Bring Back the Clown and the Jelly and Ice Cream.

Last night I took Firstborn, who is nearly 13, to her first Teen-style party in a local nightclub. This was a traumatic experience - for me. She's into hockey - think Sporty Spice with the tracksuits - and I had to talk her into glamming up a WEE bit. However, when I dropped her off I felt (to be quite honest) a leaden feeling in my stomach at the sight of some of these 12/13 year old girls with the make up trowelled on and outfits that a prostitute would draw the line at. (Not all of them, but some of them). I understand that they are innocent and don't realise why it makes some of us adults feel uncomfortable.

And I know she's past the soft play area stage and the princess party dresses. I'm not naive. But I'm scared for them all.

Kids are sexualised so young nowadays - look at their tv choices, their clothes choices in the shops, the celebrity culture obsession with image and the associated eating disorder problems. I just want to stand up and say it's wrong. I need to stand up anyway - I'm off to the cinema to see Horton Hears a Who with the younger contingent of the Droid family. One of the characters in it has 96 daughters and 1 son, so his worries are definitely greater than mine!

Frustrated Biker Chick (or probably Hen, now)

We like to encourage the prisoners to set realistic goals and work towards them. Very sensible. Do I do that? No, not really. I bumble along happily, one day at a time, and am pleased if at the end of the week I have coped with another seven days of family plus full-time work. And my goal? My ambition? Totally UN-realistic! I would love to cross America coast to coast on a Harley-Davidson. Today I modified that and thought I fancied a trike rather than a bike, for some reason. This is NOT a realistic goal for my life. I've never even been on a (moving) motorbike. In the nearly fifteen years of my married life I haven't needed a passport as we've not had the money to go abroad. And just where on my motorbike would I stow my four kids and husband? But perhaps along with our sensible and realistic goals we also need a dream or two to while away boring moments.

The dog is dead. Long live the dog(s)?

While away on a short family holiday in Edinburgh this week I had the sad task of taking our old dog, who was suffering from cancer and other ailments, to the vet to be put to sleep. I volunteered because Him Indoors was much more attached to her than I was - or so I thought. However I found it very distressing anyway and all six of us cried a fair few tears that day. She was a great old thing and gave us 14 years' unconditional love.

Next morning? The kids were discussing getting a new dog, possibly two (the theory being they'd be company for each other) and most of the rest of the week was spent coming up with possible names for these Potential Puppies. This seemed very disrespectful to have moved on so quickly, but children are like that. However, before we left the caravan site we were staying at, the kids made what could only be described as a kind of shrine to poor old Chloe, which looked exactly like a grave and led to us then having to go and explain to the wardens before we left that the dog was in fact left at the vet for cremation and was not in fact buried, without permission, under the tree in their woodland!

Incidentally suggestions for the names for the Potential Puppies are welcome. We may get two black labrador bitches or one black and one brown. Current suggestions (not all serious) are: Treacle and Toffee, Jack and Vera, Bennett and Darcy, Cheese and Onion, Mrs Thompson and Mrs Wallace (the head and deputy head at the kids' school)...

A Disgrace to Women's Lib, I am.

I apologise to my cistern, er, sisters.

Today I took Penultimate and Youngest children for a bike ride. Well, they were riding the bikes Santa graciously brought them at Christmas but I was walking with Truffle, a chocolate (chocolate coloured not actual chocolate, sadly) labrador we are looking after for the week. About half way round, the chain came off Youngest Child's bike.

Did I even look to see if I could work out how to fix it? No (head hanging down in shame). I did not. I looked round to see if a man on a bike might come along who I could ask to fix it. This plan worked almost instantly and, ignoring all previous instructions not to talk to strangers, Youngest Child was asked, "What do you say to the kind man for fixing your bike?"

It is only now, hours and hours later that it hits me. What kind of 21st century woman am I? It's the fact I didn't even LOOK at the chain to see what to do... although when the gallant stranger fixed it in a nanosecond I did have the grace to be a WEE bit embarrassed.

The thing is, although I want equal pay and all that, I find it very delightful to leave all jobs I don't fancy (especially anything potentially involving getting dirty) to men. We caravan and I have never yet learned how to empty the loo, nor I have I the least intention of so doing. I have mysteriously forgotten how to cut the grass. And I'm not good with sick - dog sick or child sick.

