Hi! How is everyone? Am I the first one back, then? I have to confess I've got the mother of all headaches. What do you mean? I'm not shouting, I'm whispering!
I had to hitch from the police station, because none of the officers were travelling in this direction. It wasn't difficult, though, in my mini skirt and fishnets. By the time the driver was close enough to see my face, I'd got the door open and my substantial booty parked on the passenger seat. After I'd rabbited on, for 20 minutes or so, about virtual parties and the like, he was more than happy to push me out of the car as we passed the bottom of my road.
Those young policeman know how to party, don't they? I noticed they kicked us out of the station pretty sharpish, though, once the alcohol ran out.
We did have a great time, didn't we? I know I sound a bit unsure, but I can't remember too much about it, to be honest. I do keep recalling snatches of the evening from time to time, however. Hmmm ........
Whose idea was it to set off all of the fireworks at once? Really? Well, it certainly worked. I've never seen so many nice young men in uniforms arrive, en masse, at a party, in that way, before. Firemen; policemen; paramedics.
The fireworks display was truly spectacular. It didn't last very long, but the resulting blaze carried on for hours, I believe. I don't know why the firemen felt the need to zap us all, with those jets of water, just as we asked for a closer look at their hoses. I fell arse over tip down that grassy bank and saw more than a few stars, when I got to the bottom!
Wasn't it a blast playing that game of chase, with those nice young policemen and the police helicopters? They were bound to catch us in the end, though, weren't they? We could hardly walk in those stilettos, never mind run! Those police dogs were a bit unruly, I thought. I hope our wounds heal soon, without leaving a scar.
It was sweet of those nice young policemen to try and preserve the modesty of those of you who had stripped off, with their police helmets. We really needed a considerably larger number of police officers, though, I'm afraid.
I've found some of the tarty clothes, which were cast off with a certain amount of 'wild abandonment', as the evening progressed. They were strewn over the hedge at the side of the house. Who does the peephole bra belong to? Really, she's a bit of a dark horse, isn't she? Is it an Ann Summers?
I'm sorry to say that I rather lost count of those of you who were carried off on stretchers to the ambulance and those who were taken to the police station. As long as you're all okay, now, though, that's all that matters. Sorry? No, you're right. There seems to be a couple who haven't blogged, yet, today. I wonder what's happened to those 2? Just a second my phone's ringing.
It's okay. I know where they are, now. They must have stopped off at the children's playground, when we did the conga, down the High Street, in the early hours. Apparently, one's got her ample posterior stuck in one of the seats on the kiddies' roundabout, and the other's wedged at the top of the slide. I'd better get down there and see what I can do, I suppose. I must get these thigh-length, black suede stiletto boots off first, though. Now, where are my trainers?
Anyway, guys, it was a blast! Thanks, once again, for entering into the spirit of everything and being so entertaining. We must try and have another get together, in the summer. I think we'll need more alcohol, next time, though. Don't get changing those bank details or pin numbers, now.
Oh, I almost forgot! If I don't see you before, I'll see you when our case comes up, next month!
Monday, 14 April 2008
Saturday, 12 April 2008
Mumnesia?
When I came across the article on the Daily Telegraph website, about 'mumnesia', I was reminded of a few events, which took place in my own life, when I was a younger mother.
The first incident that came to mind took place when I was 8 months pregnant, with my second son. I went into a busy craft shop, with my mother, and we looked through several packets of wool, in a bargain basket. We left the shop without buying anything, but we walked past another 4 shops in the same road, before I realised that I had left the shop with a whole packet of wool tucked under my arm! Panic-stricken, I ran back into the shop and thrust the wool back into the basket. I ran out again, as fast as I possibly could, in my condition, before anyone could make sense of what I had done and give chase!
Only a few days later, I handed over some things I wanted to buy, at the till, in the local newsagent. 'And what about the magazine?' asked the shop assistant.
'What magazine?' I asked, rather bewildered by her question.
'The magazine under your arm!' she replied, somewhat sharply.
One Saturday afternoon, when my middle son was just a couple of weeks old, my husband and I decided that we needed to go into town to do some shopping. I was last out of the house. I slammed the front door behind me and joined my husband in the car. He started the engine, but as he drove onto the road, I realised that we had forgotten something. 'We've forgotten the baby!' I exclaimed. We had left him, in his pram, sleeping in the cool sitting room, at the front of the house, because it was a really hot day. When we pulled up, back on the drive again, we realised that neither of us had brought a front door key and it took my husband 40 minutes to break in, by forcing open the patio doors, at the rear of the house. Fortunately, middle son slept through all of the activity.
After the birth of my third son, I went through a phase of confusing days, dates and times for quite a while, as I remember.
My youngest son was a few months old when a friend rang to ask me, politely, why I wasn't at her house, for a cup of tea and a chat, as we had arranged. I told her that I wasn't supposed to be there until the following day, but, when I checked the calendar, I was stunned to see that she was right!
One Saturday afternoon, not long after that, I asked my husband to take my eldest son to another child's birthday party, but they very quickly returned, my husband somewhat crossly explaining that they'd arrived a week too early! I was so relieved that I hadn't taken eldest son to the party myself!
On another occasion, the whole family was due to go to the dentist and my husband had taken the day off work, especially. We were running a little late and burst into the reception area, at the surgery, in the same way that we tended to enter any room in those days, with the 3 little gremlins who bore an uncanny resemblance to our 3 young sons. The grim reaper manning the reception desk checked the appointment book and, then, to my dismay, began going back through the pages. 'You should have been here yesterday!' she said disapprovingly, glaring over the top of her spectacles.
