My my, how time flies…is it Wednesday again already??
This weeks question has actually had me flummoxed:
What’s the weirdest habit/routine you have?
Now I know this is probably going to sound strange coming from me but I don’t really have any weird habits or routines.
I honestly don’t.
I have irritating to other people ones. OCD type habits. Annoying little rituals that drive Kenneth and Geeg crazy but nothing that reeks of oddness.
So I’ll tell you a couple of those instead.
- Whilst washing up I have a set order to what gets dunked and scrubbed first. It goes like this: glasses, cups, cutlery, plates, cooking utensils then pans. To me it’s just common sense-wash the ‘cleanest’ first all the way through to the grubbiest/baked on crustiest. This drives Kenneth mad, particularly when I’m hovering over him tutting and huffing. Hey, I like my shit the way I like it!
- When cleaning the house I have to start from the top and work my way down. Another bone of contention is when Kenneth offers to help and starts the jobs downstairs. Argh! You’re messing with my cosmic mojo, man. Just sit down and let me do my thang!
- Whenever Kenneth or Jean put The Boy to bed I have to say (and I can’t stress this enough-the world will likely end if I don’t. Or maybe we’ll be struck by lightening…something catastrophic anyway) “Don’t forget the door lock!”. and the minute they get back downstairs, the first words out of my mouth will always be, “Did you do the lock?!” This drives them insane. Like, glowing red eyes, I’m ready to kill you now, type crazy. In my defence though, on the couple of occasions I’ve bitten my tongue (drawing blood) and decided not to utter this sacred commandment, they’ve forgotten the bloody lock. Sigh.
- On visiting the cinema, I have to sit three rows from the back and slightly to the right (from facing the screen). Admittedly, this does sound a little odd but there’s reasons behind it. 1) I have to be able to see the edges of the screen otherwise, if there’s any roller coaster/dropping from high buildings/broomstick flying type action happening, I get a kind of motion sickness. If I can see the edges then my brain can cope and rationalises to itself, “Ah, it’s okay, this shit’s not real”. 2) My left eye is more dominant than my right. So if I can see more of the film using my left side, it’s better for me. Optimum viewing pleasure. :)
And I reckon that’s about it folks.
See? Not so weird really!
IF you want to take part in the weirdness, hop on over to Mama’s blog and check it out. You never know, you might learn something new about yourself. Go on…join the oddballs club!
The Boy has another new obsession and this one is really quite alarming.
A few weeks ago his class went on a trip to Fairburn Ings-a nature reserve type place where they experienced the delights of pond dipping and creepy crawly hunting.
(This is Oscar trying to say Fairburn Ings, cracks me up every time! :D )
During the afternoon, a little girl called Megan injured herself and Oscar’s support worker, Miss. C, had to whisk her off to hospital.
Oscar was quite fourth coming that afternoon and our conversation went like this:
The Boy (whilst engrossed with a model train review on his iPad): Megan hurt arm today, Mummy.
Me: Did she? Poor Megan. What happened?
The Boy: She went to hospital with Miss. C.
Me: How did she hurt her arm, Dude?
The Boy (with an ominous expression): It was the dragonfly’s fault.
Me: Oh. Okay.
And then I text Miss. C for the rest of the tale.
Apparently, little Megan had been climbing on a large dragonfly statue, slipped and fallen, breaking her arm and Miss. C had had to accompany her to the hospital to await the arrival of her parents.
So Oscar got it right…kind of.
That evening whilst I was tucking him up in bed, I tried to explain to him that if Megan was at school the following day then she’d likely have a pot on her arm.
He stopped wriggling around and regarded me wide eyed, “What’s a pot like?”, he asked, enthralled.
“Well, your body has bones in it to keep you up straight and sometimes if they get knocked really hard they can break. So the hospital put a hard case on your arm called a pot, to keep it together so it heals again”, I replied, quite impressed with my own answer.
He rolled the sleeve of his pyjama top up and scrutinised his arm intently, turning it this way and that, “Where are bones?” he asked, puzzled.
