They do warn you that you lose all dignity from the moment you become pregnant.
I would have to agree, especially when I think about a scenario involving stirrups, 4 midwives, 2 student doctors plus the tea lady all watching as Anna travels down the birth canal and me saying 'I'm feeling tired. Can I go home now? We can continue the party tomorrow night'.
However, I actually thought that dignity could be restored once the horrors of childbirth had been cast to a long and distant memory. It appears not!
Now that Anna is fully potty-trained, she is using public toilets like everybody else. So, whilst out shopping, Anna and I occasionally find ourselves using the facilities available. Unfortunately, I sometimes need the lavatory myself and I have no choice but to take Anna with me if we are on our own. I suppose I could leave Anna to wander around outside by herself but I'm not sure that it would be the wisest idea.
Sharing a toilet cubicle with a 3 year old is not good. During these occasions, Anna has been known to:
Shout, in a very loud voice, "Mummy, are you doing a wee or a poo? before then shouting 'Mummy is just doing a big wee and then we are coming out' so that the whole queue can hear us.
Or, and this is her favourite option and the one that she does on virtually every occasion,
Open the locked door whilst I am mid-flow and say 'Look everybody. Mummy is doing a wee-wee. Isn't she a good girl. Give Mummy a clap".
Meanwhile, I am sat on the toilet trying to kick the door closed with my foot, pull Anna back into the cubicle and pull my trousers up, all at the same time.
Of course, most people then laugh at Anna and so this just encourages her to do it the next time that we find ourselves in the same situation.
You will no longer find me in any public toilet anywhere until Anna decides that public announcement officer is not the career she wishes to pursue!
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Saturday, 3 July 2010
How to Alienate Your New Neighbours
It appears that we are living in Gardener's World.
This has proved a problem, seeing as though James and I are not the best gardeners in the world.
We have moved to a house with a much bigger garden than we had previously. Even our electric lawn mower took one look at it and refused to start. Hence why James is now the proud owner of a very shiny mower with automatic start and petrol fumes. He is taking great pride in cutting the grass at the moment!
Our cul-de-sac does boasts rather a lot of houses with spectacular gardens. There is a covenant on all the houses on our estate that states that the front garden must remain open (No hedges or fences) so that it has an 'open-plan feel' and that it is a very friendly place to be, with no boundaries to make us feel enclosed from each other. (What a shame that the school playground doesn't adopt the same approach). This all works very well except you then get a huge pressure to make sure that your garden is 'up to scratch'. One of our neighbours actually told us that maintaining a nice garden is for the benefit of the neighbours more than yourself. (His garden is actually amazing and the best in the whole estate. He spends 3 whole days per week out there, he uses a fork, normally used for eating your dinner, to prick the soil and even measures the space between plants and ensures the strips on his lawn are matching!!!)
All of this is fine if you have 3 whole days to spend manicuring your garden (and many of our neighbours do have the time, being retired). However, some more sensible people have taken the approach of having perfectly manicured lawns but without the bedding plants and shrubbery.
We have moved to house which boasted a very impressive bed of plants and shrubbery but was beginning to look rather wild after a harsh winter and no love and attention. Therefore, we felt that the best thing to do was turf most of the beds, leaving one or two, including the beautiful magnolia trees, for colour. After all, what would the neighbours prefer - a garden full of wild shrubs and plants with weeds galore or a nicely mowed lawn.
Therefore, we took a number of quotes from (what we thought) respectable gardeners. There was one gardener who took one look at it and said it was too big a job for him. Eventually we chose a gardener who seemed very polite and knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he then sent his assistant round.
Gary had 5 earrings up each ear and a tattoo of a completely naked lady on his right arm. He was shaven-haired and had a black eye. None of this bothered me so much. You shouldn't judge a person by what they look like.
Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth, it became quickly apparent that Gary was not that far from the stereotype. This guy could swear like you have never heard before and he was also not backwards in coming forward with his opinions. Within the first hour I had heard all about his 3 ex-wives who were all described in very non-flattering terms, how he was currently going though his 3rd messy divorce and was sleeping on a mate's floor, how he wasn't racist but that the BNP did have a point and how he had been beaten up by a load of Bouncers in a nightclub and he hadn't done anything except smack a guy around the head because he stood in the way of the TV when Manchester City were playing.