Another afternoon, I turned up at my local salon (Ooh! Sounds a bit posh! ) to have my legs waxed and was told that I should have been there in the morning. I was positive that the salon had made the mistake, until I arrived home and checked the calendar. I had been so certain that I had the correct appointment time fixed firmly in my mind, that I hadn't even bothered to check the calendar on that particular day.
I think the most embarrassing mistake I ever made, however, was when a going away party had been organised for a family living in our road, because they were emigrating to America. It was a whole family affair, so we all set off down the road, on the appointed evening, dressed in our party clothes. A fair amount of organisation had been necessary in preparing for the event, as I had cooked some food, and the boys were still quite young, so a fair amount of effort had to go into dressing them up, in appropriate party clothes, and keeping them clean and out of mischief etc.
My husband and I each carried a plate of food, whilst the boys chattered excitedly, as we reached the house. We rang the doorbell and waited. My neighbour opened the door and was quite suddenly overwhelmed with laughter, as soon as she caught sight of us. Eventually, she was able to gasp 'The party was last night! We all wondered where you were, but were too polite to come over and ask. We assumed that something must have cropped up to stop you coming along.'
It was months before I could greet my neighbours, without them laughing helplessly at the thought of me turning up for the party 24 hours too late. I don't think I ever lived it down, but at least most of them have moved away, now!
It is fair to say that I still forget things sometimes and I may very occasionally confuse times and dates, but not as consistently as when my sons were young, I don't think. Nowadays, I have 'blonde moments', even though I am not a natural blonde, and, in a few years time, no doubt, I will qualify for 'senior moments'.
How about you? Have you/do you suffer from mumnesia? Do you suffer from it, even though you are not a mum? What sort of 'moments' do you have?
The first incident that came to mind took place when I was 8 months pregnant, with my second son. I went into a busy craft shop, with my mother, and we looked through several packets of wool, in a bargain basket. We left the shop without buying anything, but we walked past another 4 shops in the same road, before I realised that I had left the shop with a whole packet of wool tucked under my arm! Panic-stricken, I ran back into the shop and thrust the wool back into the basket. I ran out again, as fast as I possibly could, in my condition, before anyone could make sense of what I had done and give chase!
Only a few days later, I handed over some things I wanted to buy, at the till, in the local newsagent. 'And what about the magazine?' asked the shop assistant.
'What magazine?' I asked, rather bewildered by her question.
'The magazine under your arm!' she replied, somewhat sharply.
One Saturday afternoon, when my middle son was just a couple of weeks old, my husband and I decided that we needed to go into town to do some shopping. I was last out of the house. I slammed the front door behind me and joined my husband in the car. He started the engine, but as he drove onto the road, I realised that we had forgotten something. 'We've forgotten the baby!' I exclaimed. We had left him, in his pram, sleeping in the cool sitting room, at the front of the house, because it was a really hot day. When we pulled up, back on the drive again, we realised that neither of us had brought a front door key and it took my husband 40 minutes to break in, by forcing open the patio doors, at the rear of the house. Fortunately, middle son slept through all of the activity.
After the birth of my third son, I went through a phase of confusing days, dates and times for quite a while, as I remember.
My youngest son was a few months old when a friend rang to ask me, politely, why I wasn't at her house, for a cup of tea and a chat, as we had arranged. I told her that I wasn't supposed to be there until the following day, but, when I checked the calendar, I was stunned to see that she was right!
One Saturday afternoon, not long after that, I asked my husband to take my eldest son to another child's birthday party, but they very quickly returned, my husband somewhat crossly explaining that they'd arrived a week too early! I was so relieved that I hadn't taken eldest son to the party myself!
On another occasion, the whole family was due to go to the dentist and my husband had taken the day off work, especially. We were running a little late and burst into the reception area, at the surgery, in the same way that we tended to enter any room in those days, with the 3 little gremlins who bore an uncanny resemblance to our 3 young sons. The grim reaper manning the reception desk checked the appointment book and, then, to my dismay, began going back through the pages. 'You should have been here yesterday!' she said disapprovingly, glaring over the top of her spectacles.
Another afternoon, I turned up at my local salon (Ooh! Sounds a bit posh! ) to have my legs waxed and was told that I should have been there in the morning. I was positive that the salon had made the mistake, until I arrived home and checked the calendar. I had been so certain that I had the correct appointment time fixed firmly in my mind, that I hadn't even bothered to check the calendar on that particular day.
I think the most embarrassing mistake I ever made, however, was when a going away party had been organised for a family living in our road, because they were emigrating to America. It was a whole family affair, so we all set off down the road, on the appointed evening, dressed in our party clothes. A fair amount of organisation had been necessary in preparing for the event, as I had cooked some food, and the boys were still quite young, so a fair amount of effort had to go into dressing them up, in appropriate party clothes, and keeping them clean and out of mischief etc.
My husband and I each carried a plate of food, whilst the boys chattered excitedly, as we reached the house. We rang the doorbell and waited. My neighbour opened the door and was quite suddenly overwhelmed with laughter, as soon as she caught sight of us. Eventually, she was able to gasp 'The party was last night! We all wondered where you were, but were too polite to come over and ask. We assumed that something must have cropped up to stop you coming along.'
