Right, let's try that again...

OK. Now, where was I? Oh yes, about to write a post entitled 'Unbelievable' when I got distracted by a kerfuffle over at Wife in the North's blog...

So, here's what I meant to write yesterday.

We're getting a new boiler fitted in our London flat. I had agreed with the supplier that this would take place on Thursday, so you can imagine my surprise when I received an e-mail from someone in their office telling me that the fitting would happen on Wednesday. Since we're not there, any change of date means alerting various friends and relations that timings for on-site approval of the work etc might alter, so I called to check...

Me: "Ah, hello Ms X. I'm calling about the boiler your team are due to fit at 275 Bolthole Lanes, London. I thought it was due to happen on Thursday 29th April, but in your confirmation e-mail it states that it's happening on the 28th. Can you just confirm when it's actually taking place?

Ms X (sighing heavily): "Right. Let's see. What was the address, again? (I repeat it, wondering where the 'Hello Mrs PM, nice to hear from you blah blah blah). Oh yes. It's due to start on Thursday 29th April."

Me: "Not the 28th, then?"

Ms X (barely contained weariness): "No. The 29th."

Me: "Right, I just wanted to check because it says in your e-mail - from you - that it's happening on the 28th. So you're sure?"

Ms X: "Absolutely."

I leave a space for her to insert 'and I'm sorry if my mail caused any confusion'. Nothing.

Me: "The 29th."

Ms X: "Yes. (Clearly thinking; who is this woman, and why is she wasting my time?) The 29th."

Me: ???? (Subtext: and my apology is....?)

Ms X: ..........( Subtext: ...about as likely to arrive as a snowball is to make it through hell)

Me: "OK. Well, thanks for clearing that up then..."

Ms X: "You're very welcome..."

Ends.

I think I may be turning into my father.

For more general wittering, click on over to Powder Room Graffiti where I'm ranting about snooze buttons, blackberries, metro-sexuals, laddered tights and disappearing moisturiser - all in the same post.

I know. I'm just gifted, I guess...

UN-believable...

That was meant to be the title of a completely different post which will probably follow shortly, but in the meantime I just had to direct your attention to Wife in the North's blog where she has today highlighted the shocking absence of women at the forefront of the forthcoming UK general election, and in particular Gordon Brown's reaction to being confronted by a disillusioned female member of the Labour party faithful.

I'm sure that if you live in the UK you will have had the footage you can view via Wife in The North rammed down your throat, but for those who don't and who might have missed it, I heartily recommend that you click through to it and that - crucially - you watch it all the way to the end.

Apparently, having the nerve to express a dissenting point of view to the incumbent prime-minister's face in this spin-managed election makes you a bigot.

Gordon Brown is, of course, entitled to his opinion. As are the rest of us, on what exactly we think of someone in his position who forgets to tun off his mic.

The Gallery; A portrait of expanding horizons

So, Tara's Gallery has pushed me out of my comfort zone again. This week's prompt was 'a portrait'. Tricky, that one, when you've promised your husband not to put your family's faces on the internet. However, here is Boy #2 - face obscured, as ever - last weekend at an open day we took him to at the Centre For Curative Pedagogics in Moscow.

If you're anything like me, you'll be wondering what on earth that means. Centre For Curative Peda- what?

The CCP is an amazing place. A bit of background; Russia is not a nation or society that is forgiving of those who are disabled in any way. If your child is born anything other than 'normal', you have to prepare yourself - and them - for a lifetime of fighting both to be seen as an individual rather than as a second class citizen, and to receive any help at all (financial or otherwise) in achieving that. This is why the recent success of Russia's athletes at the Paralympics was so very important; it finally gave the man on the street a reason to look at people in this situation as more than beggars to be handed small notes on the metro, or as people who deserve more out of life than to be put into an institution and forgotten about.

The CCP was one of the first places in Russia to recognise the rights of both mentally and physically disabled children to receive a proper education and to do something about helping them to experience that. Since it's set-up 20 years ago approximately 10,000 children (and crucially, their families) have passed through it's systems, some of them going on to mainstream education, some of them not, but all of them benefiting from the expertise of a group of teachers and supporting staff who are totally dedicated to their work.

