Every hair has a silver lining

"Oh My", as our favourite sex-craving anti-heroine likes to opine (I did count actually and she comes out with this intellectual gem 24 times in 50 Shades Darker which, incidentally, is as much a pile of complete crap as the first one).

Anyway, the point is, I think I am going through a midlife crisis. I didn't think I was going to be bothered about turning 40 but I'm suddenly feeling, physically,  really old. This wasn't helped this morning by The Monkey telling me that my hair is changing colour and I have bits of "silver" in it (slightly more polite than grey I suppose). His father took him aside and had a quiet word, suggesting that he probably shouldn't mention it again. Anyway, I've told The Monkey off about fibbing before and I pay someone good money to keep the silver OUT of my hair. Yesterday a Silver Fox came up to me in the street and said "Lovely hair - that's a great cut!" Two things, with hindsight, now strike me about that;  firstly that he omitted to mention the now seemingly obvious grey bits and secondly, he was in his sixties. At first I was flattered. Now I'm wondering whether he was saying it was a good cut for his age group and that he wouldn't mind taking a lady with such hair on a Saga cruise. I know 65 is young these days but, please, I'm 25 years (2 months and 16 days) away .

Twins or small planet?

Three small children probably aren't making me feel much younger - nor is the running. I've done 16km in the last 2 days and my legs just want to fall off and tomorrow I'm faced with a BIG one. It's not like I've lost a couple of stone either but I suppose that could be the martinis. I'm sure I read in a running magazine that they're a good energy drink. As every mother of twins or more knows, no matter what you do or how hard you try, you will never get rid of that fold of skin on your stomach. No amount of sit-ups or running can shift something that has been created by two small beings stretching your previously cared-for skin beyond recognition and then suddenly vacating that space - like popping a balloon. So, now that I've been informed by The Boy that "flobby" is a good word for it, (thanks Boy) I'm going to start saving for a remoulding. I use that word because I'm in denial. Surely whatever is removed from a tummy tuck can be recycled into a boob job, thereby saving me money and the surgeon time? All I want is a little bit of shape redistribution.

The future looks bright...
stepping out of my cryo-pod thing in 10 years time

I don't know whether his father had another word with him but The Monkey has since redeemed himself. Watching me brush my hair for the first time this week to go and get him some new school shoes he said I didn't need to put any make up on for him. "You only need to put make-up on if you want other people to think you're pretty. I think you're perfect pretty without it".

No matter how bad things seem you can always rely on that first born son / mother bond to make amends. At least I know I now appeal to both ends of the age spectrum. It's just that 60 year gap in between.

I don't think I've ever really been that vain but if this is what turning 40 does to you then I'd rather skip it and move straight on to 50.

Perhaps I'll investigate cryogenics now.....

Boo on the loose

Well, this is the first time I have updated this blog from a different country though I am so tired and confused I'm struggling to remember which country I'm actually in. On Tuesday I arrived in New Zealand and flew out again on Friday night - a long way to go for 3 nights. It really freaks me out that, having spent an entire night on a plane, I arrived in San Francisco 7 hours before I left Auckland. Which is just as well.  I was so tired and hungover on Friday that my friend in NZ pointed out that I would at least get another shot at the day and indeed I did. This week I may have completely lost Monday, but I've had two Fridays.  Kerryn, if you're reading this I'm so sorry. Next time I see you I'll take some talking pills. I feel very bad that I turned up for our annual catch up and then said barely more than three words to you before falling asleep in your car.

San Francisco was another first and so was the fact that I was exploring and staying in a new city on my own. How liberating. I would heartily recommend it to anyone - no arguing over which sights to see, which bar to sit in, when to eat, what to eat. You get my drift. The only downside is not having a man by your side in the evening. Well, not having the man you want by your side anyway. When you're a girl on your own and you sit at a bar and order a drink and it becomes clear that you're not waiting for anyone, you start to feel eyes boring into your back and you're convinced that everyone thinks you're a lady of negotiable affection. I know I'm skint after buying the athletics ticket but thank god I wasn't offered $50, or worse, less.

