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Tomorrow I am going to Manchester to meet some friends for lunch. There's a new branch of Krispy Kreme in Manchester. I can hardly wait.
Is a dozen too many? Harry will help eat them (probably). And they last a few days ... I mean, I haven't had one since the 13 March, so it works out at twelve doughnuts in more than two months, which is perfectly reasonable, isn't it?
I'm confused.
I think I've probably written about this before, because it's something that happens to me quite a lot, but when I find something that I disagree with (or someone disagrees with me about something), I become completely obsessed. I mean completely. To the point of sleeplessness. Oh yes.
Currently, I am having a discussion with my lovely friend Diane about the movie, Juno. This is a mild example, because I love Diane and I know that we are both passionate people and we can argue discuss without falling out (I hope!), but still when I woke up at 3am, I lay in bed obsessively composing my comment on Diane's post. When I got fed up of that (but of course couldn't get back to sleep because I'd got myself all worked up), I got up and watched Class. At 3am.
Not to keep using Diane as an example, but when Diane wrote a blog for the Guardian about chick lit and countless (I mean, hundreds) of demented nutters left abusive comments, I was so angry I couldn't sleep. I left comments supporting Diane's opinion with shaking hands.
The thing is, I feel like I'm having a discussion, putting forward my point of view, but what I'm thinking (sometimes more consciously than others) is AGREE WITH ME! BEND TO MY WILL! SAY I'M RIGHT!!!
Why? Why do I have this need for everyone to agree with me? Okay, yeah, I know it's a validation thing, but I'm middle aged now (all right ... late thirties) - shouldn't I be capable of going, "Oh hey, so-and-so (um, Stella) thinks The West Wing is tripe. What a shame she's missing out." (I'd have to work on the patronising aspect once I'd dealt with the anger thing.) Rather than thinking of all the ways I can *convince* her that The West Wing is genius. Or seeing the fact that she doesn't like it as a character flaw. Which of course it is. (I'm joking.) (Sort of.)
I still occasionally get worked up about a review I read of George Michael's Songs from the Last Century. When was that out? Ten years ago? The review complained that most of the songs were from the early part of the 20th Century. Well, it wasn't called Songs from Each Decade of the Last Century, Jackass! Then the reviewer said that George couldn't sing Brother Can You Spare A Dime because of his untold celebrity riches. Yeah, because once you've made it, that's all you can sing about, no? The thing about this is I think about it ridiculously often. I want to find the person who wrote the review and tell them how very wrong they were, possibly accompanied by slaps to the head. I genuinely get a little anxious feeling in my stomach when I think about it. I have occasionally thought about writing to the paper - "I refer to your review of ... ten years ago." Why? Why can't I just let it lie? (It's not as if I even particularly like that album. It was only okay.)
The whole thing is exhausting. I guess the crux of it is that if anyone disagrees with me on any subject I take it as a personal attack. Even if I don't know the person. Where does it come from? I wish I could pinpoint the experience in my childhood that led to this (cos you know there's got to be one). Was it that I didn't feel like my opinions were taken seriously so now I cling to them dementedly? I have found that if I start obsessing, hammering a rant out on the computer helps me stop going over and over it in my head. For now, I suppose, that'll have to do.
Oh and please tell me I'm not alone in this. Validate me! ;)
Thanks so much for all the lovely birthday wishes. Harry documented the whole thing... (click pics to embiggen):
[From left to right]: Harry's feet; T is for Toast (when Harry saw this picture on the camera, he all but fell over laughing!); Buster; the Daewoo; flags on the Fort; Daddy and a grape; brunch at the Lowry (outlet mall, not 5* hotel); the Lowry; Harry's cousin Jake's cheesy grin.
It was my birthday on Sunday. I was - gasp! - 37. 37! Can you believe it? That's, like, almost old! Or at least middle aged. I feel about 15...
Anyway, on Friday evening we went to Toys R Us to get Harry yet more Thomas crap. He'd wanted a new Light & Sounds James, but it was £25. £25! So we got him a Thomas starter set instead. (Just found the James on Amazon for £15, so he can have that next.) Then I went in Borders and got my favourite magazines: Martha Stewart Living, O and Body+Soul. So happy.
Saturday, we went over to my family in Wallasey. We had lunch at my aunty's and then went to the fair (we'd been planning to fly a kite on the beach, but it was way too windy). Harry went on his first rollercoaster! It was only a small one, but still. And he loved it. My sister bought me the Marc Jacobs Daisy ring, the first series of Gavin & Stacey and - wait for it - Class! With Rob Lowe! I cannot wait to watch it.
And then on my actual birthday, we met some friends for a lovely brunch at the Lowry in Manchester and then went to the in-laws for tea. Harry helped prepare profiteroles and strawberries for dessert. (His grandad called him for something and Harry shouted back, impatiently, "I'm doing the pudding!")
