Justifying Gemma's rent

If you have young kids and you have any inkling at all that they might end up going to University, the best advice I could give you is: START SAVING!! Now, before I go any further, I should stress that - as far as my kids are concerned - I wouldn’t have things any other way (Gemma’s going into her third year at St Andrews, Ross is about to start his first at Strathclyde and Gordon doesn’t know what he wants to do when he leaves school), but it doesn’t change the fact that this further education lark’s an expensive business! We’re extremely proud of how hard Gemma and Ross both work at their respective jobs to help pay their way but, like most parents nowadays, we still have to make a hefty contribution to make studying at Uni possible.

One of the biggest expenses is the accommodation fee and it’s especially frustrating that many student flats have a twelve month tenancy contract. Letting agencies and private landlords know that students scrabble for accommodation and, to save the owners the hassle of looking for short-term lets over the summer months, they often set up 12 month leases - knowing full-well that the vast majority of students won’t be occupying the flat over those summer months. Fair enough I suppose; they don’t owe the students anything and they know they have a captive market. Consequently, we’re still making rent payments for a flat that Gemma moved out of 2 months ago. Shorter leases are sometimes available (such as in the flat Gemma’s going into next term) but what we’ve found is that this is simply balanced out by a much higher monthly rent being charged.

Anyway, to make this all little less galling, Alex and I have taken a few days off work and are having a wee break - staying in Gemma’s student flat. If work work wasn’t so hectic at the moment, we would’ve used the flat a bit more often over the summer but, still, it’s lovely just to have these few days away. Even better, we’re mixing our little holiday with a series of races that Alex and Ross are competing in called The Tour of Fife; five races over the course of five days held in different parts of Fife. It started on Wednesday night with a hill race, was followed on Thursday night with a trail race, Friday was the ‘Alpe d’Huez’ Time trial Event’ (just like in the Tour de France – are you getting it?!), tonight’s the St Andrews Beach Race and it finishes with the Twisted Chicken Run (don’t ask as I don’t yet know why it’s called that!) on Sunday. Just like the real ‘Tour’, all the competitors have to do all the races, there’s a leader board and a yellow vest – it’s brilliant fun and deserves a blog post of its own; so, watch this space!

Anyway, back to our wee holiday. We arrived late on Wednesday evening – straight from the first race on the Tour - and, after making up the mattress (we’re in a student flat remember – no such luxury as a bed!) we hit the sack. The flat’s in an old tenement-style building and is, generally, a bit shabby. However, the room that Gemma rented is a modern attic conversion with fantastic velux windows. If you open them up and stand on your tippy-toes, the vista across St Andrews Bay is pretty awesome. What’s not so awesome however - we discovered at four o’clock in the morning - is the sound of the squawking f***ing (and I meant that quite literally folks) seagull orgy that’s going on a few feet above your head! One of them even had the audacity, every now and then, to take a break from his activities (a kind of cigarette break, I suppose) to wander over to the velux, look through the glass - down at us lying on the mattress staring straight back up - then peck on the window, as if to say, ‘Haw You! What you doin? Why you there? You not student. You old gits. Why you awake? Dadada...dadada....dadada.... and so it went on till he went back to join his squawking f***ing pals. By six thirty we’d given up trying to get any sleep, so we headed out for a walk in the early morning sunshine instead.

After a delicious big Scottish breakfast in a lovely wee Scottish Deli, we stepped back outside, ready for a lazy day on the beach. Unfortunately though, while we’d been recharging our batteries, the clouds had gathered, the sun had disappeared and the heavens had opened. So, following a quick change from sandals to sensible shoes, we headed off for a morning of rainy day activities! There’s always a positive slant; if it hadn’t been for the rain, we would never have ventured in to the St Andrews University Museum, and we’d have missed a wee gem. I learnt such a lot of really interesting stuff about Scotland’s oldest University. For instance, I didn’t know that St Andrews Uni was the first in the UK to accept female students, and I would never have thought that it was the first European University to teach in English rather than Latin. It has such a reputation for being stuffy and sticking to old traditions – but it is (and turns out always has been) quite a progressive and, to a greater extent than I thought, pretty inclusive place.

