Tag Archives: children

NYE

Hello!

I was gone a little longer than I expected there but……weep into your pillow no longer, for I have returned!

A super quick recap of the last 15 months so I can move on and write about fun stuff….I gave birth to a beautiful little boy, I moved 200 miles across the country, I left Geordie, I learned how to not pull my hair out on hold to various companies such as Scottish Power and realised just how boring it is picking out carpets and wooden flooring. I now see my parents (all four of them) in a whole new light and my brother and sister continue to be my absolute best friends. Nothing like family when the shit hits the fan huh?

Mini People

Mini People

So it’s the very last day of 2014 and what a year its been. I feel like I can confidently say, this year…at the grand old age of 32….I have finally grown up. The day my baby boy was born I felt complete (and sore as hell following a C-section) but complete none the less. We are now an awesome-foursome and we’re starting a whole new book of adventures.

I don’t have any resolutions for the new year, I have about as much will power as that bloke from the Fatboy Slim video ‘Lazy’ and therefore wont stick to any of them. I am feeling really positive though, and more importantly I’m being proactive. I’ve signed up for two new courses after loving every minute of a creative writing course earlier this year with the OU. I’ve pitched to two new magazines with articles ideas and I’m applying to the BBC journalism training programme in the hope I might elbow my way into a new career. In the mean time I’m going to continue to learn, be happy and enjoy every minute of my beautiful mini people.

What does the new year hold for you?

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R.P.P (Rocket Propelled Pig)

I slept in my daughters bunk beds last night because I couldn’t be bothered to move the humongous pile of laundry covering my unmade bed…..it’s official, I am super lazy. To balance out this house-wife misdemeanour I’ve been out for a power walk this morning with toddler and dog, done all the dishes, two loads of washing (yes more) and I’m now writing a blog post. Unfortunately the laundry pile hasn’t magically ironed itself and is still there on my bed. My efforts this morning have basically made the pile bigger, not the greatest start to the day but following on from yesterday’s happy-a-thon I am going to rectify the situation and tackle it head on….after I’ve written this post and made a coffee.

Today I am going to write about the pensioner assault incident that I alluded to in yesterday’s post (which you can read here if you missed it) I’d like to start by saying that acts of violence against anyone should not be tolerated and even though my toddler is just 20 months old and what happened was really an accident, I still put her in the naughty corner to teach her a lesson. I was also desperately trying to not laugh probably giving myself a hernia in the process. The story goes a little something like this…

Rocket Propelled Pig

Rocket Propelled Pig

Toddler and I were in the waiting room at the train station last week, obviously waiting for our train! Toddler had been given a little Peppa Pig figurine from a friend and had spent the entire morning chewing it, chucking it about and generally having fun. I allowed her to take it on the journey with us as it was doing a sterling job of keeping her occupied while I tried to catch up on some reading while carefully keeping an eye on  her antics. The waiting room at the station is quite small, just three metal wire benches fill the space, so it’s not an ideal space for a game of throw the pig. We were soon joined by an elderly couple who sat at the far (5 feet away) end of the room and after the usual ‘Good Mornings’ ‘Nice weather’ pleasantries they sat down with an audible ‘oooff’ and smiled politely as toddler larked about blowing raspberries on the window. It was at this exact moment that toddler decided to play catch with the elderly woman, without actually telling her and with an effort Jessica Ennis would be proud of, she launched Peppa Pig at the woman, laughing hysterically as it ricocheted off her leg and landed under the bench.  I was horrified and yet quite impressed with her throwing arm! I apologised to the woman who didn’t even flinch (thank God) and as I turned to admonish toddler, trying to stop her from clapping excitedly and demanding another shot, she shouted ‘CATCH’ at the top of her voice. It took all I had not to laugh and firmly put her in the corner to think about her actions (consider her next victim more like).

My brother called me as this drama was unfolding and asked ‘Why is she doing that evil laugh again?’…….. Says it all really.

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The Banana Yellow Unicycle

I thought I was going stark raving mad this morning, all because of a Padre on a banana yellow unicycle. Check that out for an opening line!

