The countdown is well and truly on. There's just a week to go until Media Parents step onto the dancefloor for our first public performance.
Ok, let's qualify that a little. Our first public performance as part of a dance demonstration, rather than messing around at parties when we've been on the rioja.
Last Christmas, I finally persuaded Media Dad to join me at salsa. It's fair to say I unleashed a monster - he was instantly smitten - after months of claiming he'd hate it - and rushed out to buy a pair of Blochs. (Not a patch on my sparkly purple shoes, but he loves them nonetheless.)
He rose through the ranks quickly, joining me at Level 3 just nine months after his first twirl through Absolute Beginners. The nightly practice sessions at home might have had something to do with that - believe me, it's years since the kitchen floor saw that much action.
The upshot is that we're both in the Christmas demo given by the Level 3s. It's meant to show everyone else what we've learned and where they're going with their dancing - in reality, we're all just hoping they don't notice our mistakes.
I've always loved Strictly Come Dancing, and of course I'm an armchair critic along with everyone else, but this demo has given me a new respect for those taking part. It's not just remembering the steps, in the right order, and fitting them to the music - you have to smile and look like you're enjoying it, too!
The Princess is desperate to come and watch, while The Boy just thinks we're embarrassing. Even our impromptu rehearsals in the kitchen make him cringe, and it's not like anyone else can see us. I hope we're as confident in the real thing as we are behind closed doors......
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
All I Want For Christmas....
They never cease to amuse me, the kids' Christmas lists. So I was a bit disappointed when The Boy's came in with only four items, and sensible ones at that - a new iPod, new visor for his race helmet, new race suit and money.
The first one - well, I would say he's having a laugh, but that was before the phone call from his over-generous grandfather. Someone will be very pleased come the big day.
But I digress. The Princess has come up trumps with a list that defies interpretation. Well, at least until her puzzled Media Mum can snatch an hour on Google and text her more savvy mummy friends.
"What on earth is a 'mermaid-bath-bomb-thingy'?" I wondered idly to Media Dad. "Dunno," he said helpfully. T'interweb gave me too many options so I decided to call in outside assistance. "It'll be a Mermaid Magic Fizz and Surprise," said Newspaper Mum, helpfully. "They're all the rage this year."
Ok, one down and several more to go. I shan't bore you by reciting them all, but suffice to say they were all a lot simpler than they sounded, and thank God for Amazon.
I can't, however, top a tale from Plumber Mum, who told me of the time she was sent to the shops by her four-year-old son to buy "one of those hairy things that goes clip-clop". It took her ages to work out what he wanted. No, not a pony - it was a coconut, of course!
The first one - well, I would say he's having a laugh, but that was before the phone call from his over-generous grandfather. Someone will be very pleased come the big day.
But I digress. The Princess has come up trumps with a list that defies interpretation. Well, at least until her puzzled Media Mum can snatch an hour on Google and text her more savvy mummy friends.
"What on earth is a 'mermaid-bath-bomb-thingy'?" I wondered idly to Media Dad. "Dunno," he said helpfully. T'interweb gave me too many options so I decided to call in outside assistance. "It'll be a Mermaid Magic Fizz and Surprise," said Newspaper Mum, helpfully. "They're all the rage this year."
Ok, one down and several more to go. I shan't bore you by reciting them all, but suffice to say they were all a lot simpler than they sounded, and thank God for Amazon.
I can't, however, top a tale from Plumber Mum, who told me of the time she was sent to the shops by her four-year-old son to buy "one of those hairy things that goes clip-clop". It took her ages to work out what he wanted. No, not a pony - it was a coconut, of course!
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
How Can He Be Grown Up When I'm Still Only 19?
The realisation hit me like a blow to the ribs. It's The Boy's birthday next week and I've been busy planning, storing up little presents I know he'll like. The usual mum-stuff.
