It was the night before Christmas

Well its nearly here readers, Christmas day. All that preparation, wrapping, shopping and tearing your hair out will be worth it. I know that to be true because my last weekend proved it.

As an early Christmas present my beau paid for me to return to Manchester for a girlie shopping and dining experience. However getting there was very much like a scene from Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

Me: What's the flight situation?
Man: Simple. There's no way on earth we're going to get out of here tonight. We'd have more luck playing pickup sticks with our butt-cheeks than we will getting a flight out of here before daybreak. 

Me: I guess we'll find out soon enough.
Man: Yeah, but by the time the airline cancels this flight, which they will sooner or later, you'd have more of a chance to find a three-legged ballerina than you would a hotel room.
Me: Are you saying I could be *stuck* in Jersey?
Man: I'm saying you *are* stuck in Jersey 

OK,OK that's Neal and Del in Wichita, but you get my point? Manchester airport closed due to snow and I was stuck in Jersey. I was determined to get there, Manchester Christmas markets, dinner at Room and staying at The Midland and of course seeing my pals was not to be missed.

I was offered to share a charter with some random chap, I politely declined as it felt too Pretty Woman  ( I kid you not) and to share a car with two delightful ladies from Gatwick. However lugging my suitcase affectionately nicknamed the "beast" from a chap on the train I set out on my adventure.

One flight to Gatwick

One train to Victoria

One tube to Euston

One train to Manchester

One cab to hotel

Several hours later I was raiding the mini bar.It was thoroughly enjoyable weekend with shopping in Selfridges and eating at Room. If you have never eaten there think Willie Wonka meets Heston Blumenthal ; hang on is that not the same person?

Well I am safely back and just roasted my Christmas Eve Ham. Christmas day will be a quiet affair with my beau and I will think of those I miss. In particular my little sister and my nephew. Boxing day will be very different this year for me as I will be spending it with my beau's children. A whole five days. Its quite a scary thought and sooooo grown up but children are what makes Christmas. Anyway I have bought a pinata to string from the skylight to knock hell out of if it all becomes too stressful. I fib its actually for the children , as Christmas is about fun. I think they may be a bit young to be forced to play trivial pursuits.

Well that's me folks and what a year. Its been a tumultuous year but I think things may be getting better. If I haven't seen you recently the new year will bring many visits and of course you are always welcome here. In fact I insist you visit. 

I am leaving you with this clip that always makes me feel joyful and I wish that you have a lovely day tomorrow. If there is someone you miss I am sure you are in their hearts. For those that are working I am sending you hope that it won't be too bad. I can't say the "Q" word as that will jinx you.

Happy Christmas readers and all the best for 2012.

You can't Stop the Music!

Last night was just one of the most fabulous nights. An evening at the Hotel de France having dinner in a posh frock with friends listening to Jamie Cullum.

I have always been a fan of old time glamour and well; this evening was certainly representative of that.
Although I am ready for telling that Pat I didn't need a ruddy pair of sucker in knickers (see previous blog) as my frock is toooo big. Its a very beautiful frock but prior to going out I had to get my beau to knot the straps just to keep my wares covered and despite the highest heels I still looked like someone had cut my feet off! Oh well my new Dior eyeshadow made up for it. I can have my dress re fitted thank gawd.

Anyway back to the matter in hand. Drinks reception started the champagne flowing and our very own Christian ensured we never ran dry. Its quite a small venue which just lent itself to feeling like Jamie was singing in your front room. Listening to him singing In the Bleak Midwinter ( my favourite carol) was just lovely.

All us girls twirled and danced in front of the stage. That was when we weren't being twirled by our pal fondly now known as Jazzy. Ruddy hell can he move! The beau isn't one for a twirl but is happy to let me order more champagne as I smile a toothy grin and say "Fanks". I am lucky to have him say "anything for you my darling" . (Ooohh I went all coy then).

Yooo Hooo...over here!



Dinner was scrummy too and the hotel was twinkly. That's us sat top right hand table. What do you mean you can't see us? Squint a bit!

Ahhhh there we are ta dah! My new resuscitation officer has many talents including managing a nifty 30:2. She can also make curly hair. She was kind enough to bouff me  last night before I went out.  So I am a bit curly in the piccy. The curls dropped in the excitement of the wonders of Jamie.
It was definitely a fun night. Our pal  won two VIP tickets to Springsteen and deservedly so as she had organised us all into going. If anyone should win a prize it was most certainly her.

Right well time for another peppermint tea, so I will leave you with a spot of Jamie.The song is Gran Torino and if you haven't seen the film, you should its fab. Have a great weekend readers!

POST NOTE: Our waiter wasn't a christian as in a biblical one. I wouldn't be so rude to ask his ecumenical persuasion. His name was Christian!!

Spandex, Tequila and the Pimp makes for a good party

I am supposed to be going to another work's Christmas do this evening but I am a tad poorly. As I write this I am drinking peppermint tea trying to make myself better. I am not sure if I will get there but operation recovery is under way. The theme this evening is Abba which is quite the contrast to my first Christmas party last week.

I gatecrashed at the last minute as the department whose do it was have been super lovely to me since I set foot on Jersey soil. I thought it might be fun and indeed it was. It was held in quite a small little restaurant which seemed to have an intimate ambiance that was until the waiters gave out the most ridiculous hats. Honestly how on earth does a Mexican hat compliment a rather sexy expensive party dress? Well not one to party poop I adorned the hat as looking to my left and seeing my pal looking like a cross between a pimp and a Caucasian huggy bear; I felt I had the better deal. All that was missing was a stick and a fur coat. I have always been a huge fan of Seinfeld and  in particular Kramer. Looking at my pal reminded me of this clip I thought I would share with you readers.

Anyhoo I digress, as the evening progressed and more tequila was slammed, the evening became amusing. Excluding the bit where the owner in tight gold spandex gyrated past with an elephant trunk strapped to his nethers. It was a touch Blackpool pier but tequila shots seem to make a blur and everything is apparently funny. Dancing and more shots carried me through to 1 AM, without the lubrication I think I might of gone all Victorian and thought " elephant trunk. how ghastly ! "  One of the party is a chap who is considerably younger than me and one who I have a soft spot for in an older sister kind of way. Seeing his excitement of wearing a rubber snake all evening round his neck just made me feel "awwww" He was happy so that made me happy too. Maybe it was that which made me happy or it could of been the waiters in tight pants who squirted alcohol in your mouth from what appeared to be a recycled toilet duck bottle. I must of been under the influence as I would of been quite snobby to indulge in such an exercise, but indulge I did!

