Kids wall art stickers available this week at Lidl.

http://www.lidl.co.uk/cps/rde/xchg//SID-68B8327B-69302740/lidl_uk/hs.xsl/index_22271.htm?offerdate=&ar2=2&id=428&country=GB&zipcode=HA7+4HB&city=London&district=Stanmore&street=The+Broadway&ar=2&nf=True

In a bid to pass on my addiction to the purchase of pseudo-useful crap from various sources, I hereby give you this link where you will see cute wall decoration stickers for kids' rooms available this Thursday at Lidl for £4.99. Bargain! I bought some wall stickers from M&S last year for Mini-Me's room. They were surprisingly easy to stick up and at time of writing are still on the wall, even though the painted wallpaper underneath is bobbly.

Mummy on the Edge - Families NW Magazine July/ August 2011

“Run like the wind! Keep running!! Follow the signs to GATE 57!! I'm behi-i-i-i-nd you!!!!” It was a scene from a movie. There I was, Angelina (Jolie?), in hot pursuit of Mini-Me (that little girl in Kick-Ass?) My sight never left her pony tail bobbing in the throng, her green rucksack, the pink leather strap of her well-worn sandals and the sound of her feet tap-taping away from me on the hard floor. Faster and then slower and then faster I chased; up escalators, down stairs and up more escalators, bumping into people, leaping over suitcases, calling “Excuse me!” to jostled victims I left in my wake. Wheezing and sweating, the surroundings blurred past me as I wished I hadn't provoked a delay at airport security by forgetting to put the brand new Chanel under-eye concealer (it's not really a liquid is it?) in the clear bag.

The staff waved us through the gate and outside but there were two planes! I grabbed Mini-Me and sprinted (actually staggered) across the tarmac, straight to the one that looked the most likely to take off without us, which I soon found out was the wrong thing to do as the stewardess scolded me for not following the painted lines on the ground. I didn't care. Mini-Me and I flumped, separately, on any available seats, hair clinging in sweaty clumps to our skin. We had made it.

Now, after all that drama, I can hereby confirm that the enjoyment of a holiday, weekend break, anything at all, increases exponentially with how close one comes to missing it. This is highly scientific. There is a life lesson in there somewhere and I'm damned if I don't take the opportunity to teach it to poor, little, ever-grateful Mini-Me. We were on our way to a very decadent weekend break in Italy to visit friends who have their own wood-fired pizza oven in the gardens of their house in the hills where we would invent and make our own pizzas. Mine was gorgonzola, garlic spinach and chilli. But Mini-Me's was the best: pineapple, strawberry and marscapone, drizzled with honey. We ate yummy scrummy gelato on the beach,eking out every bit of pleasure from the brief weekend. We had never been to Italy before and usually when we go anywhere (even two nights in the Lake District) Mini-Me starts to get homesick. This time however, seemed to be different. “Mummy,” she said, “I could live in Italy!” I think she read my mind...

***

Back in Blighty, it was a confused Sunday. Where to go and what to do? I raised my head to the heavens, shook my fist and asked “Whose side are you playing for today?” A sunbeam broke through the clouds while a barely audible rumble of thunder made its presence known. An ambivalent answer. Mini-Me just wanted to ride her shiny new bike (acquired with intelligent use of Tesco Clubcard Points) on the green outside our house. But I dragged her out with my sister to the Grimsdyke Manor Open Day in their pretty grounds in Harrow. Mini-Me and I cannily avoided the tents selling bits of stuff and instead started to queue for 20 minutes for a cream tea. To save her boredom, I sent her down the way to listen to the brass band (“Don't go and see it – it's too far away, okay? Just stand where you can hear it!”) while I continued queueing and then after 2 minutes began to worry that I had made a bad decision and that maybe 9 years old wasn't the right age to send her out of my sight at a busy event. (What is the right age, anyway?) Thankfully, she did come back. “Wow mummy! That band sounded amazing!”

