand on the stool and pick from the tuppenny tray.
With regard to traffic, we have no right to protest through traffic in Scone when we tolerate 6 buses an hour and vote for a footbridge across the Tay rather than a road bridge that would direct haulage away from the village. A daily supermarket delivery is but a drop in that particular road pollution ocean.
Finally, and not altogether seriously, I have heard calls to “Think of the children!” Well I have three and despite my efforts to ignore them I do often fail. Should they ever get the urge to earn their own money I would be a far happier Mum to have them work after school in a local supermarket, rather than have to put that Friday wine from the Co-Op on hold so I could go pick them up from some far flung supermarket off the No7 route.
The 4000+ Scone residents who didn’t protest last weekend and the 81% who didn’t return their questionnaires in May 2009 should not be dismissed. We are the silent majority who either welcome growth, relish change and crave the services that bigger towns have or don’t have much of an opinion either way. That said, if anyone doesn’t agree with this development and hasn’t said so then perhaps it’s time to disassociate from the silent majority and make yourself heard.
Nobody will be forced to use any new supermarket! If it succeeds it will be because people use it and therefore support it. Maybe I am naïve but I believe the only business that a Scone supermarket will get is business that already goes to big supermarkets elsewhere. The driving issue isn’t whether the people of Scone want a supermarket, as clearly only a few don’t, it’s what the people of Scone will choose to do when they get one that counts.”
Posted in Just Stuff | 
Tags: Perthshire Advertiser, Scone, Scone Community Council, SCoPE, supermarket | 
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iHeartFaces – Excited
October 13th, 2009
There’s no greater love than that between a man and his iPhone.
MrW unnervingly excited unwrapping his latest Apple goodie.
More excitement over at iHeartFaces this week.
A few of my favourite things…
October 6th, 2009
… well cheese is pretty high up there.
I love Scotland. I moan a lot about the weather (a lot). But I do adore here, and being from here, the past of here and where here could go if we get it right. I do rather like here.
The countryside is the way it is thanks to the rain I guess – so I shouldn’t complain since I love the green and blue and the barren rock of it all.
I’m obviously quite partial to my wee bit of here. Despite criminal town planning decisions that sanctioned the destruction of much of our history to make way for ugly concrete developments throughout the 50s and 60s, if you were to drop me into the centre of any major town in Scotland I reckon I’d be able to guess where I was from the architecture that remains. You just have to look up…
I like the coast. Even the east coast blasted by arctic winds from the north. The rare days like this are days to be grabbed hold of and taken slowly.
I absolutely love castles.
Yeah, got a thing for castles…
And Scotch Mist of course… which is just our way of saying “Are you blind or stupid? It’s right in front of you!” as in “What’s that then? Scotch Mist?”.
Despite their insistence (both of them) of living by one rule and one rule only, that is… “If that doesn’t annoy Mum I’ll do something else” repeat on an if-then-else loop, I do rather adore my boys.
And my girlie girl… she’s absolutely nothing like me at 14… and so totally like me at 14. Which works.
Then there’s Neil, who’s hard work and effort allows me to stay at home with our 4 year old imp and wash and iron and cook and study and do the garden and paint the walls and… wanna swap?? Maybe just for a week? A day?
We had him immortalised in a laser engraving on the back of his iPhone.
Not really.
Be cool though wouldn’t it?
And finally, did I already mention cheese?
More favourite things over at iHeartFaces.
Aye, soon be that time
September 28th, 2009
I’ll go first. Hello, my name is Nikkii and it’s been 4 weeks since my first Christmas present was delivered.
I could whisper it in a small faded font but it won’t unreal the situation.
I’ve been sitting on my bum shopping for Christmas gifts for the kids since forever. Probably 1997. Santa doesn’t live in Lapland in our house, he runs Amazon.
It started off with a couple of books but over the years the ease of one-click shopping delivered to my door in anonymous packaging from around the globe has far has eclipsed the High street melee as a satisfying consumer experience.