It was months before I could greet my neighbours, without them laughing helplessly at the thought of me turning up for the party 24 hours too late. I don't think I ever lived it down, but at least most of them have moved away, now!
It is fair to say that I still forget things sometimes and I may very occasionally confuse times and dates, but not as consistently as when my sons were young, I don't think. Nowadays, I have 'blonde moments', even though I am not a natural blonde, and, in a few years time, no doubt, I will qualify for 'senior moments'.
How about you? Have you/do you suffer from mumnesia? Do you suffer from it, even though you are not a mum? What sort of 'moments' do you have?
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Party!
I'm not usually a party animal, but I so enjoyed the virtual tea party, which I hosted last Sunday, that I am already thinking about what sort of virtual party to organise next.
Firstly, though, I would like to thank all of those guests who came to my last virtual party and entered into the spirit of it all so whole-heartedly. You were so entertaining and your comments were inspired!
Now, I would like to have a discussion with you about what sort of virtual party we should have, next time.
How about a Tupperware party? What? Why are you all groaning? The last one I went to, about 20 years ago, was most enjoyable. The demonstrator made a rice ring, which tasted delicious. We all bought one of the circular plastic moulds which she used to shape it and I sold mine, still unused, on a well-known auction site, only last week, for £0.99p plus p&p. Between us, at the party, we bought enough Tupperware for the hostess to earn her reward, which consisted of a collection of storage containers, 3 plastic beakers with lids, a spaghetti container and half a dozen ice lolly moulds.
At the end of the party, the demonstrator lunged at one of the guests, held her in a head lock, and pulled out her toe nails one by one, until she reluctantly agreed to book up a party of her own the following month. Awesome! Job done!
Oh, is that right? You can't buy Tupperware through party plan, now? That's a bit of a disappointment.
Right! How about a cheese and wine party, then? Traditional, but still quite popular, I believe. Sorry? That sounds good, but you don't fancy the cheese? Okay, a cheese and wine party, without the cheese. That's one possibility, then!
What do you think about a toga party? They are quite fashionable, with students, at the moment. We would have to dress up in Greek-style robes, wear holly on our heads and get very drunk, apparently. Right, so that sounds great, but you can't be bothered with the Greek-style robes or the holly? Well, it wouldn't be a toga party, then, would it? It would just be a party, where we all get very drunk! Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, okay, that's another possibility.
What about a tarts and vicars party? Hmmm! You're right. I don't have any potential vicars visiting my site. We could still dress up as tarts, though, right? Yay! That's another possibility, then.
How does everyone feel about a swingers party? No, you're right. Let's not go there.!
How about a pyjama party, then? What? Do none of you wear pyjamas? Okay, better not go there, either.
Perhaps we should consider something more modern. How about a rave? There is a green at the side of my house, which would probably be big enough for us. Most of us are taking tablets of some sort, already, so we wouldn't have to concern ourselves with that side of things. I quite like the thought of the party being outside, because, then, there wouldn't be any mess in the house, but what about the music? I don't think that electronic dance music would be suitable for us, so what shall we go for? I'm sorry? What did you say? Party music? Like what, exactly? Things like La Bamba, YMCA, Agadoo and Lambada? You can't be serious! You are? Yes, okay, sounds great!
Should we announce it on someone's social networking site, to make sure we get plenty of guests? Brilliant! I don't want any damage to my house, though. You know that there's often thousands of pounds worth of damage caused, at the venue, when a party is announced on the internet. We'll move into someone else's house, when it gets too cold, on the green? Awesome idea! I do have a neighbour of whom I'm not overly fond.
Now, what shall we do about food? Shall I do some sausage rolls and crisps? No, you'd rather put the money towards more alcohol? Okay, then, agreed!
It would be helpful if you could each make a voluntary contribution towards the cost of the alcohol. Please send a virtual postal order, for as much money as you can spare, to my virtual address. Alternatively, please send your virtual bank details, not forgetting your virtual pin number, to my virtual email address and I will virtually help myself to anything I need.
I think that's just about sorted, then. Please let me know if you have any queries, or requests. Your virtual invitation is below.
Firstly, though, I would like to thank all of those guests who came to my last virtual party and entered into the spirit of it all so whole-heartedly. You were so entertaining and your comments were inspired!
Now, I would like to have a discussion with you about what sort of virtual party we should have, next time.
How about a Tupperware party? What? Why are you all groaning? The last one I went to, about 20 years ago, was most enjoyable. The demonstrator made a rice ring, which tasted delicious. We all bought one of the circular plastic moulds which she used to shape it and I sold mine, still unused, on a well-known auction site, only last week, for £0.99p plus p&p. Between us, at the party, we bought enough Tupperware for the hostess to earn her reward, which consisted of a collection of storage containers, 3 plastic beakers with lids, a spaghetti container and half a dozen ice lolly moulds.
At the end of the party, the demonstrator lunged at one of the guests, held her in a head lock, and pulled out her toe nails one by one, until she reluctantly agreed to book up a party of her own the following month. Awesome! Job done!
Oh, is that right? You can't buy Tupperware through party plan, now? That's a bit of a disappointment.
Right! How about a cheese and wine party, then? Traditional, but still quite popular, I believe. Sorry? That sounds good, but you don't fancy the cheese? Okay, a cheese and wine party, without the cheese. That's one possibility, then!
