Keep taking the pills (the blue one or the red one ?)

I've said before that in my head movies are real. This is sometimes a bit odd as I think something has really happened and it's just a scene in a film I've watched. I'm not alone in this - a man I worked with used to tell stories as if they were real that were lifted from movies. eg. the friend of his who did the a job that sounded really familiar then I realised that was because it was the Edward Norton character in Fight Club - I didn't have the heart to tell my work colleague that he was delusional and we all knew, it seemed too unkind.

Then there are the 'facts' I know because it was in a movie so it must be true. The most disturbing fallout of my obsession with moving pictures, however, is how I perceive life events through the filter of screenwriting cliches. Well mostly romantic comedy cliches actually as those are the movies I tend to watch the most as they require very little thinking and even less active engagement with the plot. The reason I even mention this is that it has become a bit debilitating and I'm borderline agrophobic now for the following reasons:

1. I can't tell Hubbie I love him before he goes anywhere because if I do something terrible will happen to him minutes later while I'm washing up and smiling at nothing in particular (the same applies to anyone I love)

2. When I'm sitting in the car waiting at lights I'm convinced a runaway truck will pitch up out of nowhere and jacknife ploughing straight into unsuspecting me

3. A cough always means something sinister (usually consumption of course.) If it's dismissed as 'nothing just a little tickle in my throat' they're almost certainly a goner !

4. If I meet someone new I can't assume they are entirely trustworthy, they could be an assassin or a private investigator befriending me for nefarious purposes

5. Loud noises at night are always bad news. I once phoned a friend to come over to my flat rather than leave my bedroom to check what the loud noise had been hours earlier. I threw a set of front door keys out of my bedroom window to him in the street and he quietly and carefully climbed the stairs two floors up - so as not to disturb the intruders - armed with something heavy. He kindly gave me the all clear when he'd put the suitcase back up into the bathroom cupboard that it had fallen out of.

Can you imagine how tiring it is trying to unpick the cliches from the probable ? Now bear in mind I've picked the examples that show me in the least crazy light - no really I have ! If I was to go into the Bollywood movie cliches too you'd be all discombobulated. Then there's the whole 'what if the Matrix is real ?' thing when the Sky box goes off for no reason. I didn't say it had to make sense. 

So I'm going to bed now, with the stairs fully lit and not in a skimpy nightdress. 

Wish me luck !  

There is a light that never goes out

Weekends are always packed in our family with my zumba class, the boys going to rhymetime and football and all of us going swimming. Fitting in anything extra requires logistics that would make the MOD proud. We did, however, manage to find a space in the schedule to attend an open day for a school this weekend. My boy loved everything about it and yelled like a banshee when we moved him from one fun filled room to another as he realised that all of it was geared toward keeping him occupied.

A bit of tutoring with Daddy

As neither Hubbie nor I went to an independent school it was a whole new experience and refreshing to meet teachers who can spell, use grammar and don't dress like I did in my second year at university. I'm not sure why we received a free teddy bear and a big helium filled balloon to take away with us, but I think that is designed to distract from the sting of the fees they charge. I did find myself picturing my son in a school with small class sizes, a swimming pool onsite and an interactive whiteboard in every classroom - including the nursery ones. 

Of course the point of an open day is to show the school in the best possible light and to sell it to potential parents. The main concern I have is whether considering a fee paying school for our son is a sign that we have entirely lost touch with our idealistic notions and rewritten our own history. From being an activist about everything at university to waking up one day middle aged is a salutary lesson.

However, I do console myself that at least I recognise that I'm not a fearless upstart any more. Imagine living with the massive denial that the former frontman of the Smiths labours under. Morrissey has never been a bundle of laughs. Witness the cheerless titles the Queen is Dead, Girlfriend in a Coma and Meat is Murder, as opposed to Vicar in a Tutu and Shoplifters of the World Unite which I thought demonstrated how the Smiths were funny and their lyrics amusing, but now I'm not so sure.

