Meme - What Are You Afraid Of ?

I have many fears, some common, some considered irrational however none quite have the same physical effect on me as the mortifying one I shall be sharing.

Tagged by Yummy Mummy No 1  

Darth Vader and Storm Troopers.

As a child I watched the Star Wars movies and remember regularly role-playing with the kids in the street as we used our "lightsabers" to battle (luckily, I was the only girl and could be Princess Leia) I also remember doing the same to "Dempsey and Makepeace" but that's a whole other Meme. My apprehension to Darth Vader has always been there, I can remember fearing his presence on the screen but that's were my anxiety ended.

Over the years it appears to have developed further into more of a phobia. Not seeing the black mask image and hearing that breathing frequently over the years, I'm not sure why the fear became irrational. Surely it should have dwindled with maturity and remained a childhood fear?

Working in a call centre, managers regularly akin costumes motivational purposes, looking past the fact that a grown man walking around dressed as Buzz Lightyear or Fred Flinstone causes a slump and temporary depression rather than boosting morale. I walked into the building one day to find several men dressed as Yoda, Darth Maul and Storm Troopers, I felt my heart literally drop and my stomach turn. I remember feeling hazy and my vision blurring a little while the panic set in with the realisation that I was surrounded.

I have never been keen on masks and have often taken dislike to some of the costumes at work (unfortunately it would appear that Banks like to spend money on vast selections of fancy dress as well as massive bonuses) particularly at Halloween, so my close friends and manager could predict my reaction.

I could feel breathless as I scanned the room for help but my eyes resting on the crème de la crème of terror. Darth Vader.

Don't get me wrong, the costume was far from wonderful quality and it was a far cry from Darth in the film but I can only describe the sensation as sheer terror, despite knowing the person who was inside it.  I caught sight of my manager herding the Star Wars ensemble to another part of the (fortunately)  large office while another colleague held the doors open wide for me to flee. But I couldn't run away in case....I was CHASED!

The only thing worse than seeing Darth Vader would be to be chased by him. I actually feel ill just typing that.

A few years previously I was working for a concert promoter who hired the Manchester Evening News Arena to hold a Star Wars Convention and a perk of the job was to attend for free. It was in line with the promotion of the new movies which fans where flying to America just to view the trailer in cinemas.

Walking round the tedious exhibits of film props and vehicles, seeing behind the scenes footage on massive screens, I wandered aimlessly between each room as the area had been divided into sections by thick black curtains. The final section for me was empty, everyone stood around looking a little confused at the balcony with stairs, at the far end of the make shift room. Then they appear...

Storm Troopers, marching into the room, bloody loads of them. I froze, this must be the point of turning, this is the moment when it became a phobia. The Storm Troopers walked between the small crowd and stood with guns pointed at us, surrounding us. I think I was panting and unable to talk. I know I wasn't going to move in case I attracted more attention from them. Then Darth Vader walked onto the balcony. I'm not sure if the costumes where directly from the movie but they were certainly fantastic quality. As good as it gets. Darth's breathing echoed around the room and he started to walk slowly down the stairs. I managed to refrain from curling into the foetal position and urinating, remaining statuesque as the Storm Troopers "arrested" one of the crowd and escorted him out of the area, flanked by Darth Vader. I left the arena in tears.

You may think that such a phobia is rarely tested as I can simply avoid the film and with prior knowledge can elude the fancy dress clad call centre managers, but when walking into the local shopping precinct with your partner on a Saturday afternoon, you don't expect to walk into a Sci-Fi convention.

I was too late. We were in the central courtyard and had missed all of the promotional posters, not realising what I was about to face until I saw six Storm Troopers walk out of Burtons holding their guns. I took refuge in Iceland, shaking with panic. I had only just moved in with OH and if he knew of my dislike for Darth and his white scary entourage, he certainly wasn't aware of  the dramatic reaction I would display. I tried to contain some of it and I am convinced he thought it was me acting or hamming it up, but I physically couldn't force my body to leave the safety of Iceland. Our planned shopping trip of two hours while our car was being valeted, I insisted was no longer plausible. Assuring him that If he got me safely from the central courtyard to the multi-storey car park, I would wait for him there but again, sheer terror was preventing me from functioning normally. Standing there feeling helpless and childlike, holding his hand and fighting off the dizziness that would cause me to drop to the floor if I allowed it, I tried to convey the absolute funk taking over my very being, whilst giggling in dismay, trying to laugh off the stupidity of what was causing me to react this way, thinking that he would be asking me to pack my bags when we arrived home or would be calling for my sectioning under the mental health act.

It's really hard to describe the effect fear has upon you but even hours later, my legs were still shaking, my body ached and I felt wired with adrenaline.

Apart from the odd email sent every now and then by colleagues, when they remember my fear (I notice them all swing back in their chairs and look towards me as the email pops up containing a Storm Trooper photograph) and an occasion when I sat in Pizza hut about to start my meal when I noticed a promotional six foot Darth Maul a few feet behind, causing me to leave before eating, my phobia isn't alarmed daily.

It's something I'm embarrassed of and something that can easily be taken advantage of. People don't get ridiculed for fear of heights! But I do laugh along too when others mock, even though my insides are churning and I fight not to faint.



I shall be brave now and look for supporting pictures for my post. Maybe if I squint and partially close my eyes, I won't be as frightened?

Emperor Penguin

It's OHs first Father's Day - but not really

He has acted like a father of three since we moved in with him but today was a little bit different, he has Indigo now too.

When we were just "seeing" each other we watched one of the Planet Earth or Life documentaries, I can't remember which series and they are similar anyway, but it was the episode with the Emperor Penguins and their battle to nurture their egg until a baby chick hatches, in the worst conditions imaginable!  I watched with OH, blinking back the tears as the male penguin braves the 120mph icy winds for the 64 day incubation period, then gives the chick back to the female when she returns. The male Emperor Penguin is unarguably the greatest father in the animal kingdom.

We were talking about this during a recent shopping trip, the kids and I and within minutes came across a plastic Emperor Penguin in a toy shop. It seemed fated that it should be OH's Father's Day present.

What makes me most grateful is his lack of experience, no family children around, he went from a single man living alone to a father of three within months. Even though we had dated for longer, he was introduced to the children 2 months before we all moved in together.

There was no plan of action or talking before hand about how things may turn out, we all just went for it with gusto. It was naturally easy for him it seems. I have him to solely thank for being a mum of four too. Not because of the obvious reason of conception, but the whole idea of having another child used to make me shudder. I had my children, end of discussion. My biological clock had well and truly died. Yet he mentioned a baby and I had a clear vision of us with a little girl. It happened and I'm eternally indebted to him. As predicted, again, he is a natural. When I watch him with her I can tell how much he loves her and how she adores him right back. They are little peas in a pod and I can't wait to sit back and observe as she starts to crawl, walk and talk, knowing he will be right there, idolising her and loving her to bits.