What do you think about a toga party? They are quite fashionable, with students, at the moment. We would have to dress up in Greek-style robes, wear holly on our heads and get very drunk, apparently. Right, so that sounds great, but you can't be bothered with the Greek-style robes or the holly? Well, it wouldn't be a toga party, then, would it? It would just be a party, where we all get very drunk! Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, okay, that's another possibility.
What about a tarts and vicars party? Hmmm! You're right. I don't have any potential vicars visiting my site. We could still dress up as tarts, though, right? Yay! That's another possibility, then.
How does everyone feel about a swingers party? No, you're right. Let's not go there.!
How about a pyjama party, then? What? Do none of you wear pyjamas? Okay, better not go there, either.
Perhaps we should consider something more modern. How about a rave? There is a green at the side of my house, which would probably be big enough for us. Most of us are taking tablets of some sort, already, so we wouldn't have to concern ourselves with that side of things. I quite like the thought of the party being outside, because, then, there wouldn't be any mess in the house, but what about the music? I don't think that electronic dance music would be suitable for us, so what shall we go for? I'm sorry? What did you say? Party music? Like what, exactly? Things like La Bamba, YMCA, Agadoo and Lambada? You can't be serious! You are? Yes, okay, sounds great!
Should we announce it on someone's social networking site, to make sure we get plenty of guests? Brilliant! I don't want any damage to my house, though. You know that there's often thousands of pounds worth of damage caused, at the venue, when a party is announced on the internet. We'll move into someone else's house, when it gets too cold, on the green? Awesome idea! I do have a neighbour of whom I'm not overly fond.
Now, what shall we do about food? Shall I do some sausage rolls and crisps? No, you'd rather put the money towards more alcohol? Okay, then, agreed!
It would be helpful if you could each make a voluntary contribution towards the cost of the alcohol. Please send a virtual postal order, for as much money as you can spare, to my virtual address. Alternatively, please send your virtual bank details, not forgetting your virtual pin number, to my virtual email address and I will virtually help myself to anything I need.
I think that's just about sorted, then. Please let me know if you have any queries, or requests. Your virtual invitation is below.
PARTY INVITATION
PLEASE COME TO A VIRTUAL PARTY
LOCATION: The green at the side of my house
and afterwards in the cells of the local police station
TIME: A virtual evening at the virtual weekend
FROM: Mean Mom
TARTY ATTIRE IS COMPULSORY
GUESTS SHOULD BRING THEIR OWN MEDICATION
Police transport will be provided between venues
RSVP
NB This blog is tongue in cheek. I do not condone the taking of illegal drugs, the mixing of alcohol and drugs (illegal or otherwise), and I do not personally support rave culture. In fact, in real life, I am no fun, whatsoever.
A Great Award
The idea is to pass it on to 5 blogs which make you laugh, cry, think or sigh.
I would like to pass it on to the following people:
Sunday, 6 April 2008
The Mad Bloggers' Virtual Tea Party
Hi! Are you a mad blogger? Are you here by special invitation? All are welcome to my Mad Bloggers' Virtual Tea Party. Come on in! Take a virtual seat! Would you like virtual tea, or virtual coffee? Would you like a virtual piece of cake? It's a virtual pleasure. Have you met the mother of this lot and her daughters? They are my guests of honour, today.
The mother of this lot was kind enough to give me a Good Chat Blog Award, as above, a few days ago, so I thought it would be nice to have a get together, which would give me an opportunity to pass it on. The award was designed by one of her daughters, here by special invitation, known as 'The Fixer', and was given to her, with instructions from her daughter, to pass it on to any of her favourite bloggers, who seemed like they would invite her in for a nice, long chat, if ever she met up with them.
What is that commotion? Is that 2 of my favourite bloggers, fighting in the corner, over there? Bad bloggers! Who is it? I might have guessed! What are you fighting over? The cake crumbs on the floor? You should be ashamed of yourselves! There is plenty of cake. If you settle down, you can have another piece. That's better. Here you are. What do you mean, it's not big enough? Click on it, then. There you are. Is that big enough for you? Now calm down, before I name and shame you.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your support, on my site. Thanks for bothering with me and thanks for your comments. Thanks for sharing your lives, your thoughts, your laughter, and, sometimes, your fears and sadness, with me, when I visit your blogs. Thanks for not taking offence at my, occasionally, inane or inappropriate comments.
Who was rude enough to interrupt me, then? Who said 'Where's the virtual wine?' Typical!
I would like to pass on the award to the people listed below. I know that we would have a good, long chat, if ever we met up. I heard that! Who muttered 'We'd be lucky to get a word in edgeways?' Where was I? Oh, yes. Here's my list:
I know that at least a couple of you already have the award, so you will not want to pick up another one, but I do hope that you have enjoyed the virtual tea party.
Oh, you're all off, now that you've polished off the cake, emptied the tea pot and picked up your awards, are you? Well, thanks for calling by. There's always some tea in the pot. Don't be a stranger!
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Crazy Sunday!
Last Sunday morning, when my alarm woke me from my deep and wonderful sleep, I re-set it and snuggled down for an extra half an hour's stolen slumber. My husband and I were supposed to be taking my student son back to uni(versity) after the Easter break, but, when I had gone to bed the previous night, student son still hadn't returned from his evening out, so I suspected that he would remain in a comatose condition for a few more hours, yet.