Media Dad and I were discussing his main present - or, to be strictly accurate, I was nagging him to help me decide what we should get. He pointed out that The Boy has already had rather a lot spent on him this year, through our support of his efforts to be the next Jenson Button. The Princess has missed out as a result, reasoned Media Dad, so perhaps we should stick to a few small gifts?
"But it is his sixteenth," I replied - and that's when I felt it. How has that happened? When? At what stage did my cute, cuddly, blond and chuckling bundle morph into this 5'11" streak of nothing that hides in its room, sleeps until noon whenever possible and only shuffles out to grunt at me when it wants food?
Actually, I'm being a bit unfair. The Boy is a good lad, by and large. We've largely escaped teenage moodiness and the Kevin-and-Perry stereotypes, and I can hand-on-heart say that I've never worried about him smoking or taking drugs. I know he'll talk to me if he needs to - about girls, sex, whatever's on his mind - so I'm quite relaxed about him staying silent the rest of the time.
Best of all, he's not so grown-up that he doesn't want a hug from his mum at bedtime.
And there's the stunner - "grown-up". He'll be 16 in a few days - he could leave school, get a job, start smoking.... He's a young man. Yet somewhere in my head, I'm still only 19 myself - ok, I realise I'm in denial when I look in the mirror, but I don't feel old enough to have a nearly-adult son.
I am, though. Maybe I should stop calling him The Boy........
Media Dad and I were discussing his main present - or, to be strictly accurate, I was nagging him to help me decide what we should get. He pointed out that The Boy has already had rather a lot spent on him this year, through our support of his efforts to be the next Jenson Button. The Princess has missed out as a result, reasoned Media Dad, so perhaps we should stick to a few small gifts?
"But it is his sixteenth," I replied - and that's when I felt it. How has that happened? When? At what stage did my cute, cuddly, blond and chuckling bundle morph into this 5'11" streak of nothing that hides in its room, sleeps until noon whenever possible and only shuffles out to grunt at me when it wants food?
Actually, I'm being a bit unfair. The Boy is a good lad, by and large. We've largely escaped teenage moodiness and the Kevin-and-Perry stereotypes, and I can hand-on-heart say that I've never worried about him smoking or taking drugs. I know he'll talk to me if he needs to - about girls, sex, whatever's on his mind - so I'm quite relaxed about him staying silent the rest of the time.
Best of all, he's not so grown-up that he doesn't want a hug from his mum at bedtime.
And there's the stunner - "grown-up". He'll be 16 in a few days - he could leave school, get a job, start smoking.... He's a young man. Yet somewhere in my head, I'm still only 19 myself - ok, I realise I'm in denial when I look in the mirror, but I don't feel old enough to have a nearly-adult son.
I am, though. Maybe I should stop calling him The Boy........
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Get Well Soon
Ok, yesterday I didn't even have to give him the benefit of the doubt. The Boy came downstairs dressed for school, but he looked like hell - big, black bags under his eyes, pale.... When I touched the back of his neck, it was obvious he was running a temperature and he said his limbs ached.
No questions - he was ill. So I packed him off back to bed, where he stayed without murmur all day. He was even worse by the evening - bad headache, sore throat, still aching. I'd have suspected swine flu, if he hadn't already had it in the summer.
I hate it when the kids are ill. If they're really bad then you worry; if they're ill enough to be home but not so much that they need constant care then you're aware of all the things you should be doing instead.
The Princess was beside herself last night. "I haven't seen The Boy since last night," she fretted. "I hope he gets better soon. I actually miss him."
"Ah, it's nice that you're concerned about your brother," I said to her. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to know you're thinking about him."
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
"No, Mummy," she explained patiently. "I don't mind him being ill and in bed because I get to watch the television I want. But Hannah Montana has finished now and I'm bored. If he was down here, I could annoy him by teasing him about girls or beat him up."
Nothing like sibling love, is there?
No questions - he was ill. So I packed him off back to bed, where he stayed without murmur all day. He was even worse by the evening - bad headache, sore throat, still aching. I'd have suspected swine flu, if he hadn't already had it in the summer.
