The tin hat on the hottest day of the summer...

We were so excited. Yesterday was supposed to be the hottest day of the summer and the last day of the summer. So we decided that we had to do something. I stuck a bit more water in the paddling pool and we bought some burgers. However, by the time we had woken up it was cloudy and gloomy and the six loads of washing that I had put through the night before were looking like they might spend the next two weeks sat on clothes horses in doorways.

Depressed wasn't the word for it and as another day of Huw trying to teach me how to do everything that I have been doing for 38 years, his way, loomed we thought sod it and found a few old Marks and Spencers vouchers and headed for the concrete slab that is Hereford.

We got a wheelchair from Shopmobility, stuck the Little One in the pushchair and set off. Bigger One wanted to ride on the wheelchair, then Little One did, then Bigger One wanted to push it, then she wanted Little One to get out of the pushchair for her to get in. By this time, the heatwave had kicked in and I regretted my choice of thick jeans and woollen socks.

We'd once had a good experience in Marks and Spencers, so we decided to chance it again for lunch. Big Mistake. Someone had obviously been fiddling with the displays, so that not all of them were wide enough for a wheelchair to get through and we would go down dead-end after dead end, getting wedged beween sensible t-shirts and elasticated slacks. Eventually we got to the cafe bit, where all the assistants couldn't believe that we really existed and therefore no one would help. By this time, Bigger One had got off Huw's lap and was eyeing up a circuit round the room. Little One needed a stretch and I needed another four hands. It was a scoff everything down before it all goes too wrong and get out out out...

The upside of M&S is that Little One loves "silkies" - anything that is silky to the touch. Therefore for her, being pushed through the ladies' underwear dept was heaven and she would grab at nighties and bras as they brushed past - and managed to grab and chew a few as we got stuck in the dead ends. Bigger One just put the larger bras on her head for hats. So, if you have since bought a sticky nightie from Hereford M&S, sorry, but it is because they didn't provide any serviettes and the queue for toilet was too long.

The tin hat was found as we returned to the car and saw our parking ticket... I had forgotten to put Huw's blue badge, or the "Cripper" as it is known, on the car. Seventy blimmin quid. Can't pay that with M&S vouchers...

oh, and when we got home and decided to have our barbie and a "swim" in the paddling pool, we found that all the larvae had hatched in it and no matter how hard I tried to tell Charlotte that they and the dead bumble bees floating about were bits of leaf, it didn't work. I think it is time that the paddling pool goes back in the barn to get eaten by mice over the winter.

Village Fetes and shaving foam.

After having thought that there would be an easy blog following the village fete - lots of smug comments about people enjoying themselves whilst I looked down at them and sniggered - I actually had a great day and therefore feel both arrogant and humble.

No-one seemed to want to buy my home-made marmalade, no doubt having noticed that it was mainly in old gherkin jars that still smelt of vinegar, or Pataks curry jars, so that the marmalade had a cloudy turmeric tinge to it. But never mind as that means lots of Christmas presents taken care of. I was a little disappointed that I wasn't supported in my offer of organising a Sh*t the Penny game, as I am sure that that would have raised a fortune.

I managed to bribe Huw to come along to help on the helium balloon stand, for the promise of a bacon sandwich, but it all went a bit sour when he turned up just as the last bacon was being slapped in between some white sliced and handed to a fat bloke. But the balloon race was a success with about 80 kids standing in the middle of the field crying as their balloons flew up into the sky - apologies if anyone's cows are choking on the rubber at this time, but it will be in a good cause.

There will be prizes for the returns of the labels attached to the balloons - the winner being the one from furthest away. Huw is determined that his girls will win and is, as I type, driving up to John o'Groats to post Charlotte and Maude's labels. He will be gutted when he learns that the first prize is a copy of Chocolate Mousse and Two Spoons...

oh and the shaving foam bit is just a game I played with Charlotte that got out of hand - like most of our games seem to. I'm just hoping that it doesn't strip car paint...