At 8am, I woke with a start, as I remembered that middle son needed to go to work and he also hadn't been at home, when I had gone to bed last night. I checked his bedroom and the rest of the house, but he was nowhere to be found. My mind wandered, as I considered the difficulties of sharing house and home with a grown up family, who could not yet afford homes of their own. My 2 eldest sons were aged 25 and 23, so they were mostly free to come and go as they pleased and they led their own lives. I didn't wait up for them, if they were late home after an evening out, but they knew that if they spontaneously decided to spend the night elsewhere, they were supposed to text or ring, either the same night, or the next morning. After all, I needed to know when to call out the emergency services, organise the dragging of local rivers and canals, and when to alert the Prime Minister and Interpol.
It was possible, of course, that middle son had told my husband that he hadn't intended to come home last night, but had forgotten to tell me. It was another problem that we sometimes encountered, because, to a certain extent, as an adult family, we tended to resemble 'ships that passed in the night'. I didn't feel that it was any longer fair, or practical, to demand that we all met up for at least one meal a week. There were conflicting working hours, friends, girlfriends and other engagements to be taken into account. We met up whenever it was possible. It had to suffice. Group conversations, involving the whole family, were a rarity, but bewildering conversations between 2 family members were inevitably quite common, such as the one I had with my eldest son during the past week:
'Where's younger brother?' asked eldest son. 'I haven't heard his music for a couple of days.'
'He's on an outward bound course, this week' I replied. 'It's to do with his new job.'
'Has he got a new job? When did he start that, then?' eldest son enquired.
'A couple of weeks ago' I replied.
'Does he not work for the well-known High Street store, where he could get 30% discount off cds, DVDs and video games, any more, then?' asked eldest son, with a hint of rising panic in his voice.
'He's still working there at weekends' I answered.
Eldest son audibly heaved a sigh of relief and said somewhat grumpily as he left the room, 'Nobody tells me anything around here!'
My husband didn't know where middle son was, either, so I considered the possibilities:
At 8am, I woke with a start, as I remembered that middle son needed to go to work and he also hadn't been at home, when I had gone to bed last night. I checked his bedroom and the rest of the house, but he was nowhere to be found. My mind wandered, as I considered the difficulties of sharing house and home with a grown up family, who could not yet afford homes of their own. My 2 eldest sons were aged 25 and 23, so they were mostly free to come and go as they pleased and they led their own lives. I didn't wait up for them, if they were late home after an evening out, but they knew that if they spontaneously decided to spend the night elsewhere, they were supposed to text or ring, either the same night, or the next morning. After all, I needed to know when to call out the emergency services, organise the dragging of local rivers and canals, and when to alert the Prime Minister and Interpol.
It was possible, of course, that middle son had told my husband that he hadn't intended to come home last night, but had forgotten to tell me. It was another problem that we sometimes encountered, because, to a certain extent, as an adult family, we tended to resemble 'ships that passed in the night'. I didn't feel that it was any longer fair, or practical, to demand that we all met up for at least one meal a week. There were conflicting working hours, friends, girlfriends and other engagements to be taken into account. We met up whenever it was possible. It had to suffice. Group conversations, involving the whole family, were a rarity, but bewildering conversations between 2 family members were inevitably quite common, such as the one I had with my eldest son during the past week:
'Where's younger brother?' asked eldest son. 'I haven't heard his music for a couple of days.'
'He's on an outward bound course, this week' I replied. 'It's to do with his new job.'
'Has he got a new job? When did he start that, then?' eldest son enquired.
'A couple of weeks ago' I replied.
'Does he not work for the well-known High Street store, where he could get 30% discount off cds, DVDs and video games, any more, then?' asked eldest son, with a hint of rising panic in his voice.
'He's still working there at weekends' I answered.
Eldest son audibly heaved a sigh of relief and said somewhat grumpily as he left the room, 'Nobody tells me anything around here!'
My husband didn't know where middle son was, either, so I considered the possibilities:
- He could be lying in the gutter, somewhere.
- He could be in hospital.
- He could be at the police station.
- He could be at a friend's house.
I hoped that he wasn't lying in the gutter anywhere, because it could mean that his mobile 'phone had been stolen and I would have to expend a fair amount of energy, walking the streets in search of him. The nearest A & E departments were actually quite close and would require less effort to reach, than the local police 'lock-up'. Then again, if one of the police officers happened to be driving out in this direction, he/she might be kind enough to drop off middle son, after his night in the cells. I would then be free to indulge in my usual Sunday morning pastime of relaxing in my comfy armchair, enjoying a cup of caffeine and watching BBC 24 hour news, on Sky Tv. I shook myself out of my reverie, guiltily dismissing my uncharitable thoughts.
The most likely scenario was that middle son had stayed at someone's house. He was due to start work at 10am and needed an hour's travelling time. If I texted him at 8.20am, it would serve the dual purpose of waking him and assuring me that he was alright. He would, hopefully, have enough time to walk home, shower and still arrive at work on time. There was also the possibility that he had forgotten to put his watch forward an hour, which served to fully convince me that I definitely needed to text him at 8.20am.
I interrupted my breakfast to text middle son and remind him of the time. He rang almost immediately and told me, in a voice thick with sleep, that he didn't have to be at work until 11am and that he had stayed at his relatively new girlfriend's house the previous night. He thanked me, most politely, in the circumstances, I felt, and said that he would see me shortly. I remembered, rather belatedly, that for the last 12 months, he had regularly started work at 10am on a Saturday and 11am on a Sunday. Oops!