Hand on glove and plant in back pocket

There was a time when Morrissey was the angry young man and poster child for sullen and disaffected youth with his precocious commentary on modern life and all it's failings. Now he's an older man he still deigns to make controversial pronouncements from his cosy ex-pat life in LA where he thinks his teenage rants are still relevant.

Out of loyalty we still listen to his rants, but he's less a national treasure and more a Victor Meldrew figure with a cooler following (my father-in-law thinks One Foot in the Grave is hilarious, but he has no idea who the Smiths were). People of my generation still think Mozzer is like a cool uncle who used to take us to festivals and is now vaguely embarrassing, but we're still loyal to him out of respect for what he once was to us. Anti-establishment and so very clever.

I'm not saying I'm going to get rid of my weird and wonderful music, or give my tour t shirts to charity as a sign that I've grown up. After all I've still got my original Doc Marten boots to show my son when he thinks he's the first teenager to be rebellious and/or misunderstood. 

What I am saying is that when it's his turn he's going to have to go some to find a style of music and a political viewpoint that we find completely disagreeable. If he wanders into the house with a long floppy fringe and a canvas bag with Nine inch Nails written on it in felt tip I will smile knowingly to myself - I just won't let on to him. 

You have nothing to fear… except the things you're frightened of

I was scrolling through the BBC website and saw this article about China's Ghost projects  which include a theme park that was built and is now used to grow crops, a 'British Town' that is only used for wedding photo shoots and most disturbing (to me at least) a shopping mall with 1500 empty shops. This is the stuff of nightmares. Endless corridors of emptiness and the haunting echoes of masses of space with no purpose.

It disturbed me most because it made me feel very queasy and reminded me of my own irrational fear which I rarely share and am now making public. I have a phobia of empty swimming pools. When I posted this on Facebook a friend confessed to the same fear and suggested googling it. Then something odd happened. I have never felt the need to look into this fear before so I have no idea how common or otherwise it may be. I found out that it's not uncommon and that some sadist has put lots of images of empty swimming pools under the heading 'fear of empty swimming pools' which comes up about third in the search results.

A non-scary swimming pool

It's as though some wag is trying aversion therapy on the sly. I genuinely don't want to see images of swimming pools in a state of disrepair or with a small muddy puddle at the bottom of an otherwise drained space. I can't explain why it bothers me so much. I love swimming and an over-full pool bothers me far less. If there is a gap that suggests the pool is slightly under-full I do get a bit anxious. Again, I have no idea why.

I don't want my son to develop phobias so I try to get him to be braver than I ever was. I was a fearful child and it wasn't until I was an adult that I decided to face down some of those fears.

- When I visited my friend Fatima who was living in Toulouse we went a climbing wall as she had taken up climbing as a hobby. As I wrangled with footholds and handholds and negotiated belays and carabiners I didn't think about my fear of heights. From the top I had no choice, but to be ok about it, but I really did feel alright. It also meant that I was able to learn to ski as a fear of heights can be pretty debilitating otherwise.

- How I ended up sitting in a roller coaster at Chessington next to my friend Norm is anyone's guess, seeing as they are not my idea of a good time. As I tried to climb across him to get out he calmly explained that they go slower than I drive a car. Also the man who was eating his lunch sitting under it looked very relaxed about it so it probably wasn't going to kill us all. I can't say I'm an adrenaline junkie now, but at least I'm not completely terrified of them any more.

- It wasn't until my Mum reminded me that I had a toddler tantrum about getting back on a plane that I remembered my childhood fear of flying. I have Hubbie to thank for getting me past this by a) rationalising my fears for me and b) taking the mickey so mercilessly that I was distracted by laughter rather than waiting to plummet thousands of feet into the ocean.

- Another irrational one that my Mum reminded me about was automatic car washes. Apparently as a child I screamed my head off as my Dad drove the car through a car wash and had she not reminded me about it the memory would have remained buried where it belongs. Instead I used to invite people to sit and talk to me while the big rolling brushes threatened to crush us to death. Thankfully now Hubbie and my boy love to wash the car by hand, so I'm spared the trauma.

