I first heard this song at the age of 13. I was babysitting at MRS in Cyprus, the former BMH. BMH had caused my mother some consternation on the 1st of December 1963 when I was delivered by an Officer in his dinner jacket, all 8lb 13oz of me. Blimey, Sumo wrestler!
Back to the song, the kid I was babysitting for went to sleep and I put on the stereo. From that moment on I became a lifelong fan of Van the Man. Yeah all 5 foot 4 of him and an aggressive nasty Northern Irish Boy.
This song is for all the Donut kids as I start my Blog again with hope and a smile on my face. Listen to it and think of our childhood. You Tube is too easy, look it up!
We were born before the wind,
Also younger than the sun...
Ere, the bonnie boat was won, as we sail into the Mystic.
Hark, now hear the sailors cry,
Smell the sea and feel the sky.
Let your soul and spirit fly into the Mystic.
And when that foghorn blows, I will be coming home.
And when that foghorn blows, I want to hear it.
I don't have to fear it,
I want to rock your Gypsy soul,
Just like way back in the days of old.
Then magnificently we will fold into the Mystic.
When that foghorn blows,
you know I will be coming home.
And when that foghorn whistle blows,
I got to hear it
I don't have to fear it.
And I want to rock your Gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old,
And together we will fold into the Mystic
Come on Girl..
Too late to stop now...
Muse x
PS I was 27 when they blew it up - yeah, some twist of fate meant I was there to watch it!
Sunday, 27 February 2011
Monday, 14 February 2011
Valentines Day and a Beautiful Girl.
I am sorry to have been out of touch recently but I haven't been so well. Thanks for sticking with me.
It's hard to get going again with Donut Child after such a long absence but I am determined to give it a go. Thank you! to all of you for your mails, telling me how much you missed it. Here I am with a sticky keyboard - due to The Git spilling a drink over it.
I don't celebrate Valentines Day in the traditional sense, not because I am a Grumpy Old Woman, just that my beautiful daughter Sian was born at 5.25 am, 26 years ago today. Poor girl. She hates having her birthday on this day. She cannot celebrate with her friends by having a meal as the restaurants are full of loved up couples trying to be romantic. Love exists in many forms and the best of that is spontaneous. There is nothing spontaneous about Valentines Day!
Sian was born at Cheletenham Hospital in the snow. She was four weeks early and took us all by surprise. I had no pram or cot, they were on order but had not arrived. Nothing really. She was my first baby and at just 21 I had no idea. In those days there wasn't the shopping culture there is now. At the time I worked as an 'Advertising Sales Executive'...those 80's titles were hilarious weren't they!
Sian was born on the Thursday morning. On the Monday I was still working and fell down the stairs at my parents house. It wasn't really a fall, more of a 'slip on your bum and slide down the stairs ungracefully'. I went to the Docs to get checked out and he told me that my blood pressure was through the roof and if I didn't give up work, he would hospitalise me. Suffice to say, I turned up at work and gave them the bad news. I can remember the fantastic people that I worked with and within a few hours I was given a wonderful send off with lots of gifts.
I felt very sorry for myself on the Tuesday. I was staying with my parents at the time. Dad was on a course in Bude and Mum was at work. I had this terrible urge to clean (rather unlike me!) and went through the house like a mad woman. I did not sleep on the Tuesday night as I had a back ache. On the Wednesday a friend came over to cheer me up. She was a Staff Nurse and noticed that I kept wincing every 20 minutes or so. She kept looking at her watch and I asked her if she was late for something. She replied, 'Nope, but you're in labour'. 'NAH!!!' said I. 'Bugger off'! She insisted that I went to hospital and there I was a 21 year old, first time mum to be, in total denial.
On arrival they established that I was a whole 4 centimetres dilated. Blimey how did that happen, I thought! A nurse came in and laid some baby clothes on a radiator. 'Why are your doing that?' said I. She told me they were for my baby. That is when it hit me. I am about to give birth. I had a massive panic attack and told the nurse I wanted to go home as I wasn't ready. Yeah, very funny I know but the thought of becoming a mum hit me like a train.
