Fun Facts About Me

Kayleigh of A Million Little Somethings tagged me in her blog, and I have now been tasked with sharing 11 things about myself and then answering 11 of Kayleigh's questions, so here goes:

11 Things About Me

1. My husband fell in love with me shortly after we first met. I fell in love with him five years later. It's actually a pretty cool story. Maybe I will tell it on my blog sometime.

2. I recently started my family tree. I already knew I had Italian heritage, but I have now discovered that I have French heritage too. This is getting interesting and complicated!

3. Rome is my favourite city that I have visited so far in my life. It is just amazing.

4. I am a bit of a hypochondriac, which can be very annoying, but one of the benefits is I now know an awful lot about various symptoms and diseases, hurrah!

5. I think that castles are the best buildings in Britain. Palaces and stately homes are nothing in comparison.

6. When I was 10 I joined the only Scout troop in town that would accept girls because I thought the Girl Guides were sissy. At the time I thought it was much more fun to play wide games than bake cookies. Now I like both equally as much.

7. My parents sometimes think my brothers and I are actually from a different planet. We have very flexible faces, so can make all kinds of terrifying expressions. My parents do not share this ability. All 3 of us also have double-jointed thumbs when neither of our parents do. We're also just...well...weird... xD

8. I used to be an avid World of Warcraft player. I gave up about a year ago, and sometimes I still miss it but I don't have any real desire to go back to playing it because there is too much else going on in life!

9. I tend to get on better with men than women in the first instance. I have great relationships with my female friends, but it's taken time for trust to grow and for those friendships to develop. In the past it has been women who have hurt me most. Sadly, that is still true now.

10. I love writing silly stories for friends and family as birthday and Christmas presents.

11. We don't have a TV, so hooray for DVD box sets and BBC iPlayer etc!

Kayleigh's Questions

1. Why did you start your blog?
I love writing so I guess it was only a matter of time. Back when I was on Bebo I kept a blog of sorts on there, and then began to do the same with Facebook Notes, mostly to share amusing mishaps in my life, fun adventures, or to rant about things that made me mad. I soon realised that a blog was a better place for such writing, and so I set up Daydreaming Out Loud.

2. What do you do at the end of a long day?
We will have an easy dinner that doesn't take much effort to make and eat whilst watching a selection of or triple bills of our favourite TV shows. We'll then probably go to bed early and do a puzzle together before falling asleep.

3. Which season is your favourite and why?
Spring, especially after the clocks have moved forward at the end of March. I cope much better with more daylight, I love all the blooming flowers, the land turning greener, an increase in wildlife in the garden, and the feeling of impending summer warmth on the breeze. Also, Easter!

4. What fictional character would you want as a best friend?
Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. I've said before that I would want to be her, but actually, she'd be a good and very funny friend to have around too.

5. Desert Island. Three items. List them.
Bible. Tent. A large box of flares.

6. If you could choose to live in a different decade purely for fashion's sake, which decade would you choose?
Well, it we're talking in the past hundred years, then I think the 1920s. I love the evolving fashion, the glamorous dresses, and the effortless look of it all. Historically, in any period ever though, it would be Medieval, circa 12th Century I think. Because of those amazing long sleeves!

7. What song makes you crank up the volume in your car?
At the moment VnV Nation accompany most of our car journeys, and we usually crank up the volume to Nemesis.

8. What is most important to you?
God. He never changes, He never wavers, He never lets me go. When all else is confusing, hurtful, and strange, He is my rock.

9. If you could choose to have one dream for your life come true, which would it be?
To be a published author.

10. Which collection of yours is bigger, books or movies?
Books. That's what two degrees and a love of fiction does to you, you need many many bookcases!

11. If you could have dinner with someone, alive or dead, who would they be?
I'd like to have both CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien round for dinner. Imagine the conversation. It would be awesome.

I'm technically meant to tag 11 more people now, but I note that the majority of blogs I follow have already done this. Also I can't think of any questions right now. Instead I thought I would recommend 11 awesome blogs I have been enjoying reading recently:

A Million Little Somethings by Kayleigh

Wayfaring Girl on a Mission by Jeanine

Science, Spouses, and Silliness by Lozz

Love Woke Me Up This Morning by Emmy

Faith Permeating Life by Jessica

Standing on Toes by Tabitha

Alphabet Games by Lydia

Shades of Shayes by Sarah

Tea, Ink & Me by Jess

The Felted Rainbow by Jenny

The Accidental Londoner

You can find several other excellent blogs on my 'Places I Like To Go' page :D

I'm Blonde...