The day of the frogs

Today was the day I knew that the grass had to be slain. My lawn was at least knee high, whereas the bit that Huw does is Wimbledon with stripes. Mine was so high that it had fallen over and turned into a blanket that snuggles up frogs.
They knew that I hated them, but they waited until I started mowing before leaping out at me, despite me running around over the grass trying to tell them what was about to happen.
I've always been a bit embarrassed about being frog phobic as it is a bit pathetic. I'm quite up for them in theory, and no longer drain bogs to get rid of their habitats, but in practice their sitting and pretending to be a leaf then leaping out at me frightens me to a point of sprinting away screaming. So, I've tried to keep quiet, knowing that a stifled scream is better for the soul than having a brother rub one in my face.
Since having the girls, I am aware of the importance of not passing on one's fears - and also I feel that Charlotte will be the type to tell me to shut my eyes and open my mouth (she got that one from her father) as soon as she is fast enough to catch one.
However, today I started mowing as Huw and Charlotte were rally driving around our yard (10x10 yards) and the slimy little sods were leaping about everywhere. At each appearance I would have to abandon the lawn mower and run shouting "Jee-sus-Christ" around the garden, no doubt stepping on a few of his mates as I went. I saw four altogether before I gave up and phoned Stuart Coyle to come and tarmac the damn place.

This evening has been Little Women as I have made 14 jars of marmalade from of out of date Marmade for the local fete on Monday. Huw has spent three hours making a lasagne, then disappeared, exhausted, before the washing up managed to get done. I will have to get the girls to make the lables tomorrow and then brace myself for a bout of village sh*ts.

Karma is a funny thing. After having tried so hard not to cut frogs into strips, but being secretly pleased to see the occasional foot scattered around the place, I was driving back from the shop on a late night quest for more sugar for the marmalade, and nearly rolled the car trying to miss a toad. Basta*rds.

Lorraine.

OK, so which git left the Slimming World leaflet on my doorstep?

Another day, another belly-full of blackberries soaked in dog urine.

Yes, some git left a Slimming World leaflet on my doorstep -although thinking about it, it is actually Fat Huw's doorstep too. They were obviously a little sheepish as they stuffed it in my Rigger Boot and sprinted (waddled) off without telling anyone. How rude is that? So, next time you see me, I'll be ringing a little bell as I'll have lost a couple of pounds or something (just like I did last time I had my bikini line waxed).

I held playgroup at our house yesterday, whilst the hall rennovations were on, so we had lots of little ones racing around in the wheelbarrow and slipping over in the mud. Just when I was thinking "Ah, I can do this! It works sometimes" I found a dead bird in a bucket of water. They all spotted it before it was disposed of, so I had seven fascinated children following me whilst I went and tipped it in the hedge. I gave them all a lesson about not playing near water as that is what happens and they nodded sagely and I thought I had got away with it. Then I tipped another bucket with a dead slug in it out, and then realised that the blob of mud I had poured it onto, was in fact another dead bird - but this poor thing now had a slug stuck to it as well. I expect our garden will now be the talk of lots of tea tables...

We went for a walk at about fiveish today as Charlotte was getting a little wild and needed wearing out, so we walked round the loop (again) and just when I was beginning to relax and Maude had spotted some good raspberries in the hedge, there was a giggle and I turned to see Charlotte sprinting along with her trousers and pants round her ankles and arms in the air, typically just as someone I sort of know was coming down her drive for a chat. Does anyone else really have to go through this, or is it just me?

The editing of Number Two (woof) book is coming along and I am realising what I have learnt from the professionals' opinions of Number One, as the beginning of the book is rubbish and I have now reached the bit that was written after Number One had had a professional's eye over it, and thankfully it is much better.

We are a bit skint, so I am offering to slip a person in as a character for the price of a tank of oil. Offers need to be received before Mid Sept. Perfect Christmas present for your loved one.

Lorraine.

Another day, another rejection letter.

And, Another day, another five minutes wasted trying to work out how to create a new blog.

