I have begun to fail by failing to begin.

So I started this thing how many weeks ago? And I've posted how many entries? Exactly. But well, y'know, I've sorta been writing them in my head. I write a lot that way. Especially in the shower. Or when I'm cooking. Someone needs to invent a showerproof and greaseproof laptop. I don't know why I am unable to write. Yesterday - or the day before, I wrote a very long and rambling email to my clients re the work I do for them. It was silly and probably defeated it's purpose being as it was to get people to decide what merchandise to purchase and to re-book my classes for January and being that they had to scroll down acres of my mindless regurgitation before getting to the salient points. But some of them liked it. Should I post it??

You see, now I'm writing this, with precisely no one in mind to read it. Maybe that's what I need to do. Maybe just write for myself as if no one's going to read it. Maybe that will allow me the freedom I need. But as I write this, I am experiencing self-loathing, disgust at the ugly vanity displayed by my ego at even considering that anyone would want to read anything I have to say. Especially as, right now, it appears I have nothing to say.  

I can see that I'm going to drive myself mad in this vein fairly regularly. I need to keep at this though. I actually thought of a plot yesterday (of the novel variety). I talked it over briefly with MF (for whom I need to think of another pseudonym because MF sounds like something very very rude which did not occur to me when I first came up with it but which made me cry with laughter after he pointed it out to me).

Anyway, actually I'm not reporting all progress. I am upstairs now having kissed Mini-Me (8) goodnight after watching half an hour of Mariella Frostrup on Sky Arts' The Book Show. I have to watch that programme regularly. Maybe it will be the catalyst (read rocket up arse) that I need to start writing my oevre. Also, Mariella Frostrup is so clever and attractive, with her nail file voice, and silky tan blouse, her golden light shines over drab plebs in the audience at whichever literary festival she's at. She interviews Salman, taking care to stress the correct syllable of his name and playfully chides gap toothed whassername who writes all the horsey romps about having a romantic lead who is nearing 70 and should be looking after her grandchildren. See, I've just seen it and I can't remember whom I'm talking about. Thats the problem. No memory. No tenacity. Just laziness. I mean, who else is going to attempt to pass off watching half a tv programme as progress in novel writing. Especially when attention wanders to what I would look like if I cut my hair in a bob like Mariella. And whether I could get away with wearing a bow fronted blouse like Mariella. Instead of concentrating on useful stuff like what Jilly Cooper (THAT'S IT) has to say about the perfect male romantic character.

Y'know those slot machines where you stick coins in and they fall onto a shelf which moves back and forth against an arm seemingly pushing the coins off the end of the shelf? I am one of those coins. Ostensibly being pushed by external forces and environmental shape changes... gradually... slowly... towards... the... cliff, where it will ultimately have to slip...
...off (not leap bravely) into writerdom. Ostensibly. But not actually. In truth, it is stationary. Pressured, pushed, yet going nowhere.

Hurrah!

With motivation from kindly and supportive MF (manfriend), I have now posted my first ever blog. It was easy. I sneakily inserted my last article for Families NW, to see if it would work. And it did. Now all I have to do is be witty and insightful a few times a week and avoid going all introspective and bloody boring and depressing. I also have to strike a balance between being funny and truthful about life etc and not revealing too much which would alienate friends, family and customers - but not MF who has said I may write anything about him and he won't mind. I think he'll just be relieved that I will have somewhere else to post my mad ramblings rather than on blackberry messenger to him.

Hmm. I also have permission from BFUF (Best Friend Uber Fashionista) to write anything I please about her. However, I'm not sure she's thought this one through. Because inevitably people we both know may (note: I'm not flattering myself by saying "will") read this and find out stuff that she may wish she never told me. Anyway. Who says it's all going to be true? Creative license and all...

Mummy on the edge July/ August 2010

Angelina Melwani and Mini-Me float like butterflies around St Albans.  

10.30am on a Sunday in St Albans. Mini-Me, her schoolmate and the rest of their Karate class had just wowed the gathered parents with their collective ninja prowess at their Karate Grading - which is like an exam type thing where they perform routines in front of several Senseis (or teachers) in order to attain a higher level.

“Can we go now?” I asked Mini-Me when she had done her bit.