Mum arrived in a bit of a panic, poor woman but brave woman! Mum was just shy of her 40th birthday. She stayed with me throughout the 16 hours of labour. I was convinced that I was having a boy. As I pushed Sian out Mum caught her and shouted 'We have a girl, a little girl!'. I was shaking so hard that I could not hold her. As mum cradled her she opened her big blue eyes and looked around. My reaction to this?? 'Sod you Mum, why do you always have to be right.' Mum had said it would be a girl and I insisted it was a boy. Sian weighed in at 6lb 12oz, despite her early start.
My father was in Bude and snowed in. He finally saw her when she was 11 days old. I still have a little slip of paper which is the message my father received on her birth. It read ' Your Daughter has given birth to a baby girl, both doing fine'. It must have been as much of a shock to him as it was to me!
A couple of hours later a nurse kept giving me this baby to feed and change. I wasn't on the ward as I my blood pressure was a tad high and was in my own room. I put them off as long as possible as I was so badly shocked and bewildered. I finally had to change her. Opening the nappy, I was utterly appalled and not knowing what to do, I ran the tap in the sink, testing it carefully with my elbow ( I had seen that done in films) and put her bum under the running tap. This poor little mite was being held upside down, under a tap by her incompetent mother and I was caught in the act!!! Nurse took over and I was mightily relieved that someone knew what they were doing!
Some five hours after the birth my entire office crowd piled into my room bearing gifts and smiles. All I could think about was I had no bloody make up on! I could not understand what all the fuss was about! Sian and I had 87 congratulations cards. It took me 10 days in Hospital to get up the courage to take my precious little girl out into the world. I remember being terrified in the car. It was a 'What if ???' scenario.
My lovely family rallied around me and somehow she survived, despite my inadequacy. She was such a pretty and content baby. I remember leaning over her cot when she was six weeks old. Looking at this wonderful sleepy little girl and whispering to her that I loved her more than life itself.
Happy Birthday to my Beautiful Sian
Love Mum x
It's hard to get going again with Donut Child after such a long absence but I am determined to give it a go. Thank you! to all of you for your mails, telling me how much you missed it. Here I am with a sticky keyboard - due to The Git spilling a drink over it.
I don't celebrate Valentines Day in the traditional sense, not because I am a Grumpy Old Woman, just that my beautiful daughter Sian was born at 5.25 am, 26 years ago today. Poor girl. She hates having her birthday on this day. She cannot celebrate with her friends by having a meal as the restaurants are full of loved up couples trying to be romantic. Love exists in many forms and the best of that is spontaneous. There is nothing spontaneous about Valentines Day!
Sian was born at Cheletenham Hospital in the snow. She was four weeks early and took us all by surprise. I had no pram or cot, they were on order but had not arrived. Nothing really. She was my first baby and at just 21 I had no idea. In those days there wasn't the shopping culture there is now. At the time I worked as an 'Advertising Sales Executive'...those 80's titles were hilarious weren't they!
Sian was born on the Thursday morning. On the Monday I was still working and fell down the stairs at my parents house. It wasn't really a fall, more of a 'slip on your bum and slide down the stairs ungracefully'. I went to the Docs to get checked out and he told me that my blood pressure was through the roof and if I didn't give up work, he would hospitalise me. Suffice to say, I turned up at work and gave them the bad news. I can remember the fantastic people that I worked with and within a few hours I was given a wonderful send off with lots of gifts.
I felt very sorry for myself on the Tuesday. I was staying with my parents at the time. Dad was on a course in Bude and Mum was at work. I had this terrible urge to clean (rather unlike me!) and went through the house like a mad woman. I did not sleep on the Tuesday night as I had a back ache. On the Wednesday a friend came over to cheer me up. She was a Staff Nurse and noticed that I kept wincing every 20 minutes or so. She kept looking at her watch and I asked her if she was late for something. She replied, 'Nope, but you're in labour'. 'NAH!!!' said I. 'Bugger off'! She insisted that I went to hospital and there I was a 21 year old, first time mum to be, in total denial.
On arrival they established that I was a whole 4 centimetres dilated. Blimey how did that happen, I thought! A nurse came in and laid some baby clothes on a radiator. 'Why are your doing that?' said I. She told me they were for my baby. That is when it hit me. I am about to give birth. I had a massive panic attack and told the nurse I wanted to go home as I wasn't ready. Yeah, very funny I know but the thought of becoming a mum hit me like a train.
