Tidying

Photo credit - John Nettleship

No, not of that sort. I hate cleaning anyway - I will never be house proud, but then, nor do I live in a complete tip but it is like fighting a losing battle sometimes.

I did, however, have a certain amount of tidying up of loose ends to tackle that have been building up. They sat there niggling at me, occupying a little part of brain that nags me as I'm going to sleep, or when I'm trying to have a quiet moment.

No more. Yesterday, without too much work on and alone in the house, I set about my chores.

First, I filled in my tax return. My affairs aren't too complicated and I had everything I needed. At least I thought I did, until I realised I needed the PAYE reference of the people I've been doing casual work for so I fired off an email and got my answer in 10 minutes.Racing through the rest of the form, I signed and dated the form with a flourish, and placed the form in an envelope on the side.

Once that was done, it seemed natural to continue on to renew our tax credits claim. I had husband's P60 but had to ring him to check some details, then I had to guesstimate our income for the coming year. (Oh yes, I am a pro at this now.) No real form-filling this time - I prefer to ring up. Ringing up at lunchtime is always a bit of a lottery but after a lengthy recorded message, part of which warned I may have to wait some length of time to speak to a real person, the call was answered within two seconds. After ploughing through the information, I gave her the numbers I had for last year and this year and we were done in 10 minutes.

Two tasks done and I was on a roll. There was only one thing for it - tackle the filing. Eurgh. I fortified myself with a sandwich and a brew, before heading up to the spare room and sorting all the paperwork into piles. It would appear I haven't filed since last August - how the hell did that happen? As ever, it took less time than I think it's going to do, probably the reason I left it so long. Another job ticked off. Surely I couldn't  get anything else done?

You'd be wrong. My old laptop has been lurking around since it failed last November, waiting for me to afford a repair and find someone local who can do it for me. Months ago, someone recommended a local company to me but I couldn't remember their name but a quick Google threw up their website. I tried calling the number and there was no reply.Ten minutes later, I tried again and this time, someone answered. I explained the problem to them and they told me they think it's a simple repair and probably won't cost more than about £50. Result! All I have to do is get the laptop to them. So, after a quick dash round, I picked up laptop and envelope containing tax return and headed out, stopping to buy a stamp for the tax return and posting (another job ticked).

So, tax return sent and the laptop got dropped off and I still made it to school in time to pick up the children without suffering the indignity of turning up late and having to collect the children from the main door instead of their classroom. In fact, I was early!

Since then, I've made tea, had Missy Woo read to me, tidied up the kitchen, stacked the dishwasher, and answered some emails about work. I'm thinking of having the night off. What do you think? Where do I get my medal from? 


That little part of my brain been silenced, for now, at least. Until the next thing crops up, that is. 

Getting the golfing bug

This is a sponsored guest post. Stick with it though as it makes some interesting points about getting children into golf. Monkey is just getting into golf, is now the proud owner of two golf clubs and wants to go to lessons.

Photo credit - jhonnyt

Nowadays it is getting harder and harder to entice your children into the outside world and away from all the suffocating technology of the house. With more and more children suffering from obesity in the United Kingdom, there has never been a better time to strap golf equipment onto their backs and introduce them to the amazing world of golf.

Quite often people are put off golf, as the overall consensus is that golf is a sport for the well off or retired. However, with golf equipment becoming cheaper as the days pass and community golf courses springing up across the country, this could not be further from the truth.

Besides this, most people find it best to start teaching children about golf within their very own back garden, or if this isn’t an option, in the local park. Here you are given an unlimited amount of time to teach putting and really making sure that your children are getting a grip of the club. Of course, once the putting is sorted, it is time to move onto the most exciting part – the swing.

Throughout the United Kingdom and often attached to golf courses, there are golfing ranges where you are able to practice and teach your child how to well and truly hit a ball. Here, like the park there are usually no time restrictions, as you pay by the ball, meaning that you have all the time in the world to teach your young one the ways of the golf club.

Of course, once you are confident that your youngling is ready to set foot on the golf course itself, there are golf courses all around the country that are happy to accept new people, young and old. Most communities also have the afore mentioned community golf courses. This means that instead of paying annual fees (although this can be an option), you can instead pay by the round, as this is a great way of introducing your child into golf; once you have both decided that golf is the sport for you, it is then time to consider monthly, or even yearly membership fees.