I hate it when the kids are ill. If they're really bad then you worry; if they're ill enough to be home but not so much that they need constant care then you're aware of all the things you should be doing instead.
The Princess was beside herself last night. "I haven't seen The Boy since last night," she fretted. "I hope he gets better soon. I actually miss him."
"Ah, it's nice that you're concerned about your brother," I said to her. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to know you're thinking about him."
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
"No, Mummy," she explained patiently. "I don't mind him being ill and in bed because I get to watch the television I want. But Hannah Montana has finished now and I'm bored. If he was down here, I could annoy him by teasing him about girls or beat him up."
Nothing like sibling love, is there?
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
A Ploy By Princess
If there's one thing my kids have always been great at, it's eating their fruit and veg.
Salad will never pass their lips, but when they're happily troughing their way through courgettes, peppers, broccoli, strawberries, melon, apples and the rest, that never worries me.
So my discovery yesterday was a bit of a shock.
Every day for the past couple of weeks, we've got in from the school run and The Princess has announced she's going upstairs to read her book and eat her grapes, saved in her lunchbox expressly for that purpose. Fine by me.
So when I emptied the waste bin in her room yesterday, I was taken aback to discover it was a quarter full of the damn things. (Grapes, not books.)
My initial reaction was anger. After all, she had been lying to me. But then I had to admire her for trying. She obviously hadn't thought it through, but it did show a degree of creative thinking.
I asked her, later, why she'd done it. She said she'd gone off grapes but didn't want to tell me in case I "enjoyed" buying them and would be upset. Bless.
I couldn't be cross with her after that. So we had a cuddle and a giggle - until I told her she still wasn't allowed sweets for a few days because, after all, she had told fibs. Then she pulled away, scowled at me and went back upstairs. I'm still not sure how I turned into the bad guy.......
Salad will never pass their lips, but when they're happily troughing their way through courgettes, peppers, broccoli, strawberries, melon, apples and the rest, that never worries me.
So my discovery yesterday was a bit of a shock.
Every day for the past couple of weeks, we've got in from the school run and The Princess has announced she's going upstairs to read her book and eat her grapes, saved in her lunchbox expressly for that purpose. Fine by me.
So when I emptied the waste bin in her room yesterday, I was taken aback to discover it was a quarter full of the damn things. (Grapes, not books.)
My initial reaction was anger. After all, she had been lying to me. But then I had to admire her for trying. She obviously hadn't thought it through, but it did show a degree of creative thinking.
I asked her, later, why she'd done it. She said she'd gone off grapes but didn't want to tell me in case I "enjoyed" buying them and would be upset. Bless.
I couldn't be cross with her after that. So we had a cuddle and a giggle - until I told her she still wasn't allowed sweets for a few days because, after all, she had told fibs. Then she pulled away, scowled at me and went back upstairs. I'm still not sure how I turned into the bad guy.......
Monday, 24 August 2009
Beanz Meanz...... Too Much in the Cupboard!
The weekly shop. One of the banes of my life, and those of many other working mums.
It's easier now, since the advent of the internet. I'm a passionate advocate of online shopping and have gaily flung my virtual hard-earned cash into Tesco's secure portal on a regular basis for some years now.
So proficient am I, that the weekly shop only takes me around 20 minutes. Half an hour, max - and that's still a far cry from the days when I had to drag my little darlings along behind a trolley, wailing. I mean they were wailing, obviously, not me - although sometimes it was a close-run thing.
When they were tiny, you could guarantee that - no matter how established their routine - halfway round they would either fill their nappies with the most disgusting-smelling eruption ever to grace a Pampers or wake up and start howling like banshees. What are your options? Well, you can either pretend it isn't happening and hope all the other shoppers - and store staff - have the good grace to humour you, or you can abandon your trolley and run for it. I favoured the latter, until I realised this meant we never had any milk and there was nothing for tea.
