tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81170129838698250442024-03-05T18:43:33.685+00:00Keep Yer Hair On!shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-22962680637413187972011-03-22T20:21:00.002+00:002011-03-23T07:07:31.627+00:00Moonwalk Madness!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKEdPthUBRghk_pw752K0vuLfmBUi5Spf7Ese8faqaWHHMALBAg613JFTWAyZ5BG8B2ouMOq8Q0_EYFCw5oaBxzgb4zkvMIds_mdABeX91ehzES7Wskde57JQwRfo7LTgokHp_sXIC7AE/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKEdPthUBRghk_pw752K0vuLfmBUi5Spf7Ese8faqaWHHMALBAg613JFTWAyZ5BG8B2ouMOq8Q0_EYFCw5oaBxzgb4zkvMIds_mdABeX91ehzES7Wskde57JQwRfo7LTgokHp_sXIC7AE/s400/006.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to Walk the Walk!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Its 5 months since I posted anything on this blog - but I just wanted to say that I will be walking 26 miles around London, in the middle of the night, wearing a decorated bra on 14th May this year. I'm trying to raise funds for breast cancer by the way - I'm not just doing it because I fancy making a spectacle of myself!<br />
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I'll be pounding the pavements with some lovely friends of mine who have all done the Moonwalk in Edinburgh before. They twisted my arm to join them in London - so here goes!<br />
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All the funds will go towards breast cancer research and also to help those with breast cancer now.<br />
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At some stage, I will be doing something that raises funds for all cancer research, but for now I'll try and do my bit for boobs.<br />
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Obviously, I'd welcome a quid or 2, (Click the box on the right) but you can just post a comment below to cheer me on instead. (I need all the help I can get! This walking lark is MUCH harder than I thought) <br />
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For every comment I get for this post, I'll chuck a couple of quid in myself.<br />
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Thanks everyone<br />
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Shents (aka Lisa!)shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-29958269692487980452010-10-08T15:21:00.003+01:002010-10-08T16:21:42.201+01:00Available in 1 Good Book StoreMy 'Keep Yer Hair On' book is now for sale! I've set it at the cost price £25.95 which is bloomin expensive, I know, but I've had a few requests from friends and family to make it available and that's how much it costs!<br />
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Anyway, if you click on the link, you can have a little preview of it without having to buy it, and if there are any budding bloggers/authors out there wanting to do the same, then you can see that it really is possible.<br />
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Here's the link - <a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/1582799">Preview of the Keepyerhairon book so that you don't have to fork out and buy it!</a><br />
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Everything is, of course, within this very blog, so readers could also just read the blog from start to finish! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6v5-XOAslN7yPnWIwNorgtH-Ys8V_N6Vib45D8GuTZtSqh-PsqeQoS11uHNpvSdSkXrJ2z1L6TjD1G3NdJEHLjdIpoow9UywMmENHboYoDk8Xrh5VDiiKBJ-9TFXo5Tz6OSWF0M97euLN/s1600/blurb_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6v5-XOAslN7yPnWIwNorgtH-Ys8V_N6Vib45D8GuTZtSqh-PsqeQoS11uHNpvSdSkXrJ2z1L6TjD1G3NdJEHLjdIpoow9UywMmENHboYoDk8Xrh5VDiiKBJ-9TFXo5Tz6OSWF0M97euLN/s320/blurb_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-63322002102175266582010-09-28T10:06:00.001+01:002010-09-28T10:06:32.967+01:00I'm an Author at Last!I've just recently received a parcel containing a little pile of books. And the author of these books?.....ME!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpX-EzDlSE6JuwOjSNgRe2eSWs-6XAoA6gAN027RzPS49bC0CtbnXddT6C-2lIwPECXZI5ue2xPg4OB1zeBwk9VSw1ah4o6UK5AolLC1Lul-73Si1oTLvg8OvBG6-70u5KoOIjMg4qmM_/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpX-EzDlSE6JuwOjSNgRe2eSWs-6XAoA6gAN027RzPS49bC0CtbnXddT6C-2lIwPECXZI5ue2xPg4OB1zeBwk9VSw1ah4o6UK5AolLC1Lul-73Si1oTLvg8OvBG6-70u5KoOIjMg4qmM_/s320/003.JPG" width="257" /></a></div><br />
I have finally achieved a lifetime ambition - writing a book! Didn't think in a million years it would be about bloody cancer, but actually, when I've read through it, its not really about cancer at all - its about me, my little family and my friends, just getting on with life for 7 months.<br />
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I am so chuffed with it!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43PTHQEDh3iOaG1ljvKpHyqr8ZZ7DPuZ8D_iTwMQEmDFvAKdNSqKzWQiyYbkIZAHHfiZ7oahBTMGmg7U6bgV_svuhqE8qQpB5k5U5c7YN5vlnI_MCCNPx5jFSwiVAEiY0qPy2Zb9Sj9xO/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43PTHQEDh3iOaG1ljvKpHyqr8ZZ7DPuZ8D_iTwMQEmDFvAKdNSqKzWQiyYbkIZAHHfiZ7oahBTMGmg7U6bgV_svuhqE8qQpB5k5U5c7YN5vlnI_MCCNPx5jFSwiVAEiY0qPy2Zb9Sj9xO/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9W8cT6ntbKZa8a8Ry_X9fPld9tqNeOM6VfKyhKaaLATkMF0kzlLq__PiFVXYuj0dh3-DuzpJJVuhZC_zStzlJypgcuXDaWfLsoDB3es1LjAcEy-OzfMZNtoXUJRLevl4FX9996B4T8Um/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9W8cT6ntbKZa8a8Ry_X9fPld9tqNeOM6VfKyhKaaLATkMF0kzlLq__PiFVXYuj0dh3-DuzpJJVuhZC_zStzlJypgcuXDaWfLsoDB3es1LjAcEy-OzfMZNtoXUJRLevl4FX9996B4T8Um/s320/004.JPG" width="279" /></a></div>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-76252003403279579602010-09-07T12:20:00.001+01:002010-09-10T17:00:59.124+01:00A New Chapter...A New BlogI have started a brand new blog.<br />
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I'd like to invite you to <a href="http://www.letyerhairdown.blogspot.com/">take a look.</a><br />
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One chapter ends, another one begins...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSD5YU71mmQlKYxOG57o5uAAyOKRwx5fz7xFEIYSl1o_5zQpSvMJ7vlcXWy5nYf0Nm280AIahfu45RCreHtDuy5ZbZEbYMoNUhRt_QZjiHmdW6ZyShJyfmHjS1a426QJoBGWm0ZLnJjF2/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSD5YU71mmQlKYxOG57o5uAAyOKRwx5fz7xFEIYSl1o_5zQpSvMJ7vlcXWy5nYf0Nm280AIahfu45RCreHtDuy5ZbZEbYMoNUhRt_QZjiHmdW6ZyShJyfmHjS1a426QJoBGWm0ZLnJjF2/s320/013.JPG" /></a></div> ...with hair!shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-63552420382909919622010-08-31T07:40:00.001+01:002010-08-31T08:37:02.041+01:00Guardian AngelsWe played our last game of the season on Sunday. The Corbridge Angels v Tynemouth.<br />
I scored 33 before getting skittled out by a demon fast bowler. I have a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my inner thigh, my achilles are both nacking and my arms are aching like hell....but I've loved every minute of it!<br />
This little cricket team, made up of old decrepit mothers with a few great youngsters hoyed in, has kept me going throughout the last 8 months - kept me moving, kept me motivated. <br />
Out of the 100+ players in the whole league, I finished 5th top battter with 228 runs. Most of those were scored with a baldy head and sweaty bandana. For once, I'm not bragging here - I'm just grateful that <i>cancer</i> didn't take over my life for 8 months....<i>Cricket</i> did!<br />
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We have our own little blog too - so if you're bored <a href="http://www.corbridgeangels.blogspot.com/">pay us a visit!</a><br />
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Here are some of the lovely Angels that played on Sunday -<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyniZQTQW0AceVFlTAtNPkpc99yfdOJhdUEOKeNNS16QCGmY_HnT5JdsZdjxgbfXM9XDNooibiqxOb6VQQRSmXCjYNvkfFKZcZFfSpgn2WiUseKUWL1mBuwnxq6Fz7Kise85BUsUw5GtKM/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyniZQTQW0AceVFlTAtNPkpc99yfdOJhdUEOKeNNS16QCGmY_HnT5JdsZdjxgbfXM9XDNooibiqxOb6VQQRSmXCjYNvkfFKZcZFfSpgn2WiUseKUWL1mBuwnxq6Fz7Kise85BUsUw5GtKM/s320/040.JPG" /></a></div>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-18864943609616319572010-08-19T20:04:00.001+01:002010-08-19T20:05:14.230+01:00The Cousins Are Here!3 of my brothers kids have come up for a couple of days to enjoy some Northumbrian sunshine.<br />