I bumped into a lovely Sing and Sign mummy (I always do) from last year with her new twin babies who asked me to save a space for her in September. My sister parked herself at the cooking demonstration upstairs in the impressive, beautiful and historical house which possibly once belonged to Gilbert. Or maybe Sullivan. One of them, I think. Or to someone that knew one of them. I could tell you had I continued with the guided tour of the house and gardens once the downpour started. We caught a few minutes of Morris Dancing before trundling back to the car in the rain which, it seemed, we were fated to do that day. Five minutes after we got home, the sun was peeping through. I love these types of fetes and fayres. It's nice to spend a few hours somewhere local and still have the time and energy when you come home to watch your kid cycle happily round the block in the fading sunshine.

If you would like to catch up on very ancient Mummy on the Edge columns from 2006 onward (!) and read more of my vacuous ramblings between issues, visit my blog, mynotesfromtheedge.blogspot.com and leave me a message. I would love to hear from you.

Angelina runs Sing and Sign baby signing classes. More info at www.singandsign.com.

Info box (if required):

Other local events:

Thursday 7 July 2011
Teddy Bears Picnic - King George Recreation Ground, Bushey. From 12pm to 3pm. I'll be there doing Sing and Sign, too! http://www.busheyfestival.org.uk/

Sunday 17 July

Fun Day in Canons Park: Donnefield Avenue entrance to Canons Park, Edgware  London HA8 6RH. 2 – 5pm Website: http://www.friendsofcanonspark.org.uk/

Sunday 28 August to Monday 29 August

Harrow in Leaf Show, Harrow Museum and Heritage Centre, Pinner View, Harrow  Middlesex HA2 6PX. 12 noon - 6 pm. Admission £2 accompanied children under 12 free.

Website: http://www.harrowinleaf.org.uk/

Everything is bull excrement. Part 1

I have this theory, you see, that everything is bull excrement. Obviously there are some exceptions. But on the whole I really believe this to be true. Especially in terms of politics and media. This post is the first in a series of occasional justifications of this theory and merely contains links related to Ed Rubberband's performance of last week.


http://www.twitlonger.com/show/bfensm:
A post from the reporter that interviewed Ed Rubberband last Thursday about the Teachers's Strike

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/jul/03/charlie-brooker-stop-ed-miliband
Charlie Brooker in The Guardian on the same subject.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZtVm8wtyFI&feature=player_embedded
The video itself on Youtube. A must watch.

Free Theatre Tickets for Kids (do they deserve them??)

Kids Week in the West End have just announced that bookings open on the 12th July. When you buy an adult ticket to a performance between 12th - 26th August, you can get a kids ticket free. There are also some workshops available (for example learn a routine with the cast etc.) I have never taken Mini-Me to The Lion King. If I manage to remember to book it on the 12 July, and if an adult ticket is not prohibitively expensive, and if I haven't booked a place at camp for her already, that's what I'm aiming for.

The last time I took her to see something major was one of the last performances of the Sound of Music at the Palladium. It was fantastic. As we glided (glid?) up the escalator at Oxford Circus tube station, Mini-Me was singing The Hills are Alive and talking about how excited she was and the lady in front of us turned around and told us she was in the show playing one of the lead nuns!  However, Mini-Me's lasting memory of the day turned out to be the shock of seeing her mother slumped on a chair struggling to stay conscious and feeling like the life force was draining out of me, while an ambulance was called! (No, it was not boredom - more like excruciating embarrassment, actually). Anyway, obviously, I lived to tell the tale but don't need to because she brings it up every flippin' two weeks or so. I'm hoping that if I take her to see the spectacle that is  The Lion King, the joy we experience will supercede the drama of raindrops on roses so that she never speaks of it again.

Right. I have a zillion work emails to reply to. I'm going to do that now. In a minute. In a sec. I must not watch the dross that is Desperate Housewives. But of course I will. I must do some zapping. But of course I will not...