Growing Up Beside You

Sometimes I feel that my eldest daughter has more common sense than I do.

8 year old daughter was upset and crying at bedtime and it transpired that she feels inadequate and not able to do the things that eldest daughter can do. That others think less of her. She questioned herself and her capabilities.

I listed and agreed the strengths that eldest daughter displays and discussed the amount of praise she seems to generate from many sources for her behaviour and personality. They cannot be played down or dismissed.

Then I continued to list and praise the character of my 8 year old, her eyes lighting up when I tell her that even though she maybe a messy and disorganised person, she genuinely is the funniest person I have ever encountered. Her quick wit from such an early age, her adult sense of humour, her ability to speedily make light of an upsetting situation in exactly the right way is something I couldn't do.
I admit that she sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, but if I am there because of another reason, she is usually the only one that can bring me back.

I tell her stories of her toddling about, cracking me up, as she was walking and talking way too early. She was the child that phoned the police every time she managed to get near the telephone unsupervised. She was the one that hid bread, cheese and margarine at the bottom of her wardrobe and we didn't find it before the field mice. She is the one that screamed loudly one new years eve, just after I had settled down with my first glass of red wine, to reveal the blood pouring from her perforated eardrum, cotton bud in hand. She is the child that climbed up the decorating step-ladders left in the bathroom by Granddad and helped herself to a bottle of camomile lotion that she subsequently drank.  The child that was messing on the stairs with an umbrella, the child that I had to tell to be careful in case she fell, seconds before slipping myself and breaking my foot. She was the child who got up excitedly in the early hours, while the rest of the house slept, to go to the holiday suitcases, all packed and ready to help herself to a full box of Calpol sachets. I tell her how important these memories are to me, how many times I have told these stories to friends and after the initial shock or upset or commotion caused, that we have giggled and commented on her sparkiness and sense of adventure.

I remind her that yes, she may be considered lazy by others, but she has always been on a different level with intelligence and could easily reap the awards that eldest receives if she could be bothered. I pointed out that yes, she would in fact look smarter for school and have perfect immaculate hair and polished shoes, if she could get out of bed swiftly in the mornings, without being asked fifteen times. I highlighted that her organisational skills are definitely not one of her strengths, but does she really care?

I also remind her that all the people around her love her exactly as she is and wouldn't dare want her to change even the slightest.

She is a "mini-me." I'm terrible. My reputation for disorganisation and messiness, for being scatty and late, precedes me. More importantly, I could care not.  I have never really been one to care about what others think. Except the ones really really close to me. No doubt, 8 year old will develop the same brazenness if she hasn't started already. Smiles concluding the end of our chat.

I'm so grateful for eldest daughter (just turned 10 years old) as she is like my second in command, ahead of OH, in fact, she could easily run the household. I ask her opinion on things that she shouldn't even be concerned with, rely on her to remind me of appointments, birthdays and shopping lists. She knows who is doing what and why. There are times I feel guilty as it feels like a role reversal and that she is the parent. I have justified it now to ease the guilt by accepting that we are just different personalities. She being the prim and perfect all rounder who will try to excel at everything she tries with 100% effort, without a hair out of place. Whereas I, well, I'm not even sure who I am yet. When I grow up I want to be like her, but for the time being, I will be the messy, loud, chaotic one with unkempt hair, giggling over the 8 year old's comical antics.

I heard a song yesterday morning for the first time that I thought of later on when talking to 8yr old girl.

Growing Up Beside You - Paolo Nutini (YouTube link)

I don't always get the way you feel,
But now I've learned to live with that.
It's like I'm a part of something real.
I was hittin' the bottle, now I've broken the seal.
Looks like I'm growing, I'm growing up beside you

And the sun sets the scene,
While the rain misses me.
And all the time I'll be growing, growing up beside you.

100th Post - The Year So Far...

It's been a busy six months...

When going through a stressful period at the start of the year, I turned to blogging, again. I've always had some form of diary but never had a routine and entries were at best sporadic, usually at times of sadness. This time I promised that I would be faithful and consistently post regardless of how busy things got and what mood I was currently absorbed by, so thankfully, the first half of 2010 has been recorded for all to see.

• The wedding kicked it all off and there are posts of plenty, of pre and post marriage arguments, worries about fitting my increasing baby bump into the dress and the realisation that I have to spend 5 days in a cottage with our families.

• Accounts of hormonal behaviour and pregnancy neurosis that surprisingly haven't resulted in my sectioning for safety of self and others.  

• The birth of Indigo and the highs and lows that come with an additional member of the family. 

• Pets have featured heavily so far with the arrival, and departure of Arnie the Pomeranian, the arrival and escaped of Dexter the hamster, followed by his recapture and recent unexplained death. And more cat based dramas ranging from the third litter of kittens to the current stress surrounding "stray cat" dilemma. It's still stalking my cats and fighting with them during the early hours, then marking it's territory, my conservatory, with its scent.

So what do the next 6 months hold? I have the trauma of arranging child care and returning to work, even though I desperately want to stay with Indie. I'm fearful of coping as a working mum of four. OH turns thirty so I'm sure he will have an "I'm getting old" wobble at some point. My relationship with OH is still a daily work in progress and we are eventually getting there but I'm pretty certain that my blog with always be filled with the difficult days. I guess being a part of a six member tribe there will always be something going on to report about.

I'm Such A Bad Parent...

...that when looking for a picture for my previous post on bad parenting, I found this picture...

And thought, wow, I do this ALL the time. 

Now I feel even worse!

 

Worst Mother In The World.

I've been having issues with other children in our cul-de-sac who, in my eyes, bully my three kids. Whenever they play outside there seems to be an constant stream of trouble and arguing and it's gotten to a point where I have confronted the neighbours about their children's behaviour.

Looking for an alternative as I don't want to spend the summer months listening to bickering, or consoling my children after being punched or stuffed into a wheelie bin,  I suggested the children play in the next village.

Technically, the next village is a 12 minute walk away from our house, but to drive, it's two miles. The area I live in was designed with stupidity and there is one road between each village, but you can easily take a short cut on foot.

I have always been a stricter, more apprehensive parent than my friends when it comes to playing out, computer games, film content etc. It's only been since we moved to this secluded cul-de-sac last year that I have let them play in the street.

All of their school friends live in the next village along, so I suggested dropping them off by car at the village green and leaving them with their mobile phones. The idea being, that they play as a group with the gang of kids that already congregate there and phone me if they need anything. I could then swoop in 6 minutes by car and assist them. Unbeknown to them, I would also do drive-bys, acting like a kerb crawler and observing them from a distance.