“They’re inside, dude. Under your skin”, I grinned.
Frowning, he ran one hand along the thin skin of his wrist and then nipped it forcefully, “Like veins? Look, Mummy. See?”
I batted his hand away and nodded, “Yeah like the veins but I’ve told you before about pulling on those! They’re supposed to be there!”
“But they’re blue!!”, he shouted gleefully, grabbing at his arm again.
Rolling his sleeve down quickly and ignoring his protests, I tucked him up, read ‘Lots of Nuts’ (yup, we’re still reading that every night!) gave him a kiss goodnight and forgot all about it.
The next day he was excited to see Megan in the playground sporting her new accessory. I’d already warned him (on pain of death) about touching it, so he followed her around merrily, observing her arm like it was a fascinating new creature he’d just discovered.
And it went on like this for days.
Megan’s pot was the highlight of conversation around the dinner table for a good fortnight.
Then one day last week I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when a rhythmic thumping noise started up from the living room.
I stuck my head around the door to find Oscar vigorously banging his arm against his toy box.
Grabbing him, I pulled him onto the sofa and asked, “What on Earth are you doing?!”
He grinned up at me, rubbing his red arm and stated happily, “Breaking arm, Mummy. Want to go to hospital with Miss. C and get a pot”.
For the love of God…
I sighed wearily and tried to explain that breaking an arm hurts…like, a hell of a lot. And that a trip to the hospital really wouldn’t be fun. Plus, he’d be accompanied by boring old Mummy and not Miss. C.
This seemed to quell his ideas and I breathed a sigh of relief.
That was until Miss. C informed me on Friday that he’d spent a good part of the afternoon banging his arm on the floor at school and then got teary eyed when she’d told him to stop it.
It seems this little plan of his hasn’t quite vanished as I’d hoped. In fact, The Boy appears to have figured out that if he does it at school then it will be Miss. C who whisks him off to the hospital.
Very clever of him, really.
Except now I don’t know what the Hell I’m going to do about it.
I can’t wrap the kid in bubble wrap but at this moment in time it’s sorely tempting.
All I can do is be extra vigilant and warn everyone else to do the same.
I’m hoping that this new obsession will wear off during the Summer holidays, at least he won’t be seeing Megan and the coveted pot everyday.
Until then, it’s a Red Alert.
We’re all on Oscar Watch!
This week has been a pretty tough one.
Sadly, Kenneth’s much loved Grandma passed away unexpectedly.
One of my close friends had a suspected heart attack and whilst in hospital they found a shadow on his lungs.
My Dad got rushed into hospital with a chest infection and whilst he was in there, they found other stuff wrong too- which could be connected to the infection, it’s not been clarified yet.
Thankfully, I received a brief email this morning from my Mum saying that he was feeling a lot better today and could possibly be released tomorrow.
But I’m struggling with all of this at the moment.
The main thing I’m finding difficult is not being able to just pick up the phone and call them whenever I get the urge to hear their voices.
We have FaceTime but my Mum can only use it when she’s in an area that has free WiFi and even then the connection is temperamental at best.
Plus it means that I have to wait for them to call me-which could be any time and if I’m not at home then I don’t get the call.
It’s proving a difficult one to get my head around, I’ve gone from knowing they were just up the road and having a ‘direct line’ to sitting and hoping that I might get a brief chat with them sometime soon.
My best friend has recently been out of commission too. She’s had some serious shit of her own to deal with and as a result has been incommunicado for quite some time. She’s getting better now, thankfully, and I should be seeing her tomorrow evening for a catch up but it feels like it’s been an age.
And since Kenneth finished his degree, his workplace has flung more and more shifts in his direction, making it damn near impossible for us to spend any quality time together. Lately, we really have been ships that pass in the night (or early morning, to be more accurate).
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve felt lonely.
Not just bored or restless.
But real, gut achingly, lonely.
And just as it was coming to it’s climax last night and I seriously felt like I was about to unravel, having spent a good portion of the evening worrying about my Mum and Dad plus crying over the huge gaping hole that appears to have grown inside me, a succession of wonderful things happened.
