Sometimes, when you’ve been away for a while, it becomes difficult to know how to restart.  This is compounded when you have little - or nothing - new to say and the answers to many questions are still to be found. 

We are still awaiting a final diagnosis on William.  Although the bio-chemists are really interested in his enzyme issues (is it benign familial hyperphosphatasemia or transient hyperphosphatasemia?), to the extent of making presentations on him to their colleagues in other hospitals, the doctors are no closer to accurately diagnosing why he suddenly stopped walking and why he now has a fairly pronounced drag to his right foot, particularly when tired.  The poor lad has had more blood drained than a vampire victim on a good night for Dracula but whether its neurological, orthopaedic or an internal medicine issue is still up for grabs.  We’ve seen more of the hospital than either of us ever wanted to and despite his love of the huge toy selection, even William is becoming slightly bored.  In saying all this, he is still an incredibly happy little boy - who has accomplished toilet training with accidents in single figures (and three in one particularly unforgettable morning!).

I suppose the thing I do take away from it all is that I have had so many people contacting me about what’s happening and whether they can help.  Even people I wouldn’t expect - who may have just sent a one-line text asking after him - have been incredibly generous with their attention.  It’s a real eye-opener for a complete cynic.  To them all - thank you.

What else?  Oh, the room is finally finished - complete with new furniture and flooring.  Things still aren’t back in their rightful places - mainly due to a rather nasty flood of the garage the night before things were coming back indoors (ain’t it always the way?).  However some slow drying out has ensured that, unlike the washing machine that went bang a fortnight ago, we didn’t have to replace anything.

Have had a couple of evenings solace from the constants of work and home.  The OH celebrated another birthday, which turned into rather a drunken event, and was preceded by a rather drunken couple of nights away at a company conference.  Add our Annual Dinner and there has been much vodka consumed.  However, as I said to a good friend on Saturday when I performed one of my, these days, infrequent mercy dashes, there are only so many times you really want to get drunk with people you work with - where the veneer has to remain in place at all times.  I am looking forward to the coming festive season for the chance to let that slip, if nothing else.

And with that, enough.  Time for bed.

Firstly, thanks to My Dear Friend for getting the site back up and running.  We should be OK for a couple of years now - thankfully.

The last week has been more than a bit mad.  William woke on Monday morning not able to walk.  AT ALL.  Being the good mother I am, I blamed tiredness and basically insisted he got on with things.  By lunch-time on Tuesday, we were at the Children’s Hospital in Cardiff being told he might have everything from Guillain-Barre Syndrome to Rickets.  None of the options in between were any more appealing.

By yesterday, we had a dual diagnosis of a viral muscle infection and benign familial hyperphosphatasemia (the latter being the OH’s genetic code - not mine!).  Neither is overly serious and he will be right as rain in a few weeks, all being well.  As you can imagine, sleep has been limited, work non-existent and remembering to breath whenever a doctor came near you a trial.

I’ll be back on-line more now and will blog properly shortly.  In the interim, to friends, family and the Doctors at the Children’s Hospital in Cardiff (although not the nurses - of which more another time) a huge thank you.

I thought about this post on the way to bed last night.  I thought of it again half-way through my drive to work this morning, when I was trapped in what is becoming a regular and annoying traffic jam caused by some never-ending roadworks.  I thought of it again when I met some colleagues for an informal meeting at a local bar, where we can all smoke and be far happier with life.  It then reared it’s head again during dinner and given that it’s about food, this last interruption kind of made sense (as much as anything my brain delivers does!).

We had fishcakes last night for tea accompanied by some peas and, I was going to say potatoes, but let’s call a spade a spade, chips.  That’s when it struck me.  There are few meals that are complete without a table sauce.  Last night, for instance, it was Tartare (Sainsbury’s own-brand - complete with chunky bits of capers - lovely!).  The night before we had what the OH calls “pot-mess”.  This is a complicated recipe, so I’ll run it by you in full.