For just about anyone in the golfing world, a full 18 holes can be quite daunting. That is why it is often best to start playing in halves, either by playing the front nine, or back nine.

A front nine consists of the first nine holes of a golf course and is often the way to start as a full 18 holes can be very tiring for a beginner. If the mood suits, you can quite often play what is known as the ‘back nine’ although this is less popular than playing holes 1-9.

The benefits of introducing your children to the sport can be huge. Not only is it a healthy and productive sport but golf also teaches children about patience and respect to other people. Whereas most sport revolves around disadvantaging your opponents, golf revolves around deducting yourself and being truthful to others. What better ethos could you teach your children than this? With lessons that can be used for a lifetime, golf is a sport that can carry a person throughout their entire life and is often a popular sport at work.

But of course, that is years away, what you need to focus on now is the fun and enjoyment of the sport. Why not try by taking your son or daughter out on a day at the nearest crazy golf course? This could be a great introduction into golf in general and a place where you can plant the idea of the sport into their minds. You never know, the person currently trying to whack the ball under the scary clown could just well be the next Tiger Woods.

(I have been paid a fee to publish this post). 

I'm a gadgetaholic

Hello, my name is Kate and I'm a gadgetaholic. Kitchen gadgets, that is. There are plenty in my kitchen, all jostling for position and . Some have been successful, others not so much. Some gather dust because I don't use them often, others are in daily use and are, frankly, lifesavers.

My lovely pink food processor

If you're going to invent a new kitchen gadget, I have three criteria on which I base my judgement on what makes a kitchen gadget useful, effective and therefore, value for money.

First, it needs to solve a problem or fill a need. If I have something I want to defrost quickly, my microwave is hot stuff. When grating lots of cheese or making breadcrumbs without taking off the tips of my fingers, my food processor saves my skin, quite literally. The fact it's pink is a bonus!

Next, it needs to save me time or money, as I don't have bags of either and both are precious. I love my stick blender for this - soups are whizzed to perfection in a couple of minutes in the pan, saving me time and washing up, especially as that rinses clean too. My slow cooker, although basic, saves electricity and cooking time. I also love my breadmaker - although it takes a few hours to make bread, a few minutes' effort produces freshly made bread - and the smell is amazing!

My new love

Finally, it's got to be easy to use and clean. I don't mind if I have to learn the knack, so long as it is fairly easy to master.  Our most recently acquired gadget - a bean to cup espresso machine has filled a void that many coffee makers have tried and failed to fill. Constant washing up meant that freshly ground coffee was a rare treat because, well, we just couldn't be bothered. Then we went to Germany and discovered the joys of a bean to cup machine. You pour beans in the top, add water, press a button and it does the rest. All I have to do is empty the grounds (pressed neatly into little discs) about once a week and top the water up occasionally. I've also sussed how to make cappuccino with it easily. It was expensive, but so worth it. We use it daily, thus reducing our need to frequent expensive coffee shops.

You get all these three things right and I'm sold. I'll develop an unhealthy attachment to it and will enter a period of mourning when it finally packs up its bags and moves to gadget heaven. But then, it's an excuse to go out and buy a new one. Oh yes, I'm a gadgetaholic and I need my regular fix!

I've written this post in my bid to be a Foodies 100 Morphy Richards Innovator.

Half grand, that's me.

I don't write controversy - we've been there before.

I don't generally write funny posts. Whatever anyone says, it's a lot LOT harder to write funny stuff regularly than you might think. Meet me in real life and I will be funny occasionally, but the act of writing it makes it all sound a bit trite and unfunny. Hats off to anyone that manages to write genuinely funny posts regularly.

I don't do fabulous photography that makes people go "Ooh" and "Ahh". Possibly, it's because I don't have the patience to set it all up to create that effect. I am very much a "point and shoot" kinda gal. Which is a problem when I'm trying to make my food look fantastic,which of course it is *cough*, and it ends up looking ordinary.

Competitive (dis)advantage?

Photo credit - wvubush

There is no doubt about it - Monkey is a competitive child. He is stubborn and determined, and he has learned that if he keeps trying at things, he will get better. In many ways, that is a good thing and it means he needs little encouragement to stick at it, certainly in his school work.