A fine weekend of fun and frolics. I think we went to Co-op AND Aldi, so excited were we about shopping in general. We were then able to put our virtual cupboard storage plan into action - because we have such a small kitchen and so few cupboards, we decided that we would not unpack the groceries from the boot of the car, but instead would just drive round with them in there and just pop out to fetch a can of beans when we needed one. Realised yesterday that the plan was a little flawed when I pierced a bottle of vegetable oil after slinging the pushchair on top of everything and also found that we'd lost a couple packs of bacon due to the heat.

Today, the girls' nursery is shut due to the fact that they are demolishing the school next to it, and so I have Claire the wonderful lady from the nursery come to the house to look after the girls while I do some work (well, surely typing this and reading about Jade Goodie is work?). So I was up until 3 a.m. shovelling debris out of the kitchen so that she wouldn't be sick if she looked under the table. I also had to write a list of things they can do to entertain themselves and am now wondering if I were taking the P*ss a bit by saying that Charlotte loves to clean the cooker, so if she could help her to do that, that would be great, gloves under the sink.


My rejection letter was from an online magazine that somehow didn't like my cheesy book plug that was thinly disguised as an article. Spooky eh?

Huw has gone to Bristol again today, so I have "number one" desk in the office, rather than being sat at the kitchen table. I thought that I would try and sort out the clutter that is stuck to it by fruit pastilles, but instead have thought sod it, rested my computer on an old pasty and got stuck in to my blog...

Pigeon kicking and crisp packet menaces

Hello! And heartened by the comments about my blog being a necessity for getting through the day, here we are again. (Unlucky those who made a convincing argument for the "do something else" option).

Huw did his usual "if I have to be up, then everyone must be up (and ideally making me cups of tea)" thing at six a.m and the day went down hill from then really.

Our play group is full of muppets. We had a "sports day" theme, thanks to someone bringing in their Olympics kit, and started with egg and spoon races. We then had to move on to just spoon races as egg and spoon turned out to be too difficult - and even then, no-one actually won.


Another day, another trip on the bus - this time a five mile journey taking a fantastic 54 minutes, via the arse-end of Llanyre and every other village where no-one has ever got on a bus before. Luckily we had comedy-driver and he kept the old folks tittering with his shouting at people who had parked in bad places which prevented his bus getting by and meant that he had to speed off at 16 mph to make up time.


I always used to think that parents who let their children run through flocks of pigeons and birds, especially whilst some other poor soul was feeding them, were pretty irresponsible. Today, however, I got their point. I had thirty seconds mental rest when Charlotte and her friend sprinted across the park to kick pigeons - my friend and I shouting, "look - there's another one!" trying to drag it out to at least a minute.


I'm sat here now, too scared to go out and get the washing in as I heard a rustle in the hedge earlier. In my mind it is at least a monster that wants to eat me and then hide in our cupboards to scare me again later - but in my heart I know that it is a crisp packet tucked into waist high grass. If we weren't such scutters, this kind of thing would never need to happen.

Blogs, Shmogs

I've had a troubling few days trying to sort out the soul of my blog - should it be every day regardless of whether I have anything to say, should it be a weekly thing or a now and then thing? No doubt some would suggest that it shouldn't be anything and the best thing I could do with my time is - something else.

Obviously the point of it is to reach across the world and if I can't do that, then perhaps it can be something to keep me up to speed with my typing.

Should I wax on about going to Bristol yesterday and at some points being sad that I don't live in such a cosmopolitan hub that has cappucinos and B&Qs on every corner, or should I mention that very soon I was so hacked off about being stuck in traffic for most of the time that I was there, that I couldn't wait to get back to Cosy Corner and be offered a choice of a mug or a cup for my coffee. (There are, of course upsides to everything - I took two wing mirrors off, so if you are in need of one, let me know. I also said "hello" to people as I walked past them on a quiet bit of pavement, until I realised that I was behaving a little like Crocodile Dundee and felt an arse.)

Anyway, the point is almost academic as I think even my mum has now moved on to Chris Evans' blog...

