Kindle-tastic

I’ve always been a big reader. Ever since I shoved the other kids out of the way at Juniors to be first to snatch Folk of the Faraway Tree, books have played a massive part in my life. Nothing wrong with being aggressive to other children if it’s in a library, in my opinion. The Hub used to wince when we he watched me pack a holdall of books to take away on holiday, knowing that he wouldn’t get any conversation out of me for a week. He’s got an iPod to listen to now, so he’s cool. Of course, this was all in BC (Before Child) times. Then I became a Mum and the reading gene evaporated for a bit, and the concept of a nice chunky block of reading time disappeared seemingly forever.

About 18 months ago I bought a Sony EReader. I found reading books on it perfectly easy – no problem in bright sunlight and the pages refreshed very quickly. But buying books was a bit of a pain. You had to visit a few sites (Waterstones, WHSmith, BooksonBoard) to find the books you wanted, download them to the PC and then copy them across to the Ereader.

So when the Kindle was announced I was straight onto Amazon, virtually shoving the other customers aside to get my hands on one. Some things never change. Management summary: it’s great. Easy to download books (either from the Kindle or by shopping on the Mac), light, portable, and bonus – you can download the same book to multiple devices (Kindle, iPhone, Mac etc) and it remembers where you are. Yup, if you got up to page 30 on the Kindle and then try reading it on the Mac, it remembers that you have just finished page 30 and starts you off there. I know how they do that, but it’s blimmin’ impressive.

Most importantly, I take it everywhere with me, so when I am waiting for the next important child activity (Swahili lessons, Everest preparation etc) to finish I can slot in 10 mins of blissful reading.

Downside? It’s way too easy to buy books now. Way too easy. I may have to start hiring the kids out to do Swahili translations to pay for them.

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IKEA – sheer genius or the devil’s work?

So IKEA – what do you think? Useful stuff at great prices? Or the devil’s work behind an innocuous blue and yellow facade? I only ask because for many years we schlepped round to one of the London branches, fought our way through the weekend crowds and emerged three hours later, battered and bruised with a family pack of tealights and a shelving unit that was missing one crucial screw.

On one particularly memorable day, at the Brent Cross branch (god bless them), I went up to the “help”desk to ask them where the Svens and Ulrikas (or whatever) were located. “Aisle 14, location 12″ came the languid reply. I thanked the staff, turned my trolley around and headed towards Aisle 14. I was about 10 metres away when I heard one of them mutter, “But we ain’t got none”. Cheers.

However, the bargains kept us going back for more. We kitted out our first home together and the stuff survived the move to the second. So you can imagine the excitement when it was announced that our local town was getting an IKEA. An IKEA within 10 miles. That I could go to midweek, with no crowds, park right outside and stroll round at my leisure. Catalogues were consulted and shopping lists were made. And so six years on….. I’ve been twice. An IKEA on my doorstep and I’ve been twice in six years. Is it the scarcity factor? Is it that once it’s there and available it doesn’t seem so desirable? Today was the second visit and I’ve come away with a shelving unit (that a helpful chap assisted me to the car with), a family pack of napkins (natch) and a cushion (of course). It was actually surprisingly pleasant. Sheer genius? Um, no. The devil’s work? Nope. At least not on a wet Monday.

 

How do people do this stuff?

Total fabulousness from www.notmartha.org. How people have the time, energy and talent to make a mini gingerbread house that sits on the edge of a cup is beyond me. Back to the cheese sandwiches for tea, then.

(I was first pointed towards this site by my fabulous friend Jo. Thanks Jo.)

Stages of a Grand Design

Stages of watching an episode of Grand Designs:

1. Wow! That design looks absolutely amazing.

2. Blimey, that hole is big. Took no time at all, either.

3. We should absolutely do this. Let’s get a pen and paper and make a list of things we’d have in our dream home.

4. That timescale seems a bit optimistic.

5. As I thought, the windows don’t fit. The windows never fit.

6. Bloody hell, that’s muddy. And that caravan looks freezing.

7. I bet she’s…… Yup, she’s pregnant.

8. I’m not sure I can be bothered. Chuck that list away.

9. Nice one Kevin. Excellent put down.

10. They are going to fail. Well, what did they expect – their planning was ludicrous. Enjoy that caravan.

11. It looks quite nice, I suppose. Where’s all their stuff though?

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Politics, anyone?