The 16 year old went shopping with my mum, so what should I do with the other 4? Hmmm.<br />
I know! Lets go gambling with 2p's, feed our faces with fish and chips, then go to the beach!<br />
This is becoming a regular outing! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIuzsHwNKrr0ci2TK8xUwYOopuf_Nx-oTXrAcl4xQd3QdJk1RC5gC7PwPpKG3aHxUKb-K6NlP30Js0d258I168DoeQsvRNjHvRNqMtZxoRokx2_Z7edOIq_4FqcWGhuapsiZ-E39W32aK/s1600/splash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIuzsHwNKrr0ci2TK8xUwYOopuf_Nx-oTXrAcl4xQd3QdJk1RC5gC7PwPpKG3aHxUKb-K6NlP30Js0d258I168DoeQsvRNjHvRNqMtZxoRokx2_Z7edOIq_4FqcWGhuapsiZ-E39W32aK/s320/splash.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Its Freezin!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1RgELApySW4_HV-kt0zJi5zmvDB1LPEbLyiVnYrMvkPH-kvK5eSYJX8NuhHuCm5itKA-DsHK6BcWkzcS_DLJ-rE8LUzYj3x_GHCCy37rmYXweB7W_yNYqIQN9Y_k7S_g11ySL5Lf_tn0/s1600/splash2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1RgELApySW4_HV-kt0zJi5zmvDB1LPEbLyiVnYrMvkPH-kvK5eSYJX8NuhHuCm5itKA-DsHK6BcWkzcS_DLJ-rE8LUzYj3x_GHCCy37rmYXweB7W_yNYqIQN9Y_k7S_g11ySL5Lf_tn0/s320/splash2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Splash!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUe9rcoFGSqRVDI3Ua6_j4JNzoduXmhJLhy9FgLQc5_3bG0WM5GKe2fz2Tw-aaDt6ph2sHuW3qo1eurimMXXuJqE19bs2o6F-h9Q2wjP7UhFKk61UrCs4tULGpbvGl1pR7TRVq6xZjqf9/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUe9rcoFGSqRVDI3Ua6_j4JNzoduXmhJLhy9FgLQc5_3bG0WM5GKe2fz2Tw-aaDt6ph2sHuW3qo1eurimMXXuJqE19bs2o6F-h9Q2wjP7UhFKk61UrCs4tULGpbvGl1pR7TRVq6xZjqf9/s320/019.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chattering teeth!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-6I-2wNQHLLnPZwjiBo77J-TM7z1fngoQxwAt8bpT9m7Y6uHcDmLd2ADFod515U-kpK7w92ynuPV405KeAJzo-Bj63lxw6zl6YI9-cuKco7hyphenhyphenBd65KEOoDzWRudkBbyhFHadtDR9M6mO/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-6I-2wNQHLLnPZwjiBo77J-TM7z1fngoQxwAt8bpT9m7Y6uHcDmLd2ADFod515U-kpK7w92ynuPV405KeAJzo-Bj63lxw6zl6YI9-cuKco7hyphenhyphenBd65KEOoDzWRudkBbyhFHadtDR9M6mO/s320/021.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely smiles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPZ2PlsFv3KJU0SUNObCK3w6MBVZpVh9uMdnI8no7A177rCejIAbp-3UAcSaja2Bdrx2ujDDIjXGLWveOzlUTHxTR-aJnLQEUnebZe-CzGV8iTHiJkLnITjVaWylkTGnaOHUnWenkeQV2/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPZ2PlsFv3KJU0SUNObCK3w6MBVZpVh9uMdnI8no7A177rCejIAbp-3UAcSaja2Bdrx2ujDDIjXGLWveOzlUTHxTR-aJnLQEUnebZe-CzGV8iTHiJkLnITjVaWylkTGnaOHUnWenkeQV2/s320/029.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long Jump Competition</td></tr>
</tbody></table>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-58582217977030743562010-08-14T09:14:00.001+01:002010-08-14T09:19:25.653+01:00The Dune RaceJust thought I'd post this to give you a smile. The kids decided to do a bit of 'dune racing' at the beach on Thursday.<br />
No children were harmed in the making of this video...they just had lots of sand up their nose!<br />
<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5bvciAAOcwE&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5bvciAAOcwE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-51679226841808847452010-08-12T20:59:00.000+01:002010-08-12T20:59:17.985+01:00Please Don't Let the Summer EndI'm loving the summer hols.<br />
We jumped in the car today and headed north to Seahouses and Bamburgh.<br />
Puffins and seals on the Farne Islands, fish and chips (again!) the Grace Darling Museum and finally...Bamburgh beach - beautiful. We're so lucky to have all this on our doorstep. 2 sleepy children in the car on the way home...and one happy mum.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_Vev9wA-5dqutL-eM_2Si8RKNp6vdDgySJzLFHvGlq-BF8dkc3d5vx5yAqtYGaecMR6yyJMumsHPxNB9oIf2lFKfImdS7bhjliQq5An9d0zNR_X2tBsJz7q71ReaC5J4M1FskDtTDGwY/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_Vev9wA-5dqutL-eM_2Si8RKNp6vdDgySJzLFHvGlq-BF8dkc3d5vx5yAqtYGaecMR6yyJMumsHPxNB9oIf2lFKfImdS7bhjliQq5An9d0zNR_X2tBsJz7q71ReaC5J4M1FskDtTDGwY/s320/004.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SPLASH! - a wet boat trip to the Farne Isles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpl4AZHN2J2TViAahyir7QL68IQc1CeY-GkPsDc5AMDOn7WIGmOnlS48l7W9IglctwPzZB6cGGJ6ky4U6h9WsuJWEjw3zL4TQIAwwUykt6TUKFlv9-o3jo-iMzsRKOfXilzOEXt6VUcq6A/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpl4AZHN2J2TViAahyir7QL68IQc1CeY-GkPsDc5AMDOn7WIGmOnlS48l7W9IglctwPzZB6cGGJ6ky4U6h9WsuJWEjw3zL4TQIAwwUykt6TUKFlv9-o3jo-iMzsRKOfXilzOEXt6VUcq6A/s320/022.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seals</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2lgEfMBPQoC0rE_br1S1NL9Pt1LODeZbos0lrgxmn4y3326qa0PNUwqLQqFk8y8ahqCS1pKFcAgKK7EEmFblnZt00wwaATfdx4bY4Lk7WRpvvlVH-0fUGC2Qk5HUbFBYktfp9r07lZXW/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2lgEfMBPQoC0rE_br1S1NL9Pt1LODeZbos0lrgxmn4y3326qa0PNUwqLQqFk8y8ahqCS1pKFcAgKK7EEmFblnZt00wwaATfdx4bY4Lk7WRpvvlVH-0fUGC2Qk5HUbFBYktfp9r07lZXW/s320/032.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inner Farne</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp40ebXYtk61eQSLO0YH3TkFCinjxUYAqnbPkX3mgGfMXf-a2eJDHwVAhB6_2Mb6u5e_emJNs-CsL73NFdOE3Jtl-RspnqxrMx1M62LivmQ_9oH8iL2UzgIeq_xcRDAcs4iblQ6Vc5ZZc/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp40ebXYtk61eQSLO0YH3TkFCinjxUYAqnbPkX3mgGfMXf-a2eJDHwVAhB6_2Mb6u5e_emJNs-CsL73NFdOE3Jtl-RspnqxrMx1M62LivmQ_9oH8iL2UzgIeq_xcRDAcs4iblQ6Vc5ZZc/s320/036.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace Darling's grave. She was only 26 when she died.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKIZugM4JYSDFz-ThkgyJRPU1dmlpNIBW204wTt_sY6CbqlZlJhY6OkKJzDlH-i2wISaQKnnjURFA17xWAiccVi16vnUmnO04TEi53YY-qLv28KOLwef0Vagid_YgOj9px9Ylk6MsiA9z/s1600/060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKIZugM4JYSDFz-ThkgyJRPU1dmlpNIBW204wTt_sY6CbqlZlJhY6OkKJzDlH-i2wISaQKnnjURFA17xWAiccVi16vnUmnO04TEi53YY-qLv28KOLwef0Vagid_YgOj9px9Ylk6MsiA9z/s320/060.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bonny lad</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaArypAK1VeGzS8MJ3MLYGazonjWV5F_1bKJJHyo3sBZh47PhzqN0PCAR0_U_n0dQfkGWA11EXFkd79lq_mae6EdcmYSY2nqR1ET9QjT1UnW3zL6YVJJhyWzKwQtev6DpLHlqSQ8tGXaT/s1600/061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaArypAK1VeGzS8MJ3MLYGazonjWV5F_1bKJJHyo3sBZh47PhzqN0PCAR0_U_n0dQfkGWA11EXFkd79lq_mae6EdcmYSY2nqR1ET9QjT1UnW3zL6YVJJhyWzKwQtev6DpLHlqSQ8tGXaT/s320/061.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bonny lass</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMZhkAIpWWlEhLjsRI2SUyPrFf0EUSqrGSmALnz_HYrs94b1w-pObXSzAZJauX1ZrzZvs7rYR4FzPxUXchcEGwlOG4yPe6ZssE0OwPDeZSEaLAml5j_iYSy9OkrVcR7QdwJIax_NDXzJK/s1600/058+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMZhkAIpWWlEhLjsRI2SUyPrFf0EUSqrGSmALnz_HYrs94b1w-pObXSzAZJauX1ZrzZvs7rYR4FzPxUXchcEGwlOG4yPe6ZssE0OwPDeZSEaLAml5j_iYSy9OkrVcR7QdwJIax_NDXzJK/s320/058+-+Copy.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another lovely day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-46610449730320387652010-08-09T16:39:00.000+01:002010-08-09T16:39:07.224+01:00The Jazz PicnicThe Annual Jazz Picnic took place yesterday. Dad got together some of his old jazz pals, 2 of his brothers and various other musical cousins for a fabulous day.<br />
<br />
