27 07 2008

Firstly to Jen Khouria for stepping and in initiating the Day of Blogs.

To everyone else who signed up to help and make this possible.

To my monitorees who have blogged bravely throughout the night and have given me a purpose and a goal and an occupation other than thinking of my own weariness.

To Renee who held my hand without being my monitor. Who took part in my Best Entry competition and who has written from the soul about depression.

To Jessica my monitor who looked in on me and encouraged me. Who understood.

To ALL my friends who took the time to come and support me – most of them yesterday AND today and some in the deep dark hours of the nigth. THANK YOU. THANK YOU

To those friends who delved deep into their pockets to help me reach my target. THANK YOU TOO!!

To my husband, who has fed me (wasaby?????? – sorry where was I?) delicious things, brought me bread today and a yummy cream cake from the bakers. Who pretended to watch Nemo last night. 😉

And lastly, to Mischief, who shared my sandwich, kept me warm, didn’t leave my side for a minute during the night, who tried to keep me awake with a ball and who is now, clearly, completely exhausted by the whole thing. 🙂




Almost there 14.30

27 07 2008

Its a shame I wasn’t more ‘organised on this this year. There is much more I ‘could’ have done…. on the other hand, given that three weeks ago I wasn’t even going to blog, that I moved ‘semi-homes’ three days ago and that all my stuff is still in bags in the kitchen, well… you know… actually, this is alright.

I’m likely to come back in the coming days and link  up entries from other blogs I didn’t get to read, just cos there wasn’t enought time.

And I’m likely to come back and try out some of the prompts I didn’t get to use and more specifically, use this blog as a place to store pics and tales that I’m happy to share with my friends here.

And… I might just do that cancer awareness thing I was meant to be doing. I do believe the work that TCT does is important and if I’ve learnt one thing today, it’s to get those entries at least written and perhaps even up and posted before the event.  19 people checked in here before I began and the site was empty….. shame on me….

but hey, I was here, flying by the seat of my pants. good job I wear big fat woolley bloomers. 🙂 Not.

Best entry competition – 14.00

27 07 2008

I’m late posting. Onlyy 3 left to go now.  But you’ll forgive me I’m sure, because I’m trying to instigate the Best Entry competion over on the main page: and the forum

A bit of history. Last year I won this in the main thon with the entry below. It totally rocked my world because I’d been doing this to ‘write’ and to ‘make a difference’ and I’d told virtually no one and therfore got a small amount of sponsorship.  And, it swelled my ego, honestly, what else do you think? 😉

Anyway, the young man in question told me this year that he’s training to run a big sponsored race next year. I promised that if he got of the teachers to let me know, I’d sponsor him next year. He kept me going last year and taught me a huge lesson. 🙂 A special thanks to him.

My Hero – my lesson. 9am Sunday, July 29, 2007

A few weeks back I had the privilege of helping out a sports day in a large comprehensive school. All the fast kids were doing the sprints and all the non-sporty kids were sitting on the ground to watch. My job was to lead the cheering, keep the watchers motivated in watching and the runners running fast. I didn’t realize that screaming myself hoarse and playing the clown was part of my job description when I signed up to be a teacher, but you know, as things go, there are far worse jobs I could be doing.
So there I was, leaping up and downn when suddenly I saw one of ‘my kids’ out there on the track. ‘My’ Tommy* was about to run the 400 meters.
Now Tommy is a smaller lad than many of his class mates. He is a lovely, rosy cheeked, polite and respectful young thing who finds himself in a class of loud-mouthed, hyper-active kids who have little interest in still sitting on their chairs for two minutes flat. Tommy is not the brightest spark in the fire, but he tries hard.
Tommy taught me a fabulous lesson that day. He has a sight disorder. Without his glasses he probably couldn’t see his hand stretched out in front of his face. To work, his sits with his nose pressed to his laptop. He instinctively knows where the keys are, writing is hard.
That sunny day, Tommy ran the 400 meters. He probably couldn’t see the track markings but he stayed within his lane, albeit wandering from side to side. He ran all the way, even though he came in a good 100 meters behind the other competitors.
But Tommy ran that day. He gave it his all and the next day he told me that he had only been down as reserve for the 100 meters. He put his name down because no body else would and you got points for having competitors. He did it to help his team.
Tommy didn’t win any medals that day. He didn’t have any glorious finishes like some of the stunning budding young athletes out there on the field. But Tommy stole my heart during that race and taught me one of the greatest lessons I have learned. Hold your head high, stand up and be counted and get out there and do your thing! Be proud to have done it because many others don’t dare to do the same and many more just couldn’t be bothered to make the effort.
Go Tommy!
* Please note, Tommy’s name has been changed for obvious reasons.

