Football Fever

St. James Park

Yesterday Hubby, Alexander and I went to see Newcastle United play Bolton Wanderers at St. James Park. Hubby and Jordan have had season tickets for years as did I until the arrival of Alexander eight years ago. Jordan decided not to grace us with his presence as he was having a teenage strop over an incident the night before. However, I was really looking forward to the game - although with a slight feeling of dread that after twenty minutes Alexander would be bored and want to go home or try other distraction tactics.

As it was, we had decent seats, on an aisle which meant had Alexander wanted to have a wander around in the concourse he could easily have done so. But he didn't. He sat right through, only once asked for his iTouch but put it away again a few minutes later. He was mesmerised by the crowd, and a few of the usual characters that are dotted around in the stands. Like this guy!
- and the old man in front who became so agitated and vocal that I'll eat my hat if he doesn't keel over with a hear attack at a game. He had a huge vocabulary of offensive words and spat them out at the referee with such force that his teeth almost came out too. Not exactly the kind of person I'd normally encourage my son to listen to, but thats what you get at football matches. You also get lots of men who have drunk more beer than their bladder can hold and who flit back and forth to the toilets and in our case some 'anonymous' bearer of flatulence that at times had most of the stand choking. Alexander being of the age that finds this kind of behaviour hilarious giggled his way through most of the second half.

Sat beside us was another older man who chatted on to Alexander about who his favourite player was and other Newcastle stuff which managed to distract him from the less pleasant aspects.
The game wasn't the most exciting game I've been to, but just being at St James Park is such a thrill. I've been lucky to be there for some great events. The Barcelona game when we beat them after the most amazing match. The atmosphere was electric. How the stadium didn't collapse with the noise I'll never know.

I was at the Peter Beardsley Testimonial game which was pretty special, and also when Alan Shearer hobbled onto the centre circle on crutches at his final farewell match.

The most emotional was the Bobby Robson match for his cancer charity. Right through the game, everyone in the stadium - and probably outside too were choking back tears as Sir Bobby was pushed onto the pitch in his wheelchair.

Sir Bobby died just days after the match and then St James became the mecca for fans from all over the world to leave scarves and shirts and remember the man who did so much for football.

As things stand, we are hoping to buy season tickets for us both for next year. Alexander said he would like to go and we would probably be able to get them in the family stand, so there will be other kids his age and fewer 'unpleasant' distractions. Trips to the match also include a visit to Mama Mia's in The Bigg Market - our favourite Italian restaurant and part of the match day 'ritual'.

I can't wait!

Homes and Castles

Back in the 1980's after a whirlwind relationship, we decided to buy a house in Weymouth, Dorset. We were both in the Royal Navy so had good, secure jobs and property was booming.

This was the house we bought. A nice two bedroomed modern home on a nice new estate. Ours is the bit to the left on this photo. The other side belonged to a hairy biker and his girlfriend.

I don't remember looking at many houses, I think we saw a couple in the same area and then saw this one. At the time you couldn't hang around, you had to get your offer in asap or there was a good chance you would get gazumped especially with this kind of house.

The trill of buying furniture and other housey stuff was amazing. We had nothing. We weren't married so had no wedding presents piled up, it was a case of shop, shop, shop.

There were problems moving in, due to the vedors new house being delayed, but apart from that we moved in, arranged the furniture and began a life living together rather than in Naval Quarters.

After a few months we decided to build a conservatory on the back and make more of the garden. Dorset is a beautiful sunny place to live so being able to sit out in the garden until late most of the summer was wonderful. There were lots of lush green fields around for us to walk the dog we bought soon after moving in. (Our first Norwegian Elkhound, Spooky). Life was good.

A few years later hubby got a draft to Ayrshire in Scotland. I had by then left the Navy and was working as a trainer for a cosmetics company, working across the south coast. Hubby's family lived in Northumberland, mine in Lancashire. We decided against buying a house in Scotland and instead looked for one in Northumberland. The main factor was that house prices in Northumberland were much lower and we would be able to buy a decent family home.

This was the one we ended up with. This time there was lots of trauma while going through the house buying process. First house the vendors went with another offer which meant we had to keep travelling up from Dorset in order to find somewhere to live before hubby's draft started. This house was a little over our budget so we didn't go to see it initially, but as fate often does, at the point of desperation the vendors reduced the price and we decided to have a look.

It was one of those houses that you know as you walk in that it is the one. I loved it. Large rooms, nicely decorated, large garden and a nice quiet estate on the outskirts of the town. We had several happy years in this house and also the arrival of our first child.
Although it was a three bedroomed house, there was an option to extend and make it into a four, which others in the estate had done successfully, but we got itchy feet when we saw new houses being built about a mile away. Our estate was surrounded by other houses, the new ones were surrounded by fields and open land. We decided to move into a brand new home.

I decided not to post a picture at risk of having hoardes of followers turn up on my doorstep.

It was exciting watching your house grow from a muddy hole to a few walls and then a house with a roof! Choices, choices. Which bathroom suite, tiles, kitchen units, wardrobe doors, carpets.........! Lots of headaches and disagreements, but finally we moved in to the smell of new plaster and gloss paint.

