Application Forms

Just how many types of application forms can there be?   I am fast feeling like a conveyor belt when it comes to filling out application forms for jobs, to the point where I think I need to set up a spreadsheet just to manage the diary of each one and its eventual outcome.  

Typically in these austere times, I either receive either No response at all or the more usual "We have received a high number of applications and on this occasion you were unsuccessful in making the short-list" which basically means, "Your application form did not stand out and the hours you spent trying to re-word  how good you are at communicating was frankly not good enough."  

Not communicate effectively?  

• You should see how I can communicate with #3 during nappy change time.
• You should see how I react and manage the anger issues of #2. (Actually, lets not focus on that...)
• You should see my negotiating skills with #1 over reading. (Four pages = DS use)

Clearly I am going to have to change my strategy when it comes to these forms and think more positively about "already doing the job" when for the 100th time I type in my work experience to date.   

I keep meaning to read "The Secret" by Rhonda Byrne but every time I try, the bathroom door is usually flung open and I am called upon to deal with some small crisis.  

There are loads of websites out there which provide advice on how to complete an application form effectively, for example How to complete an Application form but when I try to access them, for some reason I keep getting Facebook......

Letters in the Bath

Its been a busy weekend of parties, meeting up with old friends and attempting to make new ones but the simple truth is that at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, following a lovely Sunday roast, a vodka Martini and a mellow glass of claret, I am not at my socially "best" to instigate relatively interesting conversation with a complete stranger.

I decided to share a bath with #'s 1-3 this evening and the foam bath letters were being used to make the usual words...."Poo, Bum, Poo, Wee and Poo" whilst I looked upon lovingly, marvelling at the sheer brilliance of their vocabulary.

You must be wondering, who as their parents, is responsible for such educational direction but the following will swiftly answer your thoughts......

The nearest and dearest stuck his head around the door, smirked and then walked across to help the English lesson by placing two "T's" on each of my "boobies" and then finished the crossword with the inevitable vowel (in pink no less).

Spell that he intoned........

The Bidet

I never really understood the hype about the humble bidet until I met my husband and discovered that his parents had always installed one in their bathroom.   To me, it was just something that Crocodile Dundee placed his foot into whilst staying at that posh hotel in New York and took a little while to figure out what it was for.


And this is the thing.....to my children, the bidet is more commonly associated with washing stinky feet and more recently, washing Stinky Barbie's hair (Barbie is always referred to as "stinky" Barbie in our house as it was my husbands attempt to try and divert attention from the plastic boobs and her impossibly small waist that #2 will probably think is normal in a few years time).  We failed the battle on this one however, purchased one on E-bay and Stinky Barbie is now occasionally placed in the bidet on occasions which I feel is quite fitting.


So - I want to know how many people actively think to place a bidet in their bathroom and more importantly, does anyone actually use it to wash their nether regions?   Having quickly looked at good old Wikipedia, the "Bidet is a French word for pony (and in Old French, bider meant to trot). This etymology comes from the notion that one rides a bidet much like a pony is ridden. In addition, the bidet is also referred to as the "garden hose."  


The "trots" to us Brits however is also a euphemism for the "shits" and running to the toilet looking like a pony is highly likely when trying to clench your arse cheeks together to stop any offending poop from touching cloth.  But actually riding the Bidet like a pony?   My god - this sounds rather sexual to me and also a little bit "specialist"?


This following except also made me smile, "The sprayer-type bidets are sold to Muslims as "shataf," which permit the user to comply with Islamic laws about using the toilet and the cultural preference of using water instead of paper".  Shataf?......oh I never knew that the Bidet offered so much in the way of mirth for my rather odd sense of humour.


Anyway, this could get a bit out of hand  (oops - did it again) and despite the general non-use of the ceramic basin in our bathroom, I must admit that over the last few days, it has been my knight in shining armour as #2 has been in dire straits with the distress that is childhood constipation and we have been merrily "trotting" to the bidet to "clean" up.   


I will leave you with this image of riding the pony .....the tap also appears to be used to "floss" too.


ps - THIS IS NOT ME!!

The Bike is Back.

To be honest, I really should have strapped on my trainers and attempted a little run but since moving back, I have been deliberately trying to ignore the sheer about of "darn" hills that occur in every direction from the house - hence, I decided to mount the saddle and cheat my way up the hills through the use of leg power and gears.  

The first bit was great, flying down a mega stretch of main road, then on past The Bear Hotel whilst sounding like an army truck with my trusty old chunky tyres back on the rims.  I then hummed through town and onto the first upward stretch into the heavens towards Llangenny, where upon hearing the highly irritating grind of gears not sliding onto the smallest cog of the front derailleur, I realised I was stuck with limited means of easing up the hill.

Determined however to blast off the pesky Christmas calories, I pretended to be Lance Armstrong (depends on whether you believe the stories of doping or not!) and bobbed my way to the top and upon reaching it, took in some beautiful views of Llangattock and Herons Rest Marina.

