Take That tickets fiasco. Why am I so needy???

I am not a big gig goer - if there is such a word. I have been to a few concerts in my time, but I have to admit that I am not a Glastonbury going, died in the wool music officianado. The gigs I have been to have either been complete fluke like when my sister won free tickets to Live8 or someone else has arranged a night out.

Anyway. Enough of that nonsense. Today I decided to splash out my own money for a gig I really wanted to go to. Take That. Yes, I know. I am showing my middle age, but I fancied a sing along and thought why not??

I joined Ticketmaster yesterday and sat, ready with my password and credit card this morning from 8.18 am fully expecting that the site would welcome me with open arms and offer as many tickets as I wanted. I pictured myself bountifully handing out tickets to poor unfortunate friends who had not managed to get any. Lines opened at 9am and I was there. Click. Crash. Click Crash. And so the day continued. Over and over again I had virtual tickets in my hand, ready to pay.... and CRASH!!!Do these web sites not realise that there will be millions of people crowding to get tickets??

Where is the technology? How can I spend hours and hours at my computer and on the phone and still not get tickets?? Are they idiots? Surely someone must have invented software that can recognise that a small blonde in Hertfordshire wants tickets and should be prioritised?? And why is it that my friends on Facebook managed to find tickets? They kept popping up, gleefully telling the world that they had tickets. Well bloody bully for you... I HAVEN'T!!!

So. Now I have given up.To hell with Take That and Ticketmaster.I don't care about the tickets. I can spend the money on something worthwhile instead. I might watch the DVD when it comes out.

 Well, when I saay to hell with you I really mean.... if you are reading this PLEEEEASE CAN I HAVE 2 TICKETS?? I'll pay and everything....

I live in an avalanche of 'stuff' and its driving me nuts.

I am frustrated. I am frustrated by my house and the amount of 'stuff' we have littered about it. I am frustrated that every surface I look at seems to be covered with 'stuff'. Books, ornaments,glasses,clothes,shoes,papers....stuff.

It distresses me. It makes my mind feel disturbed and messy. It makes me dread people coming to my house.Every time I clear up, it reappears. We are all guilty of its dumping. I cannot blame the children alone, or my husband. I am also a guilty party.

We come home and leave our shoes, coats, bags in the hallway. 'Stuff' is strewn up the staircase.'Stuff' is strewn along the landing. Piles to be taken to the charity shop. Piles to be put in the loft. I cannot bear it.Our house is too small and our possessions are too big. The combination along with four people who have too many outside interests results in... mess. Clutter.

When we moved here 12 years ago we had 12 years less 'stuff'. The house was neat, tidy and organised. For 12 years we have indulged in consumerism in a relentless and enthusiastic maelstrom.Our shameless capitalism has produced a house bulging at the seams with everything one would ever need to live comfortably in the modern world. And it is ghastly.

We are never here long enough to have a good attack of sorting. We are studying, sporting, visiting, buying more 'stuff' that we don't really need.It is a sickness and it is driving me nuts. No sooner do I sort out one room than another is buried in an avalanche of things.Enough is enough.One of these days I am going to wake up and find myself unable to get out of bed because I have been buried alive under a pile of pointless possessions.I will be one of those odd bag lady types who makes a trail through carrier bags filled with old tins of peaches.

I want to be an elegant lady who lives in a house of clear surfaces. The change starts now. This is it. Black bin bag, come with me.... its time to get minimalist before I drown.

A spooky tale of turtles and tears...

Have you ever had anything a little odd happen to you? Anything a little... spooky? I am not a fan of ghosty tv shows or visits to mediums. That kind of thing scares me a little. Well.... when I say a little, I mean a lot.But at the same time it fascinates me. Spooky things have happened to me..... 

I suppose that when I say spooky things have happened to me I should explain... I am not claiming here to be the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.If you are a solid, sensible minded person you will probably be able to explain away what I am going to tell you. I myself look back and find myself doubting my belief in what happened. But it did happen and at the time it touched me in a way that now seems a bit mad.