For those that have known me for a very long time will recall the numerous post work Christmas do parties I used to have at my house. I like the post do party however I am not sure if spinning round and round in a circle on your tod to Candi Staton's You've got the love constitutes a party. Pimpy decided to invite people back for a post party but the poorly's left and I stayed having a memory lane trip of music I danced to like a nutter as a student nurse. He is easy going so let me indulge in repeatedly poking his iPad looking for memory music. Some tunes just evoke strong memories for me and one memory is  that song. Suddenly I am transported to being 19 dancing all over the floor of Manhattan Heights. God I loved those years of my life.

As my 19 year old self was once told "Renebell you most deffo have the love". So for those that remember those days I am dedicating this song to you. Yes Florence and the Machine I like but in essence she murdered it.

I say Pat, get her some of them knickers to sucker her in!

OK, well I have some momentum now for blogging. I still need to tell you all about my party but as yet I am still waiting for the piccys. I love a good party and of course December is the month for them, endless Christmas do's, generally requiring a new frock.

I am no different, every year I like to buy a new frock, but this year I seem to have a few occasions to attend that may require more than one frock. As my beau  is quite lovely,  he told me to go and buy a new frock. So indeed I thought why not? A friend recommended this dress shop which she described as "really lovely dresses but a bit pricey". She also instructed me that I might fail to see the shop as from the outside it looked a bit like a jumble. On arrival she was correct on two counts. 1. exceptionally expensive and 2. Very much like a jumble. There were an array of dresses, short ones, prom, cocktail evening different colours a variety of sequins and swish. Anyone would of thought it was the dressing room of Strictly Come Dancing.

I caught the attention of an assistant and remarked I was looking for a fancy frock. Then it started. Suddenly I started to get Goked but Goked in a way that can only be described as hilarious. As a variety of frocks were thrusted in my direction with comments such as " you won't know until you try it" I thought I jolly well will. If I put that on I will look more Russell Grant than Flavia. I indulged and put it on and yes  I wasn't like Mr Grant but I did look like a giant condom that had been rhinestoned. (You know I goggled for an image and you can actually get a frock made completely of condoms. Well I suppose it saves running to the gents with a quid).

The assistants were quite amusing and bickered in a way that showed genuine affection for each other. However it got worse as my Gok kept producing frocks that aged me 10 years. Her colleague shouted through the shop "Pat stop putting her in dresses that are horrible". Pat wasn't taking that lying down, "They are lovely dresses". Then the best moment of my  life occurred like a great epiphany. "PAT   YOU ARE BLOODY 60 OF COURSE YOU THINK THEY ARE LOVELY. THIS YOUNG GIRL IS ONLY IN HER 30'S"     

In that moment I couldn't of been happier, 30's you say. Oh yes that's right I am in my 30's. Well if you don't tell them readers neither will I. Lately I have felt old and that couldn't of come at a better time. OK so they all wore glasses but in my world they have 20:20 vision.

I would like to say that the moment of nirvana continued until I finally bough a frock; but lo and behold it didn't. As I stood there in the middle of the shop looking at a full length mirror trussed in a frock it echoed round the shop "I say Pat, get her some of them knickers to sucker her in!"    I am well aware that it comes to us all and indeed, I too have had to sport underwear that distorts one's shape but you do it in a light, subtle, support way. These things one had to pull over ones tights; well the toss up was either a hump or a goitre. (lump back, lump throat!). How can this be comfortable? You may look amazing but at some point they are going to roll down and out springs your hump! Can you imagine having dinner all made up in your sexy frock then suddenly as you gaze into each others eyes, you look down and you discover you have a third breast? I mean I know Scaramanga had 3 nipples but I don't believe he took that notion further. That will probably be because he saw the perils of surgical knickers that look like they have been sprayed on. 

That's them to the right. They don't use Bubbles DeVere  (left) lookie Likie to advertise them. Instead they get a finely toned chicklet to shoe horn her self into them. I bet the models don't have to roll around on the floor like an upturned turtle in child birth to remove them.





I eventually bought two beautiful frocks that didn't require such atrocities. I am ashamed to say that I succumbed to the beauty industry or possibly Pat telling me I need them and purchased the suckering knickers. Sunday I wore one of my lovely dresses for a lunch date. I had to make a big effort it was the first time I was meeting the beau's mother. I went without the knickers because I was concerned going blue was possibly not a good first impression when meeting the beau's mother. I settled for big knickers without the elastic band sensation and apparently  I looked lovely. Perfectly girlie and the dress made my boobs look lovely. (remember readers I queued up twice in god's organ queue to get these).

I have no doubt there will be a moment when I am huffing and puffing on the bedroom floor with the bum tourniquet, but for now I will stick with breathing in. Its all about the things I wrote about in my inner goddess blog. I haven't lost sight of her and well I do inner goddess quite well. I hope my beau's mother liked me. I am not sure the comment "You are well suited, she is a strong woman" is a positive one. It could be she sees me as an international shot putter from the North.

Lets hear it for the girls!

So as you can see readers I am behind in my blogging so I have to get a wriggle on. I had a fab girlie weekend that I didn't even have the time to tell you about. Its been a long time since I had a purely indulgent girls weekend. So my pal arrived one Friday morning for a weekend of activities.

The idea of indulgent for me always starts with beauty treatments. I really think at times that  I would like to be a lady that lunches, but if honest I don't think I have the decorum to carry it off. The Grand Hotel in Jersey is a fabulous place to be a lady that lunches. I booked a couples suite for our facial and manicure as I thought we could natter through the process. Natter we did but for some reason we kept incessantly giggling. This was fuelled by the fact that we hadn't removed our bras for the facial, so for privacy the therapists left us whilst we sorted ourselves out. Now I have to say that when god was giving out kidneys we must of still be in the boob queue and then queued again because we are blessed. Trying to discreetly put two boulder holders somewhere became a challenge. This made us childishly giggle as we slung with abandonment them on the back of the door sort of  boudoiresque. We should of had the foresight to leave them in our lockers. The lack of spa etiquette didn't cease there.

As you can see from the beautiful interior of the spa, there are these divine curtains. I believe they are designed to enhance relaxation by compartmentalising pods off. Others lounging  appreciated the intention of the design and relaxed back, no doubt listening to lapping water in their heads. We saw the purpose of the curtains to keep opening and closing to peep at each other and chat. It was time for us to get our coats. 

Part of the manicure experience was the gift of the nail polish that had been used. I unfortunately had absent minded left mine in my dressing gown pocket, so I had to go and retrieve it from the wash basket as I had tided up like a good patron should. It was a tad embarrassing to be found by an elderly lady who clearly spoke with a plum in her mouth. As she stumbled upon me with my feet dangling, rummaging in what only looked liked a bin "What on earth are you doing?"  "Err looking for something" I wish I had the hindsight to comment that I had lost a rather expensive diamond ring heirloom, but alas I didn't.

