This has to be one of the funniest clips I've seen in a while.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Sunday, 14 July 2013
Gone fishing? I should be so lucky...
It's the holiday season. Well, when I say 'holiday' what I actually mean is the Expat Summer Shuffle which, rather than time lying on a beach with a pina-colada to-hand as you wade through the latest paperback block-buster, is in fact solo-parenting time spent moving from one long-suffering family member or friend to the next, packing, unpacking, repacking, buying extra suitcases to contain the supplies of school uniform and clothes for the kids that you've bought along the way in the UK sales, and of course taking any opportunity you can to squeeze in the odd load of laundry when possible.
It's great to catch up with our nearest and dearest, but this lifestyle is not conducive to writing long posts - or, it seems, looking back on the last week or so on The Potty Diaries, any posts - so please bear with me for the moment whilst the Potski familiski makes their summer progress through Northern Europe.
On the plus side, I have come up with a killer concept for my next novel. Never mind that I have yet to finish my first, or indeed that the 60K words I have already written require some fairly extensive editing; at least I know what I'm going to be doing next.
You know. In my spare time...
It's great to catch up with our nearest and dearest, but this lifestyle is not conducive to writing long posts - or, it seems, looking back on the last week or so on The Potty Diaries, any posts - so please bear with me for the moment whilst the Potski familiski makes their summer progress through Northern Europe.
On the plus side, I have come up with a killer concept for my next novel. Never mind that I have yet to finish my first, or indeed that the 60K words I have already written require some fairly extensive editing; at least I know what I'm going to be doing next.
You know. In my spare time...
Thursday, 4 July 2013
A top suit. Not to be confused with a top coat..
Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding that a friend (mother to her own boys 1 and 2; B & H) had recently with the landlord of her holiday let, I had the opportunity to overhear today what my sons consider the correct appearance for any kind of landlord...
Boy #1: "B said, when they checked into the apartment, that the landlord was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops, so they (B and his younger brother) knew that he couldn't be a proper landlord..."
Boy #2: "Yes. Because that is no way for a landlord to dress."
Me (suddenly interested in what was previously only a 2 way conversation between my children): "So, what do you think a landlord should be wearing?"
Boy #1: "Well. They should be handsome. Smart. Tidy hair. With proper shoes."
Boy #2: "And they should be wearing a top suit."
Me (confused): "A 'top suit'?"
Boy #1 (very definitely): "Yes. A top suit."
Me: "Okaaaay. What is a 'top suit', exactly?"
Boy #2: "You know. Very smart."
Boy #1: "Yes, with a bow tie. Oh. I mean, a toxic-suit. No, I mean a tuxedo. A tuxedo..."
So now we know, folks. If your landlord is not dressed to the nines when he pops by to collect the rent, and is not wearing 'proper' shoes, he is no damn good. Consider yourselves warned.
Boy #1: "B said, when they checked into the apartment, that the landlord was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops, so they (B and his younger brother) knew that he couldn't be a proper landlord..."
Boy #2: "Yes. Because that is no way for a landlord to dress."
Me (suddenly interested in what was previously only a 2 way conversation between my children): "So, what do you think a landlord should be wearing?"
Boy #1: "Well. They should be handsome. Smart. Tidy hair. With proper shoes."
Boy #2: "And they should be wearing a top suit."
Me (confused): "A 'top suit'?"
Boy #1 (very definitely): "Yes. A top suit."
Me: "Okaaaay. What is a 'top suit', exactly?"
Boy #2: "You know. Very smart."
Boy #1: "Yes, with a bow tie. Oh. I mean, a toxic-suit. No, I mean a tuxedo. A tuxedo..."
So now we know, folks. If your landlord is not dressed to the nines when he pops by to collect the rent, and is not wearing 'proper' shoes, he is no damn good. Consider yourselves warned.
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
So accidentally cool...
One of my sons is nearly half way through a week of such an IMMENSELY cool sport-related activity that even I - the queen of no sporting ability - get excited about it when I think about it.
Imagine your child getting the chance to spend a week being coached in a sport he likes, but at which he will never be a world beater, by luminaries who's names send grown men into awed revery. Like, for example, being shown how to ride a bike by Chris Hoy. Or how to score a goal by David Beckham. Or how hit a tennis ball by Jimmy Connor. You get the picture.
Well, we got the opportunity for Boy #? to do something along those lines, for a week. He jumped at it, so we made it happen. He's having a great time, hanging out and playing a sport he likes, being coached in how to improve his performance, and being outdoors all day, every day, in top-class facilities.
There's just one thing.
He has no idea how amazing this experience is.
On the one hand this freaks me out a little. It's like training at Anfield and treating it like the local rec, or knocking a few balls about at Wimbledon and acting as if it's your back garden. It's as if you're treating Lawrence Dallaglio like your dad showing you how to score a try, or back-chatting Freddie Flintoff - showing you how to bowl a cricket ball - like you would a visiting uncle. It's just. Plain. Wrong.