Mum arrived in a bit of a panic, poor woman but brave woman! Mum was just shy of her 40th birthday. She stayed with me throughout the 16 hours of labour. I was convinced that I was having a boy. As I pushed Sian out Mum caught her and shouted 'We have a girl, a little girl!'. I was shaking so hard that I could not hold her. As mum cradled her she opened her big blue eyes and looked around. My reaction to this?? 'Sod you Mum, why do you always have to be right.' Mum had said it would be a girl and I insisted it was a boy. Sian weighed in at 6lb 12oz, despite her early start.
My father was in Bude and snowed in. He finally saw her when she was 11 days old. I still have a little slip of paper which is the message my father received on her birth. It read ' Your Daughter has given birth to a baby girl, both doing fine'. It must have been as much of a shock to him as it was to me!
A couple of hours later a nurse kept giving me this baby to feed and change. I wasn't on the ward as I my blood pressure was a tad high and was in my own room. I put them off as long as possible as I was so badly shocked and bewildered. I finally had to change her. Opening the nappy, I was utterly appalled and not knowing what to do, I ran the tap in the sink, testing it carefully with my elbow ( I had seen that done in films) and put her bum under the running tap. This poor little mite was being held upside down, under a tap by her incompetent mother and I was caught in the act!!! Nurse took over and I was mightily relieved that someone knew what they were doing!
Some five hours after the birth my entire office crowd piled into my room bearing gifts and smiles. All I could think about was I had no bloody make up on! I could not understand what all the fuss was about! Sian and I had 87 congratulations cards. It took me 10 days in Hospital to get up the courage to take my precious little girl out into the world. I remember being terrified in the car. It was a 'What if ???' scenario.
My lovely family rallied around me and somehow she survived, despite my inadequacy. She was such a pretty and content baby. I remember leaning over her cot when she was six weeks old. Looking at this wonderful sleepy little girl and whispering to her that I loved her more than life itself.
Happy Birthday to my Beautiful Sian
Love Mum x
Friday, 10 December 2010
20 Ways to Dress a Christmas Tree
I spent the WHOLE day today shopping for a Xmas tree for The Git, who has been complaining as we cannot find ours. I am on a limited budget so had to shop around, which meant driving to the 'Great God' Trago Mills. Look it up if you do not understand what Trago is. Trago must have the biggest selection of artificial/real trees in the world. The decorations take up a whole floor and despite me being completely convinced that I would go for a purple/black thing this year, the traditionalist in me won through and it went Green, Gold....oh and erm Green and Gold. Pathetic! Most pathetic is me buying an artificial tree.
I do feel as though I should have gone to the gardening department and found a completely unsuitable live/half dead 8ft tree that would shed pine needles in my driving seat and wreck my car for a year. Oh, and then getting it into the house would involve breaking out the hoover, six times a day for the next four years! Honestly, I have done that for the last 20 odd years but three years ago...I gave up, forgive me.
Onto tonight. This is my story.
PART ONE
1. Buy pre-lit 6ft tree at ASDA.
2. Drive to Trago, spend 17 hours wandering around being a bit dazed by all the bling
3. Want a tasteful and sort of Eastern European Tree with lots of wooden ornaments, raffia and NO tinsel.
4. Realise that no 2 son wants Bling.
5. Spend another 3 hours trying to decide.
6. Go for a coffee and think ' yep, I am going to go for raffia and lovely wooden ornaments'.
7. Get into car with GOLD,GOLD,GOLD....glitter dripping off my car keys, in my hair, on my fingers. Cannot see through glasses due to glitter.
8. Pick up The Git. Tell him what I have bought him. Git feigns utter disgust at my choice and refuses to decorate tree.
PART TWO
9. Have a glass of the pink whilst contemplating evil boxes containing Tree and Blingy things.
10. Have another as I am not sure how to proceed. I have bought very cheap decorations, meaning I have to spend at least four hours threading crap gold thread through them.
11. Struggle with 'Pre-Lit Tree'. Spend five hours tweaking and making sure it is just so, Think I've got it?
12.Have another glass of the pink whist I think what to do, spend just another hour making 'sure' the damn thing looks even. Bit nasty when you are a perfectionist.
13. Start hanging the baubles.
14. The Git wanders down (he should be in bed). 'That looks soooo...good Ma'. Can I join in - its 11.30pm. 'No bugger off'!