Pot-mess, I am informed, was an ’80’s staple at Scout Camp.  In those days, it was made with a catering tin of mince in gravy, but given our now elevated vegetarian status, this has been replaced by Quorn mince and vegetable gravy.  Basically - and I hope you can follow this - you take one onion and chop it.  You put this in a large saucepan with a little oil to start to soften.  Add to this the Quorn (or, in a meat-eating household a can of mince in gravy).  Once this has thawed (if frozen) add the following:

*  One can of new potatoes (water drained)

*  One can of carrots (water drained)

*  One can of peas (water drained)

Stir.  Add the vegetable gravy (made up to the instructions) to moisten the mixture - but not have it swimming in the liquid (this depends on the size of the cans of vegetables you have added).  Allow to cook for between 5 and 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.  Taste for seasoning and if your coming over all Jamie Oliver, add a few dried herbs or even some Brown Sauce, for that hint of something spicy.

I kid you not, fast food rarely tastes so good.  However, not as good as if you add a good dollop of English Mustard (and my argument about sauces comes back full circle).

Another of the OH’s favourite recipes (I may as well get all our crap eating habits out into the blog-sphere whilst I’m at it) has no name.  However, when our Leicester mate lived with us, she and he ate it often.  It is again a very complex recipe, so let me see if I can remember it.

You will need:

*  Mashed potato (the OH and I disagree on this vehemently.  He says SMASH is mashed potato.  I disagree and believe that this recipe should only be attempted with real mash (not frozen) although chilled, Marks and Spencers mash is, I’m sure, fine)

*  One tin of tuna (drained)

*  One tin of red kidney beans (drained and rinsed)

You add all these to a bowl.  Opinion then divides.  You can either mix everything together OR leave them separate (being careful to collect a little of everything on your fork or spoon for each mouthful).  You then add a generous amount of Salad Cream (and I mean Salad Cream - apparently Mayonnaise just isn’t the same).

It’s like Gordon Ramsay in the Gene Puddle, isn’t it?

Back to sauces.  If you think about it, where would you be without Tomato Sauce to add to your chips (or preferably your chip butty, made with cheap, white bread and lashing of butter), without Brown Sauce to add to your pork chops, without Mango Chutney for your popadoms, without Pickle to add to your cheese sandwich, without Horseradish on your beef, Mint Sauce on your lamb (or in my mother’s house your chicken as well!).. the list is endless.

I know for you meat-eaters, for example, there is a never-ending debate about which sauce to add to which type of sandwich.  For instance, would you add Tomato Sauce to your bacon butty, or does it have to be Brown?  Or for a fried egg sandwich, what would it be red or brown?  Or to the great sausage sandwich?  The debate rages often if people come here after the pub for a snack.  Everyone thinks differently - although the Brown Sauce Proper brigade (who are also my friends who join me from the Gene Puddle for all things Smiths related) believe there is an etiquette and are planning a retirement book on the subject.

If I were marooned on a desert island, the thing I’d most like to have is an endless supply of table sauces.  In this way, whatever I could find to eat would instantly become palatable.  Add in Marmite and I’d probably stay marooned forever, food-wise.  I’ve tried to come up with a favourite, but I can’t.  I add English Mustard to many things I probably shouldn’t and I also love Jamaican Red Pepper Sauce.  However, how I would I go on without Mango Chutney, Mayonnaise, Tartare..  It’s like asking me to choose only one record - it’s like telling Elizabeth Taylor to stick with one man.

Whilst in my meeting this afternoon, one of the waitresses walked past me carrying what looked like a big bowl of potato wedges with about six different little sauces, neatly lined up in little white bowls.  I’ll be going back, if only to try this!

The bill from the builders has come in way over the estimate (again I warn you, never employ family!).  I may have to sell one, or all, of the following:

a. my body - offers over 10p will be considered and rates will vary depending on the deparavity of the requests

b. my soul - again, offers over 10p as I’m not sure what my soul is good for and whether, indeed, as I don’t actually believe in an after-life, per se, it is any good to me

c. my Son - I think I’d price William slightly higher - perhaps a couple of quid.  He’s just talking, not house-trained but does a lovely line in “oops” and “was an accident”

d. my Other Half - mmm, if I’m looking for offers over 10p, then he’s probably only worth offers over 5p, being older and greyer (the fact he mentions, usually when I’m driving, that he’s sure he’s just seen my first grey hair glinting in the sunshine is just his attempt at comedy or possibly a deathwise).  Thinking about it, just take him off my hands, life will be cheaper, regardless.

e. my “Black Book” - now that could be interesting.  Home and mobile numbers for some of the more sexually adventurous people living in the Gene Puddle.  I might be onto something here..

