My view of 2012

I have neglected my blog this year. In all my years blogging, which I think you'll agree are numerous, I have never blogged so little. But today, the last day of 2012, I would like to give you my view of 2012 (this is based on the joke my parents used to make when we were 'revising'..."more like vision" they'd say. You can imagine how well that went down.

Blogging so little makes it seem like 2012 wasn't a good year. And it was, it so was.


Let's (re)view, shall we?

1. I was a vegetarian. For a whole month. One of the highlights of this was definitely Spinach Pie. 

2. I made a spaceship and made a little boy's dreams come true by picturing him with his hero.

3. I saw the stupidest car that ever lived.

4. I visited Emma in Nashville and went back to North Carolina on a mammoth one day road trip.

5. I judged a singer/songwriter contest show in Franklin, TN. (All the restaurant guests did, this wasn't based on my previous experience of CHW's Got Talent 2008).

6. I went skiing in Colorado. I heart skiing. I heart Colorado.

7. I was skiing on St. Patrick's Day - for the third time in my life, quite an achievement I'm sure you'll agree.

8. I saw where the best burger in Denver is served. Unassuming I think you'll agree. They weren't open, otherwise I might have checked the veracity of their claim.

9. I was interviewed for local TV in Denver. I don't know if they ever showed it though.

10. I went to Mile High Stadium on the day Tim Tebow's future was unclear.

11. I had a cake decorated for me celebrating my dedication to CHW. Although, also accurately points out that I have been '1986-2012 minus some'.

12. I joined the rest of the smart phone world in playing Draw Something. These are two of my favourites. I though I really got the spirit of New York and covered Ringo's career highlights accurately.

13. I went to Serbia.

14. I did some Serbian dancing. Well, it seemed only polite.

15. I drank some Serbian rocket fuel. They don't market it as that though.

16. I made cake pops. They are the ultimate in bake-faffing.

17. I saw the Olympic flame. Lots, actually. But this photo is in Belfast.

18. I went to the Olympics. Oh my goodness! I went to the Olympics and had the time of my life! At some point I'd like to blog properly about the experience.

19. For now I will say this: being in the stadium on Super Saturday was one of the best nights of my life. (The Opening Ceremony would definitely be another.)

Jessica Ennis on her lap of honour with the other heptathletes. And, why yes that is the sandpit that Greg Rutherford had just jumped into on his way to Olympic Gold. (We were much closer than this picture would make it seem.)

20. I learnt that Rhythmic Gymnastics is a lifeskill. Granted this was from the commentator in arena; he may have been biased. (Yes, rhythmic gymnastics, it wasn't all about Team GB gold medals.)

21. I rode the London Underground with Becky Adlington and the Team GB swim team .

22. In other famous swimming news from 2012, I met Ian Thorpe. 

23. I got the plane with Austin O'Callaghan. He was on his way back from the Olympics too.

24. I got a fringe. And then I grew it out. 

25. I got to go to meetings where things like this are at your place. Yes! 

26. I made beer butt chicken. And proved that life is a Friends episode.

27. I moved out. Again. And into a house where these get made...and there's spares sometimes! Yes!

28. I spent way too long looking at these blue chairs when I was waiting to hear that I hadn't broken my jaw.

29. I carved an Ulster pumpkin. It was my first pumpkin carving so I was fairly chuffed with my efforts. 

30. I saw Ben Howard live. Keep your head up, keep your heart strong.

So that's 2012. I loved it!

But like Jed would say 'what's next?'

Open wide

I am not doing very well blogging my adventures, which of course implies I've had many.
Take last week for example. Last week, I spent a happy 6 hours in A & E. Yes for me.

So let me expand upon that.

I had gone home to my parents' to pick up a few things I needed. Straight in, grab the stuff, straight out. What actually happened though was a lot more complicated, however. I tripped over the front step. Yes, the same front step I've been stepping over - without incident - since 1991.

Not so bad you're thinking. Well try not to wince when I tell you that rather than just stumbling, or even falling down, I fell into Dad's car - face first. Actually, I landed my jaw on the headlight before landing on the driveway.

I howled, like actually screamed, for a short while on the driveway before I realised I didn't want the neighbours to find me like this. After feeling for my teeth (and checking there were none on the driveway) I hobbled up and made my way to the freezer for an ice pack for my jaw (further demonstrating my good, non-panicky emergency skills) I stopped by the mirror and saw the blood in my mouth, which, thankfully, was just coming from a small cut inside my lip. Then I called my parents to tell them I thought I'd need an x-ray. I said it hurt a lot, Dad asked if I'd had a painkiller. Ha! I was so beyond painkiller pain.

