Man in the Mirror

I was followed to work this morning.

That is, the same car was behind me for most of the journey - not actually stalking me.

Looking in the mirror, I could see the female driver giving her male passenger a tongue lashing of epic proportions - and not in a good way.

She never stopped for the whole journey. Every time I glanced back her hands were gesticulating wildly - finger pointed accusingly about four inches from his face.

At each traffic light, I braced myself for the impact of her pink Honda Jazz on my big-ass Megane's big-ass bumper. She clearly wasn't focused on the road ahead.

She kept taking her glasses off, waving them in his general direction, then replacing them on her sharp, narrow nose, all the while keeping up the tirade of abuse.

I was fascinated by his response, which was to remain completely impassive and unresponsive. I checked the mirror again to make sure he hadn't committed suicide on the way - death being a preferable alternative to spending another second being harangued by a Professional Harpy (First Class).

Or that maybe he was one of those inflatable car buddies women carry around in their cars so as not to look like they're travelling alone.

It was only when we neared the city centre that I spotted it.

The tell-tale white cord, surreptitiously snaking up out of his collar and into his left ear - out of sight of the harrassing harridan.

He was tuning her out by tuning into his iPod.

I'm guessing it was 'Every Day I Love You Less and Less' by the Kaiser Chiefs

Immortalised

The fabulous Notkeith has once again come up with a brilliant, original illustration to accompany the more bizarre of my posts.

Thanks NK.

If you haven't already checked out his wonderful drawings, go over and take a look now.

From last week's Bike Shed goings-on:

Owen Goal Update

Owen's projected tally has dropped but is still on my bet threshold - just.

6 minutes against Chelsea and 90 minutes against Everton and no goals - so business as usual.

His golfing pals on Match of the Day highlighted the excellent positions he gets himself in as a positive. Surely that should have been a negative - i.e. with all the chances, why did he fail to find the back of the net? Once again they touted him for inclusion in the world cup squad. When asked if he would take him to the world cup, Lineker said 'Yes, IF he stays fit, IF he starts regularly for United and IF he gets goals'

So that will be no then, will it Gary?

Appearances: 16/19
Minutes Played: 617
Goals: 4
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:154
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally*: 12

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (39 mins), goal frequency (every 154 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (25 Prem games and c12 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 84%). So 37 games x 84% = 31 appearances. 31/4 = 8 more goals

Behind the Bike Shed

Illustration by Notkeith

A secure bike shed has been erected behind our offices, next to my parking space. Electronic passes, locks and cameras have been installed to assist the green-conscious in their bid to offset the carbon footprint from my big-ass Megane.

Despite the security, there has already been a theft from it, so the powers-that-be have turned to more extreme measures to protect the contents.

The Megane is a very duck-friendly motor. No keys, just a card that has to be about my person, which in proximity to the car, opens and locks doors, windows, sunroof, activates alarms and immobilisers and switches wipers, lights, CD player and engine on and off - so no fumbling about in handbags in the rain looking for keys.

Brilliant.

However, in the last three weeks, when accessing or exiting my car by the bike shed, the Megane has failed to respond to the card signal. Mmm. This has meant standing next to it, trying all the doors and windows, shouting, jiggling my handbag and even in desperation, fishing the card from its depths and waving it about in the general direction of the car. 

Still nothing.

It's definitely not the card, because it's functioning normally at every other location the car is require to pass time. Nevertheless, I tried bringing along the spare card and waving the two together in a bizarre, synchronised ceremonial car-activating dance, with appropriate swearing as backing music.

Nothing

Now, bear in mind that it's usually cold, dark and rainy when I arrive and leave work, so hanging about by the bike shed, arguing with a stubborn red car is not my first choice for recreational activity at the beginning and end of the day. I've even resorted to removing the little battery disc from the card, licking it and putting it back*. I probably would have been better pointing it through my head à la Clarkson.

I can only conclude that a spell has been cast over the bike shed, or an invisible forcefield placed around it by its owners. Either that or it's a time portal for bees to return to their home planet, and the Megane is cleverly resisting its gravitational pull.