The rest of the day was spent lazily reading and snoozing before the second race of the Tour in the evening. Another great night spent with a fantastic bunch of folk from the running fraternity followed and, fortunately, we were both so knackered by the time we got back to the flat that no amount of frivolity by our feathered friends could keep us awake.

Yesterday was dry. Hooray! We started the day with a walk down by the harbour. Predictably, when we got to the end of the pier, Alex said, ‘I should’ve brought the fishing gear’. Now, our garage is full of high-falutin fishing rods, reels, feathery things and bits of lead, but every time we go away anywhere in Scotland, Alex forgets to pack them. Then, every time we’re away, he says, ‘Should’ve brought the fishing gear’. Then we go and find a wee shop that sells cheap wee rods and reels. Then, we go somewhere for Alex to fish, for me to read (or write), and for him not to catch any fish. And that’s pretty much how it went yesterday! It was absolutely baltic and Alex didn’t catch any fish. Still, I thoroughly enjoyed sitting, wrapped up like a Granny, doing my thing and watching Alex be a wee boy yet again.

The sun came out, at last, in the afternoon – long after the fishing had been abandoned – so we spent it lazing around just watching the world (and some really poncy looking golfers) go by!   The third race in the series was another fantastic event, made even better by the fact that Ross was coming straight from it to join us for the rest of our stay in St Andrews. It means that all chat now is based around running, beer, grub and running – with lots of laughs in between!

This morning finds me sitting in Starbucks in Market Street (as it has free internet access!), rattling up this wee blog post. Ross and Alex are sitting opposite me, laughing and comparing notes over the races in the Tour so far. It’s been a lovely morning; our good friends, Elaine and Eric, happen to be up in St Andrews at the moment too, so we met up with them earlier for breakfast, then had a wander to a local speciality beer shop to stock up for the post-race celebrations later, before stopping off for a quick cuppa and internet fix!

So, that’s a wee run down of my few days holiday in St Andrews so far – nothing wildly exciting, no tropical sunshine, no lounging on a sunbed by the Mediterranean Sea (sighs longingly...), but it’s been brilliant. Not even those frisky seagulls have spoiled it – and justifying paying that extra rent on Gemma’s student flat has definitely made me feel great!

The best kind of club with the best kind of buzz

I think the best kind of club to be a member of is the kind that’s full of people with no interest in how much money you earn, how big your house is, what kind of pram you drive, what colour of skin you have, how many qualifications you have, what sex your partner is or, indeed, what sex you are. In other words, it’s full of people that respect each other through their shared interest or passion for the thing that the club does - everything else is incidental.

I consider myself extremely lucky to be a member of two such ‘clubs’; Central Athletics and Heart of Scotland Choir.

Our family’s been involved with Central AC for over 9 years and the club’s played a really big part in all of our lives. The things I loved most about being an ‘athlete’ member - back in the days when I could run - were the camaraderie with, and the support shown between, fellow club members. I also loved things like being able to turn up at training in my skankiest t-shirt and baggiest shorts, safe in the knowledge that I'd feel totally comfortable; not just because I didn’t have to hold my tummy in in my comfy baggy shorts, but because nobody judged me. In clubs like Central, there's no point in trying to make a fashion statement – or any other kind of statement - as no one's remotely interested.  It was also (and I’m sure still is) a great club for kids to be a member of through their formative years. I used to help out with membership duties and it never failed to amaze me the number of parents who brought their kids along to join the club, thinking that their ten year old little speedster would receive some kind of special treatment or be in a special group just because he’d won all his races at school sports day. There was little space for ego at Central AC, and parents who pestered the coaches if their child wasn’t being treated like Usain Bolt soon learned that priority wasn’t always given to those who could run the fastest. Just like in real life, there’s so much more to it than being the best or having the most. Of course, the club wasn’t perfect; it had, and still has, its ups and downs – not everyone’s nice to everyone all of the time. In general though, the club’s a great one where everyone who simply wants to run is welcomed - and I'm privileged still to be part of it, even if it is as a supporter rather than an athlete.