So there I was in A & E with no real outward sign of my injury. No bruise materialised and there wasn't much swelling to notice. So it really did look like I was just there for my two scraped knees. So I held my jaw for extra effect. Obviously.

I really really hoped my jaw wasn't broken because they wire it shut. I also hoped that I wouldn't throw up because of the painkillers, because having to open my mouth that wide would be horrendous. Oh yeah, and I don't like being sick.

The x-ray was quite cool. Well I say that, but I had to stand perfectly still while biting a yellow grip thing (which I'm not entirely sure was sterilised beforehand) while the radiologist broke the machine twice. When she did get it working is swooped around my head doing its x-ray vision thing. The swooping was cool, the rest of it I could take or leave.

When I broke my hand in Singapore and had to go to x-ray by the time I had made it back downstairs to the doctor he had my x-ray on his computer screen. Not so much here. It took a long time for them to tell me they didn't think my jaw was broken. Any thoughts I had of smiling at that point ended, well yes with the pain, but also with the news I'd have to see a specialist the next morning at 8.30am. It was 3.00am.

So later that morning the max fax (maxillofacial - Max Factor make-up has a cleverer name than I ever gave it credit for) specialist told me my jaw definitely wasn't broken. Thoughts of smiling were still far from my head though. She told me I'd have to work over the coming days to stretch my jaw back otherwise I could have long term damage, but for a few days I'd be on a liquid diet and soft food for about three weeks. Definitely no crusty bread or apples for me.

It's been quite sore, right up to my ear. Talking tires me out but I haven't had to talk through my teeth though. Stretching has been hard work too. By Friday evening I could fit one finger in my mouth and twist it 90 degrees. Skips (the crisp) would just about fit into that gap, although some would have to be broken. On Saturday I had run out of soup so tried beans. That's when I got my (temporary) fear of eating implements from - it didn't go too well. Don't worry, I haven't wasted away. Wotsits, Skips and chocolate Buttons alongside soup and smoothies. Last night I came home to my parents' and had my first proper meal since Wednesday night's Spag Bol. (I mean, if that was going to be my last meal, what a way to go. Only sorry I didn't have the garlic bread now.)

I can open my mouth quite far now, maybe not Dentist-wide (that's the industry term) and chewing is still quite difficult but I really am so lucky it wasn't worse, because it really could have been.

I mean, what would I have done if the chocolate Buttons didn't fit?

[Beth Lav (shoutout!) hoped for me to write a comical blog about all this in six months' time. I'm not sure that I'll ever find this as funny having happened to me, as opposed to if I'd seen it happen - I laugh when I see people trip, I can't help it. But when you see a headlight (albeit from a stationary car) that close to, it's hard to find funny. Five and half years on from my broken hand, I'm still not laughing about that (although there were parts of that made me laugh - like squeezing shampoo straight onto my head and the soapy bubble mess I made because I had no clue how much I had put on). This will probably be the same - thinking about it will be no fun, till I remember all the day-to-day things that made me laugh.]

Ee by gum

Shut up. It still counts as this week, even though I blogged last Sunday that I would blog this past week.

So here's the list of stories I need to blog about:
Movies (January '12)
Visiting Emma (March '12)
Visiting NC (March '12)
Flying to Colorado (March '12)
Colorado (March '12)
Serbia (May '12)
Getting home from Serbia (May '12)
Exam answers (June/July '12)
The Opening Ceremony of the Olympics (July '12)
The Olympics in general (July/August '12)
My new house (August '12)
Music (January - September '12)

So with that list in mind I'll start with my visit to the dentist this week. (Leave it.)

I have had that nightmare that your teeth fall out and it is horrible because I like my teeth. When I was at summer camp, I got hit in the mouth by a tree branch that someone was moving. I know, I don't know quite how it happened either. But I do know, even today, what my first words were afterwards: 'Are my teeth all still there?' Thankfully they were. What appeared over the next hours was a bruise on my chin the size of China. (Which is not to say I've got a chin the size of China, but that the bruise was massive.)

So I like my teeth and they are surprising good for all the Coke I drink. I didn't get a filling until I was 28. Actually, I may have been 29, I can't remember, but I know it was after Singapore. I have a couple more now, but all in all they're not bad.

Up to August, I'd only ever had one dentist. My entire life only one person had ever looked at my teeth. I never needed a dentist in NC or Singapore. But she retired and closed her surgery last year. I was beyond sad because I trusted her and I liked that she knew my teeth and knew exactly what had been done. Her children were about my age, and Peter had gone to YF at the same time as me, so we used to catch up on what we were all doing. Knowing I was a teacher, she'd ask me about the Transfer Test and its merits. That's when I made it a policy never to disagree with someone who's about to mess with your teeth.

