But then you knew that right?

Except,

It’s not just a shrew.

It’s special.

Because on December 31st every year, it evolves, just for a moment, into something else.

It becomes…

The New Year Shrew

Sighhhhhh.

Is it not beautiful?

All year round it does normal, everyday shrew stuff, such as:

• Chasing stag beetles around small anthills
• Reciting Wordsworth to foreign dignitaries at Buckingham Palace
• Foraging for seeds, insects, nuts, worms and handbags
• Dancing to Bee Gees songs

BUT, for two days, it is unique and powerful and able to create joy and magic and hope (and occasionally chocolate crispy cakes).  And if you are grumpy it will bite you on the bottom.

So don’t be grumpy, be hopeful.  There’s a whole New Year ahead of us.  If last year was a bit pants, well this year might be ok, or fabulous, or at least a bit less pants than last year.  It’s unknown, unexplored, undecided.

Happy New Year from the Beaufoix’s and from the Happy New Year Shrew.

Thank you for being there through what’s been a hell of a year for myself and my family.  Thank you so much for reading, thank you so much for commenting and thank you so much for still coming to visit me even though I’ve been more absent than I planned to be this year.  I really do appreciate it, and hope to visit more often in 2010.  Although in some ways it’s been a year of controversy in the UK blogosphere, there truly is a wicked community out there (in the UK and beyond), and I’m very proud and happy to be part of it.

Chin chin lovely people.

Here’s to 2010.

Bring it on.

Photo Credit adapted in the fabulous Picnik

Rosie: “Mansfield doesn’t have a book shop Jo, it has Whsmiths, which is not a bookshop.”

Me: “It has blumming books doesn’t it? So it’s a bookshop.”

Rosie just shakes her head in mock disgust and grins. You see, though she was born in sunny Mansfield, she lived for 15 years in Guildford, which is…, well, it has proper bookshops. Cough.

One of the hardest parts of coming home (there were good parts too), but one of the hardest parts for her, was leaving behind her beloved Borders. She claimed it was a magical place full of paperback pleasure, hardback happiness and other cool stuff that every girl should have. And I thought, “Yeah yeah, whatever, as long as I can get my books I don’t care where they’re from, I mean most of my books come from Schmesco, and a good few more come from charity shops. What do my surroundings matter as long as I can buy myself literary treats whenever I want them?”

But…

I was wrong.

You see, a couple of weeks ago when I went to visit another friend, she took me to Borders in Cardiff.

It blew my mind.

While Holl looked through kids books (as in, watched my kids), Mr B and I wandered. We browsed, we perused, we examined, we explored, we dug and we delved, we danced, we ran, we skipped, we cheered, we laughed, we flounced and we frolicked through the books.

It was heaven.

And I felt like ringing Rosie and saying, “I was wrong. I didn’t know. Can you forgive me?” But then I calmed down and returned to Holl with my pile of ’stuff’ and began to also look through the kids books because, you know, I have kids who like books.

And to my delight and pleasure I found these…
(Click on pictures if you want to buy them from Borders right now.)

Oh my Bob, it’s like an REM song, but for potty training…

When your nappy’s gone, and your mum,
Sits you oooon a plastic chair.
There’s a hole in it, and she says,
Poop in there.

Just let you’re self goooooooo.
And she’ll buy you a surprise
Cos everybody poooooooooooos.
Sometimes.

You sang it didn’t you?
Oh please say you did.

It wasn’t any of my business either, I would never do that to a mole.

They really should stop giving him so much tripe, but I know my kids would love this. Ok, I would love it too.

I want this book. I want it with all my heart, even the bit that is generally reserved for chocolate. Sighhhhh.

Now, I know some of you might be tutting at this a little. I mean, of all the books I could have chosen I went for the ‘bottom’ orientated ones, but hey, I have a 3 year old who likes trump sandwiches, this is my life people.

But I think what my choices show even more is that I was in a bookshop where I felt comfortable enough to get down on the floor and flick through fabulous books on ANY subject. This shop encourages kids to be ok with poo, pants, the everyday stuff that my generation were kind of taught to leave behind closed doors. Nowhere in sight was the stuffy, don’t touch kind of atmosphere I have found in other ‘bookstores’, but instead the place was bright and inviting. It wanted you to touch the books, taste the books, smell the books. It was just a big hulk of book loving and I could quite easily live there.

So I’d like to say thanks.

Thanks Rosie, thanks Holly, thanks Borders Cardiff. Thanks especially to the lovely staff at Borders Cardiff who didn’t seem to mind Miss M and the Thrower charging round the kids area. Who were ok with us taking magazines we hadn’t yet paid for into the upstairs Starbucks to keep the kids entertained while we had coffee and cake, and who were so patient when I put the wrong number in on my card then got all scared that I couldn’t pay, then tried Mr B’s and realized it was just me.

Borders, you are fabulous. Now please, please build that Nottingham branch soon.

NEWS FLASH

I got a post accepted on Blogger’s Annex and it’s up today. Yay.
Blogger’s Annex is a new site that anyone can join and submit their best posts too. The idea is that it will be a place full of fantastic stuff on any subject from all over the blogosphere. It’s a real chance to showcase your writing, find new bloggers and well, just enjoy a good read. The posts so far have been sad, funny, informative, the works so I’m so chuffed they picked me. Pop over and leave me a comment if you get the chance, and if you see a post you love, tell the author to submit it or ask if you can. It’s kind of cool.

Like diet books? Shudder.

Well last week I got this.

This could be seen as a dig at the fact I am stalked by slugs,

or,

a warm and loving meant gift to help me overcome my fear of their squishy ooziness.

I mean, it’s probably a recognised form of therapy somewhere,

‘EAT THE THING YOU FEAR’

• If you don’t like facial hair, munch on a moustache
• Scared of heights? Eat a mountain
• Frightened of the corners of cereal packets? Chomp on a box of Cheerios.
• Terrified of toes…, erm, cough, well…you know what I mean.

So I open the packet and inside is a small white bag. It doesn’t feel soft or squishy or anything, yet still I am imagining this.

But I get this.

That’s almost cute isn’t it?

I said almost.

But I still can’t bring myself to eat one, so I do what every good parent would do in this situation…

..I feed ‘em to my kids.

Sorry I’ve not replied to your comments of the last few days and returned the love yet. I really do appreciate them and I will get there in the end. My little brother’s wedding is on Friday, hooray, so I have a guest coming to stay, a house to clean and two little bridesmaids to calm and cuddle. We then have an After-Wedding dinner at my mum’s on Saturday, a BBQ Saturday night at Miss E’s friend’s, and Miss E and two of her friends are having a joint birthday party on Sunday.

Fun, but fraught.

In the mean time I just wanted to give you all this;