He also insisted on having a coffee (made by me) every 40 minutes while he phoned his solicitor to consult him about his ex-wife or the impending court case about the bouncers.
As you can imagine, this didn't go down brilliantly with the neighbours, who are very skilled in overhearing conversations and matters only got worse when one of our neighbours tried to consult him about the work he was doing. The conversation went..
Neighbour (Posh voice with a Poodle on a lead): "Excuse me young man. Would you mind telling me what you are doing?"
Gary: "I'm ripping these plant out."
Neighbour: "And what do your propose you are going to do with them?"
Gary: "Dunno. Ask me boss. He'll probably burn 'em like."
Neighbour: "That is terrible. I think it's a disgrace. And what is the home owner proposing to do with this garden?"
Gary: "With all due respect, it is none of my business. I have just been hired to rip it out."
At this point, the posh poodle and it's owner walks off to go and consult with the other neighbour who had come out of their house to see what was going on.
It was at this unfortunate moment that I happen to come outside with the 11th coffee of the day. Gary then proceeds to tell me all about the conversation. He then follows this up by whispering to me 'Don't Worry love, I know how to really wind them up' and before I get a chance to say anything, he shouts out
'Ay Mrs Gibson. I think the hot tub will look really great here, you sipping champagne in your bikini and being able to watch the neighbours coming and going'.
Oh God!
The neighbours, after over hearing this, have now gone into information overload while I just go red and wonder what to do next. Do I go over and make some half-hearted attempt at a joke with them all or do I just smile politely and go back inside?
I chose the latter.
3 days later, Gary has finished (in a job that was meant to last a day and a half maximum) and the boss returns to level the soil and turf the beds. Thankfully, he is extremely polite and actually knows some of our neighbours so calm is temporarily restored.
However, another neighbour then decides to approach him to enquire as to the whereabouts of the plants that have now disappeared. On informing her that these plants were now no longer around, the 'helpful' neighbour informs us that the people living here 6 years ago were actually botanists and their job was to keep plants from going extinct and to preserve extremely rare and precious plants. Our beds were full of them apparently, "bringing much enjoyment to the neighbourhood'. Great!
Apparently, our gardener didn't have a clue. So much for qualifications in Horticulture! Thankfully, he was polite enough to diffuse the situation and convince our neighbour that it was individual choice and that a neat garden was better than a scruffy one, albeit with rare and precious plants in it! If it had been Gary who had been presented with the same information, I fear that the neighbour would have been told where she could put the rare plants.
Since then, I have had yet another neighbour comment on what a "neat garden you now have. Shame about the beautiful plants though isn't it".
Oh dear!
James and I are currently undertaking studies in 'How to Survive in a Small Village'. At the moment, we are failing the course in spectacular fashion. Certainly makes life interesting though!
This has proved a problem, seeing as though James and I are not the best gardeners in the world.
We have moved to a house with a much bigger garden than we had previously. Even our electric lawn mower took one look at it and refused to start. Hence why James is now the proud owner of a very shiny mower with automatic start and petrol fumes. He is taking great pride in cutting the grass at the moment!
Our cul-de-sac does boasts rather a lot of houses with spectacular gardens. There is a covenant on all the houses on our estate that states that the front garden must remain open (No hedges or fences) so that it has an 'open-plan feel' and that it is a very friendly place to be, with no boundaries to make us feel enclosed from each other. (What a shame that the school playground doesn't adopt the same approach). This all works very well except you then get a huge pressure to make sure that your garden is 'up to scratch'. One of our neighbours actually told us that maintaining a nice garden is for the benefit of the neighbours more than yourself. (His garden is actually amazing and the best in the whole estate. He spends 3 whole days per week out there, he uses a fork, normally used for eating your dinner, to prick the soil and even measures the space between plants and ensures the strips on his lawn are matching!!!)
All of this is fine if you have 3 whole days to spend manicuring your garden (and many of our neighbours do have the time, being retired). However, some more sensible people have taken the approach of having perfectly manicured lawns but without the bedding plants and shrubbery.