I've started going to a new dentist now and it's different. Firstly, she's young. Like younger than me. And she has a dental hygienist so rather than Ms. McVeigh just having a look in silence and then telling me what needs done, this girl talks to her dental hygienist and gets her to...pass her things that I don't know what they are. The other thing that is weird is that the seem to use my chest as some sort of tool bench for setting down these unknown instruments. Ms. McVeigh never did that. In fairness though, Ms. McVeigh never put that apron thing on me or those weird glasses (to stop 'flying debris' getting in my eyes apparently. Eh what?!)

But the thing I miss most about going to the dentist is the waiting room. Now, don't get me wrong, the waiting room in this place is lovely, very modern and clean. But there's no picture of Foggy, Clegg and Compo. You know, from Last of the Summer Wine.

There is it, in all its former glory. Also, check out the gold patterned wallpaper. Another gem.

I had to take it sideyways to stop my reflection. I hope it doesn't diminish its beauty.

Honestly, I can't tell you the hours I've spent wondering why there was a picture of the three amigos in my dentist's. So much so, the last time I was in there I had to take a photo of it.

I mean, why would you even buy it, let alone put it up in a place where other people will see it?

Distracted

I plan on blogging this week. So much to write about sometimes it's hard to know where to start. At the beginning I suppose. But this week? This week I plan to make my comeback to the blogging world for it has missed me.

I'm sure.

I'm as excited as a very excited person who's got a special reason to be excited

It's tomorrow! It's tomorrow! It's tomorrow!

This morning in the shower I caught sight of the countdown clock that's been in there for the past 18 months or so. There was the '1' looking back at me! I squeed right there in the shower! I can't think of anything in my life that I have been more excited about for as long as I have been excited about the London Olympics.

One day! One day! (This photo was taken tonight. Well, who takes their phone to the shower and takes a photo?!)

I mentioned way back in 2005 about how I found out London won the bid on the way to Ruth's wedding. Well, seven years later and we're here!

I love the Olympics. When I think about it,  I suppose I was always going to. They have the history, they have the sport, they have the 'national event'. All box tickers for me! And I was even born on the day Duncan Goodhew won a gold medal in the Moscow Olympics. It's like it was written in the stars!

In 1988, I remember colouring in South Korea flags in school. I remember me and my friends wanting to be Flo Jo and the disgust that Ben Johnston would cheat. I remember seeing Daley Thomspon's pole break during a vault, although of course I had no idea then what that really meant, despite Des Lynham's best efforts to explain it.

I remember watching Sally Gunnell, Linford Christie, Chris Boardman, the Searle brothers with Garry Herbert and Redgrave and Pinsent win gold medals in 1992. I remember fighting back the tears as Derek Redmond finished his race with his dad after he tore his hamstring. 

In 1996 I sat up most of the night watching the action from Atlanta live, slept-in in the morning to do it all the next day. And that was in GB&NI's disappointing Olympics. Since 2000 and the start of lottery funding GB & NI have really had something to shout about at the Games and I've celebrated Team GB's successes in Sydney, Athens and Beijing. 

But I've equally been enthralled at the fortunes of a Kazakstan weightlifter or a Vietnamese archer. Pierre de Coubertin said what was important in life was to have fought well. So when a weightlifter tries to beat his personal best in the clean and jerk, or an archer tries to get an arrow in the gold, that doesn't happen without four years of training, commitment and sacrifices. That's where the fight happens. We're mere spectators in the final act of four years' work. Sometimes there's triumph, sometimes not, but I can't help but be captivated by that.

So you see, I would have loved this summer even if Paris, or another city, had come out on top in the vote. But this is an Olympics in my home country and I'm going to see the some of the athletes live and in the flesh that I've only seen on TV or followed on Twitter! That P4 girl colouring her South Korean flag never imagined that she would ever get the chance to go see an Olympic Games.

I get that some people aren't as excited as I am, and to those people I ask what was beyond your wildest dream as a kid? And what have you waited seven years for, with eager excitement, once you knew it was scheduled to happen?

Tell you what, you can come back to me in 2019 and tell me sure.

Friday night, Saturday morning

I'm up marking. Or not marking as it happens. Honestly, marking exam papers is as much a psychological struggle as it is intellectual one.

Anyway, taking 'a break' to read my Twitter timeline I saw that Matt has made another video! This is exciting and made me 'extend my break' into blogging about it.

