They Think it’s All Over. It is Now…

Another week, another blog. (To show solidarity to my kids, I set myself homework – ‘post another blog by next Friday’. #teacherspet.)

Also… Another week, another Boris announcement.

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More things returning to a ‘new normal’, but my kids are still being homeschooled, so I delayed lockdown activity #84 as long as possible: tie dye.

My youngest had done tie dye club at school once (remember that place?) and brought home a patterned pillowcase, so surely that was enough? Why should I have to do it in my own house?

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Aviator Nation – tie dye of dreams

Same reason I guess as having to do slime and rainbow looms. To be fair, thank goodness we’re not on ‘slime time‘ during lockdown. It was hard enough finding glue, hair gel and contact lens solution during ‘normal’ shopping situations.

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Following ‘Tie Dye Tuesday’, we now have no more white items of clothing. I can’t complain though, as they seemed to enjoy it and it was a fun filled ‘afternoon’. (An hour basically, but in lockdown years I would say that counts as at least three hours of peace and thankfully it was an activity that didn’t require the following: my assistance, flour, eggs or sugar.)

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Wear gloves. Whatever you do. #VioletBeauregarde

A lot of lockdown activities seem cyclical. I remember doing tie dye as a kid as well as lots of puzzles. Friends have gone nuts on the puzzle thing. I am not convinced. You do them and then what? I like things that have a purpose afterwards – like those sequin art things that can be money boxes or door plaques.

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That said, I have bought one puzzle. A fancy-shmancy one from Jonathan Adler which I am planning to frame as a lockdown memory. It’s very hard though. And I stupidly set it up in the loft, aka the sauna – and can therefore only manage about 15 minutes at a time up there.

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But back to lockdown activities, at the start of lockdown when everyone was on a clear-out frenzy, my neighbour proffered about 2000 Hama beads.

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Was I really ‘back there’ again?

Seemed I was. And my girls happily took commissions (mainly from bored Grandparents) of various shapes, patterns and animals. ‘Papa M’ is new the proud owner of a blue and white and green dragon/alligator hybrid with an ‘S’ on the front of it. A ‘good luck’ Hama-charm for the forthcoming Spurs season.

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Good luck charm? We’re going to need a bigger dragon…

Yup – we’re back there again too. It’s not coming home. It’s ‘come home’.

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The welcome break from the stresses and strains that my husband feels with every pass of the ball pass. It was good while it lasted, I’m not going to lie.

The ‘green screen’ is back on, in every room in the house. Never mind the fact that we are an energy saving household and we abide by the ‘lights off when not in use’ rule. I totally get it. I feel husband’s frustration of walking into an unoccupied room and finding various lights and lamps left on.

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Our house at night

So when he leaves tv’s on in every room in the house, it’s a bit like the offside rule to me.

I just don’t get it.

From lounge to kitchen, he needs a tv on.

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Me and him. In Costco

During a game, he might need nip upstairs to the loo (downstairs loo is available but certain ‘things’ get done in certain toilets, you know?) So, up he goes, passing the tv in our room which has to be on just in case he misses a goal or a penalty. 

Add to that, everyones windows are open in this warm weather, so there is the additional indicator of activity from the audible cheers and boos heard in neighbouring gardens.

Never mind hearing it in stereo, I’ve got cinema-style Dolby surround sound through my house.

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Those precious household goods…

For me, it’s my washing machine.

For him? It’s the tv. And because of this, Father’s Day was almost a write-off. There were multiple matches happening throughout the course of the day, but at midnight the night before, there was ‘a problem’.

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Our Sky system shut down. Literally. Totally. Completely. Nothing would work.

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There worst message he could ever receive pre-match

Fortunately, we have a ‘tv man’ who could be replied upon to ‘sort it out on a Sunday’. 

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Not our man. But similar

Thankfully, the tv’s got sorted by match start and all was right(-ish) in the world again.

(TV repair man is now part of our family ‘support bubble’ and will be joining us for Friday night Dinner.)

Have a safe week.

x

 

 

University Challenge

Watching friends’ (and complete strangers’) social media feeds with all the goodbyes to their University-bound offspring, is giving me ‘all kinds of feels’.

I have two girls and whilst I am a fair way off that ‘Insta-moment’, I hope that one day they will head off to University to study their respective passions. (Currently no known degrees available in ‘Slime Management.’)

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I just can’t imagine them fleeing the nest. What will they eat? Will they clean their rooms? Will they wash their bedlinen properly and use a fabric sheet in the tumble drier?

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I have pretty clear recollections of that journey up to Manchester where I was off to study ‘Design & Art Direction’ for three whole years.

I remember the liberating feeling of gathering ‘bits’ for my new Northern life. I saw one friend recently doing the University shop for her triplets – TRIPLETS!!! No wonder the duvet cover selection in Primark was empty. Clean sweep.

