Bear Ugg!

I have coveted my mother's Ugg boots for years. 

I keep telling myself I will buy a pair, 

but at over £150 plus P+P I've put it off numerous times. 

My train of thought being, when in doubt leave it out. 

I haven't  spent that much on a coat let alone pair of booties. 

During my adulthood there have been times, 

when I have had to live frugally 

and so I do find it hard to splash out sans guilt! 

Don't get me wrong l do treat myself, 

but I think once, twice, thrice beforehand.

 I do also believe very strongly - 

and l have posted on this subject before-

 that the anticipation is the fun part, perhaps this is a case in point.

However during my December visit to my folks, 

I wore almost constantly my mum's older pair of Ugg's 

and they were wonderfully comfy and warm.

(Though not so petty since ''le bodger' applied his handiwork)

So with some Christmas cash and a bit more,

I researched the Ugg phenomena carefully 

and on Boxing Day I ordered a pair from Australianuggs.com

 they were on sale and with the P+P were affordable-ish. 

Yesterday I was advised they were waiting for me at the Parcelforce office 

and I could collect them when I had paid the VAT and charges. 

I wasn't  sure whether to be pleased or miffed, 

they were here but I had incurred charges. 

I had to pay £23 and collected them on the way to work, 

and when I was settled I got them opened. 

The gallery was so quite I tried them on. 

Ahh! so  warm and comfy, though a tad snug, 

as the sheepskin was all springy and upright like a lamb.

However this morning I wore them out as it was cold. 

We dropped off my daughter at work, 

then Larry and I parked up dropped by Starbucks for a skinny latte, for me not him,

 his is drenched with caramel syrup and sugar, I do like sweet but that would make my teeth itch!

then I whizzed around Tesco for a few things, 

which as you know 'a few things '  

very oddly adds up to a weekly ££ shop  at the check out!! 

How does that happen?

The thing of it is, these Uggs make me slop around,

 I can't pick my feet up properly and 

I feel even shorter than my now 5'7" 

(three years ago I WAS 5' 8.5" and no one can tell me why!)  

I got hotter and hotter, until I was flushing from my toes to the tips of my hair, 

removing layer after layer, at the check out 

and beside myself with frazzledness, 

I thought my head would implode 

with all the little explosions in my head. 

Is it the boots, the coffee or me?

I'm not blaming the Ugg's but my now my feet are aching 

from the flat-footedness of them. 

When I look down I feel like Mama Bear with these huge dumpy feet. 

I don;t need bigger feet I'm a size 8!

But I don't feel like that when I wear my mother's, 

perhaps that cos she's worn them in so well 

and maybe its' cos they are hers and all that that implies emotionally!?

 Or is that too deep?!

SO if anyone is after a pair of short,  sheepskin Australian Uggs, size 8 uk - 

you can have then for the price I paid, no more no less -  

btw these are not Deckers UGGS made in China, these are Uggs made is Australia, 

Ugg's but not UGG's  if you understand. 

I think they've got to go!

( or should I wait ...?! duh!)

For 17 years

Summer 1992

For 17 years  ... 

I have held you close

I have watched over you

I have protected you

I have walked the night floors with you

I have kept you warm

I have fed and clothed you

  I have listened to you breathe

I have held your hand

I have heard your every murmur in the night

I have felt your pain

I have applauded your efforts 

I have listened to your troubles

I have poured oil on troubed waters

I have tried to soften the ground when you fall 

I have supported your dreams

    I have been proud of you

    I have walked by your side

I have cherished every moment we have had together

I have watched you grow into a beautiful, intelligent young woman

I look forward to watching you reach for your dreams

I have loved you

I will always love you....

Happy 17th Birthday !!

Summer 2008

My first day of school

Yes I do remember it and another thought provoking question from David Authorblog to stimulate the grey cells!

I was barely four in Sept' 1962 as I was an August baby. (My mother, moannie & MEG , has just written a comment to correct me, I was five!) She handmade me, I remember her sitting stitching it, a grey flannel skirt with straps. My parents made a big fuss of me being so grown up and I was excited but apprehensive too, as there were no nurseries etc to acclimatise us to big school in those days.

I remember walking into this huge brightly lit room, and being asked to sit at a table in the front of the class next to the teachers desk. Everyone else was already in class, l didn't understand why.

The teacher had a wide smile and big teeth, I can see her now. She smelt of cigarette smoke and the thick powder which covered her face. I was always mesmerised by her heavily powdered skin and face. She kept a powder compact and a packet of cigarettes on her desk. I remember the packet had picture of a bearded sailor or stuck through a navy and gold circle, Players l think? She coughed a lot.
I stayed in this teachers' class, whose name for the moment escapes me, as the other kids went up a class I stayed with her, I liked her a lot, she was kind and encouraged me and I soon caught up with my contemporaries. It was my first feeling of inferiority. I remember her very clearly but not so the other pupils. I can only remember their reaction to me when I had caught fleas, from one of them! They called me flea bag forever or so it seemed. On a Friday afternoon we would all squeeze into Mr. Hake's class for story time, my favourite time of the week. I was happy when I left.

We emigrated to Canada in '66 and then moved to Mexico in '67, by the time I returned to the UK system in late '68, I was well behind the others. I soon lost interest and the study ethic and I never really found it until my 40's. I now study with the Open University and I love it!

LIKE A CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF...

...well that's what l was feeling like this morning ... all kind of angsty, itchy and all a fluster, like a cat on a hot tin roof, until my daughter called me that is! Why was I so uptight, because l think l knew more than she what it could all mean....



(LOL... well l can dream I actually resembled my profile pic more!)

