Can you still Spring clean when not in Spring?

Hmmm. The question I pose to you today is can you still Spring clean when not in Spring?

To me, a Spring clean suggests that cleaning should just be undertaken during one season of the year.  Unfortunately, if you've ever tried this school of thought, you will know that rather too quickly your home becomes a dust magnet and beacon for all manner of weird and wonderful bits and bobs.

I have decided to disregard the Spring clean as that once-a-year monumental clear out and made the decision to do this four times a year.

Until recently, I was hoarder. However, I have had a change of heart. I mean, do I really need a pair of shoes with a hole in the bottom? The answer is no. Even if they are my most treasured pair, the time must one day come for us to part ways. That time is now.

So far, I have managed to relieve my wardrobe of the following:

• four dresses, five pairs of shoes, one pair of jeans (thank you ebay), two jumpers and three handbags.

Other things that I have passed onto a better home- whether they have gone to charity or a ravenous black sack I can no longer recall, include:

• millions (or what seems like millions) of socks, old undies, old t-shirts, reams and reams of paperwork, old kitchen appliances, DVD's, CD's, stationery (the hardest thing to part with as I am a self-confessed stationery addict), books and the odd thing of Dave's that he hadn't realised he didn't need (he doesn't know I've been 'assisting'...). 

I guess that I must have become older and wiser. Stuff doesn't make you happy. Once you've got the stuff, you always seek more. I found it to be liberating having a belated Spring clean. Why cling onto something just to say you have it? Sometimes I really don't understand myself.

So, I am left to conclude that happiness comes from you and the people in your life- not the items that line your shelves. Phew.

Expecto patronum! Excellento perfectnum

Why hello there lovely people. It has been an exceptionally busy week since we last caught up. I've been helping to build a house (and monitoring my biceps growth too, but Dave says that they don't just sprout out like Popeye's, which was disappointing to know. Then again, I guess I'm checking that they don't blast out of my arms. I'd look totally out of proportion- like a pigeon). I've also been tree climbing and packing up the house that Dave and I share into lots of boxes. In doing so, I am quickly realising how much stuff we don't need. But most excitingly of all, earlier this week I went to the Warner Brother's Studio Tour of Harry Potter.

Now, I'm not going to lie- I am big Harry fan. Actually, I'm a big J K Rowling fan, because without her there would be no Harry to be a fan of. I love the wizarding world, free from the shackles of such modern day necessities like computers, telephones and online banking. I love the idea of magic being within our reach, but the fact we have no idea of it being there. I guess I just love the fact that in the world J K Rowling has created, you can suspend reality for a few hours and become part of something that is very real.

That is exactly what I did the moment I walked through the entrance to the Great Hall. I had crossed the invisible barrier and entered a world of magic where I stayed for the rest of the evening.

In a departure from my usual blogs, I'm going to stop talking now and simply share some of the magic with you.



Ready to buy my wand from the one and only Ollivanders. Obviously I look out of place as I'm in my muggle attire, but I managed to make it into Diagon Alley, so I'm taking that as a sign that there's some magic in me somewhere.

Pretending to be a very unconvincing Hagrid on a rescue mission but failing miserably due to sitting on the motorbike looking too much like a girl. Dave on the other hand makes a superbly uncanny Harry- minus the glasses, the scar, the short hair, the rucksack and a snowy owl. Behind us is the infamous Knight bus and Harry's muggle home at number 4 Privet Drive at the very back.

This is me in my spiritual home! I loved school and learning and was always that person in the middle of an exam who stuck their hand up because they'd run out of paper. Yes, I am a geek- always have been and probably always will be, but I'm proud of that fact. If I could have one of these exam papers I definitely would! It's so much better than just an exam book- (examiner's of the muggle world take note).

 

Stood on the bridge that features in the films, in front of Harry's parents home With hindsight, I realise that I'm looking much too jolly outside the home that has witnessed murder!

 

A picture that no camera could possibly do justice to. This is a scaled model of the real Hogwarts and it is MA-HOO-SS-IVE. You can't help but drop your mouth and start catching flies in amazement.

I thought about adding more pictures, but decided against it. If you decide to go and pay a visit yourself to this magical wonderland, you don't want to know all the secrets before you've even set foot through the door. Near the entrance was a wonderful quote by J K Rowling. Today, it is with her very wise words that I decide to end this blog: "no story lives unless someone wants to listen."

Mildred Potter x
(Harry's unknown cousin seven times removed)

What not to do at a wedding (from someone that did it)

Here's some Mildred trivia for you: I have been playing the piano for over 18 years. I have also been playing the organ for 13 years and I have been attempting to sing since the day I was born. Unfortunately the attempt is not going well... so badly in fact, I may have to strike off my singing aspirations. Actually, scratch that; as of today I am retiring from singing.

This particular blog concerns the Church organ. Over the years I have played at numerous different weddings and funeral (the former of which is often far more jollier it must be said). Now, I'm not going to lie- over the years I have had some hiccups. But what can I say? That's live performance folks!

