Meme - it's a blog thang!

I have been tagged for a meme  - and although I am extraordinarily flattered - I am a complete novice and don't really understand a) what I am supposed to do and b) why?

Anyhow, I am supposed to answer eleven questions and then ask another 11 questions and tag another 11 bloggers. Trouble is I don't know eleven bloggers, so I will just answer the questions which Recipe Junkie has set me, you may or may not find this interesting, I guess as with everything else I write!

Wham or Frankie Goes to Hollywood?

Frankie Goes to Hollywood - was sex education for me in the 80's

Dog or Cat?

Cat, I have 2 see Look what the cat dragged in. I like dogs too, the cats just got here first.

Nigella or Delia?

Delia, no Nigella, no Delia, no idea

Silent Witness or CSI?

Niether, don't have a telly

Thomas Cook or Internet? 

Internet

TV or Radio?

Radio, don't have a telly

London or Paris?

London, London, London

If you could choose any 6 people to come for dinner with you (living or dead) who would you choose and why?What would you cook?

All my lovely friends who I don't get to see very much any more, you know who you are. Food? something really simple, some great local organic meat, veggies from the allotment, strawberries from the garden with clotted cream. Or a takeaway.

Favourite book when you were a child?Earliest memory?

A nursery rhyme book and poetry book for children. I can still recite them now and see the illustrations.

And you? what would you answer?

Poorly, bad and sick a bit

I feel rough, rough,  rough, I look rougher. My skin is an unattractive shade of yellow-grey, eyes have sunk far back into the head and developed bags and lines over night. My head is full of snot and aches and pounds while my belly churns with sickness. In any non-child-rearing situation this illness would have legitimately allowed me two days off work where I could have gone to bed without guilt, sipped lemon and ginger tea and looked up only for some trashy TV or a read of Grazia magazine. I could have not eaten and slept my way through this cold-virus-sick thing and been full of beans by now.

The reality, as all parents know, is a little different. I am still ill after 4 days and I still feel like shite - I am sure this is because I can't stop and go to bed. OK, I have slowed down and only managed sandwich dinners and no baths for the kids, but I still have put the washing on, fed the cats, watered the plants, made some cakes, gone food shopping for the weekend, taken the children to school and hoovered the house. You get the picture.

Could somebody please stop the merry-go-round? Because I would like to get off.

Happy weekend all!

Lovely little local shops

I'm not too keen on shopping, especially when there is great pressure to find a present or an outfit. Supermarket shopping can bring me out in hives and shopping for something I need for the house induces palpitations. Really. The main reason is that there is too much choice. Aisles and aisles of food, 45 different green strappy dresses, 24 white lampshades all just a tiny bit different from each other. I don't care enough I'm afraid, time is too precious to be wasted on the curvature of taps, the shade of pale for a living room and the cut on jeans (although I have to say I am a bit of a sucker for a fabulous pair of jeans darling, just hate to shop for them).

So what if we decided to shop differently. Just used one or two shops for everything. That's what I have been doing of late thanks to a fantastic little place called The Old Haberdashery in Ticehurst, East Sussex. It is a trove of treasures of times past, little gems, home made buttons and necklaces, vintage materials and stunning pieces of glass ware. And its utterly teeny - but I have found every single (adult) birthday present, Mothers/Fathers day presents and Easter presents since it opened in March this year. Even his. Take a look at these fabulous finds.

Two wonderful pieces of vintage material, the green one is a Liberty print and will cover a £2 chair I found at the dump with enough left over for a couple of cushion covers, the other cute red and orange daisy print will make a skirt for P, I'm not a seamstress but there are plenty of blogs out there that believe even I can do this.

Lovely metal 1970's coasters, complete with original sticker on the back!

I have even taken to buying things I don't need, shock horror, storing them away for those unexpected birthdays that creep up on you. After this most pleasant of shopping experiences there is always the Greedy Goat for coffee and cake, The Bell for a quirky lunch and Tatty Tutu's for a pre-loved designer item. And don't forget to pop into see me if you are down this way - I'm the woman on the hill, white house, pink petunias and a rather bedraggled looking vegetable garden.

Party animals

Twice in one month we have partied hard.

An all-nighter seeing friends of a long time past, all of us a little greyer, a little fatter, a lot older but still up for a darn good time. Such fun but such a long time to recover when you miss a whole nights sleep and have to look after the children the next day, although the Grandparents have been wonderful. I would hate my children to see me partying and know what we get up to and I am going to have deal with this the other way round sooner than I would like. I often wonder how I am going to handle the girls wanting to stay out late, alcohol and cigarettes and more. I can't bear the thought of it but I know it will happen, and if their parents are anything to go by, they will enjoy a night out or three.

I want to hold on to the innocence of what P said to me before we embarked on Saturday's cocktail soiree:

" Will there be musical bumps and statues at your party, Mummy?"

" No darling, no musical bumps today." I replied

" Any hula hoops?" she enquired further hardly believing that I was actually going to a party.

" No sweetie, no hula hoops - but lots of silly dancing I expect"

" Oh that's alright then," she said, satisfied that I knew how to enjoy myself.

The end of ballet

A has been going to ballet every Friday for three years, growing out of a pair of ballet shoes five times and two uniforms. She has learnt to skip and hold her skirt out prettily, smile when doing first position and and point her toes beautifully. But today she has decided no more and I think I know why. I think she has realised that she is not very good at ballet. Of course I think she is wonderful and delight in her elephant jumps and uncoordinated movements, it makes me giggle when she is skipping to the right and the whole class is gracefully skipping to the left, it used to make her laugh too. Today, she didn't laugh and I guess she has grown up a little, the wilful abandoness of a toddler has gone and she has started to understand the meaning of competitiveness, of not being good at something and possibly of embarrassment. And if these things make ballet unenjoyable then goodbye ballet it is.

I feel sad about this. Not about ballet, I have to admit to being a complete heathen where ballet is concerned, but that she is starting to understand that life is no picnic or some other such cliche.

(Image from http://www.sugarplumdancewear.co.uk)