As we stroll down a quiet sun filled street a middle aged man crosses the road in front of us laden with a large green holdall.
As he reaches his car, his voice blares out in a strong local accent (think Shane Meadows films.)

Man:  “Don’t touch me maggots.”

Snigger.

I didn’t touch his maggots, I promise.

I lie in bed listening, waiting to see if it will remain the habitual cry of a small child who wakes in the dark momentarily, then closes her eyes and heads off back to dreamland, or whether it will grow and build and become one of fear and need and want.

As the sound builds I climb from my soft sweet covers, gently patting my sleeping (or pretending to sleep - git) husband on the shoulder as I walk past him and out of the door.

Miss M is sitting upright in bed, her eyes wide and dark and afraid.

Miss M: “I want all my pets Mummy. I want my little snail.”

Me: Hush baby. Did you have a dream?

Miss M: Yes. And I want dat snail and dat purple fish. I lost dem.

Me: Well we could maybe find a snail in the morning, but it would be mean to keep him, we don’t know what he’ll eat.

Miss M: And I had a purple fish with big eyes Mummy. She was beautiful. Like a princess.

Me: Well if you go back to sleep you might dream her again. She can be your dream fish can’t she?

Miss M doesn’t look convinced so I let her climb onto my knee for a cuddle. As she does her body melts into me and her breathing steadies and her sobs gently subside. She isn’t asleep, just safe and calm and I hold her and rock her a little, glad that she is still young enough for this utter peace to come with such relative ease.

When Miss E is sad her needs are so much greater as she strives to understand her feelings. The cuddles take so much longer and the upset can return again and reach even greater heights as she ponders her situation and battles for control over her thoughts and emotions and fears.

As I rock my little girl, and rest my lips on her soft hair, I too feel completely calm and at peace. Nothing can beat the love from a sleepy child in the dark of the night.

Unless it’s the love from a sleepy child in the dark of the night while my significant other (or David Tennant) plies me with cocoa and cookies. Now that would be heaven.

It hurts.

It could be something to do with the weather, it could be something to do with the late night at my mates last night. (I wasn’t drinking, I drove so it was definitely not alcohol induced.)

Or it could just be that today it was my turn for a throbbing head, tired eyes and that weird thing where I can only see half of stuff.

So my post tonight is short and well, possibly a bit pants, but you’ll forgive me right?

Good.

Ok. I have these new mugs. Mr B let me buy them yesterday because I told him they were presents for people.

But, I really like them.

In fact, I want them for me, me, me.

The bottom too especially are calling to me, like a small shrew calls to its mother when it can’t find its favourite colouring book. Only they’re not shouting, “Muuuuuummmeeeeeeeeee” they’re shouting,
“Jooooooooo. You need us. You need to drink Tetley tea from our cute and sassy gorgeousness. You know latte will taste better when sipped from a mug that makes you smile. Keep us. Keeeeeep us.”

Put your head close to the screen, you can hear it right?

So,

• How do I convince Mr B that I need four new mugs when we already have a cupboard full?

• How do I convince him that the start I made on Christmas in buying these will not be in vain as their loveliness will spur me on to find even more fabulous bargain buys to delight our family and friends?

• How do I make them mine without him being all annoyed and grumpy about spending when we’re trying to save?

Anyone??

Oh, and another thing. I wonder if a certain friend will forgive my not being organized enough to post her 30th birthday card. I wrote down her address, I picked a beauty, but, erm, it’s still in the bag somewhere in my very messy dining room. I hope that doesn’t mean she thinks I love her less, or haven’t thought of her, because I have, I swear.

So, instead of a card I have this:

And the pile of gifts waiting for me to have enough dosh to send to her, or to save until she comes over here for that visit.

Love you Kim, hope you have a wonderful day, and I promise being in your thirties is ok.

Mwah.

The lovely Lisa is hosting this week’s Fun Monday and she was kind enough to give us two choices for our Fun Monday subject.

The first is ‘What is the one thing you would like to ask your readers? Come up with a question to pose to your visitors and throw it out there.’

The second is Show & Tell me about a bird.