No Wheels for Me

No Wheels for Me

I was woken by the sun this morning, or at least that’s what the cheeks on my daughter’s poorly teething face felt like. So after a quick beaker of warm milk to fill her tummy and a drop of Calpol, we got wrapped up to head out along the perimeter road for a morning jog, pooch in tow. It was yet another beautiful morning here behind the wire and I’m starting to really enjoy getting out early when the airbase is quiet and there’s no traffic around. It’s at times like these that you can get so lost in your thoughts that you forget how you got from A to B.

It’s been quite a busy week and I got to thinking about a random conversation on Friday when a friend had mentioned trying out unicycling, obviously I laughed and made all the relevant circus jokes (how do you kill a circus?…. go straight for the juggler….two cannibals eating a clown..one turns to the other and says….does he taste funny to you?….boom boom) and predictably the conversation moved swiftly on to other subjects that I was less likely to try and make fun of.

So back to my walk and can you even begin to imagine my shock and confusion at the sight of a man unicycling towards me on what can only be described as a banana yellow unicycle……and he was really good….I stopped dead in my tracks, half throttling the dog in the process. I took out my headphones to wish him good morning in the hope that if what I was seeing was real, he would reply….and he did very confidently, as if the fact that unicycling around at airbase at 8am on a Saturday morning was a completely normal thing to do. As I walked on, adjusting my ear phones again, I couldn’t bring myself to look back and check that the previous 60 seconds of my life hadn’t been a wonderful subconscious dream, and that he really was quietly wobbling down the road behind me, arms out-stretched for balance.

I carried on walking in a bit of a daze. I genuinely had no idea if what had just happened was real and it was only at 7pm this evening that I utilised the power of social media and asked the community page for the airbase to tell me I wasn’t losing my marbles. Luckily the lovely guys and girls came through and confirmed that one of the Padre here on camp does indeed have a passion for unicycling and that no, I’m not as crazy as I thought. Thank the Lord eh?

 

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Keep On Doing Something

Okay so I’m back on the fit wagon, for how long this time, who knows? Here are the bare bones of the situation…

I am living on an RAF base 15 miles from the nearest town, I can’t drive and my designated driver (Geordie) is away for the next three months. I spend my days engrossed in the latest episode of Mr. Bloom’s Nursery, while my 19 month old toddler swan dives off various soft play equipment. I drink too much coffee and eat a bit too much cake. (I actually text my friend Rachel on Thursday morning in crazed capitals no less, at 7:30am demanding she go with me to the coffee shop for Victoria sponge, so you see I have a problem). I also have a little pooch who, as a border terrier cross-breed requires a good couple of miles walk at least once a day, so sitting on my ever-expanding arse sampling the new coffee shop carrot cake isn’t really benefiting anyone!

I promised myself that I would ‘smash ‘Insanity‘ this time around. With Geordie out-of-the-way and not admonishing me like my high school P.E teacher for not training everyday (and how he loves to do that which ends with me resenting him for being fit as a butchers dog….do people still say that?) I thought I stood a better chance of getting into a strict routine and ultimately start to look and feel better about myself. But alas it would seem that after a 6 day cycle I can’t stand the sight nor gloating sound of Shaun T, and I am still convinced he is trying to kill me. Insanity isn’t for me, and if you’re reading this Geord, I’m not sorry because I gave it a good go…..twice x

So almost four weeks into my so-called training routine I have completely sacked off Insanity, eaten a fair bit of cake, chocolate hobnobs, custard creams and went a bit mad and had chips, curry and Irn Bru for dinner tonight. I didn’t just fall off the wagon, I obliterated it! As with any downfall there must be a turning point, the phoenix rising from the ashes…or crumbs in my case! And I have my wonderful friends, who also eat cake, to thank for my epiphany!

Defiant Toto will get blown away for good one day

Defiant Toto will get blown away for good one day!

I have discovered that despite the fact that I live behind the wire and currently have to rely on my friends and family to escape the gold-fish bowl, there is a way to get your heart rate up and burn a few calories………..no not perving at all those cute guys in uniform…but the windy, unforgiving perimeter road! Rachel (from the earlier cake story) and me decided the weather was nice enough for a power stroll with our little ones and earlier this week we set off around the airfield assuming it was somewhere around 2-3 miles in distance…only to be completely battered by what felt like hurricane strength winds, while jets flew over head adding to the buffering, making essential gossiping impossible. We eventually made it, bedraggled into air traffic control to ask (read as beg) if there was a quicker route back to the residential side of camp. Sadly the answer from the smug looking airman was no and so we re-wrapped the children up in their buggies and headed back down the perimeter road, at times clinging on for dear life as the weather closed in. Finally reaching the safety of a built up area an hour later we calculated that we’d power walked (been pushed) 6 miles and vowed to continue our healthy start by not opening the biscuit tin the moment we stepped in the front door…..I lasted two hours and that was only because there was jelly in the fridge, which hardly touched the sides as I cleaned the pot. Even though it felt a bit hard going at times, it was fun. We talked about all manner of random things, the kids mainly slept and my dog didn’t poop anywhere near the runway so that’s a bonus!