We have moved to house which boasted a very impressive bed of plants and shrubbery but was beginning to look rather wild after a harsh winter and no love and attention. Therefore, we felt that the best thing to do was turf most of the beds, leaving one or two, including the beautiful magnolia trees, for colour. After all, what would the neighbours prefer - a garden full of wild shrubs and plants with weeds galore or a nicely mowed lawn.
Therefore, we took a number of quotes from (what we thought) respectable gardeners. There was one gardener who took one look at it and said it was too big a job for him. Eventually we chose a gardener who seemed very polite and knew what he was talking about. Unfortunately, he then sent his assistant round.
Gary had 5 earrings up each ear and a tattoo of a completely naked lady on his right arm. He was shaven-haired and had a black eye. None of this bothered me so much. You shouldn't judge a person by what they look like.
Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth, it became quickly apparent that Gary was not that far from the stereotype. This guy could swear like you have never heard before and he was also not backwards in coming forward with his opinions. Within the first hour I had heard all about his 3 ex-wives who were all described in very non-flattering terms, how he was currently going though his 3rd messy divorce and was sleeping on a mate's floor, how he wasn't racist but that the BNP did have a point and how he had been beaten up by a load of Bouncers in a nightclub and he hadn't done anything except smack a guy around the head because he stood in the way of the TV when Manchester City were playing.
He also insisted on having a coffee (made by me) every 40 minutes while he phoned his solicitor to consult him about his ex-wife or the impending court case about the bouncers.
As you can imagine, this didn't go down brilliantly with the neighbours, who are very skilled in overhearing conversations and matters only got worse when one of our neighbours tried to consult him about the work he was doing. The conversation went..
Neighbour (Posh voice with a Poodle on a lead): "Excuse me young man. Would you mind telling me what you are doing?"
Gary: "I'm ripping these plant out."
Neighbour: "And what do your propose you are going to do with them?"
Gary: "Dunno. Ask me boss. He'll probably burn 'em like."
Neighbour: "That is terrible. I think it's a disgrace. And what is the home owner proposing to do with this garden?"
Gary: "With all due respect, it is none of my business. I have just been hired to rip it out."
At this point, the posh poodle and it's owner walks off to go and consult with the other neighbour who had come out of their house to see what was going on.
It was at this unfortunate moment that I happen to come outside with the 11th coffee of the day. Gary then proceeds to tell me all about the conversation. He then follows this up by whispering to me 'Don't Worry love, I know how to really wind them up' and before I get a chance to say anything, he shouts out
'Ay Mrs Gibson. I think the hot tub will look really great here, you sipping champagne in your bikini and being able to watch the neighbours coming and going'.
Oh God!
The neighbours, after over hearing this, have now gone into information overload while I just go red and wonder what to do next. Do I go over and make some half-hearted attempt at a joke with them all or do I just smile politely and go back inside?
I chose the latter.
3 days later, Gary has finished (in a job that was meant to last a day and a half maximum) and the boss returns to level the soil and turf the beds. Thankfully, he is extremely polite and actually knows some of our neighbours so calm is temporarily restored.
However, another neighbour then decides to approach him to enquire as to the whereabouts of the plants that have now disappeared. On informing her that these plants were now no longer around, the 'helpful' neighbour informs us that the people living here 6 years ago were actually botanists and their job was to keep plants from going extinct and to preserve extremely rare and precious plants. Our beds were full of them apparently, "bringing much enjoyment to the neighbourhood'. Great!
Apparently, our gardener didn't have a clue. So much for qualifications in Horticulture! Thankfully, he was polite enough to diffuse the situation and convince our neighbour that it was individual choice and that a neat garden was better than a scruffy one, albeit with rare and precious plants in it! If it had been Gary who had been presented with the same information, I fear that the neighbour would have been told where she could put the rare plants.
Since then, I have had yet another neighbour comment on what a "neat garden you now have. Shame about the beautiful plants though isn't it".
Oh dear!
James and I are currently undertaking studies in 'How to Survive in a Small Village'. At the moment, we are failing the course in spectacular fashion. Certainly makes life interesting though!
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