Hello from another time zone!

As you read this, I should be in sunny Cyprus with the delightful Dave.

I can't really give you much to go on at the moment, as I'm writing this in advance. But what can I say? Thanks to the magic of computers, you can still read this blog. Genius!

It's taken about 12 hours to actually get to our hotel.You know, from leaving home to arriving. But I don't mind- the fun is about to begin!

Hopefully I've packed the right sort of things. Last time I went to Scotland in August, I packed summery clothes and shoes- by which I mean flip-flops and pumps. Nothing at all that I had with me was waterproof... which proved to be a very foolish move... as it rained every single day... for three weeks. Really hoping that isn't going to happen!

This time-travel malarkey is really quite extraordinary. Dave and I are now an hour ahead of Mum and Dad back at home, which is weird. But not as weird as when I had a friend who stayed in New Zealand. My friend- Toby, lived out there for a few months, but his today was our tomorrow. And his yesterday was our today. They are 13 hours ahead, but still, isn't that just totally bizarre?

Anyhoo, I am hoping that you are all well. I'll be in touch very soon. In the meantime, I'm off to test out my flippers with the fish.

Mildred x

Less than 24 hours to go and I'm yet to start packing...

You know, I really think that I might have my priorities a little bit wrong.

You see, as I write this, I have just realised that I am actually supposed to be going on holiday in just 17 hours. By the time this is posted, it will be even sooner. 

But as per usual, I have not packed a thing. Not a sausage. Nada. Ne rien. Nothing. 

I do not appear to have learnt from any mistakes in the past, because if I did, I would already be packed and ready to go. 

Perhaps my priorities aren't what they're supposed to be. I mean, a sensible person would probably do their holiday packing before writing their blog. Maybe I'm just not sensible after all. I don't know. But if I'm not sensible, then that definitely makes Dave even less so. He hasn't even opened his suitcase yet- it's still in its wrapper. At least mine is ready and optimistically waiting. 

I suppose I really should go pack. After all, it's T minus 17 hours until departure. Before I do, I feel I should just leave a note for my Mum... you know... to explain why I'm so bad at packing. I think I'm just too excited!

Note for Mum:

Mum, I know that reading this must be a little bit disappointing for you. I mean, you've trained me well over the years. It's not your fault that I seem to have an innate ability to pack anything over 24 hours before I'm due to go away. What can I say? I've done all my laundry and all my ironing- so far so good; and I've even got my suitcase out. Well, I say out- I bought it from the shop two weeks ago and it never got put away. It's just patiently waiting to fulfil it's suitcasely duty in life. I guess all I can really say is, I'm truly Dad's daughter and I think that I've inherited his non-packing abilities. Yep, that's got to be it- it's genetic, so don't worry!).

Anyway, I'm going to go. I really can't put this off any longer. 

Mildred the Cyprus-bound adventurer is flying off... now where is my toothbrush?

x

Broadening my horizons... at the pub!

Monday night is 'movie night', with the exception of Monday 9th April 2012.

Monday night is 'date night with Dave', with the exception of Monday 9th April 2012.

On this particular Monday- the 9th April 2012 (not sure why I'm stating the year... we all know it's 2012 don't we?), I did something a little bit different.

I was asked to play the piano in a public free house (AKA pub to you and me). I haven't actually played in a pub before, but it was a rather interesting evening. I brought with me oodles of music, not really knowing what was expected of me. So I kind of did a bit of this and that, which was nice.

Though as I say, this was my first experience of twangy pub piano entertaining. Perhaps that showed in my outfit... may have been a tad over-dressed in my formal fitted trousers and crisp white blouse. Might have been better opting for torn jeans and flip-flops. But hey, I wanted to make a good impression. I mean, I've got the outfits down to a tee for my posh hotel gigs and church related shenanigans. Can I look elegant for a wedding? Yes. Can I do formal funeral blacks? Yes. But can I look like a surfer-dude in a pub? Don't think so. 

Am I familiar with posh hotel etiquette and music? Yes. 

Am I familiar with church etiquette and the music? By jove, yes.

Am I familiar with pub etiquette? Nope.

Nevertheless, I played for my hour and had a nice time. It was made super nice by the fact that Dave was there with me. He's my groupie! How cool is that?! I've never had a groupie before, but now I have one because I have a Dave. NICE.

Will I be playing in a pub again? No idea. But it's all good experience. It's funny, as I think that the more I hone my craft and the more I perform, the more I learn how to cater for different occasions and audiences. Likewise, it makes it even clearer to me what I would eventually like to do in life. Music, writing, performance and acting are it. I'll keep dreaming and I'll keep trying.

Mx

I'm going on holiday... and I'll be double-knotting my bikini!

Hello. My name is Mildred McManus and I am super-duper excited. 

My excitement may be a little bit premature, but I'm going on holiday in... hold on- let me work it out... just a moment... I'm going in... just 9 days!

Dave and I are going to Cyprus for a week. When we're there, I'm going to make friends with the sunshine whilst wearing factor 30 sunscreen- you can never be too sure. Safety first! 

We're going to go snorkelling and join the mermaid population. Can't wait- so exciting!

We're going to go to a ginormous (a cross between gigantic and enormous... only it's bigger!) water park, but to be honest- I probably won't do those stupidly high slides with a vertical drop. They are far too dangerous, but not for the reason you may think. Yes yes, I am sure that they are perfectly safe and that you won't plummet to your impending doom. No, I'm not sure that they are conducive to bikini wearing... Just one teeny tiny loose tie needs to get caught and ahhhh!, you're ever so slightly over-exposed. Plus the force of those slides can cause any item of clothing to- well, put quite simply- rise. So a rather foolishly dangerous slide to use I think you'll agree.

We're going to look at some old stuff that might be a bit crumbly but is supposed to be architecturally and historically significant. Perhaps I've made a mistake in using the phrase 'old stuff', as according to Dad the correct term I'm looking for is ruins. Looking at ruins never sounds that exciting does it? But I think once you're there and you're kind of living in the moment of the history, it's a bit more interesting. I mean, how cool is it going to be to stand in the same place where once upon a time a real life Roman stood? That's my inner-geek revealing itself right there!

One of the things I'm most looking forward to is the opportunity to spend my birthday money. I'm going to treat myself on something that I've always wanted to do: I'm going to get covered in mud and then wrapped in seaweed! Cool eh?! I don't really know why it's been such an ambition, but it has. I didn't fancy a conventional massage, but would still like to be able to indulge in something a little memorable. Roll on the seaweed! 

Anyway, I'm going to leave it here for now. Cannot believe that I'm almost ready for our holiday- such an unusual occurrence! Just take a look back at A whirlwind hello and goodbye! if you wish to see how unprepared I usually am. To give you an idea- I was packing within 24 hours of departing the UK. That doesn't give you any wiggle-room at all and I am determined to attempt to change my ways. I am going to become a reformed Mildred. Yes indeed.

In the meantime, I'll be sure to double-knot my bikini at all times as you can never be too sure.

Mildred x

PS Happy Easter to one and all!

Flying through the tree-tops

Hello wonderful people,

As promised, I am sharing a video with you. In this video, I am at the top of a very high tree, way above the forest floor. I'd already zoomed along on a lower zip-line, but this one was considerably larger and longer.

I will admit, I did get a little scared... but it was too late to back out!

*

Right- not that you need to know this, but I've just realised that my entire post has been deleted (minus the first couple of lines). Thank you computer. Thank you technology. No longer can life go on without you, no matter how infuriating you are. 

*

Instead of spending ages blah-blah-blahing, I'll just write a teeny bit here instead. 

In the video, I am unfortunately not looking as glamorous as if I were at a red carpet event. But hey! It's live field work. This is my first video in my pursuit to one day become a Blue Peter presenter, and then loads of other things after that. Hopefully, you'll see how brave I am... or not, as the case may be.

Anyhoo, do enjoy a brief moment of what it must feel like to be Tarzan.

I suppose this is the marvellous thing about computers- you can be Tarzan from the comfort of your own seat without breaking into a sweat, or- for that matter- breaking any bones.

Oh, I should also add that Dave is the wonderful camera man, high up in the trees with me. He's fiercely loyal, continuing to film me right until I land rather awkwardly in a great big heap at the end. Definitely not a stunt double for James Bond! What you can't see is all the wood chip on the floor. What you also can't see is all the wood chip on me. And in my shoes. And trousers (AKA 'pants' if you are reading from across the big pond. That would be bad if it were in British pants...).

Right-oh, I'm signing off now. Until we meet again,

Tarzan's girlfriend Mildred- (move over Jane, there's a new kid on the block)!

x

Tarzan and Jane? I think not! Tarzan and Mildred? Oh yes.

Yesterday, I went on a tree-top adventure with the boys to celebrate my birthday... a few days late I must confess. And what an adventure it was.

I put aside any girlieness that I may have had and joined Dave, Dad and Harry the dude. We spent the day, harnessed up in harnesses that the boys thought were uncomfy, but- I had to disagree here, as I thought they actually had the possibility of becoming the next season's must have accessory. Remember- you heard it here first!

As if to prove how great the harness is, I have uploaded this picture for your delectability. Yes, I am on the ground, but I can assure you that I did spend much of the time in the air.