15. Got the Tree up - all new - all scary but I did it.
PART THREE
16. Turn all lights off.
17. Feck...I did a good job, don't really like the LED lights though.
18. Looking forward to tomorrow as The Git and I are going to make a few gold Skate Boards to hang on the tree.
19., Note to self - do not ever, ever loose your Christmas decorations. I miss all the ones that mean a lot to me, including, Sian, James and Josh's contributions. The little gorgeous ones that they made in Primary School.
20. Sigh with relief and have a flipping glass of the pink!
Na Nite
Namaste
Muse x
I do feel as though I should have gone to the gardening department and found a completely unsuitable live/half dead 8ft tree that would shed pine needles in my driving seat and wreck my car for a year. Oh, and then getting it into the house would involve breaking out the hoover, six times a day for the next four years! Honestly, I have done that for the last 20 odd years but three years ago...I gave up, forgive me.
Onto tonight. This is my story.
PART ONE
1. Buy pre-lit 6ft tree at ASDA.
2. Drive to Trago, spend 17 hours wandering around being a bit dazed by all the bling
3. Want a tasteful and sort of Eastern European Tree with lots of wooden ornaments, raffia and NO tinsel.
4. Realise that no 2 son wants Bling.
5. Spend another 3 hours trying to decide.
6. Go for a coffee and think ' yep, I am going to go for raffia and lovely wooden ornaments'.
7. Get into car with GOLD,GOLD,GOLD....glitter dripping off my car keys, in my hair, on my fingers. Cannot see through glasses due to glitter.
8. Pick up The Git. Tell him what I have bought him. Git feigns utter disgust at my choice and refuses to decorate tree.
PART TWO
9. Have a glass of the pink whilst contemplating evil boxes containing Tree and Blingy things.
10. Have another as I am not sure how to proceed. I have bought very cheap decorations, meaning I have to spend at least four hours threading crap gold thread through them.
11. Struggle with 'Pre-Lit Tree'. Spend five hours tweaking and making sure it is just so, Think I've got it?
12.Have another glass of the pink whist I think what to do, spend just another hour making 'sure' the damn thing looks even. Bit nasty when you are a perfectionist.
13. Start hanging the baubles.
14. The Git wanders down (he should be in bed). 'That looks soooo...good Ma'. Can I join in - its 11.30pm. 'No bugger off'!
15. Got the Tree up - all new - all scary but I did it.
PART THREE
16. Turn all lights off.
17. Feck...I did a good job, don't really like the LED lights though.
18. Looking forward to tomorrow as The Git and I are going to make a few gold Skate Boards to hang on the tree.
19., Note to self - do not ever, ever loose your Christmas decorations. I miss all the ones that mean a lot to me, including, Sian, James and Josh's contributions. The little gorgeous ones that they made in Primary School.
20. Sigh with relief and have a flipping glass of the pink!
Na Nite
Namaste
Muse x
Wednesday, 8 December 2010
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Under My Duvet
At last! I am back on line after a long argument with those bastards of Sky TV aka slowest broadband and crappiest phone service in the world. I have to say though that I cracked first and caved in as I could no longer stand talking to myself.
Honestly, I have spent nearly four weeks muttering to myself under the Duvet. I had no outlet you see and there are only so many conversations you can have with a 12 year old. It isn't that I am 'Johnny No Mates', merely that in this busy world you rarely get the chance to have a totally random conversation. The other night I was so bored that I was laying in bed (under the duvet) with The Gits ipod stuck in my ears singing quietly, or so I thought, to Ellen Miller, this was after scrolling through loads of Michael Jackson stuff. It was about 2 am and I had left it too late to take a sleeping pill. I opened my eyes to find a very cross 12 year old at the the foot of my bed. 'Give up the ipod now' he growled, holding out his hand. 'Now for gods sake go to sleep and don't ever sing again, even it is just to yourself'. With that he stomped back off to bed. Oops, bad mummy!
I thought I was going quite mad. Talking to myself, answering myself and even debating with myself. It struck me how much Blogging had become part of my daily life. Even if I don't post, I usually draft something. There again, I hear you ask, isn't Blogging the worst form of vanity publishing? Isn't it just for nutters who just can't shut up? The answer my friends is an emphatic NO! If I am honest, I had thought about axing Donut Child before my accidental break. I felt it was too nice, too preachy and some of the early posts gave me so much angst, I nearly gave up entirely. I sit here tonight, proud of my achievement and happy that I persevered.
