Saturday, 16 May 2015

10 Ways having a dog is NOT like having a baby

You've all heard it! Here is why it is not the same. Feel free to add some!

1. You can give them away.

2. It is acceptable to lock them in a cage.

3. You can leave them outside the supermarket.

4. Convention says you chuck them in the boot of the car.

5. You feed them by putting a bowl of mush on the floor when you feel like it.

6. Their teeth shouldn't go anywhere near your nipples. Ideally.

7. They don't ask why.

8. You take them to the vet once a year if you're lucky (rather than the doctor every week).

9. When they wake you up at the crack of dawn you can throw them a bone and shout at them to shut up.

10. They don't have to go to god damn awful birthday parties.

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Why can't we be friends?

I went for a drive today, for about 40 minutes, through gorgeous countryside and some scenic little villages. As I approached a village I saw a cluster of beautifully kept thatched cottages, then a quaint little village shop, a tea shop and then more thatched cottages. It was all surrounded by lush trees and fields and to be honest, was something straight out of my dreams. Very English, old fashioned.
As I bumbled along trying to observe the 20mph speed limit, I imagined selling our house and somehow finding a tiny yet amazing cottage of our own to move to, and how somehow I would work from home, keep chickens and look out at the view all the time.

I rounded a corner and there was a house with a St George's cross flag proudly flapping in the garden. A couple of doors down there was a Union Jack (on proper flag poles of course, this is no lower class village!) and then I noticed a few posters for a certain political party dotted around.
I was so disappointed! I don't want to live amongst a bunch of racists!

I don't understand why people want to keep England all to themselves, why they have such issues with foreigners "taking all our jobs" and "stealing our medical care". How does that make sense? 
Why is it "ours"?
 Why is one person entitled to more or less than anyone else? 
We don't choose to be born and we don't choose where to be born, so surely if we're in a country which has these luxuries then we are lucky? If those less fortunate travel here to try to get in on the action, that just makes them smart. And people DIE trying to get here.

I don't know, the whole national pride (of any country) just makes me really uncomfortable. It's good to celebrate culture and differences, and be proud of our history and show these things to visitors, but when we start suggesting one country or region is better than another it all gets a bit horrible. Even popular sports between countries make me uneasy.
Why can't we be friends?

People cling to their nationality and monarchy as if that is how life has and always should be. Monarchy is actually a fairly recent thing, and if your ruler was Henry VIII or Queen Victoria would you love them as much? It's gone all celebrity and there's no way you'd admire the Middleton so much if she was ugly and camera-shy.
As for the "this is how it has always been" argument, No, it really hasn't. For a long time we didn't have immunisations, but now only very  odd sceptics of science would dare to put their child's life at risk. How it has always been is not the future.
If you weren't white in the not so distant past your life in Britain could be a nightmare, although some archaic political parties today still think that would be fair.
If you dared to joke about the Queen's speech, it would be the traditional thing to have your head cut off, preferably in front of your family. Mmm nice.
I'm talking about progress, a more informed future- do you REALLY believe any race is less human than ours? That because they were born in a different place that means "tough luck, this is ours"?
You really think that your kids socialising with "their" kids is going to infect them somehow? It's such a load of rubbish.
It's backwards, it's ignorance. Maybe there is a reason for that ignorance, but not now. I'm telling you here and now, that it's not ok.
You CAN be friends.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

She's in Fashion

OMG the kid is so into her clothes right now. I'm afraid she may be following in her mum's quirky (read: odd) style footsteps.
Ever since dressing in yellow leggings and a yellow t-shirt and declaring "I'm a banana", that has been the go-to outfit for Daphne Duck. If there is green in the equation it's obviously "some apple".
However, somewhat encouraged by her mother, Daph has also adopted stripes as her uniform whole-heartedly. Most of the time I am really happy for her to, erm, express herself with colourful outfits, and you may have even caught me googling "yellow shoes" last week, just so she could complete the banana look, BUT...
there are times when I have to suggest she has a word with FiFi.
You see, FiFi loves her rainbow leggings, and she loves her rainbow top. She loves her rainbow socks, and she loves all rainbow things generally. BUT, there comes a time, early in the morning, when FiFi has had a bit of special blueberry juice the night before, when rainbow covering every inch of Daphne's ALREADY LOUD body is a bit too much. Let's tone down on the visuals at least, right?
I do not want to stifle the kid. But seriously, she looks like she's on a Gay Pride march. Which would be fine, I'd be totally ok with that, but she's a bit young yet.