So on Saturday we took our sons to an open day there, where they watched a show put on by some of the pupils, were given a tour of the facility, and - as you can see from the photograph - took part in the sort of workshops that the children who attend there benefit from. Boy #2 is building a little light in the shape of a house.

It was certainly a change from the comfortably insulated bubble of expat life where they usually pass their weekends. And we're going to go back; I think that it may even help us to meet the need I posted about a couple of years ago in helping the Boys understand just how fortunate they are...

And today, I will be mostly pretending I know Music...

The world of parent blogging is pretty diverse. Other than the fact that we all have children who we are each convinced are the smartest / the cutest / the most entertaining / the most loveable / the most frustrating / the most rewarding IN THE WORLD (oh yes mine are - all of those things - obviously), we're all capable of writing posts that could focus on a multitude of other issues. For example, it's possible to find posts which instead of focusing on Junior's latest adorable habit instead feature everything and anything under the sun. In just a few clicks I can read about what to cook for dinner, how to handle depression, the forthcoming UK election, dealing with cancer, which wine to buy, and what fashion-fixes are out there, without having to work too hard at it, and amazingly all without ever leaving sites that fall under the umbrella-term 'parent blogger'.

So today I've decided to add music to my interests. But don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to read through a review of some new indy band's latest offering. Instead, take a look at this list of bands and artists, and see if you can work out what they all have in common...

Steve Wonder

Beyonce

Crowded House

Journey

James Blunt

Cher

Elton John

Maroon 5

U2

Paul McCartney

Bob Marley

Men at Work

Aha

Toto

Pink

Lady GaGa

Natalie Imbruglia

Got it yet?

No? Well, they all wrote songs that use the same 4 chords.

Unlikely, I know, but check out this video and you'll see what I mean... (there are more artists than I've listed above featured in this, but I'm only human and didn't get them all. Feel free to add to the list in the comments if you're so inclined, and I'll update it...)

And thanks to Powder Room Graffiti where I first came across the 4 Chord Song, and ThatGirl39 who inspired this post with her remark that 'I can be all things to all people'...

British Mummy Blogger of the Week

Sunday morning - and I'm off to help out at an event at school shortly. This is a bit of a minefield, not in the sense of 'will I know anyone?', or even 'how long will this take and when can I get back home to continue my rock and roll lifestyle of weekend laundry and tidying up?', but more in the sense of 'what the hell shall I wear?'

Since arriving in Moscow, I'm ashamed to admit that I have not been at my finest, sartorially speaking. When we first arrived, warmth and practicality were everything, and my skirts and high-heeled boots languished unnoticed at the back of my wardrobe for some time. Now that the weather is improving, it's proving difficult to get what little fashion mo-jo I ever had back in action, and this situation is further exacerbated by the fact that my normal shopping haunts are 1500 miles away. Sure, there are shops here, of course there are, but many of them sell clothes that are just - to put it politely - not me.

So a trip back to London to refresh my wardrobe is called for, but that then leaves me with the over-riding question; if the clothes on offer here are not me, what actually is?

So I've been hunting around the internet for inspiration, and that's when I came across this week's British Mummy Blogger of the Week. (I know, last week wine, this week fashion. Anyone else out there thinking that I really need a weekend away?) ThatGirl39 at Forty Not Out writes of herself:

'Inside of the mind of this woman is still That Girl. I used to be '39 and Counting' but now I'm all grown up! Follow me into Life Part Two and watch as I navigate parenthood, an ever growing shoe collection, fine lines and whatever else is in store. Ooh... did someone say store? Does it sell shoes?/

And whilst I might not be in right shape or price bracket for Michael Kors' slick creations just now, or Loboutins to wear on the school run, it never hurts to look and dream for a while, right?

For the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too).

Definitely NOT cooking with gas...

We had a new oven delivered yesterday (yes, even in Moscow such things do exist). This was not through capriciousness on my part ('must have shiny new things around me...') but because of the fact that our previous one, being a) elderly and b) generally crap was not working properly. Of the four hotplates on top - for yes, it was that abomination, an electric oven - only one produced any real heat, which meant that cooking anything other than pasta with a stir-in sauce was a bit of a challenge. And whilst I do like a stir-in sauce, we have been here nearly four months, so...