“No Mum, I want to watch everyone else and wait for the certificates and see if I got my orange belt!” Not only had I transported her there at an unholy hour on a Sunday morning, I now had to stay for the WHOLE THING just so that she could enjoy the satisfaction of her hard work and achievement.

Two and a half hours later, my eyes were wild with the desperate boredom that can only be brought on by the mandatory tedium of sitting through scores of kids and grownups –none of whom are your kid and none of whom bear even the slightest resemblance to Ralph Macchio - perform their repetitive Karate moves with home-counties-accented exclamations sounding more like polite waiters offering pizza to footballers. “Zidan Margeree?” The compulsion to leave that this instigated was paralleled only by a play I saw recently about a victim of terminal disease in South Africa. I’m sorry, but the only affinity I have with Karate involves deforesting my legs (wax on, wax off).  

Edna’s daddy (my friend’s husband) had brought along his new ipad, loaded with kids games and headphones to amuse their son, and even being allowed to stroking that while marvelling at its biscuit-like tactility didn’t cheer me up. It was only when said ipad started making involuntary noises after the audience had already had a dressing down from Sensei for creaking in their chairs too much, that I started shaking with hysterical laughter and had to go to the car to listen to Classic FM to calm down for a bit. Finally it was over. Mini-Me emerged beaming and victorious clutching her orange belt.

To celebrate (actually, because we were in St Albans anyway) we went to Butterfly World. We drove through the gates down a path flanked by grassy banks covered in  fairytale, meadowy annuals, looking much like a magical carpet of delicious sweeties in every clashing rainbow hue. A life-enriching sight to an adult let alone a dreamy child. Having glanced briefly at the website, we were all set to discover the huge, futuristic-looking Biome (“the largest walk-through butterfly experience in the world, with rope walkways, Maya caves and ruins to explore, streams and tropical rainstorms”) and instead we saw merely the site of the dome; it is - I mean, will be – huge and I can’t wait till it’s ready so we can go back and pretend we’ve gone on an eco holiday to some far-flung rainforest. But there is plenty more to do to while away a good two hours including a walk through a garden of giant flowerpots and gardening tools, that make you feel like an insect.

The current tropical butterfly house was a fraction of the size that the Biome will be but impressive enough. We tiptoed through it inch by inch, wondering at all the pretty petal-like butterflies, huge and small, floating around us. I tried sometimes to keep absolutely still so that one would land on me, and handed Mini-Me the camera so that she could capture the moment. She, however, was a whirlwind of subdued hysteria, which meant that no butterfly would land within a yard of me, let alone on me and if it did, she would have more likely screamed in terror than photographed it.  She yelped and dodged as though avoiding custard pies – nay bullets, and continued in this vein long after we had exited the butterfly house and left them inside. We looked around at the designer gardens and happened upon a wonderful quote that likened butterflies to children’s dreams un-tethered from sleep.

The next day we had to go back to Butterfly World to retrieve my glasses which some kind soul had handed in. This presented the perfect opportunity for me and Mini-Me to brunch at the Waffle House a short drive away, which I had wanted to do on Sunday (but couldn’t due to Karate torture). We shared a waffle breakfast and Mini-Me, though excited about yummy food and enjoying the scenery, set as it is in an old Mill by a river, was slightly disappointed that its cuisine was not based on Birds Eye potato waffles. As waffly versatile as they are, I’m not sure how great they would taste with maple syrup and cinnamon bananas!

This summer, as an example of positive parenting, I will be nurturing and encouraging Mini-Me’s Karate efforts by purchasing a dvd of the Karate Kid off Amazon and then letting her paint our garden fence and polish Chico, our grubby Honda Civic. Long live Mr Miyagi…

Info Box:
Butterfly World,

Miriam Lane

, Off

Noke Lane

, Chiswell Green, St Albans AL2 3NY. Adults £6, Children (3-16) £4, Under 3s FREE. www.butterflyworldproject.com Opening hours until 31^st August: 10am – 6 pm.
The Waffle House, Kingsbury Watermill, St Michael’s Street, St Albans, AL3 4SJ. Located within a working 16^th century watermill overlooking the River Ver. Specialising in sweet and savoury Belgian waffles. www.wafflehouse.co.uk. Tel: 01727 853 502. Summer opening hours 10am - 6pm.