To cap it all off, yesterday we went to a farm and Harry fed some sheep and a cow. He was going to have a go on a donkey, but the queue was too big...
All in all, a top weekend.
God, Alan Sugar is an idiot. Adrian Chiles, however, is a god. I cannot believe he called Michael an "odious little tw*t" - how's he going to face him when he's fired. Although the way this season's going, the odious little tw*t is going to win.
He's still obsessed with both flags and Yakko's World of Flags and he's also discovered the video on US state capitols. Honestly, if we lived in the US, he'd be way ahead when he starts school in September.
In the last couple of weeks, he's also added car badges to his roster and so now the journey to school is filled with: "What's that?" "A Rover." "What's that?" "Citroen." "What's that?" "A mini." "What's that?" "You know that one." "A Toyota!"
"Google it, a Toyota," he says and so we have to google image search every car badge Harry can think of. Truly, he got completely overexcited when David found this collection. (Photo taken by Harry from the computer screen.)
Plus for a while now, when he catches himself doing something cute he says, "Get it, the camera" or "Take it, a picture." (I don't know why he talks like this, but he does.) Yesterday, he finally worked out how to work the camera himself and now he has to take pictures of EVERYTHING.
I don't know why the clown appeared twice, but it took me ages to do this so I'm not doing it again.
From top left: The factory round the corner (he actually took a picture of the flags, but they didn't make it); Charlie & Lola postcard; the "pitou"; a wee, yesterday; Nick Jr ident; Emily engine; Cheerios; preschool; Buster; Mr Clown; Daddy's brew; Mr Clown again.
I'm was going to get him a kids digital camera for his birthday but a) they're £60!!!! and b) the reviews are terrible. Hmm.
You've probably already seen these, but they made me laugh, so...
I'm not laughing at the RSPCA or animal cruelty, but the way Cowell says, "It's the worst thing I've seen in ages" just gets me every time.
Featured on - where else? - Apartment Therapy, it's a pigeonnier, built in the grounds of a Louisiana estate around 1750 to house pigeons. Just look at it! And inside?
Ohhhh. I want.
I've been thinking a lot about blame lately. Partly because David grew up being taught that everything was someone's fault. So if he knocked a glass of juice over, his mum would say, "What did you do that for?" (Um, a laugh?)
He has a tendency to do the same, but I'm gradually beating it out of him (only joking - I make him beat himself). The other day, Harry fell over and was howling in pain and shock. I was cuddling him and reassuring him when David's mum came in and said, to Harry, "Oh, you silly thing."
Now, I'm sure she thinks I'm a giant nellie and I *know* she thinks Harry is way too coddled (the other day she said something about Harry being too attached to his Middy. Really? Too attached? At age three? Yeah, probably about time I cut him loose...), but I think my job is to comfort and reassure, not to blame and criticise.
Of course, this doesn't work with blaming myself. I second-guess, question and agonise over every decision, however minimal. For example, Tuesday Harry got sent home from school because they thought he had sunstroke (he didn't; he was fine from the minute I "sprung" him). Yesterday Harry slept really late, plus we'd realised he was allergic to the suncream we'd been slathering him with and hadn't got round to getting anymore, plus I didn't feel very well and couldn't really face the bus journey and walk home. So I decided we'd take the day off.
And then I decided, no, we should go in. I thought about ringing other mums and arranging a suncream rendezvous. I thought about driving David to work so I would have the car, could drop Harry off, buy suncream, return to preschool, slather him up. I thought about getting David to go in late so he could take Harry and I could lie on the sofa with a damp cloth on my head. Of course, Harry slept through all of this and eventually I decided if he was still asleep at 8.15, he probably needed sleep more than he needed three hours of preschool.
Of course, as a backdrop to this, I was blaming myself that we hadn't noticed he was allergic to the suncream (we thought it was a heat rash) and kicking myself for not being organised enough to get more the night before, as planned. (Incidentally, I don't remember my parents ever putting suncream on me before school. Even in that sweltering summer of 76...)
As it turned out, Harry and I had a great day, culminating in his first poo on the potty (yes, he is nearly four, what of it?) so I felt justified in keeping him off. (After he tried to poo again this morning, he said, "That was 'tresting!"
This morning, as I was kissing Harry goodbye for the three hundredth time, one of the nursery nurses rushed past carrying my friend Karen's baby, William. Behind her was Karen, sobbing. As Karen passed me she said, "I dropped him. I dropped William."
As it turned out, William was not only fine, Karen hadn't dropped him at all - she'd tripped over some broken paving and had cut her arms, knee and hands protecting William. But her first instinct had been to blame herself.
You probably won't be surprised to hear I don't have any sort of conclusion - I just think it's 'tresting.
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... enough money within her control to move out
even if she never wants to or needs to...
something perfect to wear if the employer,
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
and one who lets her cry...
