In Summation...

I know, you think I have forgotten all about posting here… sorry! I have been hugely busy on another very important project – and something I have loved working on, so have not felt the need to be avoiding anything by talking drivel here… that said, there are a couple of reviews to post – although they may be a little late in coming, so more of a “look out for repeats” notice in some cases, but I have tried!

By way of a part-Sunday-Summary-part-humdrum-post (because lets face it, we don’t need two separate posts do we?) here are some of the things I started to tell you about over the weekend:

(And yes, I am fully aware it is Monday, but since I have not yet slept, technically I am still in Sunday – and what?)

Firstly, much love to all the mums, those who were mums, those who wish to be mums, those who have lost their own mother figures, to aunties and godmothers who act as a second mum and to grandmothers who are the ultimate in mum-ness – big love to womankind as a whole on Mothering Sunday.

I have some amazing memories of Mothering Sundays throughout my life. As a youngster, it was the one day my brother and I did not fight, as we joined forces to raid mum’s garden for flowers and demolish the kitchen to make her a special breakfast. Looking back, she probably dreaded the day. I can only imagine the fear with which she went to bed; looking from the window over her immaculate garden with despair knowing that we would have torn out the best blooms, trampled the newly emerging seedlings, inadvertently pulled roots from the ground in an attempt at pulling a flower free from its plant; the despondency as she cleaned the kitchen in the evening, already anticipating walking in the next day to find spills, crumbs, dirty dishes and chaos. She never said a word, though. It must have broken her heart that the flowers she lovingly devoted hours to tending could be so easily destroyed, yet she never once asked us “don’t do that again”; having to spend an hour cleaning the kitchen before being able to prepare lunch added to her load rather than giving her any thoughts of a day of pampering and leisure, but still she allowed us to do it each and every year. She must have struggled with every mouthful of her ‘relaxing’ breakfast in bed, more resentful with each bite… yet she endured it all knowing that our intentions at least were good.

And it is in the same spirit that I endured being awoken at some ungodly hour this morning by baby presenting two gifts from her and child one; a nice “top mum” mug and a token box containing five chocolates, then acting as peacekeeper in the ensuing argument once Child one awoke at around lunchtime and realised she had been cut out of the handover. Now you might think five chocolates is a measly amount to give a person, but in truth I don’t really like chocolate much and having opened my gifts first thing, I duly ate the five only to realise that was truly my limit. One more and I would not have been able to do the mandatory “stuffing your face with your gift” thing… so they did alright there; they can boast that they gave their mum a box of chocolates which she devoured alone, I don’t have to eat until I puke just to avoid seeming ungrateful and they haven’t wasted vast amounts of cash on purchasing unnecessary chocolates at inflated prices… so we are all happy.

Except I am not, but that is a whole other issue… the loneliness of my life hit me hard today. I have not seen the hub-person for a few days – he sends a child down once in a while with a demand for sandwiches or milk or to ask have I performed particular chores yet – but lately he has slept right through the day, so I have not needed to pander to him. So the bigger child-people have been in their rooms all day, hub-creature sleeping, baby outside playing – and I needed to go see my own mum. No-one wanted to come with me so I went alone, had a quick visit of dropping of her gifts (a cracking bottle of wine and a box of Black Magic – the latter supposed to be an ironic gesture which was completely lost on mum, as she was overjoyed at them! “I haven’t seen Black Magic for years! Wow, thanks!!”) and a cup of tea, before setting off for home.

Now when I am feeling low, I tend to drive it off; so before leaving mum’s I loaded up the stereo with Judas Priest then cranked it up loud and tore up the countryside!

And felt loads better by the time I arrived home an hour or so later to find all the child-people in the front room, happily getting along. Much like a disturbed rats nest they instantly dispersed back to their corners of the house, so I set upon my own Mothering Sunday gift to myself: a luscious bottle of Rioja and a giant bag of Tangfastics (because I am so refined!) whilst allowing Carl McCoy to serenade me for the rest of the evening...bliss!