Since our first escapade at the beginning of the week I’ve clocked up 18 miles of heart racing power walking and jogging and I’m really pleased that on nights like tonight, when I’ve eaten dinner and gotten a bit bored with the ironing, my first instinct is to stick on my Nike’s, wrap the little one up and head out with Toto for an hour’s fresh air….even if we don’t end up back in Kansas!

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The Importance of Being Kind

When was the last time you were kind to someone? You know, did something nice or complimented somebody because you knew it would make them smile? I think kindness is a quality to be treasured, especially in times when it’s far too easy to criticise, judge and even bully just by clicking a mouse. I teach my children to be kind, to play nicely with other kids (which they do for an hour or so) and share their things willingly. It’s when I see them having fun like this, so innocently that I worry the most about them becoming teenagers and forgetting to be kind to one another, so wrapped up in the daily pressures of school and Facebook!

Random acts of kindness make the headlines now which is a lovely way to end the national news bulletin after a week of bombings, funerals, murders and the fatal Texas explosion just this morning. It’s a huge annoyance that social networking sites like Facebook are becoming constant streams of like-this-image-if-you-care updates, especially the ‘My Dad said he’ll buy me a car if I get a million likes’ Oh bog off and finish your coursework will you? My Twitter feed regularly features celebrity RT requests for the most ridiculous of causes……hence only really following one celebrity (does that make me a stalker?).

I really think it’s about time we all started being a bit nicer to each other. We’re always telling our kids to do it, so instead of  a bitchy comment or turning a blind eye how about offering a helping hand, a kind word or a compliment once in a while? I’ll tell you what….I’ll get the ball rolling….

I don’t know what you’ve done with your hair…but you are looking fabulous!

Okay…..your turn.

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Fraja-Ellie

I’ve finally found a bit of time to sit down after a hugely busy week and thought I would explain about the Mermaid and Pirate from the earlier blog. I have learned a lot this week, such as mixing washing powder with yellow paint makes an awesome sand effect and why Pritt-Stick is nowhere near as good as gloopy glue! Oh yes, it’s been a thriller!

Living behind the wire (on a UK RAF airbase) can be quite isolating if you’re not a very out-going person but now and then there comes an opportunity for everyone to pull together and the drive in this community is astonishing. There is a desperately ill little girl living here called Fraja- Ellie, she’s only just turned 5 and she is bravely battling a type of cancer called Neuroblastoma. I’ve not met Fraja or her family but after reading what they are faced with I wanted to so something to help. I think that once you have seen Fraja’s beautiful smile and read the blog about her ongoing treatment, she will melt your heart too.

The community here is a giving one; the amount of people involved in organising fundraisers is amazing; women shaving their heads (look out for pictures in the Northern Echo around 25th March…and it was their idea before Jessie J nicked it for Comic Relief) Guys and girls competing in endurance races across the globe as well as sponsored weight loss, comedy nights, photo shoots and lots of local events from bake sales to sponsored silences, all to raise money for Fraja’s treatment. The boards I painted and umm’d and arghh’d over were for a children’s disco fundraiser here on camp on Friday night, so while my involvement equates to little, I wanted to make sure they were the best I could do. I hope everyone had fun and they made Fraja-Ellie smile.

Today, as Comic Relief celebrates its highest grossing total for on-the-night donations (in excess of £75m) it goes to show that even though we’re all ALWAYS skint, we’re also sympathetic to those in need, especially children. Please visit Fraja-Ellie’s web page and give what you can, if you can.

