“Seriously,” whispers Bee, looking at me sceptically, “are you really going to let Belle go out like that?”

I look at her, in her pink leggings, which are just that little bit too short, gold striped knitted dress, odd socks and red shoes. It looks alright to me.

I shrug my shoulders innocently, as though it’s out of my hands. I try to make out that I’m actively enabling Belle to use her clothing to express her personality, and that I don’t want to stifle her, but neither of us are convinced.

The truth is that when it comes to kids’ clothes, or clothes generally to be honest, I’m a bit rubbish. I have no real idea of what goes and what doesn’t, and don’t naturally carry off an outfit with effortless grace and elegance, as you can see from this picture of me as a child:

Slummy Single Mummy baby pictures

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I cried at work this morning.

It was a bit embarrassing, but strangely liberating at the same time.

I started crying in the car, in that way where the tears just spill out over your face without you being able to help it. By the time I got into work I had stopped, but was still in the precariously balanced state between crying and not crying, where the mere mention of kittens would be enough to push you over the edge.

I went into the kitchen to wash my cup, and to chisel off the dried up cookie residue, left over from my biscuit dunking activities the day before. I was holding it under the tap when a colleague came in. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Big mistake. View Post

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Seriously? I was in the co-op at lunchtime and there they were. Kinder Eggs. Eighty five whole pence.

They were never really good value chocolate wise, but at 40p or so you could sort of justify it for the toy. But this is just crazy. And then I started looking around and really thinking about things and how much they cost…

When did cans of Coke and Mars bars stop being about 30p??

I don’t like it.

It makes me feel old.

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This week I got disproportionately excited by a box file.

For ages I’ve had various piles of Important and Useful Documents, waiting to be sorted out, looking at me accusingly every time I walked past them, with that ‘we’re still here…’ look in their eyes.*

And then I found this box file, for only three pounds, but which turned out, when I got to the till, to be only ONE POUND! I love it when that happens. So for just a pound I got to spend a very satisfying hour arranging all my credit card bills and bank statements into nice neat sections. I also discovered I had three copies of Bee’s birth certificate. I’m not sure how that happened, but I figured it showed I was prepared at least.

Imagine though how your life might be different if you’d never had a birth certificate at all.

If Bee had been born somewhere else in the world, then by the age of sixteen she could well have been forced into marriage already, and have been denied an education.

It’s really just luck when you think about it isn’t it?

Plan UK’s ‘Because I am Girl’ campaign wants to change this, and they’ve created a nifty little facebook app to help fight for the rights of the 75 million girls worldwide who aren’t in school. The “Plan Your Story” application takes your key facebook information and creates a personalised video story book, looking at what your life would be like if you hadn’t been registered for a birth certificate.

“The aim is to put people in the shoes of the millions of girls around the world whose births are not registered,” says Justin Wylie, Head of Business Development at the international children’s organisation Plan UK.

“Without a birth certificate, the user sees how key events in their life would change – for example an inability to prove their age could result in being married off whilst they’re still a child, or being denied the right to go to school.”

Why not have a go and see how lucky you really are?

*I do appreciate that they don’t actually have eyes. I’m not mad or anything.

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A few weeks ago I was asked to take part in a Bananagrams Blogger Battle. Sounds a bit ominous doesn’t it? I pictured bloggers in ‘Total Wipeout’ style protective costumes, with padded hats and shin guards, whacking each other with bunches of bananas and shrieking like monkeys.

Turns out it was letting my imagination run away with me a little.

Bananagrams is actually a game, with lettered tiles like scrabble, in a bag shaped like a banana. I was intrigued.

The game itself is fairly simple, and I won’t bore you with the rules – you’ll have to enter my competition to win one and find out for yourself. The challenge though has been slightly different every week, and this week we had to create a Bananagram of ‘things that are yellow’.

It’s actually harder than it sounds. Once you’ve done ‘banana’ and ‘sweetcorn’ you get a bit stuck. I tried looking around my desk for inspiration, but didn’t have enough room or letters for  ‘lidofayellowhighlighterpen’.

This is what we managed to come up with:

bananagrams review

We were particularly pleased with Big Bird and yolk.

If this post has given you a burning desire to create your own Bananagram, then you’re in luck, as I have a copy of the game to give away. To be in with a chance to win, just leave a comment, and name something yellow that isn’t included in my picture. I’ll give you until Friday 9th December and then I’ll pick my favourite word.

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So, yesterday I was on the radio. I was a bit reluctant to make too much of it beforehand, but having been reassured by several people that I didn’t sound like too much of a tit, I suppose I can tell you.

*whispers*

I was on Radio Four. Women’s Hour.

It was all terribly exciting, even though I didn’t get to meet Jenni in person. I was actually on my own in the Bristol studio, in a room that looked a bit like a police cell, full of equipment that looked like it had been used in the first ever radio broadcast.

“Can you mention me again?” asks my sister, peering over my shoulder as I type. “I like it when you mention me, it makes me feel important.”

“No. Hush.”

Where was I? Oh yes, on my own, headphones on, with my heart beating so fast and loud I was genuinely concerned the microphone might pick it up.

The discussion was about how much is Too Much to share with your children, which was why I was a little caught off guard by the opening questions, but still, I managed to get my crack cocaine comment in, so overall felt pretty okay about it. I haven’t been brave enough to listen back, but if you’d like to hear it then you’re very welcome to listen again. I’m about 35 minutes in.

Do let me know what you think!