Either way it's unstoppable, so I've thrown in the towel and moved spaces. Now at a safe distance of 20 yards, normal service has been resumed.

Although I fear for the little Fiesta, still parked there, at the mercy of whatever demon is at work.

*This did actually work a couple of times.

Virtually There

The Little Ducks did their Christmas lists last week and I communicated my innermost desires and wishes to Mrs. Duck Senior, for general circulation*

You all know what a fan of shopping I am. Not!

So you will be pleased to know that I completed my Christmas shopping on Sunday. All done.

Not only that, every item I have chosen is brilliant and perfect and will take me to the top of the Best Christmas Present charts in every Duck family residence. I am a Retail Goddess.

Smug doesn't being to cover it.

Until I realised on Monday morning that my shopping expedition was the stuff of Sunday night dreams and not only that, I cannot remember what ANY of the inspired and wonderful gifts were!

So contrary to my previous post and my 45 Things, I do not remember everything.

And the shopping remains to be done.

Bollocks.

• * A new coat for Local Walks for Local People;
• a new #1 hat, as I've lost my beloved United beanie;
• new speakers for the big-ass Megane - I've wrecked mine playing super-loud music (the only way to enjoy music IMHO);
• a Moleskine Notebook (on my list for years and never received - take note Santa);
• NO chocolate - I'm the one person in the world who doesn't like it;
• a Philadelphus bush for the Purple Garden;
• a phone number for someone who can make curtains.

Typo

I have realised that I am gradually working my way through explanations of my 45 Things.

Today #27 - 'I remember everything'.

These days that's not quite as true as it has been in the past, and so I resort to leaving myself aide-memoires in my phone - especially for blog material. If I don't make a note straight away - exact wording of the Little Ducks' entertaining observations, for instance, then I can't recall them perfectly and the moment is lost.

However, the prompts can sometimes be a little obtuse.

I try to keep them short, especially if I haven't got my glasses on and can barely see the screen - never mind press the right keys on the miniscule Nokia E71 keypad. So from time to time, I cannot for the life of me remember to what they refer.

This is compounded by predictive text.

Last week I left myself a note that reads:

Obituary Want Knobs. Marilyn Monroe. Mismatch

I kid you not. I have been wracking my brains trying to fathom this all week. WTF? - seriously.

Facebook came to my rescue this lunchtime when the photographs from Saturday's Hallowe'en party were posted and there is a great one of a friend , dressed as Marilyn Monroe

with her partner Obi Wan Kenobi.



Owen Goal Update:

For the first time, Michael's projected tally is over my bet threshold.

11 minutes against Blackburn and once again, no goal - business as usual.

BUT. 90 minutes against Moscow and an important goal.

He must be due an injury about now....

Appearances: 14/17
Minutes Played: 521
Goals: 4
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:130
Goals Per Appearance: 0.21
Projected Season Tally*: 13

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (37 mins), goal frequency (every 130 minutes or 3.5 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (27 Prem games and c12 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 82%). So 39 games x 82% = 32 appearances. 32/3.5 = 9 more goals

Run That By Me Again

I know how déjà vu works.

Look away now if you've heard this before.

Or don't.

Because you probably haven't.

No matter how you set them up, Scalextric cars never perform equally. You know the track length is exactly the same in each lane and it should be a fair race, but the design is fatally flawed.

The track comes in pieces that clip together and the joins are never perfect. Unless you devote permanent space to it, you are constantly dismantling and remantling so bumps, gaps and imperfections appear and the yellow car always loses.

And so it is with how the brain processes new information and how it stores long- and short-term memories. Robert Efron tested an idea at the Veterans Hospital in Boston in 1963 that stands as a valid theory today. He proposed that a delayed neurological response causes déjà vu. Because information enters the processing centres of the brain via more than one path (your imperfect racetrack) it is possible that occasionally that blending of information might not synchronize correctly.