"How much, love?"

San Francisco is my new favourite city. I think I saw pretty much everything during a three hour walk. Union Square (flashy), Fisherman's Wharf (trashy), Alcatraz (bleak) , cable cars  (steep), Lombard St of Steve McQueen fame (twisty). Everything,  that is,  except the Golden Gate Bridge (misty). Which means I shall have to go back.

LA is a different kettle of fish though. Not that I've seen anything other than the airport and I don't have much desire to. The people are less friendly and seem to take pleasure in sending you on a wild goose chase. It's a good job I have 5 hours between flights because it took me almost that long to find the international departures. On getting off a domestic flight I was told to exit the airport and get on the shuttle bus for Air New Zealand. First I missed one then half an hour later the next one arrived. After 20 minutes it dropped me off. That's strange I thought. I know I'm tired but this all looks vaguely familiar. It had done a massive loop of the airport and dropped me off where I'd got on. International Departures was one floor up from Domestic Arrivals. Hey Ho.

And so, back to Blighty. Tired, emotional, missed the ankle biters and a whole week of training and not looking forward to the rain. It's bound to be raining - it's a bank holiday.

And the gold goes to.....

The repetitive strain injury is worth it.

As you'll recall, I spent most of our holiday in Devon hitting the refresh button on the London 2012 Ticket website. Either on my laptop or on my phone depending on our proximity to an electric socket, or both simultaneously just to really increase my chances. I have always been fairly determined and I can quite categorically state now that persistence pays off. When my obsession was becoming a little annoying and The Boy was on the verge of leaving me, those magic words came up. "Ticket available - you have 3 minutes to complete this screen". Frantically I rummaged for my debit card realising that I was logged in as The Boy and he was out and had rather cunningly taken his credit card as far away from me as he could possibly get it. (incidentally, the Monkey even takes the piss out of me now. He came up to me today and shouted rather frantically "Where's your credit card Boy, where's your credit card??" and then wet himself laughing. I struggled to connect this outburst to anything even vaguely familiar and then realised he was parroting my attempt to finalise my ticket). You'll notice that it said "ticket" in the singular. I did try to apply for two, I really did, but weirdly I only got one. Shame. I had to go on a big adventure on my own.

So, what a night. I arrived at the Olympic Park in plenty of time (no ankle-biters or husband to slow me down), availed myself of a couple of cold beers, sat in the baking sun then wandered down to my seat. To be fair, I had spent the GDP of a small country on my ticket so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to find out it was a good seat. But, wow, front row?? I promptly broke the world record for over-excitement. Rather predictably I went on probably the only night where we didn't win a medal but who cares. In fact we even got disqualified but I saw a couple of world records and smelt the sweat of the American relay team so it was all worth it. Honestly, it was a night I shall never forget. 

OK, so it's not Team GB but close
enough to see their nostrils twitch

This week as a consequence of the Olympics being over, I am more than a little bereft. In fact, the whole country seems to be a little down and despondent so just as well that the next post I do will be at 3am from my hotel room in Auckland when I've already been awake for 2 hours. Something to look forward to. At least the kiwis can't take the piss out of me for belonging to a nation who are crap at sport. I'd like to remind my good friends that we came 3rd in the medal table with 29 golds, they got 6 and 5 of those were in sitting down sports. The Australians only got 7 but apparently the reason is that they always perform better when their currency is weaker hence their relatively shocking performance this time round. There are many methods of calculation employed to manipulate results and make things seem not quite as bad as they initially appear. Take this for example Brian Dawes, an Australian statitician has ground breaking news for us. He calls it the MAP methodology:

 "Based on a crafty combination of medals won, athletes in your team, and your country's population, I am please to advise that the real winner of the London Olympics is Australia!"

Using the formula, medals won multiplied by athletes in your team divided by home count population (MAP), here are the top four:

1. Australia 632
2. Great Britain 565
3. Hungary 268
4. Russia 250

Team USA scored a measly 175, and China only 23.

So, that's ok then.

Antipodeans know your place - The natural order of things......

