A series of thank you's and apologies

Hello all! I'm not sure why I've greeted you with an exclamation, given that this blog is something of a confessional...


As you know, I have recently started to write my life-story, which is becoming surprisingly interesting the further back I reminisce. Until a couple of days ago, I had thought that my life was well, rather mediocre. Not today though, not today. I now think it's bordering on being slightly interesting.

Now, not that you need to know this, but having recently made the ground-breaking discovery that I can write in purple, I'm taking full advantage and doing so- as you can see. Ah, such small things that make life all the sweeter! 

But in seriousness, I realised that over the years, I may not have been entirely truthful with all my nearest and dearest. So, I would like to here offer a series of thank you's and apologies to those people who have helped make my life what it is.

• THANK YOU to Agent Grandma for selling my name to loads of other oldies who probably aren't in the least bit interested in what your granddaughter is up to and who probably have even lesser amounts of interest in reading my as yet unpublished (and rather unfinished) autobiography. Nevertheless, thanks for promoting me for free- I owe you one Gma! (Sorry I mentioned your fee- please, don't put your rates up now... I'll give you a signed free copy of my yet to reach completion novel. How's that for a deal?!). 
• THANK YOU to my good friend Sophie for being a person to aspire to- your levels of coolness far surpass my own.
• THANK YOU to Auntie Beatrice for reading my previously poor attempts at novel writing and not minding that I've (metaphorically) left you hanging on quite an important cliffhanger for quite some time now... I'm sorry, I've got major writer's block. I know it was an epic love story, but I don't know what happens when one half of the couple's been vapourised and the other frozen. Can a relationship between the two really continue? I knew I should have stuck to what I knew and not branched out into the world of sci-fi... So really, I'd also like to apologise to you Auntie Bea, given that this book is never going to end and you will forever be on a cliffhanger (metaphorically not literally). Sorry.
• THANK YOU to Pam for listening to me ramble on about goodness only knows what when you really should have been writing your essays when we were at uni. Ahh, friends. 
• THANK YOU to Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders for being an inspiration during my days at uni. You don't know me, but one day you will, so I shall look forward to our imminent meeting. 
• THANK YOU to Mr Walt Disney for your fantastic films over the years. No further explanation required.

 Now, onto all my sorries. Unsurprisingly, this list is somewhat larger...

• SORRY to all the people I have ever fallen onto when a bus has lurched around a corner in my pre-car days... 
• SORRY to any poor souls who have had to experience my cooking...
• SORRY for the time that I crashed the car into that rock Mum... I was doing the old emergency brake routine and well, that happened to be in the way... but at least it stopped the car. Plus, I was a learner, so what can you expect? (That's my story and I'm sticking by it, because I actually was a learner when said incident occurred).  
• SORRY about accidentally smoking out the lounge Dad, when you and Mum were on holiday. It was very cold and I was attempting to be a proper girl scout... unsuccessfully. I am evidently a bad work-person, because I am blaming my tools: the fire grate wouldn't do what was required of it. (Either that, or I'm a rubbish fire-lighting person, which is probably closer to the truth).
• SORRY to all the Newsagents who I have given false hope to over the years. No, I won't be buying the magazines. Yes, I will be reading them in your shop for free. Thanks!
• SORRY for all the times that I have inappropriately had the giggles and landed any of my friends in hot water- you know who you are. 
• SORRY to Mum for scaring you when I was learning to drive. 
• SORRY to all the people at Edinburgh airport on the day I arrived a couple of New Years ago, when at the top of my voice I shouted down the phone 'I'M IN SCOTLAND!', at the exact moment I went around a corner and into a silent departures lounge. 
• SORRY for all the spiders that you've thought I've removed from various locations for you Scott. Sometimes they went into my hand and out the window, other times they didn't. Of course, on those occasions I'd always say that the spider was long gone when in reality, it was probably hovering pretty close to your bed/ close to you... Sorry, really I am!
• Sorry for broadcasting your fear of spiders to everyone Scott. I promise not to reveal anymore secrets that might make you ever so slightly less cooler than you are. 
• Sorry to the Chancellor at my university graduation ceremony. I didn't mean to tread on your toe- it was nerves. Plus you  had exceedingly large feet.