I was in Australia, on a boat on the Great Barrier Reef. My Man and I were two months into a back packing trip around the world. We had saved up, left our jobs in casinos and set off to travel for a year. From Cairns we booked a diving course and set off with about ten other people to live for five days on the boat.It was beautiful. Blue skies, crystal seas. We were incredibly happy and enjoying life.

And then, for no reason, on the fourth day I woke up and could not stop crying.There was no rhyme or reason to it. I was a mess. We were supposed to do our compass dive and I totally blew it. I panicked, cried and just could not dive. I was in danger of failing the whole course. One of the dive masters offered to take me for a recreational dive - no pressure, just pleasure. I decided to do it and eventually managed to get down and swim amongst the coral and the beautiful sealife.

As I was down there I started to feel calmer and calmer and all of a sudden the dive master pointed out into the distance. There, swimming towards us, was a turtle. It gracefully glided through the blueness and spent some time just floating around us - back and forth, instilling peace and tranquillity.None of us had seen a turtle before and the experience was so special. It didn't make me cry - it just filled me with a strength that came from nowhere, a calmness that filled my soul. It made me think of my grandad for some reason.

When I came up from the dive I was a different person. I did my compass dive and passed my PADI. That dive and that turtle turned me around.

I thought no more about it until we came back to shore a couple of days later. Waiting at our hostel was a message from home. My grandad had died.He died the day of the tears and the turtle.I had had no idea that he was ill. No idea that he would die.For me the explanation for my tears had arrived and I felt that my grandad's spirit had visited me when I needed him.

99 followers and a weighty lunch.... does not equal beautiful prose....yet.

Well, how marvellous! I thought I would come over and see who's written what from my blog roll.... and whoopy doo but I have 99 followers!! How very exciting!! I remember when I got my very first follower, my very first comment and here I am almost in the heady realms of triple digit following.

I feel that in honour of this I should write something weighty, dynamic or even really push the boat out and scribble something that verges on 'interesting'.However I am, today, suffering from a large and enjoyable lunch so the only thing that I am capable of really is typing this and then staggering to my bed for a nap.

So, my apologies for letting you down. I promise to try harder and as I lie in my soft and cosy duvet I will allow my mind to wander in the direction of beautiful prose. Then all I have to do is hope that I can remember enough to be able to write it down on here and thrill you all....

Quality writing.... and then mine. All good.

I just read a Tweet from someone I follow, promoting 'quality writing' at various blogs. I know the blogs of which this person speaks and he is right. They are quality.Each post is carefully crafted and written with the skill of a 'proper writer'. It made me think about my posts. I have to, at this point, admit that my blog was not on the list of 'quality'.

I think that in the past I have written posts that are moving and well written ( she typed modestly ) but, to be honest, and to be somewhat pretentious even, my posts are somewhat organic. I do not plan what I write. I sit down and start to type. I read over what I have written and correct any glaring spelling mistakes, but generally what comes into my head goes onto the paper.

When I was at University, 25 years ago, I first discovered writing and it saved me. I needed to open up my head and let the words, the emotions pour out of me and onto the page.In those days they were hand written on foolscap paper and stored in a file made from cloth I picked up on an exchange visit to Paris.Looking at my poems ( I was an arts student, remember ) I am amazed that I did not end up hanging from a rafter in a garret somewhere. The imagery of loneliness and misery would make Morrisey look positively gleeful.

Now I am pleased and relieved to say that my writing seldom ventures into the realms of self pity and gloom that was so often the way when I was a student.But it is still a totally necessary part of my life, my mental health. There is something so incredibly cathartic about letting my frustrations, my joy, my boredom spill out of my head and onto the page.

I remember my very first post - New Year's Eve 2006, I think.I sat upstairs, alone, the kids driving me nuts, my husband at work, conscious of the world out there celebrating the New Year and me, in the prime of my life sitting in a bedroom feeling dowdy and deserted.I may have written angrily, but it was the start of something brilliant for me.

I may not be the best writer and I am certainly not one of the 'quality', but really your view of quality depends on what you are looking for in a blog.If you are looking for beautifully crafted, considered writing then I am not going to be your kind of girl. If you are looking for honesty, for emotions and thoughts pouring onto a page then maybe I'm your type.