I have to confess, I did have visions of Harry the dude losing his shoes whilst 10 metres (30 feet up). I just imagined he'd be whizzing along a zip line and then, all of a sudden- poof!, his shoes (or shoe) is gone, lost to the forest below... Thankfully this scenario did not happen.

I'm going to keep this blog nice and brief, but tomorrow I'm going to include a video for you to watch that stars me, because if it didn't it would probably not make much sense as to why it would be on my blog. It is shot way up high and in the freezing cold. (I couldn't really tell the boys I was cold because I would have received zero sympathy. Likewise, I could show no sign of fear because otherwise I'd have been called that terrible below the belt insult: a girl. And I can tell you- no way was I going to be called a girl! No siree).

It was a fabulous day- so much good fun! Swinging through the trees, zipping along like a bird and just hoping and praying that my harness was going to hold!

I'm going to fly off now. Fandangoooooooo!!

Mx

Do those bites and leg scratches belong to you? Er...

Unfortunately, the answer to the question; 'do those bites and leg scratches belong to you?', is disappointingly a yes- yes they do.

Whilst this gloriously sunny weather has been bringing out the best in people, it seems to have brought the worst out in the bugs of the world.

Bugs... Bugs... what a peculiar animal. Here, I address this portion of my blog to the King of the Bugs and his subjects. If you are a bug, please tell me: what is your purpose in life? Other than to inflict misery upon the human and animal populations, what is it that you do? I mean, do you have a daily bite quota to maintain? More to the point, am I one of your chief targets? You see me- Mildred, on the horizon and automatically home in. Is that right? Because it seems to me that yes, that is correct.

Last week, I went for a walk with Dave (which, in case you were wondering- was rather good fun). When we got home, I did some work and then proceeded to have a delicious dinner: so far so good. I felt fine. It wasn't until the next morning that I noticed something amiss. I spent the morning throwing-up (which, in case you were wondering- was not nice) and encountering a rather varied array of different symptoms. I'll spare you the details, but trust me when I say it wasn't pleasant.

It was the morning after this walk that I first noticed precisely nine big, red angry bites up my right leg. Bear in mind- my leg's are like the same shade as what Snow White's must have been... seriously pale! So it looked even worse. I was given some medicine and now- nearly ten days later they are just starting to fade.

So King Bug, thank you for momentarily ruining my right leg, as well as my morning. How kind of you to use me as a restaurant. I can only hope that we don't meet again.

Earlier this week I went on another walk. Foolishly, I was wearing shorts when somehow- I managed to get tangled up in a huge bramble that left me with (no exaggeration), about twenty-five scratches up the back of my left leg. I then had to extract a load of thorns which had decided to make the transfer from the dry, miserable thorny bush to my moisturised white pins. Why thank you hedge.

Don't they say that all things come in threes? I sincerely hope that that is wrong as I think that I've had my fill of leg trauma for the next few months. Beware, of the bugs and the hedges... that is the advice that I am extending to you today... beware!

Before I go, I'm going to end this blog with a farewell.

So long King Bugsalot and your thorny friend... may we never have the privilege to meet again.

Mildred

FILM REVIEW: Hereafter

FILM: Hereafter
GENRE: Drama/ Fantasy
CAST: Matt Damon, Cécile De France and Thierry Neuvic
DIRECTOR: Clint Eastwood
YEAR: 2010


WHY ARE THE CAST FAMILIAR?: Well, to be honest, the cast aren't as familiar as you would expect, given that this film is directed by the one and only Mr Eastwood. However, the lead actor- Matt Damon, is a man that can stand on his own. Perhaps some of his most famous films include Good Will Hunting, playing 'Will Hunting', The Talented Mr Ripley, playing 'Tom Ripley'; the Ocean's.. series, as 'Linus Caldwell' and The Bourne... series, playing Jason Bourne. Cécile De France is a French actress who- until Hereafter, I had never seen before. But after doing some digging, I can tell you that she has had quite an extensive career- just on the other side of the English Channel in France. Like De France, Thierry Neuvic has been in a lot of things, but perhaps the film that we would recognise is Sherlock Holmes- A Game of Shadows, where he played Claude Ravache.


My review:
This is a film that I had wanted to watch since it came out. Unfortunately- due to circumstance, that wasn't to be... until yesterday night. I think that there's something a little curious about the subject matter because-  despite what any of us may or may not believe, we will never know what happens when we die. This film, however takes out the element of religion and uses scientific evidence to justify an afterlife. Yet to avoid confusion, it uses the clever title Hereafter. 


The film begins in an idyllic location: beautiful white sandy beaches and crystal clear waters that look wonderfully enticing, before they turn menacing. At first, I have to confess that I thought I'd accidentally tweaked the settings of the DVD as the film began in French with English subtitles, but then I realised that this was part of the story! This beautiful opening soon becomes devastated by a tsunami. De France plays Marie- a woman whose life is changed by the tsunami. She attempts to out-run the impossible but is soon swept up by the water. After having been declared dead, she miraculously awakens having witnessed the tranquillity of the 'hereafter'.  


Marie's story weaves its way through the film with that of George (Matt Damon) and a young boy in England called Marcus who tragically loses his twin brother. At times I did find the editing a little complicated as it seemed to jump sporadically from one story to the next, sometimes without feeling as though each segment is ready to be changed. And yet, this seems to be intentional as there later came to be an 'oh, that makes sense' moment.


When Marie starts suffering from flashbacks, she is instructed to take time off work. Whilst on sabbatical, she writes a book entitled 'Hereafter'. This is debuted at The London Book Fair. Coincidentally, George is also in London as he attempts to escape this curse that he has- the ability to talk with the dead. It prevents him from leading a normal life and seems to leave him isolated and alone. Yet, his moment of serendipity with Marie proves that he is no longer alone. 


Similarly, the third story also intersects at this same point. Marcus (played by George and Frankie McLaren) is continually searching for a way to be close to his identical twin brother- Jason. The performance's given by the McLaren brothers are heart-wrenching as Marcus' grief is quite challenging to digest at points as it just seems too much for a child to handle. But it seems to be the truth of his grief that helps to legitimise his search for the 'hereafter'. At the same time, it is Marcus that helps give weight to the lives of Marie and George: it feels like they are all on a journey that you can't help but become a part of.


As the film draws to a close, there is a feeling of contentment that George is able to give Marcus the closure he so desperately needs to move on. Likewise, when George meets Marie, I was left with a feeling of lightness in my tummy. At long last, this man could share some happiness with someone who has experienced what he has to live with on a daily basis. Both George and Marie are so likeable that you are willing them to meet; a meeting that to me symbolised the final pieces of the jigsaw. 


I watched this film and was surprised by how powerful it was. I felt moved by all the main characters and found myself considering my own thoughts on the 'hereafter'. I don't usually enjoy this sort of film, but I have to say that I felt the subject matter was handled delicately and benefited from thoughtful directing by Clint Eastwood. Overall, a very, very good film that will leave a lingering sentiment. 


My rating: * * * *

Why hello there, did you just clean that car?

That's right, hello. Did I just clean that lovely blue car? Why yes, I did indeed.

This weekend I decided to do something that I only do once a year. I have to wait until the weather is really good... and providing that I have nothing better to do, I make the decision to do this chore.

Spring is here, so that means that it's time to spring into action and do a spot of the ol' 'spring cleaning'. Usually, I do this begrudgingly, cleaning into the Summer over a period of months as it's too much to do everything on one day. Plus, I'm not like my Mum- I'm not that good at the cleaning as I just don't think that I'm disciplined enough (and yes Mum, if you are reading this, that is a compliment).

I woke up early yesterday morning and went for a glorious walk with Dave. As a consequence, my nose freckles have made an appearance many months earlier than usual... but I think that's a story for a different blog.

Anyway, following on from our walk, Dave popped out and I decided that because I couldn't think of anything better to do, I was going to clean the car. Starting with the inside. I couldn't handle both inside and out on the same day- the exterior had to wait until this morning.

I have to admit, it was a little bit tricky, attempting to clean the car when I couldn't find the right attachment for the hoover. It just made the experience that much more interesting... and time-consuming.

When I was satisfied with the vacuum cleaner, I graduated to the polish- something that can only be described as a very odd scientific experiment. You see- now half a can lighter, each time I sprayed the dashboard the polish just seemed to evaporate and vanish into thin air. It was as if Harry Potter were in the car, hidden under his invisibility cloak, playing a little prank. Oh Harry, what are you like?!

Having removed about a thousand receipts (perhaps an exaggeration... I suppose it was more like nine hundred and ninety nine), the car looked like a contestant on one of those before and after make-over shows- it was a shadow of it's former self. This meant, that the outside then had to match.

This morning, I went to one of those car washing places where you use the giant hose-thingy. Crumba! I pushed go and poof!, I was lucky to remain on two feet and not on the floor. There was so much pressure, which required much concentration. After many lapses, my trousers were cleaned up to the knees and my t-shirt also received a complimentary valet.

Driving off, I felt quite proud of my achievements (including remembering to close all the windows. This follows on from a previous experience. Two words: not good). I felt proud of my achievements until I got home and realised oh b*gg*r, I'd forgotten to clean under the doors. Oh well, I'd say that fact balances out the fact that I forgot to clean out the boot (or- and this sounds so much cooler: the trunk).

Happy car cleaning people, happy sunny days!

Mx

An honest opinion of my usual audience!