It is now thirteen years since that day. There are now estates all around us, and only one of the four fields left - for the time being. We knew this would happen. We are getting itchy feet again. The other side of town 'South Beach' is calling us. Little Dude goes to school there, and it is closer to Big Dudes friends in the next town. We spent a fortune driving there and back at least twice a day. There is a beach and lots of open fields for the dogs at that side of town. We wish we had the foresight to move there originally.

If we don't move then I will need a new kitchen!

Why is it that....

Over the last few days a few things have really got my goat, little irritations that could easily be avoided if the people responsible thought about others more than themselves.

1. The old toilet seat thing. If boys were taught to sit on the toilet to wee whenever there was a seat to sit on, we wouldn't have the piddle all over the seat and floor thing, nor the leaving the seat up thing. Apparently (and I'm no expert on this) sitting down to wee makes no difference to the outcome or comfort factor. In fact I would think that in many cases sitting down would be preferable.

2. We have neighbours who often spend time in each others houses on an evening, drinking and socialising. They live a road width apart. So why is it that around midnight, they all stand outside the front door finishing conversations and saying goodbyes. Why can't they do all of that inside and then just open the door, walk across the road and into their own houses?

3. People who do exactly the above but after getting out of a car or taxi that has just dropped them off outside their house. They should have the decency to stay inside the car until they have finished their conversation.

4. Dog walkers. The ones that carefully clean up their dog dump, scooping it neatly into little baggies and then hang them on the nearest bush or tree. I did this once myself while out on a long walk. One of the dogs dumped and I knew that I would end up walking there and back again with a dump bag swinging from my wrist so I left it in a very obvious place beside the path , and then picked it up on my way home. These other folk however either conveniently 'forget' to collect their baggie or like to decorate trees.

5. Pringles. They should be made a couple of millimetres smaller. When I put a whole one in it catches the corners of my mouth little. After half a tube it really stings! Salt n Vinegar ones are the worst, half a tube is all I can manage of them.

I'm now off for a relaxing bath with some soothing music playing in the background and all will be well once again.

Wardrobe Woes

My wardrobe contains the following;

• 8 coats. 3 brown leather, 3 black/grey/brown, 1 bright green puffa.
• 2 Dresses (yes I know!). One black that I bought in 1999 to wear for a posh dinner and have never worn it since (but was expensive) and one animal print bought 2 years ago that I have worn twice.
• 4 Skirts. Long, 2 brown, 1 black, 1 beige.
• 6 pairs work trousers - all black, bootleg style.
• 4 tops that seemed like a good idea at the time and are only ever 'tried on' never actually worn out.
• 7 Cardigans of various styles and in shades of grey, black, blue and green.
• 18 jumpers. Thick, thin and cashmere and apart from a couple of pink ones, all in grey, black, blue or green.
• 3 pairs of high boots, 2 black flats, 1 brown (with heels that I'm learning to walk in).
• 5 pairs of ankle boots, 3 black with low heels, 2 brown with low heels.
• 6 pairs of Crocs/mules
• 5 pairs of trainers, including one pair of Shape Ups worn twice.

I also have a chest of drawers that contains T shirts (dozens of the things, some older than my kids!) and items of underwear ranging from comfy to 'sexy but a little on the scratchy side). I have a whole drawer full of black socks, black opaque tights and thick walking socks too. Yes that;s it. The sum total of my clothing. No extra wardrobes in someone else's room or things in vacuum bags under the bed. All my stuff in one of two places. Except for handbags - they live under the bed and are a whole post in themselves.

Maybe you are sensing a bit of a theme here? I'm thinking I could do with a really good clear out and a letter to Trinny & Suzannah to ask for help in replenishing it.

My problem is that I hate clothes shopping. I always have, it's so tedious. Hubby has to drag me round the shops like a sulky teenager, picking things up off the rails to show me. He loves shopping!

"This is nice, why don't you try it on?"

"Ner, I'd never wear it."

"You could wear it when we go out for a drink"

"Not got anything to wear with it"

"Well get a nice pair of jeans or a skirt too".

"sigh"

"Go on try it on and I'll see if there's anything to wear with it".

I shuffle off to the changing rooms, strip off to my un-matched, un-derwear and stare at the un-sightly lump of porridge like flesh which is always worse than it is in my own mirror and instantly puts me in an even worse mood. I pull on the 'whatever' that is usually too short, too long, too tight or too big, struggle back into my clothes and hand it over to be put on the 'not a hope in hell ' rail.

"Well???"

"Don't like it"

"How about trying........?"

"Don't want to, can we go home now?"

What I need is someone who knows my exact measurements and what suits me and lays out clothes that are perfect for me every day - just like my Mum used to do when I was a child.

What is that smell......?

Just over a week ago Little Dude came home from Cubs with a small potato in each hand. One with eyes and another without - they must have run out! On top of each potato was a cotton wool disc.

"It's an experiment Mum!"

He ran upstairs mind now focused on playing XBox, thrust the specimens in my hand and yelled something like "......one in the light and the other in the cupboard or somewhere...." OK so I may have missed a few words here and there.

