Mission accomplished today, in very pleasant fashion.
A friend in our village last week revealed that she had been following the legendary blog, and might be able to help me with a challenge. She was expecting a delivery of fruit trees, and when they arrived, would I care to come round and help plant them?
Well indeed I would, and this week they are here. (It was particularly happy timing as I had locked myself out of my own house and needed some other purpose to occupy the hours!). So round I went.
And it was a most productive assignment. We planted a fig tree in the greenhouse, a damson tree outside, and in the process I have learnt much about roots, soil types, stakes, online gardening suppliers, types of fruit tree and their preferences… and all from chatting to someone who I would never otherwise have thought to engage in a lengthy discourse about gardening! I came away quite enthused! As soon as I have a garden to call my own I might just attempt to grow some stuff in it!
I liked getting grubby, I liked doing something productive, and I especially liked learning useful things that I didn’t know. I can’t get enough of these random new experiences, and I love the way it is throwing me into contact with all sorts of people, who are so very nice and helpful.
Now since I’m on a roll, I’m off to ask at the garage if they’d let me drive a bus!
A couple of weeks ago, Dave and I were cycling in the Forest of Dean when my chain broke. We weren’t carrying any of the right tools, and he had to suffer the indignity of standing by, while I flagged down a passing young man and allowed him to fix my bike for me. The very next day, Dave went out and bought a chain tool, and every possible form of quick link, lest such a thing should ever happen again.
That very weekend, he was biking with mates, and someone’s chain snapped. He was delighted to save the day with his armoury of quick links and the knowhow gained from our previous misfortune. Pride was restored. A godsend!
But then imagine, simply imagine, my delight, when today I was biking with a different male friend and his chain snapped, and I had the right kit in my bag for the job! Here I am, affixing the new link to the old chain, in insufferably smug fashion!
The oddest thing is, I have never known a chain to break among any of my cycling acquaintance in the last 10 years! All the people I ever bike with are now signed up to a maintenance course in May!
This was a very unexpected evening. And another much dreaded challenge turned to surprising success! (Success defined here in terms of fun, rather than singing quality, as you’ll see!)
I had been intending to go far, far from home for this one, to hide in some grotty bar and embarrass myself in front of people who I would at least never have to face again. Regular followers will be well aware that my vocal chords have not been privy to the finest training.
But then, walking past our village pub, what should I see but an advert on the chalk board outside, for karaoke, this very weekend. And with heavy heart I realised what I must do…
The babysitter was booked, the husband’s support enlisted. Alas, the friends were all indisposed that night (apart from one late recruit who unexpectedly proved a great karaoke talent!)
As proceedings kicked off, the only act was a trio of 8 year olds. Having initiated the party, they were taken home to bed, and we thought we might just get away with singing our duet to an empty room and scurrying home. But it was not to be.
We put our names on the list. We stepped up to the mike. We listened to the lengthy intro and almost missed the start. Then we burst into a horrifying rendition of ‘Love lifts us up where we belong’ by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes. Happily(?) it was all captured on film. I defy anyone to listen to it through to the end!
The room began to fill – more from curiosity than a desire to hear more. But at least we set the bar so low, that no one could fear stepping up! The event gathered pace as more people ventured near. We were a small but committed group! There was never any lull in volunteers.
The beer flowed. The songs kept coming. We made new friends. We became the very best of friends! We signed one another up for increasingly difficult songs. Unlikely duets were forged; group performances came together. Employees of the local garage were in fine voice. Some of the elders of the village were tempted to participate, and applauded most generously. ‘Ring of Fire’ by Jonny Cash brought everyone to their feet. The landlord himself got up and rapped, to the crowd’s delight.
Even after my challenge was more than met, I found myself part of a line up offering Bohemian Rhapsody; and later a squealingly poor rendition of ‘Whole New World’, (that romantic tune from Aladdin, for any aficionados of Disney films). It really didn’t suit my voice! (Though it is hard to think of any song that would.)
In the small hours of Sunday morning, the landlord played ‘Hit the road Jack’ and turned the lights up. The performers exited reluctantly, hugging and congratulating one another, quite overwhelmed with real ale and one another’s brilliance. It was just an enormously good laugh. One of those nights that puts a smile on your face whenever you think of it! Hooray for the karaoke!