My ‘digs’ were called ‘Student Village‘, right in the centre of town.

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Village of Students

We were the first group of students living there, so everything was brand-spanking new. Chairs not sat in, toilets not shat in. A pretty good start I’d say, compared to the horror stories of student accommodation that some friends were opting for.

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Standard. At least the bin’s not overflowing.

We were ‘the lucky ones’.

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Looking more like the Young Ones

Four of us from London were sharing a ‘mini flat’ – you had a front door with a shared bathroom and kitchen, then your own bedroom.

As I nervously navigated my way through the airless corridors, I found my room and was greeted by my friend in room C330, who was just unpacking the last of her stuff in her room – spacious, big, bright.

My room? C331. Dingy, Narrow. Dark. The other two rooms in our flat were pretty decent by comparison, so I had truly got the shit deal.

Can I go home now please?

I honestly couldn’t think of a worse living space to be in and was contemplating leaving for London, with my friend’s dad who was about to head back.

Seeing the disparity in our rooms, and the devastation in my eyes, friend’s dad got to work. It was all very Mission Impossible, but with less dangling from ceilings.

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This mission was possible

With a handy background in security, he changed the lock cylinder between my poxy box room and room C329, one of the other two vacant rooms. (sigh, let me explain…)

So, basically, my original key still fitted in the lock, yeah? With me so far?

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We simply shifted the lock barrel out of my original room (C331) and swapped it over with that of the more preferably room (C329).

Capiche? (Come see me at the end of the blog if still unclear.Unknown-6)

Oh, and we also prized off the door numbers and swapped them over too. If you’re going to do a job, do it properly.

Thinking back, it was proper criminal stuff. I could have got thrown out day one. get me! The student rebel.

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That’s my hand. Bottom left. Okay maybe not…

I’m not saying I ended up with a south-facing garden and en suite bathroom, but I really loved my new room.

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My room. Not actual, but very similar

It was glorious, with its basic furnishings and scratchy pube-style, stain resistant carpet. I decorated the shit out of it with every rave poster I could find on the streets of Manchester.

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Pretty much my bedroom

A whole happy year was spent in those halls, which even included a prison style riot. Over what, I can’t actually remember. One day everything just went a bit mad and people were chucking all kinds of shit out of their windows. Chairs, crockery….I think I threw a ream of paper. See? Rebel, I told you earlier.

 

 

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Buenos Aires brings in the new year by chucking old notes and memos from windows.      Credit: Flickr user dandeluca

The scholastic year came and went and the time was right to move out into the suburbs, where all the second years headed to for added ‘independence’. (Read as: smoking weed without a central smoke alarm going off in the building. More about that later…)

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Fallowfield. The mecca of second year students

I’ve mentioned it before – so I’ll touch on it again – but I lived in a house with a group of 6 girls, our strong bond formed through living out our year spent at student village.

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9 Mabfield Road. My road

Oh, what a schmutz-hole. But it was our schmutz-hole.

The walls were held up with more blue tack than the entire chain of WHSmiths.

I don’t even remember cleaning the fridge for the entire 2 years I lived there. Let alone mopping the floor.

The basement was more of a damp coal cellar where one housemate would sit at her sewing machine ’til the wee hours, to work on her Textile degree. (And it actually smelled of wee in the basement.)

We were all the same though – one friend had a futon in her room whereby you literally couldn’t see the difference between the edge of her bed and the piles of stuff all over the floor. It was just all ‘one level’.

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Do people even buy futons anymore?

Another friend would have these mad blitzes every now and then, where she would literally empty her entire room out into the hallway (brilliant for fire safety) and go for a mad clean up.

It wasn’t all disgusting though. There was some level of pride in our student schmutz. One flatmate had a glorious collection of trolls (the original ones, 90s style).

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The rest of the room could have been a pigsty, but the trolls were neat and tidy at all times. Until one nasty boy visited and chopped all of the trolls’ hair off. Literally scalped each and every one of them. Conniving sod that he was, he carefully placed each ‘troll toupee’ back on top of their heads, so my friend was none the wiser until the weekly cleaning ceremony, when she went to pick them up by theirbeautiful tufty hair. She was livid.

All this dirt and lack of hygiene is possibly why I am now so anal about my family home and keeping everything neat and tidy. That said, I didn’t turn out too badly having survived on a diet of Pot Noodle. And maybe a bit of actual pot…

Good luck to all those starting University. And try to wash your sheets once a week

x

P.s. No-one ever found about ‘room swap’. Until the day some of us were in my room and it got a bit smokey…ahem… and the building fire team came up to investigate why my smoke alarm went off.  Except they went to my original room, because that smoke alarm was still assigned to room C331.