It’s a few weeks since I did Fun Monday what with weddings and holidays etc, and life is still kind of hectic so I’ve decided to go with the ‘QUESTION YOUR READERS’ option because then you lot do all the work right??

You’re a bit scared now aren’t you? I mean, I could ask you anything and by the rules of t’interweb you have to answer truthfully or barnacles will land on your head and eat your brains or something.

So erm, what to ask?

Well I could ask:

1. Have you ever mangled something ‘living’, in a hotel trouser press?

2. Do you have a secret crush on a cartoon character that you’ve never told anyone about before?

3. What is your credit card and pin number?

But because I am kind and good and nice I will not ask any of these.

So, my question (inspired by the fabulous Daryl) is, ‘What is the funniest thing you ever overheard?’

And as I’m nice I have given you my own answer below…

Clears throat.

So I’m 18 years old and queuing in the doorway of the very cramped ladies toilets in a local pub. There is just one cubicle and it is occupied by two rather tipsy young women who are talking very loudly about various men they have ‘copped off with’ during the night’s entertainment.

Slightly worse for wear due to several bottles of bud, I am leaning against the door smiling to myself as I often to do when I’m at the stage where my world has blurred gently and I have to watch my feet when I walk. I tend to have this ‘I am completely harmless and in my own little world’ expression on my face when drunk in my home town. It’s a defense mechanism, as being in Mansfield in Doc Martens and stripy tights and a tiny dress in the early 1990s could often attract the wrong kind of attention, the kind that occasionally leads to a slap.

Then I hear this;

First girl: “Do I look alright?”
Second girl: “You look great babe. You look like you just had sex.”

I wait.

I listen.

She says something like, “Ahhh thanks mate” and I imagine them hugging.

And in my head I am saying, ‘WHAT? That was a compliment? Oh my Bob. That was a compliment.’

You’re thinking she says it with sarcasm right?

Or with a hint of laughter in her voice?

Or maybe even a slightly injured accusatory tone?

But there was nothing.

They leave the cubicle just as I remember to close my mouth and look away. I did take a sneaky peek at her though, and personally I think her friend got it wrong. I mean her make up is still thickly applied, her hair neatly confined in one of those weird zigzag combs people used to wear, and her face is not even the slightest bit red or sweaty.

I sit on the toilet and giggle to myself so much that when I come out there is a girl who looks quickly away from me. I bet she read every bit of graffiti on the walls of that toilet to see what was so darn funny.

Sighhhh. Memories.

So, come on, spill it. What is the funniest thing you ever overheard? Jo Beaufoix wants to know.

I’m not complaining, I mean, these are the choices we make, but having had 10 days away with my family, where he has been there constantly, I’ve realized that I miss him.

I miss having that person by my side to share stuff with, and I don’t just mean to help carry the load, you know, sort out the squabbles, tidy stuff away, decide what to have for dinner. I mean someone there beside me to share a joke, a glance, a moment.

When we were in Plymouth my Auntie decided one night that Mr B and I should leave the girls with her, go down to the beach and watch the sunset. I remember looking at Mr B and feeling a little awkward, shy even. What would we say? Would the silence be unnerving? Could we still do this?

When we got down to the seafront the sky was a mixture of low clouds, muted shadow and cool blue. The sun was already hiding behind a craggy hill, painting a shiny white glow over the fields and rocky shore. It was as if the last traces of warmth were being drained from the icy depths, a battle between nature’s elements, and it cast a strange but calming light over the choppy waters of the bay.

While we took turns with the binoculars seeking out tiny vessels disappearing over the horizon, the light changed and the sea was met with an orange gold glow, a last kiss from the sun’s rays.

Then the clouds slowly moved on revealing yet more blue and a day not quite ready to give itself up to night, and we were quiet, and calm and comfy. There was no awkward, no effort, we just were.

We stayed till it was dark and cold, till there was no heat left in the sky. He put his arms around me and we soaked up the sounds of the waves pulsing their regular beat on the shore, the chattering crickets, the pleasant crunch of tires along a pebbled track.

