Argo – DVD release

The Academy Award winning movie Argo is now out on DVD, and with an evening to ourselves for the first time in ages, we settled in to watch it.

Those of you saw Saving Private Ryan way back when will remember D Day veterans saying that watching the movie was as close as it could possibly come to capturing the sheer terror of being on the Normandy beaches. I would imagine that those involved in the Iran hostage crisis of 1979 would probably say that Argo does the same job for those at the American Embassy that day.

Argo follows the story of six American embassy staff who manage to escape before the embassy is besieged and take refuge in the Canadian embassy. (As an aside, the British Embassy had a hand in their escape, although this is not shown in the movie – this link contains plot spoilers). The CIA come up with the most outlandish plan of all time to get them out of the country – one that could only happen in the movies.

Argo is beautifully acted and keeps maintains a high level of tension throughout. We thoroughly enjoyed it and would definitely recommend it for a grown up, quiet night in.

Available via Amazon.

This review was based on a review copy kindly provided by Warner Brothers.

I’ve been on holiday…

…. and I’ve come back to find that I seem to have missed Summer completely and we have segued straight into Winter, the dog has eaten my laptop charger so I can’t blog properly and the total absence of sunshine means I can’t photo the things I want to show you. Apart from that, it’s all going really well. Here are my spangly nails that I had done pre-holiday: Shellac in Tropics with Gold Shimmer.

Jurlique discount

I love my Jurlique night cream and this is a decent discount – worth a shot if you fancy trying this Aussie brand.

What’s your number?

On Monday, the world is due to receive its seven billionth person.

Find out what your number is here.

Here’s me!

I am not a number

The Killing

Photo via BBC

If you already know who Nanna Birk Larsen is, you must already have seen the Danish crime drama The Killing. I missed it the first time round. Or, more accurately, I saw a growing band of fans developing on Twitter but by the time I got myself over to iPlayer the first few episodes had gone. Recently BBC4 reran it, and I recorded all 20 hours. The plan was to watch 1 episode while I had my lunch each day.

Ah well, plans are made to be broken, right? It is totally addictive, beautifully acted (my Danish is a little rusty *cough* but the subtitles did not detract from the acting) and superbly plotted. My hour a day grew and grew as I accelerated through the series, desperate to know whodunnit. Ironically enough my earliest guess was right – but they had led me down so many blind alleys I had changed my mind 15 times in the interim.

It’s brilliant. If you haven’t seen it, do so, but be prepared to put your life on hold.

(By the way, it was remade in the US, so do be aware that there are two series floating around with the same name).

If you suffer from perfectionist tendencies like me…

…. please read this. Optimalist is the way to go.

A Level results: the day my school stuffed it up

Around the country thousands of students (my cousin included: well done!) have been logging in to pick up their A Level results. Those of us of a certain age will remember getting our results on a tear off computer printed page (no, I am not quite old enough to have received them on parchment via carrier pigeon).
My school was so antiquated that they sent the results out by post, meaning that we got them a day after everyone else and therefore were a day behind in the scramble for clearing places. Nice one. I was first up in the family, got what I needed and was off to uni. My brother was three years behind me, and I was away for his results, so rang home to find out how he had got on.

In traditional teenage boy style he was asleep when the post arrived, so my mum had gone in, shaken him awake and then hovered undiscreetly by the door. Only to hear the ripping of an envelope followed by several loud expletives. He needed 3 Bs. Mum burst into the room to see her devastated, bleary eyed son staring at the computer print out. “I….. I failed Music”, he croaked. There was a silence as Mother and Son looked at each other. Followed by: “I…… I didn’t take Music”. Yes, the school had sent him the wrong A Level results and my brother was staring at someone else’s D, E and Fail. And somewhere, on the other side of town, another kid had ripped into their A Level results and was doing back flips at 3 Bs before they realised that they hadn’t taken History. It all got sorted in the end but not until lunch time, my brother having surely the longest wait for his results until UCAS introduced an overloaded computer system.
If you have got results this morning, I hope it went really well for you.

Image courtesy comedy_nose

I am guest posting today

Today I have a guest post about having an only child over at Mummy Matters – would love to see you there!