What is that noise outside? Is it my new Portuguese gardener diligently making up for lost raintime? Or psychopathic neighbour doing something damaging with a chainsaw?

Tune in for the next instalment to find out...

The miracle, life-changing product has arrived.

I got the Adonia! Last Wednesday it came and I ripped the box open to find just 3 of the 5 attractive metallic boxes I had ordered. I swiftly emailed the customer service people, (mentioning that I would be writing about the product and Adonia's customer service) and they promised to forward the outstanding two units.

So, I smeared it on my arms and legs and face (and a few other places) and discovered that a) it smells nice, b) it has a pleasing, easily absorbed texture and c) it won't last long. Let's wait and see...

The parcel also contained a large glossy colour brochure full of other Adonia miracle products. I started browsing disinterestedly but by the time I had finished I had inadvertently stoked the embers of my latent desire for useless crap. I wanted and believed EVERYTHING. I am the SUCKER of all SUCKERS. Bring it on: eyelash growing serum, fat reducing serum, wrinkle filling serum. Serum serum serum. Is there a serum that will clean my toilet.? No I'm not talking Harpic. Like: can I spray a special tonic that will vacuum my carpet by osmosis? Or imagine a spray that could spray in your cupboards that would unfold and re-fold and rearrange their contents? It cannot be beyond the realms of physics to do this. It just takes someone with vision to make it happen...

Up and running

It's still morning and I have uploaded 2006 - 2007 Mummy on the Edges. 2008 - 9 to follow later. It's fun for me because I haven't read them for years and am enjoying them as though someone else has written them. I hope you, the hypothetical reader enjoy them too.

So.

So. My sister told me about this cream that she read about in the Daily Mail. (I don't read the Daily Mail so I hadn't heard about it.) It reduces hair growth. It's called Adonia Hair Reducer and the reviews are good. She said it had sold out everywhere and that Harrods has a 10,000 long waiting list! TEN THOUSAND! So I googled it and found the official website (here) which boasts some official looking research papers but no actual pictures of the respondents. And I don't think there were that many respondents. In any case, there's not that much out there on the web but I did read a few independent reviews which said it works.

The website said it was in stock so I ordered it. I ordered 5 (yes, five) tubes because it was buy 3 and get 2 free. And I figured my sisters would want some. And my mum who had chemo last year and cannot use any thing harsh on her skin. (This Adonia stuff is made of plant oils.) The website says it will take 10 to 18 days to arrive at my door (depending on customs at this end - I mean Customs and Excise, not religious customs, or social customs!) Actually, will I have to pay duty or something?? I actually don't care. If it really does reduce hair by up to 40% in two weeks and up to 70 % in four weeks then it is worth it. And even if it reduces it by 25 %, that's something, right? I will keep this blog updated with my progress on the Adonia Hair Reducer front.

I've also been using the Boots Smooth Skin machine which I purchased in December. It's good. But  dreadfully laborious. Which is okay if you are a very organised, meticulous and methodical person. But if you are bloody lazy like me then it helps if your situation is loaded with a high degree of desperation to make you do it (which mine is). I was fairly meticulous up to the point where I went abroad with The Piton for 5 days and acquired a tan. (You can't use it if you are tanned- it is IPL laser type thing.) While I was out there, I hardly need de-foresting which was a wonderful, wonderful thing because I had more fun. But then when I came back with a tan, I did not continue with the zapping and stuff grew back. So I have started zapping again, in the last two weeks. It is working but it is a drudge to do large and hard to reach areas. And I cannot be arsed to do my arms. At the moment I would say I resemble a character from "Where the Wild Things Are." So bring on the cream!