...and I'm not dumb. But, sometimes I do stupid things, and when I do those stupid things in the presence of others, then I feel the stereotype coming to life. When those stupid things happen in an office where the majority of staff are male, the 'dumb blonde' feeling doubles.

Last week it was the laminator, this week it was the shredder, next week the binder perhaps? Or one of the printers? Or the toaster in the tea room? Or maybe just a something small, like a door handle. In acts of breathtaking stupidity I keep breaking things at work.

Last week I put some paper in the laminator without any plastic sheeting. The paper got stuck and rapidly became glued to the runners. I waited patiently, hoping it would somehow come out, but instead it began to burn. I hurriedly turned the machine off at the wall and called my job share colleague (who works a couple of days at a different office for the same organisation) to panic. She told me not to worry, to remove it from the photocopier room and put it in our admin office so no one could use it. She would then have a look at it when she was in the next day.

I did as she said and a few minutes later one of my colleagues came marching down to the office for an envelope or some such. When he saw the laminator sitting on my colleague's desk he stood and stared at it, scratching his head, wondering how it had got there.

I suppressed the urge to tell him that gremlins had shifted it in the night, realising that I had to admit to what I had done. Sheepishly, I sidled over and said in a small voice, "I broked it."

"You've broken it?" he bellowed, in his ex-army boom. I felt my cheeks glow bright red. My colleagues down the other end of the corridor must have heard that... A big grin spread across his face. "No worries mate, I'll fix it. It'll be easy!"

At that moment another colleague burst into the room asking me where the laminator was. I pointed at it, explaining what had happened. He didn't look remotely annoyed, even though he clearly needed to use it. Instead he rubbed his hands together with glee at the chance to take the machine apart. So between the pair of them they found a couple of screwdrivers and dismantled it. I watched, feeling pathetic and helpless - like a damsel in distress only without the dragon. I was grateful for their help, but it was painful admitting that the reason the laminator was broken was not because a piece of paper had just got stuck, it was because I'd put it in there without the plastic cover.

The guys bantered with me as they fixed it, but never once did they treat me like I was stupid for the mistake I'd made. It was only me that berated myself for my idiocy. When they retrieved the final offending piece of paper, which now bore a scorch mark, they handed it to me as a symbol of their victory. I stuck it to my desk as a permanent reminder of my stupidity. It hasn't had much of a lasting effect on my memory though, obviously...

Because yesterday, clearly needing to maintain my reputation for destroying office equipment, I ended up shoving too much paper through the shredder, and of course the feed got clogged and stopped working. Why I chose to blatantly ignore the '18 Sheets Max' sign is beyond me. I pressed 'Reverse' and assumed all would be fine, but no, this is me we're talking about, so of course whole clumps of paper had become completely wedged in the feed. I was too embarrassed to seek help after the laminator incident. So turning the machine off and unplugging it at the wall I first used my pen to try to break the paper free, then a ruler. Neither was adequate enough. Panicking I undid a paperclip and began scraping at the clumps of paper. It worked but very slowly, and only small scraggly bits broke free at a time. I was going to be there all night...

In the end I admitted defeat, scurried back down to my desk to write an 'Out of Order' sign, and confided in my only other female colleague what had happened. She told me not to worry and clutching a screw driver she wandered down there to try and fix it. I followed her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, how much more would it take for me to conform to the dumb blonde stereotype completely?

Then one of the 'laminator fixers' strode in to use the photocopier. "Is there anything in this office you haven't broken?" he laughed. He then declared that he would fix the shredder, and excitedly took the screw driver and began to aggressively tear at the chunks of paper until they were all free.

He then grabbed a piece of paper and put it through. All was tickety-boo once more. I feebly mumbled my thanks. He grinned and told me that although he would now be on leave for a week, if I broke anything else I could just give him a call. Ha ha ha.

On the way out that night he waved a stapler at me, saying, "This still works, if you want to break it." I narrowed my eyes at him and walked out with my head held high, although I couldn't stop a big smile spreading across my face, because to be honest, the whole thing was pretty damn funny.

I am really glad to be working with such good-natured people. I get on with my colleagues, and we have a good laugh. We all tease each other relentlessly but it's never nasty and it makes for a good working atmosphere.

It's funny how at the council, people were horrible to me whenever I said anything remotely intelligent. They laughed at me if I corrected a false statement, declaring that I had too much time on my hands to know stuff like that, yet I was also indirectly referred to as a 'dumb blonde.' Whereas in my current job, where clearly I've made a couple of foolish errors, the opposite is true. They appreciate the good work I do, and are grateful when I help them. If I say something 'intelligent' they value it. When I do something stupid, on the other hand, they help me out and lighten the situation. It's a breath of fresh air.

