In which I bemoan the nonsense of modern songsters.

It's been a couple of weeks since I've blogged, so you'd think that I'd at least have the decency to make this a good one, wouldn't you.  Well tough luck kids, because I don't really have much to say.  But you've got to learn at some point, it's a tough world out there and you can't always get what you want.  Which reminds me of something that has been playing on my mind a bit recently, in a round about sort of way.

Have you heard that new song by The Wanted?  I didn't really know who they were, so I looked them up. As it turns out, they are a fairly generic British boy band. Not really my thing, but actually not too terrible. Until they recently released a monstrosity of a song called "Walks Like Rihanna".  It seems to be based around the concept that you can be quite generally shit at everything, but it'll be ok if you walk like Rihanna. Riiiiiiiiight.  Does this mean I need to start striding around the place, punctuating my strut with the occasional slut drop on my way over to the office printer?  It's inadvisable.  I suggested it last week on Facebook, my friend gave it a go, and HR are now involved.  I think I'll carry on with my usual plodding gait and be done with it.

This is not the first time that songsters have advised us to do this sort of thing.  Remember when Maroon 5 tried to suggest that it would be a good thing if we all had Moves Like Jagger?  Good lord. The man's about 203 years old. And he moved like he didn't have full control of his limbs when he was in his prime.  Yesterday, a friend of mine commented that he looked like a giant twiglet. This is true.  A twiglet that doesn't have full control of his limbs. And probably tastes considerably less Marmitey, so WHAT'S THE POINT.

And where will this nonsense end?  Will we at some point in the near future be urged to have Hair Like Donald Trump? Toes Like Megan Fox's Thumbs?! (seriously she has toe thumbs, Google it).  Call me old fashioned, but for now I'm going to stick to having Naps Like Your Nana.

Memories

Memory is a funny thing, isn't it? I have a terrible memory and remember very little of my childhood. I only really recall stories that have been told and retold so many times that the original event is almost meaningless, because the memory lies in the story telling.  But I do remember some really stupid stuff.

It occurred to me today that I cannot recall a single birthday party that I had as a child (unless you count being taken on a plane for the first time on my eleventh birthday, to Paris and my dad MORTIFYING me by speaking to the pilot and getting the entire plane to sing happy birthday to me. Very sweet now, but at the time ground-swallowingly MORTIFYING).

But I vividly remember the vague feeling of surprise that I felt the first time that I saw a picture of Pat Sharp after he'd had his mullet cut off.  I've looked it up. That happened in 1992, so I would have been 14.

I can't remember the names of most of my teachers, even the ones that I liked.  I can't recall the plotlines of books that I have read and sometimes get halfway through a film before faintly realising that I've already seen it.  But I remember very clearly having a dream featuring an evil cartoon milkman who was delivering poisoned milk to everyone.  It was so vivid that for years I was convinced that I'd seen it on TV, but I've never been able to find a reference to it.

I had a dog called Lizzie when I was little, right up until I was nineteen. I struggle to remember her face (mainly because I get Murdoch's furry little mooey superimposed on it whenever I try to conjure it up), or how soft to the touch her fur was.  But if I know a song, I can name it within the first few notes that I hear.

What weird memories do you have?  Or not have? Is your brain as weird as mine?

This week has mostly been like.....

Badly drawn girl

Zombie Hoof

Recently, we have been plagued on our morning walks.

It all started a few weeks back, with the unfortunate death of a young deer. We don't know how the deer died, only that our dogs discovered the carcass and found it irresistible. It may be the most exciting thing they have ever seen, smelt, eaten. To we mere humans, this carcass may appear unutterably disgusting, a foul, stench-ridden harbinger of doom. To our dogs; manna from heaven.

After a while, scavengers had pretty much taken the deer leaving only a few scraps. Which is where our problem began. When we were out in the woods early one morning, we called our dogs away from the area that we knew held the deer remains. They all came, but one was not alone. In her mouth, she held what become known as the highest prize of all. The Zombie Hoof. So called because despite our best efforts to dispose of the Hoof it keeps coming back. 

The Hoof has been thrown in a tree. A short while later it was back in a dog's mouth, being paraded about. 