Going back to school (dinners)

Photo credit - edgardg

Today, I'm going to do something I have not done in a very long time. I'm going to have a school dinner.

Phone pas

The woman glares at me, like a foul smell has got under her nose, her look of disgust matching my bewilderment. 

I grab the ringing phone. "But I turned it off...." my voice trails away as I realise that I’ve neglected again to switch it off properly.  

“Dammit,” I whisper, embarrassed,  then look up. “Sorry, my mistake.”

Silent, she raises her hand as the light begins to glow red. Her scorn has barely faded, but her voice affects a veneer of friendly approachability as she starts to address her audience.

“Good morning,  and welcome to the show. My guest today…”

See more entries into the 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups over at Julia's Place.

Car insurance - how I save money

This post is sponsored - please see below for more details

It’s the time of year for me that I have a very important job to do – compare car insurance. I’m on a budget, so every penny counts, more so than it ever has before. My renewal notice comes around now and even if it hasn’t changed much, the cost always goes up and never down, doesn’t it? I thought I’d share my tips for ensuring you get the best deal.

Photo credit - blary54

It is however worth doing a comparison, because you are pretty much guaranteed to save something. Insurance companies want to win your business, so the prices you’re offered as a new customer will be lower than a loyal one. Madness I know, but that’s how it seems to work.

When you are comparing, make sure you check that you will save by whichever method you prefer to pay. Paying in one lump sum is always cheaper but if you can’t do that, then be wary of the varying finance charges as you might not save paying by instalments. Also, be sure to declare EVERYTHING before getting those comparisons – every accident, any recent or pending convictions, everything about your car, how you intend to use your car. Don’t skimp on your cover in that respect, because you could have any claim refused for missing something out, and that’s a false economy.

Even if you’re not intending to change insurers, it’s worth comparing prices then ring up your current insurance company and telling them that you can get it cheaper elsewhere. They will often reduce the price on the spot if they think they are going to lose you. They are depending on your inertia, but a quick check and a brief phone call should help you save money.

My final tip would be to investigate if the insurers you find are on the usual cashback sites. If they are, check those deals out as they will further reduce the final cost of your insurance, although you may have to wait a while for the money to come through. It’s worth doing though, as it can bring down the cost of some policies with better cover levels and lower excesses.

One thing is for sure – do not just accept the price you’re first quoted on your renewal notice. Put a little effort in, and you will save yourself money. Go forth and compare! 

I was paid a fee to write a post and include a featured link. All words and opinions are my own and are from my own personal experience. 

A recipe?

Start with an idea, and take a leap of faith. Free range is best; they leap further. Mix thoroughly with some aspirations, but trim to realistic sizes first.

Rinse a handful of risks. Discard any bad ones, leaving the good ones you’re prepared to take. Add them gradually whilst stirring. Use your judgement, and stop when you think you’ve added enough.

Add a dash of hope; for without hope, you will have nothing. Leave to rise until doubled in size. Bake until risen and firm, then cool. Top liberally with wisdom, then slice and enjoy.

Life tastes good, doesn’t it?

This is for 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups at Julia's Place. This week, the prompt was "Take a Leap of Faith" in honour of  Leap Year Day. Also, if you're interested, why not join in with Feb29th.net today - it's a global blogging project to record this special day. 

Volte face

“You've changed your tune.” 

“Say what?”

“Last week, you were so positive. You were all over it, planning how we’d get there, what to wear, where to eat, that sort of thing. Now you’re not. What’s up? It’s all arranged.”

"Too much hassle. Having to choose an outfit, getting dolled up but looking a fright, begging someone to have the kids, having to go on public transport. And the cost!”

“I could drive us there and back?”

“And not drink?”

“Hmm, you have a point. So is that then?”

“Yes, go without me.”

“We can’t! It’s your hen night.”

Find more entries for this week's 100WCGU over at Julia's Place. 

A conversation

"You know, you bought her what she needed."

He frowned. "Bought?"

"I meant brought. I always get those wrong."

"Oh. What was it?"

"When Dad died, she was lost. She needed company, someone to care for, someone to boss around..."

