I don't wannabe a Spice Girl!

I did one of those daft quizzes on Buzzfeed while supping my mocha one dull Monday morning.

'What musical girl group do you belong in?' screamed the headline, so I thought I'd give it a go.  It was either that or get back to doing some actual work and I was feeling easily distracted.

Based on my answers - and I'm sure with no scientific basis whatsoever - I belong in The Spice Girls.

To be honest, I was hoping for Bananarama or The Bangles as The Spice Girls phenomenon completely passed me by; 1996 was the year I graduated from University, and my musical tastes were more of the Indie variety.

Not that I'm knocking The Spice Girls - I can't dispute their success and the longevity of some of their careers, it's just that I wouldn't want to be one.

It comes down to the 'character' associations: I could probably be Scary, in fact given the correct circumstances I could definitely be scary, at a push Posh, not Royal-family posh, but as posh as Victoria but in a more smiley, friendly way.

Baby is out of the question (I'm mid-forties, that would be weird) and Sporty isn't going to work for me either - I'm not really a 'leisurewear as outdoor wear' type of person.  Neither can I do those backflips - not that I've tried, I don't think the NHS could cope with the injuries I'd cause myself and bystanders should such a manoeuvre be undertaken!

No, the main problem is that I'd end up being Ginger Spice.

With hideous flashbacks to all the names I've been called by growing up red-headed, I don't think I could cope with this moniker. 

Also, that very tight, short Union Jack dress really wouldn't suit me - unless it can work as a tunic, with jeans and Doc Martens?

So no, I don't think I'll be shouting 'Girl Power' and joining The Spice Girls for their rumoured 2016 reunion tour. 

 

Please also note any suggestions of 'Old Spice' will not be welcomed!

Bella's back!

Bella's home!  Possibly the best news we've heard so far this year.

The little Spaniel who was taken from outside a shop in Rothwell is now back where she belongs.

Her poor family have worked tirelessly campaigning to find her, with regular postings on social media.  The scenes of them being reunited made me cry tears of happiness, as I'm sure they did for you too.

The bond between a dog and its human family is a strong one, and the time they were apart must have been agonizing for both parties.

Thank goodness this story has a happy ending.  It also underlines the importance of microchipping your dog, which Bella's family had done, and which  becomes a legal requirement in England from April this year.

Talking of dogs, I've been watching 'Cats v Dogs, Which is Best?' with interest.

Although I don't think it's fair to make a comparison, as both have their merits.  I've never owned a cat as I'm allergic, but I can see the appeal of their independent natures.

However, I also appreciate the unconditional love of a dog, and the fact that they're always happy to see you.  Mine wags his tail so hard his whole body snakes from side to side.

Working from home my Lab is my constant companion.  He likes to lay on my feet while I'm at my desk - which is great on a cold day, but does mean I feel guilty getting up to make a cup of tea and try to shuffle out without disturbing him, which I haven't managed to achieve yet despite years of practice!

Much has been said about humans and their relationship with animals, but I shall leave you with the following interesting comment, one that I've heard many times before and have only just discovered was originally stated by Winston Churchill:

"A cat looks down upon a man, and a dog looks up to a man, but a pig will look a man in the eye and see his equal."

Tribute to Terry Wogan

I grew up with Terry Wogan.  Not literally of course, as he was from Limerick and we never actually met.

But looking back he was a constant feature of my childhood.  Mum always had her radio tuned to Radio Two, and his dulcet tones could be heard while my brother and I got ready for school.

Then we watched Blankety Blank, probably most noteworthy for the strangely outsize microphone that Mr Wogan brandished towards guests, and which Kenny Everett took great delight in bending out of shape.

I remember wanting to win a Blankety Blank cheque book and pen, much in the same way that I also wanted a Bendy Bully from Bullseye - unfortunately neither of these items have made it into my treasured collection of things which I'm keeping so daughter can present them one day to an expert on The Antiques Roadshow.

The thrice-weekly Wogan chat show was also essential viewing, and my addiction to the Eurovision Song Contest began because of Terry's mocking commentary which was infinitely more fun than the actual singing.  My favourite quote is:  "Who knows what hellish future lies ahead?  Actually, I do.  I've seen the rehearsals."

I briefly flirted with listening to Radio One in my teens and twenties, before returning to the Radio Two family in my thirties, where I've remained resolutely ever since - getting very annoyed with husband when he borrows my car and retunes my radio to another station.

Yes, I woke up with Wogan regularly, his Janet and John stories in particular causing much mirth and brightening my mornings.

His gentle, jovial, clever and amusing delivery and the camaraderie between his team made you also feel part of the gang.

People often ask me 'Are you Terry Wogan's Hellen Bach?', and I have to tell them that sadly I'm not.

Although, in a way, I suppose I am.  Thank you Terry for all the joy you brought us over the years and for being our friend. 

Passport photo

In hindsight, there are some tasks that just shouldn't be undertaken early on a Saturday morning in January.

One of my New Year's resolutions was to renew mine and my husband's passports, and to get daughter her first passport.  I haven't left the UK since before she was born, and until now hadn't the need for one, so mine had long since expired.

Having discovered what we needed to do, we set off for our nearest Main Post Office to collect the forms.

We also happened upon a photo booth.  Now these were a source of amusement long ago, when my friends and I would pile in and take a series of pictures of ourselves.  Not anymore.

Really, I should have refused husband's suggestion to get the photos taken there and then as there wasn't a queue.

I should have dug my heels in, point blank refused and returned with full face of make-up and immaculate hair, instead of my minimalistic natural day face complemented by windswept barnet.

Instead I simply shrugged and said 'Yeah, why not'.  This, my friends, was a huge mistake.