Efron found that the temporal lobe of the brain's left hemisphere is responsible for sorting incoming information. He also found that the temporal lobe receives this incoming information twice with a slight (milliseconds-long) delay between transmissions -- once directly (the red car) and once again after its detour through the right hemisphere of the brain. If that second transmission (the yellow car) is delayed slightly longer (the ill-fitting join after the cicane) then the brain might put the wrong timestamp on that bit of information and register it as a previous memory because it had already been processed.

And that explains the sudden sense of familiarity.

Ta da.

Misery Loves Company

I rely on iPod Shuffle Karma to tune in to my moods - good and bad - and select the appropriate soundtrack.

You know - when it just seems to know what to choose, so that you nod in approval at each fresh track and never reach for the skip button.

It's particularly important for those times when you're closer to oblivion than Heaven and it's all you can do to keep breathing in and breathing out and get through the days.

I'm no Julie Andrews. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens don't perk me up and I definitely don't punch the air in delight at wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings.

I have a theory about misery. If it's there, you should go with it, rather than fight it. The last thing you need is conflict. If you're down, happy music just makes you feel worse, because it's so out of sync with how you feel. Miserable music on the other hand, is the aural equivalent of having your hair softly stroked, your temples massaged and soothing words murmured gently in your ear.

It fits.

So when karma lets me down, I hit the Misery Playlist:

Clash - Bankrobber
Smiths - How Soon Is Now
Beatles - Hey Jude
Cure - In Between Days
Alanis Morissette - Mary Jane
Portishead - Glory Box
Pogues - Rainy Night in Soho
Simon and Garfunkel - Wednesday Morning 3am
Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes
Space - Money
Joan Osborne - One of Us
James - Laid
Andreas Johnson - Glorious
Muse - Blackout
Stranglers - Midnight Summer Dream
Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb



Owen Goal Update:

17 minutes at Anfield - long enough to get booed by the beach balls but not long enough to score. On to Oakwell on Tuesday and an excellent goal but in a mickey mouse cup that barely meets the bet qualifying criterion of being 'competitive'. Way to pick your moment, Michael.

Appearances: 12/15
Minutes Played: 420
Goals: 3
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:140
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally*: 11

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (35 mins), goal frequency (every 140 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (28 Prem games and c13 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 80%). So 41 games x 80% = 33 appearances. 33/4 = 8 more goals

Dear Fergie

Today I am mostly stiff and sore, but not in a good way.

I spent Saturday in the rain watching JP and Tiddler play football (winning 4-2 and losing 5-1 respectively) and yesterday playing five hours of football to complete my Level 1 FA Coaching Course.

I am a qualified football coach!

Not one for letting the astroturf grow under my feet, I am sending the following to Old Trafford today:

Dear Fergie,

Further to completing my FA Coaching Course I am delighted to enclose my Curriculum Vitae for your attention.

As you can see, I am now ready to fulfil my destiny and step into your size 10s. After yesterday's lack lustre performance you can now retire, safe in the knowledge that your legacy is in good hands.

My grades are excellent.

I would draw your attention in particular to the A* Highly Commended for gum chewing, kicking a water bottle and remonstrating with the Fourth Official, whilst running my hands repeatedly through my hair.

My FA Assessor had the following to say:

'Duck shows a most impressive command of the Anglo-Saxon, although her Govan accent still needs a little work. If she can combine this with her excellent hairdryer-throwing technique, she will have no difficulty in ruling the changing room. I would urge her to embrace the C-word, if she can, as an especially effective way of dealing with BBC commentators and pundits.'

Yours sincerely,

Duck

P.S. Can you leave me your watch?

** BTW - today is Picture of a Duck's third birthday - Happy Blogiversary to me! **

Things You Encounter When You Haven't Got Your Gun #7

ITV is showing the Star Wars movies over the coming six weeks.

I rub my hands with glee, and then wonder why - since I own the DVDs and can watch them any time I like (and do).*

But here's the thing. If a movie I like is showing on TV, I have to watch it.

Just because it's on.