If you are programmed with an English rather than a Math brain then you should Blog. It is cathartic, soothing, amazing and gives so much satisfaction for no cost. You don't have to publish it, you can keep it locked and private. As for reading it back, then that really is the fun part. I don't mean recent posts, I mean something that you wrote a year ago. Satisfyingly, we now have a little thing called the World Wide Web which means....ha! ha !!!, you can SHARE! Reading personal Blogs is a bit like watching Coronation Street, you can always change the channel if you don't like it. Every single person that comments on this Blog, be it via FB or email, likes it and enjoys the theme. I had not realised this until this month, so thank you to all of you that have contacted me asking 'Where is Donut Child?'
Anyway as well as having a rant at the great god SKY, I want to talk about those Facebook Posts that you are supposed to 'Copy and Past' to your status. Some of then are okay but others just stink. They are the modern day equivalent of the 'chain letter' and I hate the insidious little blighters. Are we all Sheep?? If your mate jumped off a cliff into shark infested custard, would you? Facebook was created for people air their opinions, not for people to wander around repeating stuff like the Moonies. If someone posts an opinion then react to it , in your own words, don't just paste it. Are you a brainless moron? Can you think for yourself? Doesn't look like it to me. The ones that really get my back up are those of the 'Do you have the guts to paste this on your status' ilk.
I got into a bit of a row on FB (via my phone) last week and it taught me a lesson. Assume nothing, expect the unexpected. An acquaintance posted a Copy and Paste on his wall about the lack of funds for the British Serviceman. This is a subject I am passionate about and have long campaigned for better kit for our Forces but HIS friends did not know that. I said that I had my own views on the subject and wasn't interested in being a sheep. I was verbally attacked by three ex forces guys. One of whom went into a racist rant about Terrorists in the UK. I could not leave it there. Some of the stuff he said was so shocking. When I tried to explain that bigoted remarks wasn't the best way to go about tackling terrorism he went into orbit and I honestly thought he was going to track me down, put me up against a wall and shoot me. I had the last word though, when I asked him if he knew quite how small the Human Gene Pool actually was and his 10 times removed great granddaddy was probably a Persian Goat Herder! He didn't like that one bit and limped off to lick his wounds....
I guess what I am ranting about is the power of words. Post your own thoughts. encourage debate and however passionate/misguided/safe/liberal/stupid or thoughtful your views are, they deserve to be heard. So stop bleating and banish those bloody awful copy and paste, 'Cop Outs'.!
Namaste
Muse xx
Honestly, I have spent nearly four weeks muttering to myself under the Duvet. I had no outlet you see and there are only so many conversations you can have with a 12 year old. It isn't that I am 'Johnny No Mates', merely that in this busy world you rarely get the chance to have a totally random conversation. The other night I was so bored that I was laying in bed (under the duvet) with The Gits ipod stuck in my ears singing quietly, or so I thought, to Ellen Miller, this was after scrolling through loads of Michael Jackson stuff. It was about 2 am and I had left it too late to take a sleeping pill. I opened my eyes to find a very cross 12 year old at the the foot of my bed. 'Give up the ipod now' he growled, holding out his hand. 'Now for gods sake go to sleep and don't ever sing again, even it is just to yourself'. With that he stomped back off to bed. Oops, bad mummy!
I thought I was going quite mad. Talking to myself, answering myself and even debating with myself. It struck me how much Blogging had become part of my daily life. Even if I don't post, I usually draft something. There again, I hear you ask, isn't Blogging the worst form of vanity publishing? Isn't it just for nutters who just can't shut up? The answer my friends is an emphatic NO! If I am honest, I had thought about axing Donut Child before my accidental break. I felt it was too nice, too preachy and some of the early posts gave me so much angst, I nearly gave up entirely. I sit here tonight, proud of my achievement and happy that I persevered.