Let me just explain the ages of the tribe. Eldest girl is one year away from having to travel 8 miles by bus to high school unsupervised. She is responsible and trustworthy and acts more adult and parenty that I ever could. Next daughter is nine shortly, very streetwise and clever, she doesn't miss a trick at all. Then there is the boy, he is seven on Saturday. He is my concern about this new situation.

Should I leave a seven year old to play in the next village with only the supervision of his older sisters?

There is the argument that "back in the day" kids used to roam free. There wasn't a week gone by when I was a child, without me falling in a pond whilst trying to collect frog-spawn, or coming home with bits of branches stuck in my arms and legs after falling out of a tree (taking hours to remove in A and E.)   But then we all know things are different these days. Our eyes have been opened to this ever increasing evil world around us.

He shouldn't be his sisters responsibility so I had set up some rules and he was told that if he breaks them even once, he stays at home in future. After the first couple of attempts at leaving them, it seemed a success. The girls were sat on the grass with their classmates, doing whatever it is than 10 year old girls do (bitch and gossip) while the boy played with on the lawn of one of his class mates.

I received about 15 phone calls to my mobile and an assortment of text messages assuring me that everything was fine by the eldest and there was one incident when younger daughter needed the toilet. OH did a drive-by and confirmed that all seemed well.

The boy mentioned that his friend's dad wanted my contact number so I popped over to have a word with his mum, in the playground today.

I walked away from her in tears. I was made to feel like the worst parent in the world

She being a teacher and her husband being a policeman, thought it was unthinkable that I leave the boy and demanded a contact number in case he had any problems. I tried to explain that the girls both had mobiles with them and could reach me at any time and in fact, for some of the time I was parked out of sight around the corner breastfeeding the baby. She said that she would never forgive herself if anything happened to him. I again, tried to explain that he wasn't her responsibility but she butted in and said that he was playing near her house for 90 minutes in the warm weather, without having access to a drink. It was early evening on the occasion she was referring to and I assured her that he had taken a picnic with him. She seemed equally disgusted that the girls were allowed to play there too.

Nothing I could say would inspire her to listen to my reasoning for allowing him to be there in the first place. She stated that he could come and play on her lawn any time but it would be the same as if he had gone to her house for tea, she would be watching him and be accountable.

Giving up with my protest of "That wasn't what I was trying to achieve...not dumping my child on your front garden," I just walked back to the car and broke the news to the kids.

That they could no longer go to the next village to play.

As you can probably guess, their disappointment is immense and they look at me with huge wide eyes, pleading until I confirm again, their worst fears are true, they are now limited to playing with each other in the back garden. That's when I get the looks of repulsion, confirming that I am indeed, the worst parent in world.

I need lots of suggestions and thoughts as I'm still in tears over an hour later?

How wrong was I to leave him? Do I allow the girls to go and make him stay behind? How would I explain that to him? Should none of them be allowed out of sight at all?

I also need to bear in mind that their primary school is a 3 mile walk, routing through this village. I am under heavy pressure to give consent to the girls for cycling to school alone each day. If I give in and let them, then surely being on foot 2 miles away, in said village, is safer?

First Wordless Wednesday - British Summer

Taken 6th June 2010 by Ava (Aged 8)

Motivation

The football is on in the background with the constant vuvuzela hum that shall be my soundtrack for the next fortnight. OH is sitting next to me playing with the baby, making loud cooing, booing and imitation vuvuzela noises that the baby is lapping up, giggling and cooing in return. I have to exercise and I cannot be bothered.

I refrained from eating chilli dogs with him and opted for some bread made with what appears to be bird seed. Do I go out for my walk/jog even though its incredibly dark outside and surely to rain? Do I attempt a celebrity work out DVD or do I play on Wii fit for awhile? Regardless of my choice I know I will be wearing my Easytones.

I have a specific occasion in mind as my motivation for losing the excess baby weight(not that I will stop at that point) and it's connected to OH's upcoming birthday. No more shall be said as he is currently next to me on the sofa.

But the daily motivation comes from images of the Reebok advertising campaign and the celebrities currently seen endorsing those trainers. Not that I will ever achieve anything close, but I can definitely improve.
Every time my laziness kicks in, I just have to look at the following...

My namesake Kelly Brook who is endorsing the Easytones for an advertising campaign.

Helena Christensen (mother of one and aged 41)

And the original ad campaign

Reebok EasyTones Update

My legs shake and my feet feel incredibly tired but I'm pretty proud of myself and Ava.

Today we walked five miles through four villages in the heat of the midday sun. Okay, we are hardly overwhelmed with sunshine and glorious weather but it was definitely more than warm on our journey.

Since having Indigo I have been unable to diet having zero willpower even though I am desperate to lose the baby weight quickly. Actually, I have no will-power at all when it comes to food and am one of those types of people that successfully finds an excuse to eat. At times of sadness or happiness, when stressed or relaxed and times of celebration or commiseration my thoughts always turn to food. Weighing myself after the birth, I was startled to discover I was lighter than before I conceived, reason being a full nine months of hyperemesis graviduim aka extreme morning sickness, however the novelty of being able to eat again and the uncontrollable feeling of starvation when breastfeeding caused me to simply caved and binge. Food stuff that I haven't tasted during this pregnancy such as cereal is now a drug for me. Yes, Honey Nut Cornflakes are my smack and although I can just about restrain myself from getting up in the night for a bowl, I have polished of a full 12 portions during one particularly hungry day. 
In my mind, my actions are justified. I am feeding another human being, her survival dependant on my ability to create good quantity of quality milk. Surely If I crave cereal then it is what my body needs for this process. I'm hardly sitting in the corner chomping on a multi pack of Monster Munch and a family sized Galaxy bar, even though I easily could.

Anyway, the inability to eat healthily and sparsely has been frustrating, so I decided to tackle it from another angle…Exercise.

Surely, if an effort was made to push my tired and lazy body through some gruelling regime then that would make some difference.

This being the reason why, I purchased the Reebok Easytones.

If I can start to feel fitter and healthier, then perhaps the diet will be a natural progression.

So a new game has developed call Abandonment. Other Half drops me at a certain location, 2 miles away then times my mission back home. I walk as fast as I can, which is by no means power walking but will attempt a little jog too.

My first abandonment was unsuccessful and I realised that this game required a sports bra otherwise the villagers will be after compensation for trauma.

28 minutes after OH drove away leaving me standing next to the village pond, I arrived home, gasping for breath, blotchy faced and sweating like a mother lucker.