When they got bigger they'd refuse to go in the trolleys and go stiff as a plank of wood, making it impossible to slot them into the seats without a quick karate chop in the ribs to bend them double. Effective, but not prescribed parenting.Instead, they'd dash around the store, surreptiously swiping packets of Jammie Dodgers out of pensioners' baskets and hiding among the clothing rails until I was convinced they'd been kidnapped.
Then, when they got too big for them, they'd insist on being forcibly stuffed into the trolleys and moan all the way round that I hadn't bought any ice-cream. Nightmare.
Now I just sit at my desk and, with a few clicks of the mouse, I can be confident that my shopping will be delivered to my door at a time of my choosing. No stress, no fuss. It even has its funny moments - like the time I'd ordered four Kiwi fruits, but they'd run out so decided to substitute with four tins of black Kiwi shoe polish. I can see the logic, but it did nothing for my vitamin C levels.
So why do I still find it so hard to fit it in? I do, though. I end up leaving it till the last moment and rushing through my 'Favourites' list, ordering the same things I always order with just a quick glance down the 'Special Offers' - the 'BOGOF' and '2 for 1s' are standard reading.
The problem with this is that I haven't checked my cupboards. So there I am, unpacking my four-pack of baked beans, when I realised that I swore not to order any this week. Or the week before. Because there's 16 tins of the damn things already in there.
Meanwhile, we've run out of toothpaste and The Boy is distraught because I've got him the same anti-perspirant as Media Dad, and how embarrassing is it to smell like your father?
As they grow up, though, I do have an answer. They could always do the shopping for me. I'll let you know how that one works out.......
It's easier now, since the advent of the internet. I'm a passionate advocate of online shopping and have gaily flung my virtual hard-earned cash into Tesco's secure portal on a regular basis for some years now.
So proficient am I, that the weekly shop only takes me around 20 minutes. Half an hour, max - and that's still a far cry from the days when I had to drag my little darlings along behind a trolley, wailing. I mean they were wailing, obviously, not me - although sometimes it was a close-run thing.
When they were tiny, you could guarantee that - no matter how established their routine - halfway round they would either fill their nappies with the most disgusting-smelling eruption ever to grace a Pampers or wake up and start howling like banshees. What are your options? Well, you can either pretend it isn't happening and hope all the other shoppers - and store staff - have the good grace to humour you, or you can abandon your trolley and run for it. I favoured the latter, until I realised this meant we never had any milk and there was nothing for tea.
When they got bigger they'd refuse to go in the trolleys and go stiff as a plank of wood, making it impossible to slot them into the seats without a quick karate chop in the ribs to bend them double. Effective, but not prescribed parenting.Instead, they'd dash around the store, surreptiously swiping packets of Jammie Dodgers out of pensioners' baskets and hiding among the clothing rails until I was convinced they'd been kidnapped.
Then, when they got too big for them, they'd insist on being forcibly stuffed into the trolleys and moan all the way round that I hadn't bought any ice-cream. Nightmare.
Now I just sit at my desk and, with a few clicks of the mouse, I can be confident that my shopping will be delivered to my door at a time of my choosing. No stress, no fuss. It even has its funny moments - like the time I'd ordered four Kiwi fruits, but they'd run out so decided to substitute with four tins of black Kiwi shoe polish. I can see the logic, but it did nothing for my vitamin C levels.
So why do I still find it so hard to fit it in? I do, though. I end up leaving it till the last moment and rushing through my 'Favourites' list, ordering the same things I always order with just a quick glance down the 'Special Offers' - the 'BOGOF' and '2 for 1s' are standard reading.
The problem with this is that I haven't checked my cupboards. So there I am, unpacking my four-pack of baked beans, when I realised that I swore not to order any this week. Or the week before. Because there's 16 tins of the damn things already in there.
Meanwhile, we've run out of toothpaste and The Boy is distraught because I've got him the same anti-perspirant as Media Dad, and how embarrassing is it to smell like your father?
As they grow up, though, I do have an answer. They could always do the shopping for me. I'll let you know how that one works out.......
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
Must Try Harder!