I’m not sure if my postie feels the same but the endless stream of Amazon boxes from various continents, Play jiffy bags from Jersey and eBay goodies wrapped in exotic carrier bags from Hong Kong and China gets my heart a-thumping every year. Hawkin’s Bazaar, ELC and John Lewis are also annual favourites. I love it!
I’ve tried different sites each year for Ty Beanie Babies and not had much luck recently so my trawl for cute furry things to peep out of the top of three stockings will begin soon.
Once you include the Good Gift catalogue Christmas definitely becomes a global sorta thing for us.
But for all the pluses, the no queueing, the ease of checking several retailers in succession without getting blisters or having a stroke when you have to go back to the first one you tried, the knowing what you’ve spent before you get to the checkout… I don’t half miss the gin & tonic celebration after each purchase.
So every year I save back a couple of things, the sweets, the stocking fillers, the last minute “better get the man something too”, and launch myself into that High Street melee I profess to hate so much. Cos if you don’t hate it, how can you justify escaping to the pub in between shops? Isn’t that really what Christmas is all about?
Me? Dance like nobody’s watching? As if!
August 29th, 2009
Hangover toast. Second best toast ever. Beaten only by the best toast ever which really deserves a post all to itself one day.
I can’t imagine what Dios Salve A La Reina made of the venue last night. I’m not even sure what I made of the venue last night. I appreciate this was a warm up gig on their tour, but they have played the same venues in Argentina that Queen played. They have played to crowds of 20-30,000 in the UK. And The Hangar sold out at 200 tickets.
When we walked in I have to admit the place was absolutely packed. Packed to the gunwhales with tables. 16 of them. Huge round tables for 12. With linen covered chairs. And candles. There was table service from the bar. And people were eating. W.T.F.?!
If not for the band on stage I’d have thought we were there on the wrong night. And stumbled in on a wedding. Or something. Look at it!!
Is this a GIG I see before me?
We bought a drink. It was easy to get to the bar after all.
And there we stood, agape at the vista before our eyes but enjoying Sonnet65 very much indeed.
We bought more drink.
And there we stood, still slightly agape, finding the next band rather depressing and bad actually.
We bought even more drink (well what else was there to do? how do you “mingle” with 198 people sitting on their arses stuffing stovies down their faces whilst bands are playing really fuck off loud music? Exactly, you buy another drink).
We got chatting to a guy with an enviably huge lens. And I cursed myself for not bringing my camera. I felt like another drink at that point.
The third band were a really rather splendid Beatles cover band. I enjoyed them.
More Bacardi barman!
The guys from God Save the Queen came down to watch this last support band and it was uncanny how much like Freddie Mercury this guy looked. Really a bit spooky.
When it came time for them to perform we were no longer content to stand at the back propping up the bar. There was a totty semi-circle at the front of the stage designated as “dance floor”. We checked. Were were allowed to dance. And tough nuts to the people sitting at the front – we were dancing.
We weaved our way between the tables towards the stage, trying to drum up a bit of support on the way. We managed to entice a few willing participants. And we danced. And the song finished. And the others, all 4 of them, went back to their seats. And we though W.T.F.??
We didn’t move. Well we moved iykwim. On our feet. At the front. And for a good half of the performance it was Neil, me and a couple of guys with enviably huge lenses. And that.was.it.
ARRGGGHH!
God Save the Queen were fabulous. They played old Queen, new Queen, rock Queen and ballad Queen. They even did the bits in Bohemian Rhapsody that Queen didn’t perform live. Not only did he look like Freddie, and boy did he look like him, same hairline, same eyes, same build and height, same flipping hairy chest… he even had a bit of the teeth, not only that, but he played keyboard and sang and moved and posed like Freddie. They did a 90 minute set and it was only for the last few songs that people finally disengaged themselves from their seats to join us on the dance floor. And they finally looked like they were having a ball. And we thought “Yeah well you could have been having a ball for the last hour – twonks”.
On the way out we walked past one of the roadies loading equipment into the vans at the back. “Thanks for getting the dancing going guys” he said.
You are most very very welcome mate.
Anytime.
Posted in Just Stuff |
Tags: Dios Salve A La Reina, Queen, Queen Tribute Band, Sonnet65 |
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