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