Second attempt was a drop off at the same location. But this time my breasts were more tightly restrained and I managed to start my jogging schedule of jog to the next lamppost then power walk until I reached the following one. My throat burned from inexperience and my endeavours at jogging slowed my fast walking to a crawl. Still, I shaved 4 minutes off my journey and felt satisfied when I collapsed on the sofa sweating.

People have asked if Easytones are worth buying at around RRP £80. So far, I would highly recommend them. My leg muscles and buttocks are definitely tightening and in addition to my power walks, they are worn to the supermarket or on the school run. In fairness though, any exercise would make my flabby unused muscles feel pinched but I am convinced the effect these trainers have on the way I walk makes a difference. You cannot help but wiggle your bum as you move with the EasyTones and as I tire, the unbalanced sole of the shoe becomes more apparent causing more strain on remaining upright. A four hour shopping trip around the city wearing EasyTones was shattering and I felt as if my tired legs had completed a marathon Wii fit balancing game.

The only problem is, this walking is wonderful for my legs and bum but it’s my stomach that needs attention. Not quite losing baby weight after each child, plus my increasing age and general limited movement, I have hips that any mother bearer would be proud of and the dreaded mummy tummy. My humongous hard bump has vanished leaving my stomach muscles feeling as strong as wet paper, sagging and upsetting. I have no problem with having a large bottom and being hippy (I don’t mean bohemian, I mean having a pair of hips to rival Beyonce or Fern Britton,) but this stomach needs some dedication and consideration. 

Does walking even have an effect on stomach muscles? I shall Google!

BENEFITS OF WALKING (The Walking Site) - Burns calories (should help with all the cereal eating), strengthens back muscles (helpful), slims your waist (winner), easy on your joints( I am getting older), strengthens your bones (???), lowers blood pressure, allows time with family and friends (bonus), shapes and tones your legs and butt (obviously an American site), cuts cholesterol (Carol Vorderman eat your heart out), reduces risk of heart disease, diabetes, & more (such as?), reduces stress (can eliminate ex-husbands?), sleep better (another bonus), Improves mood and outlook on life (A bonus in Stuart’s eyes?) Can be done almost anywhere (a given!), requires no equipment (it kind of does though as I have purchased cute yoga pants and the precious shoes) AND it's Free.

Okay, so walking is an all-round winner!

I’m extra proud then of my feat today. Playing a new version of the game called Rescue. Ava and I left the house with good intentions. We would absolutely jog for a lamppost, then walk, then jog, both punching our alternating fists forwards with each stride. We lasted about 10 minutes before she got a stitch however, she soldered on. There was no fixed plan of where we were going but would see what direction our feet would take us. Slow walking, medium paced to power walking with a wiggle progressing to a jog (our feet just barely left the floor and we could be passed by a pensioner with a frame,) we varied the speed as necessary. It was becoming a beautiful afternoon and it was time preciously spent with Ava, who now stays home on a Saturday while the others see their Dad. We talked, when we weren’t out of breath, about life in general and plodded on.

We walked through our village, then the next two after that. On entering the fourth village we decided to quit. Honestly, I could have continued, but I was more than aware that Ava was starting to struggle and was so proud of her for not wasting her afternoon lying on the sofa watching Mary-Kate and Ashley reruns.

The game now becoming Rescue, the plan was to call Stuart to come and collect us by car but there was a glitch in the plan…my iPhone had crashed and wouldn’t restart.

The thought of attempting that distance back brought tears to my eyes. Ava looked fearful as it dawned on her too. Some of my fumbling must have worked as the phone starting ringing and I could see a photo of Stuart on the screen. Hurrah, we were saved.

So this week I have walked a total of 9 miles in 2 hours 22 minutes. It’s hardly record breaking but it is a beginning to something much greater, I hope. 

My need to justify spending a significant amount (for me) on a pair of EasyTone trainers, has resulted in a commitment in this new challenge to lose weight.

Several hours after my walk, my shins ache, my calves throb any my EasyTones look as pretty as ever.

Seven Things That Make Me Grumpy Meme

I haven't been tagged in another's post 

nor have I tagged another in this 

but this meme appealed to me, allowing a grouchy rant... 

#1 Coat-hangers - Whether I can explain this annoyance, I'm not sure. Maybe it's the association of doing laundry or the system I use; Gathering heaps of clothes until our wardrobes are empty then from the collection of coat-hangers in a box, I will attempt to try and find the perfect hanger for each item. The item then is hung on a hook until I can coax the owner to collect and store it in their room.
Clothes come off the hangers regardless how carefully I put them on. They seem to clug together and become impossible to separate and make such a horrendous noise. Correctly, I knew my explanation would be poor as I have no justification for my hatred. I simply know I feel more than irked just thinking about them.

#2 Fish - Never have I been able to eat it, look at it or tolerate the smell of it. I just would never be able to digest something that has scales. Sometimes I can cope with watching live fish swimming in a tank, pretty ones, but I can't look directly at their freaky bulbous eyes or their poo that hangs down like a thread of cotton. I shudder at the thought of them gasping when out of water and if they panic and flap, tail curling and head swaying, I simply become ill.
The smell of fish to me, is like garlic to a vampire. I cannot sit near anyone in a restaurant eating it and the sight of tuna mayonnaise on the counter in Subway, slopped onto the bread with an ice-cream scoop (baulks) has actually deterred me from eating there. My children only eat fish at school and I make a mental note on that day not to let them kiss me at bedtime but for me to peck their forehead. The same goes for OH, if he betrays me and brings home a fish supper, even after brushing his teeth, I won't go near for a few days.

#3 Doctor's Receptionists - A breed of their own with no customer service skills, in fact, no people skills at all. They are obnoxious, aggressive and patronising which surely can't be part of the job criteria . They need to fully remember they are civil SERVANTS serving the public at a time of vulnerability. You can hear the sadistic pleasure in their tone after coercing you to divulge your embarrassing symptoms, arguing the need for you receiving medical attention, then arrogantly telling you, there are no appointments available until next week. Vile creatures.

#4 The "Next" Sale - Queuing at 5am in front of an average shop to FIGHT for some average styled clothes that have a couple of quid knocked off the price. Attempting once, after the hype enforced by the rest of my "mums with kids" circle of friends I considered that I could be missing out. Being a mother of three, a lazy one at that, whom loved her sleep, I could only commit to taking a mooch a couple of hours later. You know, at an hour when the normal people when shopping. I was advised that the best would be go11ne but there would still be bargains to grab. I didn't think my friend was being literal. Grabbing, pushing, snatching, running and at one point I witnessed some arguing. That was the point that made me drop the few items I had gathered and head for the door. I try an avoid Next at all costs now, feeling scarred for life.