But on the other, I'm quite glad my son has no idea how cool this opportunity is. He just gets to hang out with the other kids in his class, enjoying the experience, with no thought of being intimidated by who the coach is or the location he's standing in. Mainly because - if I'm honest - as an expat with limited exposure to sports events on tv, he has no idea of who the coach is, or the historical significance of the location he's standing in. This situation would be impossible to achieve if we lived in the UK given the exposure afforded to this sport, but due to the fact that whilst we like it we cherry pick the games we watch, and then add to that the fact that where we live most of those games aren't screened at times we would be interested in, his opportunities to soak up background knowledge about this sport are thin on the ground. The result is a child who is simply there this week to learn and have fun, rather than to impress his heroes.
Husband, who was here for the first day of this activity, is delighted by how good a time Boy #? is having, and more than a little envious of the opportunity (as is every other man we've mentioned it to). He told me that he would never even have considered doing this at our son's age. He would have been too scared; his exact words were 'I wouldn't have dared...'
But there's time enough for hero-worship in our son's future. For now, here he is: Daring. Making us proud, doing the things we never got the opportunity to do, taking them in his stride, just getting on with it. Learning from it, enjoying it, and not wasting time worrying what anyone else thinks of his choices or performance.
And actually, now I think about it, that in itself may just be the coolest part of the whole experience...
Imagine your child getting the chance to spend a week being coached in a sport he likes, but at which he will never be a world beater, by luminaries who's names send grown men into awed revery. Like, for example, being shown how to ride a bike by Chris Hoy. Or how to score a goal by David Beckham. Or how hit a tennis ball by Jimmy Connor. You get the picture.
Well, we got the opportunity for Boy #? to do something along those lines, for a week. He jumped at it, so we made it happen. He's having a great time, hanging out and playing a sport he likes, being coached in how to improve his performance, and being outdoors all day, every day, in top-class facilities.
There's just one thing.
He has no idea how amazing this experience is.
On the one hand this freaks me out a little. It's like training at Anfield and treating it like the local rec, or knocking a few balls about at Wimbledon and acting as if it's your back garden. It's as if you're treating Lawrence Dallaglio like your dad showing you how to score a try, or back-chatting Freddie Flintoff - showing you how to bowl a cricket ball - like you would a visiting uncle. It's just. Plain. Wrong.
But on the other, I'm quite glad my son has no idea how cool this opportunity is. He just gets to hang out with the other kids in his class, enjoying the experience, with no thought of being intimidated by who the coach is or the location he's standing in. Mainly because - if I'm honest - as an expat with limited exposure to sports events on tv, he has no idea of who the coach is, or the historical significance of the location he's standing in. This situation would be impossible to achieve if we lived in the UK given the exposure afforded to this sport, but due to the fact that whilst we like it we cherry pick the games we watch, and then add to that the fact that where we live most of those games aren't screened at times we would be interested in, his opportunities to soak up background knowledge about this sport are thin on the ground. The result is a child who is simply there this week to learn and have fun, rather than to impress his heroes.
Husband, who was here for the first day of this activity, is delighted by how good a time Boy #? is having, and more than a little envious of the opportunity (as is every other man we've mentioned it to). He told me that he would never even have considered doing this at our son's age. He would have been too scared; his exact words were 'I wouldn't have dared...'
But there's time enough for hero-worship in our son's future. For now, here he is: Daring. Making us proud, doing the things we never got the opportunity to do, taking them in his stride, just getting on with it. Learning from it, enjoying it, and not wasting time worrying what anyone else thinks of his choices or performance.
And actually, now I think about it, that in itself may just be the coolest part of the whole experience...
Saturday, 29 June 2013
Food for thought...
The weather today in Moscow is 31degC and sunny.
The weather today in London is (max) 21degC - but at the moment, is 12degC.
I'm getting on a plane and flying from the former to the latter.
Better leave my warm weather gear here, then.
The weather today in London is (max) 21degC - but at the moment, is 12degC.
I'm getting on a plane and flying from the former to the latter.
Better leave my warm weather gear here, then.
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
Things I learned at BritMums 2013...
The BritMums Live! team did an amazing job.
After 6 years, I still have a lot to learn about blogging.
Standing up to read one of your posts aloud in front of 400 people is just about as intimidating as it gets.
I am a rhubarb, according to the stylists from TKMaxx. Not an apple, pear, or strawberry (yes, you really can be strawberry-shaped - who knew?), but a rhubarb. So THAT's where I've been going wrong stylistically all these years...
A lot of bloggers have book ideas. A lot.
Meeting online friends face to face is rarely a disappointment.
Travelling without the kids is... pretty much bliss, actually.
But sitting on the tarmac for 4 hours at Moscow's Domodedovo airport whilst the hydraulic system on the plane is being fixed still stinks.
Arrive at Heathrow T5 after midnight and you will experience the spooky situation where they actually start to turn the lights off in the baggage hall.
Driving through the centre of London after 1am in the morning, looking at all the revellers out there, is a pretty good reminder of how darn old you are.
But glancing out of the hotel window at 6am on a Saturday morning (damn that jet lag) to see clubbers making their way home through the drizzle makes you realise that being ancient really isn't that bad.
After 6 years, I still have a lot to learn about blogging.
