My first week at drama school

Why hello there ladies and gents, it's me- Mildred. How are we all?

Today's blog is a slight retrospective number about my first week at drama school... eek! I can't believe that it's already been a week- can you? When I was chatting with Dave on the phone the other day, I said: "... and usually I do this, but sometimes I do blah, blah, blah." To this he replied after a lengthy pause; "but darling, you've only been there three days." It's amazing how quickly we adjust to a routine.

Are you familiar with the wonderful Finding Nemo? Yes? No? Not sure? Hmmm. Well, this was me on Monday morning (much to the horror of the London commuters):

I love it- I'm just so excited to be learning again! I'm even getting used to the 12 hour days. My alarm goes off at 5:50 a.m. (a time that until last week I did not realise existed twice in one day) and I leave the house by 6:30 a.m. I am home by 7.00 p.m., but I wouldn't change it. Working in the film industry involves very long days- I'm looking at this phase in my life as one giant rehearsal.

I love, love, love my course. I get to learn about lots of technical acting things that would sound quite boring to a non-actor (different techniques, exercises etc). But I also get to learn about sword fighting. Apparently- according to my teacher, I have to work on my aggressive face. This is tricky- I'm not sure if aggressive face is in my repertoire. To help with this voyage of self-discovery, I purchased a sword (plastic and made in China- most definitely not in a blacksmiths) with my good friend Anna and we spent much of yesterday afternoon sword-fighting in between bouts of giggles as we tried to find my aggressive face.

Anyway, it's been a long week. I'm looking forward to next week. From now on I am enforcing a strict 'lights out by 10 p.m. policy', and you know what? I'm actually enjoying it. I miss Dave, but at least he's always at the end of the phone. Where oh where would be without technology? Until next week, I bid you farewell as I go to make my sandwiches for tomorrow.

 

Mildred x

 

Back to school for me

At the ripe age of 25, I suddenly find myself going back to school. If you'd have told  me this was going to be the case a couple of months ago, I would never have believed you. But it seems that fate has intervened and I am set to find myself back in the classroom as a student once more.

Home will be wherever I may be. I am going to be taking a leaf from the life of the humble snail and live with my world in a shell- well, a rucksack at least.

I have been given the opportunity to study Screen Acting for the next year- which I am greatly excited about. I'm going to learn how to be a professional actress for film and television. But I'm also going to learn loads of other stuff too. I would tell you what, but I'm not going to as I'm not even sure of everything yet. Wait one more week and I'll be able to give you more facts when I've started. I do know that 'other stuff' includes bits and bobs like screenwriting, screen combat (eek!!), martial arts and lots of behind the scenes stuff too. I'm not going to lie: one of the things I am greatly looking forward to is being able to hold that clapper board and say 'aaaannnnnd ACTION!' (completed with an elongated 'and'. It wouldn't be right otherwise).

 

Anyway, this is the part that I've been dying to tell you about. My school uniform consists of- well... nothing. Don't take that the wrong way- I'm not naked. I will be fully clothed. However, what I wear is entirely up to me. So, I have a few wardrobe staples that are sure to cement my credentials as a master geek. These include:

• proper walking boots (it's a nice morning trek to get to the train station), complete with a dark green paint splodge that I managed to bestow upon them when I was painting the shed for Dave.
• a fully functioning waterproof rucksack. I just don't know what I've been thinking all these years. I mean, there I've been fighting the need for one and yet, they have gloriously cushioned arm loops, way more space than a regular handbag and space for precious cargo such as a laptop. Dad- you've been recommending a rucksack since forever. From now on I hear you partner- I'm in your corner.  
• a waterproof coat (in white of course, so I'll always show up). It also happens to be super warm. Gone are the days of wearing a thin jacket whilst shivering with cold, reassuring anyone that asks through your chattering teeth 'of course I'm warm'.
• other miscellaneous clothing that you wear underneath your coat. I don't think I need to go into details here.

I'm taking two suitcases with me for the next two months and my rucksack. So far I've managed to pack one suitcase. Unfortunately it doesn't contain a single item of clothing. Instead it is filled with carefully selected books and therefore very heavy. I'm sure I'll get round to sorting my clothes. Eventually. 

As I've been preparing myself for this new chapter in my life, I've realised that life is a journey that is made for living. So that is exactly what I am going to do.

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)

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 

Did anyone mention that there is snow?

Hello people of the world,

It's only me.

As I sit and write this to you, I am staring onto a snow covered lawn that's twinkling in the afternoon sunshine and making diamonds sparkle before me. Birds twitter but the trees remain silent and still, weighed down from their snowy loads. A fire rages in our little cottage at home, making me feel warm as I sip a mug of creamy hot chocolate whilst Dave chatters away in the background.

Doesn't that just sound idyllic? Perfect? Heavenly?

Yes, it does, doesn't it.

Unfortunately, it's not real. I thought I'd use a little bit of artistic license to draw you in.

Instead, as I write to you I am indeed staring across a snow covered lawn. However, I can't hear the birds (yet that didn't stop the blighters at 6:30 a.m. this very morning), Dave is not here and nor is the sun shining. I don't have a log fire roaring away (I don't have clearance to make such a thing. My last effort resulted in soot falling into the house and not out and was so pitiful it wouldn't light for longer than 30 seconds). Instead I am revisiting my student memories and have wrapped myself up in the following layers:

• underwear (obviously)
• tights (purple- if you're wondering)
• two pairs of socks
• jeans
• slippers (that look like they've been designed for elves)
• one vest top
• one long-sleeved t-shirt
• one hoodie (and yes, the hood is up)
• one extremely long and woolly scarf
• one big fluffy dressing gown

And before you ask: yes, I am still cold. I'm probably not helping matters with a cold beverage (think Mildred, think). 

What keeps me at the computer is the need to keep writing. I need to publicise my book An Ordinary Girl in an Extraordinary World which- as you know, was published this week. I'm still riding high on that excitement as unfortunately, January is shaping into it's usual self: an anti-Mildred month.

January and I have never seen eye to eye and probably never will. I don't always honour the January tradition of making new year's resolutions- sometimes I do, but not always. I don't go out and join a gym in January and I don't suddenly achieve all that I hoped to in the previous year overnight in this one month. Instead I attempt to do a back-log list of 'Unachieved ambitions from 2012: Damage Limitation Measures'. Trust me- this is not a wise thing to do.

Anyway, as I can no longer feel the tips of my fingers I am going to bid you farewell and write to you again on a slightly warmer afternoon.

Wherever you may be, drink plenty of hot chocolate and wear ample amounts of socks.

Mx 

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

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

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

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.