Matt is the guy who made a video of himself dancing around the world. Then he made another of him and lots of people dancing around the world. The third one is like the second one, except the dance moves have, by his own admission, improved.

I've used his videos in Citizenship classes and funny enough, the person who tweeted the link I saw said he uses them in Global Studies classes (he teaches in America). But, if you've never seen one, they're not educational in the traditional sense of the word.

Take a look, you'll be hard pressed not to raise a smile and feel slightly better about the world.



I want a job like that.

So...travelling to Emma's was fun

We've started planning Soul Mates 2013 already. I mention it because Soul Mates 2012 was that long ago and that's when I flew to America for a wonderful couple of weeks with some of my favourite people in the world. I never blogged about it and I don't really know why. But here at Princess no trip is too long ago to be celebrated. In fact, I kind of feel like it's the elephant in the room, or the blog not  blogged about.

As I so often have, I flew through Newark. It's my traditional route and comes from it being a hub for Continental, or United as it's now known. Hence air miles, hence this trip. I didn't have long in the airport, once you go through customs and immigration. Well long enough in the airport, but not long enough for a scoot into NYC as I've done before. I did get to see it from the window though.

Wow. You can really see that Manhattan is on a hill in this photo. Or I didn't straighten the photo in post-production. (I put that in deliberately. Long-time visitors will know there is no post-production on here.)

And there was time to grab lunch. And dinner. What?! I missed meals in the air.

The 1950s diner does a fantastic milkshake should you ever find yourself there.

Of course no trip to Newark is complete without getting a slice of my favourite broccoli pizza. It really is Newark's best kept secret. That, or it impresses no one else but me.

Fantastic!

Actually I had a fight on my hands to get into the right terminal (and by that I mean the pizza terminal) because my plane to Nashville left from a different terminal. But I was smart enough to realise that there was a United bus that left from one gate in the Pizza Terminal to the actual terminal. Ha! You will not deprive me of broccoli pizza.

At the gate I was all set. I reviewed my directions to get to Emma's house. And I waited. And I waited some more. And some more. And then my flight was delayed. And then it was moved. And then it was delayed some more. It was a fun time at the gate.

I amused myself by telling myself this was a Rascal Flatt sitting opposite me. But then I realised Rascal Flatts probably don't wear Phillies visors. Let's just pretend though.

Once the flight was moved gates I got talking to a lovely lady from Des Moines who was on her way back there from Florida after taking a continuing education class for her job. She was a masseuse and funnily enough, although likes her job, said it was stressful at times because clients would come in and offload all their problems on to her. Ha! She owned her own business and wants to set up acupuncture as well (actually she might have already - it's June and I can't remember!) I learned lots of interesting things from her about Des Moines, continuing education credits and masseusing in general. And she was happy to talk to me because I was from Ireland and have an accent. She told me that she was able to afford her classes because she'd done a Groupon deal and so had money in the bank from that. So that's better than a lot of the small business experiences of Groupon you hear in the media.

On the flight I was able to move to two seats that were free and slept for a while. With the delay I didn't arrive into about 10pm, which was about 4am my time. And this was after Soul Mates, the busiest weekend of my year. I was shattered. Nashville Airport was pretty quiet when we landed and I was the only person at the car rental place. The guy was from the UK and we had the oddest conversation because we kept on correcting our Americanisms back to the British which we didn't need to do but did kind of out of embarrassment.

He offered me the chance to upgrade. I declined. He offered me the sat nav. I declined. He asked again about the upgrade. I declined. You see, I had my skis with me and he really was quite concerned about getting them fitted in the car. That was nice of him, to be be concerned about me. That or it could be that he was on commission.

Eventually he sent me on my way, not before I asked him where the restrooms, eh bathrooms, eh toilets were. It was a long walk out to the parking structure, eh parking lot, eh car park and by the time I got there I was delighted to see the car rental man because he carried my stuff on down the line of parking spots.

You see, there weren't many cars parked in the lot. And then it came. My new friend offered me a free upgrade to any car I chose in the parking lot. Bingo!

To help me decide he asked me what was important to me in cars. This was a good question and one that I had no hesitation in answering: cupholders. Oh come on?! Isn't that important to everyone?! The other thing that was important to me was how close the car with the best cupholders was to me when we stopped to assess the options. On that basis I was happy to choose the nearby 6 cupholdered Hyundai Sonata. He fitted my skis in and I was on my way to Emma's.

Like I said, it was late and I was tired but with the power of Google Maps and some revision in Newark I made it out to Emma's without much trouble. There was only one sticky point when I couldn't find her exact house on the road, but it turned out I was right outside it: Emma flashed the porch lights and I was there!