See? I told you so! (And now I sound like my 9-year-old and her friends.)
Only a couple of weeks in and already I'm lagging on the blog front.
In my defence, we have been away - and a jolly good time was had by all. Theoretically I could have updated via BlackBerry - but who wants to bother with that when there's fun to be had doing things?
Not only was it great family time, it was educational too. We learned that when there's a deadline - like a theatre performance - it's a really good idea to know exactly where you're going when you get off the tube. Especially when London is experiencing a torrential downpour that sees a month's rain fall in an hour......... The Boy learned that when Media Mum buys an umbrella and asks if he'd like one too, it's wise to say yes if you don't want to arrive looking like a drowned rat. Media Dad discovered that asking for directions can be beneficial, and Princess can now walk really quickly in 'party' shoes. See? We all learned something!
But the best bit was having time to laugh and enjoy being a family. Sometimes the rest of life gets in the way, and it's all too easy to put things off until 'tomorow'. We all know that tomorrow never comes.
So I'm re-affirming the intention I had when I first started working for myself - that I'd take a good chunk of the summer break off to focus on the kids, and not spend it all at my desk. Which means it might be another couple of weeks before I post regularly but hey, I can live with that.
Only a couple of weeks in and already I'm lagging on the blog front.
In my defence, we have been away - and a jolly good time was had by all. Theoretically I could have updated via BlackBerry - but who wants to bother with that when there's fun to be had doing things?
Not only was it great family time, it was educational too. We learned that when there's a deadline - like a theatre performance - it's a really good idea to know exactly where you're going when you get off the tube. Especially when London is experiencing a torrential downpour that sees a month's rain fall in an hour......... The Boy learned that when Media Mum buys an umbrella and asks if he'd like one too, it's wise to say yes if you don't want to arrive looking like a drowned rat. Media Dad discovered that asking for directions can be beneficial, and Princess can now walk really quickly in 'party' shoes. See? We all learned something!
But the best bit was having time to laugh and enjoy being a family. Sometimes the rest of life gets in the way, and it's all too easy to put things off until 'tomorow'. We all know that tomorrow never comes.
So I'm re-affirming the intention I had when I first started working for myself - that I'd take a good chunk of the summer break off to focus on the kids, and not spend it all at my desk. Which means it might be another couple of weeks before I post regularly but hey, I can live with that.
Monday, 3 August 2009
I'm Not Here.... Or Am I?
We're getting ready for a few days away. Well, I say 'we'. Essentially it means everyone else carries on as normal and I go slowly mad trying to work out which train we need to catch and the best route from the hotel to our preferred attraction and back.
It also means I'm trying to wrap up all my 'work stuff' and let people know I'm not around for a bit. In the main, this isn't too difficult - after all, everybody's entitled to a holiday, right? "Ooh lovely, where are you going?" and "Have a great time" sum up the majority of responses.
The problem comes when you're trying to service a new client, or convince a prospective one that you're worth waiting for. It's amazing how I backtrack in those situations - the way my spine disappears, even after I've promised the family faithfully that this will be 'us time', never ceases to amaze me.
Suddenly, the time you swore you'd spend relaxing on an evening boat ride gives way to a phone call that might, just might, land you a six-month contract that will keep the children in Nutella until Christmas.
I've tried, really. And succeeded, to a point. I delivered the line "I'm afraid I'm away on holiday for a fortnight from tomorrow, so I won't be able to schedule a meeting before the 19th" with no problem whatsoever. Media Dad nodded his head in approval and all was well.
Such a shame, then, that I let myself down by continuing: "But I'll be picking up my emails on a daily basis, and I'll have my mobile with me if you'd like to talk the proposal through, just give me a call any time."
It also means I'm trying to wrap up all my 'work stuff' and let people know I'm not around for a bit. In the main, this isn't too difficult - after all, everybody's entitled to a holiday, right? "Ooh lovely, where are you going?" and "Have a great time" sum up the majority of responses.