Oh well afternoon tea was next, which couldn't possibly get us into trouble.

The weekend was spent drinking vast amounts of Kir Royal, dancing until you thought someone else had swapped your feet with another and lots of decadent eating. I hoped I showed her the best of Jersey and she will indeed return again. Unfortunately I don't think I will be able to arrange Boy George DJing again but I do know I will be able to repeat  slinging my bra round my head  whilst doing a bin dive. Interestingly enough when we went to see Boy George DJ, it proved endless amusement when obvious 80's revival types were sadly disappointed that he hadn't done Karma Chameleon. Ohhh I have set off laughing at that again.

A good time was had by all and it will be a while before I get another visitor, rotten beggars only want to come in Summer now.

Me plus one!

Oh my god! Its nearly 3 weeks since I blogged. I have been exceptionally busy with work. ATLS and the pending APLS will do that for you. Courses seem so much harder to organise these days, I think that's possibly due to the fact I have gone from a team of 6 to a team of 1. All hands to the deck is a great expression for pre course setting up.

However I am no longer a team of one but a team of two. Its not big but its company. Working within resuscitation can be a bit lonely. Its not like a busy emergency department shift that even when its swinging from the rafters you still have someone to turn to and say "Am I doing O.K?" . I think we all need that voice of reassurance irrespective of how experienced we are.

So my little team is great. The thing about employing someone in a small team you are never sure of what you might get and a team of two must really get on as there is no where to hide. Personalities are a must and I know I am slightly odd but really believe in what I do.

Since being in post I have only been a phone call away from my professional pals who fortunately maintained a pseudo foster child relationship; reassuring me that all is well and I was on the right track. Even though my new member of staff is new to the world of resuscitation, she is keen as mustard. Skills can be taught.The thing that can't be leaned is the personality of an individual and how it might gel with another.

Since she arrived I have never laughed so much in ages, Our humour is some what similar. The best part is the fact that there is this deep honesty between us. There  is the ability to just express when something isn't right. I have missed that. Yes she did call my time sheet system ludicrous, but she was forgiven. She was indeed right it was ludicrous and required to be abandoned.

It's Movember, so this Resus Girlz has a tash!

We were teased slightly as we paraded round the hospital with bright red A4 diaries. I don't care I felt proud. There was a reference to us being the Resus Girlz, indeed spelt with a Z; for as they said it, they did a Zorroesque Z movement with their index finger. I can't comment it amused us both that a simultaneous thumbs up with a cheesy grin could be the new resus sign. I have no idea why that amused me for such a long time, but in truth it did.

So on occasion I have felt a wee bit lost in the world of resuscitation and have missed that sense of belonging. Being just a team of two takes me back to when my previous boss picked me for her little  team of two. Working that close at times gave the impression that we had metamorphosed into one person. Which was clearly apparent during a meeting when we crossed our arms and in unison said "We do that though, don't we though". I kid you not. Its not even proper English but we did say it at exactly the same time.

I hope that I can give all the opportunities to my fellow team member that my boss gave to me. Without her I wouldn't of found myself managing my own service. So for that I will be eternally grateful. Anyway I have another blog to write as I have been slack with my literary musings.

Did you tell them 30:2? Of course I did. Good because they only have 5 years to learn it before it changes!

  

I want to tread the boards you Dirty Birdy you!

I have my peppermint tea and I am ready to blog. Last night I went to the Jersey Arts Centre for the first time. Its ridiculous I have been here over a year and not been. The occasion was a night out with my pal to see a theatre production of The Full Monty. She omitted to tell me it was a musical version with American accents, but front row seat are front row seats, one shouldn't grumble at that.

The thing about amateur dramatics it could go either way. I have seen many productions some that make your toes curl in a blackboard scratching way. The Full Monty is a pretty decent story layered with amusement and if its really that bad you get to see boys bums. I see a silver lining in everything.

At times I was generally tittering at the wrong reasons like when they failed to maintain the American accent and became an Australian. The lead was cute and he gave it his all he even maintained the American accent whilst singing. It was jolly good entertainment. There was a lovely boy who thought "sod it I am not going to attempt an American accent" . He could be forgiven because he was Irish and I am a sucker for them. All in all I enjoyed it. A different night out than usual.

It did get me thinking though. Ooooh I think I would like to do that. Not strip with a security guards hat whilst singing in a half New Yorker/Texan accent; but have a bash at Amdram. I have always felt a bit theatrical and generally my talent has been showcased through the medium of teaching medical courses. I have played the doctor giving bad news, the relative, a midwife and a variety of other medical roles. I think I pushed a baby out from between my knees once. Oh my god I got a flash back then.

When human patient simulation became the order of the day, I assisted with becoming the female voice for the manikin. In particular the obstetric scenarios. It took me about 10 takes in a room on my own talking into some recording device. I was asked to be someone bleeding to death whilst saying I felt sick. Apparently I sounded more 'Debbie does Dallas' than Matilda the young girl with the post partum heamorrhage. That recording would return to haunt me one day.

I had to return to the amdram of medical matters and pretend to fit for the eclamptic lady. I think those boys who run them simulators popped a blonde Dolly Parton wig on the manikin on purpose. For continuity I had to wear the wig, clipped on. I looked like a bloke who was playing the part of Drag Queen Dolly. Every time I set off fitting, my wig slipped down my face a la wonk! Following securing the offending item, I set off fitting again, then it was a rap. Apparently I do a good fit. Then it happened the Debbie does Dallas recording was played. I recognised my panting. However some bugger had dubbed it with periodic words such as harder or faster. I could cope with that to a degree then the grand finale was the recording of a horse neighing and me saying thank you. Those simulation boys are rather meddlesome.

Thinking back even my acting debuts outside of the medical world sort of always landed in disaster. I had to play some aunt in Arabian Knights pantaloons. As I outstretched my arms to shout "Anook come here" my trews fell down to reveal my knickers that said Tuesday. I  had to be rescued as the teacher felt with so much material in the pantaloons I might fall over if I set off at a trot. Standing there in front of a hall of sniggering I waited until my teacher refastened my Scarab beetle clasp on my trews and returned back stage. Secondary school acting was about selecting children that was easy on the eye. My home done tight perm was apparently a bit distracting so I became the narrator for plays as apparently my voice had great expression.