At least you never quite know what you're going to get.It depends on what sort of day I've had. It depends on whether something has jogged my memory - a smell, a sound, an image.I suppose I am a selection box compared to a champagne truffle.Every now and then you get something delicious, but mostly its just good simple fare.

That's me. Honest. Part of me would like to be a 'writer', but part of me knows that that is just now going to work.Planning, having posts half written and stored for a rainy day is just not me.And that, my dear friends, is why blogging is so fantastic. Because you don't have to read just me, do you? You can delve into the beautiful of work of  quality writers, or find out about my allotment, or about someone I loved and lost, or about someone else's horses or their decorating...

Variety is the spice of life.

Essay writing for AA316 and my bad back complaints.

My first essay of the new year, new course is due in on the 2nd of November, or there abouts. I am actually pretty ahead of myself on this course, but I have been putting off writing the essay. I have been mulling the topic over in my head and planning what I need to write, but yesterday I actually sat down and wrote the introduction.

Strange to consider that this time last year I was terrified about how to even start. Yesterday the words just seemed to flow.Don't get me wrong, there will be changes, and as the saying goes, there's many a slip twixt cup and lip. Thinking I have written a good intro is a long way away from writing a good level three essay!

Still, I feel happy to have made a start.

Something that is not making me feel happy is the state of my back.I am trying not to mention it to those around me, but, bloody hell it hurts. I know that its only a muscle proble, caused by digging the stupid allotment and exacerbated by stress.It feels as if someone is digging red hot pokers into the muscles across my shoulder blades. When I move the pain takes my breath away and as I walk up and down stairs at times during the day I am like an old horse, grunting and gasping. Really quite pathetic!!

If it wasn't for the fact that going sick at work is totally out of the question, especially right now, I would just take to my bed and die. As my mother always told me - I have no stamina and a non existent pain threshold.You know what we Brits are like - its absolutely unacceptable to let anyone know that you are in pain. If anyone has asked me how I am I always reply chirpily that all is well.

Well, between you and me, as friends out in the ether whom I will never meet and will never have to face with the embarrassment of seeing you and feeling like a weakling to have complained, IT HURTS!! And not only does it hurt, I want it to stop and I don't want to have to go to work.There. I have said it. Now I will go back in the lounge and pretend all is well, as I swig down 2 more paracetamol.

Some allotment photos with our temporary bed of onions & garlic.

I have injured my back. This is mainly through too much digging on my allotment, obviously with the incorrect technique. It has also not been helped by the totally stressful situation at work.Won't go into that on here though...

Anyway, despite my bad back I knew that said allotment was in need of weeding so I popped up there this morning and, marvellously, remembered my camera.It is still not a garden of Eden at this stage, but I do have one tiny temporary bed, wherein nestle my onions and garlic.You can also see how much I have cleeared from the back boundary.

plot before planting

plot with onions & garlic

plot the first day we saw it

So, this may be a short post, but it is significant in the fact that you can see our first ( and I type the word optimistically here )   crops.

A spy and some sunshine....

I spent some time tidying away the garden this week.As I was working on my patio I noticed that I was being watched by an unlikely spy.It took all my own skills in stealth to get close enough to take this picture!!

spy

I also had a lovely moment at work this week.Its been a bit stressful for various reasons, but out of the blue someone brought me a little present wrapped in a tin foil bundle.She gave it to me saying that she thought I needed a little sunshine in my week.....nearly made me cry with her thoughfulness.

mine was the daisy one....yum!

Nothing like digging an allotment to soothe the mind...oh and back massages.

There are days when I would really like to post about work, but I don't and won't....Not worth it, even if I changed names.Suffice to say that today after work....

I went and treated myself to an Aromatherapy massage.My back has been aching with all the allotment digging I have been doing and with the stress of work as well I thought I was due a massage.And what a lovely massage it was! Very relaxing indeed - all lavender and black pepper, although I am hoping I smell more of the lavender than the black pepper!