I turned off onto a path and hit my first bit of dirt, mud and water and felt ridiculously overjoyed to be reliving my youth and pretending to be a first class mountain biker.  I sought my lines, swerved and curved through the stony bits and allowed my wheels to seek every conceivable amount of mud I could find.

Then.....braking hard and pulling up into the hedge -  had to stop for a rider on a horse and immediately felt like a child who has felt the loss of having their last sweet stolen!

I know that there will be some who feel that bikes should only be allowed on designated bike tracks but my response to that, is this......I only brake when needed, leave minimal indentation in the path compared to huge clomping hooves and what's more - I do not crap and leave the fresh remnants in the path for other users of said path to enjoy riding through.
That said, horse poop is far more forgiving to ones senses than the worst four-legged beast in the world......the domestic DOG.   I have a whole post I could write about THAT!

Anyway - here are some shots of my short jaunt out and the evidence of the mud I found.

The Youngest Pessimist ever?

Today has been rather a long day to end what has been an exceptionally long week....darn Powys Education Authority for allowing a 9th January 2012 start to term.

Following a trip to Crickhowell Library to register and take some books home (great range and good quality, i.e not too many with teeth marks and pull out flaps long gone to paper heaven), we proceeded to the local optician to both register and arrange an optician appointment for myself.  I noticed that the two eldest were suspiciously quiet whilst I was doing this and on the way home, #2 announced , "I want the Star Wars glasses Mummy."  I explained that wearing glasses on a permanent basis is not all its "cracked" up to be and that its much better if she ends up having eyes like Daddy, who is still blessed with 20/20.  God knows some of  our children deserve to be blessed with his "good eye gene" given the irritation of his hereditary "asthma and eczema" gene.

So, back at home and #1 has now decided that he wants "good eyes" because all his friends who wear glasses always have to keep mending them because they break at school.

We had already arranged for cousins to come for lunch and play and when my brother dropped them off, I also ended up with an extra, which was no problem as 5 out of the 6 I was now responsible for, are toilet trained and can say what they need......and 4-6yr olds can say a lot.

The lunchtime hell was punctuated with  permanent references to POO, WEE, WILLYS, POO, BOOBIES, SICK, FARTS, POO, DEATH, SMELLY BUMS, POO and even my last post reference - FOOFS!
I gave up trying to point out that we could talk about something else like, flowers, football, and even what Father Christmas brought them for Christmas, but I was totally outnumbered and giggled over.
Even #3 was adding to the mayhem with screeches of delight and was herself a source of great amusement as #2 managed to balance carrot sticks on top of her head. (Thankfully she had the courtesy to lick the houmous off first).

I  had to GET THEM OUT OF THE HOUSE and after quickly showing them the contents of grandad's wormery, which resulted in initial silence and then what felt a bit like fear (I was a bit naughty and said that if you fell into it, the worms could probably eat you up in about 10 seconds), we headed off to the park.

You are probably wondering when I am going to get to the point regarding the post title and here goes.

A final flurry of football resulted in the boys displaying some excellent professional fouling potential and #2 running away to sulk on the swings because she could not kick the boys (their legs or the ball). When walking home, she initially trailed behind and then decided to run up to my nephew and his friend to berate them about not letting her have the ball.  She uttered the immortal phrase "ITS NOT FAIR" and before I could even open my mouth to reply, my nephew, with a practised weary sigh, looked at her, shrugged his 6 year old shoulders and said quite simply....."LIFE IS NOT FAIR".

What do you call yours?

I am currently reading Caitlin Moran's book "How to be a Woman" and its laugh out loud material which I defy anyone (of either sex) not to find amusing.

I am currently reading the chapter that deals with HAIR.......a problem I have struggled with since puberty due to the following:

• I am my mother's daughter
• I have the English Rose complexion 
• I have pig hair tendencies - they are ridiculously course and sometimes could be used for wiring.
• I don't work for Gillette 
• I refuse to "wire" myself up to electrodes and blast hair follicles away

Anyway, Caitlin moves on to talk about where HAIR lives and how us ladies have spent many a moment thinking of how best to reduce or totally remove it and she then goes on to discuss the best bit.....The Muff.

I have always believed that the medical term "Vagina" is without doubt the most hideous word ever concocted to term ones important bits and thank the lord that Caitlin is in agreement......I must be a feminist after all!  

What made me laugh out loud was the sheer array of descriptive variety that the book imparts, based on female responses from the "length and breadth" of the UK.   I was pleased to see that the term I use "FOOF" (for myself and my daughters) is placed in the acceptable range which can be used publicly and privately without fear of causing shock to any passer by who may happen to be sharing the toilet area in any given high street store.  

Sadly I cannot repeat Caitlin's personal favourite as I still find the word too aggressive for my taste...(ooohhh a rude pun!)   I think the "Cee U Next Tuesday" just reminds me of that old social prank, you know the one, where someone calls the tannoy user and asks for "Michael Hunt"......

Like Hunt, the WORD just reminds me of animal carnage, only with added teeth, big bushy tails (and beards) and copious amounts of blood......we hardly need reminding of that monthly pleasure.....

Comments and reaction on"Your Personal Nick-muff" and the"C-Word" most welcome.