In a scene reminiscent from the Hamlet cigar ad - you know the one, with Gregor Fisher (Google it if you're too young to remember) - there I was perched on a small plastic stool, trying to keep a 'neutral expression'.

'Neutral expression' - who on earth ever has such a thing?  Certainly queuing at passport control my expression has never been what can be described as 'neutral'.  More like 'simmering rage', 'slightly shifty even though I've done nothing wrong', or 'in need of a cup of tea or something stronger', but never, ever 'neutral'!

The result resembles a mug-shot for a 120-year suspected serial killer.  It's so bad I had to have a friend countersign it because I'm unrecognisable from my previous passport photo, which I hadn't particularly liked either but now realise was OK.

I would have tried again, but it costs £5 and in husband's words 'There's no point throwing good money after bad'! 

There's a starman waiting in the sky...

Lemmy of Motorhead, David Bowie, Alan Rickman - not even two weeks into 2016 and three famous Brits left the stage forever.

Cancer was given as the cause of death for all three, all of whom were around the same age.  Yet again we are reminded that cancer doesn't discriminate between rich and poor, famous or anonymous.

Fortunately all three men shared their unique talents with the world and their legacies will live on forever through their music and films.

Some people have expressed cynicism about the outpourings of public grief, particularly with the passing of David Bowie, but please don't judge too harshly, as grief is extremely personal. 

Whilst I appreciate that in most cases we didn't actually know these people, they have all impacted on our lives in one way or another.  In some respects, we do feel like we know them, particularly if we relate to their song lyrics, and they have helped us through troubled times.

I was late to discovering David Bowie's music - Let's Dance and Absolute Beginners were where I joined, later on hearing his 70s classics and realising the impact he had on modern musical culture.

But what I have come to appreciate latterly is the fact that he made people who felt like outsiders feel that they weren't alone -  and the benefits of this should not be underestimated.

With regards to Alan Rickman, 'Die Hard' is the first film I remember of his - I wish I could say it was 'Truly, Madly, Deeply', but I've always been more of an action movie person.

His portrayal of Hans Gruber was so good at being bad that it set the standard, and subsequent US action films simply had to have a British actor playing the villain.

To the younger generations though, my daughter's included, he will forever be Professor Severus Snape from the Harry Potter films, the ultimate bad-guy (who actually turns out to be good).

Life on Earth may be duller with the passing of these three talents, but Heaven has become a lot more interesting.

From Sherlock to The Sound of Music...

Looking back on what now seem like distant memories, I must admit my festive televisual viewing consisted of the usual smorgasbord of mis-matched programmes that I'm sure most of us feast upon at that time of year - a mixture so strange we could do with reaching for indigestion relief for the senses, if such a thing existed.

Stand-out quality shows for me included the unmissable Sherlock - truthfully though, I'm still not really sure what happened, so please don't ask - closely followed by the three-part 'And Then There Were None'.

Quite what dear Aunt Agatha would have made of this re-telling of her novel is perhaps best left a mystery.  I've read quite a few Christie thrillers in my time, but don't remember the use of strong swear words and drug-fuelled parties - perhaps I just haven't got to those yet.

The ending for this also left me scratching my head a little, as I couldn't work out how that particular outcome had been achieved, but perhaps not over-thinking it is the best policy.  It was brilliantly acted and maintained a menacing air throughout - and it did of course feature Aidan Turner (of Poldark fame) wearing just a bath-towel.  Poor Aidan must get very chilly filming all these programmes with no vest on.

In complete contrast to the murder and mayhem, my film of the Yuletide season was 'High Society', the musical re-telling of the sublime Philadelphia Story, which was shown as part of the Frank Sinatra at 100 season.

It featured Cole Porter songs, Louis Armstrong and his band, Grace Kelly looking radiant, and Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra crooning their way through two-hours of great music, classy dialogue and 1950s style and etiquette.

This was closely followed by 'The Sound Of Music' on New Year's Day - it transpired that neither husband or daughter had seen this before, so I encouraged them sit down and watch it with me. 

They both really enjoyed it, despite their original protests that they didn't want to watch a film about singing nuns!

Crime of the Cen-tree? Northants Telegraph column, 14th January 2016

At school I once borrowed a book from the library which caused much amusement amongst my classmates when my Form Tutor read out a message from the Librarian stating it was due for renewal or return.

The tome in question was called 'The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding' - but in my defence it was an Agatha Christie, not a children's book about a plum pudding fulfilling its Christmas destiny!

I mention this now because there's been a recent real-life adventure involving a Christmas pudding.  Every year, outside The Yews in Gretton, two 100-year old (approx) box bushes are decorated to resemble Christmas puddings.

Jo's puddings are legendary throughout North Northamptonshire and Rutland.  Visitors make pilgrimages down the High Street just to see them, and they bring big smiles to many faces, young and old.

However, on the Monday night before Christmas, Jo's 'pudding tops' were stolen.

A Facebook appeal to have them returned was sadly then followed by an even worse theft being committed the following night.  Somebody removed one of the box bushes altogether by dragging it out from the garden using a vehicle of some description.

Everyone in the area is shocked that anybody could do this - a drunken prank stealing the pudding tops is one thing, but a premeditated return to the scene and removing an ancient box tree is in another league. 

Despite more appeals the culprits have yet to be found, but following an article on the Northants Telegraph website - and even a brief mention in The Sun with the puntastic title 'Crime of Cen-Tree' - the bush was found abandoned and has now been returned to its rightful home.

I'm thinking this crime should be made into an Agatha Christie-type mystery, starring Aidan Turner.

I was trying to engineer a storyline where he could remove his shirt (accidental red-wine spillage, perhaps?), however, my 12-year old daughter has told me that this is sexist.  In my defence, I did explain to her about his appearances in And Then There Were None and Poldark.  She remained unimpressed!