My phone pinged and I received an email from a fellow blogger. An ‘I saw this and thought of you’ mail. Just randomly. Out of the blue.
It’s content made me smile and that hole closed up just a fraction.
Then my incommunicado bestie rang and let me, very generously after all she’s been through of late, cry out every bit of pain I’ve been feeling and emotionally purge myself.
And the hole shrank some more.
Next up was a call from Kenneth’s Mum, I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to her but still, the offer and thoughtfulness was of huge comfort.
Then another fellow blogger whom I speak to privately called and we chatted about all sorts of randomness for well over an hour.
By this time, that hole had turned from an immeasurable swirling vortex into something tiny and manageable.
And then Kenneth rang from work (which never happens) to make sure I wasn’t contemplating throwing myself off the nearest cliff and the hole healed over.
I took myself off to bed, thoroughly exhausted and so very ready for sleep.
Today I feel drained but whole again.
That overwhelming feeling of aloneness has evaporated.
After such a stress filled emotional week and getting to the point last night where I genuinely felt like I’d reached my limit, it’s amazed me how much an effect those small acts of kindness from ‘virtual’ friends truly had.
So I want to thank you two (you know who you are) for dragging me out of my slump. I don’t know if you realised at the time what that meant to me.
And I’ve made a mental note for the future: If ever I feel so alone again, I know that there are people out there who care and who I can rely on to pull me up, shake me off and make me laugh.
Sometimes, a little note or a quick phone call is all a person needs :)
On our recent trip to Alton Towers I experienced my first cable car ride.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the view of the contorted metal constructions of the rides from our high perch.
The beautiful woodland scenery sprawling out below us.
And the amazing rolling hills and valleys that surrounded the park.
I did not love it when it slowed down and stopped mid crossing.
I did not enjoy the sensation of rocking from side to side in the breeze.
And nor did the realisation of the fact we were suspended in a small container dangling from a thin wire provide me with any kind of comfort.
Visions of scenes from James Bond flashed through my head as I contemplated how close we were to the tree line and whether or not I could jump, should I have to.
Thankfully we made it to the other side without having to perform any death defying stunts.
The Boy thought it was a hoot.
I disembarked shakily and decided to admire them from the safety of the ground instead.
We made our way up to bed through a throng of revellers who were attending a wedding reception at the hotel that evening.
The Boy settled down pretty quickly and was snoring away within minutes after his hard day filled with meltdowns and Driving School.
Geeg was also out like a light.
For this last night we’d decided to swap beds as Jean wanted an undisturbed sleep to put him in good stead for driving back the next day, so Jean and Oscar occupied the two singles and I got lumbered with the double bed and Geeg.
Now I’ve had the
misfortune pleasure of sleeping with her before.
Imagine going to bed with a large, wriggling, writhing octopus who snores like a buffalo and you get the picture.
I wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest.
But, it was a king sized bed and we’re only small, so I hoped it wouldn’t be too horrendous an experience.
I made myself comfortable and just as I was dozing off, a large group of whooping, whistling and shouting party goers made their way down the hallway outside our door.
Thankfully, they didn’t rouse the kids so I sighed, rolled over and tried again.
After the third time going on to 1.30am, I was gritting my teeth and mentally composing a venomous speech that I planned to spew fourth at the next lot of
inconsiderate twats wedding guests that decided to pound down our hallway.
Luckily for them I drifted off at that point only to be awoken at 3am with Geeg twisting my left boob like she was trying to open a particularly stubborn door knob.
My eyes flared, I slapped her hand away and hissed,”What on Earth are you doing?!”
I scrutinized her face in the darkness for signs of life.
And was rewarded with a gigantic snore as she shuffled and rolled in the opposite direction.
So I placed my foot in the small of her back and slid her as far away from me as I could without shoving her out of the bed completely.
For the rest of the night I slept with one eye open.
The Boy bolted upright in bed at 8am and grinned at me over the top of Geeg’s prone form, “Play in wardrobe?” he whispered hopefully.