The Hoof was buried in the woods, but sure enough, a while later there it was. Covered in dirt and dog slobber. The Hoof.  

Quite frankly, our nerves are shot.  I fully expect to be sat at my desk at work, only to suddenly hear a *tap tap tap* at the window. Zombie Hoof!  It's like that bit at the end of the horror movie where the monster JUST REFUSES TO DIE. Except it's already dead. 

It's affecting our lives.  We used to have such lovely conversations on our early walks.  Now they all go a little like this.

"I really liked that butterscotch tart it was totally GAH! Zombie Hoof!"

"Drop it"

"Drop it"

"DROP IT!!!!!"

"Good boy. Now leave it."

"Leave it"

"LEAVE IT".

and so on. 

And just when we thought that matters couldn't get any worse, one of the dogs found Zombie Skull this morning......

*sigh*

Boston

I'm not sure that I have the right words to explain why yesterday’s events in Boston have made me so upset, but I'm going to try.  A non-runner will not fully understand this.  They will be upset by what has happened, and I'm certainly not belittling that.  They will connect with these people at the most basic human level, with the part of all of us that cries out when another being is hurt.  But a non-runner may not know why it is so upsetting that it has happened to these people on this day.

Whenever I've run a marathon, I've had conversations with my non-running friends and have always failed to really make them understand that the 26.2 on the day is the reward.  The pay off for all of the other miles that have been run.  Hours and hours of running spread over months.  Running in the dark.  Running in the cold and the wind and the rain and the mud and the snow.  Running when you don’t really feel like it.  Running when your friends are out at the pub, or tucked up warm in bed on an early Sunday morning in February. 

And that few runners do it alone. 

Those miles have been supported by friends and family.  Those who run with us.  Those who wait patiently at home looking after the kids so that we can go out and train.  Those who understand that for the hundredth time, we’re not going to be coming to the pub / cinema / drinks party.  Because we’re training.  So yesterday should have been the payoff.  Not just for the runners.  But for the friends and family who got to come and support and cheer those runners through the last 26.2 miles of the journey that they have shared together.  It should have been a celebration.  And someone stole that from them.  Not just the people who died or got hurt.  But from all of them.  

So I’m upset.  And quite frankly mad as hell.

I ran a marathon on Sunday in Brighton. I made it safely over the finishing line and got a PB.  My sister, brother in law and my two year old niece were there to support me.  It was a wonderful day, a celebration.

  

I saw a quote on twitter earlier that I hope we can live up to.  Stay strong, runners.  

If you're trying to defeat the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to target

Quiet Panic

Hey everyone.

I just realised that I have just over three weeks until I run the Brighton Marathon.  I got an email with my race number through today *gulp*.  Hahahaaa.  I'm sure I'll be just fine *gulp*

My main source of panic at the moment is that I kinda forgot that I have a minimum fundraising amount for this one.  I have to raise £400 for Canine Partners, who are a fantastic charity.  You guys know where this is going.

PLEASE SPONSOR ME!

That's right.  I'm at the point of shameless begging.

There are options here.

1.  You can just sponsor me.  Dig deep, you wonderful, generous people and give whatever you can.

2.  You can sponsor my playlist.  I did this last time and got SHAFTED with some unutterable music, so I'm putting a clear pricing structure in place.  Here's how it's going to work.

• For a mere £5, you can pick a song to go onto my playlist and I will listen to it and think of you and your wonderful generosity while I run 26.2 miles around Brighton on the 14th April.
• If you donate £10, you can pick three songs.  Woo hoo!

Minor exceptions

Some artists come with a higher price tag, as follows:

• A minimum donation of £15 for anything by Justin Bieber 
• A minimum of £20 for anything by Celine Dion, Mariah Carey or anything Michael Jackson did after the Bad album.  

Major exception

If any unkind individual wants me to listen to Earth Song by Michael Jackson, they must sponsor me £50.  That song makes me want to go on a mad axe rampage and if I'm going to listen to it during a marathon, then I want the BIG BUCKS.

I do already have songs ready to go on my playlist, some of them you may recognise from the last time I did this.  That's right.  I'm going to show you all my highly embarrassing marathon playlist.  It's pretty bad.  