"She was good at that!"

A tear sprang from her eye. "She needed someone to share her life and her home. You gave her that."

"Listen, I...." he began.

"Don't," she interrupted. "I'm here to say thanks. Mum died happy. She knew she was loved. Even if we fell out now and then, I'm proud to call you my stepdad."

This is entry in this week's 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups over at Julia's Place

The prompt this week was "... you bought her what.."

Frustration

Sometimes, the words roll around in my head but they just won't come out. The frustration freezes my brain, immobilises my fingers and I stare blankly at a screen, pixels dancing in front of my eyes and wish I had more inspiration. Thoughts remain abstract as I can't articulate them; well, not the way I want them to look or sound on the page. I want my words to sing in perfect harmony, dance in perfect time, to delight and entertain readers but they end up singing and dancing like a drunk at the wrong end of a heavy session.

I'd like to tell you stories that will make you laugh and cry, whilst moving and inspiring you. You wouldn't be able to wait to tell your friends and associates. You'd comment, you'd retweet it, and it would be like the post was taking over the world. It would be everywhere. I mean, that's what we all want for our posts when we publish them, don't we?

Sadly, that post is not this. Lack of inspiration is leading me to vent my frustration at what I see as my limitation of my blogging talents instead. Blogger's block is firmly in place at the neck of the bottle that contains the articulate and erudite sentences that I aspire to write. I've tried to remove it but it's not happening.

Anyone got a blogging corkscrew?

My collection

When I was prompted to think about this, I thought I was averse to collections and collecting. This goes back to when I was about 10 or 11 and my mum was friends with a local hairdresser who I sometimes "babysat" for. (I'd be upstairs in their flat, watching her daughter, whilst she was downstairs in her salon.) She was a strange personality, and quite snobbish - which is some going for a hairdresser who lived above her shop. When she gave me this book - I can't remember the occasion - she told me, "I want to see something good out of this." My mind froze as to what I might collect but the book was pretty. I never started a collection. At home, a terraced house lived in by 6 people, there just wasn't the space to collect things endlessly, certainly not of any size. I may have dabbled in stamps at one stage almost as a rite of passage, but I could never say I actually collected anything. Mary would probably have not been best pleased but I'm not sure I cared.

Courage

Sometimes, I wish I was brave. There are some things I just could not ever do because fear would overtake me and paralyse my limbs, robbing me of my ability to move or even speak. I shudder at the thought of throwing myself out of a plane for example and am in awe of anyone that can. And don't expect me to enjoy rollercoasters. I cannot think of anything worse. In that respect, I'm a coward.

I know that sometimes, it's good to push the boundaries. From time to time, I've done things that are, quite frankly, terrifying but I've taken the plunge, closed my eyes and gone for it - and it's worked out OK. Stepping into the void has turned out OK - but then, they haven't actually involved potentially falling at 100 feet per second with a cold, hard ground waiting to meet me. Although I learn to fire eat once, which was both fantastic and empowering and that didn't seem to bother me one bit. Odd.

Twelve years ago, I took what seemed to others to be a brave decision - to move, lock stock and barrel, 200 miles north to Lancashire, knowing very few people in the area and no family to turn to. My Dad was ill at the time and barely knew my name, but in a way, I did it for him. I know that, as a child, he had wanted to move from the town where I grew up, maybe to a new life. He didn't. The house where I grew up is still the family home. He lived the last years of his life in a home 7 miles away. That's the furthest he got to move. Maybe it's no coincidence that both his daughters moved away - my sister lives in Devon, whereas my two half sisters live much closer to "home".

I took a risk. It worked out. The job I took to move here didn't. It lasted just over 3 months and it made me so stressed that I dreaded work every day and it made me ill. I had to take another risk, go unemployed and work casual until I secured a contract for several months and then got a permanent job - although for a while, it looked as if my new life would be over shortly after it had begun. Of course, it worked out. I took a risk but it came good for me and I love my life here now.

That's what courage is, isn't it? Everyone has limits. Things they would never do. They are just different for everyone. I lived in Hampshire for 7 years and although I decided to move away for other reasons, I loved living there. I knew I could make my second move work for me. Perhaps I wasn't quite so courageous - although it was double the distance from family and friends, and what I knew. Relocating was still part of my comfort zone. Isn't courage about going beyond that? I don't see what I did was brave.