When I told her that I had bought 5 tubes she shrieked "Five tubes!! But you don't know if it works!! And it's out of stock - you won't get it!!" She calmed down when I told her it was buy 3 get 2 free. And I don't care. One has to speculate to accumulate. Or to do the opposite of accumulate as regards to superfluous hair. If The Piton was here I would ask him what the opposite of accumulate is. But I won't disturb him with such trivial and idiotic questions while he is journalisticating in troubled territories. He's so clever and brave. And I'm so shallow and thick.

Now. I have loads of work to do. I also have to write my Families article by tomorrow. Which I will do. But I'm sitting here typing this, which sort of feels like work, even though it isn't. Is it stealing, if I take away from this session a feeling of undeserved personal well-done-ness in order to cushion my true sense of failing and uselessness and guilty lack of achievement?

Well

Well. Having just read all previous posts (last one being in FEBRUARY!) and noticed that I started the last two with "Ok" and "Right", I just made the decision to start this one with "Well". Hmm. what will it be next time. Ah: "So"! (I'm not racist - one of my best friends is Chinese... That was terrible).

Well. Again, I feel tempted to tell you that it's night time, Sunday the 5th (very nearly Monday 6th) June. But I won't because you will already know that. I'm just going to change the font.

There. That's better isn't it? The Piton (formerly and mistakenly known as MF) AKA Wikepeter is away in Tripoli playing NewsStud and not here to drive me mad, ergo is doing it remotely by not being here. No that's not fair or true. He doesn't actually drive me mad much any more. Quite the opposite. Keeps me sane and anchored to the rockface we call life.

So I promised him I would write. He agreed to let me read his near decade-old book proposal if I made an earnest promise to write. So I'm trying. I wrote a paragraph last week, or maybe it was the week before. And I wrote an email to my Saturday students yesterday. I know you're thinking (or you would if you, a reader, existed) "Email? Does that count as writing?"

Well, it was a long and detailed email. God, they must think I am nuts! It was all about how I had to change the dates a bit again so that I can spend a fun two-night weekend at a country house with Piton and our kids (his boy and my girl. Not "our" kids, if you see what I mean) for his friend's 40th birthday, along with uber-people invitees. Most people in my situation could have invented a perfectly plausible excuse for this thus maintaining a facade of sanity. Like: My Grandma died (which she actually did but I won't use that as an excuse to cancel a class). Or A Family Wedding. Or A Family Tragedy. Or more plausibly: The hall is not available that day due to a death/ wedding/ tragedy/ scheduled gas leak. But no. I had to tell the truth. In a way that quoted the need to take advantage of "stepping stones of happiness" and "rainbows over valleys" and the fact that sometimes, for many people, life is like "clinging to a dinghy by one's fingernails in a sea of misery". I'm using quotation marks even though I'm not sure if these were the actual words and I'm too embarrassed to go back and read what I wrote in order to copy and paste. Anyway. You get the picture. I'm supposed to be teaching them baby signing, not trying to play with their psyches. Jeez. I don't know how I'm going to face my Saturday class this week...

Maybe this is why I have to start writing properly. Otherwise it will come out in other, ever more mortifyingly shocking ways. Right. Now I'm supposed to be zapping but it's too late. Tomorrow is another day. Instead I will make a hot chocolate and read a bit more of The Pregnant Widow. I must finish that damn book and return it to the library. And renew it tomorrow. I'm so sick of seeing it lying around. And to write, you have to read. Those called "They" are said to say.

Goodnight. x

Mummy on the Edge - FamiliesNW Magazine May/June 2011

(Please pardon the dollar signs - this was written whilst on hosl in Texas and I can't be arsed to change it :))

Angelina and Mini-me enjoy high tea  not  at the Ritz.
 It seems nowadays you can't scroll down your inbox without 17 discount offers jumping out to tempt you. I have become virtual-coupon queen and signed up to several sites which promise to save me money and enhance my life. Let's see, at first look this morning I've come upon teeth whitening, hair straightening, wine tasting, Argentinian barbeque, laser hair removal, fish pedicure, country house weekend and race car driving. All suitable mother-daughter activities in ooh, about 10 years but nothing for right now.