So, having made peace with the world and the people I know, I can sleep easy for this evening at least. I hope that any of my past indiscretions can be overlooked and forgiven by the respective people. For now though, I bade you farewell and wish you a pleasant weekend.


Mildred

Committing ones self to paper is never as easy as you think...

Hello, hello, hello friends. Apologies for my absence, but I have been very busy lately. Having made the magnanimous decision to commit the great- as yet, untold story of my life to paper, I have been somewhat preoccupied.

After deciding that the time had come to document my life in paper form (regardless of the fact that it's likely I'll be the only reader...), I set out with every intention of doing things properly. So, I started by going to the library to find a book about how to go about writing your life story. I found one imaginatively named 'How to go about writing your life story', and as interesting as the book was, I didn't find it as helpful as I thought I would. I mean, the first instruction of 'decide who you're going to write about and who your reader is' was rather self-explanatory. The answer is me and me, because I'm not sure if there's many people who will be interested in the life of Mildred McManus. But, we shall live in hope.

Fairly early on, I decided to abandon the book and make it up as I went along (how to write that is, not my life). Basically, I've spent a lot of time thinking this week. Though I'm not sure that's what the parents would call it. Mum would say I've been day-dreaming myself into procrastination and Dad... well, Dad would simply say I'm wasting my time, when clearly I'm not.

Anyway, one particular incident happened to me this week, which I have sought to include in my great life history. Obviously, I am not writing chronologically because I don't seem to remember things in the correct order, meaning that I am going to share my recent past with you.

Just this week, I was taking a break from reliving my childhood and I was cleaning the kitchen. As I was doing so, I was startled to hear a scratching sound and loud bang emanating from somewhere close by outdoors. I went to open the back door and lo, there was a badger right in front of me- in broad daylight! Well, my natural reaction was to scream.

So I did.

And then, upon recovering my composure, I drifted into the lounge where Dad was in his element. I kept this secret from Mum (though I don't know why), because Dad was not doing his allocated chores for the day. Instead, he was- horror of all horrors, relaxing on his day off! No, just joking. Although Dad did have his feet on the sofa, which meant he either thought that he was home alone or had simply forgotten that I was there (sadly the most probable).

Anyway, when I walked in, Dad had his eyes glued (metaphorically, not literally) to the television as he was watching a rather lackluster England football performance, but somehow hoping that by verbally abusing the plastic frame of the tele, he could offer his support and encouragement to the players.

I do not believe it worked.

'Dad', I said, my heart still pounding unnaturally fast due to the unforeseen badger escapade. 'Did you just hear me scream?'

'Yes', he replied without taking his eyes off the game.

'Were you going to come and see what terrified me so much?'

'Er... I really should say yes, but the game's on love.'

'But Dad, I could have died or something!'

Distinctly unimpressed with my dramatisation, he slowly raised his eyebrows in a manner that only fathers can perfect as I proceeded to describe to him what had happened. Eventually he said, 'are you sure it's a badger?'

'Yes', I confidently replied. But then followed a series of questions to establish whether it was actually a badger or quite simply, a horrifyingly over-fed rat that had been supplementing it's daily diet with a seriously high dosage of steroids.

I'm pleased to say that Dad concurred: it wasn't the latter.

But anyway, I'm going to have to shoot off as I've just had a childhood memory that I must commit to paper before it becomes lost for all time. It concerns the incident when I was enrolled in potty training classes and my brother Scott persuaded my other brother Graham to put an empty potty (thankfully) onto his head. Unfortunately for Graham, said toddler toilet got stuck and he had to go to hospital to have it removed. Ahh, it was a hoot (but not for Graham though)! I suspect that he has tried to erase this incident from his memory, so I must apologise to him. Graham- if you're reading this, sorry. If you're not reading this, then there's nothing to worry about!

Here, I bid you farewell and leave you with the following advice:

• never interrupt a father when they are watching a sporting event on television, regardless of the gravity of the situation.
• never put a potty on your head.
• never approach any animal that you suspect may be taking illegal or harmful drugs, or simply steroids.

Bye!

Am I getting old, or am I just darn tired?