Once, I fell off the organ bench. Just once. I learnt my lesson fairly quickly.

Another time I played for a wedding at midday that went without a hitch. After the happy couple had departed as man and wife, I too departed- big mistake. Three quarters of an hour later it came as something of a surprise to say the least when I received a telephone call from the vicar to ask where I was. You see, it turned out that I was due to play for a second wedding. Everyone seemed to know about this wedding- the bride, the groom, their guests... just not me. So, I duly returned to an eerily quiet Church filled with tentative guests and a very anxious groom five minutes before kick off. I grabbed my music, hopped on the organ bench and hoped that things would go okay. I also said a slightly silent, panicked prayer. Luckily I was in the right place to be heard. Anyway, I got to the end of the ceremony without any problems. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. Turns out the bride was so eager to get married she'd got there fifteen minutes early (at this point I was missing in action). The vicar had to send her around the block in the car. TWICE. Glad I didn't know that until afterwards.

Then we have the time when I had the unfortunate bout of food poisoning and had to play for a funeral. Ahh, that was bad. The reserve organist happened to be a judge (you know- with the wig and everything) who was in court on that day, which meant that he couldn't be a knight in shining armour. I had to soldier on and hope and pray that my body wouldn't let me down. This was a big ask as I ideally needed to be in close proximity to a loo as nothing was staying down. I was so faint I was like a waxwork.

But the piece de resistance:

What do you do if you're given the signal to play your 'here comes the bride' number and there is no bride? Hmmm. I can tell you that you keep playing whilst hoping and praying that the bride is going to start hastening up the aisle. Any. Minute. Soon. When that doesn't happen you still have to keep going and pretend that this is what is supposed to be happening. Unfortunately, you cannot hide from a disaster such as this as the organ is not a quiet instrument. It's the woolly mammoth of the orchestra. You've just got to hope that the bride and groom have a sense of humour. Fortunately, a nod from the groom confirmed this.

As with any instrument, the organ is tricky to play- especially as you've got both hands and both feet moving simultaneously. It can go out of tune and things can happen that are completely out of your control. But in the words of the great Freddie Mercury: 'the show must go on.' Indeed it must.

Mx

Friday the 13th... and the stair falling incident

Friday the 13th is a day like none other. It is a day that strikes fear into the hearts and minds of people both superstitious and non-superstitious alike. I like to think that I fall into the second category, in case you were curious. 13 is actually my lucky number. You see, I figured that as it's unlucky for so many people it must be lucky for someone. I like to think that I am that someone. But now, I am starting to think that perhaps that is not the case.

On Friday the 13th September 2013 I had an unforeseen accident (as I'm sure most accidents are). On Friday the 13th September 2013 I fell down the stairs at home and landed in a heap at the bottom. On my descent I estimate that I managed to bump approximately three quarters of my body. It was quite theatrical really. I let out a scream of helplessness and made lots of noise before shedding lots of noisy tears into Dave's shoulder.

I did the obligatory 'is anything broken' checks and am pleased to report that nothing is broken. However, I am left with some rather interesting bruises. I basically look mouldy on my rear, back and tops of my legs. (Don't worry- I'll spare you the photo's). When you look mouldy, it does nothing for your confidence.

Feeling slightly concerned about these new temporary tattoo's, I asked Dave if I looked okay. Unfortunately his answer was less than reassuring. He simply looked at me after considering his words carefully and said: 'at least the Summer's over.' Hmmm. Not sure what to make of that observation.

Anyway, don't worry about me. I'm fine now and have learnt my lesson. Always descend the stairs with an empty mind. I blame thinking for my fall- I was preoccupied and therefore distracted.

Speaking of thinking, I have thought about what falling down the stairs on Friday the 13th could possibly mean and have concluded that it does not make this day unlucky. It could be a mere coincidence that I fell on that particular day. But I think not. I am convinced that despite my fall, I am lucky. I walked away unscathed and with no need for hospitalisation- there's not even a single scratch on me. Yes I slipped, but someone was definitely looking out for me.

Told you that 13 could be lucky for some.

Mx

Why is the teacup always half full?

After I placed two Weetabix into a bowl this morning I then poured over the milk (before you ask if this is relevant, I can tell you that yes it is- very much so). Then, I opened the cutlery drawer to take out a spoon only to find that there were no spoons to use. I cast my attention to the apocalypse by the sink and realised that the time had indeed come for a monster washing-up session. But first things were first. A Mildred on an empty stomach does not really work.

In the end I managed to find a soup spoon to do the required job of transporting the Weetabix from bowl to Mildred. This was a first for me. If I learnt anything that I can share with you, it's that soup spoons are not made for cereal.

Anyway, enough about that. Post breakfast I set about tackling the mountain of dishes where I began to formulate a deep and philosophical question: why is the teacup always half full? It's a real puzzler I know.