So, the biggies are dealt with. I'm pretty sure that a fear of empty swimming pools isn't going to have a detrimental effect on my life, but so long as I don't pass it on to my son I'm happy.

We could be heroes… just for one day.

In a previous blog post I mentioned that I was disappointed to not have the chance to go to more events at the Olympics having been to just the beach volleyball and given my tickets away for the hockey. It was purely because Hubbie said I'd love the Olympic Park and it would be worth going to see it. So imagine my joy when he told me he had tickets for us to go to the Paralympics.

A friend of mine was at the Olympic Stadium last night as Jessica, then Greg, then Mo won gold medals and caused uproar all over the country as households watching on TV shouted, leapt up and down and felt patriotic all at once. I can well believe that it was an electric atmosphere and that there will be nothing like it again.

However, I'm not being bitter when I say that I'd rather watch the athletics at the Paralympics - I genuinely would prefer it. Of course it is a stunning achievement to make it to the Olympics and then to break records and win a gold medal all at once. It's also very gratifying to see that Team GB is represented by so many different people from backgrounds that are not traditionally 'British.' All the more enjoyable as only yesterday morning the BNP leafleted our house and I'd love to ask them how they feel about Britain being represented by people they would have 'sent back' or as the Daily Mail would have it 'plastic Brits'.

I'd prefer to watch the paralympics because there is an element of the athletes being superheroes. I don't mean this in a condescending way. After all the possibility of disabled athletes competing alongside their non-disabled peers is closer now thanks to Oscar Pistorius or the 'bladerunner' who will be the first person to compete in both the Olympics and the Paralympics. Equally South Korea's Im Dong-hyun who is completely blind competed in the archery at the Olympics.

This inclusion has to be a good thing for all involved in sport as it opens up the world of competition to anyone willing to put their effort into training for a world class event. What distinguishes a disabled athlete from the rest of us is the same as what distinguishes any athlete from the rest of us. It's not their disability it's their ability to train, commit and work hard enough to be better than the rest of us at something.

What I do hope in taking my son to the Paralympics is that he understands that disability is just another facet of life. That he will grow up to know that someone who is different in one way can still do amazing things and achieve great awards. I also want him to not feel embarrassed about disability in the way that so many people still are. Once I asked a colleague if he had been injured skiing as I hadn't noticed he walked with a stick before. He told me he had polio as a child, no big deal and we moved on. Another colleague was embarrassed on my behalf, which I just don't understand. Why is it not ok to ask a disabled person a question ? Surely better to ask and know the answer unless the person being asked is not ok about it.

A paralympian is as exceptional compared with any disabled person as Jessica Ennis is compared with me. Of course the latter is an unfair comparison as even if she weren't a lot younger and fitter than me Jessica still has the ability to be good at more than one sport while I struggle to just learn the rules.

So from a total sport-phobic I'm now an (albeit temporary) fanatic. It won't last so rest assured that I'll be back to talking about cakes and chocolate again before too long.

When will I, will I be famous ?

You are probably aware that Andy Warhol is attributed with saying that in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes. Well it's the future now (compared with then) and we have the insidiousness of reality TV fame which enables the mentally ill to convince themselves that they are "living the dream." That dream appears to be to marry in haste (and often), have a lot of children, get divorced, develop an eating disorder and sell photos of each of these events to trashy magazines. I think I prefer my dreams to be a polar bear or an astronaut thanks.

I am not immune to the lure of fame, only in my experience it has been separate events where I have had a fleeting brush with fame. Well, strictly speaking with the famous as the closest I've ever been (or want to be) is where I've spotted a famous sort. So here, as usual in no particular order, is my 15 minutes of fame (spotting):

- Did I even mention the time Bobby Gillespie grinned at me on the escalator at Highbury and Islington station ? Well he did - he was on the down escalator and I was on the one going up. I stared at him in disbelief and he grinned at me all friendly like - what a lovely man.

- Pop Will Eat Itself walked past me as they were preparing for a gig at my university Students' Union. I knew it was them because of the hair, I don't recall the gig and I have no idea what they do now.