So that was yesterday in a nutshell… what of the rest of the week?

Well, the only new post here last week was my review of the somewhat unimaginatively titled Sarah Millican’s Television Programme.

I make no apologies for the void– I was busy. Last week saw a flurry of commission requests so I spent a lot of time pondering over what I wanted to do and what I didn’t. I also spent a lot of time trying to write for that other blog, but have discovered some things are hard to write about. I have also found that my mind strangely veers to one topic no matter what I try to write, so have had to deal with that first – which I didn’t want to, so haven’t really done much there either…

Strangely, however, I have found plenty of time to make updates on the raging fangirl page. I worry it is becoming something of an obsession, but am fairly sure it is still within a healthy level so it’s fine! Oh and I made a static page – because I can. It relates to the fangirl thing, although is a *little* more professional. Find it here: Korkeys Six Nations Page

In all honesty, I know those of you who have no interest in the scrumptiousness that is Mr C think I am just time-wasting on these little projects but in actual fact it is helping me no end. I have learned a lot of new HTML techniques, gotten to grips with some graphics software I’ve had for ages and never used, learned loads of new SEO tips and had the opportunity to be a little visually creative… all useful for other more sensible posts!!

So to the week ahead:

Well, it’s my birthday in T-minus two days… which means three things:
1. I might be a proper mardy-arse for the next couple of days – you have been warned
2. I suspect I will hit an all-time low on Wednesday so should certainly be avoided then
3. By the weekend the annual funk should have started to lift (as that is usually the way!) so things will start to resemble normality around here!

Some fun stuff coming up, too. I am trying to avoid making promises of stuff to come, as I often do not get around to fulfilling and that just creates a whole issue of trust and broken promises… it all gets messy from there-in…

But… I am working on a *little* animation project (not drawn by me – a second guest contributor! How exciting!!) as well as trying to piece together something on episode two of Korkey’s Six Nations (I’ll announce updates through the usual means!)

Oh and *shock/horror* remember that panto thing last Christmas?… well, news on that front too… (okay, some might use the word Sell-out, but I don’t think it counts if you aren’t being paid, does it?)

One other thing, too… I have answered the issue of anonymity before, but I feel the need to clarify certain things.

I am perfectly happy for people who stumble across this blog to know who I am. In all honesty, there are so many clues here that someone who does know me would easily identify me. That said, because there are references to aspects of my home life of which not all are aware, I do not want that people can just search the web for me and land here… so that is why I hide behind a pseudonym created by my smallest child-person. Personally I do not see the contraversy in anonymity, but it seems to bother some. It is suggested that it says I am not being honest about who I am, but in reality I am more myself for being nameless than I would otherwise be able to be... so sorry if it doesn't suit, but you do only have to ask! I make no claims to be something/someone I am not and will openly answer any questions, so quite frankly my choice as to whether my name is emblazoned across this blog should not matter a jolt to anyone.

I should also say that the FE facebook identity has a few people on the friendlist who would rather not have their personal facebook available to those they do not know, so by having a separate persona I am helping them too.

I feel there should be a stonking payoff for your efforts at having read so much... not sure if I have posted this gem from Elis James before but it's a clip I very much love, so I hope you enjoy it too!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi : St David's Day

Having spent much of today researching and writing about St David, I really wanted to take a moment to mention it here, but to be honest, I am totally St-Davidded out!

So instead, I will just admit it was a shallowly disguised excuse for a rather tenuous posting, just so I could share this little sound-bite with you!


St David's entry from the fabulous Elis James' Pantheon of Heroes:




Ddionol iawn, joio!!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus, i bawb!

Dedication to the Loveless

As I am sure is the case for the majority of my fellow loveless Valentiners, I have spent so many years frantically hiding from the grand bullshit festival of love and loneliness. It never works, though; the incessantly blissful will need to share their joy, the miserable needing to share how down-hearted they feel thus bringing you down; not into their pit of despair, rather to the ground in order that you can dig your own.