Time is slipping away from me, if 100 challenges are to be done by May. And the only answer is to start doubling up on them. So, I hatched a cunning plan to combine these two in one activity.
My husband and several other gentlemen of the village went away for the weekend. All the abandoned wives and children sought solace in numbers, and gathered together for a marathon 24 hour play date and sleepover. I volunteered to lead the first activity: a village litter pick-up, dressed as superheroes. It was inspired, as it enabled me to a)gain maximum value from the Bananaman investment, and b) create a slightly strange and dare I even say fun event from an activity that might otherwise have met with protest.
But it is marvellous how willingly the children accept such proposals. ‘We’re all going to dress up as superheroes and pick up all the litter in the village’. Of course we are. What else are Saturday afternoons for? 10 children ranging from 3-8 years embraced the prospect, and presented as instructed, variously dressed as Batman, Spiderman, a princess, a pirate, a ballerina, Mrs Incredible… I gave them each a carrier bag for their spoils. And a pep talk about how the village needs us. No litter must remain after our efforts. And off they all ran, in high spirits.
I had been anxious we’d fail to find any litter (for such is the nature of the very community-spirited village we hail from) – but once we started to look we found a surprising amount. They checked around bins, dug about in ditches, scraped up mushy paper. On occasion the refuse was so precariously positioned that only Bananaman could safely go in for it. Between us we filled about 8 carrier bags, enough for everyone to feel proud! And finished up in the park for some well deserved celebratory roundabouting. Happily we only bumped into one other family, and she was very understanding about it!
The hunt was followed by a feast of chicken nuggets, ice cream and cookies, a couple of hours of trampolining, endless table football contests, DVDs and stories.
But at bedtime a couple of the kids were asked what had been the best thing about the day. ‘Litter picking with Bananaman’ came the gratifying reply. Oh yes.
See #28: Sing/busk in public. Unimpressive use of the medium, undoubtedly, but video footage has been uploaded nonetheless. And it wasn’t as hard as I imagined, I did it without having to seek assistance, and there are very few technological challenges that I can say that about.
The actual hiring was easy. A friend of a friend is a most excellent personal shopper, the marvellous Julie Ladhu, (www.julieladhu.co.uk), so it was just a case of making a phone call.
This was on the list because I have never been one to take great care or expense over my appearance. In fact since having children I am rarely sighted in anything grander than jeans and a top, and my idea of dressing up is wearing something clean. Comfort is everything. I once went to a dinner party with my slippers on. You get the picture.
So Julie had her work cut out. And she was more than equal to it! I spent a gloriously decadent day at her house, going through every item in my wardrobe, deciding what to keep, what to bin, what to reserve for gardening in, and what could be worn with what to achieve an overall look that was more sartorially pleasing than the status quo.
So phase one involved throwing literally all the clothes I own into the car, and driving up to London with them. My other half must have suspected I was doing a runner. Unfortunately the timings conspired so that I left home for the tantric sex workshop, taking my entire wardrobe with me. (I am not sure whether to put his lack of protest down to trust or indifference.)
But back to the shopping. Julie is some sort of magician, because I went from being convinced ‘I have no clothes’, to realising that in fact I only need to buy about 5 items in order to have dozens of decent outfits!
And what is even better, is that she then went out to find all the required items for me! And plenty of others besides.
So when we met again a week later, Julie had already mapped out the shops we would go to, the items she expected me to like there, and the things I could wear the new items with, for maximum effect.
We spent 2 hours power shopping, which was amazingly focused, and productive. I spent more money than I intended, but know that everything will be worn, everything suits me, and everything I bought means that more things I already own will not just be worn, but will look better. So I think it is money well spent. If I were richer, I would have no qualms at all about doing it several times a year, but even as a one off experience, it was very worthwhile – I have a much better idea how to ‘put myself together’! And I am converted to scarves!
Aside from the new clobber, I learnt much from the process. ‘Caroline’, Julie said to me firmly, ‘A top and trousers do not make an outfit.’