I am blonde, and sometimes I do stupid things. But doesn't everyone?

Yep, that's 'blonde who sometimes does stupid things' me!

Photo my own.

A Countryside Adventure

My legs are still aching after a 10 mile hike on Saturday, when one of my brother's joined me and my husband on a walk from our hometown to my parents' house. It was a bitterly cold day, but the sky was bright blue, the sun was shining, and the cloud came and went without any precipitation.

We started by following the river northwards, walking alongside it (mostly through gloopy mud) for as long as possible, before the banks become private land and we had to take a footpath for the next few miles, which follows the same course, only the river is hidden from sight.

God Rays light the way

Having successfully waded through thick mud and puddles, we were then attacked by two angry Jack Russells as we walked through a farm. I'm not much of a dog person but I especially loathe Jack Russells - ever since one tried to bite me in Brazil I've been rather afraid of them. They finally returned to the farmer after he shouted at them for at least a minute. A few metres on and one of them was gaining on us again, yapping and growling like something out of a nightmare. My husband and brother turned around and glared at it stonily until it shut up and finally accepted that we meant no harm.

We then traversed more fields until we saw the spire of a church in the distance. Tummies rumbling, we marched up over a hill and found a bench in the churchyard to sit and eat our picnic. We ate in silence, gazing at the view before us, the South Downs undulating calmly in the distance, white chalk exposed where old quarries had once been, a wind turbine sitting on one of the hills slowly turning, and miles of farmland and trees.

The next part of the hike was across more farmland, dipping in and out of a small valley where the old railway line had once been,  until we reached a pub where we stopped for a quick drink. Refreshed we ploughed on through yet more farmland, and then up a long country lane until we came to another footpath which took us through woods and fields, over past the farmhouse where my dad grew up. At this point we were growing both a little weary and wary. There were pheasant shooters out in one patch of woods, and clay pigeon shooters were out on the grounds of the posh country hotel to the north of us. Although shooters stay away from public rights of way, they still made me edgy!

It was with considerable relief that we made it down into the valley and across a rickety bridge over a deep, dark pond and then out onto a road. By this time we could tell that sunset would not be far away and we still had some way to go, so we continued up a track and through another farm until we reached a bridleway.

This bridleway is the stuff of stories. It disappeared down before us into a gloomy valley, enclosed by trees. It looked very spooky indeed. Not to be deterred however (after all we had survived deep mud, vicious dogs, and the aristocracy out shooting!), we boldly continued onwards. 

Where does it lead?

We followed the bridleway downhill for half a mile or so, then across a bridge over a stream, just as deep and dark in appearance as the pond from earlier. We then started to go uphill again, with trees on one side and a high wall on the other. In the high wall we found a couple of small doors, that clearly most adult humans could not fit through without crouching very low. What were they for and where did they lead? We may never know... (this is a nod to Jeanine who recently wrote an excellent post on her blog about mysterious doorways).

Who lives here? (I'm not surprised that they didn't answer the door with someone like me poised outside!)

We really felt like we were in a fantasy land now as the trees seemed to loom taller and more menacing around us. We trudged through thick boggy earth covered by leaves. For a few worrying moments we all felt like we were sinking, and it wasn't possible to see an end in sight. The gloom pressed in and perhaps we wouldn't have been surprised if we'd been attacked by a troll or a ring wraith, or even troublesome pixies.

It was actually a bit of a disappointment when we successfully broke free of the leaf mould and reached a road with a handful of houses either side of it, reminding us that we were actually in normal old England, on a normal January day. However, a short skip and a jump across the road and over a stile and we were once more on an eerie path back into some woods. By now mist was slowly crawling in, the sky was turning from pinky red to purple and then darker and darker as we made our way through more trees.

The twilight mist draws in, enveloping us all so that we can no longer see each other...

When we finally reached the field on the other side of the woods night had fallen. The security lights of the primary school in the distance shimmered before us, and soon the domestic lights of homes came into view. We walked along one more footpath and then we had arrived in the village good and proper. A quick walk through a housing estate and then through the twitten that runs past my parents' home, round the corner and up the drive.

As we beat the mud off of our shoes on the boot scraper, we all began to feel the aches and pains of the long trek. However, we were met with hot cups of tea, a rest in front of the fire, and then a delicious dinner, before my brother drove us back home.