Chalk another win up to the Interstate Queen!

Bye Bear

I don't have fond memories of the launch night of Big Brother in 2004. I don't have particularly fond memories of any Big Brother launch night I suppose, but 2004 was particularly bad because that's the night my cat died. Tigger had been part of our family for 18 years. Yes, that's right she was old enough to vote so she'd had a good innings (not that I ever saw her with a cricket bat, or a voter registration form for that matter).

Little five year old Tina came home from church with her brother and dad and watched through the window of the conservatory as Dusty gave birth to one of the last of litter.

We already had a dog, Bruno, and along with Dusty we were allowed to keep one of the kittens.

Tigger won my mum over by sitting on her foot instead of the cold conservatory floor. She soon became my cat; I was her favourite and she was mine.

We're all so little!

The night she died I came home from being out and, after watching the opening night of Big Brother 5, I found her in the first throes. I wish I had looked for Tigger right when I came home like I normally did instead of being lured into a crap hyped-up television show.

Blurry shot of her, but digital photography was in its infancy when Tigger was around.

Tonight is the England - Ukraine game and no matter what the score is I won't have fond memories of it either because today Sox died.

We didn't get a cat after Tigger died. It was a deliberate decision and one that lasted a solid two years. I was in North Carolina when news reached me that my parents had befriended a stray cat that had been appearing in the garden for a while. By the time I was home a few months later Sox was well set up.

Sox didn't eat too many more meals outside after he arrived with my parents.

I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him until after I was back from Singapore. We were originally just acquaintances in the same shared space, but he soon won me over too. After the coal incident it took a while, but we got there. He was even allowed to sleep at the foot of my bed, a place that Tigger had also been allowed.

For a while after I was back I called him Soxopher. I like to think of it as his full name. Soon enough he became Soxybear or The Bear, or just Bear. This name came from the bear outfit my nephew wore when he was a newborn baby. Just a few months ago Johnny pointed out to me that Soxybear wasn't a bear at all and I had to tell him the why he was called this, lest he think his Cool Aunt Tina was a complete idiot when it comes to animal recognition.

There is no doubt that Soxybear was my mum's cat. I used to tease her that "My Tigger - God rest her soul" never had the same number of cat accoutrements that Soxybear had. Honest-a-patience, that cat had more things to sleep on than I do. No really. 

The Bear in his igloo.

Soxybear was a very sweet cat, with a nice personality. Our theory is that he had been abused before he arrived with my parents because he really didn't like big noises like shouting or hoovering and practically no one could touch his back legs and expect to get away with it. (Probably why he was scared of me for a while after that unfortunate coal episode.) He seemed to trust us though and I think we gave him a really good home for six years. He gave just the right amount of head butts to tell you he wanted something and purred loudly when he was pleased with life.

I'm glad my parents are the sort of people that like animals and look after them well. And I'm glad that their hearts can be melted by a stray cat because as much as right now I feel like the end of Marley and Me, I wouldn't want to be without the Soxybear in the Soxybear Years.

Tweets from celebrities

Let me first of all say: no I don't know if I'll ever blog about Tennessee and Colorado either. I really should get on it. Especially since Emma is now back. (Well she would be if her flights hadn't got delayed, rerouted and delayed some more. Reminded me somewhat of this experience of mine.)

Anyway, back to tonight. I try not to blog on Friday or Saturday nights, you know, because I have far more important things to be doing. Like watching The Voice. But tonight I got a tweet from a celebrity! And I was out so it's not like I stayed in on a Friday night so I could tweet celebrities.

I was out with Karen Photographer in town. Neither of us drove so as to open up the possibility of a cheeky glass of wine. In fact, it opened up the reality of a cheeky glass of Pimm's and wine.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I'll get the salmon when I'm out. Tonight was one of the ninety-nine.

On the train on the way home, once Karen got off I listened to a podcast (a Five Live one if you must know) on my phone. I just caught one station announcement and it hit me who it was: the PR4L! If you listen to Radio 1 you'll probably be familiar with her work. If not she's the Posh Radio 4 Lady and reads Dear Scott. In her actual job she reads the news on the Today programme. Hence, the Posh Radio 4 Lady!

I wasn't sure but I knew I'd seen her on Twitter, so I wrote a tweet and mentioned her:

Am I wrong or is the automatic station announcer on Translink trains the PR4L? @Kathyclugston

But it's Friday night and she's the PR4L and has much better things to be doing than looking at her tweets, let alone replying. But she did! In a matter of minutes. She said, and I quote:

@tinaarena22 you are RIGHT!