Well that was a revelation in itself. I have always assumed that if I am covered, I am ready. But it is undeniable that I do look better with a bit more detail. Some layering, a scarf, a statement necklace, that kind of thing.
Loved this one! (And would thoroughly recommend Julie if anyone is interested in the experience. She can work to any budget, and has no vested interest in what you buy, so you know that the items chosen are chosen purely with pleasing you in mind. Plus she is extraordinarily nice and fun!)
I am not sure if this counts, because I did it at an event that was designed for getting to know people… but it might have to do, because the days are passing by too fast!
We went to a ‘meet your fellow Twinners’ evening in the local pub (which several have pointed out sounds ominously like some sort of swinging event, but I can assure you it is nothing of the sort). It involves a bus load of folk from our village travelling half way down France to spend 3 nights with some random French people, on a kind of whole family French Exchange type arrangement. I have signed my family up for this extravaganza over Easter weekend.
The pub night was the preamble, and so I was able to strike up chat with the founder members of village twinning; the current organisers of village twinning, and with 4 (count ‘em) other parents of school age children who are also up for French high jinx. And I don’t think I gave myself away as too much of a buffoon, but it is early days – plenty of time for that in a few weeks when we are all bolting red wine and enjoying a crepe!
Well this was a very pleasant morning. I enjoy the creative process, but I suspect that my approach is far too speedy and slap dash to ever create anything truly worthwhile.
A group of 8 ladies gathered at the Gateway Café in South Cerney. Some of us visibly over excited by the free tea and cake that was offered as part of the deal. Bridget showed us the various techniques that we might want to apply, and some finished pieces of her own: bowls, dishes, birds, feathers, flowers. All looked professional and lovely. The techniques looked quite easy. We were keen to begin.
Before long it was all going wrong for several people. The marbled effect failed to marble. The thin bowls were so thin the clay split. The colours smudged, the birds faces caved in… disappointment was palpable.
I had not gone in with great expectations, so I was happy to chuck some clay about and see what happened. Predictably, I created several deeply unimpressive pieces.
Others had greater ambitions, and more persistence, and indeed more artistic talent. One lady created this marvellous owl:
Another fashioned a splendid bird:
I meanwhile, threw together an oddly marbled bowl thing, a sort of stripy ash tray with uneven edges, and 3 quite brilliant faces which I have grand plans of turning into a fridge magnet each for the children. (Why is it that my craft activities are still at child level even when I have not a child in sight?) Ah well. I expect they will be delighted.
A happy morning’s work though. And literally more cake than I could eat – now that doesn’t happen often.
This was a big one for me, because I have long suspected that I am not good with children other than my own. (In fact perhaps not even with my own! But they are rather stuck with it.)
My morning routine is still sufficiently insane that by the time I get to school I am heartily relieved to offload my own 3 children – so acquiring 27 more at that point is really about the last thing on my mind.
But for the sake of the 100 things, I made an offer to school a couple of weeks ago, and thus was booked to assist in Class R on a Thursday morning. ‘Sit in a quiet room and help the children change their books’ she had said. It sounded like a manageable brief.
But argh!! I had not factored in World Book Day. I arrived with my troops (late, chaotically, and in somewhat tenuous costumes – one bear, one Tinkerbell, and one black cat); to find the playground swarming with excitable pirates, Rapunzels, Snow Whites, witches, dinosaurs, crocodiles, tigers and the occasional uniformed child whose parent had clearly forgotten. It would, the class teacher admitted apologetically, be something of an unusual day. She offered me the option of starting my help sessions next week instead, but a little face crumpled beneath the bear head, and I realised I would have to see it through. If only I’d come in costume myself! Dammit.
The classes were all mixed up; the register was conducted by book character names, so I hadn’t the least idea who most of the children were. But they were all quite charming, and well behaved, and most excited to have me there, which was gratifying. Before many minutes had passed I was supervising the creation of oil pastel-crayon self-portraits, drawn in a mirror frame, (inspired by the tale of Snow White). The children were to study every detail of their own visage and copy it exactly as they saw it, not as they imagined it to be. They were to reproduce their actual skin colour, actual eye shape, and any odd features that might be going on, on account of their costumes.