We raised £517.31 for Tynedale Hospice at Home - oh, and the 6 year old made an appearance - as Bessie Whittington!<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mrb9Xnb7_X8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mrb9Xnb7_X8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-78304007328334425802010-08-05T21:24:00.000+01:002010-08-05T21:24:25.489+01:00Off to the Beach...Again!Back to the beach. More fish and chips and hole-digging in the sand - this time with Grandma.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmyxCStP8ZMT01HFAPGJU57esFlLjLjNrW82BsDPHn2MOninAcHIietCjjKKSIY2mjkba4A1czdCR0XqnW5KNE7cg5sGnrHM19XsG8FZUhkI845Q2Z_XuWErvjDz_vf-4lNSdfYllG3WQm/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmyxCStP8ZMT01HFAPGJU57esFlLjLjNrW82BsDPHn2MOninAcHIietCjjKKSIY2mjkba4A1czdCR0XqnW5KNE7cg5sGnrHM19XsG8FZUhkI845Q2Z_XuWErvjDz_vf-4lNSdfYllG3WQm/s320/016.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't mess with me</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTGKvP8uMYOy3VbIETcNipwLAn6eIcGAcBf3orXLJFlVZmqtkExatNX7SeEx34HBOB5OffszQLlxLFFdfXLwbQmH1qYJmhlpmx8MhnQXqvX7uqMqCo7Q4ygZXiSaFthfwL6pQuRnYJT2Q/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTGKvP8uMYOy3VbIETcNipwLAn6eIcGAcBf3orXLJFlVZmqtkExatNX7SeEx34HBOB5OffszQLlxLFFdfXLwbQmH1qYJmhlpmx8MhnQXqvX7uqMqCo7Q4ygZXiSaFthfwL6pQuRnYJT2Q/s320/019.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know why, but I just love digging holes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCwpVVW5-oqWnA3yteiHf44kr8tskoiCSgAafdSI_usgYEx5N9pdEFbANl2BvzZYdQ45WMV6J_nc22WhZJR5hXoR-MriXeIttyW4-tY37Sd0khjtgEqUoVJY2fJ2QHrYBBqEcUBWrayvw/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCwpVVW5-oqWnA3yteiHf44kr8tskoiCSgAafdSI_usgYEx5N9pdEFbANl2BvzZYdQ45WMV6J_nc22WhZJR5hXoR-MriXeIttyW4-tY37Sd0khjtgEqUoVJY2fJ2QHrYBBqEcUBWrayvw/s320/023.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma M</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMHOYoGKtw116VbHuITz5oklyBKfPQcmtm2vt_xoBc1S5jrF1XZDdsZu61lyHK5OX5cQctkd9tm5bnx36d5aw4JZq10MANA2l08fivZSnz6_vEeMOFHeRjAECiPgQuCZMeQajgj7fJSll/s1600/DSCF4292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMHOYoGKtw116VbHuITz5oklyBKfPQcmtm2vt_xoBc1S5jrF1XZDdsZu61lyHK5OX5cQctkd9tm5bnx36d5aw4JZq10MANA2l08fivZSnz6_vEeMOFHeRjAECiPgQuCZMeQajgj7fJSll/s320/DSCF4292.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Angels in action last night...we lost again, but had a good laugh! Recognise an old school mate on there, Jill?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-41512125857876756272010-07-30T22:11:00.000+01:002010-07-30T22:11:39.359+01:00Happy DaysI know I've finished this blog, but we had such a lush day today that I thought I'd just post some photos.<br />
Gambling, fish and chips then beach...what could be better?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGB_WSGdGp1DH1pjn2t7a9kMTv8uAw5962B7UMbc-D4DTzQBpwy0PhHBmNrbQhlHMHthHvVps0Rd4A6G4iNJLH2xdiiFj5eyM3gm-ah7nEDJWKiTFjaDL3_sYlhlAYtuEH3WWn6EVfodJ/s1600/067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGB_WSGdGp1DH1pjn2t7a9kMTv8uAw5962B7UMbc-D4DTzQBpwy0PhHBmNrbQhlHMHthHvVps0Rd4A6G4iNJLH2xdiiFj5eyM3gm-ah7nEDJWKiTFjaDL3_sYlhlAYtuEH3WWn6EVfodJ/s320/067.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Digging to Suze's house</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xamwey1ZcCOYaIrGNMm0DwW_-cQx4RbN2k771mcQXH4PS5LI1Pg8RUQCAgf1gI-QlAryTt6XnI7DVzgQhA2h7WryAfy_iumGHeXd1VBnfv2OwszwivQWSWys5B5cy36_GHY0eHJFgAuJ/s1600/064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xamwey1ZcCOYaIrGNMm0DwW_-cQx4RbN2k771mcQXH4PS5LI1Pg8RUQCAgf1gI-QlAryTt6XnI7DVzgQhA2h7WryAfy_iumGHeXd1VBnfv2OwszwivQWSWys5B5cy36_GHY0eHJFgAuJ/s320/064.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best pals</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUNfniYJDeHaxLph6hFqtmD1TkKimMTvuCNHo1ZpEDYHWoU-qBAzEEnn7rJi91_mRPju6tvUgnJvU9ixKo1MSrtlW5_wF7nBtkMbpO5hoGhinkT2NQWBokkDtUDDe-3aWNN8FQpHjAO1l/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUNfniYJDeHaxLph6hFqtmD1TkKimMTvuCNHo1ZpEDYHWoU-qBAzEEnn7rJi91_mRPju6tvUgnJvU9ixKo1MSrtlW5_wF7nBtkMbpO5hoGhinkT2NQWBokkDtUDDe-3aWNN8FQpHjAO1l/s320/049.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bucket Heed</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNbMLr_j35mGrIt7SU7dd5XXNSP-fe9Zu1y-ybTYsRTNHPeoH9N8bKyPLzw9xymHk2XqH-U7_WARG8aDQsPlGWwfI6m3PTejTu0X9EsMCfTDL2Y9AIeIISfeMCxFkrgkKlKFspo0iEmYt/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHNbMLr_j35mGrIt7SU7dd5XXNSP-fe9Zu1y-ybTYsRTNHPeoH9N8bKyPLzw9xymHk2XqH-U7_WARG8aDQsPlGWwfI6m3PTejTu0X9EsMCfTDL2Y9AIeIISfeMCxFkrgkKlKFspo0iEmYt/s320/046.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach Babes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKoaV8fKmJrVgCJrwnUc5wuXWydHx7K6mpmbsKn61v-mfwof4QVi-VNYeSa6Ft8R6veivZAYAOrulfDQMBEBVnwC3CEI3fnJrib6BUXc3aNf__OVaONvPIwsdaS76sVW6zS13bMUGp9Yw/s1600/033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKoaV8fKmJrVgCJrwnUc5wuXWydHx7K6mpmbsKn61v-mfwof4QVi-VNYeSa6Ft8R6veivZAYAOrulfDQMBEBVnwC3CEI3fnJrib6BUXc3aNf__OVaONvPIwsdaS76sVW6zS13bMUGp9Yw/s320/033.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BatGirl (From the other day!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-79825819147298977952010-07-27T21:58:00.001+01:002010-07-27T21:59:27.758+01:00And Finally...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrB7Y5gpy4owpXWfL-y9OLJYdyiCZMH1LY9Xme7lucUZXMJnlM1kRhZ3r6GovgJCYUdGIwE6L58vY10EUiiMsgBqpnbylNnWP3ujzHGGtl00LM8OP16-ODN2FQFrzFG_l8MTnD6FF83nF/s1600/DSCF4239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrB7Y5gpy4owpXWfL-y9OLJYdyiCZMH1LY9Xme7lucUZXMJnlM1kRhZ3r6GovgJCYUdGIwE6L58vY10EUiiMsgBqpnbylNnWP3ujzHGGtl00LM8OP16-ODN2FQFrzFG_l8MTnD6FF83nF/s320/DSCF4239.JPG" /></a></div>I think this will have to be it for the summer everyone.<br />
<br />
Keepyerhairon will be 'closing down,' at least for the summer...but I'll be hatching a new blog for the autumn I hope.<br />
<br />
Without going all soppy and writing terrible cliches, these last few months have been incredible. I started the blog initially as my own little diary/journal - something to focus on...and I now have over 80 entries and LOADS of fantastic comments from friends, family and even people I've never met.<br />
Knowing that you were all reading this, has kept me going, kept me writing and kept me feeling great.<br />
<br />
Its been the worst few months of my life, but I can honestly say that it has also been the BEST. I hope that comes across in the 80 blogs, because I don't think I could begin to explain why in just a few words!<br />
<br />
Thank you everyone for supporting me throughout the last few months. It doesn't seem to have mattered that many of you are miles and miles away - it really feels like you've been standing right next to me for the whole darn journey....I'm so grateful to you all.<br />
<br />
Have a wonderful summer. I intend to. And I'll let you know when a new blog emerges...with hair!shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-25901229168768591682010-07-24T17:09:00.006+01:002010-07-24T21:31:54.990+01:00For The Last Time...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEL7L3gE_MALPx2hz-M__aMb9qhcrEtA_uS4fUvJoBcuvGKqmifvpfSzfYt4K8q_8gyv4cPegKsQ41FD2oI3IVdFEK2Ui1UedQHqXSH-CG_afSsKIS0LnFcHLHHf54mBEBJbw3T75RMlhm/s1600/1stschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEL7L3gE_MALPx2hz-M__aMb9qhcrEtA_uS4fUvJoBcuvGKqmifvpfSzfYt4K8q_8gyv4cPegKsQ41FD2oI3IVdFEK2Ui1UedQHqXSH-CG_afSsKIS0LnFcHLHHf54mBEBJbw3T75RMlhm/s320/1stschool.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Year 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's been a fabulous few days since the last day of zapping on Tuesday. Sorry I haven't blogged in a while, but every day has been so jam packed that I haven't had a chance to sit down and tap on the keyboard. At the moment, the kids are watching an old Batman movie (from the 70's) so I have a window of opportunity! (I suppose I should mention here that the 6 year old isn't just <b><i>watching</i></b> the film, she is<i><b> in</b></i> the film. She is dressed in woolly grey tights with the gusset hanging down to her knees, and wearing the 9 year old's batman costume, mask and cape. She looks great.)<br />
<br />
The leavers assembly was brilliant. The school hall was packed full of parents and kids, and we were all thoroughly entertained by the happy, grinning Year 4 kids. They sang songs, told us of their memories at the school, played violins, danced to 'Its the Final Countdown,' and had us all whooping and cheering in the audience - no tears!.....until the head teacher stood up.<br />