No, far better to acknowledge the day so you can really piss in its face!

So as a tribute to the Valen-lones everywhere; a tale or two and a few images I have scratched from the internet.

The pictures here are clearly not my own. I have linked each to the place I stole it from, so if you like the image at all please visit its rightful home, it’s only fair to those who created them.

I have never been lucky enough to receive a Valentine’s Day card. No, wait; there was that one, accompanied by a mediocre excuse for an engagement ring.




I was sixteen and truly believed that having risked his employment to slip the cash from the till with which to buy the ring was the most romantic thing a guy could ever do; we were like Bonnie and Clyde… no, better than that- he was my St Elmo’s Rob Lowe. He would be the Brad Pitt to my Juliette Lewis in that Bonnie-and-Clyde-based film… you know the one? The one which hadn’t been released yet…
Most importantly; my parents hated him. And supremely important: once he suggested engagement, they banned him.

The reality was that I didn’t much like him at all; I mistrusted everything he said, loathed his syrupy bullshit ‘poetry' and despised his (had the word been invented then) chavvy family. Seriously, were Jeremy Kyle around then spouting his bilious arrogance, yelling opinion-disguised-as-fact at the drug-infused, booze soaked benefit fraudsters across the nation, this family would have been prime candidates for weekly stage seats. No doubt.

But did I mention that my parents hated him? And that they had forbidden me to see him? In all honesty, that ban would have made me marry him, just to show them I was in charge of my own life.

And so it was that a few days after a romantic dinner in an otherwise empty restaurant (not actually on Valentine’s of course, everyone knows they up the price of their food on the day – and midweek dining out is always better!) I accepted his ring in spite of my parents. And gave him my own token gift in return.
Now it is said that if you give the greatest gift of all for the wrong reasons it leads to remorse, regret and self-loathing. In all honesty, for me it was a box ticked. One less thing all my friends had done that I hadn’t. And we all know how I like to complete my lists.

Days later, his thieving caught up with him, causing him to lose his job. And what I mean is that after I mentioned it to another waitress who happened to have her eyes on the newly vacant Head Waitress post it became subject to pillow-talk between her and the husband of our boss; she was promoted, my ‘fiancé’ was escorted from the grounds by some burly builder friends of the boss.

It will come as precious little surprise that in spite of our resolve otherwise, this relationship crumbled to be already on very shaky ground by my birthday less than a month after, he laying the coffin-lid in place by Easter and I firmly nailing it closed weeks later, but there are other stories of no consequence to anyone there.

So that is it; my one romantic Valentine’s story. I hope the sentiment hasn’t truly quashed the anti-Valentine tone here! I do genuinely hope it hasn’t dragged you down. It isn’t supposed to. I embrace that memory firmly as a part of who I have become and what my life represents. In fact, one thing that makes me think about how great my life has actually been is when I think on what I would have become had I stuck out that relationship, overlooked what he did, not slept with that other guy – or done the other thing. And I believe that is the point of these Valentines of Loneliness; a point of reflection, to assess how well you are actually doing and learn the lessons you haven’t learned from the past.

I hear you calling out: This is all very well, but you are focussing on what you have received… what have you given? After all, if you do not give Valentines, how can a person complain at not receiving any?
Well, for a few years at Primary school (okay, two, maybe three) I gave anonymously as was the way back then to the one now referred to as the Dark Destroyer of Dreams . Although I outgrew that particular infatuation once we moved to ‘Big School’ and found there were a great deal more boys than the fifteen or so at my school – you know, when there is a greater selection we can afford to be a little more picky!

And I may once or twice have sent a card to my neighbour. Bear in mind, this is a rural neighbour, so was almost a mile away and rarely seen. He did that clever trick all people we see infrequently can do, whereby he’d get more and more attractive until I actually saw him again when it was all "I thought he was better looking than that!" and “was he always quite that ginger?”