#5 Fearne Cotton and Edith Bowman - I'm unsure as how or why these two specimens have careers as presenters. Whether it is on radio or television, they always fail for me. Their voices are beyond irritating and I would happily tune in to the sound of nails on a blackboard than to listen to their "unsuitable for radio" sounding drivel. Both consistently look as if they have been dragged through a hedge backwards, then pulled along a path and finally dunked in a pond over run with weeds. I am heavily irked that these people get to cover festivals that I cannot attend and in order for me to experience any of the performances, I have to restrain my overwhelming urge to smash the television screen and sit with clenched teeth being another number adding to their ratings.

#6 Primark    - Tat, pure and simple. Never have I been successful in finding anything that fitted well or looked anything more than shocking quality. The nature of the shop reminds me of a jumble sale and things just seemed to be packed in tightly, so crammed that everything just falls on the floor when you try to find your size. Unfortunately, my daughter loves Primark and as she gets more tat for her money than other shops. I know this is incredibly controversial and that many are totally satisfied with everything Primark has to offer and I am the minority, but I can’t abide the place. More annoying than the shop, is it’s following. The place is always chocker and even my nan is a fan of “Primart,”  I have endless references to it on my Facebook newsfeed and I’m the only one that doesn’t belong to a “Primarni” group. I’m not being snobbish whatsoever and often shop for clothes in supermarkets due to convenience and price but there is something about this particular store that makes me start cracking my knuckles at the thought of it.

#7 Blogger or Opera  - Both are crashing and Blogger isn’t auto saving my work resulting in mucho frustration as this is my fifth attempt to finish this post.

Morning Snugness

After going on the school run, I crept back to bed this morning.

I had stupid insecure dreams last night that really upset me. Stupid dreams that OH had cheated and was leaving us all. Followed by a couple of various nightmares, feeling under the weather and a restless baby, I was shattered and worn this morning.

OH was half asleep and baby was snuggled into his chest. I lay on a tiny slither of bed behind him, briefly kissing  and stroking his back before falling back to sleep, holding onto him for warmth, for comfort and for safety(could have rolled out of bed at any given moment.) When baby started to grizzle, I crept the other side to feed her. OH snuggled so tightly behind me that at times, I couldn't move or breathe. It was perfect and we all fell back to sleep.

It's been ages since we cuddled in bed and this was exceptional, completely needed, erasing my ugly sleeping thoughts instantly. I love his squeezy hugs.

Baby's First Jabs

Baby had her first jabs today and surprising I was calm about the whole thing. At moment of impact, it's not the most pleasant experience to be holding down your child as it wriggles with pain and fear, but it your level of trauma eases with the amount of children you have. With my eldest, I think I had nervous stomach pains for days previous then spent 3 or 4 days racked with guilt after.

 So calmly, I entered the nurses room, to strangely be met with a health visitor? I think she is some special, multi-skilled, superhero of a health visitor who obviously has more capabilities than the mediocre normal ones. She greeted me without making eye contact and told me to sit in the plastic chair that stood lonely in the centre of the room. Standing directly over me she spoke of what was to happen in the following few minutes. She towered down, still avoiding eye contact and explained how Baby would receive two injections. The first to given in the right thigh, then I was to turn her around WITHOUT comforting her so her second thigh was exposed ready for the sequel jab. She told me, in a matter of fact tone, that it's pointless comforting the baby when she is going to feel the pain again.

My blood pressure started to rise.

Why this women felt she could decide whether or not my child could be hugged or reasurred at a time of distress, I have no idea? I can empathise it must be challenging trying to administer an injection if a mother is flapping about fussing over her child and that parent's (over) reactions can be influential but I had been a picture of serenity so far.

The trout (as I have later come to reference her) then checked on baby's current health. All is fine I confirmed, apart from a restless night due to to teething accompanied by a slight temp..."She is too early for teething!" she interrupted. I repeated with nods of confirmation that she was in fact teething and I could now see and feel a tooth coming thr..."She is too early for teething!" I looked up at her, towering above me as I was again interrupted, her eyes closed as she spoke. I possibly snarled.

The blood pressure crept up

Brave baby girl whimpered a little with the first jab and not to slow down the process, I spoke to her reassuringly as I turned her around, the second injection quickly following. She instructed me to stand and comfort her. Not particularly paying to much attention to the trout,I snuggled Baby into my chest and pulled her blanket around, slowly rocking but by all means, not going overboard. She again instructed me to stand and comfort my child. Could she not see that I was cuddling her closely, wrapping her safely within her fleecy shawl? For the third time she demanded I stand but this time explained her command. "If you stand, she knows it is all over." I think I possibly glared at her.

She smirked to ridicule my query, of how long to wait outside within the Doctors surgery, just in case of a reaction to the vaccine, which had always been the advice given when the big kids had their jabs.

I was told to leave and I didn't need telling twice. Practically sprinting, carrying my half stripped baby in my arms, struggling with my changing bag and a bundle of leaflets, wedged into baby's health "red book" record, I made it safely to the car park. Only to be stopped by the Trout shouting me. She had given me the incorrect record book. Breaching another baby's data protection and right to confidential medical information.

What another stunning experience at my increasingly crap new Doctor's surgery!

Embrace And Celebrate? I'm Not Sure

A shopping trip was required before the big kids return to school tomorrow. Clothes shopping in the city, our first big outing since Indigo was born.  We were going for specific purchases, a sign that my children are getting older. The shopping trip, I'm guessing, most mothers dread? Purchasing their daughter's first bra.

I'm not much of a planner and threw some essentials quickly into a bag, before bundling the tribe into the car. A 30 minute drive and we were approaching our first shop, aiming to please all, the first stop was a toy shop.  Hiding Lego products for Finn's birthday at the side of the pram so he wouldn't see, then distracting him as I got to the counter to pay. It's one of my skills. I don't have many but every time I have been shopping for gifts, I have always had the receiver with me.

The purpose of opting for a journey into the city was to visit a particular shop that isn't local, a shop I detest. Primark. I have such issues with the places (see meme blog) but crazily, my daughters love it. Word on the proverbial street being they carry stock of first bras and crop tops, so I caved.

I am prone to exaggeration, but not on this occasion. Just under three hours later we managed to fill two big brown bags full of crop tops, bras, stuff for Finn and even a sports bra for myself. It had been such a task manoeuvring around such a busy shop with the pram and a sulking six year old boy who was suffering because his "legs were hungry." With promises of fast food, I managed to pop to one more shop before Finn collapsed of exhaustion and within 8 minutes, had selected and paid, for Indie's next size of clothing. We could finally get food.

