Random road kill and groovy grannies!

Little things that make me smile; * random road kill. So I am driving my daughter to catch her train to London and we are laughing, singing along to The Killers (naturally) and making general chit chat as one does. Suddenly I see road kill ahead and move aside as not to sully my Ponyo. (Ponyo is the name of my car, she is orange and beautiful, she does not love ham.) As I pass said road kill my daughter and I exchange a quizzical glance, was that a huge fish? It was! Fish road kill! Never before and probably never again shall we witness this phenomenon. We felt blessed. * groovy grannies. Shopping in Newcastle Under Lyme we come across two grannies, both dressed in purple coats, maybe sisters? We go into a shop and there before me is one of my very favourite Christmas decorations, a snowman that dances to Ice Ice Baby. That in itself makes me smile. The old ladies seem intrigued so I press the button to start the fun...and they both start dancing! Both ladies dance in exactly the same way. It made my day, sad but true. * chocolate. No explanation necessary...

Down-heartened...who am I trying to kid?

So...when did the change happen? Monday I got on the treadmill and did my pathetic little half hour walk/run to try and turn me into a runner. I did okay! 'I'm getting this', I thought 'Maybe there's hope after all?' I wasn't counting every second of the one and a half minute run (okay laugh if you want, it SEEMS longer!) and the time went quickly. 'I could do that again' I though proudly. Maybe the 5k run isn't such a fantasy after all. (Don't get me wrong, I don't enjoy running, not in the slightest, I have my own personal reasons for needing to try and do this.) So today, on go my trainers and my ipod. LMFAO burst into song and off I go again. So what happened? Today my legs ached, my chest hurt, my breathing was laboured, I wanted off! I still completed the task before me but couldn't wait for it to end. Is it time to face the facts? I will never be a runner? I will just never measure up.

In the Zumba Zone

So Wednesday night is Zumba night. I love Zumba for many reasons. It's the only exercise I actually enjoy doing. No word of a lie I hate every other type of exercise, they are a chore. Zumba is just a big old dance off and I  love it. There are people of all ages, shapes and sizes that do it. They is nothing worse for me than the thought of going to a gym to throw my sweaty fat ass around to try and lose a few kilos than being surrounded by gym bunnies. You know the type. Skinny, glamorous types who look amazing with no make up and their hair in a pony tail. They don't sweat they glow and make me look like a big old red faced heffa. No thanks, I'd rather not bother if it's all the same to you. Okay so the sight of the elderly lady gyrating her hips in a sensual way to the sounds of Latino lovemaking music makes me do a bit of sick in my mouth (SHE'S LIKE MY NANNA FOR GOD'S SAKE!) but we are all there. The thin ones with no rhythm, the larger lady with all the moves, the nanna, the teenager, we all Zumba as one. We laugh not at each other but with each other. (Oh alright sometime we laugh at each other, it's hard not too!)
Now the real reason I love Zumba...I pretend I am a real, proper professional dancer. Oh yes, and I bet I'm not the only one. Where else can you be an Irish line dancer, an extra in a music video or (my very favourite) a star in a Bollywood blockbuster? In my head the people behind me and I are all dressed alike in our colourful Bollywood costumes and we are the backing dancers in an equally colourful love story. The whole scene plays out in my head as if it's up on the silver screen, and hen the music ends I feel a little bit sad. I want to live in this make believe world. It's nicer than the one I live in.

Whoop whoop half day!

Today I only work a half day and my heart sings as I awaken to birds singing and squirrels and rabbits cleaning my house as they simultaneously dress me and straighten my hair with GHD's (taking care not to burn their paws of cause as fur does smell when it singes!) Okay maybe it's not so joyously 'Disney' but I do look forward to my half day. Please don't misunderstand me, I LOVE my job. I have a genuine affection for each and every child I work with. They make me laugh and I revel in their adoration of my very being. Comments such as 'Mrs Jones you are always happy' 'I like it when you teach us Mrs Jones because  you make learning fun' and 'Mrs Jones you are as fashionable and pretty as a model' make my day to day existence a joyous occasion. (Okay that last one, although a totally true quote, was said by a 7 year old who really doesn't have a great deal of experience on which to base her comparisons but I shall quote it until my dying day to feed my need to be loved and liked.)
So back to my half day...oh the things I could achieve! I could make a start on my 'mini' story of 2200 (YES 2200!) words for my degree. I could spend a leisurely afternoon perusing the shops in search of lovely things. (Not buying only window shopping of course!) I could go and get my nails or hair done in a vain attempt (literally) to feel fabulous. Or (and here's where reality bites me full on the ass) I can go home, flick through my OU books and write nothing of any substance, eat a ham sandwich and clean the windows inside and out. To make matters worse now I sit at my laptop typing this drivel and the sun is gone in so now all I can see through my sparkling clean windows is grey skies that threaten rain. Welcome to my world.

