Everything I Know Comes from a Song

Father Abraham had seven sons.  That's what I thought, that's what the song says.  It's not a song you sing while sober, so maybe I've miscounted.

Today, I learnt that he only had two, Ishmael and Isaac and that one of the sons founded Judaism and the other the Islamic religion, so far from being the father of seven sons he was in fact the father of at least seven, if not more, religions.  

One of the great things about working with teachers is the quality of conversation in the staff room.  Following on from the bombshell that Abraham only had two sons the conversation quickly moved through religion in general, to how important going to church on Sunday was and ended with a discussion on how life has changed that made me feel ancient.

When I (and only one other member of staff) was young nothing was open on a Sunday and so going to Church was something to do.  When I visited my grandparents I loved going to their church with them.  I don't think they had a TV (or if they did it was never on) and I wasn't allowed to play out. So, by 10am Sunday morning I was climbing the walls with boredom and church was a brilliant diversion.  Although, I loved my grandparent's church.  It was a high Church with bells, whistles, incense, bits of cardboard on the tongue, a sip of wine and great songs. After Church they would take me to visit relatives that I didn't know.  My favourites were the Erps - just because it was such a great name. The Erps grew cucumbers, to which I was addicted.  I am lucky to be alive because my grandad was the worst driver in the history of drivers ever and I was always terrified.  There were no car seats or seat belts and they would always get an extra cucumber because to calm my anxieties about the journey I would eat a whole one on the way home.  An afternoon of knitting, singing and story telling followed.

At home, I went to Sunday school because my friends were the vicar's children and it was the only way I got to play with them on a Sunday and the songs were great.  We sang everything from Jesus Hands to This Little Light of Mine to the Wombling Song.

Other member's of staff couldn't imagine what it would be like if nothing was open on a Sunday.  After a while the local newsagents opened in the morning so you could get the Sunday paper.  I remember old money and taking pop bottle back to the shop and being allowed to keep the 3d you got back for the bottle. 3d bought you a lot of shrimps, foam bananas and black jacks. We were allowed to walk to the shop on our own (from a very young age).  My sister was brought back from the shop in tears because she had walked up and asked for sweets and then got upset because they wanted money for them.

Sunday afternoon was the worst.  There were no distractions.  There might have been a grainy black and white film (a good day if it was a musical) on the TV and my parents always slept.  Thinking about it now, it was probably the three bottles of wine, large Sunday roast, and home-made apple pie.  Counting the cloves in the apple pie to see if you were going to marry a tinker, tailor, solider or sailor was a highlight of the day.  Especially if you got to marry a soldier who was a rich man, you dressed in satin and the wedding was going to be sometime.  I always liked sometime, it was so mysterious.

Then it was Ski Sunday, Songs of Praise, Egg on Toast, a bit of cake and bath night.

Oh we knew how to live.

An Embarrassing Evening

Oh the shame.  I can't tell you how mortified I am.  Probably, this evenings events should be kept to myself and not blogged about but laughing at myself is my favourite hobby so here goes.

I suffered from flatulence.  Loud, rumbling, earth shaking wind.

 Not a problem in your own home you would think and I was in my own home but I was teaching an 8 year old how to play the flute. Tomorrow it will be all round the school. "Guess what happened in my flute lesson yesterday?"  Then, to make matters worse I had a sip of water as the same pupil told me that she had named her budgerigars Kate and Will and so snorted the water through my nose.

Will & Kate

 Then my son shouted something about dinner, which the pupil thought was really funny.  Finally, the dog started talking and the long suffering husband answered him.

When my last pupil left I rushed to see the end of my daughter's A level music recital practice.  I blundered in, clip clopped across the floor to take my seat only to wheeze and cough through the whole piece. At least I didn't clap out of time, dance or make yum, yum noises at the end.

A Full Time Job

Whatever happened to loyalty?  Once upon a time, when I was younger (a very long time ago), loyalty was rewarded.  Employers wanted their staff to stay for the length of their career.  Experience was valued. Now, money rules but not long term earnings just the fast buck.  Staff are chosen because they can be paid minimum wage (or be on workfare) and older more expensive/experienced staff are forced out or made to feel so uncomfortable they leave.  It's the same with banking.

What is the point of a blog if you can't use it to have a rant and name and shame companies that have really irritated you? So, in true 'Grumpy Old Woman' style this blog is dedicated to Santander.

The long suffering husband has saved with Abbey National for the last 40 years, our first mortgage was with them.  The children have always had their savings accounts there and I saved with Alliance and Leicester, which was gobbled up in the name change.  Last year, I discovered that the good savings rate I had on my savings account (not that I have much savings) had suddenly disappeared so I booked an appointment for advice with the customer adviser.  After much confusion and the completion of several forms I had 2 new accounts, one for my regular savings and one for the money I already had saved.  Both had the best interest rates available.  This week I received a letter to say that the interest rate had changed (now less than on a current account!) so I went in to find out what to do. I was expecting more forms and more confusing discussions but no, they weren't really interested unless I switched my current account to them.

"You see, madam," (why does the title madam always make me want to punch someone?) "There is often a problem with third party money transfers."
"But it's not third party, I would transfer my money from MY account here to MY account there!"
"Oh, but if the money doesn't stay in the group it's considered to be third party."
"So, my money doesn't actually belong to me then?"
"I'm not saying that, it's just that there are always problems."