The highlight of the day was a phone call from Huw as he was taking friends to the airport for their flight. He had arrived at their house in plenty of time, only to find them running around screaming sh**t!! as one of them had misunderstood the 24 hour clock on the tickets and they had just realised that they had two hours less to get to the airport than they had thought...
I think that the situation was made worse as they went in our car and therefore the sausage roll crumbs and the furry husks that were once apple cores on the floor probably made them feel sick. But, I suppose it could have been worse - it could have been in Huw's car which has had the sun beating down on those KFC boxes for a few weeks now...

Airbeds at midnight

Surely one of the best things about having friends to stay is watching them trying to sort out their sleeping arrangements at midnight when everyone is shattered and has seen the wrong side of a couple of bottles of wine / port / Aldi's Booleys and whatever the mini-bar had to offer.

Last night was no exception. Tony is a practical kind of guy, so watching him trying to make a valve out of an old inner tube so that it would fit a rusty foot pump was a pleasure. He spent a good twenty minutes making his valve and was very pleased with himself. Then we spent another ten minutes trying to find the butter so that he could un-rust his foot pump - to the tune of his wife saying, "well, I told you not to leave it outside". Then we spent another twenty minutes giggling helplessly as he had to push and pull it two inches at a time with his hands (if you used your feet it would only push). It would have taken three days to pump up their de-luxe king size airbed.
Then he got so hacked off with our giggling and smug comments, that he dissapeared in a huff and went on to blow it up by mouth. After another 15 minutes, he had hyper-ventilated and fallen asleep. They spent an uncomfortable night lying on a slab of rubber.

A fine lunch at Llanafan's Red Lion followed, the best place to go for a good feed and a smug comment. (We went on Father's Day and the landlord, from his book of Landlord's Witticisms, said to Huw, "Christ, she hasn't told you that you're the father, has she?"). Charlotte went to the toilet fifteen times and Maude got ice cream headache from eating her pud too fast. So did Huw.

Then on to an Open Garden at Llysdinam, which shows how old I am becoming as I went by choice. Luckily, I know the head gardner, so she gave us lots of grapes from the vines and necatarines from the trees - I didn't like to tell her that I had already pinched enough for the week. It made me determined to get on with book number two as we'll never be able to afford a head gardener otherwise. I was quite sad when I got home and surveyed the woodland where our lawn used to be.


Lesson of the day has to be: sort your sleeping arrangements out before you drink three bottles of wine and eat enough to floor a horse.

Back fat and Llandrindod Wells

Hello! I didn't manage to get here last night as I had decided that I wouldn't be able to make it to Ron's Fitness Club in the village hall as I was unfit. I know that that is the whole point, but the thought of embarrassing myself in a pair of dusty Ron Hills and brilliant white trainers was more than I could take.

I felt ashamed as I have never not done anything before because I didn't feel fit enough, so I thought I would have a bath. It didn't really do the job as at the end, I thought that the water had gone out much quicker than usual until I went to stand up and gallons of the stuff that had got stuck in a resevoir behind my back fat poured out. In hindsight, I should have gone to Ron's.

Never mind, a day in Llandrindod reminded me that life was still good. We fed the ducks, Maude ate my luxury ice cream and indicated that I was allowed to eat her mini-milk instead, then went face first down the slide(that'll teach her).

We watched two trains come in, which killed another four hours, and then caught the bus home. Because Huw is away, we were allowed to eat mince for tea without having him retching in the background - although I still maintain that he'll have it cold in a sandwich one day...

Lorraine x

The Pain of being a techno-fool

It is quite sad really that with my sixth blog, I am still having to find my way around the process each time I start. I can never remember how to create a new post (perhaps someone is trying to tell me something) and always end up jumping to the sad git on the "next blog" who has always just released new photos of their hairy fiance. It's tedious being such a techno-fool.

But, the day is good in that my Observer piece is on the web for all those (Proberts) who are a bit short this week and didn't want to buy the paper - go to http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/aug/03/7 - unless of course you're from my family, in which case, why not check out the latest Jamie Oliver recipe?