I shook my head sternly, glanced over to Jean’s bed and put my finger to my lips.
Jean was laid on the top of his covers, fully clothed with one leg up and headphones firmly jammed into his ears.
Puzzled, I slid out of bed and crept over to him, leaning down as close as I could in the gloom to see whether or not he was yet conscious.
It was at that point that his eyes flared opened and he screamed which in turn, caused me to scream in response.
The Boy burst out laughing and Geeg grunted her disapproval at being woken so dramatically.
And there our day began.
After witnessing the absolutely miserable weather outside we decided it would be best to head on home after breakfast and so we dined, packed and got presented with the crazy bill upon checkout (I’m surprised there wasn’t a charge for air, they seemed to figure out a way to bill me for everything else).
I fished my purse out of my bag and reluctantly handed over my bank card whilst The Boy turned around to an elderly couple behind us and excitedly informed them, “Mummy’s got Hooters!”.
Geeg promptly collapsed onto the floor in a fit of giggles which only encouraged him to further elaborate on his statement, “Mummy’s got Hooters! Look, lady, look! Pretty Hooters!”
I felt the blood rush to my face as I turned to the stunned couple and pointed at my purse, “He’s referring to the owls on my purse, see?”, I stammered, whist throwing Geeg a murderous look.
(I will never stay there again. The Palace Hotel in Buxton, robbing people since 1911)
We piled into the car and set off for home.
About half way there, Geeg got a call from her boyfriend and was chatting away happily about her escapades at Alton Towers when Oscar, rather suddenly and very loudly exclaimed, “Daddy I need a poo“.
Geeg started her crazy giggling and once again I threw her ‘the look’ in the rear view mirror and then swivelled around to face The Boy who’s expression had turned oddly serious.
“Well have a poo dude-it’s okay, you’re wearing a nappy“.
He contemplated this for several seconds before stating, “Oscar want to poo at Alton Towers“.
Finding it difficult to contain my amusement now, I answered, “Sorry kiddo, no more Alton Towers. You’ll have to make do with pooing in the car” and turned back round to face the road, catching Jean’s smirk as I went.
Five minutes later and his voice piped up again, “Oh Daddy! I’m having a poo!”.
Well that was it, the entire car plus Geeg’s boyfriend erupted into uncontrollable laughter, all except for Oscar who had adopted a look of pure concentration.
We stopped at the services shortly after to attend to *ahem* bathroom breaks and I treated everyone to their much coveted Burger Kings and fended off demands for ice cream, “Definitely not in the hire car! I don’t care how careful you’ll be!”
We finally arrived home, both Jean and myself thoroughly shattered and the kids in high spirits, around 2.30 in the afternoon.
All in all, it was an insightful holiday.
I now know that:
The Boy can handle hotels.
That Geeg is a weird ass little thrill seeker (is that kid actually my child?!)
And that Oscar cannot be separated from Katie. Ever. If we should plan another trip together again (I have the bruises to prove it).
In fact, The Boy hasn’t stopped chattering about it since, plus he’s developed a new obsession-watching the roller coasters on his iPad. (Rather him than me-he’s on his own with that one!)
I don’t think I’ve fully recovered yet.
I could use a holiday (sans children) to get over my holiday.
Roll on October and Marrakech….87 sleeps and counting!! :)
It’s that time of the week again folks-you’ll all have to wait until tomorrow for the last instalment of Temporary Relocation of the Asylum as Weird Wednesday takes precedence (being Wednesday an’ all).
So today, Mama’s question is…drum roll, please…
What’s the weirdest thing you do to relax?
This made me chuckle rather naughtily but I promise I won’t go down that road, besides, it’s not exactly weird, right?! ;)
I didn’t have to think too hard about this, being the oddball that I am, so here we go!
1) I love to tie a strand of my hair in a knot and scratch the knot with my thumb nail.
It’s a comfort thing and half of the time I don’t even realise I’m doing it. I love the sensation of the taut hair rubbing against the sensitive skin under my nail. I can’t possibly tell you why-I just do! It feels good…and relaxing.