So here’s what I’m reading at the moment.

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It’s not exactly a light hearted page turner, and I’m definitely not reading it because I want to be a politician – a statement which should probably immediately qualify me to BE a politician – but I am interested in why people become politicians and what makes them tick.

The book’s been well publicised of course, with the tensions between Blair and Brown widely documented. But here’s the bit that jumped off the page, punched me between the eyes and shook my head from side to side for good measure.

“The final touches were put in place at our house in Islington, sitting in the bedroom with Peter Hyman, as downstairs our daughter Kathryn was having a birthday party. So I would go between games of pass-the-parcel and rewriting British social democracy”.

Now if you are Prime Minister, and you have a major crisis on your hands, I can understand that you might have to skip your child’s birthday party. But he wasn’t Prime Minister at the time. He had just been elected leader of the Labour Party, and was rewriting the Labour Party constitution. Does that really constitute a child-party-missing crisis? Or am I being harsh?

My opinion of politicians wasn’t great before I read this book. If this is what makes them tick, then I’m even less impressed with them as a species. Duck house, anyone?

It’s 99 days till Christmas

Don’t hate me – it’s not my fault, I don’t set the calendar, plus I read it on another blog somewhere, so I actually had no idea before today. But as of today, it’s 99 days until Christmas.

How early do you start getting ready? I am not quite sad enough to be buying the Christmas cards in the January sale for the next Christmas, but I do start after half term and try to get most of it done by the end of November. Nothing makes me feel less festive than being in the shops in December, when I could quite cheerily beat my own brains out with a yule log.

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In one of my more Perfect Penny moments, I do have a (heavily derided by my friends) spreadsheet recording presents bought by year. This is so that I don’t repeat presents three years down the line (or “recycle” the same gift back to the person that gave it to me). This is less to do with perfect organisational skills and more to do with an abject lack of memory. I have to live with mockery from the friends, but hey…. I get over it. And then delete their rows off the spreadsheet. No entry on the spreadsheet = no present for you, matey. It’s a small victory, but they all count.

Hand me another one of those gold stars for mothering, will you?

Do they still hand out Bounty bags at the hospital when you give birth? I remember the “Bounty lady” wandering round the ward after I had given birth and handing over a small bag. Even in my bleary state, I remember thinking “Cool! Goodies!” shortly followed by “What? Nineteen hours of labour and an emergency caesarean for a free nappy and a thimble full of Sudocrem? Is that it?”.

Here’s what they should have handed out.

1. Jumbo pack maternity pads. Enough said.

2. Jumbo bar Dairy Milk.

3. Jumbo bar Galaxy.

4. Jumbo bar of anything from Hotel Chocolat (a girl can dream)

5. Sports bottle of water that won’t leak even when you knock it over at 3am when you are trying to feed the baby in the dark and quench your raging thirst simultaneously.

6. Eye mask and ear plugs.

7. And one of these.

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One of the biggest shocks about becoming a mother is that all the validation (cash, status, praise, appraisals) that you get from the world of work evaporates immediately. There’s no gold stars for motherhood. The midwife doesn’t pop along and say, “well done, you cleaned up that meconium encrusted bottom really well! Let me pop a star on the star chart, and when you have filled that first row, the aromatherapist will be over for the foot massage and pedicure”. Nobody gives you a bonus for removing your tantruming toddler “Want Bob! Want Wendy! Want SCOOP!!!” from the toy store with no damage to any civilians. And there’s no boss to give you a pay rise when you have succesfully negotiated your six month probationary period and you have a fully fledged little person on your hands.

Being a parent is more rewarding and more demanding, in equal measure, than I could ever have imagined. It’s the best job in the world. But a gold star would be nice now and again.