When we climbed back into the car he kissed me then smiled, and as we drove slowly back up the hill I thought, ‘yes, we can still do this.’

Now we’re home, I’m hoping that we make sure we find the time.

As for the place, well the sun sets everywhere doesn’t it?

No honestly, I really do.

So why do I find this so satisfying?

Mwah ha ha haaaaaaaaa

Oh and I nearly forgot to lovely Dumdad reminded me.

Remember when I posted about a local girls Olympic success earlier this week??

Well, Mansfield lass Rebecca Adlington got her second Gold Medal today along with her second World Record.  What a star.  I learnt to swim in the same pool as her don’t you know. 

He was the most charming and lovely man. Over the 15 or so years I have known him he has been a warm presence, always smiling, wonderful with Misses E and M and his own great grand children cousins ME and baby J, and a true gentleman.

He and his wife loved to dance, it really truly kept them young. I know that’s a bit of a cliche, but they always had a twinkle in their eyes and were never far from laughter. They were so devoted and in tune with each other probably because they still had fun together. They went to tea dances several times a week and we used to watch them at family gatherings waltzing all night. Nobody ever cut in and I never saw them start a dance with anyone else.

Over the last few years he has been suffering increasingly with dementia. It is the cruelest illness. It chips away at a person from the inside and makes everything that they know and love unstable and unrecognizable. The last three weeks have been pretty horrific, so much so that his passing is almost a relief. Almost.

Weirdly today is the anniversary of Mr B’s dad. He died when Miss M was 6 months old. There was a point we thought he might never meet her but I’m so glad he did as for a while she made him smile again just as Miss E always did.

When Mr B gets home from work tonight we’re heading over to Grandma’s for a picnic and a cuddle and to remember. The remembering is good. Poignant, at times still marked with sadness, but it’s easier to smile and laugh and recall the essence of Mr B Senior now. How he got so angry with politicians. How he used to get up so early that the milkman next door relied on him to wake him for his rounds. The gummy smiles he and Miss E shared when she was a baby and he hadn’t put his teeth in. His love of cricket and boxing. The hot meals he always prepared for his growing sons as he worked shifts and was the one there when they got home from school. His laugh. The grumpy arguments he had with his wife of fifty years, arguments that were forgotten in minutes.

I know Helen and her family will get to this place one day too. I wish it could be sooner, but some stuff just takes time.

If all this wasn’t enough, my other sister-in-law Sarah’s Gran is very ill in hospital at the moment and things aren’t looking good. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts. We’re kind of hoping for a miracle.

Then a small hand rests gently on my arm and a smile appears. Her eyes sparkle as if a tiny light has been switched on behind them, and she nods to herself, securing a memory.

Miss M: Mummy, I got something exciting to tell you.

Me: Have you babe?

Miss M: “Yes Mummy. Dere was a balloon, at de park near Holly, on de river. ”

Me: “Was there babe?”

Miss M: “Yes. A blue balloon. And it did float away on a river, and den it did rain an it was gone.”

Me: “Oh. The rain probably washed it away.”

Miss M: “Or it was maybe de frog.”

Me: “Ahhh. A little green jumping frog? Do you think it took the balloon home for a birthday party? I bet frogs like to have balloons at birthday parties.”

She glares at me, dragged from her thoughts by something profoundly stupid that has obviously just tumbled from my mouth and trampled clumsily over the image she has in her head.

Me: Or erm, maybe not?? Maybe frogs don’t have birthday parties.

Miss M: “De frog, not a frog Mummy.”

Me: “Erm, do you mean fog M, like over the sea at Auntie Frieda’s?”

She frowns at me and actually ‘tuts’.

Miss M: “Yes Mummy. De frog.”

As most of you know I’m not a political blogger.

No really. I know my site is often full of , environmental opinion, historical insight and world news...but I see myself more as the voice of a British woman overwhelmed by the amount of times the word ‘poo’ comes up in conversation when you’re a parent, rather than anything else.

I wasn’t going to mention the Olympics because the situation of many people in China is terrible and overwhelming and sad and it disturbs me that some people have lost their homes, livelihoods and freedom and had their Human Rights ignored and trampled.