As it is, we’ll probably just raid the savings account and mutter about how we’re never using them to do any work in the house again for a couple of weeks.  Of course, given the work has been done to a wonderful standard and the lounge is now almost to my taste (flooring and the new sofas will help when they arrive) it’s so much harder to whine.

In other news.. well.. really.. there is no other news.  God it’s boring at the moment.  Llangollen last Monday (now there’s a killer drive for a 9.30am start) and more IT and telecommunications problems in the office than you can shake a hairy stick at and that’s work covered.  Socially, nothing.  Off to bed.  Speak Soon.

It’s good to be back home - despite the current problems the Gene Puddle is experiencing with it’s place names and the disruption to the household still being caused by the slowest builders in the world (never employ family being the motto here).  The week away was, well, a change of scene.  That’s the politest way of putting it - and not liable for legal action by any major holiday resort.  The boys enjoyed themselves and that mattered most.

As for me, I arrived back in the Gene Puddle with the same cold and blocked ear I was suffering from when I left earlier that week - and by the end of Friday with the same stomach bug the Other Half had contracted whilst either (a) enjoying a huge portion of fish and chips, or (b) splashing around in the pool.  His lasted 24 hours, mine is still on-going.  However, that’s entirely my own fault as - before the 24 hours were up and on only two-pieces of toast for food - I started on a rather large drinking session, around another fantastic gig by “The Other Smiths”.  It wasn’t as packed this time - but I’m not sure if that was because the students are yet to return in force to Cardiff or whether the gig had not been as well advertised as the last (as this Charming Man deduced on the night).  We ended up (the “Barry Massive”, Brum lass and I) on a cab journey back to the Gene Puddle (with a very scared looking friend of Nate’s bailing in Dinky Poo - sorry Danny!), followed by more drinking, late night arguing over politics and religion, my blacking out (haven’t done that for a long time - and quickly rectified with a bag or two of chocolate buttons!) and crawling into bed around 4am-ish.  Needless to say, Sunday was a bit of a write-off.

Did my final project presentation to the Board in work today, which went well and will hand over officially on Friday - although I’ve been handing over to my replacement for about a month or so now.  Then the joys of full-time work in Wales.  I’m really looking forward to my new role - and making some changes to the way things are done now (hopefully for the better!).  I have loads of ideas which I just have to persuade some people about, so it’s time to role the sleeves up and get on with some work!

Other than that, all’s quiet and life continues.  Back soon.

As someone now officially in their middle-age (let’s not mince words, I’m obese, smoke and have a genetic propensity for heart-disease and cancer), my last birthday, as predicted, went off with a whimper, rather than a bang.  That’s not a problem, I enjoyed the night out’s I had and am grateful for the extra hour or so I was afforded to lie-in on the day itself (lie-ins with a two-year old are incredibly difficult, especially when he learns to hold your hand and shout “heave”).

We’ve got no lounge at the moment (it’s full of builders rubble, one settee and a dust covered TV), but we’re managing.  The kitchen looks like a scrap-yard and the spare bedroom contains, not only all of William’s toys (we’ve had many “toys gone” conversations with the bemused two-year old) but also the blinds.  We are officially the house behind the Windolene!  The concept of eating off milk crates - amusing at first - is beginning to lose it’s appeal and I’m actually looking forward to the perceived (although not yet experienced) luxurt of the Silver + Bungalow in Butlins Minehead we’re decamping to shortly.

When I return, I’ll be spending a much looked forward to evening, in the company of the Morrissey faithful, at an Other Smiths gig in Cardiff, before handing over the project I’ve been working on for the last year to a very smart and unassuming young woman in London.  It’ll be like losing a small part of my being, but I’m starting to get excited about my new, much more politically driven, role in Wales.  The mouth-watering opportunity to be involved - however remotely - with the forthcoming Welsh Assembly Elections (May 2007) is also a huge bonus.

I’m also anticipating not only the return of my home from the encampment of sweaty, swearing builders (I’m related, so am allowed to make these observations), but also the arrival of a lovely new floor, new fire (and cast-iron fireplace to boot), new sofa’s and a seed-change in decor.  Perhaps I may start to enjoy spending time in my home - as the green living room carpet will finally become a thing of the past.

