Thursday, 27 June 2013

Who's Who

Sent wiv Love blog has been 'live' for a month now, so I thought it was time to introduce the main post 'characters'.

Me, sent wiv love. Inwardly shy, outwardly confident. Self critical and opinionated, depending who I'm with. Worst feature - my height. I love high heels but I hate being tall.

The Husband, cool, calm and collected (practically a living corpse, he's so laid back). Sometimes stays quiet while I rant and rave and waits for it to be   over. Worst feature - wind.

Son, now known as Rambo (He came to me when he was little and asked if he could change his name to John Rambo - whilst wearing girls high heels and a medal round his neck carrying a brief case - he was only 4) He said he'll sue if I put a picture on here of him!! He's 17, so I'd best not risk (He also told me to take him off this blog........but I'm not scared!!) Best feature - considerate. Worst feature: Threatening to sue.

Eldest Daughter, now known as ED, is caring, conscientious and cares about people. She is confident, although she thinks she is shy. She is extremely beautiful inside and out. Best feature - friendship.

Other Daughter, now known as OD, is shy but shows this as bolshy. She is not a worrier she is a 'do it anyway and face the consequences later' kind of girl. She teases and laughs at her own jokes. She is loving and cuddly. Best feature - smile.

I find it quite intriguing how 2 siblings with the same parents can be so different.

The Mummy, the matriarch (or Eastenders' Lou Beale as we call her at home). Loves sorting junk and cleaning. I love her cleaning too! Is the best at  keeping secrets. Worst feature - singing.  


The Sister, not the boss.   Loves visiting the Doctors.  Loves the sound of her own voice especially when harmonising with another!!! Always there in times of need or a giggle. Best feature - hiding not seeking.

Monday, 24 June 2013

A stroll in the Country.........

This week we went for a stroll through the countryside. 5 miles of countryside and what felt like the next episode for survival of the fittest. The Sister has been strolling the same route for a few weeks now and has a personal best of 1 hour and 21 minutes. Little did I know when I agreed to go with her on a dog walk (less the dog as he's not the keenest of walkers) that it would be a route march to not only beat her own record but also that of her neighbours' 1 hour 15 minutes best.

Start - 11.15am. The Sisters dog has given in to demands that she must walk at a pace to match a power walker at all times - no toilet breaks or sniffing allowed. I should have realised it was more than a stroll when I saw her outfit - lycra top, lycra pants and trainers with an extra cushion insole. The only thing missing was a headband!


Mile 1 - A nice pleasant pace and easy conversation, until we left civilisation and approached the first hill - going down was obviously OK, but OMG going up. At this stage I became slightly worried about the dress code I had chosen (against The Sisters advice) - jeans, vest top, long cardigan and...........flip flops. It was only a bloody stroll through the countryside!

Mile 2 - After turning left at a junction, there it was in the distance - the next hill! I suggested going the slightly quicker off-road route and exploring the fields.  We could see the church steeple in the distance. Just head for that. No, this is the route and this is the way we have to go! So down the decline we went and then the long climb up. The pace was decidedly slowing down, thank god.

Mile 3 - We arrived at the village church slightly behind schedule, so I was told (I got married here 2 years ago, it is beautiful and comes highly recommended). Little did The Sister know that by the time we reached the church I was done in - it doesn't do any good to give in to her competitive nature though.  As far as she was concerned, I was as fresh as a daisy and raring to cover a couple more miles!! She couldn't see me very quietly trotting to keep up and deep breathing to the point of needing oxygen if rest didn't come soon. When she turned round I would walk casually and hold my breath so she wouldn't see the panting. I think by this stage she had realised that her personal best was not to be beaten today - clearly in bringing me along to encourage her on, had failed. I had slowed her down (never to be admitted).

We weren't even allowed a rest on the bench at the village duck pond. As we approached I could feel relief at surviving to the halfway point of this ordeal, descend upon me. But no, on we ploughed, no time for rest, straight past my salvation, me secretly preying a tractor would pass and I could hitch a ride. Her walking like a woman on a mission to out do those who had tried and won before her.