Hello friends! I write to you from a gloriously sunny spot in England... ahh, bliss. This blog really follows on from one I wrote just the other day- Yesterday, someone sat and snored throughout my concert.... To be honest, I'm still a bit miffed that the fella fell asleep. But it got me thinking. And then I got analysing.

I- Mildred McManus, have come up with a comprehensive review of the type of people that I usually get in my audience at a piano recital. I'm sure that many of you will know at least one of the following people  in the categories I have given them. But if you don't know anyone who displays these traits, rest assured that one day you will!

• This sort of person I know very, very well. In fact, I know this kind of person so well, I am even related to one of them (yes Gma, that means you). Gma (Grandma) is often the main perpetrator I know and can always be sure to make her voice heard. I call Gma and her cronies: the-loud-whisperer's-that-think-they're-talking-quietly-but-not-er's.
• This one is usually guaranteed to be a good audience member, because they have made the effort to be there nice and promptly. This type of person is called: the-early-bird.
• So, if everything has an opposite, the ying to the yang of the early bird is called: the-late-comer. But sometimes, it just can't be helped.
• This is my favourite category: the-drink-obtainer-and-loo-dasher, because aren't the two interconnected? Doesn't one cause the other?
• This category drives. Me. Mad. I just wish that: the-I'm-really-bored-looking-people-but-I'm-secretly-enjoying-myself-but-don't-want-to-let-you-know-that people would do just two things. One; smile, and two; clap. This- in my experience, is the sort of person who will applaud half-heartedly throughout your recital, usually without even exercising their facial muscles into a smile. And yet, your evening will end and apparently- miraculously, somehow, you have been the highlight of their week?! 
• This has happened to me only once. One day, a woman popped along to my recital. Ten minutes in, she proceeded to open a packet of crisps (aka chips) and then spent the next twenty-three minutes eating them loudly. After she'd finished, she placed the empty wrapper in her chair and then walked out in the middle of my recital. I call her: the-food-nosher.
• Lastly, we have: the-cougher-and-part-time-sneezer. Not nice, especially if you're in a small room...

So, here ends this blog. Next time you go to a concert, keep an eye out and maybe- just maybe, you'll be presently surprised! 

Mildred x

When is the right time to hold hands?

Hello dear friends, sincerest apologies for my longer than usual absence! I have not forgotten to write- honestly. I've just found my time this last week has been zapped- boom!, and it was gone.

But, I have- of course, been thinking since I last wrote to you. I mean, I probably don't need to tell you that as I'm sure you're probably aware that I'm always thinking... there's never a quiet moment in my mind (regardless of whether these thoughts are more of a pondering; a musing, or just a good old fashioned day dream).

Anyway, anyway, I got thinking about a subject matter very dear to me. In case you're wondering, it's the age old question of holding hands. Yes, I'm sure that Jane Austen and her cronies had something to say on the matter, but their opinions were written in the day when a woman flashing a teeny bit of ankle was deemed risque. But what about now? The question I pose to you is: when it is the right moment to hold your boyfriend's hand for the first time?

I can only go by my own experience. I remember my first hand holding experience with Dave. It wasn't as romantic as perhaps it could have been, but it was memorable.

Dave and I were in a field.

Filled with cows.

Cows that looked angry.

We'd been for a nice walk and watched a beautiful sunset and so far- no hand holding. Having watched the sunset, we realised that we were millions (or what felt like millions) of steps away from the car. Then, we realised that we'd be walking back in the dark. Without a torch (or if you're in America, we had no flashlight). Ooh la la!

After a while, we reached the top of a hill only to find that it was full of menacing looking cows. Bear in mind, I was wearing a red jacket, so obviously feeling rather nervous. I don't know if cows have a problem with the colour red the way that bulls do... but they are related so I suppose it's possible. I just thought, 'cripes- this is it!' But that thought was promptly followed with a 'fiddle-sticks... why did I have to wear red?!'

Anyway, I think that my nervousness must have been evident in my facial expressions, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise. Dave turned to me, looked me in the eye and then went on to announce that he thought it would be for the best if I stayed close. I nodded. Then he took my hand in his and all of a sudden, voila! We were holding hands and it felt right. Simply perfect.

I don't really know if there is an answer to my initial question, but what I will say is that I think that the moment you first hold hands will happen when neither of you is thinking about it. I was lucky, as I got to be a kind-of damsel in distress and Dave could then step up to the mark! He got to be the Prince that rescued the damsel and we both went on to live happily ever after.

The end. No, it's the beginning.

Mildred x

FILM REVIEW: Wanderlust

FILM: Wanderlust 
GENRE: Comedy
CAST: Jennifer Aniston, Paul Rudd, Justin Theroux and Malin Akerman
DIRECTOR: David Wain
YEAR: 2012

WHY ARE THE CAST FAMILIAR?: Being a Jennifer Aniston fan, I have seen quite a few of her films so I'll pick my favourites. Where it all began: as 'Rachel' in Friends, 'Jenny' in Marley and Me, 'Dr Julia Harris' in the totally and utterly hilarious Horrible Bosses and 'Grace' in Bruce Almighty. Firstly I know Paul Rudd from Friends- as the one who marries Phoebe, but also from... actually, I haven't seen him in anything else, but in case you have he played 'Tim' in Dinner for Schmucks and 'Pete' in Knocked Up. I wasn't familiar with Justin Theroux until I saw him with Jennifer Aniston in a magazine as her boyfriend, but apparently he played 'Megamind's Dad' in Megamind. Malin Akerman (a woman... Malin is quite an unusual name) was in Couples Retreat as 'Ronnie' and played 'Tess' in 27 Dresses.


My review:
After perusing the cinema listings- not really sure what I wanted to see, I eventually settled on this film: Wanderlust. I suppose- if I'm honest, perhaps I was a little swayed by the fact that Jennifer Aniston was in the film. I've always liked her, ever since I became a watcher of Friends. Usually, the films that she's in are generally rather good- albeit sometimes a little 'safe'. But whatever she's in, her comic timing is usually fabulous. However, what I will say is that I don't think that this is an example of her finest work. All the actors give great performances, but the story is- in parts, a little bit weird. I felt that this weirdness almost compromises some convincing performances, sometimes causing an uncomfortable viewing experience.

The plot basically follows the lives of Linda (Aniston) and her husband George (Rudd). In the midst of an oh-so-familiar recession, they decide to buy a property. Unfortunately just a few days later, said property is rendered worthless. As if that wasn't bad enough, on the same day George loses his job and Linda's pitch for a documentary goes disastrously wrong. In short, they are more-or-less left penniless and jobless. So not good.

With nowhere to go, George and Linda go to stay with George's brother who's only purpose in life (it seems), is to make George as miserable as possible. But before they get to George's brother, the couple stumble across a hippy commune called 'Elysium'. Realising that they can't stay with George's brother, George and Linda return to 'Elysium' to begin a new life as hippies. At this moment in time, this is when you- as an audience- have to put your open-minded thinking cap on!

Initially reluctant, Linda adapts to this new lifestyle whilst George feels more and more out of place. No matter how hard he tries to fit in, George never quite succeeds and is frequently shown up by Seth (Theroux).

When this free-spirited community is threatened by the corporate commercial world, the residents conquer and divide as they attempt to save their homes from being decimated. It is at this point, that I found I could empathise most with the characters. I found myself supporting their cause as the lifestyle that they lead seems idyllic and innocent- I didn't want the cold-hearted businessman to destroy this place of happiness that they had created. Perhaps this is born of a desire to be able to bottle their happiness and simplicity of life, and then inject it into reality? 'Elysium' was a place of calm where there was no bad news, corporate greed, commercialism or anything nasty. I found this to be a refreshing change and wished that that blissful ignorance to everything negative in the world could be made real.

Yes, there was a double walkout during this film. But I didn't feel the desire to leave. I wanted to know what happened to George and Linda. Yet when the final credits were rolling, I wasn't left thinking about George and Linda. I walked out of the cinema feeling almost bamboozled by what I'd seen- as if I'd been part of this dream that George and Linda live; that I was coming back to reality. Yes, that's it. This film- for 98 minutes, enables you to suspend reality and be a part of this totally alien lifestyle. All in all, a clever, funny and thought-provoking film. If your disillusioned with life, watch this and then you'll feel content by the end of this movie.

My rating: * * *

Yesterday, someone sat and snored throughout my concert... am I that bad?!

Quite amusing really, but I must repeat this title as yesterday, someone sat and snored throughout my concert... Please tell me: am I really that bad?!


I repeat this title as I dedicate this blog to any musicians who have ever experienced the misfortune of having someone fall asleep and then proceed to snore throughout their recital. Yesterday, this is what happened to me.

Okay, I'll admit that I'm not playing rock music or anything like that... but still, there are some concert rules of etiquette one should abide by. I'd say that the first is quite possibly also the last: simply stay awake. This is a rule that appeared to have bypassed this man who- to make life easier (as there are many men this could be), we shall call Norman.

Yesterday, my concert was fairly traditional in content. It featured some of the greats- Mozart, Beethoven, Elgar, McManus (me) and of course, Henry the Eighth. Now don't get me wrong- it wasn't boring at all. I had that audience in the palm of my hand- one moment they were laughing (which is a good thing); the next they were crying (which- in case you were unsure, is a good thing). I was in my element, entertaining them and regaling them with tales of my misfortune in between pieces (which- in case you didn't realise, is also a good thing as it makes the audience like you... I think... I hope!).