PS: Sorry for saying OMG. I've been hanging out with 8 year olds.

Tuesday, 15 April 2014


Hey, long time no write!
I have been quite busy lately, and it has led me to make a few decisions... My small Daphne duck is 3 now, and goes to nursery a few days a week.
We need a new fence, and an MOT for the car, and I'm getting fed up of socks and pants with holes in (definitely not the kinky kind). I need to go back to "real" work. With real money, which can actually pay for stuff.
I'm teaching again now, and it's fine, but it takes up a lot of time. And I'm knackered.

I also happened to get a lot of orders this month, GREAT! My effort and marketing is finally paying off! However, completing these orders has been tricky. Stressful. I've even let a couple of people down, and I am not a fan of that at all. And if it isn't fun, I don't want to do it.

Poor old Daph is having to cope with a lot of changes at the moment, two different nurseries, no mum at her beck and call every minute (phew!) and her sleeping pattern is all over the place, making for a tired and grizzly family. On the days I'm at home with her I want to be cuddling, making cardboard box villages and painting animals, not checking my phone for order details and nipping away to sew buttons on.

I can't keep up, something has got to give! And it looks like it's the craft... I know some people are superwomen and can master all of these things and be super-organised, but I am definitely not that woman.

There is no way this could be the end. I would go crazy.
So, I am going to stop taking orders for now. Instead I'll be selling what I've already made (A LOT!), and making things when I get the chance. I will hopefully be more motivated, and make some beautiful one-off items which I'll put in the Etsy shop. I won't panic if nobody buys them, as it will be for fun again, for me, and I'll be happy :) hoooooray!

I won't lie, when that little icon pops up to say someone has ordered an item, it's the ultimate validation isn't it? Someone wants me, they want something I made! They like it, they would pay actual money for it! It's a huge buzz, and I am not looking forward to missing out on that, tears may be shed... but lately the t-shirts I've been making have had quite specific requirements, which don't involve a lot of my own creativity, which wasn't really the idea. I'd much prefer people buy my ideas...because I'm a cow like that. If I have limited time now to sew and make, I want it to be on projects made up entirely by me, things that I love working on.

Ironically, since writing this post (it took a few days of bits as I'm THAT hectic) I have had LOADs of Etsy orders! Way more than ever, what's going on?? And a big order for the lovely upcoming The Little Geekery Company, which is going to be awesome.
So I need to get those all finished first... and then have a think...

How do you keep organised, and keep hold of all your different hats? :)

Saturday, 31 August 2013

How not to decorate

Well! You probably haven't noticed I've been busy, but if you have, I love you! We've been moving into our new house, only two hours, and yet what feels like a world away, from our "home". 
I've got to admit, I really wanted to live in the proper countryside, out in the sticks, and we viewed some amazing places, but realistically we wanted to be in a town and able to walk to places. 
Now we are here, I am not disappointed. We have the best of both worlds. And I feel a bit like I'm tempting fate saying that when we're only a few weeks in, but I'm truly chuffed. We are a stones throw from shops and parks and playgroups (oh and pubs) and yet tractors regularly bustle down the road and a five minute car journey will always involve field views and lots of sky! Is that weird? I notice the sky more... 
I swear to god the people here are calmer, friendlier, and so damn nice. And I lived in a lovely place before, so here just seems crazy nice. But that could just be the holiday-feeling housie honeymoon? Or I haven't run into the local nutter yet? ( I've met a couple of nutters but they were so nice that they hardly count..) 

