Minnie’s Musings

Random ramblings of a middle aged, middle class, middle income woman

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  • Catch Up: Go Back to Bed and Start Again II

    …. because I got hideously stuck trying to decipher how to SQL code a table. More of which later.

    After another two hours going back and forth between the instructions and online videos and still not getting it, I jumped in my car again to meet my friend in a local NT woodland which is roughly half way between us. En route I remembered my sister had asked me to purchase an item which you can’t get in the US but can purchase in a NT gift shop. So, while I was – strictly speaking – early to meet friend (new leaf having been turned over) I appeared to be a minute late as I dashed into the shop two minutes before closing.

    Anyway, the ONLY highlight of the day was taking a lovely walk with an old and dear friend in the late evening sunshine and peace and quiet (after families had gone home to eat, bathe and read bedtime stories). What heaven it was to walk (briskly, she is quick on her feet) in the dappled, golden light and then sit on a bench to rest my knee and dissect recent events in our eventful lives.

    Suddenly the temperature dropped and we made an almost simultaneous decision to up sticks and head back to our respective cars. This was – as per the theme of my day – way less than a moment too soon as the heavens opened. As we were getting decidedly damp under the canopy of trees there was nothing for it but to dash back to the car park and say a quick goodbye in – by that time – the drip, drip of the remnants of a thunderous downpour. Soaked to the skin.

    Suffice it to say, I went back to the coal face to try and make progress on SQL. Only to discover at the eleventh hour that there is a little eye in the corner of the question which gives you the correct code. And, if you scroll down just a centimeter further the exercises have a list of solutions. Arghhhhhhh! It’s not like I am a teacher who regularly lectures students on turning over the last page to see if there is a question on the back. Grrrrrrrr!!!

  • Catch Up: Go Back to Bed and Start Again I

    So, I have got as far as Wednesday and not posted, which is remiss of me. Or rather, an illustration of how busy my life is and how important I am, not.

    This is my third attempt (probably fourth or fifth in my head) at my rant about Friday. Days like that need to be confined to the dustbin of life sucks.

    It started with a quick nip to local diagnostic centre to have an MRI on my knee. Quick nip turned into an hour’s palaver as the mobile scanner (these things are not designed to be mobile) had its usual Friday morning strop and downed tools. “We are getting a new one in two months,” said all and sundry in the manner of excited grandparents. In the end I got ‘done’ by the old static machine which has done me before. Too short to have a nap, but hey! It’s done.

    Off to McD’s for breakfast (old Friday morning habits die hard) and then back to my desk to attempt a bit more of my course. Which preoccupied me to the extent that I left a little late for my speed awareness course, which was not in the hotel I thought it was but rather in another one 20 minutes further away. I then spent a frustrating 40 minutes attempting not to get another speeding ticket (including the red circles of doom on the M25 which got me last time – and are the source of said course) arriving one minute after the course closed its doors.

    Well avoiding speeding to a speed awareness course has cost me an extra £45. Therefore I am now going to make a concerted effort to improve my punctuality (my best friend has been known to call this ‘Minnie Time’) so watch this space as I arrive anywhere and everywhere half an hour early. If I appear to be late, it’s because I am just finishing my game.

    Anyway, I returned home to scream at my computer….

  • Levelling Up

    I have been reminded of the SEND illustration which illustrates equality of access. Myself husband, my youngest and I were all trying to peer over a wall. My husband could see straight ahead and down the other side easily, my daughter could see straight and could see nothing.

    You may have across the illustration I am speaking of.

    Three children of different heights stand in front of a wall. Only the tallest can see. The adjacent pictures shows the same three children standing on boxes of different heights. All have the same view.This is defined as “Equity” which is a good way of putting the need to provide some with additional support to experience the same opportunities.

    Now, in the SEND world the need for supporting resources and adaptations including scaffolding in the classroom is well established. In the adult world there are improvements and those should be celebrated. And I am not going to get into a controversial debate about what constitutes reasonable and realistic adjustments.

    What I do want to say is there are two things that regularly annoy this ordinary middle aged woman of NATIONAL AVERAGE height and the requirements of anyone who has pushed out multiple babies at full term.

    1. The height of cupboards in kitchens and supermarket shelves for the things you need – all designed by persons of at least 5’8”
    2. Women’s loos which are always placed further away than the gents and rarely have enough cubicles. .

    I could go on about VAT on women’s essentials which took Brexit to resolve (it remains applicable in Europe, so I am standing up for Hausfraus and Madames across the Channel) And multiple car safety measures done without regard to the fairer sex.
    Before you assume this is a feminist rant, I also think there is little or nothing out there for dads who stay at home to look after the kids either fill time or part time. This is because most groups are run on an informal basis by women. They can be deeply intimidating for newly minted dads feeling their way.

    Anyway I get off at the next stop so will post now (and hope there aren’t too many typos). Ta-ra!

  • Thou Shalt Not Judge

    When glaring at young man who did not give up his seat for you but did for the pretty young woman who got on a stop later. After a mental diatribe about the fickle priorities of the opposite sex, I looked down and saw that said pretty young woman was pregnant (usefully indicated by “baby on board” Underground badge) in case you didn’t notice the small neat bump. Definitely not sixth months I thought to myself, but hit rush hour trains are no fun with or without a bun in the oven.