Thanks xx

 

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Nine Two Five

It occurred to me earlier today that I haven’t done a full days work in two years, I’ve had a baby in that time but really, where did the time go? It seems like it was yesterday that I was clocking up a 50 hour week, watching the sun come up and set again while sat at my desk, calling my Dad to prevent me having a panic attack when I had to go down into the dark, scary basement on facilities checks and drinking far too much coffee that almost cost half my weekly wage. Now I’m lucky if I manage to get all my ironing done, take my youngest to play-group and make sure dinner is at least in the oven when Geordie gets home from work.

I’m pretty sure my CV states I am ‘a great co-ordinator’ and ‘organisation is my passion’ (or some similarly ridiculous buzz words) So where has it gone? Did I lose it along with my pregnancy baby weight? Did it slowly diminish while I spent hour upon hour watching Mr Bloom’s Nursery? Or is it still there lurking in the back of my mind behind the lists of size 5+ Pampers and Persil Non-Bio? I really hope it’s the latter as this realisation today has kick-started a plan of action……to go back to work.

Bog Off Eamonn

Bog Off Eamonn

I’ve heard many people say that it’s easier to get a job if you already have one? I’m not really sure I understand the logic there? Is that because you have recent, relevant experience or more chance of a glowing reference from your employer? Maybe I’m discounting this notion because I haven’t learned anything new or relevant to PR or marketing in over two years and I don’t want to believe that I am going to struggle before I even get started. Bearing this in mind I am considering a refresher course but I’m unsure about what I should refresh? I can (just about) speak, write and read English and while I am no Carol Vorderman I can still recite the times tables.

Working in media generally means having to completely submerge yourself in current affairs, so maybe my refresher course can be self-taught? I simply have to reinstate my subscription to The Times, switch Cbeebies over to BBC Parliament, CNN or Sky News (I really can’t stand Eamonn Holmes) and re-follow all those media bods on Twitter who are in the thick of the action around the globe? Also I’m thinking that a volunteer placement with a local paper might help me with the lack of recent experience issue…being the new girl again at 30 should be interesting!

The catalyst behind all of this is that I am missing a sense of achievement, I made it to 30, not without a few scrapes but it has taken me until now right now in fact, to realise what I really want to do with myself. Now I just have to make it happen. Maybe I can have it all, it just takes a little patience and a lot of hard work. Wish me luck!

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Thursday’s Child

I was born on a Thursday and according to the traditional rhyme that makes me one of the cool kids, not the whiny, or overly polite or hard-working ones, a cool one! The story goes that it was 104 degrees that particular November day and my Mum was stuffing her face with melon when I decided I would make my journey into the big wide world. No no, she’d not had too much gas and air, I was born abroad and as luck would have it, being mahoosively pregnant during Winter south of the equator means kaftans, Birkenstocks and a shed load of ice!

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay

It could have been a lot worse, I could have been born early and risked being the sulky Wednesday kid, or just over the cusp of Midnight resulting in Friday’s loving and giving (code for clingy and dependant). So a big thumbs up to mother nature for getting the timing spot on. I wouldn’t have minded being a Sunday’s child, bonny, blithe, good and gay sounds like the kind who just walks into success doesn’t it? Good-looking, but doesn’t know it, fair and honest and the happiest kid around. I like you Sunday’s child, you’re cool too!

Thursday’s child has far to go. I have moved home 24 times, I have lived on two continents (okay not that impressive but I know what Dover port and Heathrow airport look like) I’ve lived in three countries and travelled to a hell of a lot more, I think that living up to the Thursday’s child expectations is going well, but there is still father to go! I have such aspirations about travelling and seeing the world, there is just so much out there that has to be seen to be believed. I wrote an entire blog about my bucket list (you can read it here) and the majority of it involves travel, I simply have to get to Niagara Falls before I cark it. So what about Thursday’s adult, maybe time to make up a new rhyme?

Okay look, I’m just joking around and don’t really believe that anyone can be defined by a daft nursery rhyme, I mean, I grew up thinking Humpty Dumpty was an egg, but where in the rhyme does it say that? Poor misunderstood Humpty, maybe he was just big-boned?

PS, Sorry Wednesday sulky kids x

 

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One Born Every Second

I watched an episode of channel 4 series, One Born Every Minute the other night, it’s a programme I try to avoid as I tend to twist myself into knots watching the labour and then cry like an idiot when the little wrinkly babies are born. It’s not good for my nerves.