Mile 4 - The breathing was quite rapid by this stage but had to be kept extremely silent so The Sister couldn't hear me
struggling. By now I would have given anything to let this test of endurance be over - except the satisfaction on The Sisters face knowing she had beaten me. So on we went past the ducks, sheep and pigs and the odd farmer tending his flock.


Mile 5 - By the 5th mile I suggested a short cut across unknown terrain - a field.  I secretly think that by now even The Sister would have given in to the offer of a lift. So off-road we went amidst the grumblings that it was a bad idea from The Sister.

It wasn't a bad idea, it just wasn't a really good one due to overgrowth hiding who knows what creatures, stinging nettles and a lot of persuasion to get The Sisters dog through the stile. But it reduced 5 minutes of the torture trek and brought us back to civilisation with a welcome relief that home was in sight. 

Never one to be beaten! But alas the personal best (and definitely the neighbours best) was not to be outdone today.

Finish - 12.47pm

P.S. The only pictures of me to prove I was there - Sis, you stick to the walking, I'll stick to taking the photo's!!

Wednesday, 19 June 2013


Hey Andy, remember when..........
you were working with The Husband at Abela and I was trying to set you up on a blind date with Sandy. Well you didn't let on that you'd already met and had had that date and left me to keep thinking I was the next Cilla. Huh, it wasn't the right pairing anyway, you didn't like each other!! So bang went my career as a matchmaker.

Do you remember when me and Fiona took you to Diva to cheer you up? We left you to look after our bags while we boogied on the dance floor all night. We did text you from the DJ's box though! Why didn't you come out with us anymore, it was fun?

The Husband says howdy mate and wonders how airport life is going these days. He misses the people and the fun times you all had. They were a good bunch of lads. You wouldn't get away with drinking through a night shift these days! And there certainly wouldn't be any acquired items from excess stock! (Say no more but who needed Tesco's) It was like party nights in the unit when the night shift rota came round. All that was missing was disco lights.

April 2005 was The Husbands 40th and the Mummys 60th.  A fabulous joint party was organised.  I was so excited that the Sister had to keep reminding me that it wasn't actually my party!  It was only gonna end one tears. Once the drink started flowing, the showing off started and then bang.......unconscious. By 8.30pm. We'd only been there an hour and a half. Must have been spiked or maybe even food poisoning! Must have been. (I didn't do the cooking for those of you that were wondering but I am getting fed up with getting poisoned every time I have a little tipple!!)

I was dumped on a chair outside and poor you were left to babysit me.  Within 20 minutes the next casualty arrived. The Husband. OK its safe to say we can't handle our drink!

You sat outside holding the black coffee, glasses of water and held my hair back and The Husbands shoulders, to make sure he didn't fall straight into the remake of the nights earlier dinner! You watched me get frog marched into a car after being sent home and The Husband being carted away in an ambulance, for not responding quickly enough when a glass of water was thrown over him to test his responsiveness.  We were well and truly in the dog house for that one. I think the silent treatment we were given for disgracing the family lasted 3 days. Oh and "never again".

We do hope you managed to enjoy the rest of the party.  Heard it was a good 'un. And I would officially like to apologise to The Mummy for looking like a complete alcoholic at her 60th. (oops now everyone knows how old The Mummy is) and many apologies for everyone that turned up for The Husbands birthday, sorry he wasn't in attendance for long!

Miss your fun loving texts and your honest, open chatting. Keep in touch Mr. L. 

Laters babes and as always..........sent wiv love.


Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Age is Just a Number

Is age just a number.  I don't feel middle aged.  I feel and probably act like a 20 something. (Especially around the Mummy when I find myself going into child mode)

Anyone who has met me recently, as in the last 6 years, knows I can and will hold my own verbally.  In fact, its safe to say I love a heated debate.  That hasn't always been the case.  As we grew up I was the shy one who would quietly plead inside my own head not to be talked to.  I never knew what to say or how to respond if spoken to and would give off an embarrassed red glow at the slightest "how are you?"