The birthday party from hell – beat this if you can

Photo via Will Clayton

The above is not one of my birthday cakes. I wish. Behold one of my birthday cakes.

In the 11 years of the The Boy’s existence on this Earth we have tried every form of party imaginable. We’ve done parties at home, we’ve done football parties, we’ve done Quasar, we’ve shared with friends and we’ve flown solo.

This year we didn’t have a party. He didn’t want one. It’s no longer cool to have all your classmates alongside you as you shovel chocolate cake in the vague direction of your mouth. It’s now far cooler to have a few mates in for a cruelly misnamed “sleep”over. Or in the case of eleven year old boys, a “Lynx-over”. What DO they put in that stuff?

Anyhow, if you ask the Boy which is his most memorable, he’ll say his last. He can barely remember some of the parties that he seemed to absolutely love at the time. I think they have all merged into one.

Not so for us. When he was five we agreed to share a party with two of his friends. 3 kids = a lot of invites. 33 in fact. So we hired the village hall and on the recommendation of one of the families, who had seen her in action, we engaged the services of the Disco Lady. Let’s call her….. Natalie. Because that was her name. Apparently, she was fantastic. Had the kids in the palm of her hand.

So on the big day I picked up the keys to the village hall and headed down there. Hanging around was a mournful looking chap with the words “Mobile Disco” written on the side of his van. Call me Morse, but I immediately deduced that this was not Natalie. It transpired that Natalie was ill, and had sent him along as a replacement. “Do you often do children’s parties?”, I asked, with a sinking feeling. There was a telling pause. “Well, it’s more weddings and stuff really”, he said. Oh god. So I asked him if he knew any children’s games. “Ummmm……. I’m sure some will come to me”. I was desperate by now. Last chance. “Do you have any children yourself?”. “No.” Long pause. His face brightened. “But we are thinking of trying for one next year!”. There’s no answer to that, really, is there?

I’ll spare you the gory detail. I ran out of games in the first fifteen minutes. In a stroke of genius, I sent the Hub outside to hide sweets all over the playground and send the kids out for a treasure hunt. The second we opened the doors there was a thunderclap and it hailed. Yes, hailed on thirty three children that were hunting for sweets in a playground. In MAY. What did I do wrong in a previous life?

It was the longest two hours of our lives. Eventually we staggered home, laden with 33 presents. The Boy looked up at us, bemused by us drinking large glasses of wine at midday. “Can I open my presents?” he asked. Go ahead, knock yourself out kid. We poured another glass, collapsed on the sofa and watched a mountain of wrapping paper grow.

 

Three reasons not to be a Tiger Mother

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You can’t have missed the media hoopla about Amy Chua’s book, the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, in which she describes how she micro managed her children to success. In case you haven’t seen it, hop over to The Guardian and read their review. Prepare to feel inadequate. Or revolted. Or possibly both: after all, you are a mother and quite capable of multi-tasking.

If you felt even the slightest urge to cancel your child’s next sleepover in order to guarantee entrance to Oxbridge, here’s three reasons why you shouldn’t.

1. Being a Tiger Mother is far too much like hard work. I bet she had a colour coded spreadsheet of the piano practice schedule. You know she did. I’ve only got one child and a recent cull of after school activities has led to an interesting result: he’s much happier. Turns out that he can swim adequately and the Cubs will live on without him. And I am a whole lot less frazzled. Multiple children + multiple after school activities = parental meltdown. If you can do it and remain serene I take my hat off.

2. Turns out it’s all in the genes anyway, and actually those tennis lessons are doing sod all to help your child achieve success in later life (unless your child in a tennis genius, in which case knock yourself out and don’t forget to charge them back for the lessons when they are earning a fortune on the tour). A new book by economist Bryan Caplan says that nurture has little effect so you may as well drop the structured activities and adopt “serenity parenting”. I like your style, Mr Caplan.

3. So if we are going with Bryan Caplan (and we are so are at Casa Imperfectionist) the fact that Amy Chua and her husband are professors at Princeton might have more to do with their daughters’ success than the enforced route march through childhood that they laid down for them. QED, job’s a good un.

Kick back, stick the telly on for the kids and get that red pen out. You can start crossing activities out of your diary with impunity.

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