Mummy on the Edge FamiliesNW Magazine May June 2010

I have misplaced this article but it can be found at the above link. When I find it I will paste it in.

Mummy on the Edge FamiliesNW Mag- March/ April 2010

Mummy on the Edge

Angelina serves Mini-Me up a birthday of four quarters with extra cheese.

And so Mini-Me had a four-day birthday. Ever trying to compensate for what I have now coined OCAF (only-child-absent-father) syndrome, it came to pass that Mini-Me would enjoy four separate days of merriment to celebrate the day she arrived in my life to nourish it with the milk of her existence. I told her that even the Queen doesn’t have a four day birthday. Her actual birthday was a Saturday (Mini-Me, not the Queen) so the festivities commenced on Friday night when 3 teenage cousins (two 17 year old girls and one 13 year old boy) were subjected to a Bratz movie night with Mexican feast cooked by yours truly who was hobbling around the kitchen with one eye shut due to nuclear headache and tax return stress. “Oh Mummy! This is the best birthday ever!” And it hadn’t even begun.

Day 2, Saturday, was a family get together with home made cake with a Snickers model of Mini-Me on top baked by aforementioned 17 year old. Mr De Bellis, her Karate teacher came round personally to drop off her new Karate Suit, so that it would be with us in time for her birthday despite the fact that it was my own fault I’d ordered it late. “Oh Mummy! This really is the best birthday ever!!” So far, so simple.

Day 3, Sunday, I surprised her with a visit to Dinosaurs Unleashed, the new pop-up attraction in Oxford Street situated diagonally opposite Selfridges. Controversially, I will hereby admit that I am decidedly disinterested in dinosaurs and thankfully Mini-Me, while showing interest when prodded, has never been particularly obsessed with them. However, there is something fantastical and exciting (think Godzilla nightmare) about seeing a large dinosaur breathing, roaring, snoring – ostensibly living (subject to a degree of suspended reality) against the mundane and pedestrian backdrop of an office building. What’s nice about Dinosaurs Unleashed is that you can actually get close enough to look at their freakishly real eyelids, touch their skin, and watch the rise and fall of their “breath” which is a totally different experience to watching a show from a stationary seat. One dad even dangled his child’s head Michael Jackson stylee in the rubber jaws of the T-Rex (not recommended – talk about traumatised for life!) Apparently, we saw Diplodocus, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Velociraptor, T-Rex, but I remember them as the Spice Saurus’: big saurus, horny saurus, spiky saurus, small saurus, scary saurus, and another saurus, and another saurus, and another saurus and another... “Oh Mummy! I’m so happy! Thank you! This is the best birthday ever! You should write about this in Families Magazine!!” And I did.

So, moving on to Day 4 of the epic birthday weekend. Monday, quarter past four. Instant message from Best Friend Fashion Buyer on my new BlackBerry: “Just got promoted!” My reply: “Congrats. I in Watford Pizza Hut on own with 14 midgets. About to top myself.” By now, suffering from serious OCAF Birthday Fatigue I was seriously regretting my promise of a party for her school pals where I would pay £7 a head for the privilege of them making their own dinner. They sat and fought over peppers, olives and onions. I hadn’t had the forethought to ask parents about food no-nos so I nixed the beef and pepperoni thinking it would be safer but forgot to nix the ham so there was a moment of mild panic when I telephoned a parent to ask if it really was okay that her Jewish daughter was building a structurally sound tower of pork on her pizza. Due to aforementioned OCAF BF the thought of buying a cake and having to cut it up into pieces and wrap each individual one and put it in a gift bag was actually making me heave. So I had the genius idea of buying two packets of iced fairy cakes from Tesco Local and piling them up artfully on cake-stand. I dredged a snowy layer of extra icing sugar on top and lodged some candles in here. No cutting or wrapping, I simply chucked one at each kid while they were queuing for the Ice Cream Factory. I managed to survive an hour and a half on my own in a restaurant with 14 adorable bratz whilst resisting the urge to run and lock myself in the toilet until it was all over. And Mini-Me was, of course ecstatic. Because it really was “The very best birthday EVER!!”

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com

Info box:

Dinosaurs Unleashed, Parklife Oxford Street, 455 – 497 Oxford Street, London W1K 6DE. Nearest tube Marble Arch or Bond Street.

Open from 10am – 6pm until April 30th 2010.