    Anyway I revised my opinion of well brought up young man. And then spent the next section of the journey staring pointedly at young woman who had nothing on board or in the oven, hoping her fidgeting around indicated imminent getting up and off the train. She did get up and offered me her seat and then stood for the next couple of stops until the hoards thinned. I thanked her profusely and gave her a nudge when a nearby seat was free. What a well brought up young woman.

    In my defence I had walked the length of Portland Place with my gammy knee after wandering around several shops trying to find a floppy washbag that my sister wanted. I was clearly well down misinformed chuntering road as I had already complained at the Joe the Juice counter about a misunderstanding of the cost of some expensive but deeply healthy sludge (quite tasty, and I didn’t buy a bun!).

    Anyway, London prices still have the capacity to shock me, which makes me feel like a hick despite spending my formative years here. Likewise I am also feeling old as I now need someone to give up their seat for me. And I am not wearing purple.

    Time to find chocolate in the cupboard…

  • A Life of Contrasts

    This morning I am contrasting an idyllic hour berrying with a friend on a local common, catching up, hearing news, grumbling with a giggle to this morning’s stress filled aggravation where nothing – and I mean NOTHING – seemed to go right.

    Now I am sitting on a train I can pause for a fume. I can type with accuracy because said train seems to be pausing excessively at each stop (i.e. I am late so wish it would race right through to my destination, without pause (selfish, I know, but I am focused on goals this morning).

    Spent the morning trying to get the SQL coding right without complete instructions. I am finding this course hugely frustrating because there is an assumption of knowledge which is wholly unrealistic since it is supposed to be for BEGINNERS.What should be taking me minutes is taking hours.

    I set my alarm to remind me to leave for the city in timely manner. Instead I faffed and did four essential jobs before leaving and then remembered that I had to collect my prescription. For which read sit in traffic jam caused by three way lights in middle of the village, accompanied by roaring machinery.

    The only thing worse than three way is, of course, four way. However I can congratulate myself on limited use of bad language and parking at the bottom of the station car park steps and skipping onto the train just before the doors closed because I had got my pass out, while climbing said steps.

    I am taking small victories where I can find them and then channelling my inner core of Zen so I don’t swear at tourists who bring wealth to my city even if they do get in the way and can’t read the tube map (which is iconic for its simplicity, needless to say).

    Note for those not “in the know”, Tottenham Court Road is nowhere near Tottenham, you are quicker walking between any two of Leicester Square, Covent Garden, Piccadilly Circus and/or Charing Cross than going down the Tube and make sure you get the right Ruislip.

    Must now find game on phone that does not make me want to throw it out of the window.

  • Punishment that Fits the Crime

    Yesterday we had a lovely afternoon. We cleaned the BBQ (a feat in itself), washed the garden table (constantly covered in the dust and needles from the two enormous fir trees that dominate our back garden) and found the outside crockery (IKEA basics).

    Mother-in-law and brother-in-law joined us for burgers and sausages with new potatoes and way too many crisps. We all ate too much.

    According to my daughters, both myself and my mother-in-law indulged in unreasonable levels of tippling, for which I was responsible. I was scolded for over feeding my mother-in-law from a (very nice, light and fresh) M&S English sparkling wine which I had in the back of the fridge.

    With all the sanctimony of a tee-total twenty-something and a thirty something with a crashing hangover, they joined forces in their mutual approbation. Apparently I was leading their grandmother astray.

    Well, their grandmother and I had a lovely time, supporting the burgeoning English wine industry (as I say, it was really rather good) and it brought a twinkle to her eye, which hasn’t been seen for a while.

    She appreciated my new potato salad on which she showered fulsome praise. She demolished a burger and a sausage in roll. And tried a smidgen of the organic Edam I brought back from Holland (purchased from a cheese-maker in Edam itself no less).

    She retired to her flat and armchair to snooze in front of the football (with my sage advice to have a couple of glasses of water). I retired to the sofa with my embroidery where I stitched little purple flowers as England went behind by one goal.

    Well the rest is history, as the women fetched the trophy home once again. If you want something done properly….

  • Boopity Boop

    Alongside the death of Ozzy Osborn (who by quirking fate – for which read random claim to fame – lived up the road in a house once occupied by my godfather in his army days, and is now buried down the road from my parents (or rather tarmac pathway in Highgate Cemetery) we saw the passing of Chloe Lane this week.

    I just loved Chloe Lane. As did my mum. She used to pop up on the Mike Yarwood show. My dad had a thing for Shirley Bassey about whom he used to say, “Ahhhhh, the girl from Tiger Bay” in what I suspect is the same manner our king speaks of Diana Ross.

    I loved the boopity boop of her singing and ringletty Afro. I think I new quite early on that her frocks were of the decade that fashion needed to forget quite smartish, but then I also knew that my mothers white shirt-waister with strange blocks of brown and black squares evening dress was but a brief hiatus in taste back in 1976.