Until recently, I really missed the buzz I used to get on club training nights.  But, the absolutely brilliant Heart of Scotland choir came along and took very good care of that! Actually, it would be a bit of an understatement to say I get a bit of a buzz from the choir; I love it! I love the singing, I love the gigs, I love the songs (we learned megamixes the other night that included stuff by Blondie, U2 and Lady GaGa – is that not just the pools!) and I love the people.  The high I get from singing with a big bunch of lovely folk is different from the kind of high I used to get from running with a big bunch of lovely folk but - in a similar vein to the running club - the choir’s an all-inclusive community of people from all different backgrounds which doesn’t judge on anything other than commitment to the group. It works so well because anyone who comes along and has a passion for singing and a strong sense of commitment to the choir is embraced, supported and respected by the group. It kind of boils down to the fact that exclusivity (dependant on things like social status or wealth) does nothing for the soul whereas inclusivity (dependant on passion) breeds respect and happiness.

Anyway, that’s all getting a bit profound – let’s get back to the buzz! Monday night’s choir rehearsal had a bigger buzz about it than usual! Remember our special ‘Tonight’s the Night’ weekend and Annie’s TV appearance? (The whole story’s very long and can be found here on my other blog.) Well, Annie had been desperate to surprise Jane with some kind of fitting thank you gift for making the whole thing possible. We’d all chipped in with a wee contribution and on Monday night, in the middle of rehearsal, Jane was interrupted as she led us in a session, by the surprise arrival of her Dad carrying a big box that was all tied up with bright red ribbon and bows. We all clapped and cheered before Annie explained to Jane that this was a special thank you gift from her and the rest of the choir for making the whole ‘Tonight’s the Night’ thing possible. Jane’s a talented violinist, so when she opened the box to find a gorgeous, sexy, red, electric violin inside - engraved with ‘Mon the Choir’ - she was, quite literally, speechless! It was yet another magic choir moment that I’ll never forget. What a buzz - with even more to follow next week when Jane's new toy gets plugged in and played for us! I already know that that will definitely make me feel good!

A little bit of encouragement from Susan Swarbrick

I used to really look forward to reading Sally Magnusson’s regular column in the Glasgow Herald. You know who I mean? Daughter of the late host of Mastermind and current BBC Scotland News presenter? Anyway, I loved the knack she had (and, I’m sure, still has) of making her readers laugh, cry and nod their heads in agreement with her accounts of ordinary, every-day events. I remember one column that described the stress of sorting out her kids in the morning. I could totally empathise with how exasperated she felt - as she tried to placate her squabbling children while they fought over who had the biggest bowl of Coco Pops -  and then with how relieved she felt to get into work and do something as straightforward as interrogate the Chancellor of the Exchequer over the latest budget proposals! (Not that I’ve ever had to interrogate the Chancellor of the Exchequer, but you get my drift!)

However, that was way back then; nowadays the feature writer I look forward to reading most in The Herald is Susan Swarbrick. I’ve kept up with her regular wee column in the Sunday Herald for some time but, more recently, have also been enjoying some of her longer articles. In last week’s magazine there was a brilliant account of her interview with Dean Karnazes (an incredible endurance athlete and one of Ross’s ultra-running heroes) and today’s article describes – in a thoroughly entertaining way - what happened when she was assessed by the Institute of Sport to see if she could meet the criteria required to be one of the ‘new talents’ for the Gold4Glasgow programme. The feature also describes how the journalist fared when she tried out for three different Commonwealth Games sports. I won’t spoil the ending by telling you how she got on; suffice to say her account of the experience was interesting, made me laugh - with such gems as “the bowl was still far enough away from the jack to need its own postcode”  - and it added a bit more cheer to an already sunny day!