I have been up the allotment each day this week and each day I have forgotten to take my camera. Curses!!! Still, I promise I will post new photos soon.I have cleared so much rubbish. I can't really believe that I have managed to pull so much out all by myself.I am only little, just 5 foot and not very muscular!! Yesterday I pulled out 2 sets of mattress springs, carpet, iron bars.... incredible.

The pile of stuff awaiting the council skip is twice the size of my last photo shown above.

The good news, though, is that I am enjoying it still, finding it almost addictive, and I have actually planted some onions and garlic!! Although I plan to make raised beds and pathways eventually I decided to make a temporary bed and plant something for inspiration.It feels good to have something growing in there.I am hoping that one day the garden will look not so much like this.... still, slow steps and satisfaction along the way..

Another rant... you may not want to read... but you should!!

I have just heard a member of the teacher's union being very defensive about pupils' use of grammar and correct spelling - or should I say, lack of it. I know that I bang on about this and I am sorry to anyone who is fed up with me, but.... it just drives me nuts.

People seem to fall over themselves to make excuses as to why people don't or can't spell properly. I know that all of us make mistakes occasionally - just today I was unsure as to how I should spell 'weird', but I checked and  reassured myself that I was spelling it correctly.Some people, however, seem almost proud of their inability.

So many children leave school with no qualifications. Focus is on celebrity and designer clothing and make up.Even as young children there is no sense of aspiration, no desire to read or take an interest in school or learn anything 'from a book'.They appear to expect everyone around them to 'sort them out' for money and cannot believe that nobody wishes to employ them.

There seems to be a trend amongst some families to avoid responsibility for their children's education.Yes, I know that education is the responsibility of schools, but not entirely.It is a partnership.As a parent it is our responsibility to read to our children - right from the beginning. We should read to them, read with them and let them see us reading. It does not have to be War and Peace.By reading and sharing books we learn so many things, among them... spelling and grammar.

I see so many children who never read at home, whose parents cannot find time to read with them or to them.Hello!!! It takes ten minutes.... Its supposed to be a pleasure.I cannot think of many things I enjoy more than snuggling up with my sons as either they read to me or I read to them.Is this a 'terribly middle class' affliction? Or is this the reason that so many middle class children go on to be more successful than so called working class children?I am not a snob... there are children from all classes who are neglected in the reading stakes, but it seems to me that ignorance is a torch passed from generation to generation.

A pleasure in reading, education... an interest in expanding one's mind is a recipe for success. We don't all have to be Einsteins, but it is devastating to see children start school with minds that are eager to learn and yet they get no support from home.Is it a coincidence that the brightest children are the ones who have input from home, who read every night, who are encouraged to ask questions, who are shown how to spell correctly?

There seems to be an acceptance that spelling doesn't matter.For me it is the thin end of the wedge.I am not saying 'punish those who spell incorrectly!!!' - I am saying that we should learn correct spellings and have incorrect spellings put right. I know that it is a difficult path - you don't want to discourage children from 'having a go'- but most children, most people, like to get things right.It makes them feel good to write something well and be praised for it.

Correct speech also helps. If you think it is right to say ''Ee don't wanna do vat do 'e ?' then how on earth can you write correctly? If you think that 'think' is pronounced 'fink' how can you begin to spell it? If you have no ambition, no aspiration, no belief that you can ever succeed in life, how can you have the energy to work and succeed?If the people around you show no sense of aspiration, no interest in books or knowledge... how will you know that those things will lead you to a life of inspiration?

If teachers say that spelling and grammar are unimportant where on earth do we stand? We need to inspire children and by inspiring them perhaps they will inspire their own children, lifting them out of the circle of apathy.I firmly believe that any child can achieve, but they need help, they need guidance. By telling them that spelling and grammar are not important, by telling them not to bother we are telling them that it is ok not to aspire to success.

Blimey O'Reilly!! I've really had a good old moan today... I have tried to be honest and I have tried not to make spelling or grammar mistakes. The honesty is indisputable and I aspire to have written a grammatically correct piece!!! Am I mad to think this way?? I am not saying that we all have to be academics - I just would like to see enthusiasm rather than apathy, inspiration rather than denigration.There.Nuff Sed...