The Sister on the other hand, was obviously dished all the confidence when him upstairs was doling it out. She would control every conversation (and still tries to), never shying away if she had the slightest hint of attention. She would be at the height of glory in front of an audience. Even an audience of 1. 

Nowadays, its not like that.  Nowadays, its like a verbal tag team. Her confidence has rubbed off on me. As each decade has passed, I have reached a new confidence and now in my mid 40's I can laugh at myself and not fear humility. Being shy and lacking confidence for me was all about not looking stupid and a fear of saying the wrong things and people not liking me. Nowadays, I constantly say the wrong thing, constantly put my big size 6's in it but nowadays I can laugh it off.

So is age just a number? For me age is confidence, wisdom and understanding, and being able to be who I am and understanding who I am. Even though sometimes, I wish I could keep my mouth shut and be less gobby.  But thats just me, at this age.  Maybe in the next decade, when I join the over 50's swimming and other such activities, I will change again.

I would love to have had the confidence I have now back in my teens. To be able to say 'no' instead of 'ok then' or to not feel so conscious about myself that it stopped me from doing alot of things. I love being grown up and wouldn't go back there if you offered.  But I love the memories I have made through each and every decade.

So where does this confidence grow from.  To go from being practically introvert to a girl standing on a chair at a party making everyone watch her air guitar to Abba. Maybe it comes from life experiences but for me personally it comes from family loving you unconditionally. From family giving you the belief that you can achieve anything. (even cooking!!!!)
As always.............Sent wiv Love


Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Dear............Lisa D

Well, what can I say...........

except....... lovely, mad woman.

When I think about you the first picture that comes into my head is you, in a white paper boiler suit, with no drawers! Isn't that how everyone paints their friends hall walls. Isn't it? Err no, it isn't. But you my special friend are unique. And you even folded it and put it back on The Husbands workbench when you'd finished with it.  

You are my  'the one who makes me wet myself with laughter'  friend. And lets face it, it doesn't take a lot after 3 kids!  

I decided, one day, that I needed a new kitchen table. "Easy" you said "We'll make one".  Thank god I managed to persuade you to leave the current breakfast bar in place until the new table was made.

Off we went to the diy store and came back with new legs and brackets. I had a lovely hexagonal cream coffee table, which you swiftly took apart.  Then out came the saw!  The new legs were too tall............but not for long. You soon had them the perfect height, or so we thought.  After lots of screwing and hammering we had produced a perfect height table. It fitted perfectly under the existing breakfast bar and had a lovely little wobble from wonky legs! Proud as punch we were and so it remained for a couple of months. Many a cuppa was placed on it and many a cuppa got spilled on it. Then I'm afraid it went to the home for wobbly tables...........the tip! 

Talking of legs, (albeit table legs) your poor knees have been troubling you for years and the time that I will never, ever forget, but  didn't actually witness myself, was the time you were lounging in your garden pool.  Of all times for your knees to pack up, this was not the time for it to happen.  But they did. And you couldn't get out of the pool. So what did you do.............called the fire brigade, of course, who had to winch you from the water. I probably shouldn't laugh but it could only happen to you. Thank god you had your drawers on that time!

I was so pleased that you made it to our wedding 2 years ago.  After not seeing each other for 5 years we just picked up where we left off. It felt like we'd never been apart. Out came the bottle of whatever was left in the cupboard - which just happened to be gin. Laughter, tears and wetting ourselves began. It was the one night I was determined to stay home (the eve of my wedding) and be totally refreshed and be the blushing bride the next day.  But by midnight we were pie-eyed and stuffing our faces with naan bread kebabs. (Well I was - too drunk to remember if you did)  And so the wedding morning began ........with a hangover. And the usual "never again".