I do adore acting and Julie Walters started out as a nurse. I can't think of a better role model than that. I was asked recently who would play me in a film. I really wanted to say Kate Beckinsale but I think she might be a tad taller than me! I picked Kathy Bates  casted as Annie Wilkes.in Misery. I wouldn't have her for all the sections of my life. However I thought being able to say "You Dirty Bird" tickled me no end. However my most favourite interpretation of Annie Wiles is the below featured French and Saunders. I just watched it and its still as hilarious.

      

Maybe I would be much better suited to comedy Who knows but I think I am going to have a wee peek at the world of amdram in Jersey. I will keep you posted.

Call me Nanny McPhee

Well as my pal's text me, asking about Yang Sing in Manchester, because they are there about to go and see Katy Perry tomorrow night at MEN; I myself have just returned from the Loire Valley. This weekend was supposed to be about me shaking my arse at Californian Girls, several jaw dropping rows in the MEN but I have to work so couldn't go. Instead my beau took me away to the Loire Valley. If anyone has ever been its exceptionally beautiful.

Its a place that fairy tales are made of and indeed its alleged that Sleeping Beauty's castle was there. A beautiful chateau where she pricked her finger on a spindle from  the spinning wheel of death and die, a thoughtful gift from the wicked step mother!. Fortunately a fairy reversed the curse so that beauté dormant fell asleep instead for 100 years. Although  I am sure that Charles Perrault hadn't  anticipated that many years later some chap called  Walt would get his hands on his story and make it as worldly known.
In the same way I hadn't anticipated how much work being responsible for children is. All you parents out there deserve a medal! So the fairytale weekend was not one of romantic getaway but spent with my beau's two children. Fortunately they are quite lovely.

I felt quite nauseous leading up to the weekend. What will I feed them? How would I entertain them? What if they saw me as some horror from Nanny McPhee and viewed me with suspicion in case I gave them a spinning wheel?

I am quite good around children and they seem to like me. I pride myself as being the cool grown up but this felt quite different because essentially if they didn't like me then I was doomed. Which in turn meant I would be single again and have to go trawling with a kebab in my handbag wafting the odour of armour commonly known as chili sauce.

I couldn't just be the fun grown up toasting marshmallows on an open fire, making toffee apples, jelly skulls and popcorn. In addition to such festivities luring them with home made rocky road and chocolate muffins sprinkled with red glitter. OK OK so I did do all those things, it doesn't hurt to get off on the right foot!

The beau thought it would be amusing to check the red glitter on the muffins was edible (he knew it was, he just likes to be or thinks he is amusing at times). So I sparked back "No I got it from WHSmiths glitter glue section for making Christmas cards. See how well its stuck!" Then it happened I panicked inside. What if they burnt themselves on the fire, ate hallucinogenic jelly (nope that wouldn't happen as I would omit the vodka), or loose an eye because I forgot to put the lid on the saucepan whilst making the popcorn.

I like to think of myself as responsible, but my last conversation with my ex about contemplating being parents ended up with "nah lets get a boat instead".  When we used to take my nephew out to the cinema we thought it was OK to eat anything you could get from the cinema then go to Blackpool and go on rides then do the walk of faith at the Tower. Returning him to his parents slightly green was never our intention but shockingly it always happened.

Fortunately they have been returned in one piece and rumour has it they actually like me and think I am a good cook. Me, well I am worn out. Its exhausting work being a carer of children. How you parents do it 24/7 is any ones guess. I have no doubt its because they give you untold rewards and unconditional love. I will settle with "she is a  good cook".

So I am in it for the long haul it would seem and there is something quite endearing watching a grown man brush his daughter's hair. Maybe I am lucky and have the best of everything; children in my life that I never had to push out myself  and a man who valued and trusted  me enough to allow me to be with his children. 

Anyway I don't look good in purple; so maybe I will be less lady Tremaine and more Nanny McPhee when beautiful not the one with the wart!!!!!

Return to sender if lost!

Ruddy hell its nearly the end of October and I have only blogged twice. I need to get my finger out. I had my party and that blog will follow shortly; I am awaiting pictures!

Winter is drawing in but the sun is still shining. this is my favourite time of year because all the best stuff happens in Autumn/Winter. The leaves change to a lovely orange, mornings are crisper and who doesn't like Halloween and Bonfire night? Not to mention Christmas will be soon upon us, and Christmas Eve is my favourite evening of the year. I have an obsession with baby Jesus, mulled wine and Ella Fitzgerald singing Christmas tunes.

Its been 16 months since I relocated to this island and if honest I didn't think I would still be here. At the moment I am glad I am. Although I am a bit peeved I won't be returning to the North next weekend because work is busy and I can no longer go to see Katy Perry. Oh well, rugby final is looming, I will have to enjoy that. I hope the French win, as I am off to the Loire Valley instead next weekend and I want them to be in a good mood. My French is a bit rusty and " Moi J'ai soif je voudrais un Orangina" won't get me some croissants and a chaud chocolat.

Anyway you would think being here on this small island I would have the measure of the geography. It would appear not as a total stranger told me 2 days ago " I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag".

The girls in my directorate try and help me, advising me the best way to locate things. Unfortunately I don't give them much to go on. For six months I described this bar I had been to where the roof opened up. Their response "oh that's La Cala". "Nope I respond its somewhere else". Of course they were right and I was wrong. I also remembered another bar I wanted to go to and told my girlies it was next to an African gift shop. Weeks went on and they still couldn't work out what I was on about. Of course it was no where near the African Gift shop. Its become a running joke about my lack of sense of direction.

So imagine my friend's amazement she found me wandering round a part of town I had no reason to be close to where where she lives (She possibly thought I was trying to locate the  African gift shop!). She was so excited in her frantic waving trying to get my attention, she nearly mounted the kerb! Apparently I was trundling in a little world of my own.

I was making my way across town to meet my beau at his business. Its about a 10 minute jaunty walk from the hospital. It however took me 45 minutes!! Indeed I was lost and found myself outside a park in the pitch dark with a gentleman in an anorak swiftly approaching. He decided after I told him where I needed to be it was possibly wise to give me a personal escort. When I said he need not trouble himself and just point me in the general direction; he responded with a "no love, you couldn't find your way out of a paper bag".  Cheek of it! On arriving at beau's business with the kindly gent shouting " does she belong to you?", I was mortified. Talk about feeling special! It was like he had hooked reins on to me and then delivered me like a package or one of those small nursery children who is threaded to the next child. Beau asked me why I hadn't rung him and he would of come found me? See that's the issue I am bloody minded. I wouldn't dare say I am lost and require assistance. I would rather have a total stranger collect me outside a park, frog march me down dark side streets, then deliver me than admit I am a numpty. I have done something like this before. 