You see, I had three abandoned cups of tea waiting by the sink to be cleaned. (There was a fourth, but that belonged to Dave, so that doesn't count). And yet, this is not odd. What is indeed odd was that all my retired beverages were still half full. What can this possibly mean I hear you cry? Well, I have deduced this:

1. I evidently don't like tea as much as I like to think I do.
2. I am obviously drinking tea for the wrong reasons as it is not making me anymore sophisticated or mature. 
3. I'm a cold beverage girl through and through. 
4. I must be rather more forgetful than I realise to forget that I have a tea to drink.
5. If I struggle to reach the halfway mark with a cup of tea, coffee would be my nemesis; my Mount Everest. I'd be defeated even before I began.
6. I think I might be an eternal optimist as the teacup has never been half empty. I like to assume that this is a good thing.
7. Maybe I'm looking too deeply and the simple solution is to pour the remnants of the cup away before leaving the mug on the side?

Or perhaps the most obvious answer has been staring me in the face all along.

Perhaps I've just been over-thinking.

Perhaps I just need to wash-up more often.

Yep, that sounds like a good idea to me.

M

You've got a friend in me

I have often wondered what is the secret to a long lasting friendship.

As much as I would like to be able to give you some perils of wisdom. No, that's not right- perils of wisdom must be quite frightful. Let's try again. As much as I would like to be able to give you some pearls of wisdom, I'm not sure what to say.

There are some things shared between friends that bond you for life. Just ask Dave about the food poisoning incident. That wasn't a pretty sight, trust me. And yet, it is a glorious memory that we both can share (though it's not shared very often. We've got to be scrapping the barrel a bit with that memory).

I am fortunate to have met many people- both good and not so good. I am also fortunate to be able to say that the good people I have met have gone on to be the most wonderful friends I could ask for.

Two such wonderful people have taught me the meaning of true friendship. With them I have shared laughter and tears, tears of laughter and genuine tears (not necessarily in that order). I have dreamt with them as they have with me. Together we have shared heartache and helped each other through. These friends are not just friends for Christmas: these girls are my friends for life. I am blessed to be able to call myself their friend and privileged to know them. You girls know exactly who you are, but if you don't these snippets should jog your memories:

• Remember the time when we spent the afternoon pretending to be animals as part of my drama development for my degree? Kangaroo's have never since been as interesting.
• How about the time when we were so bored that we decided to stage the world's most awful fashion show? Think Absolutely Fabulous!
• Or what about the speed dating extravaganza? Totally unforgettable with my partner in crime.

• Remember the time we went out and ordered Pina Colada cocktails, only to find out at the end of the evening when we were super tipsy that we'd been drinking alcohol free ones all night? Swines!
• How about the times we spent in a certain coffee house, making one chilled drink last as long as four hours as we sat writing in the corner, laughing so much we should probably have been seated on the floor for health and safety reasons?
• Or what about the time we stayed in the hotel with no window and the stinky sewage loo?

These are the memories that make a friendship. Fifty years down the line, when we're old and grey, I know I'll be saying to these girls: thank you for the good times. Now how about a nice blue rinse?

I dedicate this blog to you.

Mildred 

A blog full of If-ism's.

Yep, that's right. This is a blog that is full of if-ism's.

It's been a while since I last wrote to you all, so I hope that this is a welcome return. I hope that you are all well and have been keeping busy! I certainly have. Since I last wrote to you, the thing that's kept me most busy is this malarkey that we call thinking. I greatly enjoy this past-time it must be said.

Although, to some people thinking can easily be mistaken as:
a). day-dreaming
b). pondering
c). musings, or
d). the worst one of all (or the best one- depending on which view you take): procrastinating.

Anyway, anyway, anyway. I have been killing time lately by over-indulging in the world of thought. One day I stumbled into uncharted thinking territory and began wondering if life would be a little more interesting if we were a little bit more honest.

For example. The other day, I had spare ribs and a rosti-esque concoction for dinner. However, if you asked me what I honestly had for dinner, spare ribs and a rosti-esque concoction becomes: goop covered ribcage with a side dish of vegetables that have been left to fester in their own juices before being stuck back together. Hungry now? I think not.

I then started thinking about loads of other dishes and came to one startling conclusion: if you start being a little bit too honest about your food, you're well on your way to becoming a vegetarian as- soon enough the honesty will spin your appetite.

In the spirit of being honest, I have to say that I don't really fancy becoming a vegetarian. It's not the bacon that I'd miss and it's not the beef with Yorkshire puds. No, it's a bit more simple than that. I couldn't become a vegetarian because I just love jelly babies a little bit too much- that's the gospel truth. I am a jelly baby-a-holic.

On that note, I think that I have answered my own question. Would it be better if we were all that much more truthful?

The honest answer is no. Sometimes we just need a little bit of gloss and glitter to make life that much more sweeter and palatable.

Until next time,
Mildred