Dear Friends,

I write to you in the strictest of confidence, for I do not think that there is anyone else who will take me seriously. I fear that I have begun the process of marination (better known as ageing), several years too soon. I cannot confess this to anyone else but you. However, I assure you that this is a genuine affliction and not a moment of intense hypochondria. I entrust this most worrying of afflictions for your eyes only and believe that your discretion would be fabulous. 

Kindest regards,

Mildred  

*

Hello, hello, hello.

Today I write to you full of grave concern for my personal welfare. I fear I am getting old- which, let's be honest, isn't really a fear but a fact. Life is linear, meaning we cannot deduct age. Although, scientific advancement means that by the time we're 70, we can look as though we're 37... Now I'm not going to lie, but I'm sure that by the time I'm 70 I won't want to look about 37, because that would be weird. I mean, if my (potential) marriage (one-day) were to fail and I were to end up back on the market, it would just be very very odd if a man of 37 approached me, totally unaware that I was 70! 

So you see, I am aware that I'm always ageing and that that is an irrefutable fact. It's just the whole process that I'm slightly concerned about. You see, yesterday I went on a trip to London with my friend Sophie. It wasn't a particularly entertaining trip (but don't tell Sophie I told you this, because it was actually a roadshow for florists and she is is a florist). Much of the day was spent sitting down and this is where the concern first begins. 

We sat down in the car to drive to the train station.
We sat down on the train to the roadshow venue.
We sat down on the tube on the way to the roadshow venue.
We sat down at the roadshow and listened (or pretended to) for two hours.
We sat down when we arrived at a restaurant for dinner after the roadshow.
We sat down on the tube back to the train station.
We sat down on the train back to the car.
We sat down in the car on the way home.
I then went to sleep.


So, all in all, not a very active day. Though, much of the day was broken up by little bouts of walking to get us between location A and to location B. But for some reason, I was exhausted. Who knew that listening and sitting could be so tiring? I most certainly didn't. And now I'm paying for it dearly.

Foolishly I agreed to take Gma (that's Grandma) to Church at silly o'clock in the morning. With hindsight, I should not have done. This decision was magnanimous and had several repercussions. Remembering that last night was of course Eurovision, I had to fight the extreme fatigue my body was undergoing and watch a bizarre concoction of Europeans cavorting on stage in the name of national pride. Like many Briton's, I was immensely relieved that we were not in last place. Phew! Bring on next year Mr Norton and I'll be ready.

But back to Church. The vic chatted and did his bit as I went through the motions of sitting and standing and sitting and standing, a bit more sitting, then a bit more standing and then lastly, sitting again. Why it can't just be on one level puzzles me, but I just copied the masses and got on with it. But by the end of the hour I was drained. I was literally clinging onto the pew in front to lever me off the seat. And then there's Gma sat next to me, springing up like a jack-in-a-box every so often, highlighting to me how old I'm getting. Not good.

After Church, I went to lunch with Gma where we indulged in the ol' Sunday Roast and pudding. Afterwards, I was TTT- which, to those of you who don't know, stands for 'Tummy Touching Table'. I was absolutely full-up and ever so slightly sleepy.

When I returned Gma to her house, I went for a nice long walk in the afternoon. I stumbled across one of those school race-track's that are painted onto the grass and always transfer onto your shoes. Wanting to prove to myself that I still had the ability to run, I did the 100m sprint and felt mighty fine. Or at least I felt mighty fine when I was trotting along.

It was just after that I didn't feel so fine as my legs turned to jelly. And it's been such a while since I last went running that I can't remember if that is normal, or if that means I'm getting old.

Dear friends, I think you'll agree I need to slow down the pace of life. Or do I?

Am I actually getting old? Or am I just darn tired?

I think perhaps, I am in need of a nice long sleep. After, I'll be able to tell you if this blog was born of tiredness or actual ageing.

Anyway, onto A.O.B. (any other business).

• Yesterday, on our trip, Sophie and I met a fabulous pair of people called Heather and Eddie. Strictly speaking, they weren't in the floristry business, but they were very nice and made us smile. So I'd just like to say to them- if they're reading, I hope that your venture goes well.
• Yesterday, it was reinforced to me that you should watch Eurovision with low expectations, so then wherever the UK finishes can only ever be a win.    
•  Yesterday, I met a lady called Laura who was wearing the most fabulous hat I have ever seen in real life on any living person's head. So, I commend your hat wearing panache and hope to one day be able to follow in your hat wearing footsteps!