Tickets available at the box office or in advance. Adults £16.50 Children £12 for a 90 – 120 minute session depending on time of visit.

More info and games and activities at www.dinosaursunleashed.co.uk

Pizza Hut offer make your own pizza parties for £6.99 a head. Mini-Me had hers at the Watford Dome Roundabout branch (telephone 01923 680 055). They last one and a half hours and generally take place on a weekend morning but each branch will have their own availability.

Mummy on the Edge- FamliesNW Magazine Jan/Feb 2010

Mummy on the edge tries not to pass on long-standing homework anxiety to Mini-Me and makes a New Year’s Resolution on the way.

Mini-Me’s homework is getting weightier in quantity and required quality. And I am feeling the pressure. The latest assignment was a project on Victorian Schools which we – I mean SHE - forgot all about – until it was mentioned by my friend, another mum, in passing. This left us – I mean HER – 2 and a half weeks to complete it, instead of the 4 weeks that we - I mean SHE - should have had.

It was time to take affirmative action. Which meant not spending half the available working time on the following pencil-related activity: 5 minutes: lecture on not using a pen for homework because it always turns out messy, despite the fact that she has been told repeatedly with near Joan-Crawford-wire-coat-hanger clarity that all homework should be done with a pencil, NOT a pen. 10 minutes: looking for a pencil, despite the fact that she has precisely a zillion of them. 4 minutes: looking for a sharpener (ditto). 1 minute: sharpening the pencil, 2 seconds: the lead breaking because she’s dropped the pencil several times, 1 minute: re-sharpening the pencil, 5 minutes: looking for a less-pointless (har har) sharpener that didn’t con its way into our house via a party bag. That’s over 20 minutes used up without writing a single word. According to the homework guidelines that Mini-Me brought home in her first week of Year 3, homework shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes. So we are – I mean SHE is behind before she’s even started.

We needed to re-asses the use of time and allocate minutes more effectively.

So, while at the pound shop picking up padded envelopes (£1 for a pack of 6!) I also bought some auto-poppy pencils. (Plus a pot of pickled peppers! Amazing what you can get there…)

“What did Victorian children do at home mummy?” Mini-Me asked me that evening.

“Well,” I answered thoughtfully, “they had to keep their house very, very tidy.” Mini immediately skipped off up the stairs to clean her room and I was left wondering how I could milk this thing. Could I also tell her that Victorian children helped their mothers empty the dishwasher and washing machine and vacuum the interior of the car?

So for two weeks, spurred on by her tyrannical Victorian schoolmarm mother (just to give her a realistic experience, you understand,) Mini-Me spent an hour and a half every evening reading several books and scanning websites. She diligently wrote and illustrated sections of her project on Victorian school punishments (finger-stocks for fidgets – fantastic idea!) equipment, clothing and Other Stuff. Sentence by spidery sentence, she worked her way through the project, with an admirably fastidious commitment to putting things in her own words that sometimes turned up-side-down what she meant to say.

It seems harsh but I just feel I have to train her from an early age not to turn out like me. I mean, look: I was supposed to email this article this morning and I’m writing it this evening! I have come to feel inured to this sick feeling at the pit of my stomach, always knowing that there is something I need to have done. It is an inheritance I would be eternally grateful not to pass down.

I can still feel the itch on the end of my nose that I couldn’t scratch myself, because my hands were soaked in wallpaper paste, while working with BFFB (best friend fashion buyer) on a joint primary school project on Astronomy. While our classmates were diligently writing, heads down, we wasted all class project time farting about with balloons and papier maché with the vague and doomed intention of making a moving model of the solar system. Because it was hilarious fun. Needless to say, we didn’t finish it. At the last minute, we changed the subject to Astrology and copied most of the information from an article from my older sister’s ancient Jackie annual.

Anyway, by the time it came to handing in Mini-Me’s project, I felt like I had taken part in a BBC Three reality show called “The most impatient parent in the world”. Any minute I could be kidnapped, locked in the conference room of the Watford Travelodge with Mini-Me and a psychologist, and made to watch video-footage of myself in our house, barking about pencils and dishwashers. What an ordeal. And what a relief that it’s over. Hopefully, both Mini-Me and I have learnt our lesson. Our New Year’s Resolution is to start our homeworks the very day we get them. So I’m going write next issue’s article RIGHT NOW. Happy New Year.