As I have been so inspired by my new hero "Mo", yesterday I ran 12km. As a consequence, today I am having to nurse my aches with a bottle of fine Australian Chardonnay (no, seriously, they do exist) while I wait for The Boy to return from the cricket at Lords where he has been busy high-fiving Yohan Blake. My 420 quid got me within sniffing distance of the American relay team. His cricket ticket got him palm on palm action with "The Beast".

Hey Ho. Next week I will be mostly on a plane, in NZ and enjoying a one-night stopover in San Francisco on my way home. Unfortunately I had forgotten about this when I bought my athletics ticket so I am being forced to check into Alcatraz.

The best thing about trying to do all these firsts is that you live in a state of perpetual excitement. And poverty. But life's too short....

Gold, wet and windy

So, here I am, in our little seaside bolthole and what's happened today? It's pissed it down so we had to resort to soft play. God help us if it rains again tomorrow.

So, a few Olympics firsts this week - not for me obviously unless you count watching it obsessively.

We now have 22 gold medals and lie in 3rd place in the medals table which beats our Beijing result and isn't bad for a very small island. Go Team GB!

We won our first dressage gold, our first canoeing slalom gold, our first mens' gymnastics team medal since 1912 (when it was a slightly different discipline including rope climbing..) and first showjumping gold since 1954 and first sherry, wine and vodka drinking gold since 2011 (oops -sorry, that was us).

There've been several irksome issues so far and we still have 5 days to go. For example, as I mentioned above....dressage. I know this will upset certain of my friends who have already sent me various querulous comments but, honestly, what is dressage all about? Can fannying about on a prancey horse really be called sport? The Radio 5 commentator the other day mentioned that "not a man nor woman is making a sound  in this 20,000 seater arena, not a whisper can be heard". Could that be that because it's so deathly boring that no-one actually turned up? And can anyone in the GB team whose surname is a) French and b) means Of The Garden really be taken seriously? Congratulations, though, on Gold Charlotte.

Next up, swimming. Team GB have disappointed us badly and then claimed that it was because swimming is the hardest sport. Really? Would the dressage horses say that? Could it be that the best female in the pool this year (USA's Missy Franklin) has built in flippers with her size 13 feet (how will she get a boyfriend with feet like that?) and that Michael Phelps hadn't yet retired? Perhaps there should be a height restriction for swimming? Clearly a very tall person with inhumanly long arms can touch the side before anyone else?

There are many other gripes but most of all, our national anthem seems to have been butchered. Indeed there is even an image doing the rounds on Facebook that questions the absence of the four most important notes of that heraldic tune.

Crabbing Bucket - doesn't actually
do what it says on the can

Anyway, back to glorious Devon and this week I have been mostly surgically attached to the Olympics website in the hope that I can pick up a random ticket or two for Friday night's athletics without having to remortgage the house and also I've been partaking of what should be a new Olympic sport. Crabbing. Oh, how I remember now those days as a kid when my sister and I brought a bucketful of crabs back to our Devon holiday home and left them in the bath to fester for a week. Not so this time. This time The Monkey has been taught how to crab. Slightly disappointing then that we showed a nice Austrian family how to do it only for them to then catch 10 nippers in their bucket while we stuck at zero. Even more disappointing that, once the seagulls had swooped and swiped our entire pack of Co-op bacon (minus packaging of course - very eco-friendly seagulls), the Austrian family then felt that they should deposit one of their crabs in our still empty bucket in gratitude for our tutelage along with a rasher of far superior Marks & Spencers maple cured bacon. These Austrians must have more money than sense. Perhaps we should go into coaching instead of participating.

Mary Mary, quite contrary,
why on earth did you do that?

Despite the weather, Dartmouth is glorious. And I have discovered two things. Firstly, that, despite being quaint and pretty with posh shops you can still get the ubiquitous "special" massage here  and secondly that, once Mary Mary had finished being quite contrary in her garden (see previous blog), she retired to the seaside and adorned her house with cockle shells. Said house is

"You want a side dish with that?"

now for sale.

Good luck with that.....

Might go for a Mo tomorrow.