If you are programmed with an English rather than a Math brain then you should Blog. It is cathartic, soothing, amazing and gives so much satisfaction for no cost. You don't have to publish it, you can keep it locked and private. As for reading it back, then that really is the fun part. I don't mean recent posts, I mean something that you wrote a year ago. Satisfyingly, we now have a little thing called the World Wide Web which means....ha! ha !!!, you can SHARE! Reading personal Blogs is a bit like watching Coronation Street, you can always change the channel if you don't like it. Every single person that comments on this Blog, be it via FB or email, likes it and enjoys the theme. I had not realised this until this month, so thank you to all of you that have contacted me asking 'Where is Donut Child?'
Anyway as well as having a rant at the great god SKY, I want to talk about those Facebook Posts that you are supposed to 'Copy and Past' to your status. Some of then are okay but others just stink. They are the modern day equivalent of the 'chain letter' and I hate the insidious little blighters. Are we all Sheep?? If your mate jumped off a cliff into shark infested custard, would you? Facebook was created for people air their opinions, not for people to wander around repeating stuff like the Moonies. If someone posts an opinion then react to it , in your own words, don't just paste it. Are you a brainless moron? Can you think for yourself? Doesn't look like it to me. The ones that really get my back up are those of the 'Do you have the guts to paste this on your status' ilk.
I got into a bit of a row on FB (via my phone) last week and it taught me a lesson. Assume nothing, expect the unexpected. An acquaintance posted a Copy and Paste on his wall about the lack of funds for the British Serviceman. This is a subject I am passionate about and have long campaigned for better kit for our Forces but HIS friends did not know that. I said that I had my own views on the subject and wasn't interested in being a sheep. I was verbally attacked by three ex forces guys. One of whom went into a racist rant about Terrorists in the UK. I could not leave it there. Some of the stuff he said was so shocking. When I tried to explain that bigoted remarks wasn't the best way to go about tackling terrorism he went into orbit and I honestly thought he was going to track me down, put me up against a wall and shoot me. I had the last word though, when I asked him if he knew quite how small the Human Gene Pool actually was and his 10 times removed great granddaddy was probably a Persian Goat Herder! He didn't like that one bit and limped off to lick his wounds....
I guess what I am ranting about is the power of words. Post your own thoughts. encourage debate and however passionate/misguided/safe/liberal/stupid or thoughtful your views are, they deserve to be heard. So stop bleating and banish those bloody awful copy and paste, 'Cop Outs'.!
Namaste
Muse xx
Saturday, 23 October 2010
A Bit of a Nuts Day!
I was woken at 4 am this morning by The Git. He was in pain with his tooth. I had to take him to the Emergency Dentist last month. He has to have one little filling. I am a Dental phobic. I have had too many bad experiences with Forces Dentists. Enough about me. Fortuitously we had an appointment for Joshys first filling today. I did manage to be a good Mother and got him to the Dental surgery. I did not mention the fact that I had fainted at the last appointment. He was rather polite and did not mention it, also. He was quite relaxed, got into the chair and was fine with a really lovely Irish Girl....until she started the drill!
Let us go back a bit shall we. I met a Trainee Dentist when I was about 17. His name was Heppleston. He hung around with our Rowing/Waterski-ing/Running crowd and was frankly, completely Bonkers! His Ma ran a B and B in Scarborough and he would entertain us after drinking too many beers at The Cask by taking us back to his Ma's in Scarborough. His Ma had an enormous ( for the front room) Organ. Yeah, okay, do all the jokes you want. Seriously there was this massive Organ in his Ma's front room and he would play Led Zep on it! He was jailed in 2006 for four years for a £450,000 fraud.
I always remembered 'Hep ' and shuddered, hoping that he would never, ever work on my teeth. He was training in London, committed to his cause and utterly mad. Onto my work as a care worker, some 25 years later. I encountered a 'Flying Dentist'. I met him a few times on my rounds in Plymouth. He was gregarious, flirty and suggested to me at one point that I would 'pay him in kind'....eeuugghh! Paul Carlin, defrauded the NHS of £100, 000. He may have upset me but he was wonderful with the elderly. I do remember how gentle you were Paul, despite your love for money.
Back to the surgery. Waiting in that room. Trying to keep Joshy calm. Him, smelling the smells and listening to the sounds. The smells and sounds always upset me but I managed to calm him and got him into the room where a lovely Irish Girl was speaking to me. Erm....seems that I was so upset and concentrating on The Git that I could not manage to hear ANYTHING! Yep that's right...Miss Geraldine Kehoe had to deal with me dribbling and pretty bloody bonkers. I had temporarily lost my power of speech and hearing!