 But for now, I bid you farewell. I'm off to bed, so nighty-night!

If you built me an ark, I would make a fantastic Noahetta... to some animals that is...

Dear friends and followers, today I write to you about animals, for in the last few days I have had some interesting incidents with man's companions.

Some of them were good, others were not so good.

But first, let me start by saying: if you could build me an ark, I would make a fantastic Noahetta. (For those of you who don't know, Noahetta is the female version of Noah. For obvious reasons, I cannot be a Noah. Nor can I be a Mrs Noah as I do not know any man with a first or last name that rhymes with mower. So, that is how I therefore deduced that I would make a superb Noahetta).

I think that I'd quite like life aboard an ark. After I'd led my animals in two by two I'd lead my friends in two by two and we'd all live happily ever after... Well, that's how it works out in my head.

The reality- I'd imagine, would be highly different. Dad wouldn't want me at the wheel of the boat, especially if I said I was driving it. This would be because 'you cannot drive a boat, Mildred', he would say. 'I've told you time and time again, you Captain it, so you have to wear a hat. You can't call left and right left and right, because when at sea, it is starboard and port. And, in case of an emergency you'd need to be proficient in Morse code in case your mobile phone goes out of range.'

Evidently, Dad doesn't think I'd drive- sorry, Captain, an ark that well. He's probably right. I won't lie. Last time I was in a boat that I Captained, I was in America with my good friends Sara, Brendan and James. Admittedly we weren't in very big boats. In fact, we were actually in very small boats. Well, the definition of boat is being pushed here slightly a lot. We were in a kayak. Sara and me in one and the boys in the other. When we parked the kayak along the stony bank due to calls of nature, Sara and I accidentally dented the front of it because we weren't sure of the correct docking procedure. (It was an accident I'd like to here add). Luckily, we didn't sink when we resumed the boat after business. Whilst one of us was acquanting ourselves with nature, the other 'guarded the boat', though who we were guarding it from is quite a mystery as there was no-one around in the American wilderness. Ahh, such fond memories.

Given that what I have neglected to share with you is that when Sara and I boarded the kayak, we ended going about 50m against the current, before realising we were going the wrong way. Our one saving grace was that we did not get lost (though we had an accidental detour)...

Anyway, I perfectly understand why Dad would have his reservations about me steering the ark to rescue. I think I'd have to leave it to him. I mean, if he can Captain an aeroplane, how tricky could an ark possibly be?

I'd like to think that if Dad went, Mum would go too (because they're a pair after all), but I have a funny feeling that she'd get really bad sea-sickness. And then we've got Graham whose fear of confined spaces would get out of control in that environment. Then we've got my friend Sophie whose spider phobia would be exacerbated due to the close proximity to these eight legged foes.

All in all, it's a recipe for disaster.

But then again, if I were to kind of 'help' the process of natural selection along a bit, would I really need to bring on all those animals whose only purpose in life is to induce fear in humans? For instance, wasps.

Yesterday, I was cruising along at a breezy 50m.p.h with my window half open when all of a sudden WHACK! A great big wasp cannon-balled itself into my car and then got caught in my skirt, all the while buzzing at me angrily, as if I was in the wrong. Sir waspalot, please explain this to me given that I was simply minding my own business when you propelled yourself at me, an innocent human being. It hit my arm with such ferocity that I was left with a huge red splodge on it for over 2 hours. But I have to say, the whole experience was totally alarming as the shock almost caused me to collide with numerous stationary objects (grass by the road in case you were wondering). I had to wriggle about indignantly to get this wasp off me  and then it fell on my seat into prime bottom territory...

But worry not, you'll all be pleased to know that at the traffic lights that were mercifully red, the wasp got knocked unconscious as it was scooped up in a high-heeled court shoe and thrown out of my open door (the wasp that is, not the shoe).

Note: If you are a lover of all animals, you'll be pleased to know that the wasp regained consciousness before making contact with the ground and was able to fly off into the distance, alive. If you are not a lover of all animals, you'll be disappointed.