I showered and dressed, then remembered that student son had brought home his bedclothes, from his room, to be washed. I had washed them with the rest of our bedclothes and now they were all mixed up together, in the airing cupboard. With sinking heart, I realised, that I needed to try and recover them. I tentatively opened the cupboard door and, the speed with which the contents leapt out and overpowered me, took my breath away. A fitted sheet adorned my head, draped at a rather rakish angle over my right eye, whilst pillowcases and duvet covers clung around my ankles. It was glaringly obvious that I'd been blessed with none of the organisational skills of Anthea Turner.
I picked up a duvet cover and clutched it to my chest, gazing, eyes unfocused, as I inwardly bemoaned the fact that there were no decent cupboards in our house. The previous occupants had knocked out the one under the stairs. We had small kitchen cupboards, a few fitted wardrobes and 2 double beds with drawers, but that was the limit. At one time, I had kept the bedclothes in the drawers under the beds, but I had now filled up the drawers with other crap, so the bedclothes had to be stuffed into the airing cupboard.
I thought enviously of the 2 bedroomed house into which my parents had moved a few years ago. It had 3 walk-in double cupboards and 4 walk-in single cupboards. It must have been designed by a woman. When they moved, after 50 years of living in the same house, my parents got rid of possessions, which they later wished they had kept and kept things for which they had no need. They resolved never, to collect and store crap, ever again, but 5 years later, they have been 100% successful in filling their precious, enviable and significantly spacious cupboards with more crap. I definitely needed more cupboards, so that I could store more crap!
I forced my self to concentrate on the matter in hand and began sorting through the fitted sheets. I couldn't tell the doubles from the singles, as usual. The pale blue singles wouldn't fit student son's extra deep mattress, so he needed the darker blue, or perhaps it was the other way around? Sheets, pillowcases and duvet covers flew through the air in all directions, as I resolved to buy all of my bedclothes from John Lewis in future. They pandered to their spatially-challenged, or disorganised customers, in the most delightful way, by labelling their fitted sheets 'double' and 'single'. Awesome! I wondered whether they labelled their socks 'left' and 'right'.
I finally found student son's bedclothes and put them in his bedroom, ready for him to pack. I kicked his bed and shook the headboard, but he still didn't stir. We would be late leaving if he didn't wake up soon. After a long week of deliberation, we had decided that we would leave the house at 10am to take student son back to uni(versity). I had excelled all previous efforts by being ready to leave at 10.30am, but student son was still nowhere near ready. He had been out until 4am, apparently and didn't seem to be in any hurry to pack and leave the house.
When I reminded him that we'd originally intended to leave at 10am, he claimed that we'd never told him we intended to leave at that time and, when I thought back, I realised that he was right! My husband and I had agreed the time between ourselves, completely forgetting that he hadn't been present at the time!
We had some lunch and finally left home at about 3.30pm, after agreeing that we would have a pub' meal, before returning home. The journey was uneventful, but when we arrived at student son's accommodation, I remarked upon the peace and quiet. There were hardly any cars in the car park. No-one was wandering around with 2 months' dirty washing, trying to remember the exact location of the launderette, or staggering around, arms piled high with lager and crisps, trying to recall the exact location of last night's party. 'Everyone else has another 2 weeks' holiday' explained student son. 'It's only the students on my course, who had to return, today.
There are about 10 blocks of student flats on the site where student son lives. We were surprised to discover that he would be virtually alone in his block for the next 2 weeks. There would inevitably be a few international students scattered around the site and there would be some other students, from his learning group, in the neighbouring block, but he would remain alone on his floor, as far as we could tell. Apparently, student son had told his brother that he would be alone for 2 weeks, but had forgotten to mention it to us and, suddenly, we understood why he'd been in no particular hurry to return!
I've spoken with him, on a few occasions, during the past week and he has had no problems with his isolation, except for a few odd noises now and again, which could always be blamed on other students, when there were other students in the neighbouring rooms.
A narrow corridor runs outside his room and leading off it, there are 6 other student rooms, a kitchen, sluice, 2 toilets and a shower room. There are locked doors at both ends of the corridor, for which each student has a key. Student son informed me, during one of our telephone conversations, that he had been enjoying the freedom of wandering naked between the shower and his bedroom, whilst there was no-one else around. I opened my mouth with the intention of pointing out that he should be careful of the cleaners, who continued to work throughout the holidays, albeit in a limited capacity. I suddenly changed my mind, however, and clamped my mouth firmly shut. After all, it would be a grave error of judgement on my part, to risk depriving myself of potentially amusing material for any future blogs!
Monday, 31 March 2008
Open Wide!
When a new dentist took over at my former NHS dental practice, last year, and I was persuaded to switch to Denplan, I noticed a big improvement in my dental treatment. My new dentist explained that I had a problem with one of my teeth, however, and that she wanted to refer me to a dental hospital. I was outraged to discover that the problem had been detailed in my notes, but I had never been informed and no treatment had ever been suggested. Apparently, I was now in danger of losing the tooth.
I needed to travel into the city to go to the dental hospital, so my husband kindly decided to take the day off and accompany me, for moral support. Appointments were few and far between, meaning that I would need to get up at 6am, on the day of the appointment and we would both be forced to travel during the 'peak' period. We each sold a kidney, on a dodgy website, to pay for the return train fare and, on Thursday of last week, we found ourselves boarding a fairly crowded train, heading for the city.