Late at night, when I should be piling up the zeds ready for Morningtime, ITV 2 will decide to show The Wedding Singer.

'I'll just watch the first 10 minutes', I tell myself.

97 minutes later, satisfied that nothing has been added or taken away since I last watched it, (which may have only been a fortnight before), I warm my milk and crawl to bed.

Star Wars is scheduled for Saturday afternoons. So no sleep issues.

But they're showing them out of order. Episodes 1-6 instead of episodes 4-6, then episodes 1-3.

'1-6 is chronological, it's sequential. It makes perfect sense.' argues Mills' Mess.

No, No, No, No, No.

You must watch episodes 4-6 first. It's the Law - or should be.

You have to meet Vader before you meet Anakin. You have to finish episode 6 and wonder about the awful chain of events that led him to the Dark Side. The essential tragedy of Vader, which is key to the whole series has to unfold in episodes 1-3, with you absorbing it with the benefit of foresight, (or should that be hindsight?)

And besides, the agony of Vader's terrible revelation to Luke in episode 5 is lost, if you already know.*

Totally out of order.

* As an aside, does anyone else use the Force to open automatic doors, or just me? I started doing it to impress the Little Ducks when they were very little, but now find myself doing it whether they're with me or not.
** Of course, if you're a young thing and you saw Toy Story 2 before you saw Empire Strikes Back, the whole thing is spoiled anyway.



Owen Goal Update:

19 minutes on astroturf in Moscow and once again, no goal.

Appearances: 10/13
Minutes Played: 338
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:169
Goals Per Appearance: 0.20
Projected Season Tally*: 8

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (34 mins), goal frequency (every 169 minutes or 5 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (29 Prem games and c14 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 77%). So 43 games x 77% = 32 appearances. 32/5 = 6 more goals

Maximum Break

What's one better than a 147?

Well, this week, a 146.

Mrs. Panther Hunter and I do a regular Tuesday quiz at the Local Pub. We mostly come away with a respectable score, but usually behind either The Burks, The Occasional Table, The Wacky Racers, Us In The Corner et al.

Once, we came away with the last place sweets, but we never, ever get our raffle ticket drawn for the Jackpot Question.

Until this week.

Mrs. Panther Hunter's ticket, #147, is pulled out for the £100 Rollover Jackpot and she elects me to go up to answer the question.

- It is on publishing - the industry in which I work.
- It is about J K Rowling - an author whose works I have read.
- It is an obscure reference to some law suit against some minor publishing house - of which I have never heard.

Boo.

I retake my seat and apologise to my partner.

The next ticket drawn is #146 - my ticket!

- It is on books - my thing again.
- It is on a book I have read - The Big Sleep
- It is by an author I know - 'Raymond Chandler'.

Mrs. Panther Hunter and I split the £100 and go home happy.

The next day, I get an unexpected £25 cashback cheque for my car insurance. £75 up on the week. We celebrate with new astroturf boots for me, JP and Tiddler.

I also win an eBay auction for a red lace Christmas party frock - for £3.

Tonight we have invested in a lucky dip national lottery ticket..... This time tomorrow, we'll be millionaires.

Owen Goal Update:

With his broken fanny fixed, Sicknote was back on the field for the home game against Bolton and managed 82 minutes without a goal.

Appearances: 9/12
Minutes Played: 319
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:160
Goals Per Appearance: 0.22
Projected Season Tally*: 9

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (35 mins), goal frequency (every 160 minutes or 4.5 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (29 Prem games and c15 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 75%). So 44 games x 75% = 33 appearances. 33/4.5 = 7 more goals

Can You Hear Me At The Back?

Sometimes I wish I were a Lesbian.

No, not me. Chandler from Friends. Series 1*.

Anyway. He says it in Central Perk - followed up with 'Did I say that out loud?'

Now he did it for comic effect, but I just say things out loud because they're in my head and won't stay there.

Words, like brightly-coloured Spacehoppers, bounce around the chambers lined with grey filing cabinets**, desperate to come out and play.