I have been pimping myself to the WI and reading groups today in the quest for fruit cake and book sales. I haven't had any takers yet - perhaps word has got round about the quality of my sponge...

Also - there is a call for chapter headings for the next book please - I am looking for phrases that are about saving money to a ridiculous degree. For example "Stitch newspaper to the inside of your coat", or "cooking pasta in a thermos" (I used to do this, it worked! Although I did used to end up with one large slug of pasta to go with my sweetcorn). My favourite one is "harnessing the steam from your pi*ss" (perhaps a suggestion for a project for Glasu or Severn Wye Energy Agency?)
Any thoughts appreciated.

Best wishes,
Lorraine.

PS - I think that I am being really clever by putting Glasu and Severn Wye Energy Agency in my "Key words". That'll learn people for looking them up on the web...

Secret Breakfasts and a piece in The Observer

I've just spent an hour trying to compose my blog, but I am so tired my eyes can no longer see properly. I was trying to work in a witty and relevant way of saying that I have only had two lie-ins in three-and-a-bit years and one of those was last week.

I was supposed to be having another one this morning, but actually ended up doing an hour's sorting / making drinks / scraping a turd off the carpet (Huw will insist on sitting in the patch of sunshine at the top of the stairs) before I was allowed to sneak back into bed - and a lie-in after you have already been up, doesn't really count.

My point was that rather than the writing habits of the rich and successful, which always seem to revolve around muesli in the conservatory and walking the spaniels, I have to sneak mine in where it is possible. I am hopeful that this new Sunday morning lie-in pattern will continue, as I got a good old chaptersworth done of my new masterpiece. Sleeping through a lie-in seemed to be a bit of a waste really.

However, when I came downstairs and found everyone sat on the sofa in their pyjamas watching bloody Corra of all things with the carpet covered in cous cous as Charlotte had been making lasagne again, my writing bliss of earlier all disappeared into a haze.

But, the good thing about today was that I got into The Observer. I had written a piece for their My Crap Holiday slot, for which I will get a first aid kit! If anyone has today's Observer down the back of their sofa, see page ten of the Escape bit!

Anyone who has been on holiday with me, is probably suitably qualified to write about their crap holiday, so might be worth a shot. Apparently it's a good first aid kit...

More (and hopefully better) tomorrow good folks.

Huw's new business and Show Goers' poo

Today it’s Huw’s today! (isn’t it always?) Today Flomp started. Huw’s business, For Letting of Managed Property opened its doors today in Bristol and apparently they had a happy day drinking lots of tea and quality biscuits and doing lots of work. It’s been a good day for Huw Chance. Well done Huw.
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I, instead, spent a nice time on Builth’s swingy bridge with a friend and our girls throwing sticks into the water, until we were told by another passing friend that people from the nearby campsite had been using the same railings that we were leant on - and Maude was sucking - to sit on, hang their arses over the top of in order to discharge their Royal Welsh Show food into the river. As we wondered slowly away, we were then told that the handrail that we clung to as we walked down the steps, had been used to wipe backsides on and no doubt the sticks that we had thrown into the river had knocked off clinkers. The beautiful day lost its rainbow.

Anyway, it’s dawned on me today that I need to step up a gear in the book world. I’ve had too many weeks of writing nice articles that either do or don’t get published, and it’s too easy and comfy. I can sit in my pants with my vat of coffee and spiel out nonsense and nothing comes of it. I might as well go back to my obsessive cleaning routine, and at least the underside of the cooker will be sparkling again.

So, from here on, it’s hard core effective sales talk and stalking of the Guardian Review staff. It’s book clubs, WI talks and general prostitution. So if anyone knows of a little group of people anywhere who have exhausted their speakers on topics such as My Operation or Living with Clematis, and who might be able to offer a cup of tea and a piece of fruit cake to someone happy to talk for an hour about getting having their leg bitten off by a horsefly or saying Good Lettuce instead of Good Morning (it was really funny, honest), and maybe buy a few books on their way out – as otherwise, they won’t be GOING out – then please let me know.

In the meantime, I’ll just start by shifting rubble from the living room carpet.