As I said, I'm a coward. I don't think I've ever risked life and limb to save someone. Perhaps I never will. I've never done anything particularly remarkable in my life. Maybe I've just hit upon the answer.

Those who demonstrate true courage to make a difference, they're the ones that get remembered.

My Write Room

So, earlier this week, I was challenged to show you the contents of my fridge. Now, Melinda at Her Melness Speaks has asked me to show you where I write. It's based on Mariella Frostrup's Book Show which has a feature where authors show you around the place or room where they write. I don't find this quite as revealing showing you my fridge, mainly because it feels so "normal". My writing place is like mission control! It's where I tweet, chat, do my comps, work, everything.

This is "my chair" in the living room. I don't like hiding away somewhere to write. The chair reclines so I often end up writing with my feet up and get settled in very nicely. I like the proximity to the radiator, particularly in winter - as you can see, it is also handy for placement of cups of tea (although I regularly forget to drink them), pen and any other blogging paraphernalia. The square stack you can see is actually a pile of CDs which are the prize for one of the competitions that I am currently running. My phone is normally attached to one of the cables, as it's permanently on charge in the evening but I used it to take this picture.

Out of shot, you can't see my diary with assorted useful things in it to help my blogging, the television which faces my chair directly, meaning that it's just behind and beyond my screen when I'm in position so my eyes can flick between the two, and the lamp just to my left which lights up my corner.

How about you have a go too? Just a take a picture of where you write, blog it and add it to the linky.

Broken?

Photo credit: ba1969

You didn't break me;
Well, not quite,
Although you tried.
I should have known
The way you hero-worshipped
The memory of your father,
And yet
Your mother told me
Of the fear and dread
Every time she heard
The garden gate rattle on its hinges
Not knowing what lay ahead for her.
I knew to be on my guard
But still
I let you do it.
My bad.
Or not.

It was not physical,
Your abuse,
Although you hit me once
And I dialled 999.
You ripped the phone
Out of the wall
But the police still turned up.
The one time you had no answer.

No, your abuse was far more subtle.
It was psychological,
Emotional.
Still painful
But with no scars
That could be seen.
No-one knew
What you were putting me through;
You were too clever:
Far,
Far,
Too clever.
You made me believe
Bad things
About myself.
You made me
Hate myself.
I would get frustrated
Because part of me knew
They were not true;
They couldn't be,
But
The rest of me did.
Your iron fingers
Grasped at my soul,
Crushing the very essence
Of me.

I may not
Have been broken
But
I had no confidence,
No belief,
In myself;
I was trapped.
No way to get out
And re-start my life.
And yet,
Outwardly,
I was confident,
Strong,
Ambitious.
Work was an escape,
But in my head,
I was still
Trapped.

It didn't stop there.
You went
With your friend
To visit his brother abroad.
You started an affair
And broke up that family.
For months,
You denied it
To everyone,
Not just me.
Your best friend,
People who had supported you;
You betrayed their friendship.

Finally,
I broke free from you.
Work provided
A partial escape route;
I took it.
Slowly, I felt
The grasp of your iron fingers
On my soul
Loosen
And I began to grow
Again.
I started to enjoy life
Again.
I believed in myself
Again.
Work came to an end
But the link was broken.
I knew
I couldn't go back.
The only answer
Was to move away.

I went.

Although
I was free,
I suffered
For a long time
Because of you,
Because of your hatred,
Because of your vicious words.
I rebuilt
My confidence,
My self-belief.
It was hard work;
You changed me
For good.
Sometimes,
Even now,
I think I feel
Those iron fingers
Grasping, squeezing
At my soul,
Making me
Doubt myself,
Hate myself
Again.

But then,
I remember;
You didn't break me,
Although you tried.
I have people
Who love me,
Who care about me,
Who like me
For who I am.

That is my victory.
That I broke free
That I am me.

This is for everyone suffering from some form of abuse in their lives.


This post is a finalist in the "Blog Post of the Year" category in the MAD blog awards 2011.