I went home and spent a few hours researching savings accounts and decided to close my account. When I returned closing a small savings account took 45 minutes.  Admittedly, these were exceptional circumstances.  There were only 2 cashiers serving (actually, I've never seen more than that so I suppose it was a good day) and just as I went to the till the next cashier began to serve a woman who had won the lottery.  This is not a joke, she had won the lottery.  I don't know how much but it was enough to pay off her mortgage, get future authorisations for 2 car purchases, book an appointment for investment advice.  After, my cashier returned her attention back to me (because everything had to stop to congratulate the lottery winner) she confessed that she had never closed an account before and needed some help with it.  But there was no one to help because they were busy with Lottie.  A few shouted instructions got her through and while the system was updating the account she noticed that they queue was out of the door and so she asked if I would mind if she served a few people.  Of course I didn't mind but the next chap spent 15 minutes, checking his pension, paying in pennies he'd saved in a pot, transferring money between different accounts and getting some money out. With the queue still out the door, I returned to the cashier, who still didn't know what she was doing and the supervisor was on a conference call with the investment firm to book an appointment for Lottie. 45 minutes from first taking to the cashier my account was closed and I had a cheque in my hand.
"Thank you for your patience," she said
"Oh, I don't think I have been very patient," I replied.

When I had talked to the adviser the day before I had mentioned how confusing it all was.  His reply was, "Yes, managing your money is a full time job now."
I can see why if it takes 45 minutes to close an account.
Anyway, I don't want a full time job.  I've got 2 part-time jobs, 2 children, a husband, an allotment, a dog, instuments to practice and a blog to write!

There's always Sunday

Hands up teachers.  Who is panicking ever so slightly?

Relax, it's Sunday

Half term holidays (I love the word holiday!) start with great intentions. "I've got a whole week to catch up," you say to yourself.  You make a 2 page list of everything you are going to do.  Marking, planning, reading, tidying, emails.  No piece of work will be left unmarked, every lesson until Easter will be planned, every interesting article about your subject will have been read, your books, music, resources will be organised, you will have emailed everyone about everything you've not had time to do during term time.  But now it's Sunday and you suddenly realise that from the 2 page list you have ticked off 3 things.

So what on earth have you been doing? Did you clean the house (properly for a change), sew buttons on things that have been gaping for 6 weeks, talk to your own children, help your own kids with their homework, make proper dinners, go to bed after 9 O clock, see a couple of friends?

Well that's quite enough of that.  It's Sunday back to the list.

Wishful Thinking

What if?

From the moment you find out you are expecting a child you worry.  Will they have all their fingers and toes? Will they cry all night?  Will they have ginger hair?

You delude yourself that you have some control over what will happen.  You watch other parents and think, "I'm never going to be like that!"  Self-righteousness becomes your middle name.

A normal sleep pattern is never your right ever again.  During pregnancy they kick and wake you, in infant-hood they need feeding and changing, as toddlers they just wake up to squeeze in between you and your husband trying to make sure they remain an only or the youngest child.  When they go to school they sleep, exhaustedly through the night but you have forgotten how.  You lie awake worrying; do they have friends, are they making their 2 levels progress (ha), are their teachers being mean to them.  They take exams and you worry.  They walk to the post box for the first time you worry.  They go into town with their friends you worry.  They get on the wrong bus home you worry. They learn to drive and you worry.  They go out and get drunk and you worry.

What no one tells you is that you worry after.  It is when they are home and safe that you lie awake at night and think.  What if they had failed that exam?  What if they had taken the wrong turning to the post box?  What if their friends had left them in town on their own?  What if they hadn't rung you for a lift when they realised the bus wasn't going to bring them home?  What if they forgot everything they've proved they can do whilst driving?  What if they hadn't got home safely?

Sue Perkins posted this picture on Twitter yesterday, saying she wished she worked there.

She can't be a parent, otherwise she would know that she already works there, that it is a very stressful job and the pay is appalling!

Poor Finisher

Waterstones, Oxford Street branch are very entertaining on Twitter.  The other day, they tweeted that they were thinking of removing the signs to the self-help books as telling people where they are kind of defeats the point.  Self-help books were a particular favourite of mine throughout the nineties.  I don't know if they went out of fashion, I grew up or I just learnt everything I needed to from them but I don't read them any more.

During a flirt with Feng Shui and Clutter Clearing I read that anything unfinished is clutter that is stopping you living a full and worthwhile life.  As life is, by definition, unfinished this has always seemed like a really stupid statement to me but as a strong starter, weak finisher I do have millions of unfinished projects that sometimes leave me feeling as though I'm wading through treacle.  

Starting has always been more exciting for me.  I remember school sports days and the anticipation of starting the sack race, egg and spoon race or the three legged race (with my Dad).  It was exciting.

 There was as much chance of me winning as anyone else (I was delusional) but after the first half-dozen steps the excitement was over and I didn't really want the race to end so that I could be awarded 5th place.  It's the same with books, trying to eke the last few pages out so that the story doesn't end.  

Half term is a great opportunity to finish a few things.  I've finished a few books, although I have started another.  I've finished knitting a baby jumper for a friend.

And I've finished eating the heart shaped biscuits I made yesterday.  (If you can't make heart shaped food on Valentines day then why can you?)

I've finished a bag of Doritos, some Minstrels and a large bottle of fizzy pop. 

For Valentines Day

If Robert Downey Jr or Colin Firth turned up on the doorstep and said, "I'm here.  Sorry it's taken me so long but I've finally come to my senses and realised you are the one."  I would have to say, "Sorry, you are too late. I'm a married woman."  They would be disappointed, I know, but they'd get used to it.



That's love isn't it?