It appeared, from a distance of a few feet away, that there were 3 single seats available, in the compartment we had chosen. On closer examination, however, it seemed possible that one male commuter might have paid for a double seat, in order to avoid having his own coffee cup, on a pull-down tray, in front of him. It appeared that one lady passenger might have paid for a second seat, out of concern for her coat's comfort. Another male passenger appeared to have splashed out on a double seat, for his empty packet of Hula Hoops, but, on reflection, we didn't feel that any of those scenarios were likely.
I challenged Coffeecupman, who admitted that the seat next to him was available, even though he had attempted to make it appear otherwise. He moved his coffee cup after I flicked him lightly, on both facial cheeks, with my leather gloves. My husband tackled Coatwoman, who obviously felt that my husband should stand, rather than disturb her precious companion. He capitulated and, fortunately, Hulahoopman remembered his manners in the nick of time. He coerced his empty Hula Hoop packet into, reluctantly, surrendering its seat and it stood, somewhat gracelessly, in the aisle, for the remainder of the long journey into the city. Coatwoman smiled at this result and patted her coat indulgently, as it lay, smugly, on the seat beside her.
We crossed the city, after getting off the train, arriving at the hospital in plenty of time for my appointment. We wandered about for a while, in the hospital, before discovering the lift and travelling up to the floor specified in my letter. I approached one of the receptionists, and handed her my letter, explaining that I was a new patient. She returned my polite smile with all the charm of Medusa, spent a couple of minutes entering my details on the computer and then drew a little diagram to show me where I had to go next. Undaunted, I smiled again and thanked her. I imagined the comment she was adding to my patient notes, as I walked away.(Note 1)
We headed back towards the entrance hall, down 5 miles of endless corridors, past someone up a ladder, painting the walls, through some double doors and into another reception area. There were no other patients waiting. Several members of staff stood by, and behind, the reception desk, but only the receptionist knew how to use the computer, apparently, and she became rather tense, as she coped with patients, coming in and out, and the telephones. I slowly came to realise that there was more than one 'Prof' on duty and, the one I was supposed to see, was running late.
When I was eventually led into the consulting room, I gasped at the size of it. There were at least 20 treatment areas, with different staff assigned to each. There were partitions, but they didn't reach the ceiling, so the atmosphere was bustling and noisy. A charming, female, student dentist examined me, in the presence of a dental nurse. She kept smiling, sweeping her palm under my chin and reminding me to relax! I was reminded of numerous, internal examinations, when the focus was on a totally different part of my body. I pictured the doctor at the end of the bed, as he pulled on his latex gloves and gazed determinedly towards his intended destination, demanding that I should relax, in a similar tone to the student dentist. I wanted to shout 'RELAX? ARE YOU JOKING?', but instead, I cried, 'Violation! Remove your probing fingers from my inner recesses!' Fortunately, I didn't say anything out loud.
'Clench your teeth, firmly and move the bottom ones to the left' said the student dentist. I tried, but nothing happened. She repeated the instruction and I tried again, with the same result. She had her fingers clamped firmly in, and around, my mouth. 'Grind your teeth' she said persistently, glancing meaningfully at the nurse, who repeated the instruction. Finally, I managed to move my lower teeth a little to the left. I imagined a further comment being added to my patient notes. (Note 2)
I needed to travel into the city to go to the dental hospital, so my husband kindly decided to take the day off and accompany me, for moral support. Appointments were few and far between, meaning that I would need to get up at 6am, on the day of the appointment and we would both be forced to travel during the 'peak' period. We each sold a kidney, on a dodgy website, to pay for the return train fare and, on Thursday of last week, we found ourselves boarding a fairly crowded train, heading for the city.
It appeared, from a distance of a few feet away, that there were 3 single seats available, in the compartment we had chosen. On closer examination, however, it seemed possible that one male commuter might have paid for a double seat, in order to avoid having his own coffee cup, on a pull-down tray, in front of him. It appeared that one lady passenger might have paid for a second seat, out of concern for her coat's comfort. Another male passenger appeared to have splashed out on a double seat, for his empty packet of Hula Hoops, but, on reflection, we didn't feel that any of those scenarios were likely.
I challenged Coffeecupman, who admitted that the seat next to him was available, even though he had attempted to make it appear otherwise. He moved his coffee cup after I flicked him lightly, on both facial cheeks, with my leather gloves. My husband tackled Coatwoman, who obviously felt that my husband should stand, rather than disturb her precious companion. He capitulated and, fortunately, Hulahoopman remembered his manners in the nick of time. He coerced his empty Hula Hoop packet into, reluctantly, surrendering its seat and it stood, somewhat gracelessly, in the aisle, for the remainder of the long journey into the city. Coatwoman smiled at this result and patted her coat indulgently, as it lay, smugly, on the seat beside her.
We crossed the city, after getting off the train, arriving at the hospital in plenty of time for my appointment. We wandered about for a while, in the hospital, before discovering the lift and travelling up to the floor specified in my letter. I approached one of the receptionists, and handed her my letter, explaining that I was a new patient. She returned my polite smile with all the charm of Medusa, spent a couple of minutes entering my details on the computer and then drew a little diagram to show me where I had to go next. Undaunted, I smiled again and thanked her. I imagined the comment she was adding to my patient notes, as I walked away.(Note 1)
We headed back towards the entrance hall, down 5 miles of endless corridors, past someone up a ladder, painting the walls, through some double doors and into another reception area. There were no other patients waiting. Several members of staff stood by, and behind, the reception desk, but only the receptionist knew how to use the computer, apparently, and she became rather tense, as she coped with patients, coming in and out, and the telephones. I slowly came to realise that there was more than one 'Prof' on duty and, the one I was supposed to see, was running late.