<br />
Mrs B. is a fabulous headteacher, and I was fully expecting her to stand up and say 'well, parents of Year 4 kids - time to say goodbye - thank God, because this class have caused nothing but mayhem since they set foot through the school doors 6 years ago...' <br />
<br />
But she didn't. She admitted that this was a 'difficult' class, but explained that she thought it was for 'all the right reasons.' She described them as a class with LOTS of big personalities and LOTS to say. Hard work for the teachers, but rewarding too. She then stopped talking and her eyes filled with tears.<br />
<br />
<i><b>'And some of these children have had a lot to deal with this year.'</b></i><br />
<br />
Well, that was it. The whole place started sobbing.<br />
<br />
I looked at my little grown up lad on the stage and felt very, very proud of him. He's been a rock for me in the last few months. <br />
<br />
And then I looked at his friend - the little lad whose foster mum died from cancer this year. Him and his 2 little sisters have been staying with their childminder since then, but in the next few days, they are leaving to join a new family - about an hour's drive away.<br />
<br />
'This'll be my 4th mum,' he'd said to my 9 year old a couple of days ago. He's a talented little footballer, a cheeky little worky-ticket at times, but I've always had a soft spot for him - ever since I sat next to him on the bus on a school trip back in Reception class when he was 4 years old. He had stared at me for ages before saying - 'why have you got such a big nose?'<br />
<br />
After the assembly, whilst all the kids were getting cuddles from their mum's, dad's and grannies, he was sliding up and down the hall on his knees. I went over to him, and asked if it would be alright to have a cuddle. I fully expected him to say - 'Get lost, big nose,' but he didn't.<br />
<br />
'Yeh alright,' he said.<br />
<br />
I gave him a hug, and babbled something about being good for his new mum, working hard at school, enjoying his footy and looking after his sisters.<br />
<br />
'Yeh, ok,' he said, then went off sliding on his knees again.<br />
<br />
He's a very <i><b>brave</b></i> little worky-ticket. <br />
<br />
This week has been full of <i><b>'for the last time's.'</b></i><br />
<br />
Cancer treatment for the last time for me on Tuesday, First School for the last time for the 9 year old on Friday, Year One for the last time for the 6 year old...and <i><b>lots</b></i> of last times for my 9 year old's little pal...new challenges lie ahead for us all, and hopefully lots of fantastic 'first times'.....shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-81120354837250355432010-07-20T08:48:00.004+01:002010-07-20T08:52:01.379+01:00Last But Not LeastThere are a couple of 'lasts' this week.<br />
<br />
It's the 9 year old's last assembly tomorrow. He's been at his first school for 6 years, and he now looks like a giant compared to the weeny reception kids. It's time for him to move to the middle school.<br />
<br />
When we go to their assembly tomorrow, all the mothers, myself included, will need to take a big bag full of hankies. I just hope I don't do one of those 'out loud hiccupy sobs' like the 6 year old does.<br />
<br />
Its also the last day of term on Friday. Hallelulia, praise the Lord - we can lie in, no more packed lunches to be made out of nothing to be found in the fridge, no more school uniform to wash....well, for 6 weeks anyway!<br />
<br />
Oh - and today is also THE <b>LAST</b> DAY OF MY TREATMENT.<br />
Now that's a canny good '<b>last</b>' isn't it?!<br />
<br />
My dad is running me in to the hospital this morning for my 11.10am appointment. I'll be laid out on that bloody uncomfortable bed for ONE LAST TIME, zapped, and then <b>THAT IS IT! NO MORE!</b><br />
<br />
We then plan to go out for lunch, and maybe a little glass of something.<br />
<br />
So - go on! Have a glass of something sparkly tonight - I know its only Tuesday - but its a very special Tuesday....shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-89078835558225707972010-07-17T21:25:00.001+01:002010-07-19T17:29:54.435+01:00Home Grown<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMAOSR-dEkyvMs-cNuHGpzsIMstIfy7hIt-W0Bbx8zMbXTBgAUKnEexUTSpJCEq_cTnjtDL6bh5x67JGuqRKSlRppa4NDBvGkf2IK_hwhkB_V0nQGcmipGy8E5LxeuuJc3c8t0oc3O7kv/s1600/DSCF4192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMAOSR-dEkyvMs-cNuHGpzsIMstIfy7hIt-W0Bbx8zMbXTBgAUKnEexUTSpJCEq_cTnjtDL6bh5x67JGuqRKSlRppa4NDBvGkf2IK_hwhkB_V0nQGcmipGy8E5LxeuuJc3c8t0oc3O7kv/s320/DSCF4192.JPG" /></a></div>I feel like a walking nuclear power station with all this radiotherapy at the moment. But I've only got 2 to go.<br />
<br />
I had the most fabulous hour in my little allotment this morning. All those seeds I planted back in March are producing a wonderful harvest. The greenhouse is like a tiny tropical rainforest with gigantic leaves filling every bit of space. Cucumbers, courgettes and tomatoes are growing in abundance, and the garden is overflowing with raspberries, strawberries, blackcurrants, broccoli, cauliflowers, peas, french beans, onions...its wonderful.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPi0gfYB1rQl-J9gjx7zxdrJxVytrfnsWYs5jt5g6X2C-a7jQ0PA4qcyD8BpIMWA_rvB_3KfmuHW0cvBCWj6j9CjaXZXzhMhT9_E6g42iWk9seGefFNsO9PAEqvjTwuc89HD4F-GaczhW/s1600/DSCF4208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPi0gfYB1rQl-J9gjx7zxdrJxVytrfnsWYs5jt5g6X2C-a7jQ0PA4qcyD8BpIMWA_rvB_3KfmuHW0cvBCWj6j9CjaXZXzhMhT9_E6g42iWk9seGefFNsO9PAEqvjTwuc89HD4F-GaczhW/s400/DSCF4208.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Meanwhile, our 5 hens - Rihanna, Henny, Sandy, Fluffy and Duffy are laying eggs like mad - they are very happy hens.<br />
<br />
There was something very satisfying about gathering in all the produce this morning. I made a lovely tea out of it (well<i><b> I </b></i>thought it was lovely - the 9 year old twisted his face in disgust when he saw so much green on his plate)<br />
<br />
The 6 year old and I even made 5 jars of raspberry jam this afternoon. She designed some lovely labels, and we cut out little disks for the jar lids out of a couple of my bandanas! We recycle lots of things in this family - even baldy head-covers!<br />
<br />
As I surveyed all these lovely home produce things, I felt a satisfied little ready brek glow all around me....<br />
<br />
...I <i><b>must</b></i> be radioactive!shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-25922864427844459592010-07-14T22:43:00.000+01:002010-07-14T22:43:50.074+01:00A Mother's Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD37HTEP8j3GqI12I9PXJfau5ZpDBk8nE3fwm5SNBKuQNI6ZPx977kv-rH7UfcLaENrih1DqFgiXwWqv2mMO0hARb2fIhyphenhyphenuCFkDXnQNRn3LU9zwHff2MJ8bcL37Z2wS6GwNZGOn4m51mxS/s1600/sportsday2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD37HTEP8j3GqI12I9PXJfau5ZpDBk8nE3fwm5SNBKuQNI6ZPx977kv-rH7UfcLaENrih1DqFgiXwWqv2mMO0hARb2fIhyphenhyphenuCFkDXnQNRn3LU9zwHff2MJ8bcL37Z2wS6GwNZGOn4m51mxS/s320/sportsday2010.jpg" /></a></div>It was Sports Day yesterday. An afternoon of joy, disappointment, achievement and anguish. I snapped away with the camera for the whole 2 hours and looked through all the photos as soon as I got home - you can spot all four of those emotions on the pictures - on the faces of the children...and some of the parents.<br />
<br />
<b><i>We just want our kids to be happy. </i></b><br />
<br />
Tonight, I held my little 6 year old as she sobbed with that hiccupy-style crying that you just can't seem to stop. She had dropped and broken a precious object on the kitchen floor - much to her daddy's fury - and he had yelled at her.<br />
<br />
The 'Apple of Dad's Eye' crown doesn't often slip, so she flew upstairs, howling - broken-hearted.<br />
<br />
After a while, she crept downstairs to find her mum, and buried her head into my chest. She was sorry, she was very, very sorry, and she needed me to cuddle away the tears.<br />
<br />
Of course I could. Within minutes, the hiccups stopped, and she was fine again.<br />
<br />