Today I will be mostly listening to...

The Killers new album Battle Born. I cannot tell a lie I am an obsessed woman since seeing them live on 31st  October. I wake up and their songs are in my head, I go to sleep...there they are! They are currently the soundtrack to my life. The lyrics are beautiful, if I could write half as well as that I would be in literary heaven. Brandon's voice? Oh my days! Now don't get me wrong my lovely husband means the world to me, well most of the world. Surely he wouldn't mind me saving a small continent for Mr Flowers? Australasia maybe? It's only weeny and I don't think that's asking too much. The man is beautiful and has the voice of an angel. My knees literally went from underneath me when he sang 'Be Still'  because it touched my very soul. He's a Mormon so can have more than one wife, hmmmm. Each day I listen in the car, on the laptop, on my ipod, in my head. (Confession alert...I now even love the one that makes me wanna line dance. Guilty pleasure sirens are going off in my head as I type! Check it out here and give it a few chances, I guarantee your toes will be a tappin'. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2PxyF9k1Rw) My love for them has only increased since seeing them live and I MUST go again for fear I may leave this earth having never gazed upon his heavenly face or hearing his voice again. Dramatic? Absolutely not!

Mrs Jones' journal

A fellow colleague today said she would find it interesting to read about my random thoughts and quite often bizzare comments about life in general. I apparently have a habit of talking about one thing and then going off on a tangent. Who on earth would want to read about that? I mean, I know what they are talking about of course. One minute I can be discussing a fellow teacher's upcoming child's birthday party, then I break into a conversation about how the new wall around the house we are passing looks like an elephant enclosure. (It's true though, the house is a perfectly nice one, mid 70's, brick coloured, and then there bold as you like is a new wall made of huge grey rocks! Like something my Dad used to make a rockery from in our terraced council dwelling. Why would you do that? If I wanted to see and elephant enclosure I'd go to the zoo. Two words, ugly and unnecessary.) Sometimes my mouth opens and words come out before I realise it is actually me speaking. Occasionally inappropriate I never mean to offend, that much is true, but probably do so more than I actually realise. I think my constant verbal diarrhoea may be a result of my chronic shyness that became who I was in my mid teens. Intimidated by girls who were more popular than I ever dared to dream and boys who hung on their every word I faded into the background and plugged myself into U2 and The Smiths, worshipping others from afar. Even now the gobshite you see before you (well you usually hear me before you see me truth be told) is a facade, for underneath all the bravado there is still a very insecure person, looking around me and seeing those who are thinner, prettier, cleverer, the list goes on...

Lou Lou and Aramis

You spin me round like a record, Oooh sometimes, Like a Virgin. Songs we sang on the way to and from school. The smells of summer were Lou Lou and Aramis and boys wore their mullets long and proud. The in-crowd had Farah trousers and Diana flicks, I had Morrissey, black eyeliner and an electric blue undercut.
No smoking ordered the black marker pen signs around the school. The staff room was hazy with nicotine clouds. Yellow stained fingers covered my work with red Bic biro, they smelt of smug satisfaction. I laughed off the disappointment and bunked off to the Parkside shops, joined the rest of the waste of spaces on our eternal mission to eat blue pills, cherries and ghosts. Wakka, wakka, wakka, chips and cider. We don't need no education.
Band Aid promised to make Africa better. Bob swore on live television and Midge blurred into the background. I missed it, a jazz band performance at St George's Mental Hospital. We could call it that then, that's what the hospital sign screamed so it was ok. I hated every second. Green fur hats. Tan tights. An indecently short skirt. Every dirty old man's wet dream. I marched on and on hating my dad for making me be here instead of watching my beloved Bono and Nik. In the name of love. It wasn't the same on repeat.

Pap?

short poem...possibly rubbish!

Nerves blocked by anger
He tensed and followed.
Opposite, a thin shape said nothing.
seconds seemed like days.
Virtuous or merely foolish?
Single vision, oblivious to the dangers, he strikes.
The enemy falls.
Craving his touch only
Her lips touch his.
Her protector.

Gulp...

Okay so here goes, my first blog. Scary stuff this opening myself up to criticism and goodness knows what else! I am currently studying a creative writing course with the OU and don't write nearly enough so here's an outlet for all my rubbish that will never make it to the essay stage.
A quick post first of all, test the waters...
Why catarolysis & cow biscuits? Well these are two of the things that get me through my day to day life full of stressful or downright ridiculous moments. Catarolysis - letting of steam by cursing (made up? I don't care to be perfectly honest!) Cow Biscuits - self explanatory surely? These two alone (well maybe a vino or JD occasionally) seem to get me through the day.
Lets see what happens from here...possibly nothing at all, now wouldn't that be just typical?