William has also found reverse gear recently and likes only one thing more (in motion terms) than trying to walk backwards.  The greatest pleasure he has is spinning around until he literally falls over, laughing until his eyes fill with tears (and he probably wets himself - which isn’t such a big deal, what with him still wearing nappies and all).  He then attempts to get up, several times, the laughter increasing with every failed attempt.  I’ve seen his father in a similar state, but it’s usually cost half a weeks wages in alcohol - so at least William is cheaper.  Saying all this, his favourite thing in the world is still his “Dada” - especially when he delivers a huge plate of spaghetti with home-made tomato sauce to be lapped up with more than the occasional slurping noise (and enough spillage to keep Vanish in business single-handed).

Tomorrow (or later today, given the hour!), instead of attending a party with my son, I will be decamping to the local pub for “Super Sunday”.  Two football matches, back to back, enjoyed (or not, depending on results) with a glass of something cold and alcoholic.  Bring it on. 

Summer is now well and truly over.  The cars on the way to work this morning showed that - if not the pick-up in the weather, which always takes place as soon as children are forced back into uniform, mostly sweat-shirts around this way, which seem so much less elegant than the old-pressed white shirts that heralded my move to senior school.  It’s also been my birthday.  It was on Sunday, but a couple of evenings of drinking preceeded it, which was all well and good.

Not that it was overly drunken.  I can’t do those anymore, being a middle-aged parent (35 does feel very middle-aged to me - although I’m sure that’s what 40 is meant to signify).  Not for me the lost weekends of yore or the vomitting of expensively purchased alcohol (I leave that to the OH, who did not disappoint on Friday night/Saturday morning - yacking into the toilet (that’s nearly 17 years of training for you) as one of the cats looked on in sympathy.  I don’t do sympathy for vomitting - if you can’t take the pace, don’t waste the money.  Also, I’ll end up fighting the person for vomitting space - never been good at rubbing other peoples backs when being sick, I’m not even very good when William does his Exorcist-style up-chucks.).  I had a couple of mildly drunken nights, enjoyed some wonderful company and then had the quietest birthday on record - with a lunch out the only thing to break the routine of any other Sunday.

The summer this year has been busy - although in all honesty I can’t think why!  We don’t seem to have achieved anything, the garden looking as unkempt as it did in Spring when I first started moaning about the dropped foliage all over the patio.  I’ve had a couple of weekends away (Birmingham and then the aftermath of Edinburgh - which took the full weekend to recover from) and we’ve managed to keep a two-year old occupied, but other than that, it’s been fairly quiet.  It’s only a couple of years ago that we had parties at some house or other most weekends, but with most of our group of friends having children, these seem to have fallen by the way-side.

Work really hasn’t let up (although there has been that feeling of summer - calls being answered by machines and emails with the obligatory “I’m on annual leave..” auto-responses) and I now find myself with only 3 weeks until I hand over the project I’ve been working on for the last year.  I’ve managed to secure an extended role within the organisation for my full-time return to the Cardiff office, which should mean less travelling and more interaction with colleagues locally.  It also means I’ll be spending much more time at the Assembly, which should prove interesting, especially with the election coming up next May.

Before this, though, we go on holiday.  Butlins in Minehead.  I’m not overly excited about this prospect, being of the city-break age of life - and having experienced these for the last few holidays we took.  However, there’s an indoor pool, entertainment (Dear Lord!), funfairs and Bob the Builder’s Workshop.  I’m not sure whose more excited by the latter, the OH or William (who said Bob before he said Mum!).  I’m intending to pack several bottles of wine, to ensure that I keep smiling for the entirity.  I know it’ll be fine - it’s just the thought of all those children and parents - oh well!

On top of all this, the builders started on the house earlier today.  We’re having quiet a bit of work done - the lounge completely remodelled and some electrics and insulation sorted.  They are likely to be here for a couple of weeks (and there is the possibility that I might become somewhat caught up in the chaos that will ensue) and then my friend Dave the floor-layer will be moving in!  Some time around this, he’ll be accompanying me (and some other friends) to the next Cardiff gig of “The Other Smiths”.  After the carnage that the last excursion led to, I can’t even think how messy this might become! 