Later on in that same day, I saw four small rabbits lining the road at various intervals. The fifth one I saw was no bigger than the palm of my hand and was all cute and fluffy. But, it was under attack from a predator. The predator was a magpie, but luckily, due to my unknown recently discovered Noahetta knowledge, I was there at the right place at the right time and Benjamin bunny lived to see another day (ta to Beatrix P for the name).

And yesterday, I saw a giant rat thing the size of a cat! Well, that's not quite true. It was about the size of half a cat- no smaller, but with it's tail, it was the length of our next-door neighbours cat Versace.

So, it is with all these experiences that I have deduced that I have new-found animal magnetism. Unfortunately it does not seem to be for the best. But if you're up to the challenge, feel free to build an ark and I'll see what I can do. Or- as the case may be, I'll see what my Dad can do.

Until next time, Mildred the Noahetta must sail off into the distance to come to the aid of the rest of the animal kingdom.

Are we alone? Yes? Phew! I'm skiving...

Look left, look right, look straight ahead. Can you confirm that we are alone? If the answer is yes, then read on.

Technically, I am supposed to be helping my friend Sophie move house, but after packing and packaging galore, I needed a moment to escape where I would not find myself in close proximity to that icky coloured brown tape. You know the stuff; stick it to your arm like a home waxing kit... only it never works does it? In fact, it's rather painful (understatement of the century). Why I know this is beyond me, because I've never got rather bored and stuck a load of tape over my arms to see what happens... never....

Ah, who am I convincing?

Of course I've done that! I am- naturally, talking from experience, which therefore allows me to provide the best pain quantifier there is. NOTE: If there are any children reading this, do not try this at home. Also, do not tell your parents that I told you about this as it is not an experience that would impress them were they to become 'guinea pigs'. Many thanks. Your discretion is duly noted.

But moving on I think! Sophie doesn't actually know where I am. As far as she's concerned, I've just popped back to my house for 'the loo'. I thought I'd be incognito. But with hindsight, I have realised that when she notices I have been absent for an hour or more, she will only assume that I have been slacking. And I wouldn't want her to think that I've been a bad friend because I have abandoned her in her hour of need... which I haven't. I mean, it's not like I'm really skiving because my mind is still house-occupied. I think I'll just have to say to Sophie that I'm in dire need of some figs and fibre and... well you get the gist of things. That way it seems like I've got a case of stubborn number two's that wish to remain with me. (I'll leave it at that before things become too explicit and require a '12' rating and I lose my 'PG' certification).

So, I got thinking as I helped Sophie pack up all her things. To be honest, it wasn't the funnest of times we've spent. Last month, she broke up with her boyfriend. They'd been together since we were about 16- less than five years later they'd moved in together in a nice little flat round the corner from me. Two years after that they got engaged, but Sophie's just found out that Brad has had an indiscretion. I won't say anymore as if she reads this, she might get a bit upset. Needless to say, he wasn't very well behaved. So, after 10 years, Sophie and Brad are parting ways. It's quite sad really, made worse by the fact that I've known them both for over 20 years. But I guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Sophie's found herself a lovely new flat and I agreed to help her do it up. (Sensible really, because now it appears to Mum that I am at least on the search for work). We've been through colour charts and stuff and I've helped her design a Mil-and-Soph-ified fabulous abode. It is not humble in the slightest.

At the moment, the removal men are having a late lunch. When I left, Sophie had her nose buried in the latest edition of OK- she wanted to commit to memory the most spectacular wedding of the century, so I left her to it. I saw no point in reading the magazine myself when I know that later on, she's going to go through it cover to cover with me with a commentary to ensure we DON'T MISS A THING.

I'd best be off in a minute- hopefully Kate and William will have enthralled her enough for her not to notice my absence!

Anyway, what I was going to tell you was that over the last few days, I have realised that home isn't the building you live in or what you have. It's what you make it. The other stuff is just accessories. I look at Sophie and see all the unnecessary things that we have packed into a dozen boxes and I realise that I don't need half of the stuff I've got. All I need is myself, because it doesn't matter where I am, where Sophie is or where you are. Isn't home the same for everyone? For I have learnt that home really truly is where the heart is- an ethos I am sure I share with the snails that survive the tribulations of human feet antics. After all, their home is on their person (rather, snail) at all times.

Mildred