Thursday, March 27, 2014

Flashed and Embarrased

For so many reasons yesterday was the best day ever; my man back from the states; Kate Bush pre-order leaving me attending three dates - can't actually convey how much this means to me. But then there are the pitfalls of teaching 40 kids in one day.

The first class consisted of two of the seven toddlers, screaming and balling because they wanted to go outside with the other children. Cue some classical tones of Beethoven to soothe them into silence. It really does work.

The second class consisted of me fending off the children not taking part in the class whilst the teachers sat on their asses not doing a great deal. I'm not actually there to entertain the rest of the kids, that's your bloody job.

Then the third class showed the weirdness and down right cruelty of kids. One of the children who every week tries to join in and I have to tell him to come off the carpet area and go and play with his friends, proceeded to flash at me. And I mean, yes, tiny willy flashing. Very inappropriate and slightly insulting. I thought he was going to wee on us for not letting him join in. Little bugger. I think if his mum enquired about the lessons, I wouldn't have him on principle. It was almost like him giving me the finger, in an altogether more disturbing way. Ew.

Then, also within the third class, baring in mind the classes are half an hour each, and follow straight on from one another and contrary to popular belief, women do sweat; one of my kids decided to oust my sweat patches. The embarrassment.
"Why is your top wet Helen?"
NO! The shame!
I told him the truth and rolled my sleeves back all the way to my shoulders to try and hide it. I mean come on, even adults are polite enough not to say anything even if they notice the old sweat patches.
Damn inquisitiveness.

All in all I had been flashed and embarrassed but I still had tickets to three Kate Bush shows! Whoop!


Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Door Handles, Door Handles And Envelopes

My word I injure myself a lot in the home; mostly whilst doing mundane jobs like hoovering or generally walking from one room to the next. And it got me thinking about the most recurring injuries that I inadvertently inflict upon myself.  And the top three are:

1. Door Handles.
I'm not sure what it is about the height of a door handle or the amount it sticks out or what, but I have quite the knack for bashing elbows, hands, knuckles, hips, legs and fore arms. The amount of bruises I've sustained from door handles is quite ridiculous. And I wouldn't mind, but it's not like they move around, changing their height and sticky-outedness. So why do I continue with the regular collisions? Reduction in spatial awareness? Definitely. An innate clumsiness? Absolutely. Being drawn to shiny things much in the same way as a magpie? Hmmm, not really. Whatever it is, they seem out to get me.

2. Buggering Door Handles.
Now you may be thinking, this is the same as the aforementioned door handles, but you'd be wrong. This is a very specific door handle injury and one that I'm still in pain from. So, I'm hoovering the house and doing a good job of it, getting up all the fluff and hair and stuff and thinking wow, that's what colour the carpet really is. Then I head into the bedroom and you know when you're in the throws of hoovering and you just don't notice that door handle right by your head, as you bend down to get in the corners. Then BAM! Right on the pissin' corner of that wonderful metal contraption. I honestly thought there may be blood and a slight concussion the force at which I hit it, but it turns out there was just a lump and tenderness three days later. Whoop! And all that from trying to tidy up the house.

3. Bloody Love Film Envelope.
Yes, the bloody Love Film envelope attacked me with a paper cut spanning the entire width of my middle finger, yesterday. Blood everywhere. Ha ha. 

I think the conclusion here is that I'm a menace to myself and most door handles. Door handles beware, you may be in for a collision with Rants.

Until next time.


Thursday, March 20, 2014


Hi and welcome to International day of the Kumquat. Or is it International day of trying to look like a constipated zebra? I always get confused between the two.

Anyhow, it's Thursday the 20th March and it must be the International day of something, because what else would we do if we weren't been told to talk like a pirate or wear odd socks, or for heaven's sake, be happy. Honestly, I'm not sure how we coped before International day ofs.......

I would like to know who decides what they are and when they are, because there's only 365 days in the year but an infinite amount of possibilities for a day of. I can think of about three hundred right now this very second. So who makes the cut? Sadly the kumquat does not have it's own day but it does have it's own festival in Dade City, Florida. And I think the constipated zebra day of, proved somewhat unpopular. But annoyingly making the cut is the day of happiness, which is today.