Standing up to read one of your posts aloud in front of 400 people is just about as intimidating as it gets.
I am a rhubarb, according to the stylists from TKMaxx. Not an apple, pear, or strawberry (yes, you really can be strawberry-shaped - who knew?), but a rhubarb. So THAT's where I've been going wrong stylistically all these years...
A lot of bloggers have book ideas. A lot.
Meeting online friends face to face is rarely a disappointment.
Travelling without the kids is... pretty much bliss, actually.
But sitting on the tarmac for 4 hours at Moscow's Domodedovo airport whilst the hydraulic system on the plane is being fixed still stinks.
Arrive at Heathrow T5 after midnight and you will experience the spooky situation where they actually start to turn the lights off in the baggage hall.
Driving through the centre of London after 1am in the morning, looking at all the revellers out there, is a pretty good reminder of how darn old you are.
But glancing out of the hotel window at 6am on a Saturday morning (damn that jet lag) to see clubbers making their way home through the drizzle makes you realise that being ancient really isn't that bad.
Thursday, 20 June 2013
Why Blogging is like Fight Club. No, really.
It's probably going to be quiet on The Potty Diaries this weekend. I'm heading off to the UK for a weekend of talking about blogging rather than actually blogging, at BritMums Live!
This will make a refreshing change from my usual m.o. which - when speaking to 'real' people - is to treat blogging like Fight Club. Remember? First rule about Fight Club; Never speak about Fight Club. Second rule about Fight Club? Never speak about Fight Club. So it generally is with blogging and me.
It's not that I'm ashamed of my blog, you understand - rather the opposite. I'm proud of it, would shout about it from the roof tops if I could. It's more that a) it's supposed to be anonymous and b) very often when you tell people who don't blog that you do - if you tell them - they immediately make assumptions about you.
These are, in no particular order:
1. You have no friends. This is surprising because the majority of bloggers I've met face to face are some of the most gregarious and engaging people I know. Frankly, given the opportunity, we rarely shut up.
2. You have too much time on your hands. That's why this morning, I'm squeezing writing a blog post in between dropping my kids at school, going into the city to pick up my new visa, sorting the house into some semblance of order, making a cake for the troops to eat whilst I'm gone - got to remind them of the benefits of having me around, obviously - doing the laundry, packing for my weekend away, and getting to the airport on time to make my flight later on.
3. In a direct contradiction with 2. , that the housework never gets done This may be true. I couldn't possibly comment apart from to say, thank god for our cleaner.
4. You must be short of things to write about, so they can expect to see themselves featured in glorious prose. Some people are even surprised when they discover that this isn't the case... I can only say here that since I can barely remember the content of conversations I had with my own family the day after - no, a couple of hours after - they take place, I am quite pleased that I'm able to fool other people into entirely the wrong impression about the strength of my short term memory.
5. You must be making a fortune. Ha!
So, anyway; I'm off to London now to talk about blogging to my heart's content for a couple of days. And then I will return - hopefully with fewer bruises than Brad Pitt and Edward Norton sported after their weekends of Fight Club excess - to settle back into my day to day existence and undercover blogging once again...
If you have a blog, and tell people about it, do you have anything to add to this list? And if you don't tell people, why not?
This will make a refreshing change from my usual m.o. which - when speaking to 'real' people - is to treat blogging like Fight Club. Remember? First rule about Fight Club; Never speak about Fight Club. Second rule about Fight Club? Never speak about Fight Club. So it generally is with blogging and me.
It's not that I'm ashamed of my blog, you understand - rather the opposite. I'm proud of it, would shout about it from the roof tops if I could. It's more that a) it's supposed to be anonymous and b) very often when you tell people who don't blog that you do - if you tell them - they immediately make assumptions about you.
These are, in no particular order:
1. You have no friends. This is surprising because the majority of bloggers I've met face to face are some of the most gregarious and engaging people I know. Frankly, given the opportunity, we rarely shut up.
2. You have too much time on your hands. That's why this morning, I'm squeezing writing a blog post in between dropping my kids at school, going into the city to pick up my new visa, sorting the house into some semblance of order, making a cake for the troops to eat whilst I'm gone - got to remind them of the benefits of having me around, obviously - doing the laundry, packing for my weekend away, and getting to the airport on time to make my flight later on.
3. In a direct contradiction with 2. , that the housework never gets done This may be true. I couldn't possibly comment apart from to say, thank god for our cleaner.
4. You must be short of things to write about, so they can expect to see themselves featured in glorious prose. Some people are even surprised when they discover that this isn't the case... I can only say here that since I can barely remember the content of conversations I had with my own family the day after - no, a couple of hours after - they take place, I am quite pleased that I'm able to fool other people into entirely the wrong impression about the strength of my short term memory.
5. You must be making a fortune. Ha!
So, anyway; I'm off to London now to talk about blogging to my heart's content for a couple of days. And then I will return - hopefully with fewer bruises than Brad Pitt and Edward Norton sported after their weekends of Fight Club excess - to settle back into my day to day existence and undercover blogging once again...
If you have a blog, and tell people about it, do you have anything to add to this list? And if you don't tell people, why not?
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