I was having a wonderful time- as were the audience. I didn't feel like I was working (that means it's going well) and I hadn't yet laddered my tights (a good sign). Life was tickety-boo.

At least it was tickety-boo until the evening was interrupted by Norman and his gigantic snort. It was a like a beacon of sound that signalled an unyielding steady rumblicious and continuous sound. I simply raised my eyebrows in surprise; but playing to an intimate audience in a hotel, I wasn't really in a position to put an end to Norman's roadwork impressions. I was simply going to leave that to one of the other guests. You know, they'd complain and he'd stop.

But to my immense surprise, nobody said anything! Either they were too polite or too embarrassed on Norman's behalf. Even his wife didn't give him a friendly prod. No no, she simply cast a sureptitious glance around the room, picked up her handbag and gave her husband one last pitying look as she crossed to the other side of the room. Then she sat down, took a sip of her drink and turned to me; "As you were dear", as if she couldn't hear a thing. Maybe she couldn't. Maybe Norman wasn't even her husband. I don't know, but what I do know is that I still had 24 and a half minutes left to fill with this lawnmower in the background.

So, following the lead of the audience, I simply ignored Norman and pretended I couldn't hear a thing. I have to admit, that was quite a feat- especially when Norman was louder than the piano. Yep, that took some professional pretending that did.

I even tried some old-school techniques... You know, playing a couple of quieter numbers to relax the audience, followed by a super-duper loud blast of loudness in the hope that this would startle Norman back into life. But no, not a peep. I'm telling you now, this man was sleeping like it was going out of fashion. He was snoozing like his life depended on it, but more than anything, he was making me look bad... Thanks Norm.

Anyway, anyway, anyway, as any musician will know, the golden rule of performance is to just keep going (though I'm sure that's also the general rule of life). So I kept going until the end, when my finale was met with rapturous applause. As the audience were leaving, I went through the obligatory chit-chat that usually follows a performance, often complete with several bonus handshakes. This is the moment of total irony- wait for it... Norman came up to me and proceeded to tell me what a wonderful time he'd had- how much he'd enjoyed the music and blah blah blah. Then he shook my hand and gave it a rather cheeky squeeze, before thanking me for giving him the best nights sleep he'd had in a fortnight. Then he walked off. Thank you Norman.

I don't think I have anything else left to say. Once again, Norman has left me speechless.

Mildred x

PS If you are a musician and this happens to you, don't worry. Apparently it's a compliment...

FILM REVIEW: Transformers: Dark of the Moon

FILM: Transformers: Dark of the Moon 
GENRE: Science-fiction/ Action
CAST: Shia LaBeouf, Josh Duhamel, Patrick Dempsey and Rosie Huntington-Whiteley
DIRECTOR: Michael Bay
YEAR: 2011


WHY ARE THE CAST FAMILIAR?: Well, I have to say that I'm not overly familiar with a lot of the cast members, but I do recognise a few of them... which is definitely better than nothing. Shia LaBeouf- 'Sam Witwicky' in Transformers 1 and 2 and 'Jake Moore' in Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps- admittedly, a film I never saw as- having watched the original Wall Street (or rather, attempted to- I fell asleep), I didn't have particuarly high expectations. Although I saw the trailer many, many times... enough times to feel as though I didn't need to see the movie. Josh Duhamel- 'Lennox' in Transformers 1 and 2 and 'Eric Messer' in the hilarious- yet touching, Life as We Know It. Patrick Dempsey- The 'McDreamy Doctor Sheperd' in Grey's Anatomy and in Valentine's Day, another handsome 'Doctor Harrison Copeland'. Lastly, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley- never heard of her... so not familiar in the slightest.

My review:
I watched this film for the first time yesterday evening with high expectations. You see, I had enjoyed the first two Transformers films, so I already had a bit of an understanding about the story. For maximum cinema effect, I switched the surround sound on and boom! We were in business ladies and gents.


I settled into the sofa with a nice glass of water and some tiramisu- a combination I highly recommend. I must have been distracted by my desert as instantly, I was confused by the opening. But then I got the gist of it- as so often happens with this sort of film, and realised that all hope of a peaceful world had vanished because the Decepticons had kicked the butt's of the good guys- the Autobots... which is more-or-less what keeps on happening throughout the film. It's like a tennis match between good and bad, then bad and good and back again. Until it ends, when we all know that good triumphs over evil- something I guessed before even watching the film.

I thought that the use of archive footage at the beginning was a nice touch and seemed to validate the story- all of a sudden those ambiguous trailers made sense! Using historical facts to bolster the story gave  it a level of believability and plausibility- assuming of course that you can suspend your brains' logic telling you that robot-cars don't actually exist.

I was pleased to see that Sam's (LaBeouf) parents made a return to this film as I thought that in the previous two films, the scenes featuring the three of them were where the humour was found. Personally, I would have liked to see more of his parents in this film as I found that their (generally) robot-free talk was something that I could at least understand!

Having sat through the entire 2 hours and 30 minutes, I was surprised that the plot wasn't tighter. It seemed- in parts, to be rather poorly edited as one minute there was dialogue, followed instantly by a fight scene that had no explanation as to why it was there. I got totally confused! Although, I thought the film score helped to fill in the gaps for me in the plot. It gets a little bit complicated, trying to remember what side everyone is on, as each character seems to have an ulterior motive. Luckily, the main themes in the music made it a bit clearer as to who was a goodie and who was a baddie.

I have to say, I did have one 'Mission Impossible' palm sweating moment (so called, as this was the first film I ever saw where I experienced tension to the point of clenching my hands in concern!). This was when Sam and the good guys had to jump through the window of a leaning glass tower block and then fall back through another one, otherwise their only other option is dying- luckily not the winning choice!

When the film ended, I didn't think- 'oohhh, I need to watch that again', as is often the case after watching a film I've very much enjoyed. Don't get me wrong- this film had it's perks, but I felt that there wasn't as many as there should have been. This film had the potential to be quite simply stupendously brilliant. Sadly, that potential- I felt, wasn't realised. When absorbed in a fabulous film, your thoughts should all be focused on the film. Mine weren't.

Ideally, I would have breathed a sigh of relief and thought- 'phew, thank goodness Optimus Prime and the Autobots were around to save the world'... but I didn't.  Instead, I was left wondering why it is that the Autobots never run out of ammunition or petrol? Oh, and why isn't it called 'Dark Side of the Moon'- was the word 'side' left out? If the title doesn't really make sense, how can the film?

My rating: * * * 1/2

The Mystery of the Black Eye

This is a blog, born of the most unusual ailment I have ever experienced. That's right friends: this blog is about the mystery of my black eye.

It's a funny old thing really, as I have no idea how I managed to obtain said darkened eye. The only conclusion I can reach is... that I prodded myself in the eye... in my sleep. I really truly have no recognition of it what-so-ever. All I know is that last Saturday I went to bed with two regular looking eyes. The next morning, I awoke with a black eye. Total mystery!

What is also a total mystery to me is why a black eye is called a black eye. Why is it not called a purple one? I mean, mine was purple... not black. Luckily I could disguise this behind some eyeshadow as it was limited to the inside corner of my right eye. If anything, this purplisation served to make my eyes even greener. Perhaps I should branch out and invest in some purple eyeshadow? This could be the start of the new and radically improved me!

As I write this, I am consulting my eye and am pleased to report that my purple eye has at long last begun to fade. Each and every morning, I felt like I was viewing my face from a different perspective. Every morning, I asked myself the same question: was my purple eye still there? Disappointingly, yes it was. I sought approval from Dave for my new ailment. Did I still look like his girlfriend; his Mildred? He smiled at me and said that even if I had two black eyes I'd still be beautiful to him and that I'll always be his Mildred. Ahhh, nice. He is a good boyfriend- thank you Dave.

This is the most peculiar thing I have had the chance to witness. It is unexplainable- like aliens... but now I've just said that, I hope there is no connection between me and U.F.O's...Most bizarre of all, is that this has not caused me any pain. When I've been testing it (well, basically prodding to see what my pain threshold is), I've been pleasantly surprised to find that either I'm really brave and able to tolerate high levels of eye poking or- and this is far more probable, it was a surface purpling that caused me no pain.

Anyhoo, hopefully I'll be back to normal in just a few days' time. In the meantime, my green and purple right eye, my regular green eye and the rest of me bid you farewell.

Mildred x

FILM REVIEW: The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Welcome to my first film review- how exciting!

FILM: The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel 
GENRE: Drama; Comedy; Adventure
CAST: Judi Dench, Celia Imrie, Bill Nighy, Dev Patel and Maggie Smith
DIRECTOR: John Madden
YEAR: 2012


WHY ARE THE CAST FAMILIAR?: I am familiar with these wonderful actor's from the following: Judi Dench- the sophisticated 'M' in the James Bond films, 'Queen Victoria' in Mrs Brown and 'Queen Elizabeth I' in Shakespeare in Love. Celia Imrie- 'Celia' in Calendar Girls, 'Una' in Bridget Jones' Diary I and II and 'The Posh Lady' from Dinnerladies. Bill Nighy- The octopus man from Pirates of the Caribbean II and III- 'Davy Jones'; 'Minister Rufus Scrimegour' in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II and 'Billy' in Love Actually.  Dev Patel- 'Jamal' in the film that launched his career: Slumdog Millionaire and 'Anwar' in Skins. Maggie Smith- the formidable 'Professor McGonagall' in the fabulous Harry Potter... series, 'Mrs Medlock' in The Secret Garden and 'Violet Crawley' in Downton Abbey (and loads, loads more).