 

Things – task management on the Mac

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I have tried multiple ways of taming the to do list, and as an Apple fan-girl this is one of the best with one MAJOR drawback that stopped me using it.

First the good bits. It’s intuitive and very easy on the eye. If, like me, you like dividing your to dos by project that’s really easy, and it will let you view a combined list or a list split by project. You can schedule recurring tasks, and set deadlines. So far so good.

The not so good bit? It’s not cheap – about £45 I think. But the killer is that it’s not truly portable. There is an iPhone app, but it only syncs over wi-fi when you have both the app on the mac and the iPhone open. So that’s what killed it for me. Loved it, but kept forgetting to sync it when I was at home. A nice, but ultimately expensive experiment. You can find Things here.

If little Tommy hasn’t been spotted yet…..

For us, as for thousands of parents up and down the land, Sunday was the start of the new kids’ football (soccer) season. Like many others, we shrugged on several layers of outerwear, brewed a flask of coffee and trekked off to the far reaches of the county to a muddy field to watch the kids play football. Ninety minutes later, we smiled wearily at the cheering opposition parents, wished them well for the season and trekked home again.

As it happens, the team that the kids played yesterday was lovely, with polite supportive parents and a pleasant enough ground. Although a coffee bar would have been a bonus. A coffee bar would always be a bonus. But as a kids’ football veteran, I have seen things which beggar belief. Amongst the lowlights are having a coach approach us to ask if his boys had thumped our boys 11-0 or 12-0 (he wasn’t quite sure), and hearing supportive parents shout helpful things to 8 year olds including ”Oi! Have you left your shooting boots at home?”, ”Do you need glasses?” and eventually ”And about bloody time!” when the poor lad finally scored. The point of rock bottom must have been watching two of the opposition lads fighting each other before kick off, egged on by their parents, one of whom was shouting “Go on! Kick him!”, whilst our kids looked on in horror. Needless to say, we lost that game as our kids were terrified to go near them.

The general shouting and screaming by parents (“come on! COME ON!” followed by sighing and eye rolling), the teams who turn up with umpteen layers of expensive matching kits, the teams who turn up and have home and away kits……  we’ll gloss over them. That’s just standard fare. My point is that this is football at the very lowest level. In fact, newsflash: it’s very unlikely that any of these kids are ever going to be in the Premier League. If little Tommy hasn’t been spotted yet by a scout, he is never going to be. Let him enjoy his football for what it should be – an opportunity to keep fit, learn a few footballing skills and gain an understanding of teamship and why it’s important in life. 

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What’s the best conversation you’ve ever overheard?

I was thinking about this this morning as I overheard (oh alright, blatantly eavesdropped on, don’t judge me) two women discussing a text exchange that one of them had had on her mobile. “Look, LOOK” one of them said, stabbing at her mobile screen. “This is what I sent, and then this,” stab, stab, “was what SHE sent back. Can you believe that? She has totally overreacted! Totally!” “Hmm, that does seem a bit over the top,” said the friend, unconvincingly. “A bit? She has TOTALLY overreacted. Look! Can you believe it?”, said the offended party, with more stabbing at the phone, which if it was capable of conscious thought was probably thinking “please for the love of god, leave me alone”.

You do overhear some fabulous things in everyday life, but my all time favourite was recounted to me by a colleague once, who was on a crowded train. A mobile phone rang, and a bloke answered it with “Hello? Oh hello, mate. No, awful. You’re not gonna believe this. She’s left me. Left me! I got home – you are not gonna believe this – all my stuff was on the lawn. All of it! And then, then, you’ll never guess what she did next! Hello? Hello?”. The train had gone into a tunnel. My colleague said that the tension in the carriage was almost palpable. He looked around. Noone was making eye contact, with several people pretending to read the newspaper, whilst others were staring at the fascinating posters on connections at Crewe, but everyone was totally focussed on listening to this guy. The train pulled out of the tunnel, and collectively, as one, you could feel the entire carriage thinking “Call him back! What did she do next? Come on! Come ON!”. The bloke in question sighed, pulled a newspaper out of his rucksack and single handedly ruined the journey of an entire carriage.

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