Now, as I’ve recently come out of the closet - and admitted that I’d love to be a ‘proper’ writer - I can also confess to wishing I could do Susan Swarbrick’s job! (And not just because she gets to meet amazing folk like Dean Karnazes.) I’ve mentioned before that I was put off pursuing journalism,  as a career, when I was at school; it was done with the best intentions, but I often wonder if I would ever have made it to the giddy heights of someone like Sally or Susan if I’d not been dissuaded. Instead, I went off to Glasgow Uni and studied ... Zoology! I’ve never actually been able to answer the question, ‘Why Zoology?’ (which usually comes after the question, ‘Zoology! What’s that?’), but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I seem to remember my handsome biology teacher, and the influence he had over me, having something to do with it! The bits of my course that I enjoyed most were the projects and dissertations - because I got to write. And my favourite parts of Alex’s Civil Engineeering course were his essays and dissertation, because I got to write some more...(has enough time passed to let that cat out the bag..?!)

I’ve always loved to write, whether it means taking over an hour to compose an email that should only have taken two minutes (because it’s got to be right), writing wee ditties for my friends and family on special occasions, or scribbling notes and articles and squirreling them away. But, I’ve never had the confidence to believe that I could write in such a way that readers would want to come back for more. So, starting this blog in January was a bit scary; I wasn’t quite sure if anyone would read it at all, let alone read it then come back to read it again. I’ve been told time and again that I shouldn’t look too keenly for any kind of positive feedback or get too hung up on the statistics (like numbers of 'followers' or number of 'hits') but, since it’s the only bit of ‘public’ writing I’ve ever done, these things have become a bit of a gauge for me to decide whether I’ve got just a little bit of what it might take to eventually see something I’ve written in print. Now, that was all a bit of a long-winded way (I really need to work on ‘less means more’) of getting to the point of this post; I was absolutely chuffed to bits when Susan Swarbrick actually took the time to read a wee bit of my blog and comment (on Twitter) that she was looking forward to reading my next installment. It was just a wee tweet for Susan, but it was a massive compliment for me. Having someone that I respect as a writer say that she would come back to read a bit more made this middle-aged wifey very happy. And, even if I never do see anything I’ve written in print, I’ll always have a soft spot for Susan Swarbrick! Her comment doesn’t mean I’m a wonderful writer, it wasn't an appraisal of  my writing style or capabilities, but it was a wee bit of a thumbs up that, in turn, has given me a wee bit more confidence to carry on doing something I love to do - and that has certainly made me feel good!

Just two or three little words

The words ‘Love you’ roll off my tongue really easily – whether they’re being said to Alex, my kids, my mum or even, sometimes, my friends. I don't throw the words around, and I don't say them if I don't mean them. Not everyone likes to express themselves so openly and some folk think it’s a bit silly or soft. Which is fine. On the other hand, there are some people who would really like to say ‘Love you’, but just can’t bring themselves to do it.

Most members of my parent’s generation were lucky if they got a wee hug when they were heading off to bed, never mind any verbal expression of affection. As a result, they can sometimes find it really difficult to convey any kind of affection themselves. I consider myself really lucky that my Mum and Dad were pretty big on hugs and kisses. My Dad, especially, would tell anyone who would listen how clever, lovely, or talented I was. Of course, I wasn’t anything like as clever, lovely or talented as Dad would have people believe, but his openness in his pride and love for me helped me to believe in myself and, well, just made me feel sort of cosy inside! You can’t beat the feeling of feeling loved.