My review:
As I entered the cinema, I scanned the auditorium and quickly realised that I was the youngest person in the room. Very nice. This didn't worry me- I was rather flattered to be honest, as once you get past a certain age, you cease being the youngest person. Sometimes, you find you are the oldest person which, (I'm finding) is always a little disappointing. Most importantly of all, there were no popcorn crunchers and no loud drink slurpers. Result! Surely, this is a good omen, I thought to myself. And yes, indeed it was.


The film stars a strong ensemble British cast who all embark on a life of retirement in India. The group begin to forge friendships as they adapt to their new lives in the hustle and bustle of this new country. They are welcomed to the charming, yet dilapidated 'Best Exotic Hotel Marigold' by Sonny (Dev Patel) who is fighting against the odds to make his business succeed.



The film may be about- fundamentally, old people, but it's humour (when relating to old people related topics) is self-depreciating and makes light of things that could otherwise become rather heavy-going. For instance, Muriel (Maggie Smith) boldly proclaims that she 'won't even buy green banana's at her age, just in case...' which was met with roars of laughter from the audience.


You feel like you are learning with the characters; you are experiencing the sights and sounds of India from the comfort of your very own comfy seat. You feel as if you know the characters- which, I think, is testament to a good film. This is a story about real people and the emotions and obstacles that they experience; good and bad alike.

At no point during this film was I disappointed. The plot was consistent and the acting was wonderful. In fact, when the film came to a close I was tempted to remain in my seat so I could find out what happened next. I suppose that's what we've got an imagination for though! The characters felt like old friends. With old friends, we tend to follow their advice unquestionably. I walked out of the movie theatre feeling as if I should follow their advice; as if I should endeavour to try and let my age be nothing but a number.


The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is clever, thought-provoking and makes you care about the characters, meaning that you can not only laugh with them, but also at them. This is a film with heart and sentimentality that will leave a lingering smile for many, many hours after.

My rating: * * * * *

I have a dream... Sort of.

In the words of the legendary Martin Luther King and the even more legendary ABBA, 'I have a dream'. Yes ladies and gents, I indeed have a dream.

It has come to my attention, that now we are in the month of March- which, in case you didn't know, means that we are officially approximately 8.3 % of the way through the year of 2012. (Please don't ask how I reached that figure... it took a lot of time and patience... the story to finding this figure is deeply boring... but also deeply concerning. 8.3 % is almost 10 %. Did you know that?! I'm sure you did).

I find it alarming to already be in 2012's third month. I am now just 29 days away from my birthday and I'm starting to become a little bit concerned with what I've managed to achieve since my last birthday. (On a separate note- Mum, I haven't decided what I would like for my birthday. Thank you for asking me on a weekly basis since the 10th January. Unfortunately, you're persistent questioning hasn't sped up the pondering process. I'm sure I'll have decided something the night before D-day. If I haven't... well, we'll get to that later).

Anyway, anyway, anyway. As I was saying. Last year I wrote a blog about pre-birthday analysing (Why oh why do I find myself (year after year), doing the obligatory what've-I-achieved-in-the-previous-year birthday analysis?). Specifically, I wrote this blog on birthday eve- which, with hindsight, may not have been my best decision. However, I'm not going to dwell on it now as I still have a couple of weeks to (attempt) to achieve some of the goals I set for myself. Doubtless to say- I shall be reviewing this shortly.

Earlier, I mentioned that I have a dream. Just like Martin Luther King and ABBA, I too have a dream. But I have decided- now that we are in March, that I need to do more to enable me to achieve this dream. It's funny, but my dream actually stems from one of my New Year's Resolutions. I resolved that I would try to make other people around me happy. To achieve this, I will use various different means including writing this very blog, performing music, teaching, acting, entertaining and just being honest.

By now you'll all know that I write, but my problem is that I'm not very good at concentrating on just one thing and sticking with that. I'm more of a... what's the word? Hmmm... Not procrastinator, because I do do things. No no... I'd say I'm more of a... flitter. Yes, that's it: I'm one of life's flitterer's. Meaning I flit from one thing to the next and back again. I do finish things... eventually.

However, at the moment I am doing something pro-active towards achieving my dreams. Currently, I am sending demo CD's of my music to the record companies. It's a long and slow process, but maybe- just maybe, the right person is out there. I'll keep trying. In the meantime, while I'm waiting, I'll flit to something else. I don't suppose it's easy, trying to create a voice for yourself. But I'm sure that with patience, dedication and hard-work MLK and ABBA's hard work would have paid off.

We're now in March, so I have now resolved to work harder and to stop procrastinating (which I do so well). I'll play the waiting game, but I won't stop dreaming.

Mildred x

PS If you'd like a listen to a couple of examples of my work, they can be found here: Two of my compositions. I should tell you now- to avoid confusion, that I perform and write under the name of 'Francesca Cox'. She's my alter ego!

Did you just hear that rip?

It's not very often that you get the chance to say this, but happy leap year people!

Supposedly, February the 29th is the one day a year that a woman can propose to a man... So, before we begin- I would just like to make it known that I will not be one of those women... ever. When I get engaged, there will be romance. The tale of the proposal will go down in history and be the stuff of engagement dreams. Super nice. But call me traditional- which I think I am, in every engagement imagining I've ever permitted myself, I have never once been the proposer- I've always being the proposed to; the one asked, not the asker. This is not about to change... Poor Dave, please don't read this and be put off... but you've got a lot to live up to in a few years' time, my friend!

Anyhoo, back to reality. This blog is based on a rather blush-worthy incident that I believe happened last night. However, I could be totally and utterly wrong: this incident may have happened last week. If that's the case, my rosy cheeks may well rocket off the blushometer.

Last night, I was driving to work which- to be honest, wasn't that exciting. When I arrived, I parked the car (as you do) and then had a read of my book as I had a bit of time. Unfortunately, the book took an exciting plot turn, completely engrossing me and making me forget that I was sat in my car in a very uninspiring car park. Catching a glance of the clock, I suddenly realised that I was about to be late.

Throwing my book aside, I grabbed my relevant music books and flung the door wide open. And then- that may or may not be the moment when I heard an ominous 'rip' as I hurried to get out of the car. You see- I have forgotten to mention that I was actually wearing a rather smart and fitted dress to the knee. It was so fitted in fact, that it didn't really give you much room to move. It actually made driving a little tricky as you can only really move from the knee's down. This dress is also not conducive to running. Likewise, it has a very specific car-exiting manoeuvre... that I don't believe I properly applied.

So at one point or another, I somehow managed to rip the back of my dress. Yes, there was already a split at the back. No, it wasn't intended to reach the top of my leg...

Did anyone think to mention this to me? No.

Did I even notice? No, not until I got home and was changing into my pyjamas.

The thing is, I can't recall when the dress ripping incident actually occurred. For all I know, it could have happened a fortnight ago. Maybe it was last week? I just don't know. What I do know though, is that it was rather embarrassing.

I'm sure this won't be the last blush-worthy incident, but I'll be honest- there have been many many more! But that's for another blog.

Thank goodness for computers: at least you can't see my rosy complexion!

Ladies- beware of the pitfall's of the fitted dress. Let this experience be a lesson...

Mx

How to blend in when in London... by someone that didn't

Hello everyone, Mildred here!

I hope you've all had a fabulous week. I have had a stonkingly good one, (just in case you were wondering)!

On Wednesday, Dave and I ventured to London. Wednesday- you see, was the boyfriend's birthday (the real one, this time. Dave's fake birthday- as you probably know, was on Sunday last week).

Anyway, I was going to tell you before I got distracted with some small and trivial facts that, as a gift to Dave, I bought him a ticket to see the piece-de-resitance (said in a French accent, friends... pronounced pea-ess dir rez-east-ahnce... or something like that) of all things theatrical in the West End. Dave and I went to see the incredible Les Miserables- or as we like to call it, now that we've been: Les Miz. Sophisticated people. Nice.

What's this got to do with being a tourist in London?, I hear you ask. Well, it has everything to do with being a tourist in London. Because- dear friends, the remainder of this blog is devoted to advising you how to blend in with the indigenous Londoner's and locals. Basically- from the mistakes that Dave and I made, I am now fully qualified to dish out advice on what not to do if you want to look like you belong in this magnificent city.