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com

Mummy on the Edge. Families NW Mag - Nov Dec 2009

Mummy on the edge is stumped by the shortcomings of positive suggestion and Mini-Me joins an inclusive theatre.

I am not having a meltdown. I am not having a meltdown. I am not having a meltdown. Mini-Me is taking an age to get ready for school despite me chivvying her along periodically. We now have to leave in five minutes and she has not brushed her hair; neither has she eaten her porridge nor put on her shoes. What hope is there that she will finish writing her Christmas cards before Halloween 2010? I can feel my blood pressure rising but, I tell you, I am NOT having a meltdown. I have merely shut myself in the bathroom to rock backwards and forwards, head in hands, and mutter to myself, “I am not having a meltdown. I am not having a meltdown”. Not so much positive affirmation as comprehensive denial. You see, I don’t want to be a shouting mummy like pregnant, stretch-tattoo-bellied, banshee next door. I want to be a kind, understanding, patient, nice mummy equipped with All The Answers. A friend was talking to me about the power of affirmations so I tried this with Mini-Me. “Repeat after me, darling: I am quick, I am fast, I am like lightning. I can focus on what I need to do. I do not get sidetracked by a map of the world. I do my homework the day I get it. I do not practise flying on a school morning.”

**

Last Christmas, Mini-Me had the lead in the school play, Baboushka, which is a Russian folk tale based on the Nativity. She had precisely two tonnes of lines to learn, more than I could ever have managed to remember. I turned up ridiculously early and settled myself in the front row with my mother, my video camera and an imaginary basket of red roses to chuck on stage (thorns… health and safety). Being the beneficiary of my genes, and therefore also predisposed towards hysterical meltdowns, Mini-Me corpsed in the first five minutes. But somehow she mustered up all her Mini-moxie, and managed heroically to reign in her laughter, very convincingly portraying the exquisite pain and longing of a mother missing her child. That’s what I would have written had I been asked to review her performance for The Guardian.

This year I have more Olivier Award worthy performances to look forward to. Having reluctantly pulled her out of Speech and Drama classes in Borehamwood which were very enjoyable for her but way too much pressure and driving for me, I’ve found something which I think better suits Mini-Me’s imaginative spirit and creative zeal. Plus, it’s just around the corner from our home. HIT, Hertsmere Inclusive Theatre, is an outpost of the highly regarded Chicken Shed Theatre. With both a Youth and a Children’s Theatre Group under HIT’s umbrella, their members range from 7 to 18 years old and “inclusive” means that children of all abilities are welcomed. Those with special needs learn and perform alongside children from mainstream schools. Each individual’s contribution is solicited, nurtured and valued. HIT is headed by the effervescent Caroline England and her dedicated team who foster a heart-warming sense of mutual respect among members. Let’s face it; it always bodes well for an activity if the two children in your care scowl unforgivingly at you when you arrive 15 minutes early to pick them up. This December, the group is staging “HIT’s got Christmas Talent”. The argumentative Enid and Edna (aka Mini-Me and her little schoolpal – already a double act as far as I’m concerned) are paring juggling and cartwheels from Enid with my Edna providing piano accompaniment - something which hopefully sound a lot like “Jingle Bells” – depending on how many times she affirms: “I am a piano virtuoso and love practising every day”.

But that’s not all, a violin concert has also been promised. Mini-Me’s entire class have been selected to receive free Violin lessons along with their Year 3 teacher. Which is great, but if I could have chosen any instrument it would not have been the violin. It would have been the flute, thanks for asking. Anyway, the day of the first scheduled lesson arrived but disappointingly, neither their violin teacher nor the violins did. “It’s okay, Mummy,” Mini-Me said, “we practiced how to hold a violin with our pencils and rulers instead!” How creative, I thought. Next time there are no clean cereal bowls left, I will tell her to use a shoe. Or the NHS could save time and money by issuing bulldog clips instead of dentures. The possibilities are limitless!

Enjoy your festive concerts – whatever you are forced to watch...