- Me and my friend Neil were in a pub in North London and we saw the woman from Echobelly who isn't Sonia (he recognised her I just stared and tried to work out how I knew her).

- Linda Robson from Birds of a Feather asked me if this was the platform for the London train at Reading station. I told her it was and that there was a train due in about ten minutes. She thanked me.

- I saw Jonathan Ross twice in one week - once at the LWT studios and the other time he and his family were sitting in the row behind me and my sisters at the Leicester Square Odeon watching the Lion King. I told people he was stalking me, but we all know that's just fanciful nonsense don't we ?

- I saw Xander from Buffy in Covent Garden only to find out a few days later that he is one of triplets so it might have been one of his brothers.

- I often see the woman who played Susan the receptionist of the motel where Alan Partridge lived in "I'm Alan Partridge."I think Barbara Durkin lives in Croydon - Ahaa !!

- I've also seen the actress who was the mother of Jan Francis in Just Good Friends (Sylvia Kay). I stopped let her cross the road in front of my car in Caterham on my way to a Zumba class one Saturday morning. I'm nice like that you know.

- I walked past Nadia from Big Brother on Upper Street - she was pouting and appeared to be waiting for a cab with shades on - it was not a sunny day.

- I saw Sean Pertwee with his son at the N1 centre on Upper Street - it shows great restraint on my part that I didn't just go over and lick him.

- Upper Street clearly is the place for spotting folk as I walked past film critic Kim Newman and Dave Gorman on the same day.

- I had a letter in the Guardian on Saturday once when I reported that I'd seen Jon Ronson on the King's Road with this son Joel. The letter was in his writing style - if you google it there may even be some record of it in the ether.

- I once saw Trinny and Susannah walking arm in arm on the King's Road which led me to wonder if they really do hang out together or if they were filming a programme.

- When we stopped at services on the M4 once me and my Mum saw the singer Paul Young - I had to explain to her who he was.

- I stopped for a cup of tea at the motorway services and spied at another table David Emmanuel - yes him who designed Diana's dress with his wife.

- I nearly bumped into Marc Almond on Tottenham Court Road (the YMCA end) - he looked very shiny.

So there it is - the roll call of fame that I've been in proximity to. The eagle-eyed will notice that it's not scientific, but as some of these encounters were so fleeting the sum total is probably around 15 minutes.

I am expecting a call from Hello any day now as I'm practically a celebrity in my own right now surely ?

The one where I confess to a craving for Kitchenaid

I've watched a few Saturday Kitchens in my time - I don't have a thing for James Martin I just love watching people cook and the celebrity Masterchef bits always make me shout "what do you know about food Torode you saddo !" The main thing I love is when they start cooking something and use lots of fabulous gadgets. I have to admit that I have a few of my own: some electric mixers, a lot of spatulas, whisks, beaters, an electric cheese grater (don't ask !) and at one point I had a mushroom brush. A brush to wash mushrooms with in the shape of a mushroom. I have no idea where that went and I miss it.

I am the person who treats the Lakeland brochure like a guilty pleasure and hides it under the sofa cushions when Hubbie walks in. I fold the corners over when I see something I might find useful one day. The banana holder, the wine glass charms, the weights for the corners of tablecloths used outdoors. Yes at some point I've expressed a genuine passion for each of these items, but thankfully I've not purchased any of them. At some point I rationalise that I won't really need them and I already have so many boxed gadgets I don't use. 

Then along came Kitchenaid. It's the machine that Lorraine Pascal uses to mix her lovely cakes and pastries. It's the wondrous item whirring away on the counter whisking eggs while James Martin blathers on about something to the featured sleb on the show. I believe it's also featured in Nigella's kitchen, but I don't think I've seen the beloved Nigel Slater using one. I think I'm actually in love with it.

The issue is that I cannot bring myself to be ok with spending over £400 on a food mixer. Yes it's gorgeous and it probably is better than my humble Breville mixer that judders when it's on and where the paddles don't quite reach the base of the bowl. However, I don't see myself as a high end kitchen gadget user. I once talked myself out of asking for a small blowtorch for Christmas as I reasoned that I don't like creme brulee and what else would I realistically use it for other than to crisp the sugar topping on one ?