When I was eventually led into the consulting room, I gasped at the size of it. There were at least 20 treatment areas, with different staff assigned to each. There were partitions, but they didn't reach the ceiling, so the atmosphere was bustling and noisy. A charming, female, student dentist examined me, in the presence of a dental nurse. She kept smiling, sweeping her palm under my chin and reminding me to relax! I was reminded of numerous, internal examinations, when the focus was on a totally different part of my body. I pictured the doctor at the end of the bed, as he pulled on his latex gloves and gazed determinedly towards his intended destination, demanding that I should relax, in a similar tone to the student dentist. I wanted to shout 'RELAX? ARE YOU JOKING?', but instead, I cried, 'Violation! Remove your probing fingers from my inner recesses!' Fortunately, I didn't say anything out loud.
'Clench your teeth, firmly and move the bottom ones to the left' said the student dentist. I tried, but nothing happened. She repeated the instruction and I tried again, with the same result. She had her fingers clamped firmly in, and around, my mouth. 'Grind your teeth' she said persistently, glancing meaningfully at the nurse, who repeated the instruction. Finally, I managed to move my lower teeth a little to the left. I imagined a further comment being added to my patient notes. (Note 2)
Prof eventually arrived and carried out his own examination. He gazed at me intently and explained that they were going to try and save my tooth, but that they might not succeed. My weakest eye chose that moment to sting and water, due to the bright light shining straight into my face, and a 'tear' ran down my cheek. 'Mrs Mean Mom' said Prof, gently. 'Do you understand? You may still lose the tooth.'
'Yes, yes. I understand' I said quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed my watery eye. He swept out of the cubicle. 'Pass the patient a tissue!' he called over his shoulder to the dental nurse. I imagined another comment being added to my notes.(Note 3)
The nurse accompanied me to x-ray and we picked up my husband on the way. We walked through the double doors, past the painter, along 5 miles of endless corridors, back to the entrance hall, and down a flight of stairs into the gloomy basement. The technician took my x-rays, but we waited 20 minutes for the results. He said that there had been a processing problem. We made our way back, up the flight of stairs, through the entrance hall, down the 5 miles of endless corridors, past the painter, through the double doors and back to clinic reception. It was empty, except for a few members of staff. One of the dental nurses took my x-rays and accompanied me to the consulting room. 'You've been a long time' she remarked. 'There was a processing problem' I explained.
I was the only patient in the consulting room. Some of the staff were already eating their sandwiches and breaking open bottles of mineral water. 'Yay! All the patients have gone!' cried one young dental nurse, her voice tailing off, as she noticed me. I watched as some of the staff wiped down the dental apparatus and I imagined another comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 4)
The student dentist informed me that I would have to return to the hospital on 4 or 5 occasions, for treatment. I gaped in horror. 'Is the travelling a problem?' she asked. 'I don't have any more body parts to sell for my train fare' I explained and it takes hours to get here.' She pointed out that the treatment was free and that I could consider buying a railcard. I finally agreed, feeling that I had no alternative. I imagined yet another comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 5)
The dental nurse walked back with me to reception, where the receptionist was catching up with her work. 'Can we make an appointment?' she asked. 'No' replied the receptionist, not until I have finished this.' We stood rooted to the spot, for a moment, shocked by her abrupt manner. She relented to a certain extent and passed over a folder to the nurse, so that she could enter the appointment herself. I provided my hospital number from my own documents and the receptionist suddenly appeared to see the funny side of things and relaxed. She began laughing and joking, exclaiming that I wouldn't be looking forward to returning to their clinic.
I'd been up since 6am, suffered a long and difficult journey to the hospital, been pushed from pillar to post, my body had been violated, it was well past my lunch time and I'd been waiting in the hospital for hours. I tried to smile, as we headed for the door, but somehow I remained stony faced. I imagined the final comment being added to my patient notes.(Note 6)
We walked in the direction of the hospital entrance hall, through the double doors, walking 5 miles down the wrong corridor, before realising that we had missed the correct corridor, as the painter had gone to lunch. We eventually found our way out of the hospital and headed for the nearest cafe, which was situated just over the road, and named after a vegetable. I was surprised to see that they were selling danish pastries and we decided to treat ourselves to the same, after we had both eaten a sandwich. I had my toothbrush and toothpaste in my handbag, so I didn't feel too guilty.
I bit into the danish pastry, glancing over towards the hospital entrance. I half expected the dental police to come bursting out of the hospital doors and bound down the hospital steps, armed with drills, floss, interdental brushes and bottles of mouthwash, but the building remained surprisingly quiet. We each drank a welcome mug of caffeine, as I shared with my husband, the comments I had imagined the hospital staff adding to my patient notes.
- Smiles inanely, for no apparent reason. Obviously one tooth short of a full set.
- Dim. Unable to follow simple instructions.
- Over-emotional, possibly due to middle-age and menopause.
- Loiters in x-ray and hospital corridors to ensure that staff suffer a diminished lunch break after morning clinic.
- Ungracious and undeserving of free NHS dental treatment.
- Suffers a sense of humour failure if she happens to be the first patient in the clinic and the last one out.
We decided that I should try to make a better impression on my next visit. Can't wait!
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