So, now your all caught up with things, I’ll try and post more often.  I have a list of things that I’ve been keeping of possible things to post.  I’ll go through them soon, delete 90% (where time will have taken over and they’ll be out-dated) and possibly do something with some of the rest.  See you soon!

I’m off to Edinburgh for work and drinking with this man.

If you want to know what kind of time we’re having, listen to his show (6-8pm weeknights) on Festival FM and see how hung-over he sounds!

Real service will resume in the next month or so.

So I don’t forget where to find it.  Link one is more expensive.  Link 2 doesn’t have samphire.

Post and Package is hefty on both - so it might be a case of a special order for a special occasion!

After my mini-hissy fit last night, I sauntered off to bed, only to become enraged by the radio.  It probably wasn’t the presenter’s fault.  I wasn’t in the best of moods.  He was just, even by his standards, being incredibly rude.

The discussion was about the Church’s stance on describing carbon emissions as “sinful”.  Being interviewed was the poor woman who advises the CofE about policies towards the environment.  I knew her name last night, but I’ve slept since and it’s gone.  She was trying to make the point that, although she didn’t whole-heartedly agree with the way in which the Church’s standpoint had been reflected, Christian’s had to look at their footprint on the Earth and its affects on those less fortunate.  The presenter just kept talking over her, trying to tie her in knots and generally abuse her.

Now, as you know, I’m never usually one to defend the teachings or proclamations of any organised religion, but I have to kind of agree with the CofE on this point.  Yes, using air transport is not eco-friendly, but many of us do it without a second thought to its effects.  More importantly, I feel, the growth in overly-large and unnecessary cars polluting not only the air but also space on the roads, has become one of the major blights in life today.  If you live in an urban centre there is no excuse for owning a large, gas-guzzling 4×4, which not only takes up more parking space than an average car, but also delivers a “fuck off” demeanour to other road-users, whether in cars, on bikes or having to walk in the mid-distance.

It’s all about status.  The very people who talk about saving the planet through recycling their organic cereal packaging will gladly jump into their “beast” to drive their child the 2 minutes down the road to school.  God help us if they should be asked to walk the distance - despite the rise in childhood obesity.  I’d be struck down if I proferred the view that the child could possibly walk it alone - building a little common sense and independence into the equation.  The “what if?” culture pervades and the sense that there is a “ghoul” on every corner makes for frightened parents and children who have no clue how to do things for themselves.

There is little in the way of joined up thinking in many of our lives.  There are too many excuses for excessive spending on articles that we don’t really need - but simply want in order to keep up with the Joneses.  I listen in work to the lists of shops, internet sites and catalogues colleagues use to buy all manner of crap, which will probably never leave the box they arrive in.  There is no waiting to afford anything.  No planning ahead.  It’s all about the here and now and having not a penny in your account by pay-day.

And, to make matters worse, I find myself getting sucked in.  Not to the large car, you understand, but to the expenditure on crap.  I sit here tonight surrounded by boxes of it.  Boxes that have remained un-opened, in the main, since the move from our old house going on four years ago now.  If I haven’t needed it in this long, it must be unnecessary, but still I hold on to it.  When we eventually move - and we will one day - I’m sure the boxes will move again, to remain un-opened in another attic room or cellar.

So, it may be sinful to create a larger “footprint” on the World than we necessarily need to.  I try, in so many ways, not to do this, but can see it spreading in the mud each time I shift my weight.  We’re not taking a holiday outside the UK this year - which is more to do with money and time than issues surrounding global warming - but I’m about to embark on another trip to Edinburgh on the plane, something I now hardly think about.  I turn off each and every appliance - not allowing stand-by to become the norm.  I turn off the tap when I’m cleaning my teeth and follow my mother’s maxims regarding when it is and isn’t necessary to flush, but what difference does this make when I see the 4×4’s parked in my not so affluent road?  What difference when basically everyone I know will be making at least two flights of over three hours this summer, in order to lay on a beach and get pissed?  I may be able to feel better about myself, but it’s not really enough, is it?

Wow, this ranting is beginning to feel awfully good!  If, however, you want a more fully constructed view on the issues, I can do no better than send you here.