It's the same argument I use against having a range cooker. I love them so much, but I don't think my amateur efforts justify spending four figures on something I'd be too scared to use as it cost almost as much as a small family car. Hubbie very sweetly says he'd like to treat me to these luxury goods, something about "the style to which I'd like to become accustomed." I think it's nice to have far flung dreams that are ever so slightly unattainable.

Of course if anyone is offering me my dream kitchen complete with range cooker, enormous Smeg fridge and the entire Kitchenaid range it would be terribly rude to turn it down wouldn't it ?

lip-smacking, gnocchi-making, cheerleading, hubbieman :o)

So I was watching Ocean's Eleven the other evening and while I drooled watching Brad and George it occurred to me that I have very pedestrian taste in the men I lust after from afar. It isn't like I'm the only one to have noticed that William Bradley Pitt is a good looking chap so I console myself with the knowledge that I noticed him first.

It was while watching Thelma and Louise at university (as an example of feminism in film) that my least feminist thoughts came to me about the character of JD. It's mainly that thing he does when he licks his lips - which any girl who has read romantic fiction will tell you is what the hero does right before he kisses you passionately.

Similarly I remember George - before he was considered gorgeous - as Booker in Roseanne, a wholly unlikeable character who dated Roseanne's sister Jackie and was written out fairly early on. I recall thinking he was yummy, but feeling bad about it as he was such a git. So imagine my feeling of joy when years later he reappeared as a doctor in ER and it was ok to fancy him again ! Of course the real appeal of George isn't his twinkly look, it is his complete refusal to settle down. Remember how Warren Beattie was the sexiest man alive and considered untameable, so when he finally did marry Annette Bening his sex appeal vanished. George is far too savvy to risk it, so it gives all of us hope that we might get a go. Well, if Mariella Frostrup and Lisa Snowdon can go out with him then I'm pretty sure we're all in with a chance.

In reality neither of them would be quite considerate enough for me which is why I'm with my hubbie. Ok, it's not the only reason, it's not like I weighed up the odds of ending up with either George or Brad and decided that hubbie was a better bet. He did the leg work and continues to put up with the insanity that is my approach to life. Whether it's the ever changing house rules, "I never use the stripey glass for water." "Can I have some water in the stripey glass please ? Of course it's ok, it's a glass isn't it ?" or my inability to read instructions that come with anything, he is the most patient of human beings.

At the time I met my hubbie I'd been online dating for a while and had met the usual array of weirdos, loonies and men who suddenly realise they are alone and all their friends are paired off so they had better meet someone pretty soon. (Don't worry they say equally lovely things about the women they met). My expectations were low and I was just grateful to meet an intelligent man who didn't mind being beaten by a woman in a debate. When we actually started to go out with each other (I can't say dating, it sounds too american and formal for the carnival of drinking and eating our way round London that was our early courtship) I realised that maybe I didn't have unattainable standards, I'd just been going out with completely the wrong people. We went to an italian restaurant one evening and I fancied gnocchi which I was told they didn't have, so I changed my order. A week later when we were having dinner at his place he cooked me gnocchi and I told him that it was my favourite pasta. Later he confessed that he made it because I'd been disappointed at the restaurant and he wanted to make me happy. Seriously, how often does someone tell you they want to make you happy ?

Now, having been married for five years he has gone from hanging on my every utterance to selective deafness (which happens in all marriages I'm told) and as we live together the element of surprise is pretty non-existent. So you can imagine my delight when I received an unexpected early Christmas present on Saturday. I'd just been on Radio London telling Robert Elms that my dream would be to learn to fly and hubbie and baby were in the other room cheering me along. When the item finished hubbie went upstairs to get something and came back and presented me with the gift of a flying lesson. Apparently when we were out exploring a few weeks back and managed to end up at Biggin Hill I mentioned that I'd love to have a go at flying and he had remembered.

So you see Brad and George, while you are wealthy and famous and good looking and have a special place in my heart, it will always be just below the place reserved for hubbie.