So, the following pointer's I now bestow upon you are not necessarily foolproof... or guaranteed to work for that matter, but they are at least a step in the right direction in the efforts to make a rural country girl and boy into hip and trendy city dwellers:

1. Try not to wear your functional raincoat... even if it is actually raining. This says to the local that you are a tourist because you are far too sensibly dressed for a city that celebrates individual dressing. Instead, you should opt for a more fitted jacket- umbrella optional (applicable to both women and men). Alternatively, you just get soggy. Unfortunately, Dave is guilty of this offence.
2. Try not to loudly gasp in horror at the cost of The Tube/ Underground. This shows that you are out of touch. Dave and I couldn't bear to part with such a large sum of money to go just three stops, so we decided to embark on an adventure. That's right- we walked to the theatre. We walked to the theatre in the rain. We got lost once or twice, but we never had to...
3. ... ask for directions. Instead we used the special 'London walking signs'. By the looks of things, only tourists used these signs...
4. Never- and I repeat never, pull out a disposable camera and get snapping. If you must take pictures, a digital camera- of better yet; your mobile, are far more blendinable (... I know, I know, is that a word? Probably not... but it really should be). This time, I am guilty of the disposable camera display... I have no defence, other than I really wanted to use up the last 13 pictures. 
5. When you arrive at the theatre, don't pull out of your bag a pair of binoculars in a bid to save money. We were sat in the highest seating section and thought that we were being ingenious in taking our own bins. We weren't. We were highlighting our touristyness (... again, a non-word that should be a real word). But- I will be honest. When it came to actually using the binoculars in the theatre... we couldn't. We didn't. But we thought about it.
6. Lastly, when on the train home, sat amongst the London commuter's, best not rummage through your bag until you find your packed lunch. This definitely makes you look like a tourist. But by this point, Dave and I were past caring. We were tourists, we'd had a a good time and we were happy. Thank you London. We may not be cool (evidently), but we had a wonderful time together and wouldn't change a single second of the day... I wouldn't even change the fact that we got lost... three times. No no, because I was with the boyfriend, being a fellow explorer and having a jolly good time being a tourist. 

So that's that. I've just got to the end of this blog and I've realised: you know what? I don't mind being a tourist when I'm visiting somewhere for a special occasion. It made the day more memorable which- dear friends, leads me to conclude that I shall disregard my own advice and continue being a country girl in the big city.

Mx 

The story of the good deeds

This blog tells of the story of the good deeds.

Tomorrow is Dave's birthday.
Sunday (the day before yesterday), was Dave's fake birthday.
Trust me, these facts are both relevant.

For Dave's fake birthday, I decided to throw him a little party 'do. It was very nice, very quaint and oh-so-Britishly-old-fashioned! The party featured a small and intimate guest list... not quite into the region of double figures though. So I suppose that makes the guest list, well, minuscule. There was six of us (five if you don't include me as I was the hostess... and just four if you don't include Dave as he was the main shibang. Without Dave the party wouldn't have existed. Actually, without me the party wouldn't have existed as I was the party-organiser-extraordinaire).

Anyway, anyway, anyway, Dave didn't really know what to do to celebrate his birthday, so I took matters into my wonderfully cared for hands and decided to organise something. He said he didn't need to do anything, but I knew better. What he really meant was, he didn't want to cause any hassle, meaning he was happy to just chill out instead. I have to admit, it did take me a while to work this out. But once I'd got through the silly customary boyfriend/ girlfriend rule-thingy of saying one thing but meaning another, we were onto a stonkingly good party.

I bought balloons- two different sorts. One packet was a total success... in that they inflated. The other was a total party-pooping failure... in that no matter how much air was donated, the darn things wouldn't inflate! I mean, what sort of balloon doesn't become a balloon?? A bad one. That's not a joke, but a real true story.

I bought food and some yummy beverages. I also bought a birthday cake (failure rate was too high if I were to attempt to bake one. Last year, I attempted to bake a cake and it kind of erupted: it became a volcano cake. To disguise it, I cut off the burnt bits, covered it in green icing/ frosting (as that was the only colour food-dye in the cupboard) and then sprinkled a load of sweets on top to substitute for the rocks and lava). However, Dave's birthday cake was blueberry inspired and- if I don't say so myself, very tasty indeed... until it came to me adding the candles.

Instead of traditional ones, I'd decided to get candles that spelt out 'h-a-p-p-y b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y'. The only problem with these was that they took about a zillion years to light, so by the time I'd finished, the candles read 'n-a-y-p-y o-i-r-t-n-d-a-y' (which I believe is pronounced as 'naypy oirtnday'). And then, as a consequence of the quick burning, I was left with puddles of wax on the cake! Honestly, what is it with me and birthday cakes? None of my plans ever go right...

Not to worry though, as it was rather amusing; as was the rest of the afternoon. Everybody had a wonderful time and laughed. A lot. So what a party-pooper I was to be the person who had to put an end to the shenanigans as I had work later that evening...

A little while later, Dave and I collected two lovely lady OAP's* called Joan and Sylvia. I have known them both for an awfully long time and thought that they were thoroughly deserving of a night out. So Dave and I took them to see me... in concert. And what a marvellous time they had! Which in turn, made Dave and myself feel great as we were doing something that brought so much happiness to other people. More to the point, I am also fulfilling New Year's Resolution number three: to make other people around me happy. Does it feel like a chore? Not in the slightest.

So dear friends, I am going to end this blog with a smile and hope that you have one too. This is the story of the good deeds; something that can't help but make you feel fabulous for doing a few simple things. I shall try to do them more often.

But for now, I am going to end this blog by wishing Dave a very naypy oirthnday! Happy birthday's so last season, don't you know?!

Mildred x

* If you are American or of non-British decsent, an OAP is basically an old person.

Coming soon... The new and improved Mildred!- the New Year's blog. 

Mission Conclusion

Hello friends,

On this day- Friday 17th February 2012, Mildred McManus is about to break the news of how disastrous this (optimistic) mission really was. I will do so through a series of probing questions:

1. Did I manage to watch all eight of the Harry Potter films? No... that's the simple answer. Absolutely no point in lying (although that would- to be honest), be rather easy to do... but I'm not going to lie.
2. Did Dave watch all eight Harry Potter films? Er... no. In fact, he refused to watch any of them with me, choosing instead to sleep/ have a super long shower/ cook (each mentioned item he did, but you can choose whichever one you think is most interesting in this story).
3. Did Herbert watch all eight Harry Potter films? Again... sadly not. 
4. From the films that Herbert saw, did he became a hardcore Harry Potter fan? As much as it pains me to write this, no he did not. 
5. Did Herbert bark at any of the films? Have a guess- I'm sure you'll get it right. It's a no.
6. Did Herbert run away from Voldemort? Nope, not once. 
7. Lastly, did Herbert have any sort of response worth sharing? I'm thinking... and thinking... and thinking some more. Did he have any exciting responses to HP? Er... does going to sleep count? Probably not... so no, Herbert didn't have any exciting responses.

Therefore, I- Mildred McManus can conclude that the mission was a major failure. Of course, I'm disappointed to share this news as I must admit- I did think that Herbert might have at least growled at Voldemort and barked in approval at Harry. Unfortunately, this wasn't to be. 

To end this blog on a positive note though, I would like to say that after a week in my care, I am very happy to report that Herbert is happy and in one piece.

Farewell friends.

This blog is linked to the following: My mission, should I choose to accept it is...? and Mission Update. 

Anyway, regarding the mission- which was (in case you have forgotten), to watch all theHarry Potter films and turn Herbert into an HP fan.

Mission Update

Dear ladies and gentlemen,

This is a blog update on the mission.

So far, I am afraid that the mission is not going well. With hindsight, I realise that perhaps I was a little bit optimistic in thinking that maybe, just maybe, I would be able to watch 8 films in 5 days whilst working and Herbert-sitting. Not to mention, being a girlfriend and a daughter. Oh life- how complicated you are!

Anyway, regarding the mission- which was (in case you have forgotten), to watch all the Harry Potter films and turn Herbert into an HP fan.

I must admit- I had visions of the Herbster, running out of the room in terror at the sight of Voldemort... but no, he just looked at the television with disdain... as if to say... 'and?'

To be honest, maybe this wasn't my finest idea (although I do sincerely hope to be able to watch all of the films in one go). Herbert is more interested in hiding my sock's and Dave's underpants. He has no interest in Harry and the gang: none what-so-ever.

Aside from hiding socks and pants, Herbert seems to be much more interested in when he will be able to have a run, what he'll get for dinner and where he's going to sleep. Ah... the life of a dog. What utter bliss it seems!

I'm going to end this blog with a solemn vow to try to watch another film and at least make Herbert growl at Voldemort if he won't go running out in fear. Currently he's looking at me, wondering why I'm writing and not tickling his tummy... so ladies and gents, I must depart and indulge Herbert with some attention.

Until next time,

Mx

My mission, should I choose to accept it is...?

Dear fellow Movie Bluffs,

My name is Mildred McManus and this week, I am on a mission.

This week- from today until Saturday, I am Herbert sitting. (Before I go on, I should probably explain- so as to avoid causing any confusion, Herbert is a dog. But he's not just any dog: he's the most wonderful dog in the whole wide world). So you see, Dave and I don't really mind looking after The Herb-monkey as he is really just a glorified teddy bear... just real.

Herbert the dog- as you may have guessed, doesn't actually belong to us. He usually lives with my Auntie, but this week she's on holiday (or should I say, on vacation?), as she's gone to NYC (aka 'The Big Apple'... reason unknown. I mean, are there actually exceedingly large apples in New York? You know, larger than anywhere else in the world? I should've asked Auntie Jules and Uncle Nick before they went. Maybe, they should've been offered the mission- should they choose to accept it, to see if there are actually any unusually large apples in The Big Apple. That way, at least this huge life conundrum would be answered).

Anyway, I'm waffling! I was going to tell you what my self-inspired mission is for this week. If you are partial to a bit of Harry Potter, then read on! If you're not such a Harry Potter fan... please read on also!