<< : Seven Days 8.30am

Another B-Blogger

27 07 2008

I’m late – scandalously slow. I apologize. I danced the Time Warp and er, warped right of time.

On my last post I forgot a B-Blogger so please, if you have time to come after you’ve had a nap, it would bbe great if you could look in on Linda. She is blogging for Christian Children’s Fund.

And on that note, I’d like to say thank you too to all the people who have kept me going, all my monitees who are still going strong and particulary Aurora Lamour , Renee  and Jessica.


And bugger – this is on the wrong blog again. How do I keep doing that? GRRRRR.

Woman Down – 13.03

27 07 2008

I just lost one of my monitorees. I got to her blog 13 minutes after she posted she was off. That was it.

I wish she had sent me some sort of message before… I mean, I’ve leaving messages every 2-3 hours over the last 24 hours.  I feel sad. That I couldn’t/didn’t help her more.


fiction that isn’t

27 07 2008

that was my little attempt at speed fiction. Except it wasn’t. I did get lost in Devon somewhere when I was, actually, probably five not four. My brother used to wander off but I didn’t know that bigger, cleverer than me, he always had an eye on my parents’ whereabouts. When he said we had to go back, I didn’t that he was losing them from site. When I wanted to stay on the plastic horse, he chose to leave me there and find. Survival of the fittest I guess.

And when I tried to find them, I couldn’t. I ended up going up the hill into every shop  because everyone looked the same. I remember this woman chasing me and telling Dad she was going to take me to the police. It was actually quite terrifying and my Dad was my hero for years. Perhaps he still is some way.

But it didn’t stop me from getting lost again.  Next holiday, I was interested in the tanks and wandered off and got lost in one. My parents were going crazy.  I guess it was that curiosity that always led me into deep water. Why not?

Lost? How come? – 12.29 – actually, now 12.38

27 07 2008

I saw the woman come towards me and stoop down. Suddenly it seemed wrong and turned to run. I went as fast as my little legs would carry me  and straight into the open arms of an older man. Older than my Daddy. He was trying to catch me too. I leapt back. The soles of red sandals flapping on the ground, my little content dress flying.  I ran back, but there she was again, her arms outstretched, stooping down, hurrying towards me. Him or Her?

I remembered what my mummy had said. Don’t talk to strangers. Who were these people who wanted to catch me. My breath caught in my throat. Please legs, work. Not like in my dreams where I always get stuck, glued to the spot.

And then I new. I bolted out into the street and down the hill. Quick as lightening. Through the legs and bags of people struggling up the hill, I hurtled down. I could her shouting out, coming after me. Her shoes clip clopping, mine flap flapping. And I could hear a wailing, a screaming and then I realised it was me. Why was she chasing me? And how would I ever find my Daddy again? How did I lose them? Didn’t they want me? Where was I?

I  ran and ran down hill, hurtling through the people who turned to stare at the four-year-old being chased by the young woman.

And then, through the crowds, his strong shoulders, his kind face, worried, running too, up the hill. I leapt into his arms and burried my face in his thick neck, wrapping my chubby legs around his  chest. Giants hands held me tight, rubbed my curls.

My Dad.