A note for Mum

Do you know those days? Where the kids run rings around you in the morning and won't co-operate, nothing else seems to go right, and you feel like the whole word is against you? Where you don't know what's right or what's wrong anymore and you wonder why you bother? Yeah? Yeah.

I had one of those the other day. It was going pretty badly, as days go. Then, I collected the children from school and on the way home, Missy Woo told me that she had done some writing at school and that the teachers had taken a copy so she could bring it home. It sounded a bit strange, but I thought nothing of it. After all, Thursday is a bit like my Monday as Monkey has football and we end up dashing back and forth so I don't have to think, just do.

We got home and Missy Woo got her things out of her book bag. She gave me this:

And you know what? My bad day evaporated in an instant. It didn't matter anymore. The spellings didn't matter. She had chosen the words and wrote them herself. It made me smile - if not grin inanely - and I suddenly didn't feel like a bad mother after all. I may have shed a small tear, of happiness of course.

As someone pointed out to me on Twitter, to know that she feels secure and wants to share that feeling is beautiful. They also suggested that I get it framed. And do you know what? I think I will.

She may be only 4 years old, but she never ceases to amaze.

(Thanks to @TheBoyandMe for inspiring this post)

Giving

Giving from the heart. It means so much more than something tangible. The only problem is that giving from your heart so often means giving a piece of your heart and with that comes responsibility for the recipient, whether they know it or not. Whether they like it or not. That piece, that precious piece of your very being, is fragile and needs care. It needs to be nurtured, like a seedling germinating; just the right amount of food, water, and love. So easily squashed whilst it's still small and precious.

They cannot give it back to you. You can take it back if you choose. You can choose to leave it where it was and hope that it's cared for. That the recipient has recognised its value, its wonder and its mystery and chooses to cherish such a gift from you.

That's why you have to give carefully. Choose wisely. And accept that the recipient is human.

(This piece was written for the Writing Workshop on Sleep is for the Weak. The prompt was Giving, to help launch a new campaign by anti-poverty charity ActionAid.)

How to Make Monster Soup - by Monkey (aged 5 3/4)

This is a "guest post" by Monkey. He wrote it this morning completely off his own back and brought it to me. I think it's fab so I thought I'd share it with you. I'll use his words and spellings first and provide a translation - as he read it out to me - underneath. 

Over to Monkey..... 

How to make Monstar Monster SoPe

1 Fiei put a Man into the Pan.

2 next put a plug into the Pan.

3 Atht that put a slug into the Pan.

4 put a meeaacat into the Pan.

5 put so slim into the Pan.

6 put a telaviin into the Pan.

Photo credit: siulesoj

7 put a Powd into the Pan.

8 put so culud Powd into the pan

9 put so Iic Crim.

10 Put so Dogs into the Pan.

11 boil for 99 minits

(Translation How to make Monster Soup

1. First, put a man into the pan.

2. Next, put a plug into the pan.

3. After that, put a slug into the pan.

4. Put a meerkat into the pan.

5. Put some slime into the pan.

6. Put a television into the pan.

7. Put some powder into the pan.

8. Put some coloured powder into the pan.

9. Put some ice cream (into the pan). 

10. Put some dogs into the pan. 

11. Boil for 99 minutes. 

Apparently, this feeds 80 monsters. Bon appetit!)

A Cold Monday in December

Photo Credit - chrissi

I was at home because I was due to leave later on a business trip to Chester and that was a pretty long drive from my then home near Southampton. I decided to do some Christmas preparations - wrapping presents, writing cards and the general stuff that we all do in December. I had the radio on - Radio 1 in fact, for I was still in my 20s. All of a sudden, at about a quarter past 8, there was a newsflash that there had been a train crash between two or three trains near to Clapham Junction station. My heart froze for a moment. I worked for a company that had offices in Oxford Street so I regularly travelled into London through Clapham Junction. I knew people who travelled regularly. I could know people on those trains.

Now, this was before mobile phones and internet usage were commonplace so there was no way to ring anyone I knew. There was also no 24 hour news channel to tune in to for updates. For a while, it was unclear which trains had crashed but soon, they said that one of the trains involved had come from Poole. Which only meant one thing. It stopped at my station. I knew people on that train. I felt sick.