I managed to hold on to reality for a moment and her words made sense at last. It was rather like finding a voice through a fog. Her lovely Dental Nurse was a Star. We managed to get Joshy on the chair, but that was all. He was so badly stressed, poor little man. Josh is going to be referred to a specialist clinic as he has ADHD, ODD and is Autistic. I have to say that he was a very brave boy today though! We managed to stumble down the stairs. There were four people coming up. None of them nodded or said thank you. They all had a terrible look of fear in their eyes.
Going downstairs, we were pretty raw. A very young girl said. 'Stop, do you need to sign any forms'! After the gentle care we had experienced in the surgery, I asked her to say 'PLEASE'. Another, more experienced Receptionist, managed to communicate with me.
Why? in this world of technology do we still have to go through so much? I suppose it a bit like asking 'Why Do Women Go Through Childbirth? Can we trust our Dentist. It really is a big thing to trust him or her. Can he/she understand how hard it us for us? I guess I'll find out soon.
Nite All
Muse xx
.
Let us go back a bit shall we. I met a Trainee Dentist when I was about 17. His name was Heppleston. He hung around with our Rowing/Waterski-ing/Running crowd and was frankly, completely Bonkers! His Ma ran a B and B in Scarborough and he would entertain us after drinking too many beers at The Cask by taking us back to his Ma's in Scarborough. His Ma had an enormous ( for the front room) Organ. Yeah, okay, do all the jokes you want. Seriously there was this massive Organ in his Ma's front room and he would play Led Zep on it! He was jailed in 2006 for four years for a £450,000 fraud.
I always remembered 'Hep ' and shuddered, hoping that he would never, ever work on my teeth. He was training in London, committed to his cause and utterly mad. Onto my work as a care worker, some 25 years later. I encountered a 'Flying Dentist'. I met him a few times on my rounds in Plymouth. He was gregarious, flirty and suggested to me at one point that I would 'pay him in kind'....eeuugghh! Paul Carlin, defrauded the NHS of £100, 000. He may have upset me but he was wonderful with the elderly. I do remember how gentle you were Paul, despite your love for money.
Back to the surgery. Waiting in that room. Trying to keep Joshy calm. Him, smelling the smells and listening to the sounds. The smells and sounds always upset me but I managed to calm him and got him into the room where a lovely Irish Girl was speaking to me. Erm....seems that I was so upset and concentrating on The Git that I could not manage to hear ANYTHING! Yep that's right...Miss Geraldine Kehoe had to deal with me dribbling and pretty bloody bonkers. I had temporarily lost my power of speech and hearing!
I managed to hold on to reality for a moment and her words made sense at last. It was rather like finding a voice through a fog. Her lovely Dental Nurse was a Star. We managed to get Joshy on the chair, but that was all. He was so badly stressed, poor little man. Josh is going to be referred to a specialist clinic as he has ADHD, ODD and is Autistic. I have to say that he was a very brave boy today though! We managed to stumble down the stairs. There were four people coming up. None of them nodded or said thank you. They all had a terrible look of fear in their eyes.
Going downstairs, we were pretty raw. A very young girl said. 'Stop, do you need to sign any forms'! After the gentle care we had experienced in the surgery, I asked her to say 'PLEASE'. Another, more experienced Receptionist, managed to communicate with me.
Why? in this world of technology do we still have to go through so much? I suppose it a bit like asking 'Why Do Women Go Through Childbirth? Can we trust our Dentist. It really is a big thing to trust him or her. Can he/she understand how hard it us for us? I guess I'll find out soon.
Nite All
Muse xx
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Sunday, 17 October 2010
The Power of Words
Words are such powerful things, even when we are little and not quite sure how to use them. All of my children and siblings have used words to express themselves. They are not the words we would use but far superior and more amusing. All of them used these words in innocence.
My little sis Jax, now a school nurse in Australia, called me 'Netty' when she was a baby as she could not say my name. To this day it sticks and my granddaughter Angelina calls me Netty. Her words were indeed powerful things, even at her young age. At school, a boy called Paul Brewer would call me 'toilet' and make me feel so small and ashamed as 'Netty' is Geordie slang for 'Toilet'.
