Q is for Queueing

Okay, you try finding something beginning with 'Q' to write about. This was the best I could come up with.
We Brits have queueing down to a fine art. We are a nation of queuers (is that a word?). We queue, therefore we are.
We queue for buses, at the supermarket, at the cinema, everywhere we go. We even join queues just to see what we are queueing for. And do we moan about queueing, you bet we do. We hate it with a vengeance but if anybody dare's to question our right to queque we defend it wholeheartily.
It's totally a British concept though. I've been to France, Spain, Cyprus and America and none of them know how to queue. They just crowd and the one who is quickest gets to the front. It causes chaos! People push and shove, no excuse me's offered. It would be far easier if they just queued!
Queueing ettiquette demands that you always join the queue at the END. To jump a queue is the worst crime you can commit. Your fellow queuers will bay for your blood if you ever try this. You risk being ejected from the queue all together. If you are invited to the front by anybody official, you will be safe but will have to run the gauntlet of dirty looks and muttered insults from the rest of the queue. After all, what makes you so special, that you don't have to queue.
Occasionally, you can use the 'Can I go in front of you, I'm in a hurry,' excuse. Usually you will be given permission, because we are a civilised and polite nation and always allow this if asked politely. However, if you do this to often you will soon become known as a deliberate queue jumper and people will start to shun you and look at you funny and mutter in your presence.
So, the next time you are queueing at the post office for a stamp and the person in front of you has a trillion bags of change that she needs weighing and the one in front of her has fifty thousand forms that need stamping and the next one has twenty bags full of parcels that need sending with proof of postage, remember that queueing keeps us civilised and orderly.
Failing that, pretend you're in a hurry!

Lest We Forget

Today is Rememberance Sunday. I watched the March Past in London this morning. Ten thousand members of the armed forces, from every regiment, marched past the Cenotaph in Whitehall. Men and women who fought in every conflict from the last century, marching to a military band. It is an awesome sight to see. It is also emotional, in the main because it brings home that we are a free nation because of the bravery of these people. Sadness at the fact that there are now only a handful of WW1 veterans left, their generation almost passed, their sacrifice soon not to be represented. And the memory of those who never returned, the reason we remember every year, is especially poignant.
May we never forget, may we always keep the memory of all those who fight for our freedom alive and always show them the repect they deserve.

P is for Parenting

There are so many different books on the market that profess to teach us how to be the perfect parent so why aren't we? Why haven't we all got perfect little families who are polite and well behaved 100% of the time. Errrrrrmmmm, I'd say because none of us are perfect and not one of those books is any good at three o'clock in the morning when the baby is screaming, toddler is bouncing on the bed and hubby is snoring away, oblivious.
Books can't bring up babies, they can give a few pointers but ultimately every baby is different and what works for one will never work for another. I've had four and not one of them was the same.
With my first baby, I stumbled along as best I could. I panicked every time he cried or slept through a feed and when he was asleep I checked his breathing every half an hour. Despite my many mistakes, he survived babyhood.
I was positive my second baby would be easier, I'd made most of mistakes by then and thought I knew what to expect. Cue the baby from hell. He wouldn't feed, wouldn't sleep and screamed the house down for three hours solid every night. In spite of all that, I survived his babyhood!
Third baby was really easy, after all I'd just visited hell so nothing could phase me now. And by the time the fourth came it was old hat.
But then came childhood, again nobody can prepare you for it. And don't get me started on how to survive the teenage years! Amazingly, I have come out the other side and now have four fantastic lads who I am very proud of. In spite of me they are all well adjusted, functioning members of society so I guess I got something right.
Parenting is flippin hard work, mostly unrewarded, usually undervalued but one of the greatest things you can ever do. The joy you receive when a baby looks into your eyes and smiles is above any kind you can imagine, so to when a toddler throws his arms around your kneck and plants a sloppy kiss on your face, and when a child tells you they love you, when a teenager sheepishly hands you a bunch of flowers just because you're his mum.
Nobody tells you how it's done, nobody knows how it's done but every parent eventually gets to the point where they can look back and say, 'I did it, I brought life into the world, nurtured it, protected it, helped it to grow.'
Then we set them free to become parents themselves, we sit back and have a good laugh at all the mistakes they are making, shake our heads and wish we could help but all of us know we have to let them do it alone. It's the only way they can learn!

In the Wars Again

I fell over again on Friday afternoon. This time it was our front drive where the accident happened, so nice and embarrassing to be spreadeagled across the pavement for everybody to see! I knew I'd hurt myself badly from the pain in my foot and wrist but thought better of attending hospital, as you do. The 'I'll be all right tomorrow' mentality kicks in for some reason and I hobbled in the house where I proceeded to get worse. I had to ask my parents to come round and help because I couldn't walk at all. And I'd left it to late to go to hospital so had to wait till Saturday morning.
The x-rays at A&E showed I'd definitely fractured a bone in my right foot and the nurse was 90% certain I'd fractured my left wrist. I had to have a temporary plaster fitted to my foot and wrist because the plaster tech doesn't work at the weekend! How stupid is that? The weekend is when most people end up breaking some part of their anatomy yet nobody should because mr plasterman isn't there!
The nurse then handed me a pair of crutches, telling me not to put any weight on my foot at all. DUHHHHH, I had a broken wrist and had to hop about on crutches for two days, until I could get a proper plaster on Monday. Guess who spent the weekend confined to bed, dosed on painkillers and dreading each trip across the landing to the toilet? The two longest days of my life, I can tell you!
Anyway, today I got a weightbearing plaster so can walk about but still need the crutches. I find out on Wednesday whether my wrist is broken when I visit the fracture clinic. It certainly feels like it is when I'm using those crutches. If so, that's my wrist and leg in plaster till middle of December. Watch me be real lucky and have to keep them on over Christmas!
Good job I gave up drinking, though isn't it!