This week; my mission- should I choose to accept it; which, before I go any further, I should tell you that I do accept- is to watch every Harry Potter film from the first to the last. Now, I know that may sound a little boring, but that's not it... no Sirree! I have decided to share these films with Herbert (and Dave or course), in the hope that Herbert might really, really like them and then become a bit of an HP fan. Hopefully, the plots won't be too complex for the little 'Bert- he's only 2 and a half (in dog years that is- not human years, because that would be irresponsible). Personally, of all the films, I think he'll most relate to the third one- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, because Sirius Black is also a part-time dog... just the same as Herbert... well, not quite the same because- as far as I'm aware, Herbert is a full-time dog.

Right-oh, now that I have announced my mission to the world, I'm going to get started shortly. Evidently, this blog is in part inspired by Harry Potter, but also, Mission Impossible. However, unlike in Mission Impossible, this message will not self-destruct in the next 10 seconds.

I'll keep you updated you as to how the mission goes. Wish me luck!

Sincerely,
Miss Mildred McManus

When the world knew best... I didn't listen

On Monday evening, Dave and I learnt a big life lesson: when the world is telling you not to do something, you should always listen.

Unfortunately, we didn't actually really understand this message until after we hadn't listened... which, reading back makes absolutely no sense.

Basically, when the world was trying to give us a sign not to do something, we didn't follow that wisdom and advice. Although, you could say it was kind of a good thing that we didn't read the signs because now I will always read the signs (and when I say signs, I mean those rather spooky moments that can't really be explained, but all seem to say the same thing).

Anyway, you are probably wondering what it is that I'm going on about. What can be so life-defining that it will make me stand to attention and look at the world with a different set of eyes? Could it be something as extraordinary as watching a baby bird fly from its nest for the first time? Er... no, afraid not. Could it be the simple task of carrying an old lady's shopping to her car, only to find that she is the world's wealthiest woman? Er... again it's a no. Or maybe- could it be the moment when you realise that you are falling in love? ... That would be a no. Again.

I'm sorry to say that it was nothing as extraordinary as the three scenario's above. It was (and now it seems completely silly after I've dramatised it so much!), a rather plain and simple Chinese take-away (or take-out if you prefer). Except, it wasn't quite a Chinese meal. Rather, this is a blog about the Chinese take-away that was never supposed to happen.

Dave and I never usually order in food as he's rather good in the food department (and definitely much better than me, although that's not difficult). But on Monday night, I had the evening off work so Dave and I decided to have 'date night'. Instead of going out, we decided to stay in... bring the food to us and curl up with a good old DVD.

So, after perusing the menu and deciding to choose lots of new different dishes... before opting for the same old suspects after all, I handed Dave the telephone. He dialled the number which then rang... and rang... and rang... because it turned out that they weren't open on Monday's. Oh, we thought. Not to worry, we'll try a different one.

This second one answered their telephone, which we thought was a good start. But then when Dave asked if they would deliver to our house, they said no. He asked why, and they said that they only delivered to the towns to the east of them... not the west... I think you can probably guess we were on the wrong side of west.

So, we thought it would be a case of third time lucky, but when we contacted this restaurant, they said that they'd never heard of our town?! We were totally astonished. And foolishly, we were determined not to give up.

But who has ever heard of fourth time lucky? Nobody. Because it doesn't exist. If you were wondering- there is a reason that it doesn't exist.

When we picked up the DVD from the shop, we were wondering around the aisles when Dave suddenly spotted some frozen Chinese dishes... in the freezer. Feeling pretty chuffed that we could still have our planned Chinese, we placed in our basket some spring rolls, shredded beef, sweet and sour chicken balls, some chicken and mushroom concoction, prawn crackers and rice for good measure.

Forty-five minutes later we sat at the table rather smugly, thinking what a saving we'd made cooking this ourselves... but that also happened to be the moment when we realised that we should have listened to the world. Basically, the shredded beef was more like the worst spaghetti bolognese you could ever imagine tasting; the chicken and mushroom thing was not much better than polystyrene in gravy, but as for the chicken balls... they were basically like... hmmm... how best to describe them? I think... chicken biscuits. Not good. But the one good thing to come of this dinner was that Dave and I realised just quite how nice rice can be. Ah, rice... the taken-for-granted food of the Chinese take-away... what a hidden treasure you are!

If you're still wondering how this simple incident can be interlinked to the inner workings of the world, I'll wrap this blog up with an explanation:

• If Dave and I were destined to have a take-away that evening, the first place we called would have been open. After three failed attempts with three different restaurants, I realise now that it was evident the world was trying to tell us something: do not go for the DIY option from the local shop. 
• However, in buying this ill-fated meal, Dave and I suddenly became more appreciative of the smaller things. So, I think that what the world was trying to tell us was to read the signs, using the 'rule of 3'. But also, to appreciate what you've got in life. I've got a Dave, which makes me very happy because he's my best friend, as well as my boyfriend. Maybe though, sometimes Dave is like the rice in a Chinese take-away: sometimes he gets taken for granted. Every once in a while I should appreciate how great he is, because without Dave I would just be a Mildred. And I think you'll agree- without the rice, a Chinese take-away just wouldn't be quite as great.

Mx

Hmmm... I wonder what life would be like without my favourite things

Hello dear friends and welcome once more to the world of Mildred!

For the last couple of days I have been visited by the cold-and-flu fairy. As a consequence, I have been experiencing moments of pure surrealism. And that, friends- is how this blog came to be. It is courtesy of the cold-and-flu fairy that what I am about to write is what you are about to read.

You see, I got to thinking about my life (as you do when you are ill and don't have very much to do) and I decided to list my top 10 favourite things in it. In case you are interested, they are (in no particular order):

1. I greatly enjoy the pastime of thinking.
2. I love the fact that I am in love with Dave.
3. I enjoy learning.
4. I absolutely love to sleep!
5. I like listening to music and playing musical instruments.
6. I try to laugh at least 5 times a day... and usually succeed.
7. I like writing... evidently, given that I keep a blog and also write music.
8. When I need a break from all the standing-up that I do in life, I greatly enjoy sitting down.
9. My favourite number is the one and only 13.
10. Lastly, I love to perform.

Then, after I'd made this list, I got to thinking about my life once again... only, I imagined it without my favourite things. That must sound very odd I know, but it was rather interesting. I don't know if you know this, but each one of my favourite things can also be a phobia. Did you know that? I didn't. But I do now. So, I decided to investigate further. Below is what my life would be like without the above:

1. Fear of thinking = Phronemophobia. This would be incredibly tricky to monitor as I think we're always thinking, aren't we? Plus, my friend Elsa just asked me if dreams count as thoughts, as aren't dreams an extension of your thoughts, courtesy of your subconscious? Hmmm, the more you try to define and restrict thinking, the more impossible it becomes... How do you stop yourself from thinking?  
2. Fear of falling in love = Philophobia. This is a shame... as if I hadn't fallen in love with my best friend Dave, I probably wouldn't be as happy as I am now. Plus, I can't imagine Dave not being in my life any more as it would be very boring.  
3. Fear of learning = Sophophobia. Oh dear, back in January, I made the new years resolution to learn something new everyday. This means that I'm going to fail my new years resolution for the rest of the year... and it's only February. Not good.
4. Fear of sleeping = Somniphobia. This is bad. If I couldn't sleep, I'd be useless at my life. Couple that with being scared to think, I really don't know what I'd do with all this extra time on my hands...
5. Fear of music = Melophobiva. Well this wouldn't be good. In fact, it would be awful. I play the piano, I listen to music and I write music. In an instant, all that is gone... pffft! And as Elsa just pointed out, I wouldn't be able to watch any films or much television either (unless I had the subtitles on and the volume muted). The radio would become a definite no-go zone too.
6. Fear of laughter = Geliophobia. No! Laughing is my favourite hobby! But most importantly, science says that laughter keeps you young... and if science has said it, it must be true.
7. Fear of writing = Graphophobia. Well, my blog would cease immediately and Musings of Mildred McManus would be no more. That would be a sad day indeed.
8. Fear of sitting = Thaasophobia. What a terrible phobia this would be. Standing all day would make your legs really tired, so you'd want to sit down... but no, you can't! And then, as if that isn't bad enough, you can't then go to sleep later on in the evening, after you've spent the whole day standing! I'm exhausted just thinking about this (even though I'm not supposed to be thinking).
9. Fear of the number 13 = Triskaidekaphobia. Well, I guess I'd have to change my lucky number. I only chose this number because it's so unlucky for so many, I figured it must at least be lucky for someone.
10. Fear of situations such as stage fright (at a performance) = Topophobia. I guess that I would never have gone to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for starters. But I suppose stage fright can be anything. You don't need to be stood in front of hundreds of people to experience this do you? Wow, this would be bad.

So there you have it. If I had all these phobias, life would be very bland. It would be a bit like a slice of wholemeal toast without butter or jam or anything on it. Just toast. And that- I think you'll agree, would be very dull. Which I suppose makes me glad that my life is filled with butter, jam and marmalade. Having got to the end of this blog I realise, I actually am quite lucky. But above all, I am very happy.

Mildred x

PS If I had all of these phobia's, that would make me a phobophobic (or someone who has a fear of phobias)!

Thank you to http://phobialist.com/#A- for the official phobia names. 