Yep. My musical taste pretty much stopped growing in 1987

Most of the songs are on there because they make me feel cheerful, or make me laugh even when I'm feeling pretty low.  Feel free to laugh at me, or express your displeasure in the comments section below.  But even more importantly, sponsor me HERE! and make sure that you let me know which song(s) you want me to add, either on my Justgiving page, here on the blog, or via Facebook or Twitter.  Thanks in advance, you're all wonderful.

Mind the Gap

Sometimes the gap between who I think I am (who I'd like to be?) and who I actually am is huge.

This has been brought home to me in a number of ways recently.

1.  The quinoa conundrum

I'm a bit of a homebody.  I spend a lot of time at home (more on that later), so I'd like to see myself as someone who has the hang of it all.  Someone with a lovely clean, tidy, well put together home, who could welcome people in at the drop of a hat, possibly whipping up a quick batch of scones for them, without smudging my lipstick.  You know the sort of thing.  Nigella Lawson crossed with Kirsty Allsopp.  Well, I'm busty, dammit, so I should be able to pull this off.  And yet, somehow I'm hopeless.  As I sit here on my sofa and type this, I can see mess everywhere.  My washing is drying on the curtain rail in my living room and my knickers are on the radiator.  I wouldn't want to invite anyone here, and I certainly don't have the makings of scones in the cupboard.

What I do have in the cupboard is quinoa.  Lots of it.  I first bought it, oh, about a year ago, cooked some, quite liked it, and then promptly threw it to the back of the cupboard.  A few weeks ago, I bought a book of quinoa recipes from the Book People. It's still in the bag.  I just took it out to take a photo.  Here it is.

Delicious!

So in an attempt to unleash my inner domestic goddess, I am........ [drum roll]........

GOING TO COOK SOMETHING FROM THE BOOK THIS WEEK.  Then I will blog about it.   

2.  An intro-version of me.

A couple of weeks ago, B sent me a text message, telling me about a book I had to read.  It's called Quiet: The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking.  She said that she kept thinking about me as she read it.  I was initially astounded by this statement. Me?  Quiet?! Ahahahahhahaaaaaa!! No, really.  Aaaahahahahhahaaaaaaaaa!  Sorry.  But I trust B, she's amazing and she knows me well.  So I downloaded it to my Kindle and got around to reading it last week.  Well blow me down with a feather.  I'm an introvert. This has never occurred to me before.  Because, well, you know.  I'm quite loud.  And full of quips and banter and things.  But nonetheless, I am quite clearly an introvert.  I prefer low key social situations where I'm with people I know, but even then I often get overwhelmed and need to go, be quiet, regather myself. 

Source: fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net via Chelsea on Pinterest

If I'm out with friends, and there is a plan to go to a bar after we've had dinner, I excuse myself and head home.  I am quite clear that I do not want to be in the bar.  It is too much.  It is likely to be loud, with lots going on and it is JUST TOO MUCH.

Source: Uploaded by user via Lindsey on Pinterest

I'm only about halfway through the book, but it's just fantastic, and I recognise so much of myself in it.  I highly recommend it, if you are introverted (or suspect that you may be!) or you are close to someone who is.

3.  Homework.

I worked from home today.  I have an important presentation next week and wanted to work away from the distractions of the office so that I could focus on the task in hand (interestingly, open plan offices are not ideal for many introverted people, who need space and quiet to function better.  Who knew?).  In my mind, I thought that I'd be quietly sitting and thinking about the requirements of the project, maybe with a pencil lodged quirkily behind my ear.  In my mind, I'm wearing something simple, casual and stylish as I sip a cup of tea and ponder the needs of my client.  I'd be pacing up and down, before suddenly having a moment of inspiration and rushing over to my laptop to type furiously.  Hmmmmm.  In reality, I've spent all day in my hoodie and pyjama bottoms.  Alternately thinking about the client's needs and stuffing mini poppadoms into my gob.  I haven't had a cup of tea all day.  GASP.

But the good news is that I do have a handle on what we're doing for the presentation on Tuesday.  So I guess sometimes, it's not how you get there, but the end result that counts.  Phew.