As you know, I don't restrict this pastime to when I have an audience, and even if I do, most utterances are of the rhetorical kind.

But here's the thing.

Until now, my mutterings have taken the form of monologuing - mostly, but not exclusively, in my own Welsh Lancs. accent.

However, on Wednesday, while driving home alone, I realised I was having a two-way conversation with myself, with both sides being played by me.

And neither side was winning. At one point I found myself pointing repeatedly with one hand and waving dismissively with the other, when I realised I was talking utter drivel. But would I be convinced? No. Total refusal to admit I was wrong, and complete frustration when I couldn't get myself to back down and accept that I was right in the first place.

On days like these I thank God for the hands-free mobile phone kit. I don't actually have one, but I pray that the drivers of the cars behind and in front of me assume I do.

* God how sad is it that I know that?

** full of useless shit, but beautifully catalogued and retrievable in nano-seconds.

Local Pubs for Local People

Our sales manager came over last week before an important strategy conference. So I took him out to the Local Pub for dinner - although it's less of a local these days, following a Greene King refurbishment into an homogenised family restaurant.

After dinner we headed up to another Local Pub, with a rather excellent pool table and juke box, which is our usual Sunday night haunt.

'It's a proper traditional pub', I inform him. 'I think you'll like it'.

We enter, only to be confronted by two drunks at the bar with their trousers round their ankles, demanding that we judge their boxer shorts for funkiness. (Multi-coloured spots won over plain black). They shuffle unsteadily out to their taxi, satisfied.

A three-legged mongrel hobbles around with a sock on its remaining back leg - apparently it's been chewing it. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face!

A Samoyed lies in the stairwell - but looks more like a Spring lamb, as all its fur has been shaved off!

Leonard Cohen commits suicide over and over on the juke box.

I check the snug - half-expecting to see the Old Cougars, with their fried fish and double gins.

My guest looks bemused and excuses himself outside with a small cigar. Things improve when he notices a classic, pristine white E-Type Jaguar*, belonging to the Landlord. He has a look inside at the landlord's invitation and comes back in.

'Great pub!' he remarks.

I nod, and thank God for Petrolheads.

*This is my absolute all time favourite car and first on my list when I win Millionaire

That's My Boy

I swear.

A lot.

I make no apology for it. I don't do it in front of the Little Ducks or Mrs Duck Senior and I try to keep it to reasonable levels at work; but apart from that, my speech is peppered with Fucks and Bollocks and Twats*.

I embrace the Anglo-Saxon as an important and useful part of our heritage, but tend to stick to the classics to be honest. The Urban Dictionary is a closed book to me and I am astounded at some of the expressions from everyday life that take on a whole new meaning therein**

JP shies away from it. He even spent the Transformers 2 movie counting the swear tally, while Tiddler just watched the fighty fighty bits open-mouthed.

Tiddler just keeps getting better at it. Normally when you hear kids swearing, it's comical. They can't get it right at that age. They use the wrong one, or put it in the wrong place, or use the wrong tense.

Not Tiddler. When he thinks he's out of earshot, he relishes in bloodys and fucks and hells. Obviously there's trouble if I catch him. Current punishments are confiscations of Go-Gos or Playstation privilege withdrawal.

The trouble is, there's part of me that just wants to give him points for getting it so right. Perhaps it's in the genes.

* But not the C-Word. I just can't bring myself to say it, ever.
** Look up tromboning or bathing the dog. or don't. I'd go with don't.

Morningtime 2009

So we haven't talked about early mornings for a while. 'Are the Little Ducks sleeping till reasonable o'clock these days?' - you ask.

Thank you, but no. They wander into my bedroom, sometime around 6-6.30am - but their established routine of awkward questions has branched out.

Tiddler's had a particularly good week.

Day One: It's still dark outside. He comes in quietly, gets in bed and starts speaking French - specifically counting from 1 to 12. 'We're doing 13-32 next week', he informs me. I'm curious. If you can get to 32, you can pretty much get to 69 - same principles. I don't push it - soixante-neuf is not something I want to hear from Tiddler's mouth at the moment*.

