Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Never mind fifteen minutes, here's my thirty seconds of fame

As a rule, I do not 'do' sponsored posts.
Too many obligations, too many onerous tasks to abide by, too many people to please.

I have enough of that to deal with at work. And at home. Almost forgot that last point.

Anyway, when I was approached about taking part in a short film illustrating 'me time', I was highly amused by the notion that it might involve having my nails done, enjoying a spa day, or even sitting in a bath surrounded by aromatherapy candles.

Hmmm. I think not. Anyone who has read recent posts would understand that is not quite my 'thing'.

I answered back accordingly. Would the company in question perhaps appreciate an LCM version of 'me time'? Complete with wetsuit and vintage swimming cap?

Thinking they would beat a hasty retreat, Yours Truly was taken back by the reply ("That sounds brilliant!").

So here it is. Have a laugh at my expense.
Oh, and Halle Berry? Eat your heart out.


Thank you Sam, Lorna, Aimee, Fiona, Ryan and Ollie - you were game enough to go along with the ridiculous and I salute you.



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Tuesday, 14 June 2011

The curious case of Kevin, the trapped squirrel, and the Innits

One thing that Kevin never is, is dull. Never, never, never.

Take the most recent meeting. The Kevinettes - almost a full house - were readily supplied upon arrival by the Doctor of Psychology (whose turn it was to host) with glasses of Pimms and tasty nibbles. Once these were devoured, we moved on to more replenishment of drinks and a delicious meal. There was even cheese and pudding. Michel Roux, eat your heart out.

Fortunately this time we remembered to keep some food aside for the Doctor's husband, who had taken himself to the gym to counter the calorific intake we were busy enjoying. Wise move. If for no other reasons that at least his eardrums were spared the vast amount of laughing and cackling and general telling of stories that was taking place.*

Like that of Belfast Blonde and the squirrel.

We had been going round the table establishing "What makes a good book?" for each of us.
The LCM stipulation that the replies should be 140 characters or less went slightly by-the-by as a few glasses of wine had been consumed by then, and there is nothing better than a drink (or several) to loosen tongues. But the Kevinettes did well, by all accounts, we will make Tweeters of them yet.
And before you wonder, yes, we have conversations like this at every meeting.

Anyway.

The conversation went something like this, in reply to the question.

Belfast Blonde - "Characters, interesting ones."
Botanical Artist - "Engrossing plot."
Lovely Radiographer - "An author who writes a good story without showing off."
Belfast Blonde - "Have you heard this new term: the Innits? It's the new Chavs."
Aussie Solicitor - "Intellectual stimulation."
Doctor of Psychology - "A confident writer who draws you in."
LCM - "Kevin."
Belfast Blonde - "I had a squirrel in my bird feeder the other day."

At which point we all stop and look at her. Never mind the Innits, it's the squirrel we're interested in.

She continues to then tell the story about looking out in to her garden around ten at night, and discerning a squirrel which appears to have gotten stuck inside her (squirrel-proof, supposedly) bird feeder. All except for the rodent's tail is firmly encased in a narrow plastic tube. Said tail is hanging out and appears to be flickering.
In a mild panic she does what any sensible female would do.
She phones a male friend.
To cut a long story short, male friend proves to be as useful as a chocolate teapot, the RSPCA is called, arrives some time around midnight, the bird feeder is cut open and the squirrel - miraculously - revives itself and trots off, unfazed. Like this sort of thing happens every day, right?
The RSPCA woman then proceeds to distribute what is left of the seeds around the garden, calling after the scampering animal, "There you go Mister Squirrel, some more nuts for you if you are hungry later!", hands back the mangled remains of the bird feeder to Belfast Blonde and asks for a donation.

"What did you say?", we all asked Belfast Blonde.
"I was speechless," she replies, trying not to laugh.
"Why?" comes the chorus.
"She looked like a squirrel herself!"

It could have been worse. She could have been an Innit.

* Of course, we also discussed the books we had read, in quite some depth, but somehow it is the other events that seem to keep us coming back, namely food, drink and anecdotes.


And for my next trick,
I will infiltrate Kevin



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Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Ten reasons why I am not going to Robots Anonymous* this year

No, I am not going. Out of choice. And this is why:
  1. newest arrival Jim is still rather shy and adverse to public outings
  2. I am manning a stall at the school's summer fair
  3. I may be training (possibly after a lie-in)
  4. it is a triathlon-free weekend (and therefore subject to point 3 above)
  5. I will be spending time with my children before they sue me for negligence (see point 4)
  6. there will be even more ridiculous exchanges with BB and WW in light of our next (relay) race
  7. Kevin's backlog is swamping me and I need to catch up
  8. I am allergic to crowds
  9. although I am a mother and I am a blogger, I am not a 'mummy blogger'
  10. ... *thinks hard*... I will be washing my hair
The only time I look backwards

* that's my take on last year's Cybermummy for those who were wondering


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Wednesday, 1 June 2011

And even more random conversations with my training partner(s)

On bikes, en route to Richmond Park.
BB (looking at weather) - "It's cold. And windy. And far too early."
LCM - "It is after 8am."
BB - "There is a really nice jacuzzi in the leisure centre, we could go there?"
LCM - "What are you going to do in two weeks' time during the race if the weather is like this?"
BB - "Hmmm. Retire early, buy some champagne and cheer you and the Wine Writer on from the sidelines?"
LCM (pedalling faster) - "You would be too drunk to see us."

Text exchange on a Thursday.
LCM - Plan to swim Sunday morning, bike Monday. You?
BB - Yep. How about today and tomorrow?
LCM - Have a little thing called work that gets in the way.

Via email.
WW - Did two laps of Datchet this morning mega slowly but I didn't stop too much this time (until the stretch home when the ski-ramp wasn't getting nearer soon enough so I had to stop and have a cup of tea/do breaststroke...)
LCM - That's amazing, well done! Coming again next weekend?
WW - Off to Northumberland. Best I can do is swim in North Sea. Hope it's calm.
LCM - Nutter.


Text exchange on Saturday night.
LCM - Pick you up at 6.30am. Which lake? Heron? Datchet?
BB - You give me no choice. Well, you give me choice of lake. Up to you. Super happy to be out of bed, in cold weather, bad back so any lake will get me jumping out of my skin at 6.30. Of course. Grazie.
LCM (thinks to self that BB must be drunk)


En route to lake on Sunday at 6.30am.
LCM - "Am I going the right way?"
BB - "Uhmmm..."
LCM - "It must be the other direction." (does U-turn in middle of road)
BB - "Are you sure?"
LCM - "No. Are you?"
BB - "I'm not driving."
LCM - "True." (does full 360 around roundabout).
BB - "This is the same way as before."
LCM - "It's early. I will wake up later."

At the lake.
LCM (pulling on wetsuit) - "Oh no! Jim has a hole!"
BB - "Fix it."
LCM (boom tish)

Text messages.
WW - Hope swimming ok. North Sea is utterly freezing. Did 100m only before getting frostbite in my face and hands. Insane.
LCM - Priceless! Managed two laps of Datchet last Sunday. No frostbite.



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