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com

Info box:

Chickenshed Theatre: www.chickenshed.co.uk

Hertsmere Inclusive Theatre meets on Wednesday evenings at The Bushey Centre, Bushey Country Club. Website: www.hitproject.co.uk email hitproject@hotmail.com phone: 01923 499310

There is a similar outpost of Chickenshed in Harrow called Harrowshed. They meet on Wednesday evenings at Hatch End High School. Website: www.harrowshed.co.uk phone: 07939 142 545

Kett School of Speech and Drama follows a LAMDA exam system and is based in Borehamwood. Tel: 020 8207 4816

Mummy on the Edge - FamiliesNW Mag - September October 2009

The knowledge of everything I did not achieve this summer is pricking the very soul of my being. Not least in the garden. If I stand still for 30 seconds I will be suffocated in bindweed. The runner beans are a feast for the slugs. And the courgette we planted inappropriately in a little hanging basket is producing many pretty flowers (which I should be stuffing with Mini Mars Bars, coating in batter and deep frying to outdo both Nigella and Jamie in one fell swoop) but perplexingly, no courgettes. This is what you get when you plonk stuff anywhere without the associated necessary labour: A big, fat, green, mess. And a mysterious crack - wide and gaping enough to swallow all the wads of cash that it will probably take to diagnose and fix - in the concrete outside the shed...

One beautiful Sunday morning, I decided that Mini-Me and I would tackle the garden and make them look… less disastrous. I would pull and she would dump, to the rhythm of next door’s intrusive “BOOM BOOM” base, punctuated by frightening rottweiller growls to keep us on our toes. And then it dawned on me. We’ve “tried and tried again” and “made things fun to get things done”. What a perfect day to teach Mini-Me another valuable life lesson: “When it’s all too much to deal with, one must simply run away.” And so we did.

“Yey mummy! I’m so excited! We’re going to the seaside!” It was 12.30 by the time I had located the bucket and spade, twice told Mini-Me not to get too excited (kind preparation for likely let-down) Googled the nearest bit of seaside to Northwest London (Canvey Island) and filled up plastic bottles with filtered water. Child-Nav sat in the back, reading aloud from the journey planner I had printed off theAA.com (“Take the second exit off the roundabout signposted: Oh... sorry, Mummy”) and we got there by 2.30 to find a thin concrete strip covered in semi-naked bodies, a steep bumpy slope and sea. No sand. The tide was high. We walked down this disappointing promenade until we found a handkerchief-sized patch of crumbled shells and set up camp for 2 hours. I had promised Mini-Me that we would go to the seaside during the holidays. And now that she would be starting 3 weeks of Drama, Sports and Music Camp run by Hertsmere Play services (just 50 quid a week with experts drafted in) I could relax in the knowledge that I had fulfilled my promise.

***

Closer to home, last Saturday, I took Mini-Me to Wood Lane for a CBBC tour! We were shown around by Louisa and Richard, jolly, happy acting types – who remarkably remembered all the children’s names and ensured each had a turn at “taking part”. Mini-Me took charge of the sound buttons in a mock-up of a Weakest Link studio, generating applause, groans and quiz show boings at will as well as seamlessly performing a voice over: “Next on CBBC…” etc. While another little girl controlled the studio lighting and touched a screen to select clips, the rest were in front of the camera answering questions and reading from the autocue. Mini-me dressed up as a hobbit in a pretend “Raven” game show (actually, I’ve no idea if that’s right – I’ve never watched it personally – but it was some sort of brown cloak and she was supposed to threaten to eat children, I think). As I sat on the bench in the Sunken Garden in front of dear old Shep’s statue, I wondered at how tiny the Blue Peter garden is compared to how it looks on telly! We now know why - because they use a wide angle lens to film it. We visited some rather posh looking dressing rooms that Take That had been in (at some point in the near to distant past). And looked down from the heights of the hundreds of heavy lights shining upon the studio of Eggheads. If we could go again I would choose a weekday rather than a Saturday as we didn’t see any kiddies programmes actually being filmed. It was very quiet and my secret desire of seducing Adrian Chiles in the BBC canteen went unfulfilled. But none of that made any difference to Mini-Me who thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing. I think she may finally have found an alternative career goal to being a Sing and Sign teacher, like mummy.

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com

MUMMY ON THE EDGE Families NW Mag – July/ August ‘09

As dark clouds threaten tropical storms, Angelina threatens Barbequeage. And Mini-Me gets freaked out by Macbeth.