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family...
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems,
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
break up with a lover,
without ruining the friendship...
when to try harder...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
the width of her hips,
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
whom she can't,
EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table..
when her soul needs soothing...
What she can and can't accomplish in a day...
Coo, meant to update about this last week, but the sunshine's got me wiped out.
So, it turns out we went to see Shawn Smith, not Shaun Smith. It was a really good gig, except that I only know one of his songs and he didn't flippin' do it! It's a lovely song though. Listen to it here.
Before the gig we had a lovely dinner here.
And the following morning we walked along the river and then went to a lavender farm. It's been on my list to do that for a while, but unfortunately the lavender wasn't out yet! It was still lovely though and I had a lavender tea in the cafe, which also served lavender scones with lavender jam and lavender cheesecake and lavender ice-cream with lavender biscuits. (David said if there'd been a suggestion box, he would've said, "Great place, but enough with the lavender!!!)
Then we got home and were greeted with this:
He looks a right pistol (as Grandma would say). But a cute one.
Thanks for your suggestions, but I was just sitting here thinking about the actor with the red nose and the glasses and I had a feeling he was probably in Carry On films. So I Wikipedia'd them and found it was Jack Douglas.
Then I IMDb'd Jack Douglas and spotted it! The Shillingbury Tales!
"Classic ITV comedy-drama from 1980, set in the fictional village of
Shillingbury in Hertfordshire. Londoners Peter and Sally Higgins move
to the idyllic English countryside to enjoy the ambiance of fine
thatched-roofed cottages, strawberry cream teas, oak-timbered pubs and
a collection of eccentric locals, including grumpy farmer Jake (Jack Douglas), his sexy daughter Sally (Linda Hayden), crafty tramp Cuffy (Bernard Cribbins), old busybody Mrs Simpkins (Diana King), nosy postman Harvey (Joe Black) and the twittering Reverend Norris (Nigel Lambert)."
It wasn't David Janson at all. It was Robin Nedwell! And his wife was played by Diane Keen. I don't know how I forgot she was in it, because I loved her when I was a kid, particularly in The Cuckoo Waltz.
It was on Sunday nights and an IMDb user compares it to The Darling Buds of May (like I just did in the comments!).
So do you remember it now?! I'm off to order the DVD.
Okay, this has been driving me mad for a while.
I remember a TV series from the eighties. In my mind it was called The Canterbury Tales, but had (as far as I remember) nothing to do with Chaucer.
It was set in a idyllic country village (possibly in the Cotswolds or, you know, Canterbury).
I thought Geoffrey Perkins was in it. Or maybe Jim Broadbent. But it's not listed for either of them on IMDb. Or that other guy. You know, big fella, red nose, thick glasses. You know! He's been in loads of stuff!
I do remember the main actor was an actor I thought was called David Jansen, but not The Fugitive. This guy was a British actor with a big mouth (lots of teeth) who appeared in a lot of British TV shows in the late 70s, early 80s.
I haven't been able to find anything online.
Does it ring any bells with anyone?
Just wanted to share a post I wrote about my favourite kids TV for TVScoop and nagging for Bridalwave.
It's 5.20am and I've been up for nearly an hour. Last night I went to a preschool committee meeting. I got home at about 10.30 and went straight to bed where, when I closed my eyes, strange colours and shapes raced towards me so I felt like I was playing some sort of blurry computer driving game. I tried to grab hold and stop and keep still, but they kept coming. I wanted to get up and chill out a bit before trying to sleep, but I was so tired...
So I fell asleep and dreamed about meetings and teachers and other people's children and days out (we're going to a farm next month) and the new play flooring stuff and the fake grass that won't get muddy. I tossed and turned and wasn't sure whether I was really asleep or still back at the meeting.
This always happens when I have a night out (yes, even one as unexciting as a committe meeting). I dream that I'm back there, sometimes in my pyjamas, sometimes trying to sleep while everyone else has fun. (Usually the more I drink, the worse it is, but last night I only had a cup of tea.)
At 4-ish I woke up, still tired from all that dreaming, and started to think about a particular bill I have to pay before a particular date and which I can't (particularly) "swing". Of course, I forgot that when I find myself worrying about money, I should think positive money affirmations instead and so got up to answer emails (which always makes me feel more in control) and read Dalai Mama (which always makes me feel better about everything).
Now I'm fairly relaxed and still tired, but is there any point in going back to bed at 5.30?
[Phenomenal picture of the sun rising behind a dandelion seed head by dawn passion on flickr. Appropriate, since I currently feel like bits of me are flying off in all directions!]
I am having such a lovely day. Before preschool Harry reached a new peak of cuteness, shouting to me from his bedroom, "Come here! I missing you!" (It wasn't true, he just wanted me to find his race cars for him, but it was still cute.