Day Two: I hear a strange noise and open one eye. Tiddler has his face buried in my red bra and is sniffing it. 'Your bra smells really nice', he comments. 'It's Comfort' - I inform him. 'Same as your boxers. Go sniff them'.

Day Three: I am awakened by a flash. Tiddler has my phone and is photographing me asleep in sepia. 'I videoed you asleep as well' - he announces proudly. Then he plays back videos from the Oasis concert. 'How did you get all the pictures and videos back?', I ask him. I had thought they were wiped off by mistake. He shows me and also demonstrates how to zoom in and out for good measure. I resign myself to never getting in touch with my inner geek.

Day Four: Much better. I am awakened by a kiss. Tiddler gets in and snuggles up. I relax.

So JP takes up the baton. 'You can actually rip flesh with your own teeth if you really tried' - he tells us both as he strolls in. 'The Aztecs did it if they didn't have any weapons'.

I reflect on how nice it was to wake up in peace in a hotel last week, as I reach for my dressing gown and go in search of a reviving cup of tea.

*The swearing debate continues with Pink joining Lily Allen as a PottyMouth - more on that another day.

Owen Goal Update

Appearances: 8/11
Minutes Played: 237
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:119
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally**: 10

** Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (30 mins), goal frequency (every 119 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (30 Prem games and c15 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 73%). So 45 games x 73% = 33 appearances. 33/4 = 8 more goals**

Owen Goal

There are some things that shall remain sacred and the allocation of the number 7 shirt at OT to only those special ones worthy of the honour is one of them.

I can just about reconcile myself to the fact that He Who May Not Be Questioned signed the Scouse Dwarf, on the basis that it didn't cost any of our hard-earned Fan Cash, but I just cannot bear to see him sporting 7.

Of course, when HWMNBQ signed Ronaldo and paraded him in the same shirt, there was widespread criticism that an untested young showpony from Portugal should be entrusted with the legacy of Beckham, Cantona, Robson, Coppell, Best et al, but no-one can argue that it was ultimately in safe hands and he proved himself more than worthy.

But Owen - whose pedigree owes more to Darren 'Sicknote' Anderton than to his predecessors in the Sacred Seven - will never reach those heights for United. He can barely reach the physio's table at Carrington.

I think he can score goals, but only if he's fit enough to play and I don't believe he will be - at least not consistently.

So following our Keeganwatch tradition, SkyBet and Lanky Shaq have my roll of tenners on Owen scoring less than 12 competitive goals this season.

Appearances: 8/10
Minutes Played: 237
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:119
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally*: 11

True to form, he's now out with a groin injury so his possible appearances drops week by week.

I'm quietly confident.


* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (30 mins), goal frequency (every 119 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (31 Prem games and c15 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 80%). So 46 games x 80% = 37 appearances. 37/4 = 9 more goals.**

** Maths teacher's daughter. Genes will out!

Gotcha!

So I'm quietly going about my business in the house, when I happen to glance out of the kitchen window at the Purple Garden and see this:



I rush outside to check if Tiddler has a pulse, a string of expletives trailing behind me.

I kneel beside him and reach out gently.

He opens one eye, places his thumb and forefinger on his forehead in what is clearly a 'Loser' gesture, grins, and shouts 'Gotcha!'

I am ready to kill him!

But then I realise he has only just turned 7 and this is a quality prank, well-executed.

I grin back. 'Nice one, Tiddler'

We high five, and I get him to reassume his pose so that I can photograph it for posterity.

Noel's House Party is alive and prospering in Friendly Drive - although he doesn't award me a Golden Gotcha as a memento, which is slightly disappointing.