On realising I had lost my passport 2 days before a little girlie holiday trip, I set off to get the train to Liverpool passport office. I missed it!! So rather than ask for assistance and call a pal I had a weep on the platform. I am sure the chap who approached me to ask if everything was OK, wish he hadn't.

"If I pay you will you get me to the passport office in 1 hour?". He did and I weeped and chattered all the way there. I wasn't concerned if I would end up in a wheelie bin chopped up as he looked more terrified than me! He was most certainly a Samaritan and he waited for me and delivered me back safely. What kind of halfwit does that? Well this half wit obviously does that kind of thing.

I am always lost and always have no concept of where I am going. My sister is testimony to this after again lost in the dark she asked if I recognised anything. Of course I did I recognised a tree. It wasn't distinctive and was growing with several hundred trees. In honesty I had no clue where I was and couldn't say so. I thought recognising a tree would illustrate some sense of direction!

It would seem I have no spatial ability. I would never of passed my Duke of Edinburgh award, as I would of still been recognising trees whilst others were finished back at camp toasting their marshmallows round the  fire. Fortunately those that lack such spatial awareness have a superior IQ ( coughs, that will be me then!). They also have super reasoning skills, oooh I do have those!

                                    

Perhaps I should prepare myself before I embark on a new journey and look a bit   like Paddington. I could have a sign adorned round my neck "if found please return this numpty to the nearest tree. She will find her way back from there."

So if you see me wandering looking vacant and scratching my head its possible I am trying to locate an African gift shop. Yes I may be in another parish, or looking at trees or hanging round parks and if you ask if I am OK, of course my response will be yes. Its best to send a stranger in an anorak to guide me to my destination, as it would seem I am happy to wander off with them!     

 

Come Dine With Me

Well I am nearly caught up on blogging and I returned back to Jersey yesterday. I am quite tired as I ordered breakfast in my room yesterday morning so I could  lie in and watch the rugby. Getting up too early and eating a poached egg is quite knackering. Oooh I am such a Diva. Anyhoo as some of you will know we are out of the world cup, possibly because we don't know how to keep hold of a ball. My heart sank until I realised that Phil Vickery is through to the semi finals in masterchef. Yes I know he has the worst cauliflower ears, but come on with a name like Raging Bull, what girl wouldn't get a loin stir?

So I am still following the rugby but I am now routing for Phil on masterchef, rugby and food what a lovely fantasy combination. This principle does not apply to the boob jiggler known as Mike Tindall. Queenie is so going to ground him. Anyhoo I digress. I just love masterchef and thank god I can watch BBC i on my lappy. However its not my most favourite culinary show. Come dine with me is the god of them all. I know its less culinary and more oddbods, but I just adore them and cooking oddbods is a winning combination. A bit like rugby players and masterchef. The reason I like it is quite simply Dave lamb the commentator and his dry wit. Its a tonic for the worst misery. Most of you will know that most of my adult life has been spent in Preston, although I am not originally from there. Imagine my delight when come dine with me or CDWM to fans filmed an episode in Preston.

I have copied the link from my most favourite Prestonian, Bernard for you as you really need to watch him. Its quite cringe worthy in parts but it amuses me none the less

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNsnAnCx3wI

So here in Jersey my colleagues and I decided to do come dine with me a much classier version of course than Bernard.. Some time ago I wrote about an Indian feast fit for a Maharaja. That was episode one and went down a storm. Episode two was last night and was just lovely. Entertainment wasn't supplied by a half naked butler or wearing fancy dress or even some wailing wannabe singer. Oh I have to retract that last bit as X Factor was the entertainment. Seeing Johnny Robinson in a bacofoil mac was hilarious. Video below for your delight.

The highlight for me was the effort our host had put into the most girlie cheesecake ever. Baileys infused, coloured pink with glitter on and heart shaped was the most adorable thing ever. A bit like her really. She can make a faux pas and get away with it because she is so adorable. So hearing her tell her friend on the phone "they are just having a hot drink and going", I can't remember getting my coat, but these youngsters need to be out clubbing on a Saturday night. So once fed we dropped her off to strut her stuff. Her cheesecake sagged a little but it was just scrummy and seeing her little face when she put it out on the table was just priceless. I love those girlie dinners when you just talk forever with a few bottles of wine. Although on the way home the party appeared to continue when I am sure passing people may of thought there was a wild orgy going on at the traffic lights. My pals are Zumba mad they just can't help themselves when they hear the beat. Vigorous dancing in the car made it wobble like a weeble. Stop, Drop and Pause was the echoing mantra, of course I would of joined in but I had two pieces of cheesecake to digest so I just ignorantly texted whilst being rocked to abandonment. So the evening was a success and I am looking forward to my next come dine with me event.

I am not sure if my girlie chat roulette night counts for my episode so may have to repeat an event. I could suggest my party is my come dine with me night but then my pal's husband is doing the cooking. Menu below, how fab is that! Maybe if I shove x factor on in the corner on my lappy I could get away with it as being a come dine with me affair. OK, OK, I will do a proper night and not pretend I can sushi roll.

Its too ruddy big to fit, ah well it deserves a bigger coverage!

Well that's next weekends events, so no doubt I will have a tale to tell. Meanwhile this cleaning isn't going to get done by itself. I am trying to excite myself with my new pink, extendable pole furry thingy. Oh hang on retract retract that doesn't sound right!
Maybe just one more episode of masterchef then I will get cracking. Someone has to cheer on Raging Bull.

Its great up t'north

I have been sooooo busy that I haven't had time to write. I have been back in the North for the last two weeks on and off  re- validating my Newborn life support instructor status and teaching on the generic instructor course. Its been fab!

Since living in Jersey I have started to miss the things I didn't really seem bothered about whilst living back in the North. Those things being, Sainsbury's, Asda, Tesco. Here in Jersey we have the co-op and waitrose. I like waitrose as its a bit like Sainsburys but ruddy expensive. So imagine my delight when I got a field trip to Asda. One word, hideous! living on an island that is only 9ft by 12 generally means things are more compact. I think Asda could lead to trolley rage and a massacre in the fruit and vegetable aisle. Its soooooooooooo big and busy. I realised I didn't miss it at all or I should of gone to Sainsburys.

Blackpool turned out to be the same way. generally whilst living in the north I never really frequented Blackpool too much but I did always love the illuminations. Driving through with the top down in the car then finishing in Bispham with  bag of chips I quite enjoyed. So my sister and I set out on a Thelma and Louise trip. We used to do these trips often but the theme of them was that they were generally late at night. Consequently arriving in Blackpool post 11 pm they were flamin switched off. Can you imagine my disappointment readers?  Blackpool with no illuminations is generally a bit ghastly, ( apologies if you live there but you have to agree the front is a bit hmmnn dreary in winter).
You have to admit though when switched on they are quite lovely.