2) Sniffing Kenneth’s hair.
Not the hair on his head because that just smells like shampoo, more specifically his beard. I could happily spend hours (although I doubt very much he’d let me as that man can’t sit sit for longer than ten minutes at a time!) with my nose buried in his bristles. There’s something that’s just so damn intoxicating about that scent. It’s like what ‘new born baby’ smell is to others. It’s a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and an underlying musk that is man. If only it could be bottled, I’d spend hundreds…
(Are you concerned about the state of my mental health yet! ;) )
And lastly, this is a reeeeeally odd one…
3) Chewing sponge like gum.
Granted, I don’t do it these days but when I was a kid I adored bath sponges. Just to clarify here, I never actually swallowed, I simply ripped off pieces and chewed it like, well, gum! My Mum would despair every time she entered the bathroom and spotted a new chunk missing. The feel of it in my mouth is indescribable and honestly, even just writing about in now makes me salivate. I have put a stop to this bizarre habit these days but whilst I was pregnant with Geeg I had an uncontrollable craving for it-natural or synthetic, it didn’t matter. It was so strong that I ended up paying a visit to the docs to check whether or not chowing down on Spongebob would be unhealthy for the baby. He looked at me like I was absolutely insane and spoke very slowly in response but to my delight, he confirmed that it was quite safe. Geeg’s Dad promptly whisked me off to the nearest petrol station where I procured a huge car washing sponge and I’d devoured it within a week. It was pure heaven!
Now I know you’re concerned ;)
So there you have it, granted these are definitely weird ways to relax but hey, you’ve got to take your comfort where you can get it!
(Once again, hover over the pictures for that extra somethin’ somethin’-it’ll be worth it, I promise!)
I awoke at 7.30am after a rather broken night and nipped into the bathroom for a quick shower whilst everyone else was still snoozing (and snoring).
Upon re-entering the bedroom I caught The Boy knelt up in bed, his face inches from a sleeping Jean, peering intensely at his slumbering features. He jumped when he spotted me and his face lit up in a big grin, “Wakey up time?”, he whispered hopefully. I nodded in response and he leapt gleefully off the bed and headed straight for Narnia.
Once everyone was duly dressed, breakfasted and fully caffeinated, we were off again to meet up with Kenneth, his God daughter Jenny, his sister Katie and her boyfriend Paul at
The Gates of Hell Alton Towers.
Katie, Jenny, Kenneth, Geeg and Paul all headed straight for….can you guess?!
Yup, Sonic Spinball.
Now The Boy is in love with Katie. And I don’t just mean he loves her, he adores and worships her, is probably a more fitting description for his complete and utter devotion.
After our brief ‘hellos’ in the car park, how dare she leave his side so suddenly?!
Cue meltdown number 3.
The Mother of All Meltdowns.
A meltdown that lasted for over an hour.
One screaming, snotting, kicking, punching, writhing Boy who’s heart was apparently shattered into a million pieces.
After trying to contain, pacify, love and calm in the baking heat for an hour I ended up loosing my shit.
I never loose my shit.
This was an epic first for me.
Let me clarify here that I did not loose it with The Boy. No, I lost it with an incredibly rude woman who decided to walk backwards in order to continue enjoying the show like we were part of the attractions.
I asked her if she wanted a ‘f**king picture?!’.
*Rude, theme park woman, if you’re reading this then I apologise for releasing my frustrations in your direction. And for using the ‘F’ word. Bad form on my part. Tut tut.
Once Katie returned, calm was restored, although my insides refused to stop their uncomfortable churning for the rest of the day.
We wandered around for a while, taking in the sights and Katie, Paul and Geeg begged to be set free to enjoy the
heart attack inducing full delights the park had to offer. So we distracted The Boy with promises of Cloud Cuckoo Land and the Charlie And The Chocolate Factory Ride, plus….
wait for it….
So off they went.
When The Boy finally noticed their disappearance, we told him they were queuing for the toilet.
And that worked.
For four whole hours.
Until Katie finally returned to collect a grumbling Jenny (who was tall enough for a couple of the ‘big’ rides but not all).