45 Things

1. I draw smiles in my Guinness
2. I am slightly colour blind
3. I was a finalist on The Weakest Link
4. I once said I Love You to Ian Botham
5. My favourite food is sausage and mash
6. I have a phobia about balloons7. I can do the Rubik's Cube
8. I love the perfect stolen kiss in The Wedding Singer
9. I have tiny feet
10. I carry a Mighty Sword*
11. Technology baffles me
12. I am a blood donor
13. I speak fluent french
14. I don't like tomato ketchup
15. I love tattoos
16. I rub my nose after playing a pool shot
17. Old Trafford is my favourite place in the world
18. I drink warm milk at bedtime
19. I would like to model for a life class
20. I own a set of flying ducks
21. I have medals for ballroom dancing
22. I am terrible at geography
23. I am proud to be Welsh
24. My talisman is a tiny wizard.
25. I know how déjà vu works
26. I make great cheesecake
27. I remember everything
28. I am completely buoyant
29. I do not park
30. I love the Beatles31. I hate shopping
32. I have no pain threshold
33. I once held a tarantula
34. I shared a lift with Brad Pitt on my honeymoon
35. I wish my teeth were straight
36. I cry at Coronation Street37. I wear red underwear to football
38. I get cranky when I'm hungry
39. I know the secret of happiness
40. I hate being tickled
41. I can say the alphabet backwards
42. I like toy boys

43. I hate fun fairs

44. I can cure hiccups
45. Today is my birthday


*Aka Swiss Army Knife

Uncomfortably Numb

I don't really do Nights Out In Town.

Years ago, NOIT tended to end in disaster for me. For instance:

Walking into a canal fully-clothed at the Water Witch in Lancaster and then trying to persuade a cab to take a dripping, stinking girl home;

Ending up in hospital for a week with concussion, after a shoulder ride race round university campus ended with my forehead meeting a low beam and the back of my head meeting a pavement;

But that was a long time ago, so I wasn't particularly apprehensive when, for the first time since moving to East Lancs 13 years ago, I planned a NOIT.

We went to see Think Floyd at the local Met, following up a trip to The Australian Pink Floyd Show earlier in the year in Manchester. They were fantastic.

So far so good.

It was Ginger Rick's birthday, so we had all arranged to meet up after the concert at a local cellar bar to celebrate. Or so I thought.

Apparently dimly-lit, slippery flights of stairs and three inch wedge heels don't mix and I plummeted unceremoniously down the steps to the bottom.

The results from A & E read as follows:

2 bumps to the head,
Cut cheek - now scarred
Cut and bruised arm
Bruised knee
Severely bruised thigh
2 cracked ribs.

I'm thinking I might leave it another 13 years before doing it again.

And in a twist of ironic fate, while the Little Ducks are holidaying in Mexico, I got Flu last week - the coughing from which has re-cracked my ribs!

Thank you and good NOIT.

Back To The Future

After school each day a motley collection of under 10's with grey shorts and scabby knees dump their schoolbags and congregate on the street.

There is a patch of wasteground by the ginnel with shoulder-high grass and climbable trees - perfect for dens and hide and seek. It's also home to frogs which are carted in tupperware tubs back to home-made habitats in buckets.

Leslie, the icecream man, in an ancient Whippy van signals the children for 99s with raspberry sauce and flakes every Wednesday.

They spend hours making sand out of rocks by grinding them on the pavement.

They build dams with sticks, stones and leaves when the cars get their weekly wash and streams of soapy water trail down the gutters to the drains.

They use traffic cones for goalposts, bins for stumps, and play endless games of Tig, requiring no props save laughter, enthusiasm and the ability to dodge and weave.

Sunny days bring swim shorts and water guns for running battles in the cul de sac.

They trade football cards and Go Gos, ride their bikes in endless figures of 8 and knock on for any child who hasn't reappeared outside within 10 minutes of arriving home.

No, I'm not reminiscing about my childhood in the 60s. This is 2009 in Friendly Drive.

In the 2000s, if the Daily Mail is to be believed, your stereotypical child sits in front of a screen for entertainment - playing Guitar Hero and befriending 400 people on Facebook. He watches TV on demand, takes no exercise and is losing the art of conversation, his social skills and his childhood.

Unless Friendly Drive is in a time warp, I beg to differ.

And I'm glad.