My first thoughts were, fuck off. I know, my naughty mouth. Oo, but there really should be a day of swearing, where swearing is not only allowed but welcomed. That would be nice. I digress. So this day of happiness that is supposedly 'International'. Hmmm. How many nations are actually taking part in this? Nations in war, famine, poverty, disease? Or just those annoyingly optimistic people that are happy all the freakin' time anyway and like to ram it down your throats. They are unbearable anyway, don't give them a frickin' day to devote to general annoyance.

Being a cynic, a pessimist and a sarky little bugger, I find the idea of being told to be happy like being told to eat up all my sweetcorn as child. The fact that you want me to do it, makes me want to do it less and less. You can't tell people to be happy and just what is happy? Apparently it's something to do with a room without a roof, according to Pharrell. But I'd be pretty pissed off to be honest if my room came without a roof. Just saying, it rains a lot in this country.

Anyhoo, we all know I'm a bah humbug, any time of the year and I'm sure loads of people have had a great day full of total happiness - vomit - but to those who didn't, that's okay too. Be who you are and don't be ashamed of it.

And as for the international day of, I think we should all create our own, like International it's acceptable to walk around and sing along to your ipod out loud day. (Bit of a mouth full but worth every word.) Or International impression of a Velociraptor day. (I am so good at that!) Oo, even better, International wallow in self pity day. (Another classic.) And fingers crossed, maybe one day the glorious Kumquat will be rewarded its own International day of......

Until then, don't hold your breath, until of course the International day of holding your breath, and maybe buy a kumquat. (I sort of just like saying the word. Kumquat. He he. Kumquat. He he. I know, there's no hope..)


Monday, March 10, 2014

Insert Your Own Profanity...............

"Can you do a show for parents as my child is leaving the nursery for a while to go travelling?" (Kids these days eh. I didn't get a passport till I was 21.) I was given two weeks notice and have rallied around to try and do this for next week.
The mum just emailed me and said she can't make it.
*insert profanities here______________________________*

I didn't want to do a show in the middle of the term, I wanted to do it at the end of the term. (To be quite honest, I don't want to do one at all, especially as I only have 6 kids and they'll probably all get stage fright and it'll be me just jiggin' about and singing by myself. Whoop! Great. I can't freakin' wait.) I have also just had a new kid join who of course is younger and likes to throw things etc. Hmmmm, me thinks next week will be a failure.

Next time I'll just say, you can come and watch a lesson if you want but I'm not making a song and dance about it. It disrupts the flow of the lessons, pisses me off and disrupts the other kids that don't partake of the music class. Or maybe next time I'll find the elusive No button within me and tell them to bugger off.

I wouldn't mind, but I email them every week, take photos every week and provide progress reports and certificates every term. What more do you want from me? *melodramatic*

I'm not having the best few weeks as you might have guessed. I haven't blogged in ages; I've barely written anything useful and I have this sort of feeling of defeat in everything I do. (Please don't psychoanalyse me right now, I might not like the outcome.) I feel like I've lost the fight and my fight is with words, so if I've lost the fight that means there are no words and being a writer and having no words is sort of an issue.

But enough about me and my undoing; how crap is the new, supposedly improved Amazon/Lovefilm? Anyone using the streaming functions from the day of release to about five days after would have been sorely disappointed, as it wouldn't allow you to watch anything. They now charge for some things and other things you only get free when signing up to Amazon Prime, which is also crap and you never get parcels the next day, it's just bullshit. It was way better when it didn't have Amazon blazoned all over it. I would like to say a huge echoing BOO to you and hope you get it sorted out soon. Oh and by the way, you'll never be as good as netflix. There, I said it.

Well, I'll slink off to wallow in self pity. I actually have a wallowing face and action but thankfully only A, my beloved, has ever seen them and in order for me to be kept out of the asylum, I think it's better we keep it that way.

Hope you're all having better Mondays than I am. And I hope you all still have your fight in you. Maybe mine will return after I bash my head in the wall repeatedly? Maybe then the words will return. And if not there's always really depressing music and TV to just further squash any hopes of picking myself up and carrying on.