Yeah, the toilet excuse didn’t work this time.
Cue meltdown number 4.
There was only one thing for it….back to Driving School (for the third time).
This calmed him down immeasurably as he pootled diligently around the track and then admired his photo ‘driving licence’ on the monitor afterwards.
He also loved to watch the roller coasters. (He doesn’t get this from me-I blame Jean entirely).
And so we
happily observed these monsters from a great distance whilst I resisted the urge to get down on my hands and knees, close my eyes tightly and crawl away from these monstrous beasts as fast as my knees would carry me.
cowered stood valiantly by my son’s side as he laughed and clapped his hands with glee at the sight of them all.
I thought I would encounter a brief reprieve from all the trauma when we made our way through the forgotten woodland trails.
Do I ever get let off that easily?!
We’d just made our way up a long flight of precarious steps when The Boy, who was sat atop Kenneth’s shoulders, decided he didn’t want to be up there any longer.
But he didn’t feel like speaking at this point and notifying anyone of his change of mind.
He simple slid himself from his perch.
It was only down to Jean’s lightening reflexes that he didn’t tumble backwards down the steps we’d just climbed.
It was here that my ulcer screamed rather dramatically and hasn’t really quietened since….
Here, look at some pretty pictures of the woods whilst I pop some Rennies.
Finally we made it to the Congo River Rapids, the only ride I absolutely adore.
I looked down at The Boy and asked, “Will you stay with Katie whilst Mummy goes on this?”
His eyes turned to saucers and brimmed with liquid, his bottom lip quivered dramatically and he sucked in breath before whispering, “Can’t like that Mummy. Mummy stay with Oscar”.
God damn it all to Hell, F**k and shit.
“Okay,” I sighed, resigned to the fact I wouldn’t get on the one ride I most coveted, experienced a mere 14 years previously.
Instead I stood on the bridge and watched for Jean, Geeg, Paul and Jenny to come whizzing around the corner.
The highlight of my day.
We took our weary asses off to the car park and enjoyed a wonderful picnic prepared by the fabulous Kenneth.
Kenneth and the gang departed with
please, for the love of all things Holy, don’t go fond farewells and we made our way back to the hotel where The Boy ordered his astronomically priced ice cream and I entertained my first beer of the day.
We made our way up to the room with Jean reprimanding The Boy- “Don’t say no to me!” (he didn’t want to go to bed) and so Oscar bit his lip, vigorously shook his head from side to side whilst saying “Yes!” through gritted teeth.
You’ve got to admire his tenacity.
Day 3 (the last day) coming on Thursday ;)
We finally did it.
successfully relocated The Asylum to a hotel in Buxton, half an hours drive from Alton Towers theme park, for three days this last weekend.
I could go on a massive rant here about how disgusting the hotel was- how rude the staff were, how ridiculously over priced things were (£6 for three scoops of ice cream! Pfftt!!) or about how we were sneakily charged for things we weren’t informed about when we checked in (including the parking at an astronomical £5 per night oh and breakfast for The Boy because apparently, “Little children don’t eat breakfast” I mean, WTF?!).
But I won’t.
I could tell you about the fact I am
a complete wuss *ahem* allergic when it comes to rides (or even a large bump in the road) and how I can’t even look at them without them making me feel sick and dizzy.
But I won’t bore you with that either.
No, instead, I’m going to tell you all about The Boy’s reaction to out little sojourn. (Tip: hover over pictures with your mouse to find that added extra bit of humour in all this ;) ).
Jean’s arrival, late Friday morning, in the hired Chevrolet (a new one for Oscar that he can now check off his ‘car spotting’ list) set the wheels in motion for an emotional roller coaster of a weekend.
Upon arriving at the hotel and checking into our room (which had only one usable plug socket we all fought over like starving dogs on a rabbit every night, having phones and whatnot that required charging) The Boy took a particular liking to a huge mahogany wardrobe and quickly disappeared into it’s innards like a well established cast member from Narnia.