ANYWAY, turns out when you get a new house you have to do shit to it. Which got me thinking that I really am jealous of those fortunate folk who do NOT have to paint their own skirting boards. 
That was my boring task today, and it's all so much more intense than plain old wall painting. That gloss stuff is hardcore, right? Concentration.
Anyway, I had nearly finished the bedroom and was singing away to Ultimate Eighties, when my husband popped the door open to check how it was going. 
Cue, cat leaping in and having a good old poke about, as she likes to know what is going on. She jumps onto the freshly painted windowsill quite calmly, only to be verbally attacked by her crazy male owner, who is losing his rag VERY SPEEDILY. 
A tirade of swear words and exasperated actions make her go from batshit to apeshit, and she flaps about running from surface to surface, leaving a permanent glossy trail in her wake. 
My lovely husband does not remain calm. I can only look on and sigh.
I am not totally keen on his "throw white spirit EVERYWHERE!" approach, but this is met with more panic. 

The house fucking stinks. The cat fucking stinks. 
My life... Ah! I'm pretty lucky really.

Monday, 22 July 2013


At some point, roughly 20 minutes into hairdrying FiFi the soft doll (who had earlier been puked on) I laughed. This is just not something I realised I would be doing with my life. Especially more than once.And all of a sudden it was hilarious.
Fifi is the perfect size to fit into the crook of a toddler arm, and therefore she NEVER leaves the toddler arm. Sometimes she is briefly forgotten, but then she is remembered in a wave of panic and yelling. WE NEED FIFI.

FiFi is the 4th person at dinner. She tests most experiences for the child. FiFi go down slide! FiFi go on swing! Ahh swing safe.

FiFi must be in crook of arm while we are reading books. FiFi sits on the edge of the table "watching" while we are cooking. She always wants one of whatever we make.
FiFi sure is fucking annoying sometimes. She sneaks into all photos of my cute cherub and has taken over the role of the dummy in photos, you know, that embarassing thing that shows up in photos and proves what a shit parent you really are.

See, FiFi is a mucky little tart. Even though I am forced to "surface wash" her most days, and sometimes sneak her off for an illegal machine wash ("FiFi has just popped to the shops, don't worry!") she still manages to get covered in shit, all the time.
I guess she gets hugged all night, rubbed with sweat and dribble... And then she can't always get everything in her mouth at brekkie... then she soaks up the footprints on the slide... and flies into the grass when for a split second the princess thinks she doesn't love her, maybe she said something a bit off? Like "You should be out of nappies by now FatArse" or something...

And then spaghetti in tomato sauce can be a really tricky thing to eat when your limbs are stuffed with wadding and someone has a tight grip around your chest.
Taking a dip in the paddling pool can play havoc with your innards and colours, and even though it's really funny when the cat bites your head or crotch, it can really take its toll on your outfit, you know?

So when you think you've got it easy, chilling in the car seat with the girl, gliding through the Italian countryside, feeling sleepy, it's a bit of a shock to suddenly feel warm prune-y vomit hitting your soft little carcass and soaking into all of your seams.
(I'm sensing a slight double meaning here, with my life)

So yeah, I'm not sure if I've confused myself with FiFi there, but hey, we live pretty similar existences, at the beck and call of a small dictator.
But I feel a little bit like FiFi has won in the favouritism stakes, when I am standing for hours on end, washing and then hairdrying the little fucker so that she, FiFi, can go to sleep.

Thursday, 4 July 2013

Emotional Eating

It's no use, I'm going to have to admit that I love food and it is an emotional crutch for me. (That and wine)

I'm sad, I eat. I'm happy, I eat. 
Eat to celebrate, eat to commiserate. I eat when I'm stressed, and over stretched, and I eat when I'm bored or lonely. 
I like to eat with friends, and insist on a meal out with the hubby once in a while. Love a BBQ. 
I like eating out in restaurants and pubs, I like eating in the open air... I like takeaways... 
I really like cooking (with a glass of wine) and being creative with ingredients. I LOVE trying new recipes and new dishes from foreign countries. 
When I go into a supermarket abroad I just wander down the aisles fascinated by the different food and smells and awkward sounding names. 

I worry that it's an actual hobby, an interest. I'm usually waiting for the next meal. 

I'm the opposite of that Sam I Am character. 
Yes I'll eat them on a house, yes I'll eat them on a mouse. 
I WILL eat them on a chair, I WILL eat them ANYWHERE. 

Houston, we have a problem, Nic can't stop eating. Any ideas?

Now if you'll excuse me for a minute, I'm feeling a bit peckish...