Confessions of a House-Sitter

I have decided to write this blog before the parents return from their holiday to the land of 'The Pyramids'... the mighty Egypt that is. I feel I should have a clean conscience before their return... So begins the 'Confessions of a House-Sitter'.

There are many different aspects involved in being a house-sitter, including sitting in the house that you are supposed to be house-sitting (though I'm sure you'd guessed that much). In the absence of the owners (AKA the parents), the house-sitter (AKA me), is expected to look after the house as if it were their own and- most importantly, ensure that there are no burglaries, trespassers or anything as equally undesirable.

Now, between us, this is where the issues start to arise. If I am looking after a house as if it's my own, then there's no way that I'm going to be maintaining it to the standard that the owner expects. Yes, it'll still be tidy... just not everyday. Likewise, I don't necessarily welcome any burglar's or robber's. But I have to say,  it is unclear if this selection of unwanted visitors includes animals.

For instance- 30 seconds ago a HUGE spider just walked through our lounge. I didn't invite it into the house, so does that make this spider a trespassing-burglar? They're on my property (well, the parents') without my consent, potentially stealing fluff from the carpet (albeit unwanted) to make a nice cosy bed for itself. These grey area's are just not made clear in the official house-sitter's manual. Not clear at all.

Anyway, to ensure that I write with accuracy, I am sat with the house-sitter's manual in front of me.

• Did I answer the telephone and take any relevant messages? Yes I did. However, the only person who actually phoned the house was Dave, so I have to confess, I took precisely zero messages. Did I therefore fail in my secretarial duties?
• Did I feed and water the animals of the household and the plants? Erm... yes and no. Fed and watered pet... but forgot to do the same for the plants. I'm ashamed to say that they have seen better days... sorry parents.
• Did I inspect the utilities such as the plumbing and air conditioning? Nope. When have I ever done that before? Never. Besides, we don't even have any air conditioning... unless it's invisible. But as far as I was aware, the water was running out of the taps crystal clear, so we didn't have a problem.

There's a load of other jobs and chores, but they're all a bit boring. 

Hold on, I'm just going to consult the manual- check I've covered the main points.

*

What?! Can you believe it? Apparently, I'm supposed to be checking the swimming pool! Where is said swimming device Mum, Dad? If it's in the manual, it's got to be true. I mean, honestly, talk about being short-changed! I'll have to have a chat with the parents when they return... 

Actually, on second thoughts... maybe I won't mention it after all. Mum would only turn around to me and point out the obvious: the pool- in February would be unswimmable, freezing and probably full of leaves. More to the point, it would just be a nuisance to look after.

So you know what I'm going to do now? I'm throwing the manual away. My days as a professional house sitter are over. I'm just going to go back and finish my stint as chief-house-looker-after-er as a professional daughter instead.

Mx

The information relating to house sitting came from this website if you wanted further details as it is actually, a real job:  http://dot-job-descriptions.careerplanner.com/HOUSE-SITTER.cfm.

My 50th Post Celebration! The second and final part*

* Or, as an alternative title, Post Number 51! Hmmm, doesn't quite have the same ring to it, so we'll stick with My 50th Post Celebration! The second and final part.


Hello to you, wherever you may be in the world! Currently I am writing to you from the UK, from my house, from my lounge where I am draped in scarves and poncho's in an attempt to be warm (although you probably don't need to know that)... You may, however- be interested to know that I have exceedingly cold toes (reason unknown. I just do).

Anyway, I'm not here to tell you how cold my toes are (although, that is a subject I cold easily write about at length). No no, I am here to bring to you the remaining highlights of the life of Mildred (AKA me), so far.

So, we come to July:

In short, I got a haircut, had a cold and attempted (very poorly) to write my life story. Although, looking back at these blogs, I can tell you that though these events may seem mundane and trivial, they were in actual fact life defining moments- particularly the haircut (By jove, I've done it: I've only gone and become a fully fledged adult this morning!), as I realised that I'd left the childhood me behind and become a grown-up.

Likewise, I managed to catch a cold at a very crucial moment (My body has waged war on me when I need it most). Looking back, it's quite amusing how dramatic a simple thing can be made. I drew this blog to a close with: 'Let battle be won through mentholated madness, soup, hot honey and lemon  and regular nasal dousing. I will not succumb to the battlefield, nor will I succumb to snoozing drowsily in bed with a hot water bottle. I will fight this cold valiantly until the end. But first, I think I might indulge in a nice hot bubbly bath... As of 12 hundred hours today, Mildred v MB (Mildred's Body) has begun. May the best Mildred win.'

August:

Loads of stuff happened in August- too much to write about! But the basics: well, Dave and I went to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival- an international theatre festival situated in... Edinburgh. We met some wonderful people and I debuted my play that I had written (loosely based on my life) called Mildred McManus for World Minister. It was an interesting month where I learnt four important things:
1). It rains in Scotland. A lot.
2). My raincoat was not waterproof.
3). My shoes were not waterproof. But...
4). ...my mascara was waterproof.

My top three August blogs are (in no particular order):
1). People, flyers and the categories they fall into
2). My final show in Edinburgh
3). I welcome some new friends into my life: lovely wellington boots

September:

Basically, I visited Bulgaria with some friends. Whilst there, I read the autobiography of Julie Andrews (AKA Mary Poppins) and decided that when I returned to England, I would need to watch several Julie Andrews related films... which I did and very much enjoyed. Oh, I also became a part-time decorating-builder.

January 2012:


Ah, January... Such fond memories. This was the month when I was introduced to Mission Impossible and had my first palm-sweating-I-can't-believe-this! cinema moment (My first palm-sweating cinematic experience). I also made a public appeal for new members to join the Day Dreamer's Association (WANTED: New members to join the Day-Dreamer's Association ), became engaged (and then unengaged) to Dave (The tale of the engagement that never was, one woman's lifetime ban in the kitchen and goodness only knows what else...) and lost a sock (The curious incident of the missing sock), although I'm sure you'll be relieved to know that said sock turned up... eventually.

As I draw this- my 50th blog (part 2) to a close, I would like to dedicate it to two lovely ladies that I met recently. I don't often do this sort of thing, but I would like to today.

So- as a thank you for your presence on Saturday and Sunday, I dedicate this blog to Shirley and Lynne (who know who they are).

Mildred x

Can you believe it? My 50th post!

Hello everyone and welcome to my 50th blog!

To mark this occassion, I have decided to review the key things that have happened since I began writing my blog way back in March 2011. For obvious reasons, I'm only going to choose the items of interest, otherwise this would make very dull reading indeed. No, actually, I'm going to pick my favourite moments!

So, March:

Erm... after much deliberation I have decided that March is a month of little consequence, so I'm skipping it. Next!


April:


Oh April... you were not a good month for me, were you? I say this for two reasons:

1). April was the month of the doomed interview (I'm PIA-ing... I'm Post Interview Analysing and I can tell you I was not on form... ). Not only did I drop my CV off to the wrong garden centre, but I researched the wrong market and started spouting off facts that were about the other garden centre when I was being interviewed. Not to mention, I turned up to the interview dressed in high-heeled smart shoes and classic interview gear, only to see that the next candidate was wearing an anorack and steel-toed shoes (the footwear of choice I've since been told). One word: DISASTER.

2). April was also the month when Grandma played Cupid and set me up on a date (which- I would like to add, I had exceedingly high expectations for: (I wanted to bring you a success story, but I have to face facts: I am a dating disaster... ). Unfortunately, said date did not go to plan... especially when I inadvertently managed to turn myself orange. I remember it well: on Sunday, I was an English Rose. On Wednesday, I was an English Dandelion. A day later, as I wrote that blog, I was the colour of a satsuma. Since this unfortunate incident, I have never fake-tanned, preferring greatly to be pale and interesting. I have just one word to sum up this incident: ORANGE.


May:


In May, I decided that the time had come to absolve myself of any wrong-doing over the years and to dish out some well-earned thanks: (A series of thank you's and apologies ). Unfortunately, I accidentally publicised Scott's (secret) phobia of spiders to the world... now I've just realised that I've (accidentally) done it again. Oh well, it's out in the open now so I may as well share with you what I wrote: '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!

June:

June... what a peculiar month you were.

1). I learnt what it felt like to be in your ever loyal stead (AKA your car) and experience the feeling of insignificance and total inferiority to the beauty of a machine parked next to you. In my case, I was in my trusty Poop Mobile (Ford Fiesta) and somehow ended up parked beside a brand new red Aston Martin (Yesterday, I had my first experience of car-o-feriority). There was a wonderful twist to this tale though, when I realised that: 'Next to my poop smattered Fiesta was a poop splattered Aston. For once, I felt grateful for a little black and white speckling on the bonnet and would have gladly accepted a little more on mine, feeling blessed that a bird would share itself with both the Prince and Pauper of the car world.'


2). I learnt what it felt like to be surrounded by folk aged over 60 for over 100 solid hours. (And let me tell you, 100 hours may not sound a lot... but it is)! That holiday with Grandma was certainly an interesting experience to say that least (Life with a coach-load of old folk (and me)). 

3).Very sadly, at the end of this month, I lost my beloved car- better known as The Poop Mobile (Farewell my friend). We had some good times, you know.


So dear friends, I am going to leave this blog here. Let's call it 'PART 1', shall we? Otherwise, it's going to become a blog-essay. PART 2 will follow shortly.

50th blog... I'm thrilled!

Mildred x