Not one to be foiled we decided to go look at the piers as they were still switched on and make video diaries. My sister is quite good at doing this and I am awaiting the finished product for my blog. We got strange looks as we had conversations with plastic casted clowns and cried laughing at the gift shop with nothing but Eddie Stobart paraphernalia in. Its a recession I can't imagine he has much of a turnover. Having said that his line of gonks might bring the mortgage money in. I am glad I took my Thelma and Louise trip to Blackpool just for the simple reason  I got to laugh a lot with my little sister. Watching her trying to get in a weird booth whilst reciting lines for the lion, the witch and the wardrobe was quite endearing. She was obsessed with C. S Lewis's beautiful book as a child and watching her was like seeing her when she was 9 again. She doesn't apply the same lovely principles to Blackpool food and insists that you haven't been to Blackpool till you have had the doughnuts. Arggghhh they are a passport to a cholestectomy. They are quite minging and I always worry about the possible E coli one might also get from the less than clean kiosk. So buscopan at the ready we indulged. All I can say my gall stones rattled and the nausea set in. Thank god I only ate one.

Teaching back in my old centre generally always makes me cry when I leave. I miss it terribly. However I was quite composed and didn't cry once. I suddenly realised that an hour 's plane trip can get me back to where I came from without any hassle. I have always subscribed to the view never leave a place you can never return. I feel like there is more than that for me, its like I never left when I return to teach. Catching up is a hoot and I learn more about my fellow instructors I never had time to find out. Like the fact I will be returning to the north in February to see my fellow GIC instructors debut of the play  he wrote. I can't wait. Please see the link below for an over view. I am so excited for him. Oooh you could take your valentine dates. Oooh I could do a review like a proper writer.

http://www.thewonderwall.com/tickets/event/2012-02-15-The-Best-Little-Nightclub-In-Chorley-at-Leyland-Runshaw-College.html

So Asda, Blackpool and playwright pals, a very busy return to the north schedule. However my favourite part of returning is only about 2 foot high and when last spotted looked like an alien. My friend's daughter who I affectionately call Honey Bee is my little jewel in Preston. Watching her snuggled in her Cinderella frock whilst listening to me reading bedtime stories was just the best moment. I always worry that she will grow up and forget me but apparently not as she still chatters to me. Blowing a kiss  and saying see you soon was heart melting. I thought I wouldn't see her on my last return as I was so busy, but her mummy surprised me at my hotel with her face painted as an alien. I made the faux pas of calling her a frog, she promptly corrected me! At the age of 3 1/2 she has a very independent personality but putting her little hand in mine gave me a lump in my throat.

Having my little fix of Honey Bee always makes returning back to the north worthwhile and it will be a while before I go back but when I do I can't wait. Maybe it will be February, on a valentines date to the best little night club in chorley.

Resting

Well weekend is here and all I can think of is doing nothing. I am absolutely shattered; course directing ALS will do that to you. Can't grumble though, everyone passed. I have been an ALS instructor for as long as I can remember and I actually still love it. My favourite bit is teaching with lots of different people and my faculty are just great.
This course was quite special for me as the medical director was someone I have sat next to for a great many years in the faculty room. It was a nice piece of home and again I didn't miss the north too much as  it was nice to have a bit of my old employment within my new. Not that I am saying he is old, (smiles). Jersey faculty are exceptionally brilliant and it was great to have some of my long suffering ALS pals teaching with them. The faculty dinner was my usual of telling jokes with actions and ridiculous stories.

One of the guys that came to help teach, I have known quite a long time and my lasting memory of him is at a wine tasting event in Budapest. We managed to charm bottles rather than the odd glass from those wanting us to taste their wares. It was hilarious fun, discounting missing the vehicular and walking through Budapest with an increasing heart rate; only to be diagnosed the following week as having ventricular tachycardia. For those not in the know with such medical matters, that equates to a life threatening rhythm that can finish you off! I am all fixed now fortunately.
I may of never got to writing this blog had I indeed passed out at the top of St Stephen's basilica in Budapest following being told "come on use the steps its healthier" by my then boss. She  is one for expanding your lungs. She was forgiven as she saved me one day by a good old precordial whack in our little resus portacabin. Oh the memories!

I wanted to take him somewhere lovely to appreciate how fab Jersey is, so the Oyster Box it was. Wow what a place that is with beautiful views and exquisite food. Anywhere that serves a cucumber martini has to be fabulous.

We started out all sophisticated with champagne and ending in brandies you need to sell a kidney for but as the evening progressed my pal and I got giddy. I forgot to mention my beau was also in attendance. As he meets all of my pals he gets more of an insight into me. I know I should be all demure but in the company of friends I just get more giddy and have ridiculous conversations. This was no exception.

I wanted to know more about a gay networking site. I won't mention the name but in essence it flashes up how close a possible date is. So we decided to download it during dinner. We were laughing and looking at pictures and shrieking oooh look he is only 0.7 miles away but he looks amusing. We weren't up to anything but I was too interested in the fascination of it. It was like chat roulette ( see previous post) but better. I became acutely aware I had gone into a bubble chatting to my pal and on turning round to include beau in the conversation, he remarked oh you can't get it on a blackberry. He had been trying to have a look at the application, (laughs). That's the thing he just fits and can adapt to all his surroundings. That's why he is so great. He isn't in the medical profession as most of my friends are. He can however engage in a good conversation, that doesn't require any effort.

Its been 2 months of dating and as he fits so well with my pals we are having a party. Today was about meeting with my pal's husband who is a professional Japanese cuisine chef that caters for private events. I have no idea why I was so nervous of them meeting my beau, but I was and went into school girl mode. I couldn't stop giggling and going bright red. When asked had I thought through what I wanted for the party, how the house would be laid out, how many guests and what food did I want I just answered with a giggling "don't know". I think I was so nervous because its a sort of an official together thing with sophisticated private catering. At least my virtual noose has slipped and I now seem a bit more comfortable in the "together" bit   I just need to get over going bright red and being all coy.

I have invited about 30 guests and I know it will be fun. I have no doubt there will pictures on my blog following it. The authentic professional chef is even making vegetarian sushi for me, which means I won't have to sit in the corner with a cheese sandwich. I think he is doing that because I had a dream I was grating cheese all over the place in his professional kitchen and he threw me out. I am sure he wouldn't want me under his feet in my kitchen as he prepares the sashimi whilst I fling Red Leicester everywhere. He is sweet natured but even the mild mannered would have issue with me asking where the branston was, whilst they were preparing the sea bass. So vegetarian sushi it is then. 

