Archive for January, 2009

The Industry Seminar

Saturday, January 31st, 2009

On Wednesday I went to a work-related seminar. These things tend to be fairly standard. You book in advance when it all seems like a good idea. When the email drops into your mail box you think, “Yes I’ll go to that, keep up to date with the industry, do some networking . . . . ‘ But when the day arrives and you have to make your way into town after a full day at work, you curse at making the booking in the first place and particularly for following it up when no-one emailed to confirm.

At the start of the event, after filling in a European funding form and pinning on a name badge, you kind of hang around a little, feeling awkward. A number of faces will be familiar. First up are the hosts and the sponsors. The sponsors will have a pop-up stand and team of people handing out flyers. Then there are other small business owners, staff from the universities, a few students and some techies. You can tell the techies apart from the students as they wear t-shirts with RSS logos and slogans that you don’t quite understand. And lastly there are the ‘professional networkers’. These people will go to the opening of a can of beans if there’s the promise of a free glass of wine. Then you’re called in to sit down.

There’s always a ‘warm-up guy’ who begins by going through the ‘house keeping’ as it now seems to be called. How to find the toilet and how to get out if the building catches on fire. An hour later you secretly start to wish for the latter scenario. Then the speakers are introduced and it begins.

Of course these things always start late and then tend to overrun and just when you think it’s nearly over they invite questions. This sends a secret message to every dufus in the room who loves the sound of his / her own voice to suddenly pipe up. So you sit there another 10 minutes, shuffling to stop your bum going numb on the plastic chairs. And finally – it’s finished. Everyone congregates in the adjoining room to drink a plastic cup full of tepid wine. And all that remains is to judge how long you can leave it before making a dash for the exit without seeming impolite.

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An Unnatural Act

Sunday, January 25th, 2009

Ironing Board

Tonight I am performing an unnatural act. Ironing. As I’m smoothing the sleeve of my husband’s shirt I think about how people don’t iron anymore. Not in the way that they used to anyway. Well, apart from my mother-in-law who irons sheets, socks and even underwear. My sister doesn’t even own an iron. God it’s hard to iron shirt sleeves. I’m already bored of the idea of being a model wife and surprising my husband when he comes home.

I wonder who invented the ironing board? It’s a ridiculous shape. It should be much wider. By the time I’ve ironed one bit it’s hanging over the edge getting creased again.

When I was younger and lived with my mum, she had an ironing basket which lived under the kitchen counter. All of the clean washing went into the ironing basket (along with the cat when he wanted somewhere quiet to sleep) and once a week my mum would stand in our front room, working her way through the basket, ironing creases and putting everything on hangers. And then there were those things that ‘lived’ in the basket. A cotton blouse and other ridiculously hard to iron items. I have similar items that live in my washing basket – hand wash only garments. Some of them have been there for years.

Yes, the art of ironing has definitely passed. Next time I’ll be super organised, take them to a professional ironing company and then pass them off as all my own work.

Posted in Home, Lord Levy, Me | 3 Comments »

Seven Things

Wednesday, January 14th, 2009

Ice Chapel, Sweden

Ice Hotel, Sweden

I’ve just read Kate’s post at The Manchizzle and have caught the meme. I now have to write seven random things about myself. Okay, here goes.

1. I talk to my cats. Sometimes I have whole conversations with them. And sometimes I sneak in to try and catch them in the act of talking to each other.

2. My favourite all time films are Barefoot in the Park and Gone with the Wind.

3. I got married in a chapel made of ice and spent my honeymoon in a log cabin in Swedish Lapland. At night, only the isolated barks of sled dogs broke the silence. That and Lord Levy’s gentle snoring.

4. When I was younger I never dreamed of being a pop star or an actress. I daydreamed about winning the Booker Prize.

5. My gran used to ‘take cuttings’ from other people’s gardens. She kept a mini gardening kit in her bag. With her Polo Mints. I’d stand behind the garden wall, half laughing and half terrified we’d be discovered.

6. I was born and lived the first few years of my life in Higher Broughton, Salford. My mum says that Salford people are the salt of the earth. I think she’s right. When I moved to Levenshulme a few years ago it felt like coming home, though I’d never lived here before.

7. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. People from my dreams are still in the room, though my eyes are open. It’s called Hypnagogia.

So, there you have it. Seven reasons to stop reading immediately. If you have time, write seven random things about yourself and link back.

Pictures: The Ice Chapel and the Ice Hotel, Sweden

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Love Levenshulme

Saturday, January 10th, 2009

I received a lovely postcard today from Matt at Love Levenshulme. His blog is all about Levenshulme and the positives of living here. We often hear negative reports about the area but his blog celebrates the good stuff. Matt sends out postcards to people he’d like to thank for making Levenshulme that bit better. Like the people behind the ‘beautiful front garden on Broom Avenue’ and the people at Village Stores. Take a look at some of the replies at www.lovelevenshulme.com.

And thank you Matt, it was a good start to the weekend.

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Cassie, Get the Sledges Out

Wednesday, January 7th, 2009

View from the back door at 6 o'clock this morning

Tori's Paw Prints

The third day is always the hardest. The third day of getting up early, the third day of a diet, the third day back at work. This morning I tick all three boxes. It is 6 o’clock and the alarm clock is ringing. I have to drag myself out of bed as it’s my turn to get up first. I peer through the curtains to see everything covered in snow. It’s still dark but I can see that it is still snowing by the light of the street lamp. Usually I can tell when it’s snowed before I even get out of bed. Something about the light and the way that everything is still and muted. Calm even.

I love the snow. It blurs the edges and things look new and slightly dream-like, as though you’re looking at them from down a camera lens or from a distance. And of course everything grinds to a halt and I like that too. It slows you down and makes you realise that there are other things to think about other than the everyday routine.

When my sister and I were younger we’d race home from school, grab hats, scarves, gloves and wellies and head for The Gollies*. All the kids would be there with sledges, plastic bags and those wood and metal toboggans that you don’t see so much anymore. My sledge was red, plastic and fast. We’d climb up hills and shoot down the other side, laughing and screaming. We even named the hills, seeking out higher and more daring slopes – ‘Steepy’ and ‘Devil’s Dip’. And finally, when our clothes were wet and stiff with ice and our fingers and toes stung, we’d go back home, stamping our wellies on the step to dislodge the snow. Scarves and gloves would be discarded on radiators while we drank hot tea in the living room.

I hope it snows again today, so that we can go for a walk after work. I like to hear the creak of soft snow when I step on to it. Snow has a smell too, have you noticed? I guess the sledge will remain at home though.

Pictures: View from the Back Door at 6.30am, Tori’s Paw Prints

* The Gollies -Whitefield Golf Course, at the back of our house.

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Football

Saturday, January 3rd, 2009

Lord Levy is at the football. As I write, his team is currently playing Manchester City off the park and leading by 3 – 0. There will be much celebrating in our house when he gets home.

Until I met my husband I never really understood football. And I don’t mean the formations or the offside rule. I mean that I never understood the point of it. He took me to a couple of live games a few years back, one at Chelsea and one at Leyton Orient. Though the latter took place on the coldest day of the year, I hated the Chelsea game the most. The ridiculously long queues and that god awful song they have – ‘Chelsea Chelsea . . . and then something about making it a blue day’. Oh it was a blue day alright. And that wasn’t just the language. And all the standing up and sitting down in the right places. And which goal they’re meant to aim for . . . .

We’ve since agreed that it’s not really my thing. Now that we’ve moved back up north he goes to the games with his dad, another lifelong Forest supporter. I still don’t particularly like football but I get it now. They’ll be standing there, the two of them, in the freezing cold, rubbing their hands together and laughing and shouting and cheering. It’s a bond. Something special that they share.

Before he died, my dad told me about going back to Old Trafford. He’d always been a Manchester United supporter but hadn’t seen a live game since the stadium had been rebuilt. On the phone one night he said, ‘They call it the Theatre of Dreams and you know what? It is.’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time and probably rolled my eyes a bit.  Now when I pass the stadium I have to swallow. And when they read out the football scores, I huff and make a point of flicking noisily through a magazine. But I keep half an ear out for the Man U result.

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