And now I need GCSEs .... my life is full of hurdles to jump and I'm only little.

I am writing this in the small space I have between study and getting tea ready. My chicken is in the oven, as are my roast potatoes, but soon will come the moment when I have to get busy with vegetables and gravy! So, off we go quickly now!

I am planning, as some of you know, to train to become a Primary School teacher.Once I have completed my Degree I will get myself on GTP ( that's a Graduate Teacher Programme ) This means I can train and get paid for it. Hurrah!! As an experienced Teaching Assistant I was hoping it would be pretty easy to get on a course ... well, when I say easy... these things are never easy and I know that they only take the best candidates. However, I thought with my experience and qualifications I would stand a better chance than many.

Now I discover that I need GCSE level maths and Science. Bugger.I have 'o' level maths at a grade D and Biology at a grade E I think. That is not good enough. I am going to check with the local university tomorrow, but I am pretty sure I will have to pay for 2 GCSE courses. For those of you who don't know this is the most basic level that kids take at age 16.

I am happy to do them if that's what it takes, but Holy Moly... they are going to cost me over £800. I understand that you have to be of a level to teach, but I am doing an Honours Degree in Literature and I am fully numerate in everything Primary School aged children require. I may not be hot hot hot on logarithms and quadrilateral equations, but really... Primary school aged children don't do that sort of maths!

I can work out the internal angles of any polygon... would that help??

Ah well, another frustration, but one that will eventually get resolved.How come they let practically illiterate people into schools to teach and yet its so hard for me?? Right... on with the chicken now... rant over.

Allotment progress and new friends.

I siezed half an hour this afternoon to go down to the allotment and do a bit more clearing.The good news this week is that the council lady has agreed to provide a skip so that we can dump our rubbish. This afternoon I dragged out several metal poles, three scaffolding poles complete with concrete laden bottoms, the metal top of a green house, two metal sunchairs and copious amounts of old carpet.

some of the rubbish

The corner I was working on ended up looking much neater, but we have a lot more to do.

I met the loveliest old boy who came over and offered to help. He was a friend of Daphne's ( the chatty lady I told you about in a previous post ) Before I could say anything he was there in his 'gardening slippers' dragging out metal poles and giving me advice on how to string up beans and sieve out good soil from rubbish.He was such a character. Daphne had whispered to me as he strolled over 'This is my friend Tom. He's very rude, but he's alright.Don't be offended.' Well he was just the salt of the earth - a typical old English fella, full of insults and jokes, but also with a heart of gold.

I haven't been able to do much this week because of the dreadful weather. This is England, you know! But whenever I have been off and the weather has been fine I have been up there. I just love it! This is what it looks like at the moment with a following photo of what it first looked like. I can't believe that to start with we couldn't even see where it began and ended.

the view from the back of the plot

Year 8 maths Homework and the internal angles of a polygon.....done.

The night before last I helped my son with his maths homework. He is in year 8 and it consisted of working out the angles of some shapes, mostly triangles within polygons.I enjoyed it - its like a puzzle and when you get the first couple the others come like a waterfall of knowledge.

However, the next part was not quite as easy. You had to work out the internal angles of a nonagon - a nine sided shape. Well, I just did not know how to do it and it frustrated me. In the end we had to give up. The next day I was on a mission to work them out. Am I slightly obsessive....?

I asked people in my staff room, but nobody seemed to know. Then I googled nonagon and found the most interesting site. It gave me a formula which I could use to work out the internal angles of any polygon. Why I would want or need to do that is a mystery, but if I am ever called upon in the course of my everyday life to work out the internal angles of any multi sided shape, be it regular or irregular, I am now equipped with the knowledge to do so.

You need the equation:   180(n-2)      

This means that, taking n as the number of internal angles, you take 2 away from it then multiply by 180.

So.... a nonagon.... a nine sided shape is 9-2 then x180....  so 7 x 180 which = 1260.

My thirst for knowledge is satisfied. All I need now is somebody to desperately need to know the total of the internal angles of ...... something.

This was brought to you by Secret Housewife Homework Solutions.