Settling with our McDonalds I ponder our purchases. Crop tops and bras for my daughters. Gutted. Initially Mia (10 year old) had been almost squeamish about purchasing a bra when I offered, the topic arising after a comment she had made about a girl in her class. I was relieved that she felt she didn't need one but at least the offer was "out there" and she knew when she felt ready, that she wouldn't worry about how to approach asking. 2 days later she asked for some crop tops.

When we arrived in the kids department of Primark, we were faced with options. Options that I had prepared for mentally. Plain crop-tops that look like sporty tops or short vests. I could cope with crop-tops. Then there were crop-tops shaped with a gathering in the middle pulling them into a bra shape. I was semi okay with those too. Then there was the actual bra. I expected the quality and design to be of a sports bra, all thin material and plain white but I was faced with a mini adult bra, with what I can only categorise as padding. I was safe though, the girls weren't ready for bras. Maybe physically but not emotionally, yet. My safety lasted seconds. All varieties, colours and sizes were being rapidly chucked into the basket as younger girl had initiated bra interest and older girl jumped right in excitedly. I flowed along, maybe hoping that their would be severe fitting issues in the changing rooms or that they wanted the novelty of trying, but not buying.

We left Primark with two LARGE bags and £90 worth of purchases. Apart from a few bits for Finn. It was spent on underwear for the girls. Anyone that shops at that store will know that £90 will go a LONG way and be exchanged for a substantial amount of items. The girls also wanting new knickers and obviously, to go with their new crop tops, selected more grown up garments such as hot-pants with logos and patterns. Their argument being, that some of their current underwear had pictures of fairies on!  You can't wear Disney knickers with a bra. I'm pretty sure I sighed heavily, maybe even rolled my eyes but I refrained from commenting.

Eating my French fries I tried to decipher my feelings. Should this be a day to remember? A mother and daughter bonding day? How did I feel the day I got my first bra? I remember asking my mum for a bra and her just nodding her head, taking me on the next available day to get one. No questions asked, no comments made. I don't think I even needed one but two girls in my class now had them. I think I was nine years old.

I definitely felt like I had done the right thing, for once, by not making a big issue of anything and being led by the girl's decisions. I'm expecting criticism from somewhere to be honest, maybe from their father, but I'm confident that the right purchases were made. Reaching for the shopping bag just for reassurance, I needed another glimpse of them. The bag was missing.

8 year old girl had been carrying it. Trying not to freak out I asked her where it was. She shrugged.

I don't know what upset me more, the thought of wasting money or the thought of facing that shopping again for another 3 hours.

Ditching my fast food and abandoning the kids, I RAN to the previous shop where I had bought baby clothes. There it was, sat mid aisle with shoppers just strolling past it. What a relief! Returning to collect the kids, the bag swaying proudly as I walked, smiling, now pleased we had bras within our possession. 

This morning I could see lines under their uniform, confirming which of their new garments they had chosen to wear and my feelings changed again. I remember the excitement (and uncomfortable feeling, like wearing glasses for the first time) I felt wearing my bra to school, thinking I was suddenly a woman, that a piece of fabric had flung me into adulthood and somehow everything was different.

With sadness I made the 3 mile drive to school in silence. So do I embrace this momentous rite of passage or deny that a hidden piece of material under their clothes, has any significance at all?

Embrace or deny?  I haven't allowed myself to decide yet.

Virtual Mother and Baby Group

After M was born, I became a toddler group junkie, spending my weekdays popping from one church hall to another, engaging in baby talk whilst drinking endless cups of weak, warm tea.

Luckily a group within the group formed and we bonded for life?!? Moving from the toddler groups to afternoon coffee in our homes, to pre-school and beyond, leaving the children behind and socialising together as "ladies that lunch" or drunken woman allowed out on a rare occasion to the pub.

The plan, 8 weeks ago, when the baby arrived was to yet again, infiltrate the local baby clubs and bag myself some new pals as I currently have zero in my new town.
However, things are slightly different now due to a certain social networking site. And I don't mean that certain social networking site always mentioned on The Jeremy Kyle Show, I mean the one championed by a national treasure (actor, writer, journalist, comedian, television presenter and film director.)  A moody, sulky, teenage brat of a pop singer and a silver-foxed daytime TV presenter. The site with lots of @@@@.

I have managed to acquaint myself with a variety of mums and mums-to-be on this social networking site and spent the months leading up to baby's birth, forming online relationships with them. I've had more interest and celebration from these internet strangers than from my real-world aka Facebook friends.

I now have experienced mums on tap, to quiz on random parenting issues and share my frustrations. First timers, than I can pass on my knowledge to, share birthing stories with and smile as they gush and publicly brag with overwhelming pride, at each new stage their baby enters. Then the newbies with bumps, who are teetering on the edge of a new parenting world and counting the days with excitement and fear, until their bundle arrives.

The world of mummy-blogging goes hand in hand with the @@@@ social networking site and gives a more in depth look into parenting. The darker side. The bits containing the feelings that you don't necessarily share with real friends or family or acquaintances at a toddler group. The bits that scare you or make you sad. That make you feel like a failure or abnormal. The bits that you think no other person will understand.
These posts are more valuable than any parenting handbook, as you have the author within your virtual grasp to express your observations or to probe further. Something that was written by another on the opposite side of the country, who lives in a completely different world to you, not only feels today, exactly as you do, but will happily engage in a conversation about it. Topics ranging from the practical, such as help with breastfeeding to the emotional side, dealing with difficulties that relationships can struggle with, post baby.
Of course, It's not just the negative aspects of being a mother either, but the fun stuff, the best stuff, the stuff that becomes the author's "family memories". When you read these posts, you realise how privileged you are.

The natural progression is your own blog, where you get to rant about every fear or sadness, open the floor on your parenting techniques and to tell other mums of your journey so far.
The best bit about this world is that nobody judges. It's not about your ability to write or your story telling skills, it's just about an understanding. Of being part of that mummy world.

Maybe Mother and Baby groups will become obsolete.

Curiosity Will Hopefully Kill The Cat

I'm having such feline issues today. 

Firstly is the baby bird, that I saw panting in the conservatory after Dude, I'm assuming collected from the ground, by the mass of trees that overhang the garden. Carefully picking it up with kitchen roll and lifting it into a lovely prepared new nest (a cut up box of Whiskers pouches and Indie's woolly hat) it gazed up, looking surprisingly alive.

Wrongly, I thought it would be safe in the shed for a few hours, giving it some time to recover and gain some energy. We could call it Steve. But alas, the vision of me feeding and caring for the bird faded as I saw it, screaming, in Dude's mouth once again. Stupid shed door and it's inability to close properly! 

I think the damage is unrepairable now. Dude dropped it as we chased her and it's looking awfully still, lying on it's side in the conservatory again.