After tripping out of it for the 30th time (and breaking it’s back board), he was banned from re-entering it’s magical insides for the duration of our stay. If I get a bill for that I swear I’ll be sticking it straight back in the post addressed to Mr. Tumnus.
We freshened up and then headed out to the Theme Park in high spirits-Geeg regaling us gleefully with the plot of Final Destination 3 whilst my stomach ulcer growled menacingly and Oscar grinned obliviously.
We took the monorail into the park (Oscar’s favourite bit of the whole trip), ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various contorted constructions, and got spat out right in front of Cbeebies Land.
A perfect start….so you might think.
Geeg, on the way in, had informed The Boy that there was a Mike The Knight dragon ride (don’t ask me why, that girl is mean) and so we encountered Meltdown Number 1.
Cue sulks and screams of protestation at the lack of presence of a bloody dragon.
Then add to that one impatient teenage girl, desperate to go on everything right now.
Equals two quickly frazzled parents.
And a tug of war.
Boy and Cbeebies versus Geeg and Sonic Spinball.
Neither me nor Jean planned to go on any roller coasters and Geeg already knew she would either have to go it alone or wait until Kenneth showed up on the Saturday should she require a riding buddy.
So we compromised.
Jean, Geeg (she insisted on going on too) and Oscar braved the Tree Fu Tom ride together and then I was to escort Geeg to Spinball whilst Oscar went on Postman Pat with Jean.
Which I did and then waited patiently for her re-emergence from a safe distance only to find her back at my side not ten minutes later having a full on stropping fit because she decided she couldn’t go on alone. People were “looking at her funny” apparently.
We wandered around for a bit getting acquainted with our surroundings, Oscar bursting sporadically into wails of despair over the non-existent dragon and Geeg moping ahead, dragging her feet and mumbling under her breath about how life is ‘totally unfair’.
Jean and I finally managed to cajole them into a go on Battle Galleons (a boat ride where passers by get to shoot water cannons at those on board).
A particularly lovely boy on the dock appeared to take a shine to yours truly and decided it was his mission in life to enter me into Alton Towers’ first ever wet t-shirt competition. Add that to the fact that I was preoccupied with Oscar’s increasing cries of indignation because he was getting wet, and well, I didn’t get chance to defend my station.
I disembarked and looked like I’d taken a full on shower in my dress.
A dress that was now completely see through.
I wrapped my soggy cardigan around me self consciously and we ploughed on.
Next up was the quest to procure a rock lolly. The Boy had spotted several children sporting this much coveted sticky accessory and was adamant that he should own one too.
By this time it was 5.30pm and everything was closing.
The minute I spied another ‘rehydration station’ AKA a shop, it’s shutters would descend right before our eyes.
Cue Meltdown Number 2.
Thankfully we made it to the gift shop in the main entrance before it closed for the night and grabbed a foot long rainbow one that The Boy decided to decorate the interior of the hire car with on the way back to the hotel.
We sat down to a beautiful meal that evening, The Boy taking a shine to our waitress and deciding it would be fun to stroke her like a newly acquired pet at any given opportunity, that was until, she presented him his dinner adorned with a lettuce leaf on the side.
He lifted it up gingerly between index finger and thumb, a thoroughly disgusted expression crossing his features and proceeded to flick it in her direction, whispering, “I can’t like that, it’s for feeding snails”. (In his defence, his latest school project has been Mini Beasts-I’m sure snails do love lettuce).
Once dinner had been consumed and The Boy had thoroughly horrified the waiting staff, we made our way wearily up to bed where we barricaded the entrance to Narnia for the night and hunkered down-The Boy and Jean occupying the double bed and me and Geeg in the two singles.
I enjoyed a fitful nights sleep full of giggling, whispering, snoring (Geeg and Jean) and the scraping of fingernails down headboard (The Boy).
Part two tomorrow ;)
I’ve just returned from a three day holiday with the kids to Alton Towers (I’ll tell you all about that tomorrow when I’ve recovered!)
The theme park is enormous and I’m not exactly a thrill seeker, so it was with much delight (and relief) when we stumbled upon a woodland trail that very few people used.