The problem comes when you're trying to service a new client, or convince a prospective one that you're worth waiting for. It's amazing how I backtrack in those situations - the way my spine disappears, even after I've promised the family faithfully that this will be 'us time', never ceases to amaze me.
Suddenly, the time you swore you'd spend relaxing on an evening boat ride gives way to a phone call that might, just might, land you a six-month contract that will keep the children in Nutella until Christmas.
I've tried, really. And succeeded, to a point. I delivered the line "I'm afraid I'm away on holiday for a fortnight from tomorrow, so I won't be able to schedule a meeting before the 19th" with no problem whatsoever. Media Dad nodded his head in approval and all was well.
Such a shame, then, that I let myself down by continuing: "But I'll be picking up my emails on a daily basis, and I'll have my mobile with me if you'd like to talk the proposal through, just give me a call any time."
Friday, 31 July 2009
When Worlds Collide
You know you're grown up when school holidays are no longer a time of joy. When the summer break no longer means endless sunny days spent playing with your mates, but is instead an inconvenience to be got through as painlessly as possible.
Well ok, the sunny days disappeared a few years ago, but you get my drift. I'm essentially appealing here to all those in the same boat as myself - parents with school-age children.
In some ways, I have it pretty good compared to most. Working for myself at least removes the panic that sets in when you realise they're off for nearly seven weeks, the holiday club is only open for four and Grandma is off on a long-awaited Caribbean cruise for the other three.
Working from a home office makes life easier. It means I'm 'around' and can plan my schedule to suit. Even better, now that The Boy is old enough to babysit his younger sister, I can abuse my parental privileges and demand his availability should I need to schedule a meeting. (Or when the craving for a latte and a Fat Rascal at Bettys gets too strong.)
The downside is that I can't just 'get on' - put my head down and work - because there's always somebody demanding to know what we're having for lunch, when will that be exactly, and why won't I tell her brother to stop being mean and rescue the marbles trapped under the freezer?
This week, though, we've had a complication. Swine flu. The Boy felt a bit iffy on Tuesday night, and informed us that a friend he'd spent the previous weekend with had been diagnosed the previous day. By Wednesday, he was in full spate. Cue a 20-minute call to the new pandemic helpline and a mercy dash to the chemist for Tamiflu.
I have to say I was amazed at his recovery rate. On Thursday he felt well enough to eat, have a shower and get dressed, even if that did sap his energy for the rest of the day. And today he's almost back to normal.
I'm relieved to say the least. I know there was no reason to think he'd suffer any complications, but even though I work in the media and should know better than to believe everything I read, I still couldn't stop myself from imagining the worst.
It has meant cancelling a couple of business appointments. Partly because even I realise that leaving him in charge of The Princess when he's ill isn't good form, and partly because I have no wish to take whatever germs are flying around our house into the outside world and pass them on.
The lovely, helpful pandemic line lady told me there was no need to quarantine ourselves and to carry on as normal, just to be more aware of hand-washing and the like. But when you tell somebody that one of your nearest and dearest has swine flu, you realise what life must have been like for lepers in days gone by. There's that almost imperceptible holding of breath, a slight backing away and a sudden feeling that the conversation is very definitely over.
So, because I'm not technically on holiday yet, I've been practicing my quick-change act even more than usual. Look, I'm Florence Nightingale, dispensing pills.... now I'm Nicola Horlick, negotiating a business deal..... now I'm Nigella Lawson, whipping up a storm in the kitchen (I wish).... and let's finish with Mum, dishing out the Barbie plasters for a cut knee. I wonder when I get to be Me?
Well ok, the sunny days disappeared a few years ago, but you get my drift. I'm essentially appealing here to all those in the same boat as myself - parents with school-age children.
In some ways, I have it pretty good compared to most. Working for myself at least removes the panic that sets in when you realise they're off for nearly seven weeks, the holiday club is only open for four and Grandma is off on a long-awaited Caribbean cruise for the other three.
