Lollypop ladies

So now I know how to link to other peoples blogs life has got a bit more interesting, there's a whole world out there. But, I wonder if there is blogging traffic - could I be a Lollypop lady?

There are several reasons for this:

1) It is a job that I have always wanted to do, out there on the other roads, not here in cyber-ness, well that was not a consideration until now. I do not think that it is a job I will ever have because a) I do not have grey hair b) there are fewer Lollypop ladies (and men) on a proportional rate to 4x4s. There are lots of 4x4s and therefore, fewer Lollypop people.

2) They have a very cool uniform, not to mention the Lollypop itself, but there is no rain on computers, so I could do this job from home or a cafe and never get wet. I do wonder though, quite what the costume for a blogging Lollypop Lady might look like...Would I get the flouro tabards and giant Lollypop? Perhaps it might jus be a case of sitting at home with a Chuppa Chup, or a bag of Harribos - if I'm lucky. With a good dose of crap telly, that actually sounds like a good (and very typical) night in. Oh bring on the dancing Gummy Bears and let's party.

3) I do not want to stop or hold up any traffic, having just pondered the situation, I do wonder if perhaps I would not be very good at the job anyway...

I think that it might be late and I should go to sleep.

Networking-ness (eeew)

So can we start a deal here?

a) if you read this post a comment.

b) I learn how to put you all on as links, so I can leave comments for you.

Then somehow, we all emerge as blog-artistes. Tim and Liam are already the blog-kings, and I have utter respect for them, always. But this blog-traffic ting might be fun...

Probably by the time anyone reads this it will be submerged beneath a pile of random comments, but, you never know what traffic may be passing.

Oh

Oh, how they boast... twas not the can-can, nor the cha cha cha (the supposed dance on desk yesterday). It was random legs kicked, and I got in trouble as his mum was unaware of it when I (stupidly) mentioned it at the school gates.

That is why although I always feel inadequate as 'invisible/working mum' I do not like that school gate thing - I just always say the wrong thing.

Prayer time

So here is a funny tale.

Collected my son from the childminder and he was bouyant. During prayers the class were meant to have their eyes shut, they half did, half didn't and so giggles errupted when a boy called Elliot decided to dance a can-can on the desk, thus disrupting the solemn occassion.

Even the terrifying Mrs Benney could not supress a smile, apparently.

Even funnier, apparently Elliot did know how to can-can. Oh the youth of today.

Ta dah!

See, it even looks different.

On the bus.

Time to change, to move on, to stop hiding. Have struggled with this blog - looking back through the postings it feels that there is too much contrived, contrite waffle. Verging on pretension. I'm allowed to say that, it is my blog.

So just get it all down, the day to day blah de blah, but get it down. Self-discipline, what a grail to search for. Oh god, at it again.

Yesterday was a good day.

Saw my first piece of paid copy. Ok so it won't win the Booker Prize, but I wrote it and will get paid for writing it. Hope I never loose that buzz of seeing my name in print. Some how, knowing me, I don't think that I will. Think I'll still bounce up and down, literally or internally, with a grin to myself to say 'I did that'.

Got our portfolio grades back, and I'm happy and proud. Kind of draws a line on the work from last year so time to move forward, in more ways than one.

Oh, and there was the bus trip to Plymouth. The reason for the bus trip was to see Dereks play, but the night almost seems like two separate occasions.

On the bus. And Off the bus.

On the bus we drank, sang and made merry. Perhaps too merry - is there such a thing? Don't think so really. Whatever, it was fun. I asked D to save me a back seat, he asked if that was because I was cool, and I explained that I never, never, never was one of the 'cool' ones at school. Far from it. I was always a bit of an odd-ball, never cool. I'd never say that I was cool now, despite wanting to sit on the back seat.

Actually the backseat thing stems from 'airport terror'. This phenomenon is a term I use to explain the total personality change that I go through the moment I step into an airport, as a ressult of the quest for the window seat. So, heres how it goes, I tense up, and run and will fight anyone, anywhere near me to a) get to the check in first b)make sure I get the window seat c)stay at the front of any queues anywhere. Some how, if I'm in a window seat, and can see the sky, land, and the emergency exit then everything will be OK - the plane will be safe, we will not crash, and no one will blow us up.
So, translate it to a bus, and the emergency exit is always near the back seat, so we will be safe, we will not crash, and no one will blow us up.

Oh, did I forget to mention that the back seat is always the best place to have a sneaky ciggy, there's room to dance and you always seem to drink more.