So I did what anyone would do in that situation. I retweeted it. Well, I looked on it like a public service announcement for my followers who might have wondered the same thing on a Translink train. 

It's moments like this that make me love Twitter! And the PR4L! RT @kathyclugston: @tinaarena22 you are RIGHT!

But then I had a moment of mind panic; I had mentioned her but not actually thanked her for replying or said anything directly back to her. What's the Twitter etiquette about that, the twetiqutte if you will? So I wrote back to her:

@kathyclugston Thank you! I don't often get the train but tonight it just hit me that it was you so had to check! Have a nice weekend!

I thought that was nice, polite end befitting an encounter with the PR4L. But this is the PR4L we're talking about; of course she wrote back.

@tinaarena22 you too!

Being so encouraged by the PR4L I will now do my very best to have a nice weekend. 

I will draw the line at tweeting her about it come Sunday (or Tuesday). You know, in case she thinks I'm weird or something.

The pink bottle is dead. Long live the pink bottle!

It's the end of an era over here in Princess world. I have retired my pink Nalgene bottle. Please, no flowers.

Honestly, my pink bottle has more air miles than most people I know. I got it in a shop (a mercantile, if you will) in Hicksville, just a day or two before I went to Korea for the Conference. It came with me. It came it home and then to Singapore. It lived beside my computer in my classroom and travelled daily to the staffroom for refilling. It's been around the world (aye aye aye...), been in more meetings that it would care to remember, and last week it was in Serbia on its last mission in keeping me hydrated.

But the time has come to put it into retirement. I'm a little bit sad about it, so many memories and good times we've had together. It was still going and still so strong.  But alas, it is not BPA free. That's a bad thing, they say.

So I got a new one. In exactly the same shop I got my last one. It proudly displays its BPA free-nees. Hurrah and huzzah.

There wasn't a coronation or anything, but all hail the new pink bottle.

I like using a refillable water bottle. It makes me feel like I'm saving the world. Plus I save money. If Coke, or that Tesco Tropical Juice that I'm so partial to, came out of the tap for (close to) free, would I buy it? Heck no.

This is my blog; I can say what I like (so long as it's legal), so I'm just going to come out and say it: buying bottled water is ridiculous. Bottled water uses two of the earth's most precious resources, oil and water, creates CO2 emissions in the delivery and most of the bottles end up in land refill sites. Yet, in the vast majority of cases, we have clean, safe drinking water at our disposal. How many people in the world don't have that luxury? So many that 'luxury' is the right word to use here. 

But we buy bottled water because we've been marketed to. We've bought into the myth that drinking bottled water is better, cleaner, healthier and heck, even cooler.

I know, rant, rant. But really look into some of the facts for yourself. Try here, here, or here. Or use the mighty power of the interwebs for yourself.

And why not get yourself a reusable bottle? BPA free, of course.

Well this is just embarrassing now

Here I am getting ready for another trip and I never even mentioned the last one...two months ago. Eek. I even said last week I would write about it 'tomorrow'. And worse still I talked up my travelling tales before I even left for that trip. Don't worry, I won't make such a stupid mistake this time. I don't want to be the boy who cried wolf, as it were.

So where am I off? Well, I'm glad you asked. It's time for my annual reminder as to exactly how crap my French is. This time I'll be all shades of rouge in Belgrade. No, honestly. And as a special bonus lesson this year I'll find out just how abysmal my Serbian is! Two for the price of one!

But I am kind of excited too; I think Serbia will be my first new country since Cambodia in 2009. That's pretty exciting if you keep score of your new countries like I do. (What? Doesn't everybody have a mental tally of their countries?! Probably not the pot of flags though...)

And after a day like today in the homeland, what better time to go off and get some eastern European sun?

Don't worry guys, I'll take this one for the team.

While I'm away I might try and actually write about what I got up to in Colorado and why I'm moving there next. That last part is a joke. I think.

Shocking Princess performance.

I must do better at blogging.
I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

I must do better at blogging.

Seriously. I don't think I've ever gone that long without writing anything on here. Tomorrow is May. Tomorrow is my comeback. Tomorrow I will start to fill you in on the past six weeks. Well, the exciting parts anyway.

Unless of course I don't.

Sounds promising eh?

There's someone in here

There's lots of differences between America and Northern Ireland. You probably don't need me to tell you that. Like they need drive-through Starbucks and we want drive-through Starbucks. Or we sell small packets of crisps and they sell gigantic bags of potato chips. Or their parking spots are made for SUVs and trucks, and our parking spaces are not, despite Tesco mums' best efforts. Most of the differences are fine; you get adjusted.