In any case, a few weeks ago I threw my toys out of the pram and told Husband that given the extortionate rent we are paying for our house (subtext; given the fact that I am FORTY THREE YEARS OLD and TOO OLD TO BE COOKING WITH A CRAP OVEN), he should sort the situation out. Knowing what was good for him - and being heartily sick of pasta with stir-in sauce - he negotiated with the managers of our house and hey presto, new oven. (Well, hey presto and a little something extra, anyway).

'Yes, Mr Potty, you will have a new oven by the end of the month' he was told. 'We will send over some model specifications for your wife to choose from.' I would love to say at this point that what we anticipated was a joint decision for the two of us, but let's be honest, we all know that this one was going to be down to me, so I waited eagerly for the pamphlets to be delivered. And what turned up? One. One poxy spec. For the updated version of the same model we already had. (Welcome to Russia).

In any case, I was just desperate to be able to ditch the Sacla, so I dutifully said yes and yesterday, the oven arrived - along with 2 workmen to fit it. Only two? Lo, how the mighty have fallen. I suspect this dramatic fall in numbers (remember how it took 5 workmen to replace our washing machine?) may have more to do with a conspicuous lack of tips on our part than with any efficiency drive on the part of our compound management, but still.

And, seeing as improvement in my command of Russian since their last visit is negligible (must do my homework), here is my imagined translation of what the workmen were saying this time...

Workman #1: "Right. Give me a hand with this, will you? We just need to slide the old one out and..."

Workman #2: "I can see their shipment finally arrived from England. Nice coffee machine. Think we can sneak in a Nespresso when her back is turned?"

Workman #1: "Maybe later. Right now, I need you to pass me the instruction manual. OK, right, first turn off the fuse. Know where that is?"

Workman #2: "Yep. I'll go do that and be back in a mo..."

10 minutes pass. Much puffing and panting and wheezing from Workman #1 in the kitchen. Then...

Workman #1: ~"Sergei! Sergei! Where the fuck are you? I've been trying to unplug this dam thing for 10 minutes now and you're - well, what are you doing?"

Workman #2: "Keep your hair on comrade. I was just checking out the Dyson under the stairs. Seems in a reasonably good state of repair but they really need to wash out the filter..."

Workman #1: "How many times? Don't - call - me - COMRADE! Pass me the wire stripper, will you? And take your head out of that cupboard!"

Workman #2: "Can you believe she's brought a handmixer without any paddles with her? These westerners, really. How can she hope to make any decent cake without a proper mixer? Not that she needs to, mind. Put a bit of weight on since our last visit, don't you think? I bet you any money you like there'll be a wii-fit in residence by the next time we get called out."

Workman #1: "Wire-strippers. Now, please."

Workman #2: "In a minute. She's got her head stuck in that laptop again, so I'm just popping outside for a fag break. Can you switch that Nespresso machine on whilst you're over there...?"

The Gallery: 5 out of 7 ain't bad...

It's Wednesday, so it must be time for Tara's Gallery (cue Tony Hart music). This week's prompt was a hard one: the Seven Deadly Sins. What on earth was I going to use for this one, I wondered?

But then I came across the photo above, that I took one rainy day last Autumn when Boy #2 and I were making gingerbread. I particularly like the way you can see his finger-marks in the mixture and how next to his body you can see the drops over-hanging where he's scraped his hand over the edge of the bowl. Food-appreciation in it's purest form...

I reckon this shot ticks at least 7 of the following boxes;

• Greed - well, that one's obvious
• Gluttony - see above (I know you're supposed to distinguish between these two but for the purposes of this post I'm not going to bother. Is that a double hit for Sloth, I wonder?)
• Sloth - from me, for leaving the unwashed bowl within reach on the side in the kitchen
• Pride - that Boy #2 liked it enough to do this
• Envy - because I so wanted to be licking out the bowl myself
• Wrath - no, I was laughing too hard ...
• Lust - well, it was only gingerbread mixture. It wasn't as if it was chocolate, or anything...

And, just in case you're a Brit of a certain age and are now asking yourself 'What was that music, again?' here it is... (You could even play it whilst you're perusing The Gallery over at Tara's, if you like).