BUT I did find what I was looking for a few months ago. It was Mini-Me's birthday and I wanted to take her somewhere special and memorable. We both love food and theatre and I thought I could combine the two with lunch at the Japanese restaurant Benihana, where they chuck knives and ingredients around and the food, magically prepared mid-air, lands on a grill in front of you where it is cooked to sizzling perfection. (Yes, I have been watching too many cartoons on Boomerang with Mini-Me). This was working out pricey however, and I wasn't sure that it would hit the spot, birthday wise. Perhaps, I thought, I could take her for a slap up lunch at the famous oyster bar at St Pancras. Then I remembered whose birthday it actually was. Aha, I thought! Afternoon tea at an uber-posh hotel in town (as in London Town, not Watford Town), somewhere achingly luxurious where we would never stay - at least not until after my oeuvre is completed and MGM buy the film rights (unlikely until at least the next decade as the opening paragraph is resting in a neurologically dormant corner of my brain - along with the closing sentence and all chapters in between). 

What could be better, I thought, than consuming teensy-weensy sandwiches and heavenly frou-frou cakes with our little fingers pointing skyward, in the company of ladies who lunch, caressed by the calming notes of muzak, sipping fragrant piney lapsang souchong grown and harvested on a romantic, misty mountain by singing angels.  I spent a few hours trawling the net for options and looked up The Ritz, The Wolsley and just about everywhere elsey. Everything was mondo pricey, in the region of $25 - $45 EACH. Hmmm, I sighed, if only there was a coupon for such a thing. Lo and behold, what should pop out of my inbox THAT VERY DAY (who says cosmic ordering doesn't work?) I bought a voucher from Livingsocial for champagne afternoon tea for two at Le Meridien, Piccadilly for the grand sum of $25. Okay, not the Ritz, but it would do. I conceded that the place would probably be filled, not by the ambient crystal titter of well-heeled ladies who shop but by clodhoppers like me, waving vouchers.

By the time we took up the offer it was two months later; its purpose had mutated from "Mini-Me's birthday treat" to "Mini-Me's post-birthday and pre-mummy-going-to-Texas-for-a-wedding-without-Mini-Me-for-5-nights treat". I've never left her for longer than a night and there were some pre-departure nerves on both our parts.  "Wow!", she gasped as we entered the revolving doors into the lobby. "Shhh. Don't sound impressed. Just belong," I instructed in reply. The Terrace Restaurant was bright, sunshiney and empty; the well-heeled possibly giddy with delight in Liberty and the rest perhaps clodhopping elsewhere. After waiting quite a while, the waiter arrived with my Champagne, Mini-Me's milkshake and our two, 3-tiered serving thingies; at the bottom of each, six finger sandwiches of salmon, egg and cress and cheese and cucumber; the middle, 4 mini scones, each the size of my big toe (I'm a size 5, since you ask) and at the top, pretty little fancies, garnished with gold leaf and curled chocolate. It all looked doll-size, but by the time we had worked our way to the top we were both slighty green.

"What's an anarchist, mummy?" asked Mini-Me after, as we worked off high tea with a pleasant mosey up 

Regent Street

under an impossibly blue sky and egg yolk sun. It was the day after the central London cuts protest and although we avoided the broken windows of Piccadilly, subtle hints that something had occurred were dotted around. A touch of graffitti depicting the "A" sign had prompted a detailed explanation but I only made a brief one before ducking into The Gap sale where Mini-Me sat in the changing room hanging clothes back on hangers for me after I had tried them on. She’s a great gal, that Mini-Me. And I’m going to keep my eyes peeled for further exciting inbox adventures that we can enjoy together now – or in 10 years time...

Infobox:
I found my high tea deal on Livingsocial but there is also Groupon and Travelzoo – be prepared to receive offers daily.