I have never attempted barbequeage on my own. But the thought of taking little breaks from trying to master Mini-me’s Rock’n’Hopper on the grass to turn and thus prevent burning garlicky, marinated stuff is kind of appealing in a paper-plates-and-fingers, screw-the-washing-up way. As long as it’s not for loads of people which would cause an unnecessary case of AHAA! - Angelina’s Hosting Anxiety Attack. Unfortunately the marital barbeque, having been mistreated and neglected for years had to be thrown away (actually, I overtook a precariously-laden gypsy salvage truck down Little Bushey Lane, gesticulating furiously to lead it to my house to collect the item). I was just suggesting to Mini-Me that we pop down to Lidl to see if the five pound jobbie they were flogging in February (the right size for one and a half portions of skewered prawns) was still there, when my friend phoned me and asked me if I wanted her beautiful big gas barbeque, with hinged cover and… gasp… SHELVES, since she was buying another. Yippee! Talk about a cosmic order being fulfilled. On the other hand, looks like I will not be able to avoid suffering from AHAA this summer after all.

I have now promised my gaggle of nieces and nephews- 3 of them doing their GCSE’s and A Levels and one on holiday from university Astrophysics - that I will throw them a barbeque party in return for the serious babysitting, bike riding, swimming, baking and tutoring I am expecting from them for Mini-Me throughout the next two months. January four years ago, I sat the three nieces aged 12-14 round my dining table and they sorted out 18 months worth of business receipts into piles so that I could complete my tax return on time. They were efficient, competent and quick. I’m thinking this summer, a few garlic prawn skewers will go a long way…

So this being predicted the summer of summers (not inconceivable considering the soggy state of the last two), I have been sourcing outdoorsy, cultural things to do with Mini-Me. The Scoop at More London is a great outdoor space, adjacent to the General London Assembly building (perfect for Boris-spotting) and I found out the Pantaloon theatre company (well worth contacting them for a workshop if your school has a surplus of PTA money) were presenting a free performance of Romeo and Juliet. We went one warm sunshiney evening and enjoyed the show which featured music, comedy and audience participation. The narrator asked children to raise their hands to answer “What sort of things do you think that Juliet could have done in her situation?” not expecting seven-year-old Mini-Me to cut to the chase and answer “She could have killed herself!” The problem is, she knew the ending because for Christmas I got her “The Shakespeare Stories” retold for children by Andrew Matthews. They may be a bit much for her. She climbed into my bed one evening, half way through Macbeth saying it had “freaked me out”. As she epitomized so eruditely, “There’s a lot of killing, marrying and kissing in Shakespeare, Mummy”.

If you fancy a bit of theatre in the park, you could catch Peter Pan at Kensington Gardens (until 30^th August). I’ve heard it’s a truly magical production with 360 degree projection and no risk of rain spoiling the fun. Or if want to introduce your Mini to Shakespeare, but don’t fancy trekking into town, Illyria is presenting A Midsummer Night’s Dream within the verdant grounds of Harrow Museum on the 8^th July. You can bring a picnic and make an evening of it. It’s a lovely setting. Mini-me and I went to Harrow Museum on Sunday and discovered they have live jazz, blues or swing in the Tithe Barn every week from 12.15 – 12.45. Perfect for a rainy day or a sunny one. And a great opportunity to get up close and watch real instruments being played or just to have a bit of a boogie with your babies, big and small.

When we left, it was still sunny, so we drove 10 minutes to Roxbourne Park to get some fresh air on the Miniature Railway. It’s really very charming and run by dear old railway enthusiasts wearing smart caps and clipping tickets with authentic equipment. They have an open day coming up on the 30^th August when there will be more trains on show from other organisations plus model boats. More info at www.hwsme.org.uk. Chuff chuff toot toot! Forsooth ‘tis chucking it down outside. I must tarry not and get me hence to fetch the clothes in. Or something…

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Rickmansworth. More info at www.singandsign.com

A Taste of the WI-Life (Families Mag Nov/ Dec 2009 I think)

A TASTE OF THE WI-LIFE.