I return to the UK next week to re- validate my newborn instructor status, so hopefully I will catch up with some of you. So ta-ta for now. 

Ahhhhhh Grasshopper

Well the weekend started  with yet again being  a bit arduous. It seems limitless at the moment, but my evening was spent in the Jersey Opera house watching Nerina Pallot. Below is both inside and outside of the Opera house. Its  a rather grand building and the acoustics are amazing.

Generally the support act can be a bit pants. For example, imagine my surprise when Bobby Davro was Barry Manilow's support act. A big act like that with ruddy Bobby Davro. However Nerina had the most gorgeous unassuming girl with the greatest talent called Frankie Davies. She is most definitely one to watch and her voice was quite lovely.

  

Of course I can't go anywhere without incident, whilst enjoying the dulcet tones of Nerina I was conscious of whispering behind me and people shifting their seats. I became acutely nervous when someone was heard to say someone should tell her. TELL HER WHAT?? 

I was accompanied by the chap I am dating, they whispered something to him. God and I thought I had de-moosed myself, fortunately they weren't whispering God are you doing charity work bringing the moose out? I had a ruddy great big grasshopper on my head and that's what had frightened my fellow theatre goers off. One guy had moved 3 rows behind I kid you not! I am not sure of the capacity of the opera house but I can tell you there was more than flamin me there. Why did it have to sit on my head? Maybe it heard I had developed a Snow White complex and it wanted to come live with the rest of David Attenborough's groupies. (You need to be a serial blog reader to get this reference). After my significant other (god did I say that, noose,noose) rescued me from the creature  Mr  3 rows back cowardy pants returned to his seat and order was restored.

I could of had so much to write if I had accepted the invite I had for Saturday, but I was otherwise engaged. I am repeatedly nipping myself for turning down the Jersey mens water polo team competing in the islands dragon boat race. I know girls stone me, how could I turn such a thing down. Sadly the chap that is the water polo sportsman who  invited me; his team came second. Apparently they were robbed I can believe that because this chap is just lovely and genuine. In fact the department he works for were from the offset very supportive to me both professionally and personally. Equally important is none of them have had a sense of humour bypass. They are fun and fab at what they do.

I wanted one of this gang to come play out with me to support his colleague but he remarked he couldn't for fear of getting swamped by people wanting Rod's autograph. Cheeky sod This was born out of the fact I needed a haircut and had started to look like Rod Stewart . This coming from a guy who swears he heard a pterodactyl in his flat, not a cat or a dog or even a trapped bird in the attic but a dinosaur with a 40 foot wing span that lived 6000 years ago. I think being seen with Rod Stewart is the least of his problems (winks as I know he is reading this). Fortunately the third musketeer that makes up the group who is a fab chickadee can keep dino man in check. 

When work is tough I often find myself sat in their corner, sometimes its just for comfort. In the same way I used to go sit in the medical engineers workshop in my previous post. Everyone needs a sanctuary.  

Sunday was a staying in affair as I decided it was appropriate to give Jersey a rest from my antics. 

Well its already Tuesday and so far its not too bad. Looking forward to tomorrow, when some old colleagues, not ancient ones but those from my previous job, fly out to teach for me. I know it will be a hoot!

Right I am rambling so I will leave you with the dulcet tones of Nerina Pallot. I always feel quite happy when I watch this, enjoy!

If you could be anything....what would it be?



My eyes are up here!

When I was very small I wanted to be Wonder Woman. As a child I didn't realise that Wonder Woman was hot. I just thought she had a nice sparkly top and I was mesmerised by her lasso of truth. Looking at her now she was indeed very hot, and if I am honest if I could be her now and get away with it I  surely would. I don't think I am in Linda Carter's league (the woman that played her), after all she was once Miss World USA. The only thing I have ever won in my life was a tin of corned beef at the church tombola. However not to be disheartened as a child I thought I could take on her persona. So I made a hairband out of paper and drew a star on it and stuck it to my head with sellotape. The lasso of truth was fashioned from a dirty bit of rope I found up the black path. Endlessly I would spin in my front garden trying to lasso unsuspecting passing people. Well that was until my parents felt I needed to be kept inside for fear the neighbours may think they had a "simple child". I loved my moments as Wonder Woman. or as the other children called me "meatball with the dirty rope". (With a surname as Campbell there is no escaping the term meatball. Even my A level sociology teacher called me Miss Meatball 1970 (birth year) for 2 years).

As I started to grow older I then became obsessed with Quincy and Columbo. I thought oh I know I can do something like that when I grow up. It was pointed out to me that Quincy cut people up and policeman generally aren't like Columbo. Possibly a good idea I changed my mind. Although I always wanted to be a nurse, secretly I also wanted to be some form of detective. So I took my A levels to embark on being a barrister. I never got there, here I am a nurse and glad of it. All those detective programmes stand nurses in good stead. "So you haven't taken any drugs have you" " Really someone spiked your chips with temazepan" "Get away, you fell on the ketchup bottle".

Today has been a rougher day than yesterday and I find myself asking "Could I do this forever?" and "Are there any requirements for ageing, chubby wonder women?" I do love what I do and if I was ever passionate about anything resuscitation is it. However do I want to be running to cardiac arrests when I am 65 years old. So if I could be anything, what would it be?

For most girls they find themselves tending to children and grandchildren; being involved in their lives. I don't mean exclusively as my friends who are mummys are off to torment Palma tomorrow and I can't imagine they will be all "mummy like".  I decided not to embark on being a mummy, who knows in times to come maybe I did miss out, but I am content with my decision.

My other love besides Columbo is books, for which I have many. Lots of friends have Kindles and I can see the appeal of just taking that on your jollies rather than lugging 5 books. After all, these days you have to sell a kidney to meet the excess baggage fees.

Me, I am not that taken by them. I like the smell of books, the feel of them as you turn each page. The recent addition to my collection is quite old and smells of moth balls and the pages are increasingly worn but it doesn't matter for the title is worth the fusty odour " The book of Laughter". With little gems in it like "How to remove a jersey without disturbing the waistcoat" just tickle me no end. Right where am I going with this? Oh yes what I want to be. Well I would love to own a bookshop and have the aroma of coffee and cupcakes displayed, all encased in a very vintage looking shop. If I am honest I don't rightly care if no one bought anything as long as they loved thumbing through the pages like me. Anyway to buy some cup cakes these days you have to remortgage your house. I could live off the proceeds of them. I am taken by the idea of wearing flowery frocks, wearing butterflies in my hair and adorning red lipstick whilst looking for some odd book.