Working from a home office makes life easier. It means I'm 'around' and can plan my schedule to suit. Even better, now that The Boy is old enough to babysit his younger sister, I can abuse my parental privileges and demand his availability should I need to schedule a meeting. (Or when the craving for a latte and a Fat Rascal at Bettys gets too strong.)
The downside is that I can't just 'get on' - put my head down and work - because there's always somebody demanding to know what we're having for lunch, when will that be exactly, and why won't I tell her brother to stop being mean and rescue the marbles trapped under the freezer?
This week, though, we've had a complication. Swine flu. The Boy felt a bit iffy on Tuesday night, and informed us that a friend he'd spent the previous weekend with had been diagnosed the previous day. By Wednesday, he was in full spate. Cue a 20-minute call to the new pandemic helpline and a mercy dash to the chemist for Tamiflu.
I have to say I was amazed at his recovery rate. On Thursday he felt well enough to eat, have a shower and get dressed, even if that did sap his energy for the rest of the day. And today he's almost back to normal.
I'm relieved to say the least. I know there was no reason to think he'd suffer any complications, but even though I work in the media and should know better than to believe everything I read, I still couldn't stop myself from imagining the worst.
It has meant cancelling a couple of business appointments. Partly because even I realise that leaving him in charge of The Princess when he's ill isn't good form, and partly because I have no wish to take whatever germs are flying around our house into the outside world and pass them on.
The lovely, helpful pandemic line lady told me there was no need to quarantine ourselves and to carry on as normal, just to be more aware of hand-washing and the like. But when you tell somebody that one of your nearest and dearest has swine flu, you realise what life must have been like for lepers in days gone by. There's that almost imperceptible holding of breath, a slight backing away and a sudden feeling that the conversation is very definitely over.
So, because I'm not technically on holiday yet, I've been practicing my quick-change act even more than usual. Look, I'm Florence Nightingale, dispensing pills.... now I'm Nicola Horlick, negotiating a business deal..... now I'm Nigella Lawson, whipping up a storm in the kitchen (I wish).... and let's finish with Mum, dishing out the Barbie plasters for a cut knee. I wonder when I get to be Me?
Thursday, 30 July 2009
The First Step
"You should write a blog," commented a friend the other day. "Let's face it - there's so much going on in your life, you'd never be short of material."
"Hmmm, it's an idea," I replied, giving him a look that said he had to be joking. "Maybe I can squeeze it in between the school run and my magazine deadline!"
I truly had no intention of doing this. I started a blog once before but, after an enthusiastic start, it trailed off. There were about eight posts in the first month, down to one by the fifth, and since then - over a year ago - nothing. I just didn't have time.
Yet his words must have struck something inside me, because here I am again. Maybe it's because I so rarely write anything for myself, for pleasure, and I'm suddenly aware of how much I miss it. Or perhaps I've just realised I'm missing a trick - what a great opportunity to push my opinion out there with nobody to stop me.
Whatever the reason, I'm prepared to give it a whirl. I'll do my best to write regularly, and I promise I'll try and make it entertaining. I also apologise in advance to my friends, family and business acquaintances who I'm afraid are bound to feature!
Here we go then....
"Hmmm, it's an idea," I replied, giving him a look that said he had to be joking. "Maybe I can squeeze it in between the school run and my magazine deadline!"
I truly had no intention of doing this. I started a blog once before but, after an enthusiastic start, it trailed off. There were about eight posts in the first month, down to one by the fifth, and since then - over a year ago - nothing. I just didn't have time.
Yet his words must have struck something inside me, because here I am again. Maybe it's because I so rarely write anything for myself, for pleasure, and I'm suddenly aware of how much I miss it. Or perhaps I've just realised I'm missing a trick - what a great opportunity to push my opinion out there with nobody to stop me.
Whatever the reason, I'm prepared to give it a whirl. I'll do my best to write regularly, and I promise I'll try and make it entertaining. I also apologise in advance to my friends, family and business acquaintances who I'm afraid are bound to feature!
Here we go then....
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