    The 1970s was an odd decade to spend one’s formative years. I shall remember it for the scratch of bro-nylon (a la Philip Larkin ) and knee length white socks with brown leather sandals. We were turfed out of school during the care takers strike and Spam was for Saturday tea, with mashed potato and garden peas.

    I shall also remember it for running around on the Old Railway behind the back of our house, all Summer long, spoiling tea with handfuls of blackberries and scarpering away from a glue sniffer who wanted to tell my sister and I all about the girl who had just ditched him.

    My sister jumped down from the tree we were sitting in and fled first. I like to think she thought I would follow her, (not realising that I was frozen with fear) but this is the same sister who persuaded me to jump off the landing onto the sofa below….Not that I hold a grudge or lay the pathos on with a trowel.

    Hands up Old Muswell Hillites who remember the Big Tree!

  • Early Days

    My youngest has just had a conversation with a recruitment consultant which segwayed into a discussion about his son’s recent diagnosis of autism, at the age of five.

    He is bewildered and frightened, concerned for his wife and other sons. He is feeling isolated.

    Goodness me, it brings back memories and the tears well up almost as a reflex. Does it matter that it was over 25 years ago for us? I think not

    I would proffer the following :

    Treat what you are feeling as grief. For that is what it is. Your life as you thought it would be has evaporated.

    You will now live parallel lives; one with your ‘normal children, one with your disabled child. Occasionally they over lap, much of the time they don’t.

    Make a decision not to set yourself against it. Autism is a powerful condition., particularly the further down the spectrum it is. You will develop workarounds, but they can be slow to materialise.

    With your spouse, work as a team and try not to set each other up to fail. Be honest when you can’t cope and articulate your frustrations. Say sorry.

    Talk to your children and explain what is happening. Children can cope with complex issues and have significant levels of understanding. Then sit back and admire how they adjust.

    Educate your extended family and ask for help when you need it. But brace yourself for some negativity. Give them time and opportunity to adjust.

    Practical suggestions:

    Access local support (groups, courses, clubs) where you and your child are safe. One which has a “never apologise “rule is the best.

    Inform your other children’s schools and investigate Young Carers.Talk about what is happening with their friends parents.

    Apply for applicable benefits and get used to the form filling (describe your worst 24 hours, have a box of tissues to hand).

    Get yourself on a behaviour management course if necessary. There are de-escalation and restraint techniques that are really useful.

    What you will learn:

    You have reserves of emotional and physical energy, you didn’t think you had.

    Your other children bring a whole new dimension to “the sibling rule” (I can grumble, but don’t say a word about my brother) and is awe inspiring.

    Yes, you learn who your friends are, but the ones who stick around are the best and you make new friends. good friends who listen, understand and prefer advice.

    You will learn the meaning of fight or flight, and find yourself resorting to fight more often than not.

    Those who shout the loudest and make a pest of themselves are more likely to get what is needed for their child.

    It’s a long, hard, painful journey. But I can tell you now, the unit your family becomes is compassionate, giving and loyal. And your heart will burst with pride when someone points this out.

  • Coordination

    In the knicker department is my new mission. I have decided that I should make like French women (with a heavy dose of middle aged, comfort is my priority thrown in) and pay more attention to my attire right down to my smalls.

    No more mix and match, black with white, white with neutral, neutral with black-sock-caught-in-the-whites grey. I shall no longer take the first t-shirt out of the drawer or shorts at the top of the pile. I shall be goddess of style! Well, a crumpled goddess of style.
    .As an aficionado of the flick and fold technique my use of an iron and boardis patchy. But I am better than I used to, now the bulk of the children have vacated their rooms so I can leave the ironing board up.

    I have also taken to moisturising my shins. I am not a lover of creams and potions on account of being allergic to half of them, but I have found one that does not make me turn bright pink and swell up like a mottled balloon. I am very pleased with the results.

    What else I shall do to boost the way I feel about myself will have to wait. One can only make so many changes to habits of a lifetime at once. So Nigella can stay put and keep my seat warm, I am not quite ready to assume the throne of domestic goddess just yet.

  • Stressful Times

    So after several days of revising until the small hours , catching calls from the DWP and watching England with one eye while stitching my embroidery with the other, I can report the following:

    Business models are all pervasive. I just mentioned a thing called the Balance Score Card to my Best Beloved and he went off on one, with quite alarming ferocity.
    I don’t want to jinx it before the certificate comes through but the computer says I have passed my Foundation level exam. Hurrah! And phew!!!!!

    The man from the DWP has transformed himself from public enemy number one (PENO) into my new favourite person cos he was really very patient with me and explained things so clearly. His boss may still be a candidate for PENO status if he isn’t so nice so watch this space.

    I think I came close to snapping a vocal cord watching last night’s game. But I have a new theory of how the final needs to play out… England play like rank amateurs through the first half and go at least a goal behind. Serena (Athena incarnate as I like to think of her) brings in that novice player who has the confidence of youth and the height to see over the top of Italian defenders, and gives the old guard the kick up the backside they need. Purchasing my lozenges in anticipation.

    Please do not feel the need to point out that you cannot stitch with an eye. You know perfectly well what I mean.