The Greatest Show on Earth

What a weekend of firsts - apart from Mark Cavendish in the road race of course.

It all kicked off on Friday by watching the Opening Ceremony along with 26 million other people. Now, I love Only Fools and Horses but isn't it funny that that is the only programme ever to have had more viewers with 27 million for an episode in the 90s. I've never bothered watching an opening ceremony before - but they were never in my home country but I'm so glad we couldn't get a babysitter on Friday. It was one of the best evenings of televisual viewing pleasure since I watched 4 episodes of The Wire in one go. I shall have to restrict my highlights to top 5 as they're too numerous to mention:

Good Evening Mr Bond

Highlights

• The Queen making her acting debut with everyone's favourite Bond
• Rowan Atkinson's spoof Chariots of Fire
• David Beckham's arrival with the torch by speedboat
• The French team carrying Union Jacks - but I suppose London is France's 5th city.
• The cauldron - nuff said. V clever.
• A trip through British musical history because, let's face it, we are the best.

I know, that's 6

Lowlights

• Why or why were all announcements made in French before English? I know we've just established London is France's 5th city but it's England's FIRST city. And anyway, no-one speaks French apart from the French and people from Martinique.
• Macca - I love Paul McCartney but really......Hey Jude? It could at least have been "Here comes the Sun" or "A Hard Day's Night"

So, as we moved from our bottle of champagne onto a bottle of red (historic British events call for Olympic drinking which is what the rest of the world think we're great at), the teams started their long march around the stadium. Christ, how many countries beginning with "A" are there? We were almost onto our third bottle by the time the mighty force that is the Bangladesh team of 5 came on. Anyway, Learnt some very interesting facts about the various countries and I'm a girl who likes facts. Such as , Bhutan were the last country in the world to receive TV and that was in 1999. Brunei and Qatar are including women in their teams for the first time. Botswana is the largest producer of diamonds and Bolivia the highest and most isolated country. The Bs are far more interesting than the As clearly. Nauru has only 2 team members but I have no idea where it is. And Djabouti - learned absolutely nothing interesting about that.

I think it would be far more enjoyable to watch each nation compete in its opening ceremony costume. There were some corkers. Team USA looked resplendent in their Ralph Lauren designed British Airways cabin crew uniforms and the Czech Republic took the piss out of our climate wearing wellies. The Kiwis would find sprinting difficult in pointy trainers (no offence to all my kiwi friends and family) but the biggest disappointment of all was our own outfit. Normally the nation  of refinement and understatement, our costumes could have been confused with the one Elvis Presley may have worn as he munched on a peanut butter and jam sandwich before breathing is last on the toilet.

"You can find your lifejackets under
your seats"

Rain Rain go away, come again
another day, not in London grey and dark
but in warm and sunny Prague.

Chris Hoy - well known Elvis impersonator and national Olympic hero

Anyway, the whole thing was incredible. Having gone to bed at 1.30am and having consumed an Olympic swimming pool of wine, I got up early on Saturday to fulfill my own Olympic feat - taking a 5 year old to a sporting event. I had thought of going on my own but couldn't face the guilt I would feel ten years down the line when he berates me for depriving him of what would potentially, and most likely, be his only ever experience of the games. I panicked, took the portable DVD player, upgraded to weekend First Class on the train so I could avail myself of the plug socket and keep it charged for the mercilessly long 2 hour journey and bought him 3 magazines in case he was still bored and wanted to talk to me, god forbid. The day before I had suggested we take colouring crayons for the journey to which he had replied "Ok mummy, good idea, but just for the train. I won't colour at the gymnastics because then you'll ask me what I enjoyed most and I'll have to say I don't know because I was too busy colouring to watch anything". At least he's honest so I left them behind. He surprised me and was an angel until an hour into the gymnastics when he kicked the Japanese lady in front of us in the head (accidentally of course - he's basically a nice boy) and announced loudly during a lull in proceedings "I'm bored now - when can we go on the underground train?". Thank god for the nice couple next to us who gave him an ipod to play games on so I could ogle Team USA in their tight leotards for the rest of the session.

