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.

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

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

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 

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

FILM REVIEW: Transformers: Dark of the Moon

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My rating: * * * 1/2

FILM REVIEW: The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

Welcome to my first film review- how exciting!

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


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

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


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



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


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

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


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

My rating: * * * * *

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

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.

PROGRESS REPORT: The Lost Sock

Hello.

This is a very short and concise sort of blog. In fact, it's not really a blog. It's actually a progress report about the missing sock of my left foot.

The questions that need to be answered are:

• Have I found the missing sock? The short answer to this is no. The long answer to this question is no, I have not. 

• Have I been searching high and low? The short answer is no. The long answer is no, I haven't.

• Do I have any idea as to where my missing sock may be? The short answer is no. The long answer is no, I have absolutely no clue what-so-ever. 

So, twenty-four hours later I am still one sock down. I don't know when this madness will end, but I will keep you up-dated as I try to solve the curious incident of the missing sock with my rather poor detection skills.

From,
The Detective Wannabe Mildred x

PS In all the hulla-ballo about my lost sock, I forgot to wish my good pal Reece a very happy birthday for yesterday... Friday the 13th... unlucky for some, but lucky for him!

The curious incident of the lost sock

The curious incident of the missing sock

I would like to dedicate this blog to anyone out there who has ever suffered the misfortune of losing a dearly treasured sock. If this is you, then read on.

Yesterday, after what can only be described as a glorious night of sleep, I awoke (as you'd expect because if I hadn't, I probably wouldn't be writing to you). Unfortunately, I was ever-so perplexed on my return to the land of the living.

I opened my eyes and then looked down to the end of the bed. As usual, my duvet was hanging over the edge, one of my pillows lay casually abandoned on the floor and the teddy bear that I DO NOT sleep with- (it just so happens to have been residing in my bed for the last 25 plus years) was now at the foot of my bed.

None of this was the source of my confusion. No no, the source of confusion was (and still is) the sock that was (and still is) missing from my left foot. Friends, dear friends, this is something that has never happened to me before. I have never lost a sock during sleep; during the laundry somehow- yes. But during sleep- never.

So the mystery begins.

I put my detective hat on and asked myself the three crucial questions:

• Where did I last have it? On my left foot last night.
• When did I last see it? On my left foot last night. 
• When did I notice it was missing? When I woke up in the morning, with a cold left foot. 

Do you see a pattern occurring here?

Evidently- I think you will all agree: I am a rubbish detective.

So, I searched my bed and the surrounding floor. But did I find the missing sock? No.

I searched the rest of the house, in case I'd taken up sleep-walking for one night only. Did I find the missing sock? No. Apparently I still don't sleep-walk after all.

Anyway, I dearly hope to be reunited with my dearly departed sock very soon. If you have seen it, it is black and fluffy on the inside and- if you try it on, super-duper warm.

I fear that if I am not reunited with the sock of my left foot, the right foot will have to be sent to the sock graveyard... the place of doom where socks who have lost their other half are sent. It is the no-man's-land of the sock world, where lost socks wait for their partner to be returned. Time is the enemy of the lost sock: if it's partner is not found within 6 weeks, then they are sentenced to a much worse fate... the bin.

So dear readers, I finish this blog today, missing a true friend of my left foot. I will keep you up-dated about the fate of the socks. But in the mean time, keep your feet warmers safe.


Mx