The Jedward Experience

Well, I've been and done it and am out the other side. My seven year old son had been counting down "sleeps" until Jedward and finally yesterday was the day, "no more sleeps". After his first day at rugby camp he came home, showered, got out the hair drier and gelled, moussed and sprayed his hair until it stood upright. Dressed in hip-hop trainers, leather jacket and shades he was ready for the off. I don't know why I'm always expecting to be the only person at these events. Instead to my constant surprise it was heaving and mostly with screaming young girls with home-made banners. Inside the venue which held 300 people but felt like 3,000 we found our seats and waited. The 7 year old tried to get the crowd going with shouts of "we want Jedward" and "Jedward clap, clap, clap!" Then, about 15 minutes late a dj came out onto the stage and within seconds had the whole place jumping and rocking, literally. I was sat on the tiered seating and felt like the earth was moving. It was very early on I realised my great seats were totally useless as the teenage girls infront of me jumped to their feet and onto the chairs even. The room was a frenzy waiting for the boys who arrived on stage about 15 minutes later.
It felt a bit like I'd gone to see Alvin and the Chipmunks in concert. There was a backing track and the boys had thin voices and when they talked one squeaked and I couldn't understand them. But they played all the songs people knew them for. They danced around for 2 hours with incredible energy. There were bouncers along the front of the stage which I thought were there to protect John and Edward from fans, but oh no, it was to stop John and Edward keep jumping into the crowd. They kept attempting it and the bouncers kept chucking them back onto the stage like runaway puppies. My seven year old was mesmorised and while one daughter loved rocking out and the other would rather have seen Catherine Jenkins and thought it was too loud. The concert ended or rather the soundtrack came to an end and the boys thanked their audience. They were so polite and nice to the audience and made a huge effort to mention all the posters made for them and gifts that had been left at the dressing room door. Good on them I say. They're making it happen for themselves. I realise, you don't have to be the very best at what you're doing, you just have to keep going. If you're entertaining people who cares what the text book says. But you have to always respect your audience. Without them, there's nothing. Back home a shattered 7 year old fell into a deep sleep where he dreamt of one day being Jedward. How many sleeps?

Heartbreak hotel

Argh! Houses! Don't they drive you wild. Just like that elusive love of your life. You see him. At first you're not interested. There's nothing likeable about him at all. Then you meet again and something happens. There's a spark. But it's not the sensible option. Sensible is the guy who rings and texts, remembers birthdays, walks on the outside of the pavement, but sensible leaves you cold and makes your skin crawl.
Then you realise this wild card is The One and all rational thoughts go out the window. You dream about it, look at the picture of it on the internet. You've moved your furniture inyour mind, at night when you're awake, thinking about The One. It wasn't in the area you wanted, it's too much money, you didn't want modern, but there's just something there. You set you're heart on it. You have to have it. Then the worry sets in. What if there's a problem with the mortgage? Then there's the insurance? Now you lie awake at night worrying, stressing, pleading with the man upstairs who you haven't spoken to since you prayed for a pony at Christmas. And he didn't deliever then.

Then the blackest moment. Some-one else is interested. He could be taken.

I'm trying to ignore The One now. Pretending if I don't show I care it might just happen. Trying to play it cool. But.....I really want that house!!

Please tell me happy ever afters do happen.......

Racing home

The new hens are settling in well although Sarah-Jane is quite obviously Queen Bee and the newbies quake in their boots as she stomps past, head held high. The kids are at windsurfing camp all this week, although the wind and rain has swept in over night. They have all got a wonderful golden glow to their skin and the two blondies have gone much lighter. The eldest is a dab hand at it. Yesterday a boy asked her for a lift to the shore. She said she'd go and get a bigger windsurf at which point he used a stream of foul language on her. Coolly, she told the tutor and carried on surfing past him as he was left flaying around with in sail in the water.

It's the Galway races here this week and everybody, but everybody goes. Builders get 2 weeks off for race week. Other work places shut for 2 days. Yesterday was ladies day and buses and pavements were a blaze of colour as beautifully dressed young women in hats and heels made their way to racecourse. The men were all in badly fitting suits with gelled hair, but hey, they'd made an effort. The norm is that you go to the horse races by day with a big group of friends, the dogs in the evening then off clubing into the night. Too much excitement for me I'm afraid. I was tempted to go on Sunday as it seems to be a religion here but I still can't get excited about spending a day in close proximity to 17,000 other race goers. I think I'll wait until I can get into the owner's enclosure.

Chicken run

Today I decided to replenish my gang of girls. Having lost three hens to the fox I couldn't leave the one remaining hen on her own. So I phoned around and found a chicken breeder. I decided not to go back to the last one as I'd had my hens for 4 months and not a single egg. I think I've been running a retirement home for hens. Which was nice, they all sat around chatting and looking out at the loch, I half expected them to whip out a bit of knitting or a pack of cards, but it didn't get me any breakfast eggs.

So I found the new chicken breeder's house, on the main road, with the horse in the front garden. The man himself was out but his grandmother was there. I told her I'd come to pick up 3 black rocks and hoped she had a box I could take them home in. "Not a bother," she said, her eyes twinkled, "we'll put them in bags." For a moment I didn't know how to reply. Should I tell her I was here for live chickens or was she really telling me I was to take home three chickens in plastic bags? The look of shock must've been obvious because she followed it up with "sure, they'll be fine, we'll put holes in the bags." Yes, she did mean for me to take them home in bags, because "it was no distance." I nipped to the local garage and got a crisp box. On my return my daughter was playing with a kitten which I realised the kind lady was telling my daughter she could keep if she could catch it. This wasn't the first time this week I'd had to prise kittens out of my daughter's hands from kind ladies. Chickens you pay for, but kittens it seems come for free. I finally got the chickens home, hoping and praying there wouldn't be a repeat performance of the loose chicken in the car on the way home from picking up the kids from a party. But there wasn't. They're getting used to their new home. But I have to say the lone chicken, Sarah Jane, is very put out. I think she was getting used to living on her own in her spacious coop for one. As for kittens, I'm trying to put that off until another day but I think I'm running out of time. There's only so many times you can say "soon, we'll get one soon."

I'm just wondering though, if the chicken lady wanted me to bring the chickens home in bags, if I bought a donkey would they expect me to bring back in the boot of my car.