And so they began faithfully replicating. Nostrils were writ large and pig-like. Eye lashes were lustrous. Spiderman was cursing his complicatedly webbed face. One girl was carefully selecting the right shade of red for a big zit on her chin. Kids with glasses, or scars, or different pigmentation were all happily studying themselves and copying from life without self-consciousness. It was a delight! Nobody cried, nobody wet themselves, nobody hit me. Things have moved on immeasurably since I last helped out at preschool!
I was promoted to the glitter table, where the mirror frames were embellished. 2 glue sticks, 8 children, and no fighting! School must be operating in some sort of magical parallel dimension; this would be an unimaginable scene in my house.
Glittering concluded; my characters trooped off to study The Enormous Turnip. A fresh assortment came in, and I settled to hear Snow White again. More mirrors, more pastels, more glitter. When break time came I slunk off. But it was a very worthwhile morning, and I shall have no qualms about going back next week. Changing their books should be easy now!
This was one of the more dreaded of my challenges, so praise the Lord for good friends to snatch banter from the jaws of a potentially humiliating shocker!
I cannot sing in tune, nor play any instrument. So it was hard to see how this would pan out well for me. But then, inspiration struck. I was to lunch with my 3 ex-housemates for birthday celebrations this weekend, and what if we could make an amusing event of it? An image presented in my brain. The 4 of us, each in comedy wig, brandishing a pink ukulele… and belting out tunes in the middle of London… How could that fail to be Utterly Hilarious???!!!
Once the image was lodged, it was impossible to shift. I broached the idea with them. And bless them all, not one dissenting voice! Hooray for chums who can be persuaded into these ridiculous escapades.
As the birthday lunch concluded, I presented my props. I piled the wigs onto the table. And the ukuleles. And the busking hat, for the public’s contributions. And the cardboard sign upon which we could explain our feat.
And oddly, as I went on, I noticed a hint of doubt appearing on the faces. Surely they weren’t going to bail on me now!!! The sunny day had brought people out in droves, and South Bank seemed a popular choice. Punters were thronging past like the M25 in rush hour. Oof.
In the end, the birthday girl took on a filming role, and the other 2 dug deep to join me. We positioned our sign. We donned our wigs. We discussed our play list.
And then there was nothing for it but to launch in. With woeful disregard for tune, harmony, correct lyrics or synchronised timing, we burst into a truly appalling rendition of ‘Jerusalem’. The crowds slowed. Brows furrowed. Some tourists took photographs. We sang louder. We strummed badly.
One song down, we were gaining confidence. We offered a rousing rendition of happy birthday. Em hid behind the camera and captured it as best she could.
We moved on to Band Aid,’ Do they Know it’s Christmas’. Perfect choice for a sunny day in March. The punters loved it! The contributions began to flood in! (well ok, perhaps that is stretching it, but some people really did give us money!)
We were loving it by now! We had only intended a song or two, but here we were, with (in our minds) the crowd clearly wanting more! We murdered Yellow Submarine. (I should stress that none of us had rehearsed, nor troubled to learn any lyrics, so song choices were a little limited). And still we weren’t done! We gave it large. We hit them with an exuberant ‘Living on a Prayer’. We threw out a horrifying ballad, Elaine Paige and Barbara Streisand’s ‘I know him so well’. Passers-by were open-mouthed. But the donations kept coming! We had reached £8! Surely we could get to £10! We figured by now we had a new crowd and could get away with another rendition of Band Aid, that had been by far the biggest crowd pleaser. And before we even got to the chorus, we made our £10, and only our extreme professionalism kept us going to finish the tune, rather than rush to the pub with our winnings half way through!
No doubt we should have given it all to charity, but I am afraid the only beneficiary was the nearest pub on South Bank. And of course the happy crowds.
So. A triumph! We put a smile on the faces of countless Londoners, had a massive laugh ourselves, earned £10, and ticked another one off the list, conquering to some degree my fear of performing in public and general social embarrassment. As well as creating an amusing memory and bonding experience for all concerned. Hurrah!
Probably my best one to date, that one! Who’s up for karaoke??!
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