However, here's one difference that will never be normal to me and I bet if you've ever been to the States you'll have noticed it too. It's that uncomfortable gap in the toilet cubicle door. What is with that? 

Yes I was sitting down when I took this photo. What of it?

It's all over too, it's like they have one company make all their toilet cubicles and they decided there should be a gap and so in public toilets all across America there's a gap. Or maybe there's a federal law which dictates the size of the gap? You see, it doesn't matter where you are, you can see people on the outside and they can see you. That's just weird. (Of course, Americans probably travel to Europe and think it's weird to pee with no one being able to see in. That's how we pee in Europe, my American friends!)

I suppose it's a small price to pay for the free refills though.

Benidorm is probably used to this

My flight over was the lovely Belfast Newark one. I've always loved that flight and never more so than on Monday when it was not the flight the hen party that had descended on Belfast International was getting. Lucky for Newark, better luck next time Benidorm.

You know the drill with those sort of hen parties. They have to have some sort of matching attire: cowboy hats, tiaras, t-shirt or feather boa. They hurl cheap plastic accessories on the bride until she has more stuff on her than a Christmas tree. A cheap, tacky and, dare I say it, a slutty Christmas tree.

This group were no different. Pink feather boas all round and team t-shirt with names on the back. Let's see, we had Sarah Big Baps, DD Diane, Leg Over Lesley, Maneater Michelle amongst others. Even those names make me cringe; I would hate to have to wear a t-shirt like that. But then there was worse.

You stay classy Gemz. (I don't even want to write on my blog what her friend Claire's name was.)

All through the airport were these pink feathers from their boas.

I have a feeling that the clean up from them in the airport will be the least messy of their entire trip.

No post weekend blues here

After a busy last week and a crazy busy weekend at Soul Mates I'm off on my travels again. I know there was good reason to book it for the very next day, but as I started to pack at 10.30pm last night I began to think it wasn't the best idea. When I was still up at 1.30am I really did wonder what I had been thinking. And by 3.00am, when I went to bed, I vowed never to do it again.

At 6.00am I was up to put my jeans in the tumble dryer and throw the final things in the case. Three hours sleep was a new low in a week of little sleep. Actually, I got more sleep at Soul Mates than I did at home. And that's even including Steph's extra early alarm at 6.00am on Sunday.

But the weekend was brilliant! It's hard to explain why it was though. I had little sleep, I was constantly on the go and I practically never sat down. Nurse Carol was appalled at my lack of bathroom breaks on Saturday. Well, I either needed to go but didn't have time, didn't need to go or there was a queue of 14 kids for the one toilet in the church. And so from 7.10am until about 11.30pm I held it.

Despite that, there are three main reasons I loved it.
1. I worked with some fantastic new people. They really stepped up to what we were asking and did a good job.

2. The kids and leaders loved it. It's always easy to work for people who so visibly express they're glad they're there.

3. Johnny made his annual trip on Sunday. Three years old and already four Soul Mates under his belt. That's my boy!

But now I'm very much looking forward to the flight so I can sleep. And I'm already writing in my head a blog post about the hen party who were just ahead of me in the security line. We'll save that for the other side though.

Well, if you've been here long you'll know travelling brings out the best in my blog.

Knowing your limits

Two years ago I wrote a blog about running for Sport Relief. This year I decided to do sign up again and so I'm writing a blog about it again. Although last time I ran three miles, and this year I'm running six. Mostly because (if you clicked back you'll see) I chickened out of six last time. In fact, now that I think about it, that's the only reason.

You see, ever since I saw the ortho doctor last October, I treasure any day when I don't dislocate my knee as miracle. The conversation went something like this:

Doctor: Hmmm....(on honkers five feet opposite so he's looking at my knees at eye level) Have you ever dislocated your knee?
Me:  (Standing with my trackies pulled up into shorts) Dislocated it?! (Surprised at the suggestion) No.
Doctor: Hmmm... (and not a good sounding 'hmmm') Are you sure you've never dislocated your knee?
Me: Yeah...no, why?
Doctor: Really? (Raises eyebrows)
Me: Well, never knowingly anyway.
Doctor: Oh you'd know. But you've really never dislocated it?
Me: No.

At this point in the movie of my life, there'll be a daydream sequence where I will be some sort of medical marvel. People come from far and wide to stand amazed at the never-dislocated knee. There'll be spinning front covers of my knee on the British Medical Journal, Scientific American, TIME, Newsweek, The Economist, Hello, OK and a host of foreign magazines, you know, to add to the worldwide wonder of my knee.

So six miles is most definitely my limit. I know a few people running the marathon this year. And well done to them! But see, I would also like to be able to still use my knees in 5 years.