We were up early, like thousand of families across the land, I helped her blow dry her new hair style, my old hairdressing years coming into good use. I left for work, she for school already looking more than a year older than she did when she broke up from the fifth year, sorry l mean year 10!

At barely 10.30 she texted, l called her and she exclaimed the results, 10 gcse's, with A*'s, A's, B's, C's and D's to make it a royal flush! Better than she feared, more than she hoped, considering the window of despair in the spring, I'm very pleased for her.



Well done my girl!! Now breathe... and enjoy the new year, the new opportunities and be measured. The world is yours ....



There is something very pure about feeling so much happiness and pleasure for her achievement and for the hopes for her future.

Go Grannie Annie Go! A bit of a tribute actually...

I was reading David McMahon's Authorblog recent post about the oldest 'facebook' member of 100+ and it set me to thinking about my own good mother. It dawned on me that one apparently forgets what is on our own doorstep so to speak, strange isn't it?

My mother, who at 74 has recently graduated with a BA Hons in Humanties from the Open University, after several years of hard work, returning to study (quite successfully) after nearly 60 odd years. She has also 'mastered' a pc and the internet, even though l do use the term mastered loosely! Even so, she emails, scans and sends pics, and has been chatting on a web cam to her grandchildren, which can only be good thing (as we live 400 miles away).


She is a very good painter, who whilst we kids were growing up, she prolifically painted anything that moved and anything that didn't. I remember many of the paintings she did for my grandmother, who was house and wheelchair bound through severe MS. The paintings were of landscapes, family, sunsets, Amazonian Indians, Thai boats and much more from the pages of National Geographic. My Nana could no longer walk or move her arms but she could, from her room travel the world (and boy did that lovely lady have a story or ten to tell, I will blog about her dancing days here one day soon!)

Of course we were all painted often, from life and photos and I also recall Mum would receive much praise from her sand sculptures when we holidayed on the beach, she would spend hours carving mermaids and shapes from the hot sand, only to watch them wash away in moments at sunset.

She has just recently finished writing 'A Family History' which she has compiled over the past few years, following the end of her degree studies, and it is enhanced with rediscovered photographs. She is having it printed up for us for us for Christmas! I have read the drafts and I have been amazed by the adventures of my parents and their forebears' histories.


She wrote a book for us when we were younger, entitled 'Dilly', she wrote it in rhyme and she illustrated each verse on its own page. This one book became three and she later produced versions for my Dad, my siblings and last Christmas I received my very own Dilly! These are personalised stories based around events in each of our lives! What a loving gift to treasure!

An illustration from my Dilly book!

Some 30+ years ago these Dilly books were considered too expensive by childrens publishers to produce in all their colours and were probably considered too clever or sophisticated! Her historical romance novels were praised but rejected, although one agent told her it was almost publishable and needed another edit. But I believe the rejections and the trials and tribulations of juggling a young family and running their own business' wrought upon her to miss her moment.

I recently told my mother l thought she should have another go at getting them published or that l would try for her. So in the short term we compromised and we have put the first chapter of 'MEG:Book one' online on her own blog.

When l recently reread the manuscripts, they was so much more than I remembered, perhaps it has something to do we me being 35 years older and bringing more contextually to the book!

I would be grateful if you would pop by sometime and read it, I may be able to persuade her to post another chapter or even pursue the adventure of trying to get it read again. If she gets some positive feedback. I also think that Dilly deserves to be read by children, it is magical!

Of course l know I am biased, but missed moments appear more than once and I believe she deserves hers! My mother is currently editing one of her manuscripts. She doesn't yet know l have posted this, no doubt an email will be waiting for me in the morning!!

Thanks and any comments or advice will be much appreciated!!

Read My mothers views on her blog THE VIEW FROM THIS END

The Art of receiving an email or letter!

Which is better to receive a letter or an email?

Have we lost the art of writing?

Are we wasting too much time online, writing unnecessary emails (not to mention blogs, I said not to mention...) and less time with pen and paper writing a meaningful letter?

I often hear older family members and friends talking about this generation losing the Art of the Letter writing. So when I opened a hand written small white envelope yesterday morning, (not a brown envelope or a generic 'to the householder missive' or one with cheap pen inside,) it made me think how I used to really enjoy receiving letters.

I used to go through my own little ritual when this rare commodity arrived on my doormat. This would involve placing the letter unopened on the kitchen table, then I would go about making a cuppa. Prolonging the time until I opened the little treasure, by boiling the kettle, heating the pot and then again for luck. Spending time ruminating about the length, the tone and the content of the letter. I would try and extend the time further until I got to the letter and bring time worn and by now reliable avoidance techniques into play (which I still employ when my open uni' essays are about due). After even more circuitous behaviour, I would sit with a tray of tea and biscuits (by which I probably mean chocolate) and enjoy the letter opening, the unfolding and the reading of! (I'm not supposed to end a sentence with of - am I?)

In recent years with the popularity of and how commonplace the internet now is in our lives, the receipt of letters has dwindled to but one from my mother. Then she went, at the age of 72 or so and connected her computer, that goes by the name of Paco, to the internet. There were promises banded about that we would still keep writing to each other, but it was in vain! Now we get snippy if we haven't exchanged emails every few days. In fact I'm wondering if texts are replacing our emails, but I dont think so, even my kids couldn't live with just texts.

I still do write thank you letters and the like by hand and l'm an obsessive list maker, (are there any women that aren't? ) I'll let you into a secret, when l get emails that look long and chatty from family and friends (or even my phone service provider) and if home alone, I print off the email and go through my little reading ritual, it is just as enjoyable.

Surely keeping in contact and the communication flowing is the important thing here. I think there is more contact not less, its just different.

LOL! Unfortunately the letter this morning, was a bill! Beware white handwritten envelopes, they may not be all that they seem!