And so we made our long and winding way home stopping off for a packet of ham and a bag of chocolate fingers for him (I had lost the will to try and make him eat normal things) and a much needed can of Marks and Spencers Mojito for me. Believe me, despite the hangover, I needed one by then.

Last night I slept for 11 hours I was so mentally and physically drained. When our next door neighbour asked The Monkey this morning which part of yesterday he liked the most, thankfully he claimed the gymnastics, despite looking like he was having knitting needles stuck in his eyes for most of it. It made the 95 quid a ticket and the 12.99 stuffed Mandeville that I had to buy him at Waterloo Station all worth while. Perhaps one day, when he's a champion vaulter, he'll remember the great service I did by inflicting two hours of sheer boredom on him and thank me for being such a wonderful mother. Maybe not.

Today I did my last run of the week bring my total up to 29km since Tuesday. I've just spent the evening watching the swimming and I cannot believe that those guys experience more pain than I do when I run to the organic farm and back.  Next week I shall have to up my game to 30k.

Mary Mary, Quite Contrary.....

.......how does your garden grow?

For those of you outside the UK, that's one of our quaint old English nursery rhymes. The full verse finishes with...

With silver bells and cockle shells
And pretty maids all in a row.

Which, to me, makes about as much sense as taking a 5 year old to the mens' gymnastics . In fact, no-one really has any idea what it's about. The theories range from being a religious allegory of catholicism where the pretty maids are in fact nuns (?!) to a rhyme about Mary Queen of Scots. The "cockle shells" apparently could be referring to instruments of torture or alluding to the fact that her husband couldn't be faithful to her. I do wonder though why it can't just be about a girl called Mary who had a garden where little bells tinkled in trees and the walls were decorated with the shells of small, edible, bi-valve molluscs.

Mary Queen of Scots and her
instruments of torture...

pretty little mary tending her
garden .....

Either way, my garden is growing stupidly but in all the wrong ways. Since St Swithin worked backwards this year and it rained solidly for three and a half months before his feast day, my attempt at becoming anywhere near self-sufficient has failed miserably. With no sun from April to mid July I have failed to produce even one courgette, my purple-spouting broccoli spouted but I forgot to pick it to so it went to seed, my carrots have been in the ground for about 4 months and are still only about an inch long and my 10 pea plants haven't even produced enough to put in my annual pea and mint risotto for two. Though, given that I keep finding discarded pea pods around the garden, it's possible that the twins have learnt how to forage for themselves. Hopefully they'll bring back a whole venison next time. The only thing I've managed to produce is potatoes but it's hardly been cost-effective. The 40 litres of compost needed for each potato bag has cost more than I could buy the crop for from Waitrose. Haven't had a single tomato yet either. Still, I gather Monty Don's having a tough year aswell so I don't feel like too much of a failure.

Tonight is the opening ceremony of the Olympics and tomorrow is the men's gymnastics with said 5 year old. Tonight I shall go for a run beforehand to get into the sporting mood and then spend the evening planning, in meticulous detail, how I'm going to get The Monkey from home to the North Greenwich stadium, as it has been confusingly renamed, without accidentally on purpose leaving him on the train. I adore him but he talks me to death and cannot keep still. Even now he is leaning over my shoulder wittering in my ear and wanting to know what I'm writing about him. Learning to read does have its pitfalls, for the parents anyway.

And so, as I psyche myself up for my own Olympic-sized task tomorrow, I shall go and see whether my next batch of 3 peas are ready to pick and decide what to do with them. Add them to the bag of 10 peas waiting in the freezer or just eat them? I bet Mary Mary didn't have such conundrums.