At the hospital today, after my zapping treatment, I went to visit my old PE teacher. She's not too good at the moment. After-effects from the stroke are giving her excruciating pain down one side, and they are trying to control the pain in hospital. She's been there for a couple of days.<br />
<br />
She's in her own room, and when I got there she was fast asleep. Her mum was with her. <br />
<br />
When my teacher opened her eyes, she saw me, and as she slowly recognised me, we had a good bit of smiling and laughing. She can't speak, so she couldn't ask me why the hell I was wearing a Buff scarf with a cricket cap on top. Instead, I carefully showed her all the little bits and pieces that my 6 year old had made for her. They were in a little shoe box with her name written on it. <br />
<br />
She dozed off again, and minutes later, she woke up suddenly, her face twisted with pain. Her 84 year old mum jumped up, and held her 54 year old daughter - she desperately wanted to make her feel better.<br />
<br />
She couldn't - and it was heartbreaking.<br />
<br />
'It should be me there,' she whispered, stroking her daughter's hair, 'not her.' <br />
<br />
<b><i>We'll do anything for our kids to be happy.</i></b><br />
<br />
I came away from the hospital in tears, of course. I passed the nurses on my way out - chatting about flights from Newcastle, and what they were having for tea tonight.<br />
<br />
'<b><i>There's a mother in cubicle 13 who can't make her daughter feel better!'</i></b> I wanted to shout. 'Why the hell are you talking about holidays to Magaluf? Why don't you care?!'<br />
<br />
Instead, I walked the hundred miles of corridors to my car and drove home. I looked through all the sports day photos again. That's all I could think of to do to help make me feel better.<br />
<br />
I can't explain this one. I can't make sense of this one. I can't think of anything wise or clever to say...I just had write about it.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-256059539961094602010-07-10T20:02:00.002+01:002010-07-10T22:49:29.333+01:00Normal Service Will Be Resumed....Soon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju35imh9kCPtAGutqbjCp05WwJFk1420pa063TUdWGfa_1CE7rbAF58YlUoIBKd0oNeTBMCs3AUrzED8As5Q_ECr59ZO0ne5KrQLZkXvOw7bn5WqXIxK8BB4qacWVr59lakXLWuzobVg_M/s1600/DSCF4129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju35imh9kCPtAGutqbjCp05WwJFk1420pa063TUdWGfa_1CE7rbAF58YlUoIBKd0oNeTBMCs3AUrzED8As5Q_ECr59ZO0ne5KrQLZkXvOw7bn5WqXIxK8BB4qacWVr59lakXLWuzobVg_M/s320/DSCF4129.JPG" /></a></div>I'm over half way through the radiotherapy now. 8 down, 7 to go.<br />
<br />
When I was in on Friday, a nice fella called Ben asked if he could sit next to me. He was 61 and having treatment for prostate cancer. I think he fancied a chat cause there were plenty of empty seats. I didn't mind. He was a really nice man. He used to play cricket, so we talked tactics for a while, and he admired my cricket cap which I don't think I've taken off since I got it - my initials embroidered on in gold.<br />
<br />
'This whole cancer thing makes you think a bit doesn't it,' he said.<br />
<br />
'Well, it does I suppose,' I replied, wondering where he was going with this conversation.<br />
<br />
'I've been really horrible to my wife over the years,' he said sadly.<br />
<br />
'Oh?' I said, thinking that he didn't look like he'd be horrible to anyone.<br />
<br />
'All the huffs and sulks. And I've been a right miserable bugger. I don't know how she's put up with me.'<br />
<br />
'Well she has, and you can change things from now,' I said. 'Get some holidays booked, some weekends away, organise some nice treats for you both.'<br />
<br />
He looked very upset suddenly, and I could tell that he had many regrets whizzing around in his head. It had taken cancer to wake him up. He doesn't want things to go back to normal after the treatment. He knows he has to change things.<br />
<br />
As for me, well, I<i><b></b></i>'m slowly returning back to 'normal.'<br />
<br />
My body, despite being radioactive, is emerging out of the chemo fairly well. I'm not sniffing and dripping any more. I can frown now with the help of eyebrows. I can make a slight breeze with eyelashes when I blink, and my legs are like Kielder Forest again. Best of all, I managed to get <i><b>47 runs</b></i> on Thursday before collapsing in a sweaty heap - every muscle and joint in my body groaning with pain.<br />
<br />
I <i><b>want</b></i> to be back to normal - and, I didn't realise until that cricketing performance, just how much my lovely husband wants me back to normal too. <br />
<br />
<i><b>'Straight off the radiotherapy bed and she scores 47 runs!'</b></i> I heard him boast to his cricketing friend the next day. He was bursting with pride. If his mother was still alive, she would have been reminded of the day that he had asked me out.<br />
<br />
'He came bounding in,' she would describe, imitating him brilliantly... I always loved hearing her tell that story...(it was her favourite, and she told it many times.)<br />
<br />
Now I know what she meant. I've seen it with my own eyes now. I've witnessed that bounding, bouncing and beaming lad - just as she described. The weight has begun to lift off his shoulders as he sees the old me coming back again - 16 years older than when he first clapped eyes on me - but its me - almost back to normal - and I'm glad that's the way he wants me.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-71584732835336116882010-07-06T21:34:00.002+01:002010-07-06T21:41:06.612+01:00Anyone for Cricket?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTpbjqnzNN27KqdQm8OFKlx9vzWWZ14e7CLvox7V7zXzvYsOsBMXgGFd2RVKbxU63OABeSOnu8FFF6z5wvKDfIXxEsK_lNObenNh1c1l5C0o0tUDbEWHm5x5gxYNm-3WxlX8vyRtZtwVs/s1600/cricket+boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTpbjqnzNN27KqdQm8OFKlx9vzWWZ14e7CLvox7V7zXzvYsOsBMXgGFd2RVKbxU63OABeSOnu8FFF6z5wvKDfIXxEsK_lNObenNh1c1l5C0o0tUDbEWHm5x5gxYNm-3WxlX8vyRtZtwVs/s320/cricket+boys.jpg" /></a></div>Bit of a fiasco at the hospital today.<br />
<br />
I'm supposed to see a doctor every Tuesday after the radiotherapy, so I asked the very miserable lady on the desk where I had to go. She waved her hand over to a different waiting area. 'Hey hinny,' I wanted to say, 'try and smile a bit, man,' but I didn't, and just sat down. I did as I was told.<br />
<br />
One hour later, I was still sitting there. In that time, my mum had painted a massive silk scarf with the nice proggy mat lady. Meanwhile, I was wishing that I'd brought a ball and a set of stumps so that I could practice my bowling down the corridor. It would make an excellent practice area there, and I'm sure if I brought a bat then some of the patients would love to join in. I suggested it to a couple of them, and they had a laugh. <br />
<br />
There was a little old lady sitting with us who had been waiting for an hour and a half. She was absolutely fed up. My mum decided to take action and marched up to the desk to see if the miserable lady could give us an idea of how long we'd have to wait. She managed to summon a nurse for help.<br />
<br />
The nurse came over and asked for our names.<br />
<br />
'Ah,' she said, embarrassed, 'the doctor is on holiday. Weren't you told?'<br />
<br />
'Er...no.' I said politely, my tummy rumbling like hell. It was 1.30pm. <br />
<br />
She then said something which made me really laugh.<br />
<br />
'The machine should have told you that the doctor was on holiday.'<br />
<br />
The machine? Who the hell was the machine? Did she mean the grumpy receptionist? Was she really a robot that had malfunctioned and forgotton to smile <i><b>and </b></i>give important information out? I glanced across at grumpy pants. She ducked down behind her computer screen.<br />
<br />
'Who is the machine?' I asked nicely.<br />
<br />
'Well, yunno - there was supposed to be a note on the computer for them to tell you.'<br />
<br />
'Who's 'them'?' I asked.<br />
<br />
The nice nurse was genuinely sorry for the mistake. She was kind, she was caring. She didn't want to blame anyone...but I followed her eyes...to grumpy pants.<br />
