Running for royalty. Sort of.

  • By Alison
  • 4 November, 2010
  • Comments Off on Running for royalty. Sort of.

When last we spoke I was training for the Royal Parks half marathon – well, the big day has come and gone. I find it hard to talk about though, hence the pregnant pause between my last entry and this one.

The bald fact of the matter is that I was beaten by both Ernie AND Bert. And an oil drum. And also The Stig.

It’s a hard truth to face – I was completely unable to overtake two men wearing fleecy head masks representing two of my favourite Sesame Street characters…

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Run until my legs fall off

Ten years ago, when I was young and fit (ten years younger at any rate) I ran 13 and a bit miles along some jolly Newcastle roads with a few other crazy people in the Great North Run, and had three distinct thoughts when I crossed the finish line.

They were – in quick succession, and this order:

  • Never again. Ever.
  • This is half way in a marathon? Never doing THAT! EVER!
  • I think I’ll train more next year.

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Don’t call me mummy

On the back of the mummy blogging issue, I was thinking a lot about my “status” as a mother, and the fact that I get annoyed if I am wedged into a predefined genre of “mummy blogging”, purely because I happen to have children.

Am I defined by being a mother?

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I’ll clean him and drive him and call him George

Meet George, he’s been part of our family since 1998, the year before we got married. He took us around Europe on our honeymoon, and has been a staple part of camping holidays ever since. He’s also been quietly rusting away and falling apart over the years which is a travesty brought on by lack of a secret money stash to throw at him.

Recently Mr Boxer Shorts did something we’ve never done before. He loaned George to a friend of his to go away on holiday in. It was a friend from a long time ago, reaquainted through the miracle that is facebook.

Try and wrap your head around the enormity of this. Would you lend your children to someone you didn’t know?

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Hello, IT support, how can I not help you?

My father in law has recently been dragged kicking and screaming into the current century, by the tax department. He now owns a computer, and has “access to the interwebs”. He had no choice but to buy a computer because – as an accountant – he was required by law to put his clients tax returns in online.

With any normal person, adapting to this new regime might be tricky, but would eventually become second nature. But we’re not taking normal people here.

If you knew my father in law you’d know how insane this situation sounds. Suggesting that he’d become familar with it soon enough is enough to induce death by hysteria…

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Aspiring to be average – a teaser

Today is a first time milestone for me. I’ve made a blog posting in a location that’s not my own blog. But listen, this is important. It’s no ordinary blog.

The Blogger Body Calendar is a collaborative project, the outcome of which is calendar for 2010 which features 12 bloggers portraying their beautiful bodies as nature intended. And we’re not talking photoshopped, retouched, anorexic models – we’re looking at real women (and man)…

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More gin, Brown Owl?

After waiting for a year and a half after leaving Rainbows, my 8 (nearly 9) year old has finally got  a place in Brownies. She’ll have all of a year there before having to move up to Guides because the waiting list was so long – and I worry now if she’ll be able to go smoothly from Brownies to Guides, or will there be another gap like this.

I realise why it’s like this of course – my mother was a Guide leader, and eventually had to close down her Guide unit 10 years after she’d first wanted to retire. Simply because there were NO others willing to take it on and run it, despite wanting their girls to be involved…

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What goes on on holiday, stays on holiday.

We’ve just spent a glorious week on holiday in Crete, nestled in a tiny village near the sea, in a house that was built by pirates, and rebuilt by honest men. It was like stepping into another world, with another set of values entirely, as I discovered when I inquired about the security facilities before we left.

The house was going to be home to not just us, but another couple upstairs, and two young girls downstairs. As I was taking my laptop, I wanted to ensure that the bedroom was lockable to keep it secure. As it turns out – the room could have been locked if we’d had a key, but we didn’t. And didn’t actually care either…

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Rocket in the Veg-Table

  • By Alison
  • 30 June, 2010
  • Comments Off on Rocket in the Veg-Table

Basil brush bites back

There has been a large furor lately about a fox attack that happened on two babies who were lying in their cot – in their house, on the third floor. Both babies were seriously injured, and while they are both home now, one of them may need plastic surgery throughout her life, due to the facial injuries. 

Apparently 6 foxes have now been trapped in their backyard and put to death.

Nothing can lessen the horror of this event – particularly the fact that the fox had to travel up 2 flights of stairs to get at the girls. That they were not safe in their own bedroom.

What bites on me – however – is…

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