Oh, and for the first five or so of the twenty years I have been with the hub-person I gave him cards; before realising he would never surprise me with a return card or that huge romantic gesture I always anticipated; at which point I decided I could either continue to give, feigning no interest in receiving anything yet still expecting it and being deeply disappointed or I could resign myself to reality.

Reality sucks ass; but is cheaper and doesn’t take time out of my day or cause the expectation/disappointment peak and trough.

I hope this Valentine brings you all what you truly need; but remember that as in all things, it may be that what you need right now is not actually what you want, so be patient. And be happy. Whatever your situation, remember that it could be a whole lot worse.

New Year Aspirations

New Year befalls us again!

And so it is that I once again find myself stumbling down the pathway into Clichédom with accidental intentions of self-improvement and an end to bad habits.

I hate the concept of resolutions and work hard to avoid them; nevertheless as the clock strikes midnight, calendars are opened and a new chapter begun I always find myself alone; stuffed from the over-indulgence of a meal and a bottle of wine intended for five which I have taken alone, maudlin from the heartbreak of making plans which as always come to nought and far too introspective to trusted in charge of my own life for any period of time. Thus I find myself listing all that is wrong with my life, all that I need to change and most importantly all that I have the power to change in an attempt to make the most of the next year.

And yes, I understand that decisions made tonight will leave me feeling virtuous for few weeks before realising that nothing I can do will change the things about my life that most need alteration and resigning to yet another failure… but still I know I will awaken tomorrow in the midst of an accidental detox plan with a beautifully formatted list of hopes and dreams for the coming twelve months (or more realistically, days).

But anyway …

I truly hope 2012 brings each and every one of you all the health, wealth and happiness you deserve.

Happy Holidays and other wishy washy greetings

I am aware that in general we should avoid assumptions about the beliefs of our readership and as such Christmas is one of those subjects we are supposed to ignore; however, I am Anglican, as are the majority of my readership and in our society at least, Christmas is celebrated by all regardless of religion.

In fact, my immediate neighbours are Muslim yet last year after I left them off my Christmas card list out of deference for the fact the festival held no importance to them, I was surprised to receive a gift from them; even more so to see their children joining in with the Christmas festivities at school, singing along with songs praising Jesus.

Whilst I do feel that respect should be given to those with different beliefs, I really have to say the situation we get in by trying to avoid enforcing our own religion on others (including using the insipid non-denominational phrase ‘Happy Holidays’) is ridiculous. It irks me all the more because in essence all we are doing is wishing someone a few days of peace, joy and happiness surrounded by those they love most- a great sentiment at any time of the year, surely! In fact, I was overjoyed a while ago when my neighbours delivered some food which was part of a day of celebration to them – I did not get on a huge rant about feeling offended that they were forcing their beliefs on me… in much the same way as my JW friend didn’t when he departed one day early in December saying “I won’t come around for a while now, because we like to sit back and let you all enjoy your festivities” to which I instinctively responded with “Ok, well have a nice Christmas then and I’ll see you in the New Year!”


I personally love Christmas. I like that it is the one time of year my constant list-making is not as open to mockery; excluding the one year I had to make a list of lists because I was sure I had forgotten something. Which I had as it happens so who had the last laugh? Actually, they did, because the need to list my lists somehow highlighted a personality flaw of which all around me had been aware for some time – but would they have laughed so hard had I never sent out cards? I think not!

I also love the whole process of decorating, making things with the kids and hiding in the kitchen for hours on end to appear with stacks of baked goods. It does seem to some that I hate it, especially as I get more stressed as time goes along, but I thrive on the stress and chaos and actually enjoy the constant need to be busy doing one thing or another. I have to admit to also deriving some sort of sick pleasure from seeing fear on the faces of those I love most as they open the kitchen door “WHAT NOW??!!” “nothing… it can wait….” I get left alone for the most part – which suits me no end!