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Would you, (or your child I guess), like a personal letter from Father Christmas? I expect so. I know I do. Belle is very lucky indeed that every year she gets a letter, and it really truly is from Santa.* She was a little suspicious in the summer when she found a slightly charred Christmas list hidden in my study, which she thought had gone up the chimney last year, but I think I got away with it.

If you don’t have the Lapland contacts though, the NSPCC do a very authentic replica, personalised with your child’s name, age, address, gender and best friend’s name, and delivered via Rudolph Mail.

For a suggested donation of just £5, you can create a really magical moment for your child, and get the warm glow of knowing you’re helping the NSPCC in their campaign to end cruelty to children. Everyone’s a winner.

*Sssshhhhh!

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This morning I’m going to be on the radio.

Admittedly it has taken me a while to make this second step after my radio debut on BBC Kent in October last year, but it is a step nonetheless, particularly as this is a proper grown up radio station that people I know might actually be listening to.*

I’m very excited, but a teeny bit scared. Just a little bit.

“Just be yourself,” advises Bee.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

I have a tendency to let words come out of my mouth before I’ve really thought about whether they should or not, which is manageable in small groups, where you can just cough a bit or pretend you said it as a joke or run out of the room, but not so easy on live national radio.

“And I’m going to be in a different studio,” I continue, “so I won’t be able to see the other people’s reactions. I won’t be able to tell if they’re looking horrified or smirking or anything.”

“It’ll be fine,” says Bee, clearly not interested in investing too much time in my concerns. I wait, expecting her to add a final word of comfort, along the lines of ‘at least it’s radio, so you won’t have to worry about your thin hair’, but no, nothing.

She’d be right though. No one will be able to see when I turn bright pink with excitement either, which is always a plus. I’m going to try and think of it a bit like I do this blog. I write the words, but there’s no one actually looking at me, so that’s alright isn’t it? Like when you play hide and seek and cover your eyes so no one can see you.

I should probably stop writing about it and actually get ready. I know it’s radio, but turning up in pyjamas probably isn’t terribly professional, not really The Done Thing.

Wish me luck!

*No offence to Radio Kent, it’s just that I don’t actually live in Kent. Or know anybody in Kent. In fact I’m not sure I’ve even ever been to Kent.

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Nothing says Christmas to me like a potter around John Lewis.

It’s just lovely isn’t it? So NICE. It makes you feel all smiley and like you want to have the grandchildren round to bake cookies with, even though you don’t have grandchildren yet. And I’m not just saying this because a lovely man called Dominic gave us a tour of our local John Lewis last night, or because I’ve got a little John Lewis competition for you, although both of those things are true, and very nice too.

We were met at the store, and signed in, and Bee and Belle were very excited about getting to wear visitor badges. Simple things. In fact Bee was very sad at the end when she had to give it back, having been intending to ‘accidentally’ wear it to her boyfriend’s house the next day, so she could impress his parents with an ‘Oh silly me, I forgot to take my John Lewis visitor badge off!’

As we went down the escalators into the Christmas decoration section I actually had butterflies in my tummy, even before I’d seen the giant LED TV that was like looking out of an Actual Window. “Oooh, I feel all excited just looking at it!” I exclaimed, sounding much like a toddler coming face to face with Actual Father Christmas. It was so pretty though, and all my favourite peacocky colours.

Come on, how could you fail to feel festive? View Post

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When I told Hardly-new-at-all-anymore Boyfriend that we were going to write a review comparing different brands of pizza, he could barely contain his excitement.

Pizza is his Best Thing. I think he likes cheesy bites more than he likes me. He is also pretty keen on complaining. He may well be the only person ever to have phoned the feedback number on the Dominos leaflet. Belle too is a big fan. In her top ten meals, pizza features twice – ‘packet pizza’ at number two, and ‘delivered pizza’ at number one.

We’ve also got a bit of a fascination for comparing things. My sister has mocked us for it in the past, particularly after her last visit, where we spent a considerable amount of time comparing the ingredients in chocolate chip brioche rolls from both Waitrose and Aldi, and calculating which had the better cake to chocolate ratio.

As I’m sure you can see, this task was perfect for us.

Our challenge was the ultimate in pizza comparisons – Dominos versus Pizza Hut. It was going to be an interesting experiment. Boyfriend is a dedicated Pizza Hut man, and was relishing the opportunity to slate Dominos. The girls and I however come from a small town with no Pizza Hut, so Dominos has always been our delivered pizza of choice.

We bravely faced the challenge… View Post

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This news story made me laugh this morning. A lorry overturned on the M1 last night, spilling 20 tonnes of marmite onto the carriageway. TWENTY TONNES of marmite. The motorway was closed in both directions for the clear up operation.

Surely though the solution is simple – get everyone out of their cars, make the people who hate marmite go and stand on the opposite carriageway, and give them cups of tea and biscuits to keep them happy. Then put all the people who love marmite in the marmitey lanes and give them all pieces of toast.

Job done.

(This country really should put me in charge of more things.)

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Don’t worry, I’m not about to ask for cash.

This Tuesday, 29 November, is officially Pay a Blogger Day. I say officially… someone has decided it would be a nice idea and so they’ve done it. I don’t think there is anything much more formal than that involved.

I don’t know how I feel about it.

Obviously I’m not averse to making the odd pound or two, but I think I would rather it be slightly more indirectly than simply waving an upturned cap and looking expectantly at you, my reader. View Post

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