Monthly Archives: December 2010

Happy Christmas

Happy Christmas to YOU!

I can’t quite believe what a magical adventure my first four months of blogging has been. Looking forward to more adventures in 2011.

Love Penny

The truth behind those Christmas tweets.


My head is slightly frazzled but after a really challenging day some loose threads suddenly came together.  After reading an article in The Guardian by Oliver Burkeman I’ve been thinking a lot about the truth behind status updates.  We all know what we tweet and facebook can be a glossier version of reality.

Today I half wrote some tweets but the reality of the ‘situation’ here at Sickly, Snotty and Stir Crazy Towers was so dismal I couldn’t bring myself to tweet them.   I don’t want to come across as a whingebag, I’d rather wait until my positive outlook has been replenished. 

Oliver Burkeman’s article made me think we should be open about the ups and downs.  Especially at Christmas when we all know that beneath that shiny wrapping we all have some serious challenges to meet.  So this Christmas I thought a more honest blog might be appropriate.

Julie at The Sardine tin challenged me to bleat, for those that haven’t met this fab concept it is for those points that are too big to tweet and too small to blog.  I feel a bit like a pathetic sheep lost in a field of snow at the moment.  So in the spirit of being more honest here is my ‘interpretation’ of bleating, some tweets I did send this week, and some I didn’t,  followed by the real warts and all you can’t fit in 140 characters.

Just dusted of Nigella’s How to be a Domestic Goddess to make Christmas Biscuits as a family.
The kitchen is covered in flour, we still have to ice the bloomin things, we’ve all eaten to many and are all on a sugar low.  I’ll end up eating most of them and feeling cross with myself.  Watching a festive DVD or making a snowman as a family would be less messy and fraught.  Why didn’t I smell a rat when Mr A started buying me cookbooks all those years back?  Where is Mr A?

I do love my mum friends but it does depress me when the conversation turns to washing powder.
I read Metropolitan Mum’s post this week, about how she didn’t recall ‘signing up’ for all those extra bits of housework when she became a mum.  Since then I’ve been on my feminist soapbox (what an unfortunate metaphor).  During our Christmas drinks my friends and I were also having a good old feminist rant, about how we ended up with the lion’s share of housework.  Then the conversation turned to washing powder brands, at which point I threatened to leave unless we changed tack.

Kids had huge simultaneous tantrums then fell asleep. Hope this marks the end of their viruses, often find a tantrum works wonders ;)
We all had a tantrum, G was lying on the kitchen floor, L was bawling in the Wendy house and I was sobbing into a pile of wet washing.  Sometimes age 2 and 4 is a magic combination, sometimes it takes every little bit of strength I have not to lose my rag,  today I had no strength.  If you can’t beat them join them.  Wishful thinking too, they woke up even grumpier and snottier. 

My dad just reminded me Christmas is just one day. Much needed perspective :)
My dad called while my laptop was dying, the poorly 4yo was shouting for snacks and the poorly 2yo was wailing from his cot.  A much needed pre-Christmas counselling session in which the 4yo was pacified by yet more Cbeebies and I sat in the rocking chair with the 2yo nodding off.  I agreed with my Dad to put the OU assignment aside until after the big day.  The frustration of not getting any studying done because the kids were too ill to go to their morning at nursery is making me a very poor Florence Nightingale.   I twitch and itch when I hear a CBeebies theme tune.

Just handed my husband a Tommee Tippee full of milk and said in all seriousness ‘there you go’, fortunately didn’t give the 2yo my husband’s glass of wine.
I am officially losing it ;)  But we laughed, and then I had a much needed G and T or two. 
Happy Christmas, you have to love the silly season, warts and all. 
I would love to invite:
to have a bleat!

If anyone else needs a good pre Christmas bleat please go ahead and comment below (or leave me your link to your bleat)  I offer you a safe space to let the stress out before the big day:

 Allaboutus and such like’s fab bleats

The Gallery – Love

There is nothing more loved in this house than Spencer bear.  Once upon a time, as you can see above,  he was fluffy, his fur was yellow, his eyes sparkled and he had smart clothes.  Now, after two years of hanging with Mr G he is worn, faded, he’s lost a lot of weight, his eyes are glazed, quite frankly he is a shadow of his former self.

Here he is over the summer, on the right, drying after his weekly bath, next to emergency bear. 

Spot the difference?  Newly purchased, emergency bear had taken a spin in the washing machine with Spencer bear, in a vain attempt to make him a passable substitute in well, bear emergencies.  Silly idea, even after several washes, the evil infiltrator was detected and thrown out the cot in seconds.  No, to make a real bear takes something very different… love.

All you need is love and I reckon it’s going to be a love fest at The Gallery this week.

If I don’t see you again before the big day, HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

The one where I am a playwright

Severe writer’s block today, not on here.  No, it appears that today, when I am supposed to be doing “creative writing” I would much rather be blogging.  I am doing an OU Creative Writing course.  My task is to adapt the short story I wrote for my first assignment in to a film or a stage or radio play.  I should be able to do this, I studied Drama, I taught Drama and Film.  But taking plays or films apart, or teaching other people to do it, is proving to be a very different art to putting them together. 

The biggest problem is I have a ghost in my story.  I am scared stiff of putting her on stage as having a ghost on stage has so much potential for naffness.  I know it can be done, but it is a challenge.  I just keep getting haunted by awful visions like this:

I think it could be a good film, I am thinking of Sixth Sense.  It could also be a radio play, but I am only just admitting that my Radio One days are over and that Radio Four might be good listening (I know…I have been missing out), so I can’t say it’s a medium I know in the same depth.

At the moment I have so many different versions in my notebook it is beginning to look like a series of Friends.  I’ve also been reading Alan Ayckbourn’s Crafty Art of Playmaking.  It’s a very useful book but stylistically I am not a huge Ayckbourn fan and I fear his influence is rapidly turning my work into a farce.  Anyway, these are my favourites:

The one where the ghost haunts through the radio while her husband is on a first date and he smashes the radio.

The one where the ghost comes home to find her husband with a new girlfriend but they can’t see her

The one where the ghost comes home to find her husband with a new girlfriend and they can see her

The ins and outs of what ghosts can and can’t do is a minefield too.  Walk though doors? Be heard? Be seen? How do they travel? 

So anyway, help me out here, which title jumps out at you? 
Radio? Film? Stage?
Any good examples of ghosts in plays or films you can think of to inspire me?

This is part of the BMB Blog hop:

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