<br />
'I see,' I said calmly, and looked at my little friend, the little old lady who had spent her <b>whole day</b> waiting. She was really tired. She had been ready from 7am this morning - waiting for her hospital lift that was 2 hours late. She had been at the hospital for 3 hours and would now have to wait for who knows how long for her lift home....<br />
<br />
I looked across at the reception desk.<br />
<br />
'I think I know where we'll set the stumps up tomorrow, Patricia....'shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-15679657699005950172010-07-05T14:05:00.000+01:002010-07-05T14:05:15.078+01:00Enjoy the Ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJ4oQl_Qp9WVn7OxIus-KAlVowQ5aCPTgYFKGb2okADFbds58GHBNAz9Ejj11p3TAvefRaAmy8bh6o24zFLj7vrchbKSHyVi-R_LUw4q9XKXPcnBc1LiBo5YBuR31d7gHI1km9RM0mHsY/s1600/DSCF4110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJ4oQl_Qp9WVn7OxIus-KAlVowQ5aCPTgYFKGb2okADFbds58GHBNAz9Ejj11p3TAvefRaAmy8bh6o24zFLj7vrchbKSHyVi-R_LUw4q9XKXPcnBc1LiBo5YBuR31d7gHI1km9RM0mHsY/s320/DSCF4110.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sinead Shents </b></div><br />
4 down and 11 to go.<br />
<br />
I had an early appointment this morning, and for the first time managed to navigate myself to the hospital without the use of the sat nav. The car is learning to find its own way there.<br />
<br />
I actually quite like spending this time in the car. I had a good blast of Fleetwood Mac this morning, and sometimes, you see entertaining things out of the window. Today, there was a lady with 2 young dogs waiting at a pedestrian crossing. She was holding one of the dogs in her arms, and the other little dog was on a lead, proudly holding what looked like a tree in its mouth. There's been a good bit of wind recently and a big branch, about 15 times the size of the little dog, must have got blown down - much to its delight. Its tail was wagging like hell... A bit like me when I found the magnum of champagne from my brother in the greenhouse. Far too big for little me...but hey, lets give it a go...<br />
<br />
When the green man lit up, the lady set off across the road, but her dog just couldn't balance the branch properly, and refused to move. I could see her trying to rationalise with her little pet. 'Come on, my darlin -just leave the tree.' He would not let go. She was running out of time and was beginning to panic. The beeps were ringing out loudly. She had to act before she was flattened by 100's of impatient commuters.<br />
<br />
Struggling to keep the other little dog in her arms, she somehow managed to lift the branch. The determined little dog still wouldn't let go of his prize though, and he ended up hanging from it by his mouth - all across the road. <br />
<br />
They made it. She was happy, the dog was ecstatic, and everyone seemed to be having a damned good laugh in their car - me included.<br />
<br />
I drove home from the zapping without a hat, scarf or wig on. As I got closer to home, I passed my hubby on his way to a call in his car. He was travelling in the opposite direction, and was past in a flash, but I could see he was grinning. He rang me up. <br />
<br />
'Hey baldy,' he said cheerfully, 'I'm turning around - let's have a coffee.'<br />
<br />
They warned me that the radiotherapy bit would be tiring and that the travelling would be a pain in the ass - but hey, sometimes you can meet some canny people in your car - today was one of those days.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-493369750245396262010-07-03T08:30:00.002+01:002010-07-06T10:25:24.739+01:00Transfer DayIt was Transfer Day yesterday for all school children in the county.<br />
<br />
For the 6 year old, it was straightforward - she would spend the day in the year 2 classroom with a teacher who I know she will adore. She has been looking forward to transfer day for weeks.<br />
<br />
For the 9 year old, however, BIG CHANGES are afoot. He starts Middle School in September, and will be sharing a building with enormous 13 year olds. His day was to be spent in unfamiliar surroundings.<br />
<br />
As you would imagine then, the day began with a big shouting session. The 6 year old could only find 3 odd shoes, and I nearly had to send her off to school in her wellies. Thankfully, she found both of her silver, sequined party shoes and was delighted to be hoyed on the bus with those on her feet.<br />
<br />
The 9 year old was as cool as a cucumber - lounging in front of CBBC without a care in the world.<br />
<br />
'Here's 3 pens. You'll need them,' I said flitting around manically, 'and a pencil.'<br />
<br />
'Yeh,' he replied, not averting his eyes away from the TV.<br />
<br />
'And here's your PE kit, and look, I said <i><b>look,</b></i> I'm putting a rain jacket into your <i><b>PE bag</b></i>.' I stuffed his little cricket cagoul in the bag.<br />
<br />
'Yeh.'<br />
<br />
'And you'll need to hand this form in to your new teacher. See it? I'm putting it in your <i><b>book bag</b></i>.'<br />
<br />
'Ok.'<br />
<br />
'And this is the form you need to sign.' I wafted a piece of paper under his nose. 'You're signing to say that you wont abuse the internet.'<br />
<br />
'Oh right,' he replied, 'what does that mean?' He scrawled his name in tiny writing in the space provided.<br />
<br />
'It means that you musn't go on ebay or Amazon, and you musn't send rude emails to your mother.'<br />
<br />
'Oh right, ok,' he nodded.<br />
<br />
'And this,' I said waving a small envelope in front of his eyes, 'is your dinner money. It contains a cheque for £30 to go on a dinner card. If you lose the card, you have to pay £2 for a replacement, and if you lose it more than twice, I will make you pay for it yourself out of your egg money. Do you understand?'<br />
<br />
'Uh huh,' he replied, completely and utterly bored now with his ranting, neurotic, lecturing mother.<br />
<br />
When we finally arrived at the school - other frantic, neurotic mothers were clustered around the class lists that were sellotaped to the window - ensuring that their kid wasn't in with Horrid Henry or Dennis the Menace.<br />
<br />
'See ya, mum,' the 9 year old said, strolling nonchalantly into the school.<br />
<br />
'Bye darl, have a great day, and don't forget...'<br />
<br />
'I know,' he smiled. 'Bye mum.'<br />
<br />
He left me there, and despite all the chaos and the fussing of other mothers, and knowing <i><b>exactly</b></i> where I was...I couldn't help but feel a little lost.<br />
<br />
He's growing up, the little lad. I'm so proud of him, and can't believe that he's about to start middle school. It only feels like yesterday that I was at middle school myself!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9NsUUYQQ2FJ7ByssKqqUAxGZlBK1-xbv0uMICUGLYdEz_qd-iQVq2kqeRxTH2beeQmZlA3L6H8ohNqZhDs0X7OcrkJACmWyUcE4Im5qQqRtsIcY5p8KuzyhUDKnzN6xZRqrZFDUxjDfd/s1600/DSCF3775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9NsUUYQQ2FJ7ByssKqqUAxGZlBK1-xbv0uMICUGLYdEz_qd-iQVq2kqeRxTH2beeQmZlA3L6H8ohNqZhDs0X7OcrkJACmWyUcE4Im5qQqRtsIcY5p8KuzyhUDKnzN6xZRqrZFDUxjDfd/s320/DSCF3775.JPG" /></a></div>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-26722335559124134722010-06-30T05:49:00.000+01:002010-06-30T05:49:54.366+01:00Que Sera Sera<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xZbKHDPPrrc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xZbKHDPPrrc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
Day 1 of the radiotherapy stint is now safely ticked off on my list. It wasn't a zapping appointment - that starts today - it was a 'getting ready to be zapped' appointment, where they needed to get the machine programmed in with the right co-ordinates.<br />
<br />
I have to say, that the radiotherapy bit of the big scary hospital is SO MUCH NICER than the chemo bit. I went with my mum, and the people in the waiting room were more relaxed, and some people even smiled! Some ladies in there weren't wearing any scarves, wigs or bandanas, and just had a fraction more hair than me. They looked really good. Maybe in a couple of weeks I'll join them. I don't look too bad now from the front, but when I turn to the side I seem to have a huge bit of skull that sticks out at the back. Gosh, I'm so vain!<br />
