Yesterday was Sports Day at both Big and Little schools. Daughters 1&3 were both taking part - at Big school it’s optional and since Daughter #2 shares my deep apathy when it comes to competitive physical exertion she certainly wasn't going to be putting herself forward for the house long jump.
So how come she was the one I ended up sitting with in A&E for FIVE HOURS yesterday? And is she the only person to manage to break her arm watching sports day?
Showing posts with label Life is strange. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life is strange. Show all posts
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Friday, 20 November 2009
Today's comment on contemporary culture
I read with interest that the Advertising Standards Authority have received complaints from several viewers this year's M&S Christmas advert (sacrilege!) Apparently gruff Philip Glenister’s line about ‘that girl prancing around in her underwear’ is considered by some to be offensive and 'demeaning to women.' Gosh. Funnily enough, I don’t feel terribly demeaned when I watch that bit. Wistful, maybe, and slightly depressed. I'm sure lovely, bad-tempered Philip wouldn't consider it a festive highlight to watch me prancing (prancing? Not sure I even know how…) in my grim, workhouse undergarments.
I hope that M&S respond, with due responsibility, by making a second installment featuring Robert Pattinson stripping off to his (100% easycare cotton) boxers. Actually, I think I might complain too, just to add weight to the argument.
(Have just realized that this is the latest in a succession of TV-related blog posts recently.Oh dear, my cultural references are pitifully limited. Come back next week when I shall be analysing the use of dramatic irony in Harry Hill's TV Burp and discussing madness and morality in the X-Factor.)
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Tagged
By lovely Kate Hewitt, to provide six facts about myself. Haven't been tagged for ages-- not since this time, over at Scribes, but felt compelled to find some different Interesting Things about me.
Having failed to come up with any, I just went for some Different Things.
1. Before my first book was accepted I worked as a copywriter in a marketing agency. We specialised in the luxury car market, and I had several pieces in a magazine for nerdy petrol-heads called Octane.
2. After finishing university I was supposed to go to teacher training college, but I forgot to turn up on the first day. (A lucky escape for a the secondary school pupils of Greater Manchester and Cheshire.)
3. I recently discovered over tea and cakes in London that I went to the same university (Manchester), lived in the same hall of residence (Owens Park) on the same floor (7th) of the same building (the Tower) as my lovely editor at Mills & Boon. (But many, many years earlier...)
4. My parents came from Inverness and Glasgow, so I’m 100% Scottish. We have a particularly glamorous dark green tartan.
5. I have a fascination with the Edwardian period. Who knows why?
6. I am congenitally unable to follow instructions or master any kind of technical gadgetry, computers included. That's why I spent all of yesterday afternoon faffing around with projectplaylist and ending up getting precisely nowhere. I'll let you know if this changes, but in the meantime let me just say that the jukebox thingy currently appearing on the 'books' page of my website is purely decorative....
Having failed to come up with any, I just went for some Different Things.
1. Before my first book was accepted I worked as a copywriter in a marketing agency. We specialised in the luxury car market, and I had several pieces in a magazine for nerdy petrol-heads called Octane.
2. After finishing university I was supposed to go to teacher training college, but I forgot to turn up on the first day. (A lucky escape for a the secondary school pupils of Greater Manchester and Cheshire.)
3. I recently discovered over tea and cakes in London that I went to the same university (Manchester), lived in the same hall of residence (Owens Park) on the same floor (7th) of the same building (the Tower) as my lovely editor at Mills & Boon. (But many, many years earlier...)
4. My parents came from Inverness and Glasgow, so I’m 100% Scottish. We have a particularly glamorous dark green tartan.
5. I have a fascination with the Edwardian period. Who knows why?
6. I am congenitally unable to follow instructions or master any kind of technical gadgetry, computers included. That's why I spent all of yesterday afternoon faffing around with projectplaylist and ending up getting precisely nowhere. I'll let you know if this changes, but in the meantime let me just say that the jukebox thingy currently appearing on the 'books' page of my website is purely decorative....
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Wedding Anniversary
It all seems hilariously naïve and foolish now, but fifteen years ago when we got married we thought that a Christmas wedding would be romantic.
This morning, staring despondently down at a Things To Do List that extended to several pages (in fact, might possibly have exceeded the word count of my current ms) as I simultaneously tried to ice fairy cakes for daughter #3’s class party, the irony of this struck me afresh.
This morning, staring despondently down at a Things To Do List that extended to several pages (in fact, might possibly have exceeded the word count of my current ms) as I simultaneously tried to ice fairy cakes for daughter #3’s class party, the irony of this struck me afresh.
Thursday, 15 November 2007
Things I wish I'd known then...
Today it's one of those beautiful but bitingly cold mornings.
Hurrying home from the school run to my lovely warm office I had a sudden vivid flashback to being about 15 years old and standing shivering with cold, misery and deep, deep resentment on a frosty hockey pitch during one of those endless, punishing PE lessons.
Suddenly I wanted very much to stride over the frozen mud to that scowling teenager (muttering a few choice words to the Nazi PE teacher on the way) and tell her it would all turn out alright. That one distant day, mildewed aertex and ritual humiliation in the name of team sports would be a thing of the past and she would be able to spend her days in the warm, dreaming up luscious men.
(I might also tactfully mention, while I was about it, that lusting after George Michael was a big fat waste of time...)
What would you tell your 15 year old self, if you had the chance?
Hurrying home from the school run to my lovely warm office I had a sudden vivid flashback to being about 15 years old and standing shivering with cold, misery and deep, deep resentment on a frosty hockey pitch during one of those endless, punishing PE lessons.
Suddenly I wanted very much to stride over the frozen mud to that scowling teenager (muttering a few choice words to the Nazi PE teacher on the way) and tell her it would all turn out alright. That one distant day, mildewed aertex and ritual humiliation in the name of team sports would be a thing of the past and she would be able to spend her days in the warm, dreaming up luscious men.
(I might also tactfully mention, while I was about it, that lusting after George Michael was a big fat waste of time...)
What would you tell your 15 year old self, if you had the chance?
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