Everyone has their child-birth stories to tell (mostly those with kids) some scare the living daylights out of you enough to pass on the whole idea of procreation, but amid the blood, sweat, tears and god knows what else there are some funny tales that wont put you of eating you dinner. Sadly mine is one of those gross but funny mash-ups…sorry.DSCF2406

I was pregnant with my second child and at the 22 week scan hoping to discover the sex of our baby so I could literally go to town shopping. I was a little nervous as I knew Geordie really wanted a boy and he’d sulk for a while if the result was pink, but luckily I had other more pressing issues on my mind when meeting the Sonographer. As our unborn baby was making the most of my eating-for-two diet (far too much burger king and Kellogg cereal at 4am) I had been unable to go to the toilet for a while, and on the day of the scan it had been 14 days since I’d erm…..had a number 2.(Sorry I’m really trying to put it mildly, you can’t begin to imagine the stick I got off Geordie who thought it was hilarious) Here’s the science bit….an ultra sound scan involves using sound waves to build a picture of the baby in the womb, I know this, I’ve had them done before and I know it’s not like a xray of your whole lower body. So why I thought it necessary to tell the lovely, well-mannered, quiet sonographer in much detail all about my terrible constipation and warn him that he might get my baby confused with a rather large mass somewhere around my lower body, I don’t really know??

Thankfully he was obviously used to dealing with complete idiots and told me not to worry as he wasn’t going to scan my bowel which for future reference  is a totally different area of the body. There was no need for lights in the scan room during the ultra sound because my face was burning as bright as the sun with embarrassment, and Geordie got his comeuppance for laughing at me as we were told we were expecting a girl. He found it very hard to hide his disappointment and sloped off down the corridor while I went in search of some industrial strength Senakot. Now look who’s the Daddy’s Girl!

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Calamity Jane

It’s going to be a sad day today as I’m attending a family funeral. I’m going to write an upbeat blog post today in memory of such a wonderful person who always brought a smile to others.

I am easily the most accident prone person I know. As I kid growing up my parents could put me in a field of soft swirly grass and I’d still find something to hurt myself on, and I often did. I’m not talking about grazed knees or the odd bruise, those were the daily norm I’m talking dedicated A&E team at the children’s hospital. Don’t climb on the wall, they’d say, seconds later I would be screaming my lungs out having slipped legs akimbo on the wall and scraped the skin off my legs. Don’t jump on the chipboard manhole cover they’d say, moments later I had my legs stuck half way into the chipboard plank with my Sister running off to get my Dad to cut me out. Don’t go down the big hill on your roller boots they’d say, I stood up for a full minute this time thanks to momentum but then fell backwards and smacked my head off the asphalt with a loud thwack. At high school my maths teacher was constantly telling us not to bite the tops of our pens which I was in the middle of doing during one of these lectures and suddenly started choking as I had indeed swallowed the biro lid, well half swallowed hence the coughing fit. My most spectacular stunt was trying to hurdle a 5ft wall aged 11 and of course failing. I landed upside down on the wrong side of the wall with my elbow bent at a seriously nasty angle, 8 weeks in plaster followed and the hole in my elbow a permanent reminder that I am not indestructible. Maybe I’m not accident prone at all, maybe I’m a bit deaf….hello?

As I matured into a young adult I remained as dizzy as ever, regularly walking into lamp posts and bursting my nose all over the pavement. On a routine trip to the video shop (yes video shop) with my brother I came home sporting a blood soaked t-shirt thanks to an unsuspecting lamp-post. They’re everywhere!

Now that I’m older and have two other’s to look out for I’m slightly more aware of my surroundings as well as roadside fixtures and fittings. Now I have moved on to hurting myself on child related safety items, baby gates, stroller straps and clasps, car seats etc. I’m forever sporting blood blisters on my hand thanks to the buggy harness clasp and they last for ages. Luckily though the kids are safe and only suffer the usual bumps from jumping off the sofas and wrestling on the carpet, who’d have girls huh?

NoBloPoMo

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The Lending Library

Following on from my earlier post/rant about lack of money I am reminded of a saying my ex father-in-law used to say when I was off work on maternity leave ‘Another day at the lending library is it?’ Meaning, another day whiling away the hours doing nothing basically. Who’d have thought that I would go on to focus on the lending library quite so much 7 years later?