I made sure I rang my mum at that point. She worked then in a factory and listened to the radio. She didn't know enough about my movements to know if I was on the train or not. I don't think she was overly worried but she was pleased to hear from me.

As the morning wore on, the news got worse. It was becoming obvious that people had died. There was no information from anyone commuting - if they weren't involved, they would have been behind the crash and therefore stuck on a train.

I left for Chester. All I could think about the whole time were the people involved in the crash. The number of deaths reported went up and up and up throughout the day. By the end of the day, they had confirmed more than 30 people died. Hundreds of people were injured. I got to Chester and watched the television news in horror.

As it turned out, my trip was a waste of time. Late on the Monday evening, I started to feel ill and had to cancel the course I was meant to run the next day. I had to drive all the way home again, still not knowing whether everyone I knew was OK. It might be different now but long distance commuters were often friends on the train only and didn't have contact numbers for each other at work or home.

It was another couple of days before I managed to speak to someone "from the trains". People I had been worried about were OK. As usual, with these things, plans had changed, people missed trains, and their lives were possibly saved. Others, not so. I remember the words that the man I was speaking to used:  "We lost two of our number". Both women, Gill and Bev. Lives cut needlessly short. Another was the Hat Lady, who I've blogged about before. I was ill the whole of that week with 'flu. I felt sorry for myself at home, but it seemed trite to complain.

I, along with many other commuters, went to the memorial service at Winchester Cathedral in late January. I remember the words sung by the choir. "May light perpetual shine upon them." Sadly, one of the victims, who remained in a coma for some time after the crash, died after the memorial service.

Only a couple of months after the crash, I started a job that required me to commute full time into London. I got to know people who were on the Poole train that day, mainly in the buffet car. They were fortunate but they didn't feel that way. Some of them saw terrible, terrible things - and yes I know what they were, some of them couldn't help talking about it occasionally - which I won't repeat on this blog. Those things haunted them, which took its toll mentally and physically, no doubt on their relationships and their families too.

They built a memorial and a garden for the victims, above the crash site. Services were held there annually until the 10th anniversary, when it was decided that no future memorial service would be held, which frankly shocks me when you consider that other disasters that happened around the same time are commemorated in some way regularly. The 35 victims - and the crash itself - have been forgotten. Last year, there was even a story about how the gardens beneath the memorial were being neglected by Network Rail.  The railways that failed these people, that caused their deaths, seem intent on trying to forget them, in the hope of writing them out of history perhaps. I wonder just how the families of the victims feel about the way that the memory of their loved ones is treated with apparent contempt.

I, for one, will not forget what happened. The news images from that day stick in my head. I think, as I blogged before, of the ones I knew alive from time to time. Once, I read through as much as I could of the report from the Hidden Inquiry - if ever there was an apt name, that is it - and it's a depressing account of the events leading up to the crash. Some of the recommendations from that report have never been fully implemented. Shocking. Shame on those who allowed that to happen.

Today is the 22nd anniversary of that cold, clear day in December. Monday 12th December 1988 at 08:10, thousands of lives changed. 35 of those lives ended as a result.

When I was looking for an image to illustrate the post, I found this. It has a factual error in the words on the screen - no-one in fact died on the Basingstoke train on the front - but it is a fitting tribute to those that died. I am not afraid to admit that it made me cry a lot when I watched it. I often find I react more to such disasters since becoming a mother - everyone who died was somebody's child, and many children were robbed of parents and grandparents.



To end, I'm going to list the names of the victims, because they deserve to be mentioned and not forgotten. They were:

Gillian Allen, Clive Attfield, Jane Aubin, John Barrett, James Beasant, Michelle Boyce, Timothy Burgess, Glenn Clark, Arthur Creech, Norman Dalrymple, Brian Dennison, Stephen Dyer, Romano Falcini, Paul Hadfield, Edna Hannibal, Geoffrey Hartwell, Stephen Hopkins, Everett Lindsay, Stephen Loader, Joseph Martin, Alison McGregor, Christopher Molesworth, David Moore, Teresa Moore, Michael Newman, Beverlie Niven, Austin Perry-Lewis, Alan Philipson, John Rolls, Alma Smith, Tracey Stevens, and Alan Wren.

As the choir sang during their memorial service, may light perpetual shine upon them. RIP.