Now here's the bit where you come in...

Like I said before, it'd be silly of me not to mention it on here because if you'd like to sponsor me I'd very much like that! I know Sport Relief is a huge charity and will raise literally millions through their very prominent night of prime time broadcasting, and other charities need the support of marathon runners etc to raise their money.

But this is your friend Tina and she's running a distance she's not entirely sure she'll complete and she's holding a small, figurative bucket for charity while she does it.

So if you'd like to sponsor me, you can do it here: http://my.sportrelief.com/sponsor/tinaarena

Thanks, I really appreciate it.

If Jed and Birgitte ruled the world...

I know, a two week hiatus on here. No one is more disappointed in me than me.

So what has moved me to blog after 15 days of inactivity? One word: Borgen. I know what you're probably thinking, but let me explain. Borgen is a Danish political drama and it is just fantastic! The West Wing is rated pretty high on my TV favourites list (scratch that, it's top of the list), and I can't think of another political drama that I've even watched, much less loved. (No, wait, I did watch some of that Geena Davis Commander-in-Chief. Terrible, truly terrible.) But the four episodes I've watched of Borgen I've loved.

My good friend Rebekah (and now, purveyor of TV shows I should watch) told me to watch it. I caught it just before it disappeared from iPlayer. Now, sadly for you if you haven't watched it it's already been on TV and no longer available on iPlayer. But do look out for repeats or a showing on BBC2. [The Guardian did a review of it here, if you want to know more about what it's about.]

A lot more intrigue and political wheeling and dealing goes on in Borgen than The West Wing, and of course the biggest difference is that it's subtitled into English. Every so often a stray English phrase sneaks in to an otherwise Danish sentence, like 'fifteen minutes of fame'. Much like the French have no phrase for cul-de-sac, the Danish don't have a phrase for fifteen minutes of fame. Also, I'm pretty sure I've learnt the Danish for Prime Minister - States Minister. See, this programme is really improving my Danish.

Names are tricky to follow sometimes, and I'm not entirely sure how they pronounce some of them. And place names. Oh the place names! I enjoyed this one so much I rewound it to take a screenshot.

Middelfart, of course, means central passage because it connects Jutland and Funen.

Should I ever go to Denmark (it looks just gorgeous in the show) Middelfart is on my list of places to visit. Just for a picture by the sign of course.

How I scored a bajillion cool aunt points

There are many, many reasons why I'm a super cool aunt but today I present you with just four.

1. Today is my nephew's third birthday! I had a great present for Johnny: a Buzz Lightyear costume. He likes to pretend he's Buzz Lightyear using the Mr. Potatohead Buzz Lightyear wings he has. They're about 10cm wide and he holds them on his back but that doesn't stop him. So I knew I was on a winner with an actual Buzz Lightyear costume for him.

I can't claim any points for the aid to flying, we shared this arm breaking work around.

Average aunts would stop there. Cool aunts aren't done with just buying presents, oh no.

2. I gave him a laser for his costume. Not a real one you understand, that's dangerous and costs you cool aunt points. It was one of those keyring things that help you find your car's keyhole. 

I Buzzed it up with a Star Command logo. Above average aunts would give just the keyring.

3. I made him a spaceship! Oh yes I did! I realised with his wings on he might not fit into his current rocket (a playtent tube thing, I don't know the correct term, I'm not a parent!) So I went to Play Resource, got lots of big cardboard and bits and bobs. (If this wasn't a post about my nephew I might have written 'free crap' there...) I took into consideration my brother and sister-in-law's feelings on the growing expanse of toys in their living room and made it collapsible; visitation rights are important to cool aunts.

No honestly, I've never worked for Nasa.

It's fine, it has wings here, see.

The interior (do you have spaceship 'interiors'?) You can see the moveable control panel with buttons, and the light panel, along with many space and Buzz pictures.

4. And finally, I made him a personalised card. I know what you're thinking, 'no big deal Tina, you make cards all the time for people'. (Please note: If I didn't it was because I probably ran out of time and not because I don't like you. You got a card didn't you? Then what are you complaining about?!)

But this card turned out to be the pièce de résistance of the whole thing. He opened it first and was immediately spellbound by it. Why? I'll show you why.

It's Johnny and his good friend Buzz hanging out in space, that's why!

The card brought about some of the cutest sentences I've heard. Every once in a while he'd go back to the card and tell us something about it -  "Buzz is looking after me", "I am 'appy with Buzz" or "Look at my 'appy face.

Honestly, it's hard getting all these cool aunt points. Your heart can actually melt.