Of course, it’s not always necessary to actually tell someone you love them to make them feel loved – actions can speak just as loudly – but it’s such a wee shame for folk who would really like to say the words, but just can’t get them out. Nowadays, grandparents can sometimes struggle with this whole thing. My generation, in general, find it much easier than our parents did to tell our kids we love them, and sometimes that can make it difficult for an on looking grandparent. An elderly friend told me recently that she regularly tells her grandchildren how much she loves them, but she can’t bring herself to say the words to their father - her son. She knows that he knows how proud she is of him and how much she loves him, but she desperately wants to tell him that straight out. She’s tried a few times but, as yet, hasn’t been able to – the words seem to stick in her throat and she just can’t do it. I really hope she manages soon – and I really hope that her son reciprocates with a whopping big ‘Love you too Mum!’.

It’s only a few wee words, but they form probably the most powerful and meaningful phrase that we ever utter. Some folk think it’s over-used now (by the likes of celebrities telling us they love us all), but if that makes it easier to declare our love when it really counts, then I’m all for it being used more openly and widely. There’s nothing quite like being told you’re loved by someone you love - so, long may we continue to say it freely, openly - and unashamedly out loud!

Saying goodbye to Harry

Yesterday I took a trip through to Glasgow with Alex and Gordon to see Harry Potter do his thing in 3D on the big IMAX screen.  I’ve missed the last three movies in the series, so I thought I’d be a bit lost but, as Alex so eloquently put it, ‘All you need to know is, there’s this ugly baldy guy trying to kill Harry Potter. The baldy guy’s got a big wand and Harry’s got a wee wand, but by the end of the last movie Harry’ll get the big wand and kill the big baldy guy.’ Fourteen years, seven books and eight blockbuster movies abridged in a style exclusive to Alex.

My kids’ generation has grown up with Harry Potter. Gemma’s a member of the worldwide gang that read the books as soon as they were published and she feels like she’s losing a childhood friend with the screening of the final chapter. Ross, on the other hand, who doesn’t read anything unless it contains a derivative of the words ‘running’, ‘nutrition’ or ‘fitness’ in its title, enjoyed the Harry Potter films without being too fussed about the added extra insight and knowledge that Gemma had from devouring the books. Gordon’s somewhere in the middle; he’s read some of the books and enjoyed them but, as a bit of a movie geek, much preferred going to the cinema to see the stories unfold on the big screen. And you don’t get much bigger than the big screen in the IMAX!

If you haven’t been before, it’s a totally different experience from going to a normal cinema. I felt totally wrapped up in the story - quite literally - and I really felt, at times, like I was ‘in’ the action. None more so than during the bit where Harry and Co are travelling on a roller-coaster-like ride down to a deep, dark vault (not quite sure what that was all about, but it was to do with getting something that would help defeat the baldy guy). We’d actually been warned about motion sickness by the lad that handed out the funny glasses; just before the film started, he switched on a mike and, standing down at the front to the side of the screen, actually welcomed everyone to the cinema! He went on to read out a few ground rules, along with a warning that motion sickness was a common phenomenon in the IMAX, before instructing us to sit back and enjoy the movie. Some folk actually clapped and cheered – I’m guessing they’d just come back from their holidays in America.

It was such a joy to sit there yesterday with Alex (achieving a personal Harry Potter first by managing to stay awake) on one side of me and Gordon (being an unashamedly excited sixteen year old) on the other, but I couldn’t help feeling just a wee bit sad that Gemma and Ross weren't there with us. It would’ve been lovely to see the last Harry Potter movie all together, just as we did the first back in 2001. But - just like Harry and his pals - my kids are all grown up now, and whole family trips to the cinema are unlikely to happen all that often. Still, the pleasure I got from sharing in Gordon's excitement, pleasure and wee bit of sorrow that it had all come to an end far outweighed any maudling thoughts.

The final defeat of the baldy guy was brilliant and, although we were sad it was all over, the end of the film saw me and Gordon unashamedly clapping and cheering - much to Alex's chagrin - and probably even louder than the American holiday-makers! I've got a sneaky feeling that it might just be me and my son travelling through to the IMAX the next time around, unless we promise to behave ourselves...

