Time was when school uniform was available from a variety of shops, allowing healthy competition, helping parents keep the costs of essential items to a minimum. Should you require a school blazer, you would be able to purchase a suitable one, in the correct colour, from any one of a number of local shops and then your mum would sew a school badge, purchased from the school itself, onto the pocket. In fact blazers were generally an optional extra, with jumpers or cardigans in the correct colour and a good winter coat the preferred option. Any apron would do for home economics, as it was then called and so long as hockey socks were a good match to the official school colour, then all was well. Continue reading
We don’t watch fly on the wall reality TV shows in Mudville. There is no place in our life for Big Brother, celebrity or otherwise and, to be frank, I couldn’t care less whether a bunch of so called celebrities can survive a few weeks in an over scrutinised, thoroughly monitored and completely safe jungle environment. As for the attractions of life in Essex or Chelsea – well have the same appeal to me as a trip to the dentist. So when I saw adverts for Channel 5s latest offering, I wasn’t unduly worried, paid no heed at all and got on with life in Mudville. Continue reading
Little Mudlet has had a wobbly tooth for days now and as she has been helping it along by way of persistent wiggling, it was no big surprise when I found myself presented with said tooth first thing this morning. Tooth loss is always a double edged sword for Little Mudlet, for much as she had the worst experience out of my three girls when these teeth first made their appearance way back when she was a baby, she also seems to be having the most pain when they are in the process of falling out. As she stands before me with each tooth, it is with a mixture of tears of pain and the joyous thought of yet another visit from the Tooth Fairy, whose ‘Cash for teeth’ policy, is one to which she wholeheartedly subscribes.
As I was raking about in my drawers the other morning, bleary eyed and feeling every single one of my five hundred and forty something years, it struck me that in the event of an emergency (getting hit by one of the mindless boy racers who seem to think that it’s perfectly acceptable to speed along our road at mach 5, for example), my under garments would leave a lot to be desired.
Over the last two years or so, I have had numerous dealings with our broadband provider, trying to resolve a problem which pops up every 8 to 10 weeks or so. I have endured the patronising operatives in the Indian call center who seem to be of the opinion that as a mere female, I can not possibly be intelligent enough to understand the complexities of broadband and can, therefore, be fobbed off with any old excuse. Continue reading
I know that they have tightened up their SPAM filter and this is why innocent comments have been caught but surely they can see the ‘history’ of a blogger via their email address which is, after all, logged against each comment made, and from this history can determine the legitimacy of the comment made! Continue reading
Of course initially you think you’re on your own and that it is your own fault when your service provider claims that: “it is probably your equipment that is at fault and it will cost you £100 if the engineer [which they have finally agreed to send out], finds that this is the case.” At least I think that is what they say but it is hard to get past the accent sometimes. Continue reading
I love to sing and oddly enough it was a song with that very phrase as its’ title, that I had to sing, during my first ever audition for Panto chorus at the tender age of 14. I still sing at every given opportunity: whether it be to the plants in the greenhouses, the wren nesting in the ivy or just as a way to make tedious jobs such as ironing and washing up, pass in a haze of remembered enjoyment, I will raise my voice and belt out a traditional Panto tune with complete lack of self-consciousness and no consideration for the feelings of neighbours or passing strangers. Continue reading