Secondly, I remind you of my previous post  about the stray cat we have lurking around and inside our property.

I look out of the window, checking for rain as my favourite faux-fur blanket is hanging on the line, to see the stray cat cocking it's leg against it.

Now this blanket is luscious. It's dark brown and fluffy, like it's made from teddy bear. When lying in it naked, I feel like a cave-woman and I practically spent 2 years curled in it, lying on the floor next to the radiator, listening to Jeff Buckley.

This blanket and I have had moments, special moments. Now it's covered in stray cat piss.

The RSPCA were less than helpful advising me to "print out a paper collar from their website and attach it to the cat, to check if it has an owner." I reassured them that I valued my life and after the noises and disturbed behaviour the stray cat demonstrated when OH tried to befriend it, the act will not be repeated again.

If I post flyers across the village, speak to local residents and "Log what steps you have taken to locate an owner. As long as you can prove that ALL reasonable steps have been taken, and no owner is found, you can then go about finding a loving new home for the cat."

I...ME...I can go about finding a home!

I told them it was attacking my cats and Charlie was losing weight due to the stress. Also that it was a health hazard, the fact it was getting into our home and spraying on the baby's belongs and OH's computer monitor. She told me that MAYBE if I put my name on a waiting list, they would leave a cat trap then try and re-home it.

I'm considering reporting the horrible kids in the street that annoy me, for cat cruelty. The RSPCA would come running then surely, if they thought it was being harmed?

What I Tried To Say...

But you wouldn't listen.

I have dragged my children up over the last few years and they have trusted me every step of the way.
I broke up their family and made their father leave home. I took away the option for them to see him every day.

They watched and listened to my marriage crumbling, seeing and hearing things that children shouldn't, causing them nightmares about my safety.

They didn't blame me when they got un-invited to parties and became the "talked about" kids of the school

They didn't complain when they had to give up ballet, tap, hip-hop, drama, horse riding, football and swimming lessons when I had to go to work full-time and leave them with a child-minder instead.

They didn't breathe a word about their clothes looking worn and feeling smaller when I struggled to buy them any new belongings.

Even though they couldn't hide their disappointment at missing school fayres, birthday parties, and school discos etc due to my tiredness or being stuck at work, they didn't hold it against me.

They didn't compare their new birthday and Christmas budget with their previous years.

They didn't complain when their home was repossessed and they had 24 hours to find and move into somewhere new.

They helped pack up the old house, unpack at the new, then pack up again 2 months later and unpack at yours.

They trusted me when I asked them to move in with you, in another town, away from their friends and family.

They didn't even moan about the daily two hour commute to school for six months because they could see how happy I was.

They embraced moving to a closer school and didn't try to make me feel guilty about leaving their school friends.

Even though a little scared, they made new friends and started a child-minder, putting on brave faces.

They have fed themselves by packing their own lunch, making their own breakfast and tea, put themselves to bed and pretty much organised their own lives, understood me missing all of their school plays and assemblies, due to my incapability while suffering through pregnancy.

Even when they are frightened when we argue, they allow me to reassure them that I am safe,that you are safe.

They know when I feel tired, or sad and offer to help or hug me.

They were excited about us getting married and desperately want your surname too, despite knowing how infuriated their father was about the suggestion.

They accepted you as part of their family and love you completely.

They love their new baby sister and haven't shown a scrap of jealousy or need to adjust.


These are the reasons that will make me defend them against any slightly negative comment,  why I feel so proud and privileged to be their parent, why I will champion them at any opportunity, why I can sometimes appear lax with discipline, why I constantly explain to you, how well behaved they are compared to other children, why I take the blame for anything they do wrong and most importantly...

...why I don't care about the muddy shoe prints on the dashboard of the car.

Different Parts

Part of me wants to gloat. I've overcome my obstacles and rebuilt my life. Now I have the newborn daughter with the new husband.

Part of me isn't so mean. Plus, I can't really gloat anyway because this weekend has been challenging with OH. Maybe not challenging but at least disappointing and confusing.

I've been a really good friend today, to people that haven't necessarily deserved it.

I wish in my time of need that someone had come to see if I was okay, hadn't just turned up for the gossip or to smugly pass judgement. I offered the old-best-friend a weekend break at mine. To escape our hometown. For her to bring her three children to stay with my family, throwing the kids in one room for a fun-filled, popcorn-filled evening, whilst we drink enough to feel confident that our version of Poker Face on SingStar is better than Lady GaGa.

No questions would be asked about the state of her marriage or her plans for the future. She wouldn't have to feel embarrassed or failing. She could just drink some more, play on the giant garden trampoline with me and talk about the weather.

Part of me really feels sorry for her as she loves her horrid husband completely. Part of me thinks it's for the best and that she deserves better.

Feeling sad, I drove home along the same route that used to give me butterflies. The journey to his house all that time ago. The chevrons on the motorway still start the swirling feeling. By the time I saw the green lit hotel sign, shining next to the motorway, I knew I was nearly with him.
Tonight I wanted to walk straight into his arms, feeling lucky that I am not in the same position as my friends. But he spoke too soon and said the wrong thing.

Part of me hopes she does come to spend time with us.

Part of me thinks it's as much for my sake as hers.

Slightly Miffed

5 ish years ago my first marriage broke down.

A shock to all, neither of us having given a hint of any troubles or woes. 

It had been my decision to end it and even though he fought the inevitable every step of the way, he finally conceded and accepted I no longer loved him, eventually leaving our home, for me to begin a new life.

None of my friends or family knew about his dark side and the troubles we had experienced. Predictably, I struggled to convince them why I had ended a 9 year relationship after he visited EVERYONE to explain my obvious breakdown and mental unstability, not to mention my post-natal depression and my internet use. He was a victim and I was a selfish, bored adulteress that would rather be in chat-rooms or stealing money from his bank account, than be a mother to his children.

In reality, he was controlling and abusive. 

I lost most of my family and virtually all of my friends and became the talk of the playground. This was enhanced by the anonymous letters detailing my bad parenting (also my substance abuse and prostitution) that kept finding their way to the school headmistress. Luckily she saw the malicious intent and didn't call social services.

I used to be the perfect stay-at-home "soccer mum,"with the perfect children and the perfect marriage... I was deputy-chair of the PTA for christsakes and then everyone turned their back on me.

Even close friends whispered about me, when I started working full-time leaving my poor children with a child-minder!! Crime of the century!

One of my best friends stopped talking to me all together, just one day, she stopped. One day I was her bridesmaid-to-be wearing a vile gold concoction that made me look like an Oscar, the next minute she looked the other way when I walked past.

I didn't even have the energy to ask why.