The health care environment is worthwhile but I think a bookshop would reflect the real me. I doubt it will ever happen and have no doubt the pages I thumb as I age will belong to the latest green paper but a dream is something that comforts me.

Now where is that dirty old rope I have some spinning to do?

I had to edit the post and add that I played the above tune so many times it made me want to spin round in my lounge. I bet wonder woman never fell out her flip flops and banged her head on the dining table! 

Yes we have no Bananas

Well as usual I have had an extraordinary weekend. A girlie in my directorate said yesterday "Irene how do you get yourself into such things" For those that know me they know I "get into many things". I can't help it I just adore difference, my friends will say that translates to I adore odd bods. Maybe I do but isn't that just fun.

I am still dating and its going swimmingly. He met some more of my pals on Friday night. The verdict "he is really lovely" One shouldn't seek approval from one's peer group but every little bit helps. I dated a guy once who was an economics student. He was uber clever and with hindsight we had nothing in common. It didn't help that my friends nicknamed him beer bottle; possibly because he was always pissed. I thought students had to be pissed. I dated him for a few months. I had many a deep meaningful conversation with him, with hindsight I think it was all a load of bollocks. I was 19 what was I to know. Maybe I should of listened to my friends echo "beer bottle".

Rugby world cup is here and I love a bit of rugby. Granted it started out from drooling rather than skill. When I started as a junior staff nurse in ED in Preston, I seemed to just date rugby players. My first had a Dennis the Menace tattoo on his arse. I thought this reflected individuality. It didn't it just signified public school boy nonsense. That lasted a whole month. The termination of that was due to a contraceptive issue! One dark night, he had been responsible and brought his own condom. However he forgot to inform me it was a glow in the dark one. I felt like I was oh la-la-ing  Luke Skywalker every time he changed position he wafted past me like a light sabre. Not one to miss an opportunity for amusement I started doing the light sabre noise. He wasn't amused, so within the week we parted company.

Yet again I digress, I was leading to the fact that I was in the pub with a pal watching England at 930. They played rubbish but at least we won which is a start. My pal for rugby company  bogs off to New Zealand to watch the rest of the games tomorrow. How posh is that? I will have to find a new sporty playmate. The gentleman I met Sunday night I think would be game!

So Sunday! Dinner overlooking Bonne Nuit harbour, where my very first date was with my beau. Fortunately it was him that I was with. After dinner a scoot round a few of the bays was really lovely. Bouley Bay and Rozel were the order of the evening. I have been here over a year and I had never been. Problem with visiting such places I always find myself wanting to move nearer the sea. If it was possible I would have a house on stilts in the middle of the sea. The beauty for me isn't in the view so much but its the noise. I love the sound of crashing waves, its relaxing. The sea at night is even more beautiful. The final leg of the adventure terminated in a quaint pub where I met the most jolliest of fellows. I knew he would be value for money when he danced around the bar shouting "yes I have no bananas". He was exceptionally posh and and a tad inebriated. With him following me to the juke box shouting "you ain't seen anything yet honey bunch"; I knew the night could only get better. For those that remember the Fast Show, they may recall Rowley Birkin QC. This chap was like that but upright. For those that have no clue what I am on about I have included a video.

He was quite fun and half the time I had no clue what he was talking about, except he kept calling me darling. His finest moment was when his chosen song played on the jukebox. He twirled, dipped and danced with me to Fly Me to the Moon. I love that song as it is the epitome of old time glamour and despite being quite drunk he was light on his feet and quite the mover. I quite liked being danced in the pub to such an old time classic. I did make a sharp exit though after he dragged me back up by the hand shouting "darling I haven't finished with you yet" Frank Sinatra' "That's Life" had started to play. I don't think I could of coped with a constant twirling. So we bid our good nights and I departed for home. Weekends here seem to be filled with fun, so what more can any one ask. I am reminding myself of this fact as today has been quite a  hard traumatic day. One where I find myself missing my old place of work. So I am gritting my teeth and wishing for Friday. Who knows readers I might have more stories to tell. As I told my pal yesterday "I just get in to things". I am glad I do, its what keeps me sane when things are crashing round me. So perhaps I will return to Rozel and ask my latest dance partner if he wants to be my new rugby friend. Maybe whilst the All Blacks do their Haka, we can do "Yes we have no Bananas". 

Oh I forgot to mention. I met my beau's sister on Sunday. It was quite charming, meeting. I wore a pretty frock, had straightened hair and make up on. Its official the moose has left the hoose.

There is a moose loose about this hoose!

Well here I am back in Jersey after a few days back in England. I only cried a little bit returning home. Its the first time I didn't feel I wanted to move back. It was a flying visit so if I didn't get to catch up with you, maybe I will see you in a couple of weeks when I return to teach at Preston.
I am back quite a bit over the next few weeks, here is hoping I don't get home sick again and am cured. It rained all the time. I find that comforting, something about a wet north makes me nostalgic. Silly really.

Staying at the Marriott proved interesting. I think they may of thought I was a high class hooker. Having coffee with 3 different men on a rota system. As one left another entered (no guffawing if you please). All three have a piece of my heart, friendship, old love and new etchings. It was quite the day!

Anyway I am back now and returned to some sort  of normality. Have I told you jersey is an exceptionally small place. You can't do nothing without being spotted. Once spotted the whole world know about it. There is a saying that one should always have clean pants on and not your greying Bridget Jones ones, for chance you are knocked over. I know this as when the Irish transvestite knocked me over in Dublin, first thing I thought was "bugger am I matching". I was on my holidays so fortunately I had my best holiday underwear on.



£1.10 to the hospital please

 There is a point to this. When you date someone new everyone you meet who knows them; well you have to project a aren't I fab and gorgeous image, but this is Jersey, you are likely to be spotted not looking so gorgeous. This morning a woman clouted me by accident on the bus with her handbag. It was apparently new beau's sister! She was uber glamorous and more concerning I looked like a moose. No makeup, wet hair and rocking to my ipod. Whats worse she has never met me and texted beau asking if it was me. This concerns me; has he told his family and friends I am dating this girl; terrific personality but she looks like a moose. If he didn't how on earth did she recognize me. She said I was cute. Maybe that was in a special way, I was rocking to my ipod after all. Now everyday I will have to wear full ruddy makeup with freshly straightened GHD hair. Its sooo not fair. Now I know what celebrities feel like. I mean who wants to feature in heat magazines crap spot. This morning I had my moment of shame. Not anymore because every day I am going to  be fabulous darling.