'Funny Eye Guy' Tater was placed on top of the microwave beside the kitchen window. I'm thinking here that if I have to look at a chunk of potato it might as well be the one who can look back at me. 'No Eye Guy' was packed off into a kitchen cupboard.

A week later I came home from work, opened the kitchen door to be met by an awful stench. Of course the dogs got the blame as usual but then when it was still there a few hours later I went through the emptying the bin, checking the fridge etc. to no avail. It still stank.

The following morning, I went to get out the cereal, opened the door and WOAH!! it almost knocked me off my feet!

AND THEN I REMEMBERED! 'No Eye Guy' tater had been put in there and shuffled around until he'd been hidden behind a box of Rice Crispies. It was on the presumption that as we use cereal most days I couldn't forget it was there!

Here he is - and be eternally grateful that Blogger hasn't got around to Odour Blogging yet! It looks pretty harmless here but trust me, I was gagging while taking this picture!

I now also realise that it may be better to ask the Cubs leaders for full instructions on carrying out experiments like this in future. Apparently I was supposed to remove the cotton wool disc so that the cress could grow. Ok so I did remove it eventually but I think by then the damage was done and all we got was a rather sparse couple of strands of cress. Although probably enough for a bit of a comb-over for 'Funny Eye Guy' tater.

Does he remind you of anyone?

The Missed Generation

When I was a child I loved setting off in the car on a Friday evening after Mum finished work to drive the couple of hours down the motorway to stay at my Grandparents in Nottinghamshire.

If we had time we would stop off at the original Harry Ramsden's en route and have fish and chips. We made this journey once a month and it was always the same routine.

Friday night we arrived at Nana and Grandad Turners to find the kitchen sweltering hot as Nana would have been baking most of the day using her small oven which was heated by the fire. Summer or winter it made no difference, she would bake a table full of pies, pastries and other treats for us all.

We would sit in the front room, watch TV, talk and catch up with who was doing what, where and with whom - you know the usual family conversations. I would occupy myself colouring, winding skeins of wool for Nana's knitting around Grandad's hands, or playing with one of the toys they had stashed away for me and my cousin Tracey.

Nana always had Limeade in the house and a few bottles of Stout she kept for Grandad's sunday dinner. If I was good I was allowed to have a shandy!

Saturday morning we got up dressed, had breakfast, wrapped up a few pies and such like and said goodbye. We would drive another half an hour or so to Nottingham where Dad would drop Mum and I off at the Victoria Shopping Centre so I could be dragged round the length and breadth of the city looking in what seemed like every single shop. We worked our way through the streets until we ended up at The Broadmarsh Centre, where we finished shopping and caught the bus back to Nana and Grandad Wilkes' house.

After unpacking Mum's shopping ( I only had £5 to spend so mine usually consisted of new pens or drawing pads or some kind of crafty thing) we were given a lovely tea of pies and cake. Saturday evening we would watch programmes like The Horse of the Year Show, Morcambe and Wise, The Golden Shot etc. I slept in the little box room where there was a single bed, a bookcase and bags of pigeon corn for Grandads pigeons. There was one book in particular that I still remember today. It was about a family of beavers. I loved it. It was one of Grandad's Sunday School prizes which made even more special. I don't know what happened to that book, maybe he gave it away to some local charity shop?

The following day I would get up early with Grandad and go out with him to see to the pigeons at the loft down on the allotments. He had one bird he had named Mary. I was allowed to hold her as she was one of the tamer ones. I would use the big scoop and dish out the corn while Grandad cleaned them out. Then we would head back home and have a breakfast of tinned Grapefruit followed by porridge - or sticky ribs as Grandad called it. Then we sat down to Sunday lunch before setting off back home.

These weekends meant that I got to spend a lot of time with my Grandparents, fortunately them living close to each other meant it was easier to do. In the summer holidays I would also stay with each of them for two weeks. I was very fond of all of them and have a lot of wonderful memories.

This isn't the case for my sons, Alexander, the youngest in particular.

Jordan was only two when my Mum died so has no recollection of the times he spent with her, but he did see his Grandad and stayed with him a few times after he re-married, but other than that saw them infrequently. His other Grandparents live in the same town as us and so they were around a lot and he would go and stay down there when we went out etc.

Alexander however rarely sees my Father as they live some distance and only come up to see us if they have to. Otherwise we meet up mid way for lunch to hand over Christmas presents. Both boys get bored and now neither want to come when we do meet. It's not ideal but we don't travel over there often because to be honest I feel as though we are getting in the way of them doing something else they would rather do, and it's a long drive just to say hello, have a coffee and then come home again.

His other grandparents, although still local are old and very frail now and have never been very active with Alexander. He's there, but in the background. He is treated no differently to his cousins but being the youngest seems to be the source of mild irritation at times.

It is such a shame that he has missed out on the normal Grandparent relationships. The treats and cuddles and little moments that you treasure with them. As in the picture above of Grandad and I feeding the swans on the river. Had my Mum been alive they would both have been spoiled rotten thats for sure.

I'm not expecting to be a grandparent myself any time soon but hope I am able to spend time with my grandchildren and be an influence in their lives if I do have them.