Cover of "George's Marvellous Medicine"

George’s Marvellous Medicine

I have now read every single children’s bookin the 0-3 and 4-7 age group at the local library (for research purposes of course) as my own short series of tales for the 4-7’s has finally begun to take shape. This is the first step in a very long process and I’ve still got some work to do before getting myself a literary agent however I wanted to take a minute to say thank you to a few people who have helped me to push forward with my writing dream and make it a reality.

You’ll not be surprised to read that my first thanks are to Geordie and our beautiful little girls. The girls have given me so much inspiration and they’ve often trashed what I thought was my best idea with the blink of an innocent eye. Geordie is just well…Geordie, always super positive and encouraging me to do random things such as rowing (?!) for the sake of gaining a fresh approach to my writing, I wouldn’t have even started the blog had it not been for him.

Thanks to my lovely sister Caroline for all the free advertising she’s done for the blog, and for allowing me to recall some of our childhood mishaps for all the world to read. To my super talented brother Andrew for agreeing to provide some illustrations for the books on completion, thank you and I will be calling in that favour very soon!

To all the people on Facebook that always answer my crazy research questions and who take the time to read the blog. Watching those viewing figures gives me a ton of hope so thank you very much, I hope it’s made you smile if not laugh occasionally? Last but definitely by no means least (I really mean that) thank you to anyone who has ever read the blog as this site is basically writing practise and experience to help me to break into the big bad world of publishing.

Wish me luck!

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It’s Good to be Long

The title of this blog is going to cover two completely different stories which have kept me very busy in the last week or so. I’m done with apologising for not blogging more regularly and banging on about my back (which is slightly better after the epidural treatment last week, thanks for asking) and if you don’t like my haphazard way of jumping in and out of the bloggisphere….tough. Ooooh check me out trying to be all harsh…I’m sorryI didn’t mean to upset you.

Credit Fashion Finder ASOS

I was out shopping with my sister a couple of months ago, I think we were in H&M at the time when I commented on the huge choice of tailed t-shirts and tops. By tailed I mean where the back hem is longer than the front hem. H&M stock this style in every colour and hue in their basic collection and personally I’m not a massive fan. They always remind me of Billy Connolly doing stand up in his black-tailed tee and odd shoes. For those young-uns who don’t know who Billy Connolly is, he played the bad guy in the last Garfield movie, and for those older peeps, yeah they made Garfield movie’s! On voicing my negative opinion on the tailed trend my sister, who is renowned for coming out with some really random opinions replied ‘Hey it’s always good to be long’.

I took a laughing fit at her latest doofus comment and even now I still don’t get it. She tried some feeble explanation based on us both being tall and often finding it frustrating to shop on the high street when it comes to maxi length dresses or trousers, but I still don’t see how a top that covers your behind and was previously championed by an aging, Scottish comedian who once danced naked around London’s famous Eros statue, would be a welcome addition to my wardrobe? I love the ensemble on the model pictured, but cant help but think it would look so much better if the tee wasn’t so long? Surely her figure looks bulky and unflattering from behind as the denim shorts are completely hidden? I’m yet to find another anti-long comrade in the argument as everyone else I’ve asked thinks it’s the bees. Bet my Dad would think it was stupid, but then again he is a big Billy fan. Hmmm.

Part two of the story is a bit of a twist on the title, it would be more apt to say It’s always good to belong. Like a lot of people I come from a dysfunctional family, my parents divorced when I was young, I have step-siblings and relations that don’t speak to each other. With our armed forces connections I’ve moved home almost 25 times now and my sister and me were born in foreign countries, so there’s two more passports to lose come holiday time. At Christmas I gave my Dad a book called ‘The Father’s Book, A Gift for you and your Father’ sounds like a great gift doesn’t it? You can have a look here. The book is stuffed full of questions about life and the aim is for my Dad to fill it in and return it to me as a keepsake for me and my family. Dad’s don’t talk do they? Since receiving the gift my Dad has realised that if he doesn’t recount the tales of his early life, we will never know what it was like and ultimately what shaped him into the man we know and love. I have just registered with Ancestry.co.uk and Genesreunited to find out more about my Dad’s family and after just one phone call to a distant second cousin I’ve heard tales of pit disasters, Indian adventures and a tragic death of a young baby and her mother. After moving around so often I’ve found it fascinating to uncover my working class roots in the North East of England  and I’m immensely proud to be a real Geordie Girl at heart. What’s your story?

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