Then, waiting for the bus, we played with some blossom petals and then Harry said, kind of wistfully for a 3-year-old: "Petals on the breeze..." I said, "Petals on the breeze? What's that from?" and he said, "Goodnight Harry." David's favourite book. I know children have great memories, but I so so love that Harry's quoting from a book. And in context! (It also reminded me of the lines in Goodnight Harry that always make me laugh. Following the petals on the breeze, it says "They felt the dew of the night." Again, it doesn't work written down, but David always adds "already" and it gets me everytime.
Then I walked back from preschool via the park and it was just beautiful: blossom, bluebells, a Dalmation puppy (you don't see so many Dalmations anymore, do you? Bloody de Ville) and I listened to a Michael Neill podcast, which was just as funny and insightful as ever. Then I got home, settled down at the computer and watched this:
The thing is, the day's only going to get better because this afternoon, me and D are off to York for the night. Finally - finally! - celebrating my deal (and going to see Shaun Smith). Yay!
Harry is utterly obsessed with flags. And I mean obsessed. He has his flag poster and he also watches Yakko's World of Flags on YouTube over and over again. (That's David trying to sing it at the end, but it's not in alphabetical order, which is where he went wrong!)
"Checky-a-bucky" is Czech Republic. I'm glad we managed to capture him saying it since just a week or two later he can say it properly. Which is good, but not as cute.
Incidentally, we don't force him to learn these flags, he is constantly on at us to "test" him on his flag knowledge. He already knows more than me...
A while ago, I was reading Alex Beauchamp's blog* (as I have on and off for years) and she mentioned she was going on a "retreat" to a cottage in Carmel, California. Well I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was desperately envious. We passed through Carmel when we travelled around the US in 2001 and although we didn't stop (way too rich for our £50/night motel budget), it looked utterly gorgeous. The thought of staying there - for months - just thrilled me.
And then last week, a new internet friend - Kirsty of The Waffling Writer - told me that she's spending two months over the summer on Alonissos, a small Greek island, where she hopes to, among other things, work on her novel. As soon as she told me this, I started to yearn. My first thought was that I wanted to go to a Greek island to write, but that wasn't all. 
When I asked, hungrily, for more information, she told me that she's staying in a fishing village in a house ON THE BEACH and there's practically nothing there but a taverna. My yearning increased, but I found I was thinking less about going to a Greek island to write and more about going to a Greek island for the whole summer. 
Yesterday, I kept thinking about it. I was thinking about the beach, the water, the food (and, yes, the wine) the sunsets and sunrises. Hell, just the sun. I was thinking about relaxing and reading and no TV and even no computer (although, if I'm honest, if I was to take the summer off I'd be taking the computer with me). I'm getting butterflies just writing this now.
If I've learning anything in the past few years, it's to follow my inspiration, so, thanks to a couple of people I've never met, I know that I want to take the summer off. The full summer. And actually go somewhere and just, mostly, be. (I even know where I want to go.) I'm pencilling it in for next year (if anyone has any ideas how David can get six weeks off work, I'd love to hear them).
[Alonissos pictures from Greek Islands Club]
* Quick story about Alex Beauchamp. When I was in New York with lovely Lisa, we were walking through Soho and we spotted the Anthropologie shop. We both said, "Ooh, Anthropologie." And then Lisa said, "Do you read..." and I said, "Alex Beauchamp's blog? Yes, I know! She has the most incredible life!" And Lisa, looking a bit startled said, "How did you know...?" Heh. It was through Alex's blog that I first heard of Anthropologie and I associate them totally.
It's fascinating, this money stuff (well, it might not be to you, but it is to me!). This month's Psychologies magazine features an article by the wonderful Merryn Somerset Webb called How to Stop Worrying About Money.
So much of it resonated with me it was ridiculous. Including the fact that "controlling parents might give children money with strings attached, making them accountable and over-riding their child's decisions." This doesn't apply to me, but it absolutely applies to David (and not just as a child either). The result is spending wildly as a means of rebellion, which David did when he moved away from home and to London.
I did too, but for a different, albeit similar, reason, also mentioned in the article: "... sayings such as 'money doesn't grow on trees' might be said to children glibly, but this invokes all kinds of anxiety, teaching children to associate money with scarcity, lack and fear."
There's the Staintons in a nutshell: Mr Reckless and Mrs Scarcity. Great combination.
That's also reminded me of when I went to lunch with Diane a little while ago. She needed the loo in the train station and, when we got there, it was 30p! 30p!!!
I said, horrified, "30p!"
And Diane shrugged and said, "But I need to go."
"I'd rather go in my pants," I said, joking, but Diane laughed and said, "I think you might have a problem with money. I think you might be coming from a place of lack."
I found it funny because it was true. And, when I told my sister, she said almost exactly the same thing as me.
Reading and resources