You are one of those named on the previous blog post who has attempted to teach me to cook. You tried, sorry you failed.  I guess sometimes even the possible is impossible.

Look out Mrs D, I'm a coming down your way. 

Love you tons and as always...........sent wiv love.


Saturday, 1 June 2013

Can't Cook......Shouldn't Cook!

Hey peeps,

First of all thank you for stopping by to see what its all about.

The first Dear.......... letter has been posted and I hope it brought back some funny memories. It did for me.

Its been a stressy week here. Firstly, the kids have half term and we all know that keeping a house clean and tidy with kids home is like drying your hands with a wet towel! Secondly, I signed up for Twitter (which admittedly the kids had to do because I found the whole experience mind blowing) and for non-tweeters, omg. Wouldn't recommend it if you are of nervous disposition. After being a facebook fan for years, Twitter is like landing on another planet. A very fast planet. I loved it and hated it at the same time. It was fast, so fast and witty and before long people started following me. They didn't even know me! But within a very short time I found myself following them back and had been made to feel quite welcome in their wonderful and friendly community.  I'm now looking at my widening online social circle with pride even though I'm still not sure if I'm tweeting or replying to myself or someone else.  

When I wasn't busy tweeting or blogging (I have a whole new list of online vocabulary), I was the usual referee / taxi service / cook (I use this word lightly).

Well as some of you may be aware, my culinary skills are more favourably known as culinary disasters. This week alone I've managed to annihilate 3 dinners. For those that missed it first time round here's Thursdays delight again......
Pasta bake obviously

Which reminds of a time in the 4th year of secondary school. I had baked a lovely (again I use the word loosely) Victoria Sandwich in the home economics lesson.  By the time I got home the cake had gone, as in disappeared but not eaten! I think my dear siblings were secretly relieved to not have to face the big 'lets taste what she made today' moment. The next morning in school Angie T, a very good school buddy, let it be known that the previous days after school playground footie match was played using..............yep, my cake! What more could I say, besides complete denial that it had anything to do with me.

My kitchen skills, well lack of them, are not for want of trying. The Mummy and many friends have tried to show me the way forward in the kitchen.....the Sister just says "no thanks, I'm busy cutting my toenails" at the invite to dinner. And has given up all hope of a decent meal when it's my turn to do Christmas day. I would love to be one of those natural mother earth types that feed their family with healthy 'made with my own hands' type meals. To be able to open the kitchen larder and throw a meal together with whatever is available. The one meal I can make from scratch is Lasagne.  When I say from scratch, I mean a jar of Dol Mio and a jar of Lasagne White Sauce and a packet of ready made lasagne sheets.  I do brown off the mince, drain the fat away and layer it all in the dish though.  Surely that counts as homemade.  And the kids eat it albeit under sufferance and the muttered comments of "not again" and "can Daddy cook tomorrow?" The daft thing is I have a cupboard shelf filled from one side to the other with cookery books. All lovely and shiney and new.  I even have a chrome recipe book holder on the worktop, currently displaying gorgeous fondant fancies. Obviously display purposes only to match the current kitchen colour scheme - pink!

The Husband is always and has always been very polite over my cooking misdemeanours. One of the first meals I cooked him was salmon with vegetables.  After dropping the 2 salmon fillets on the floor whilst lifting them from the grill, I had a major strop, threw the tea towel (dangerous) and using a few obscene words, swore I would never cook again. He calmly scooped them up and somehow pieced them back together (well made them look like they were whole pieces) and ate, lovingly telling me "try some, its not so bad"  and "its really nice".

He's still the same now, but he has learnt to duck when the utensils go flying in temper.   

I dedicate this post to everyone that has spent time frustratingly trying to teach me to cook.  You know who you are.  I would love to hear from you and will always reply. So please leave a comment below for all to see or send me an email via the contact me box.

Thanks for taking the time to read and I will send the next Dear......... letter out next week.

As always........sent wiv love