<br />
There was a lady in the waiting room making a massive proggy mat. She had a wooden frame with a bit of hessian sack attached to it. She had loads of small strips of felt and was progging them through the holes in the hessian with a progger-thing. It's something my mum used to make when she was a little lass, so she got all excited when she saw it, and joined in - much to the lady's delight. (She was there as an 'official proggy mat-maker, by the way, not just a random lady carrying her hobby around everywhere she went.)<br />
<br />
I was called by a nice chap called David, left mum happily progging away, and followed him into a little consultation room where he explained all about the next 3 weeks. He gave me a timetable with all the dates and times on and asked if they all seemed alright. The 'sports day' time was a bit dodgy, so I asked if that one could be changed.<br />
<br />
'Ah, you'll be wanting to watch your kids,' he said.<br />
<br />
'I'm not bothered about them,' I replied, 'I just want to run in the mothers race.'<br />
<br />
He looked me up and down. 'I bet you run it in bare feet,' he said, a little smile appearing on his face.<br />
<br />
'How do you know that?' I asked. I wondered if he thought I was Zola Budd.<br />
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'I can just tell,' he said knowingly, and left it at that. <br />
<br />
A bit later, I was ushered into a little changing cubicle where I had to strip to the waist and put on a terrible little spotty tunic that had velcro-ed shoulders and sides. I didn't know how much time I had, otherwise I was going to start doing a Bucks Fizz Eurovision dance impression in front of the mirror, and whip the tunic off in one big rip. Thankfully I didn't, as they soon came in to get me, and lay me down on the zapping bed.<br />
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The radiographers were called Ruth and Robbie. I could imagine them on Britain's Got Talent, as they were a pretty impressive double act. He was slightly camp, and enjoyed dancing around the bed I was lying on, putting felt tip pen marks all over me. She was the sensible one, and kept checking to see if he'd done it right.<br />
<br />
They got me in position, then left the room whilst the machine zooped about on its practice run. They told me that whatever happened, I had to KEEP STILL, and NOT MOVE!<br />
<br />
Before they left, they pressed 'play' on the little cd player. I wondered what music they had chosen for me. Within a few seconds, Doris Day started belting out 'Que Sera Sera,' at the top of her voice. It was lovely, albeit a very surreal experience lying there - arms above my head, boobs out, alone in a room listening to Doris. I wanted to sway my arms in time to the song and sing along with the chorus, but thought better of it. In fact, I'm not sure I even breathed!<br />
<br />
Anyway, job done, and all I had to do was drag my mother away from the proggy mat, grab a coffee and head home.<br />
<br />
So when you press play on the clip above, make sure you think of me - in fact, why don't you try it yourself - and see if you can lie there throughout the whole song without moving a muscle - not as easy as it sounds!shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-22245429332035801292010-06-28T12:23:00.000+01:002010-06-28T12:23:38.423+01:00England are Dead...LONG LIVE BRAZIL!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmM39W9sMXsf0vfiIQqkpB92dqFEa1x7xvL9n0x4ozzn3Qz_0tyurRozIX9PjkhtgKLrnwL5hbZvd98dOSwjXPbZ07C8hoRJsYGt8q2Osn4Qm84LthpEkClPnPaVeTj3ukFhzpdPG3j-m/s1600/DSCF4093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmM39W9sMXsf0vfiIQqkpB92dqFEa1x7xvL9n0x4ozzn3Qz_0tyurRozIX9PjkhtgKLrnwL5hbZvd98dOSwjXPbZ07C8hoRJsYGt8q2Osn4Qm84LthpEkClPnPaVeTj3ukFhzpdPG3j-m/s320/DSCF4093.JPG" /></a></div>The radiotherapy slog starts tomorrow - but so too does the countdown to the 20th July when I can honestly say...'Get in, its all over!'<br />
<br />
My appointment is at lunchtime tomorrow at the nasty big hospital in town. I'll be home for 5 minutes, and then <i><b>back</b></i> into town to a place right next to the hospital...for an appointment with my cricket team! Yes, we are playing a VERY good team tomorrow evening - it'll be full of young county players, and the ground is like Lords with proper seating etc. I think they manicure their pitch there - I've never seen any clumps of nettles like we have at our place - which is just as well really, as we don't want to lose their ball when we start slogging it for four.<br />
<br />
I hope we try a little harder than those overpaid, arrogant, petulant buggers from the England football team.<br />
<br />
Before '<b>the</b> match,' the 9 year old was playing footy for his school in a little fete tournament. They had to play 5 games in the blazing sunshine, and in one game they only had 3 players to start because the rest of the team had got held up in the sweety stall queue. They ran on heroically one minute into the game - mouths stuffed full of bubble gum and toffee chews, and went on to win the match and, the entire tournament. <br />
<br />
Maybe that's all Rooney needed at half time - a couple of toffees.<br />
<br />
So, at least in our household we had a football hero yesterday. He was very proud of himself and his team, but after watching the 'big boys' on the telly, he ripped down the England flag that was sellotaped to the stair window in disgust, muttering 'bloody Germans, bloody Rooney,' and replaced it with his own little medal.<br />
<br />
With regard to the rest of the World Cup, he's in a dilemma now. I have shown him 'youtube' coverage of the Hand of God Maradonna goal - so not only does he now dislike the Germans - he would also hate to see Maradonna's Argentina team win....<br />
<br />
...I think he needs to take a leaf out of the 6 year old's book. She is a <b>glory seeker</b> of the first order, and at the start of the world cup, she abandoned all faith in the England nackers, and wedged the flag of Brazil in her window. It has been fluttering there grandly ever since....<b>go on Brazil! </b>shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-70318056441611636852010-06-26T11:21:00.000+01:002010-06-26T11:21:27.276+01:00Why Walk When You Can Fly<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/W3rt30oFJGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/W3rt30oFJGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Gosh - I've just noticed that a lot of my latest posts have been so long! Blah blah blah!<br />
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Time for another song then, I think.<br />
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Hubby and I have seen Mary Chapin-Carpenter LOADS of times live, and she's great. This song is one of my favourites. Best line to listen out for - 'In this world you've a soul for a compass, and a heart for a pair of wings.'<br />
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Enjoy.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-88389268627659439772010-06-24T12:39:00.004+01:002010-06-24T14:23:40.291+01:00A Little Old Man Called Joseph<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXFaobHI8666a7hvW7TCunElRI_9E515W8bgoHMK3J5KGm31nIwJbTCp-wDC2yuF6zLlYwcrxgAjx3Pghsw7C1kRLytd1YqJcQ9TIHKrVYZ4vR6yZbC_kxl02GTqzmmPCWLdtaLOPk9uk/s1600/lockbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXFaobHI8666a7hvW7TCunElRI_9E515W8bgoHMK3J5KGm31nIwJbTCp-wDC2yuF6zLlYwcrxgAjx3Pghsw7C1kRLytd1YqJcQ9TIHKrVYZ4vR6yZbC_kxl02GTqzmmPCWLdtaLOPk9uk/s320/lockbox.jpg" /></a></div>I met a little old man this week called Joseph. He was about 90 years old.<br />
<br />
I had to go to the hospital to collect a prescription, and whilst I was waiting for it, he shuffled up carefully to the counter, handed his prescription in, sat down next to me and smiled. He was immaculately turned out with neatly trimmed snow white hair and a great big hearing aid clipped on to his right ear.<br />