The one place I fail is in the gifting thing. I am inherently bad at consumerism; in fact capitalism in general is far beyond me. I am shit at making money and even worse at spending it. In fact, even during a time when money really was no object, I still could not bear to spend anything. Of course, the hub-creature could – leaving us now with a fully kitted out workshop of around £30k worth of tools he can never use – but I’m not bitter… in the least. I do give nice gifts, don’t get me wrong; I don’t head out and buy tat for pennies, but think long and hard about what a person really needs and act accordingly… so the issue is not the gifts themselves, more the fact that I put off buying them until the absolute last minute. And that is where I find myself now – frantically hoping the mail order companies fulfil their promise of a timely delivery and then having to rush around visiting everyone on Christmas Eve…

I don’t receive presents, either. My parents give me a gift, the same thing every year and a gift for which I am very grateful; they make a hamper of Christmas snacks which is great because I hate having to do the clichéd big-shop of nuts, Mini Cheddars and Quality Street so they do it for me; fabulous, thoughtful and much appreciated. That is my only gift, though, excluding money sent by my grandparents. This is what happens, you see, when you make a stand against consumerism and all it represents; people think it means you want nothing. I consider myself a really easy person to buy for, being quite open about who I am and what I like, yet still it seems I am misunderstood. This is not just a Christmas thing, birthdays are the same. My best ever birthday present by far was from my greatest friend in the world; a huge bath bomb, a book token and a baby-sitting voucher. That gift completely summed me up and was the perfect indication that she totally understood everything I am yet she and my mother seem to be the only people to truly get me.

So anyway – I am hoping to pop back again before the day descends… but no promises, since I have a postman to greet, cards to write (yes, ok – I know they should be done by now!) and lots of cooking to do… most importantly a giant birthday battenburg for the hub-creature! So if you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen – but approach with care!

For no other reason than because I can, I link here to my Christmas soundtrack. Whilst radio and TV seem determined to force us to listen to the same few songs over and again, I have found some I really like to listen to; mostly because they are a little bit different. So here is the entire OTFAF Christmas playlist from Youtube: enjoy!



So have a Happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Pancha Ganapati, Yuletide or whatever your chosen festivity.

Hell, why don't we just celebrate them all! Be joyous, happy, blessed and share that love, peace and happiness with all around you!

A Letter to Santa

Whilst Christmas trends and rituals change over time, there will always be a constant: The letter to Santa.

I remember hours spent trawling through mum’s many catalogues looking for all those treasures I so desperately wanted.

I remember it being quite difficult trying to list all the things I really wanted whilst knowing I probably would not get any of them. For my parents, Christmas was a huge financial burden. If only they had realised that the only things I really wanted were the top two items on my list; those items which had been on my list every year for as long as I could remember. Yes; all I really wanted was a Mr. Frosty and an Astro Wars. Whilst Astro Wars has long since been forgotten, passed over in favour of more modern computer games, I have been desperately awaiting the day I look at the list of one of my children and see Mr Frosty, so I can cheerfully oblige and finally get to say “Yes, I own one!”, but sadly with eighteen parenting Christmases under my belt, I am starting to suspect this may never happen.

There is something great, though, about the last child growing old enough to write her list unaided. Christmas holds little enough wonderment and surprise once a person reaches adulthood, particularly in a home such as mine where I am solely responsible for all aspects of gift-buying, wrapping and opening... so the awe with which I approach opening Santa’s letter on his behalf cannot be understated (although when asked by baby had I read her letter, I of course had to deny! “No, sweet, it was addressed to Santa; I just left it to be collected!”)

So what of her wishes for this year? Well, I have to wonder if I’m not being tested; whether she has maybe reached the stage of doubt and decided she is going to see just how magical Santa actually is; partly because something on her list is an item of clothing belonging to a television character; partly because one item is simply “An Argos catalogue”; but mostly for the bizarre entry “A hard-hat for a boiled egg”.