But,

..as many of you know I live in an ex-mining town. My hometown has taken many beatings over the years both economically and socially, and has many battles ahead. There is high unemployment, high crime rates, poor health and low expectations, so I can’t ignore this.

19 year old Mansfield girl Rebecca Adlington swam her heart out to win Gold in the 400m freestyle. Tomorrow she begins her journey towards the 800m final, an event in which she currently holds the world record so there are high hopes for another victory. Hooray.

Sorry if you’re not into sports but I’m just so chuffed for her. It’s not often Mansfield is in the news for something so positive and wonderful and even though I’m not happy with many aspects of this year’s games I am very proud that this young girl went out and achieved her dream. Rumour has it they will be naming Sherwood Colliery Swimming Baths after Rebecca as she learned to swim there. This is especially fabulous as a certain blogger learned to swim there may years ago too so it holds a special place in her heart.

More news, my round of catch ups begins tonight but I have promised Mr B I will stop at 10pm as I am doing a carboot sale tomorrow and have to be up early. We are seriously brassic what with weddings, holidays and birthdays, so I’m hoping to make a packet or at least get rid of some junk.

Please pray for sunshine, or a great big invisible umbrella to hover over my stall tomorrow. And also for people to be mysteriously drawn to my little trestle tables full of, erm, magic, and for their pennies to leap from their pockets and into my little plastic container, and for me to not need the toilet while I’m there and for those annoying people who do this to stay away…

Annoying person: How much do you want for that vase.

Me: 20p.

Annoying person examines vase for about a minute, frowns, scratches his/her head, makes a little humming noise as if in deep thought.

Then,

Annoying person : Will you take 15p?

I HATE THAT SO MUCH.

Well this is her dream room anyway, and I can’t help being kind of pleased because we’re on the way there. I mean, she has a wardrobe, a bed, walls, a ceiling, and a clock, as well as book shelves and a door.

The computer and TV won’t be happening any time soon as I’m planning on being one of those mean mums who keeps an eye on what her kids are watching/doing as much as possible, but she can definitely have a desk, a bookcase and the weird thing above her bed which I’m now thinking is a picture frame. And the stuff on the bookcase is also totally do-able.

Though I’m thinking we’ll move the make up to a higher shelf. I mean, you all know Miss M right?

She’s not good with make up.

In fact, she’s a little bugger with make up.

But what I really like about Miss E’s dream room, is that while she watches ‘The Suite Life of Zack and Cody’ where London’s room is the high tech palace of a spoilt heiress, and ‘i Carly’ where somehow two young girls have access to this amazing room to present their web show from which holds a car shaped seat, a beamed ceiling and large screen everything, Miss E has not been blinded by the opulence.

I’m not saying I’m glad her expectations are low, I mean they’re not really, she wants a pc and a TV. There are dvds and cd’s so I’m assuming she’ll want stuff to play them on. But, she’s not gone for the enormous rooms filled with everything money can buy. I’m seeing more of a safe and cosy place of her own to do and to be.

And I know, I know, she’s only 8 (today) so there’s tons of time for her tastes to change and her wants to grow, but, the stuff she has placed in her dream room are some of the things I really want for her as she grows up.

A connection to things she loves which I see through her teddy and doll.

A love of reading and learning which I see in her books.

And a door, so that we can get in and she can get out. I don’t know why that feels so significant but it does, I want her always to be able to open the door to us if she needs to. (And I don’t mean so that I can tidy her room or fetch her washing.)

And yes, some of the tools and trappings of growing up are there, such as make up and a large wardrobe, but the cosmetics are lower down on her shelf and the wardrobe door is closed, so they’re not so high in her priorities as far as I can tell.

Sighhhhhh.

And now I’m thinking how did I get here from a cute picture my little girl drew and asked mummy if she wanted to put it on her blog? I suppose it’s the knowledge that the little girl that I cradled in my arms and spent many a midnight hour hushing and holding and calming is growing up.

From what I see here, she’s not going too fast though, and I am glad.

Happy Birthday sweetheart. I love you so much. You make me proud.