By Angelina Melwani

Coccooned in a brown, luxuriantly flock-walled and chandeliered private room upstairs in a gastropub in Kilburn, 8 or 9 stylish women in their late 20s to early 30s are seated around a talkative, fair-haired man dressed top-to-toe in black who looks like a cross between Graham Norton and Paul Burrell. On the table before him is an assortment of day-glo plastic containers, shiny jewel-coloured serving bowls and ergonomic kitchen implements. Every so often he lifts one up and caresses it lovingly, demonstrating some clever little hidden facet, to some “Ooh”s and fascinated “Wow”s.

It’s a Tupperware party. It’s hosted by the North West London Women’s Institute. And to their credit, they have secured Graham Burrell (real name Andrew Humphrey), the only male Tupperware agent in the country.

Now Tupperware may not be your bag, but this young branch of the WI has, in its mere 18 months of existence been quite active and creative with the themes of their monthly meetings. They’ve had Poker Night (using Haribos instead of money); Wine Tasting (after which they took home spare bottles); learned tips from a Make-Up Consultant; enjoyed a talk on the Suffragettes; had their eyes opened by a visit from Anna Span (if you don’t know who she is, you’ll have to Google her as it would be inappropriate to comment further within these hallowed, child-friendly pages); as well as a night brilliantly coined “Pimp my supermarket flowers” – all about how to make supermarket flowers look posh; to more pedestrian entertainment pursuits such as just going out with their husbands and partners to a bar. And they are open to new ideas. And new members.

So why join the WI? Georgina Sneddon, the president of the North West London branch says, “I love the sense of community and giving back to the community through helping local organisations and events.

“Everyone’s backgrounds are so diverse. If you go to yoga class, you are likely to meet someone with very similar interests as you, but if you come to the WI you will really meet a whole variety of completely different people from your local area, which appeals to me. It’s a wonderful way to make friends and when I leave a meeting I always think: Ah, what a lovely bunch of people.”

Georgina has an insight into the history of the WI; her mother was the president of her own group and as a girl, she would sometimes accompany her to meetings.

“The Women’s Institute was formed in 1915 with two clear aims: to revitalise rural communities and to encourage women to become more involved in producing food during the First World War. Since then, their aims have broadened and they are now the largest women’s organisation in the UK with currently 205,000 members in 6,500 WIs.”

Their aims are indeed broad. Today, the WI wields strong socio-political influence and they campaign with fervour on issues - democratically selected by vote - that matter to women and their communities, including equal pay in 1942, Breast Cancer Screening in 1975 and, in 2006, they held a Packaging Day of Action which saw WI members throughout the country return unnecessary and excessive food packaging to supermarkets. Today, their focuses range from climate change and food waste to ending violence against women and they are members of the Children’s Food Campaign.

The Women’s Institute prides itself on its diversity of backgrounds and ages. Its whole ethos is centred around learning from each other, young from old and old from young, developing and passing on new skills along the way. Quite simply, its aim is to enable women “to make a difference - to the life you lead, to the community you're a part of and to the world you live in.” Highly relevant and never more pertinent, than in these uncertain times.

Georgina says, “We’re the new brand of the WI. It’s not about jam and Jerusalem. We meet in the pub and it’s a real laugh. We’re really inclusive and if you’re interested, you can just come along for a meeting or two and see if you like it.”

Quotes to highlight/ put in boxes:

Kylie, 31, from Kentish Town. “Joining the WI is a great way to meet different people out of my normal social circle. My friends might not want to go to an art gallery or wherever but I can meet people locally that are interested in trying new and interesting things.”

Rachel, 35, from Kilburn. “I’ve made friends in my local area. It’s nice to be able to pick up the phone and call someone to meet for coffee or go shopping with. I also really was attracted to the cooking, sewing and craft side of things. I think a lot of women are going back to that now and it has wide appeal.”

Info box:

Meetings are from 7.15 -9.30pm on the second Tuesday of the month in the North London Tavern, 375 Kilburn High Rd, NW6 7QB. If you decide to join, membership is £29.00, which entitles you to 11 monthly meetings and a subscription to WI Life Magazine. The North West London WI will be doing their thing for the local community at the Kilburn Festival at Grange Park, Kilburn, 12^th July (www.kilburnfestival.co.uk). For more information e-mail NWLWI@hotmail.co.uk. Or visit www.myspace.com/northwestlondonwi or their Facebook group “North West London WI”. For more information on the Women’s Institute and how to locate or set up your own local group visit www.thewi.org.uk.