Having spent many hours scouring some highly bizarre web-shops, I can find absolutely nothing that constitutes a hard hat for a boiled egg, the closest being this:



Which, whilst being very cute and everything just does not seem to be what she is asking for.

So my request for today: if anyone has a hotline to Santa, please ask him just what baby means and where I can buy it from!

Ta Muchly!

It's Behind You (And other such cliches!)

With Christmas fast approaching, the subject of panto becomes almost unavoidable.

I was asked back in the summer to help fine-tune a panto script for a really small group in the heart of middle-England with the main issue being: “We need time to change between appearances since there are only four of us!” I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of this; as projects go it was something different for me and did take my work in a new direction for a while, but much as I appreciate the concept of immersion therapy it did little to cure my dislike of the pantomime concept.

I appreciate the whole issue of tradition and everything, it's just that I feel panto is more for the performers than the audience. Going to the theatre shouldn’t be so much bloody hard work; yet the pantomime audience is expected to provide all the entertainment themselves whilst the actors just dick about on the stage wearing everything the wardrobe manager procured throughout the year in order to justify their stretched budget.

Perhaps it’s just my perception that’s a little screwy – I know many people who go to our town panto every year and thoroughly enjoy every moment; I just leave exhausted, thinking about how I could have gone for a run instead and still had time to do some work before everyone returned, feeling just as hot and weary yet a little better about myself.

In any case, spending almost the entire year thinking panto really has me stone-cold at the start of the run of ours here.

Most often, there is at least the lure of a celeb or two hidden within the cast. In our case, we do not even have that. What we have is “the voice of” one; and not even a proper star, either – one of those “Who?” “You know; her off that thing!” celebrities.

I guess part of that particular problem is that I don’t buy into the whole reality TV thing and those are very much the only type of stars that come to a place like this. For years now, there has been a guy wheeled out in our town for every big event lauded as a “Local hero” … now I thought this was an ironic title, since he really doesn’t have the look of a celebrity, but I discovered just a few weeks ago he really does have celebrity status from having appeared on another reality show I don’t watch some four years or so ago.

And here’s another thing: when I choose to rise above the wave of inane ‘entertainment’ that is X-Factor, Big Brother et al and seek enrichment from other sources, why is it that it is I who is made to feel like a second-class citizen when a name is thrown at me I do not recognise?
And why is it that we are made to endure these people in one show after another in spite of their complete lack of any entertaining qualities whatsoever? Case-in-point… Amy Childs - I could launch into a huge rant here, but I will say just one thing: WHAT THE FUCK!! I was astounded to see someone so vacuous appearing on panel shows – I’ll be honest, I truly thought it was a comedy character I had not yet come across (albeit not a particularly good one!) In order to illustrate my point, I want to draw a comparison with the fictional creation Gayle Tuesday (for those who remember!) but in all honesty, she had far more personality and character than the bizarre creature we are currently having paraded across our screens. Are we really all so zombified that whatever it is she offers constitutes entertainment? We do need to realise that simply being on the television is not enough to make someone a celebrity; especially in a time when it appears pretty much anyone can get themselves on!

Is it just me, or is this in fact a huge insult to those who work bloody hard to develop their skills, build a following and truly entertain their public?

Especially given that in this case in particular, the thing which has made her a ‘celebrity’ is actually something we all learned to do at the age of three.

Yes, an actual piece of historic artwork as made by one of my loverly angel-creatures many years ago...





But anyway – she’s an easy target so I’ll leave it there I guess.

Since I mentioned her earlier, I’ve had a trawl and found this clip from Gayle Tuesday’s mid-90’s show “Gayle’s World” featuring the fabulous Sheila Hancock! Not the funniest clip on the web, but I was looking for something in particular and headed down a path that landed here, so it seems fitting...