We slept very well that night, and whilst my dreams weren't haunted by scary woods, magical doorways, and deathly bogs, the walk has greatly inspired me and I have lots of ideas for my writing because of it, hurrah!

What do you see? What or who lives here? What do they do? Look... Listen... Imagine...

Photos my own.

Welcome Back to Work!

We woke up this morning to the sound of wind battering the bedroom window urgently and heavy rain lashing against the panes. We snuggled deeper under the covers willing the snooze on our alarms to last for an hour rather than ten minutes.

Somehow, after many many snooze button hits, we managed to find our way out of bed, the blinding main light was on, the cold was felt as we stumbled about with half-open eyes, grabbing at clothes from the wardrobes and drawers. I say "we" but I mean "my husband." I hid under the covers for as long as possible. And then I had to leap up into the cold and get ready for work.

The first day back after Christmas...always the hardest in my experience. Thankfully my husband had lovingly made me a cup of tea and this helped me turn from a zombie into something vaguely representing a serious working woman...Sort of...

Then things just went from bad to worse. Although the rain had stopped I left the house a whole 6 minutes later than usual because I spent so long dithering over what jewellery and which scarf I wanted to wear. I had to run, my coat flapping in the wind, my handbag slapping me in the side, my hair trying to style itself into that hot new scarecrow look (you know the one...). I made it to the bus stop just as the double decker beast came rumbling round the corner. My lungs were screaming in agony and my heart felt like it was going to burst. I could barely speak as I paid for my ticket. Yet more proof that I need to exercise more in 2012 than I did in 2011.

I spent the first part of the bus journey slumped in my seat, gasping for breath, looking mournfully out of the steamy window at the blackness of the bleak morning.

A few miles into the journey the bus chose to idle for several minutes in a village with no street lights, and where no one at all seemed to be awake. It was still so dark that you couldn't see anything apart from the occasional leaf that pasted itself to the window only to be ripped off by the unrelenting wind, which rocked the bus from side to side as hail began to drum heavily on the roof. "I bet the bus breaks down here," I thought. "And then we'll have to stand in the middle of nowhere for at least an hour before another one comes and rescues us. If another one comes and rescues us."

What is it about the first day back at work after Christmas that is always so difficult? And why does the day always turn out so badly? Last year, on an equally dreary but slightly less breezy first day back at work I tripped over on my way up the high street. As my umbrella went one way and my bag the other, people stepped over and around me and not a single one helped me up. I had cut my knee and after being laughed at by colleagues who had indulged on too many mince pies, I had gone to reception to meekly ask for a plaster. The receptionist, bellowing so that all the sharp suited councillors gazing at their reflections in the shiny glass windows turned to regard me with intrigue, informed me of the new council policy that only a qualified first aider could assist me and she called around until one was pulled out of her morning meeting to attend me in the medical room. I had to sit like an obedient school child whilst she cleaned and dressed the pathetic little wound in a plaster that was at best too small, and at worst completely inadequate at doing anything other than sticking to my trousers instead of my knee. I didn't even get a lollipop for not crying. In hindsight, maybe I should have resigned there and then.

Deep in my gloomy thoughts I hadn't noticed that the bus was thundering once more along the narrow country lane and back out onto the main road. Before I knew it I was at work.

Work where there had been no delivery to the canteen, so no milk for hot drinks. And the hot drinks machine, which is always a last resort in any case, was not working.

Bad to worse.

The wild gale force winds continued all morning, cruelly tearing the automatic doors open every few moments so that I was sitting in a constant draught. The heavy rain hammered on the office roof, and saturated to the bone anyone who dared cross the site to one of the other buildings.

The final straw was the power going out. At least we could go home.

But no, the generator kicked in, the lights flickered back on, and the computers slowly juddered back to life.

And so it was time for me to acknowledge that Yuletide is over, and that normal life is back in full swing.

And you know what? It's really not that bad. In fact, I quite like it. Compared to this time a year ago I have very little to complain about. And although I may have been sporting a 'dragged through a hedge backwards' hairstyle, at least I wasn't hobbling around on a sore knee that had been plastered in a ham-fisted fashion by an incompetent first aider - that is why I wanted to put on the plaster myself, why didn't the receptionist understand that? Mmm, is it time for me to stop being bitter about that? I think so.

Therefore, whilst I cannot quite conjure up the enthusiasm of our country's finest weather forecasters, I will thank you United Kingdom, for battering us and soaking us on our first working day of 2012. You sure know how to kick us back into reality!