<br />
I couldn't help but notice as I checked him out, that he was wearing a jumper and a coat.<br />
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'Silly old fella,' I thought, 'Its 24 degrees out there, he must be daft.'<br />
<br />
So in a big loud voice, I shouted to the daft, deaf old man, 'Blimey, aren't you hot with that jumper and coat on?' <br />
<br />
He smiled.<br />
<br />
'I was in India in the war,' he began.<br />
<br />
'Oh God, not the war,' I thought, 'I'll never get away now.'<br />
<br />
'I was with the RAF there for 3 years. I was only 18,' he continued, 'and they said to me that if I got used to the Indian heat, then I would always be cold when I came home to England. And they were right.'<br />
<br />
I smiled back. He wasn't such a daft old fella after all. <br />
<br />
'My uncle George was a spitfire pilot in Burma,' I said.<br />
<br />
'I spent some time there too,' he replied, 'and also in Singapore.'<br />
<br />
At this point, he stopped, and I could see that he was thinking back to when he was a young lad. His eyes misted over slightly with tears, and then he looked at me, wondering whether he should continue. Should he open up that little memory box in his head and share what was tucked in there with this young stranger.<br />
<br />
'There was a bomb,' he said quietly. 'which was the start of my deafness.' He pointed to the big hearing aid. 'But my friend was in the next room, and he was killed. His face looked so serene.'<br />
<br />
I didn't know what to say. The prescription lady came to the rescue and called my name. I signed for my drugs, then sat down again next to the old fella. I wanted to say sorry for thinking that he was just some doddery old deaf bloke, and sorry that he'd had to experience such awful things, but instead, I said that it was lovely to meet him, and thanked him for telling me his story.<br />
<br />
There'll be lots of people wandering around with their own boxes of memories in their head. Some they'll be glad to open, some they'll keep firmly locked away. I'm not quite sure what I'll do with my cancer memory box yet. Will it be an open box or will I lock it away. I suppose by writing this blog, the box is well and truly open...at the minute. Maybe on the 20th July it will be time to stash it away in the hoy in room in my head, just like old Joseph had done with his memories of the war.<br />
<br />
I don't know why that lovely old man opened his locked box for me the other day. Maybe he read my mind and thought - 'I'm going to put this young whippersnapper right,' or maybe, as I'd rather believe, he had sussed me out with my bandana head and thought he'd let me know that however hard it is to go through difficult times, you can stare those days in the eye and move on - all the stronger for it - even though it may still bring tears to your eyes - many, many years later.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117012983869825044.post-87848651836112585132010-06-21T15:17:00.004+01:002010-06-21T21:43:05.886+01:00Happy Fathers Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicfZgjkLf0zL5s-6mPAC7t7DFJDsJz9iH1l6QPiDFWtdp5-qHxcyDrUQ22xtBM1OM-166dXEDMv0cD7fBmNBaMKe5yaDLeFaoqK-NseKSGhsH2FqyjKt5iWQoASB7eUd5JjvT7TUrXVI2S/s1600/2cv-club-red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicfZgjkLf0zL5s-6mPAC7t7DFJDsJz9iH1l6QPiDFWtdp5-qHxcyDrUQ22xtBM1OM-166dXEDMv0cD7fBmNBaMKe5yaDLeFaoqK-NseKSGhsH2FqyjKt5iWQoASB7eUd5JjvT7TUrXVI2S/s320/2cv-club-red.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When I was about 10 years old, my dad drove me and my brother all the way to the South of France in a Citroen 2CV to go camping for 3 weeks.<br />
<br />
Before we set off, my brother and I were placed in the car, and the tent, the lilos, food boxes, clothes, and all other manner of kitchen sinks were packed in around us so that we couldn't move. The little car was stuffed to the gunnels. Apart from the ferry crossing, I didn't see my brother for 2 whole days when we finally fell out of the car, blinking in the blazing sunshine, at Les Arcs campsite.<br />
<br />
We had the most fabulous time. Dad and my brother ate nothing but the 4 million Vesta currys they'd packed, and I ate hot dogs. Loads of them. In fact, I ate so many, that I puked up one night.<br />
'I've been sick,' I reported to dad.<br />
'Oh that's good,' he replied, 'whereabouts?'<br />
'In the sink.'<br />
'Oh God.'<br />
Poor dad had to clear up 10 hot dogs from the campsite sink. He couldn't believe that I'd swallowed them whole.<br />
<br />
He took us to Monte Carlo, and as a good, responsible father, left us outside whilst he wandered in to one of the fancy casinos for a look. Two minutes later, he was hoyed out by 2 french bouncers. Seemingly, you weren't allowed in wearing a cheesecloth shirt, brown shorts and Jesus sandals. We laughed for ages about it over ice cold litres of panache each - (that's shandy in English.)<br />
<br />
He took us snorkelling in a lovely secluded cove one day. My brother set about collecting clams. The only place he could store them was down his trunks, and when one of the little buggers decided to 'attach' itself to him, my dad found super-human strength to prise the mighty clam apart. Thanks to my dad, my brother went on to have 4 beautiful children.<br />
I, of course, laughed and laughed until sundown, when I discovered that I had 10th degree burns on my chest from the sun. 'Dad, man, that NACKS!' I squealed as he roughly slapped the aftersun on like lard on an English Channel swimmer.<br />
My brother was pleased to see me in pain. Served me right for laughing at his clammed 'bits.'<br />
<br />
Dad also locked me in an outside toilet for 30 minutes. He didn't mean to, but as him and my brother tucked into the lovely french nosh at the restaurant, they suddenly realised that I was missing. He had bolted the door from the outside to keep me safe - not thinking that his daughter <i>wasn't</i> Houdini, and <i>wouldn't</i> be able to get out. I was fine about it. I knew he'd come back to get me eventually, and God knows why, but I sang an old geordie song - 'Cushy Butterfield,' 87 times to keep my spirits up. My brother smiled quietly when I sat down to eat my cold cheese omlette. He had enjoyed his half hour of peace.<br />
<br />
I got my own back on my dad by sending him into a shop to get me some envelopes. I told him that the word for envelope was 'singe.'<br />
Poor dad spent 15 minutes in there with the 2 bewildered shop ladies asking, over and over again - 'Avez-vous des singes? Singes? <i><b>Singes</b></i>!'<br />
He didn't realise that he was actually saying, 'Have you any monkeys? Monkeys? <i><b>Monkeys</b></i>!'<br />
Not sure I've ever been forgiven for that one.<br />
<br />
Other minor things happened on that trip. An articulated lorry crashed into the side of our 2CV with me shouting <i><b>'Dad man, Dad man!'</b></i> helpfully in the back as it got closer and closer to us on the roundabout.<br />
Our tent also collapsed in the middle of the night, and my lilo burst, so I had to sleep the rest of the trip in the dinghy. Yes - we also took a dinghy.<br />
<br />
With dads in charge, anything can happen. With my dad, this is still the case, whether he's walking into glass doors, falling into pizza restaurants or booling up to ancient Roman bath houses with his trunks rolled up in a towel asking '1 to swim please,' to the horrified English Heritage lady.<br />
<br />
My 9 year old sometimes says to me - 'That's what Granda would say,' or 'That's a Granda face,' or 'that's what Granda would do.'<br />
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'Jolly good,' I say, 'because if I can be half of what Granda is, then you'll be a very lucky lad.'<br />
<br />
Happy Fathers Day, dad - and to all you other dads out there. Have a lovely day.shentshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00320300863521778944noreply@blogger.com3