Angelina Melwani runs Sing and Sign Baby Signing Classes in Harrow, Bushey, Stanmore and Ricky. More info at singandsign.com

Mummy on the Edge FamiliesNW Mag March April 2011

A few months ago, a random man knocked at my door and announced that he was Indaria Trimi-Trays which I thought was a nice name (if a little ethnically unusual for a stocky white bloke with a neck like a water butt). A few sentences later, I had deduced that he was “In the area, trimming trees” and was wondering if I would like mine seen to. It just so happened that in my back garden I had an Elder (the tree, not a grandparent) that had been growing adjacent and partly through my shed, probably thanks to some long-dead squirrel who decided it was a good idea to bury some berries, or seeds or whatever it is that begets a tree in the wrong place. I had been meaning to deal with it for ages but, what with general events of the past five years, it had never been a priority. Indaria had a look and announced that he would charge £150 to do what needed to be done. However, I had no intention of making such a generous contribution towards his sister's big fat light-up wedding so we settled on fifty squids to cut it down, treat the stump and take away the wood. I had saved the shed and allowed the adjacent apple tree more room to be happy and revel in its bountiful fruitfulness. Or something.

When Mini-Me came home from school, I was quite excited to show her the day's progress and ready to bask in her praise for being such a canny bargaineer. “Oh Mummy!” I imagined her saying, “You ARE clever to have have saved a hundred pounds while removing an eyesore and creating necessary breathing space in our sprawling wilderness.” Or words to that effect.

Well, how unpredictable and inconsistent my little cheerleader is. Far from being pleased and proud of me, her face shook with horror and disappointment (-as though I had just shown her pillowcase full of freshly drowned puppies, in fact) and said “Oh, no!! We must look after the trees mummy, PLEASE!”

I blame Blue Peter and school.

What could I do? I had to make practical reparation.

Sai School of Harrow had joined the Woodland Trust Tree Planting initiative and asked parents to bring their kids to a specially organised tree planting day that would contribute to creating England's largest new native woodland. Of course, being a can-do, self -righteous, example-setting tree lover, I jumped at the chance to calm my and Mini-Me's karma. So, to her delight, we set off one Sunday after lunch and drove to Heartwood Forest up St Albans way. A shuttle bus picked us up from the car park at a local school and ferried us to the end of a lane at the bottom of a hill (very precise location) that was flowing with mud of the exact consistency of melted chocolate. Squelch, squelch, squelch went our wellies.

Onward, dodging cow pats, we trudged up the hill, now grassy but still very muddy; the sky waxing moodier and the wind whipping our faces harder with every step. We were so high up that I swear the air was thinner and at one point, I did wonder what on earth we were doing. After a mile , noses dribbling and thighs itchy with unexpected exercise, we reached the top. Hurrah! We were greeted by volunteers who demonstrated to us how to plant a tree before trusting us with our own spades and a pile of oaks and other varieties (Elders, possibly?) to choose from. It involved digging big holes and putting in trees straight, so that the roots were not squashed and the tree would not grow wonky. Have you ever planted a tree? It was difficult but very satisfying to locate a space marked with an orange spray-painted dot, dig into the hard cold ground, jump on the spade to ram it into the soil and lever out a big blob. Mini-Me had a constant smile of pride on her face throughout the job and we got through about 3 trees before giving up, laying down our spades and racing past the soup 'n' bacon buttie stall, back down the hill. As if planting a tree wasn't enough reward for itself, we further indulged ourselves with hot chocolate and cake at a coffee shop in St Albans. It tasted all the better.

Apparently the best time for planting trees is between November and March so, if we have inspired you with our exploits, (whether or not you have environmental sins to atone for) you have just enough time to join in Heartwood Forest's last tree planting event of the season on Saturday 19^th March between 10 am and 3 pm. Visit woodlandtrust.org.uk/heartwood for more details or call 01476 581111.

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