Along this forgotten path we came across a beautiful structure in the middle of a small, rather overgrown lake.
I feel that it’s obvious neglect makes it even more stunning and special.
Quite a ‘relic‘ in this modern, technologically advanced park. Wouldn’t you agree?
Imagine a building filled with the worst kinds of people society has to offer.
I don’t mean criminals here and we’re not talking about a prison.
No, just a building containing people that fall into one of the following categories:
- Big breasted bimbos with nothing but air between their ears bickering with one another endlessly or shagging anything remotely male looking.
- Primped, primed, buffed and plucked men who also possess very little grey matter, strutting around like cocks, also arguing with their counterparts and shagging anything remotely female looking.
Now these people are all fame seekers and will do absolutely anything asked of them in order to get their fake tanned, duck pouting mugs all over the tabloids.
They are vulgar, obnoxious and rude. They can barely string legible sentences together and repeatedly use phrases such as “innit”, “whatevah” and “Know wha’ I mean?”
And they have zero morals when it comes other peoples’ feelings.
Now imagine stepping into that building and surrounding yourself with these folks for a couple of hours everyday.
Watching them cheat shamelessly on their partners (who are not in the building), argue with each other constantly about the most ridiculous subjects, swear relentlessly and dress up in stupid costumes to do meaningless tasks just so they get a little more of that much coveted fame.
Does that sound an appealing way to spend your time?
Does it sound like a situation you would willingly put yourself into?
Nope, it doesn’t to me either but millions of people do just that every single day.
This is Big Brother reality TV show.
And it’s shocking but not in a ‘celebrity gossip scandal’ kind of way.
It’s more of a sad, ‘is this what we’ve amounted to?’ way.
I hate Big Brother.
There, I said it. And I never use the word ‘hate’ lightly.
To me it is a representation of all that is wrong with society today. It’s full of people who are desperate for that ‘free ride’ in life and will trample all over anyone who gets in their way to achieve it.
The idea, initially, was an interesting one: Set up a group of mixed individuals who’ve never met, in a house filled with cameras at every corner and watch the drama unfold.
A fascinating social experiment.
However, these days it’s solely about the hype and the scandal and the people that enter The House are chosen not for their diversity, ethics, intelligence or culture but for their pure shock value.
And the general public seem to lap this up with relish.
What is wrong with this picture?
This is not a soap or something that is acted. It’s not something you can shake your head at and say, “Well, at least it’s not real!”
These are real life people behaving in the most diabolically immoral ways imaginable.
And the public seem to think this is entertainment at it’s best.
My problem with a show like this is all about desensitisation.
If, as an individual, you are exposed to something you think is wrong/disgusting/shocking/appalling regularly, then eventually you become desensitised to it.
You accept it.
It’s not wrong, disgusting, shocking or appalling any more.
Something inside you has been altered by that exposure.
Cheating on a partner is now normal.
Fighting is now normal.
Swearing every other word is now normal.
Bitching and back stabbing is now normal.
And the list goes on…
My personal dislike for this show goes even further than that too.
Why would I want to spend my evening watching a group of fake nobodies talking rubbish?
Why would I want to get wrapped up in the sensationalism of who slept with who?
Why would I then want to read in the papers about how distraught their partners, on the outside, are the following day? (This is news worthy, I ask you?!)
This is not a social experiment and these people are not authentic in any way, shape or form.
They are chosen specifically for their lack of morals, ethics and standards.
They are chosen to shock.
The trouble is, however, that these days the public are proving more and more difficult too shock.
So Big Brother creators are having to step up their game with every new series.
Where will it end??
Personally, I want to keep my ability to be shocked intact. I don’t want to become desensitised to the badness that goes on in this world.
If I don’t have my knowledge of what is right and wrong to fall back on, then what am I left with?
And what exactly would I be instilling in my children-our future generation, if I let my ideals slip?
Sadly, not a great deal I suspect.
No, I’ll stick to a life without Big Brother thanks, I intend to raise my brood better than that.