Enough! Onto the funnier ones. My son Joshua was born 11 years apart from his siblings. He could not say Sian and to this day my lovely Sian is 'Nin', which is all he could manage at the time. 'Nin' only comes out when he is telling her in a roundabout way that he loves her.
When Josh was little we lived in a seaside town and the local Seagulls were ferocious. As a toddler he would hang on to his ice-cream for dear life and tell us all that that the 'Ski- Gulls' would try and bite it! Josh also loved something called an Armerica. We spent ages at the toy shop with him, trying to find out what it was, then it finally dawned on us that it was a Harmonica! Sian and James spent a lot of time on Ascension Island with my parents and when Sian (now 25) was a toddler she would ask her Bampy to collect some 'Shallows' with her - shells in our language, but a wonderful description don't you think!
James (now 22) had a few of his own. When he was little we would plant a garden together and I would name the flowers he was growing. He decided that Marigolds were Garimolds, which is what they are to this day. I still grow them for him. A recent one of James' was hilarious, forgive me son, I know it was just a slip of the tongue...but it was wonderful. My mum is a member of the Mormon church and I was talking to James about it last year. 'Yeah' said he ' The Moomins.........' That was me howling with laughter and having to dash to the loo! Think about it..Mama Moomin, Papa Moomin and each and every episode a parable of faith and good deeds. I have to say that he hit the nail on the head with that one.
Josh came up with a new one last week, even at the age of 12. He said how great the 'Stun Glasses' his sister had given him were. Again, what a brilliant description. Think Aviator Specs/ Tom Cruise (shudder) /being cool....hence Stun Glasses!
So here I am thinking about the words we use in society today. There were no labels or words to describe people when I was at school. No Gay/ Disabled /ADHD /Autistic /Transvestite /Black /White /Yellow. Ad Infinitum.
Words remain powerful but perhaps we have let them become too intrusive in our lives? Think about it.
Namaste
Muse x
My little sis Jax, now a school nurse in Australia, called me 'Netty' when she was a baby as she could not say my name. To this day it sticks and my granddaughter Angelina calls me Netty. Her words were indeed powerful things, even at her young age. At school, a boy called Paul Brewer would call me 'toilet' and make me feel so small and ashamed as 'Netty' is Geordie slang for 'Toilet'.
Enough! Onto the funnier ones. My son Joshua was born 11 years apart from his siblings. He could not say Sian and to this day my lovely Sian is 'Nin', which is all he could manage at the time. 'Nin' only comes out when he is telling her in a roundabout way that he loves her.
When Josh was little we lived in a seaside town and the local Seagulls were ferocious. As a toddler he would hang on to his ice-cream for dear life and tell us all that that the 'Ski- Gulls' would try and bite it! Josh also loved something called an Armerica. We spent ages at the toy shop with him, trying to find out what it was, then it finally dawned on us that it was a Harmonica! Sian and James spent a lot of time on Ascension Island with my parents and when Sian (now 25) was a toddler she would ask her Bampy to collect some 'Shallows' with her - shells in our language, but a wonderful description don't you think!
James (now 22) had a few of his own. When he was little we would plant a garden together and I would name the flowers he was growing. He decided that Marigolds were Garimolds, which is what they are to this day. I still grow them for him. A recent one of James' was hilarious, forgive me son, I know it was just a slip of the tongue...but it was wonderful. My mum is a member of the Mormon church and I was talking to James about it last year. 'Yeah' said he ' The Moomins.........' That was me howling with laughter and having to dash to the loo! Think about it..Mama Moomin, Papa Moomin and each and every episode a parable of faith and good deeds. I have to say that he hit the nail on the head with that one.
Josh came up with a new one last week, even at the age of 12. He said how great the 'Stun Glasses' his sister had given him were. Again, what a brilliant description. Think Aviator Specs/ Tom Cruise (shudder) /being cool....hence Stun Glasses!
So here I am thinking about the words we use in society today. There were no labels or words to describe people when I was at school. No Gay/ Disabled /ADHD /Autistic /Transvestite /Black /White /Yellow. Ad Infinitum.
Words remain powerful but perhaps we have let them become too intrusive in our lives? Think about it.
Namaste
Muse x
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