I thought of telling you the truth - that it all started when I got a Christmas job in my last two years at school as a turkey plucker. You had to kill your own turkey. But I, and the only other female turkey plucker, let one of the men kill us one too. I thought of telling that story but in view of my post about the pheasant the other day it might be too much. I don't want folk thinking I'm anti-bird. So I won't mention it.

The only thing I have in my favour is that I ALWAYS vote, even when I've no idea who to vote for - my mum drummed it into me that women had fought so hard to get the vote I'd better appreciate it - and of course I do.

Admiring God's Creation...

Which Mr Darcy is the best? I like 'em both, for the record. It's the character as written by Jane Austen that I really like, actually, though these two fine examples of God's creation do a good job in the roles.

I was discussing with a friend the other day our favourite classics (hers is Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy) and I was saying that my daughters are all hooked on Pride and Prejudice too. Indeed they've now also discovered the brilliant Bollywood version, "Bride and Prejudice" and we've been enjoying it too recently.

What I'm now wondering though is whether I'm doing the right thing, as a mother. The thing I like most about P and P, and perhaps to some extent it reflects where I work, is that it's all so NICE. Even the baddies speak like gentlemen and there's no swearing, no violence, no gritty reality at all. But life's not like that. Should I be preparing these girls for the general absence of Mr Darcy's out there, or should I be encouraging them to set the bar high? I don't know.

Dangerous killer on the roads.

I decided to go the scenic route to work today, and killed a poor pheasant which walked out from the hedgerow at precisely the wrong moment. I felt bad. So, since confession's good for the soul I'm now telling the world. (Don't think this means from now on I'll be telling you all my sins though). However, I don't feel so bad about the chicken whose death contributed to my chicken salad sandwich at lunchtime. What a hypocrite I am. Perhaps I'll become a vegetarian.

It's a gift!

I worried for many years when I heard sermons in church about using your gifts etc. For many years I just thought to myself, "What gifts?"
I couldn't do anything artistic. I have no artistic gifts, unlike my dad.
I couldn't do anything musical. My piano teacher used to hit her head off the piano.
I couldn't be a nurse. I am squeamish and can't even watch Casualty.
I couldn't be a policewoman. I'm not brave.
I couldn't be a teacher. I'm not patient enough. My own kids exhaust me.
I couldn't be in catering. I'm not domesticated.
I am quite good at spelling and jigsaws but I don't know how to make a living out of those gifts.
However! In prison chaplaincy I have found I do have two gifts which I use all the time.
I'm good at drinking coffee and I'm good at listening to absolutely fascinating stories. Who knew?

Two decades already...

20 years ago today me and him decided that perhaps after all we were not content to be just good friends...!

This was something that had been patently obvious to everyone around us for many months. We were the last to know. Even then it was two years more till we were engaged and another three after that till we were married!

Even after all these years, I'm still quite pleased with what I got. Beats me how he puts up with me.

Hold still. It's for your own good.

Today I had a tooth extracted. Alongside the flu I've been nursing an abcess and now I'm on a dose of antibiotic strong enough for a horse.

My brother is my dentist, which is wonderful because he generously treats me for free. I am really grateful to get rid of the source of the toothache that had me up at 3.30 this morning. On the other hand, it wasn't a straightforward extraction. It was ROUGH! The question is whether that really couldn't be helped or whether it was payback time for when I whacked him with a garden hoe as a child, or when I hit him with my hockey stick for that matter... There are guys in the jails I work in who were sentenced for less violent assaults than today's!

Incidentally, before you go rushing to report him - I AM joking!! Thank you, bro, honestly!

Woman Flu

Here's an interesting fact I have just learned. Apparently, if you work with a large number of men, you can get Man Flu even though you're female. Astonishing. What I thought was a cold that was lasting for weeks got worse and the Doc said it was in fact flu and signed me off for a week. Boy, day-time television is RUBBISH. And my head's too groggy to read a book or hold an interesting thought. But then, if you're enjoying yourself you shouldn't really be off sick. As soon as I start to enjoy myself, I promise I'll go back to work!!