Faster, Higher, Stonger

• Saturday

  19°C13°C3MPHNORTH EASCLEARTERLY

• Sunday

  21°C13°C12MPHSOUTH SOUTH WESTERLY

• Monday

  23°C13°C8MPHSOUTH WESTERLY

• Tuesday

  25°C16°C2

The sun is out, I have a glass of wine by my computer, The Boy is killing himself playing squash, The Monkey is on his first sleepover and all I can hear are the dulcet tones of one twin whining "cuddle mummy" from her bed. On Monday I was wondering whether it's possible to get clinically depressed from too much rain so I stomped round to my friend Judith's house and sat there in silence for an hour while she probably wondered whether there was any point to my visit. Now everything suddenly seems rosier. Clearly this is because the greatest show on earth starts in 7 days and because we have booked a staycation. It's enough to make me stop being cynical. Just a short rant then before moving on to brighter things....

There's been a lot of bad press here about the Olympics since we were awarded the games on that fateful day, 24 hours before our underground system was blown up. Everyone has whinged about the cost of hosting such an event during a global economic crisis and there are plenty of things that are winding me up about it:

Tickets - a farce. The ticketing system has been a joke. First of all you had to apply for as many as you possibly could in the hope that you didn't actually get them all for fear of having to remortgage your house when your Visa bill came through. There were stories of people applying for 20,000 pounds worth and getting nearly all of them and then the rest of us got close to none. It was easier to buy a ticket for our own Olympics in New Zealand than it was here. And there was also only one real method of payment:

Visa. One of the main sponsors of 2012 is Visa which means that no other credit card is valid as a method of payment. So when you set up your official London 2012 ticket account and go to pay, if you don't have a Visa, you then have to apply for one. It's the same in the venues - food, drink and merchandise purchases can only be made with Visa or cash. And who carries cash these days? So, when buying that food or drink...............

it appears that only the most inappropriate forms of nutrition for any self-respecting wannabee sportsperson will be available. MacDonalds and Coca Cola are major sponsors. Those generators of top athletes - how could Usain Bolt be the fastest man on earth without a McMuffin for breakfast? And the official beer sponsor is Heineken. Couldn't they find any British sponsors??

A rail against Reebok. Linford Christie and his
Puma contact lenses. Presumably he didn't wear
them whilst running

And finally, those hallowed rings. Only the official sponsors are allowed to use them. I know you'd have to have landed from Mars (ideally not via Heathrow) not to realise this country is hosting the biggest sporting event on earth but it seems that anyone not officially connected with the games via a multi-gazillion-pound sponsorship deal is not even allowed to mention "The Olympics" in their advertising so well-known pub chains are having to refer to a "summer of sport" when inviting customers to watch events on a big screen whilst enjoying a pint of Heineken and a burger. Unfathomable though that a butcher near the sailing venue in Weymouth was asked to remove a sign displaying a ring of sausages and the words "fantastic 2012". Apparently I also need to watch what I wear when I go. We've been warned today that we may not get into venues wearing Nike trainers or Pepsi t-shirts. Not that I have or want a Pepsi t-shirt.

But, those are my only gripes. This is the biggest event to happen in this country in my lifetime so I am going to enjoy every minute. I have got myself mens' gymnastics tickets for next Saturday which means, even if I go on my own, I'm going to have a bloody good day out. I had considered taking The Monkey but will a 5 year old appreciate a ticket worth 95 quid and will he sit still for long enough for me not to wish he was performing his gymnastics on the floor with the chance of a medal? But then again, it might not happen in his lifetime so should I just treat him?

I know a lot of people are avoiding London for the duration of the games but I can't wait to see the buzz. I almost wish we still lived there. Which other city would have sport's most scantily-clad event played where the prime-minister could see it from his bedroom window (it's just occurred to me maybe that's why). So, despite all the cynicism it was refreshing to see this article in the New Zealand Herald. http://www.nzherald.co.nz/sport/news/article.cfm?c_id=4&objectid=10820781 I don't know what the media coverage is like where you are but this proves
 that there is still an undeniable bond between

Horse Guards Parade - if they had that
sand delivered from Devon our
holiday is screwed

us and our furthest flung colonial outpost. 
They still think we're great!


What with Andy Murray only just missing out on Wimbledon, Bradley Wiggins just about to win the Tour de France and me running 8km today, I think we'll be just fine over the next few weeks. As the pub blackboards say , it's a great "summer of sport" so bring it on!





RTHERLY

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