I worked hard, determined not to claim any kind of financial support and luckily found a job I loved, that powered my confidence and gave me some wonderful new friends.

I often wondered about the best mate that abandoned me. I couldn't understand why she made comments to other mutual friends about how I "dumped" my children with a child-minder and became a "slut" when I started dating again.

I mean, she was the one claiming she was a single parent registering her fiancée at another address. She was using her wages from her waitress job (on the side) and her income support to pay for her upcoming wedding. 

I moved on in every sense.

Thanks to Facebook we have made contact again over the past year and with the help of mutual friends we have seen each other on a few occasions.

I was shocked to see her FB status updates the other day. She seemed really down and could maybe use company? Luckily I was back in my home town with the mutual best-mate. We called to check on her and were startled by the news.

She and her husband of three years, have separated. He has already moved out. There are no more details as of yet but mutual best-mate began to speculate.

Mutual best-mate never turned her back on me but she disapproved of my lifestyle greatly. I didn't care and was grateful that she told me to my face, then carried on being my, much needed friend.

She told me of how old-best-friend was on anti-depressants, as was she. How they were both unhappy with their marriages; sex lives over, no love between them and their partners etc. How they both were fed-up at home, bored of their lives, felt no achievement or satisfaction and longed for the confidence to go to work full time.

I felt so angry.

For such a long time I felt so judged, so wrong, such a failure. And it was people I cared about making me feel this way. 

Turns out it was jealousy, maybe fear.

I'm guessing though, that they will require my support during their time of need. Especially as I have been through it all and can offer guidance.

"Wishful thinking" springs to mind...

Three TImes A Lady

Well not a lady but I am feeling slightly more human.

We dabbled even more so last night. It wasn't even dabbling actually, it was the normal shabang...But better than normal.

My boy is truly making effort and it is god damn appreciated.

Thou shalt not go into detail...is my new mantra as much as I would love to.  I could talk explicitly about sex for hours, to anyone as I previously used to. My colleagues called it sex tourettes. It was mostly inappropriately timed and the content should never really be discussed with co-workers but it was an uncontrollable spasm which with maturity, is easing.

I guess I am using my blog to keep a record of doing the deed. Previous posts complaining about the lack of sex became a reference for me arguing to convey my concerns to OH. There has to be a balance so the good stuff needs to be recorded to. 

OH you did good last night, mucho points for trying...and succeeding!

On a post-pregnancy note, my body is still disappointing me but it's not nearly as bad as I expected and feared. It makes major difference to have his support though. Not that anything has been talked about but I sense that he knows how frightened I am about things. 

At least my libido is intact, that will never fade...ever!

Happy Times #1

Just had a flashback whilst unsuccessfully searching for song lyrics online...

...Lying on the living room floor as a child, with giant headphones on, pausing and playing my favourite songs on my Dads mammoth Hi-Fi whilst I scribbled down the words. Then spending hours re-jigging and deciphering them, hoping they may make sense.

Standing Up For Yourself...Priceless!

StreetDance 3D has been a beacon, calling my 10 year old daughter for weeks. Several failed attempts were made to watch it but it was all left down to me.

The first day of half term hadn't been wonderfully successful,10 year old girl and myself having a minor falling out, both in tears over my inadequate parenting skills. Her hopes and standards had clearly not been met for the days activities. Lots of huffing and stropping and "I'm bored" was heard all over the house.

I had arranged as a surprise to take the kids to tonight's screening of the film leaving OH with baby girl.

I don't begrudge spending money on the children but I knew a cinema trip would be expensive, wanting to pace my finances for the 10 days they are off school.

Redeeming myself, we arrive at the cinema foyer to purchases our tickets and munchies.

1 x adult ticket £6.60
3 x children's tickets £6.00 each £18 total.
3 x children's snack box (containing a Capri sun, raisins, popcorn) £3.10 each £9.30 total
1 x regular diet coke £2.90

GUTTED

£36.80 on a film I didn't even want to see!

But it was about the kids, even though 8 year old girl and 6 year old boy were not too fussed on the film choice and would have probably watched anything else instead.

When I saw "funded by the National Lottery" and "UK Film Council" during the opening credits, my already low expectations fell.

I accepted that parents sometimes just have to grin and bear and submitted...

...okay, so nobody under 30 in the film could act for toffee but I'm sure they were hired for their dancing skills, beauty and washboard stomachs.

The music, which was all extremely current, was not my taste (N-Dubz and Tinie Tempah) but it suited the style of dancing.

The 3D effects were brilliant and really suited the genre.

Shock, horror, I started to enjoy myself!

...That's when the teenagers struck.

10 year old and 8 year old girls have a recent dislike of teenagers and I was shocked that they chose to sit on the back row next to four snotty 15 year old (guessing) girls. Leaving me the seat closest to them, with just one spare space between us.

I ignored their shuffling about, talking and constant trips out of the aisle to the toilet/food counter/wherever and left them to settle down with the film.

Half way through, they seemed to get bored.

Popcorn started to be hurled forward, luckily not in my direction and I expected other cinema goers to turn around and shout. Other food products rained forward for the next twenty minutes, my blood pressure rising in sympathy for the folk in front.

The teens obviously suffering with lack of concentration seemed to be getting rowdier, giggling, talking, swearing and egging each other to throw empty Pringles tubes.

A sour cream and chive tube flew ahead and clunked on the floor. They laughed. I looked over to see them recording it on their phone.

I'm not normally confrontational, even with back up. I have a couple of gobby mates that will usually stand up for themselves or others, way before I would get to a point where, I felt the need to speak up.

I heard a cackle of laughter and more swearing and I got a flash in my head of "£36.80."

I certainly wasn't going to waste my time and money on accommodating these tools.

I snapped!

Usually I ponder, consider the options, script myself before I "kick off," fearing the unknown. It was an out of body experience as I turned and loudly stated "How about you all shut up !?!"

I could have said "shut the fuck up" but I can't really remember.

I panicked as they all turned to me. People in front also turning around to see what was going on.

I could have been about to receive a mouthful of abuse from a grotty kid or maybe an over priced bucket of Pepsi poured over me.

I needed to back up my first comment and assert myself further.

I leaned in closer and said...cringes..."I tell you what, if I was one of the people sitting down there that had been hit by food, I would have come back here and battered you."

When I'm angry or not concentrating, my accent goes scouse. I've spent years trying to erase it or at least ease it but sometimes I can't help it.

So in a scouse accent, technically, I threatened some children.

For the next 10 minutes or so, they whispered and giggled and I waited on edge for repercussions. But they refrained from any more food attacks and stopped being as loud.

On the way out, my girls asked what had been going on and my son proudly told them that I had told the teenagers off.

I will admit it, I enjoyed the film more than I should.