Sunshine on Leith

I was treated to lunch through in Leith today by one of my friends from the village. Sue had a voucher for a lovely wee Chinese restaurant called ‘Chop Chop’, which had probably the best spare ribs I’ve ever tasted! Not only was the food delicious and the company great, it was such a nice place to spend a sunny Friday afternoon. Commercial Quay is the old, reclaimed dockland area of Leith and it really has scrubbed up well. There’s a long cobbled walkway that runs the length of the bonded warehouses – which have all been converted into wee trendy shops or nice places to eat – and is the site of some pretty impressive buildings, such as the one housing the Scottish Executive.

Sue’s a bit of a discerning diner, so ‘Chop Chop’ did well to get her seal of approval; as a successful Deli-chain co-owner, she knows a thing or two about good food! The first ‘Berits & Brown’ opened in 2004 when Sue (Berits) and her good friend Pete (Brown) took the plunge and combined their love of food and knowledge of fine wines to establish a much-needed local deli and coffee-shop in Kippen.  It’s a lovely, friendly wee place, full of goodies and is always busy – especially at lunchtimes. Other folk have been inspired to take up the ‘Berits and Brown’ mantel, and there’s now a small chain of franchises in operation. The latest shop to open is in Leith Walk and it looks brilliant. I say looks brilliant because I haven’t actually been in it yet. Even though we were just a wee bit down the road from Leith Walk today, we didn’t quite make it in to the deli for our intended coffee and cake. However, I’ll be back through to Edinburgh in a few weeks time - for our annual visit to the Fringe - so I’ll definitely be popping in to check out the new deli then. If the other ‘Berits & Brown’ are anything to go by, it’ll definitely be worth a visit (here’s a link to the website if you fancy checking it out yourself).

So, although there was too much chit-chat in 'Chop Chop', causing us to lose track of time and miss out on a wee visit to the deli, there was plenty of Sunshine on Leith - and I had a great afternoon.

A moment for Mum and Dad

There seems to be a wee bug going around at the moment that’s giving rise to a pretty nasty ear infection.  As someone who’s had a lifetime of problems with Otitis Media – to give it its Sunday name – I really feel for anyone who’s been struck down with an infection of the middle ear; it’s SO painful!

I had measles when I was a baby and, unfortunately, was left with a permanently perforated ear drum as a result. It means that my middle ear is much more prone to ear infections than your average ear and it also means that I can’t ever get any water in my ear (well, I can, but it’s very, very painful if I do).  It’s not really that big a deal, in the whole scheme of things; I’ve always had to plug my  ear when I go swimming (don’t ever buy earplugs – they’re crap. Vaseline and cotton wool is the only sure-fire way of keeping water out of your ear) and I was taught from a very early age how to wash my hair without letting any water in to my lugs.

We didn’t have a shower when I was little, so I had to kneel on the bathroom floor, lean over the bath then use one of those rubber hoses that you attach to the taps. I’m sure that my big brother used to cross his legs so that he could go and use the downstairs loo in time to flush it just as I started to rinse! Countless times my Mum had to come running up stairs to see what all the fuss was about after I’d nearly been scalded by the sudden lack of cold water in the mix!  

I had a couple of grafting operations when I was in my teens; the first time using some skin taken from my head, just above my ear (the shaved patch was NOT cool for a thirteen year old!) and the second time using a new synthetic material. Neither was successful and, not only was I still left with the hole, I was also left with a lot of messy scar tissue. However, as I got older the number of ear infections decreased and I decided that I wouldn’t try anymore operations. I didn’t really have very much more bother, other than the odd wee bit of earache, until I was twenty seven years old and Gemma was nearly one.

For a few days before, I’d had a bit of a cold with the usual accompanying dull ache in my ear. However, this time the dull ache developed into a full blown infection – and it was a biggie! I had to get  morphine injections from the GP over the course of the few days I was at home (to my shame, I was told later that - in one of my delirious moments - I accused my lovely doctor of looking “bloody awful” and asked if he was sure he was fit to treat me!) before being taken in to hospital in the middle of the night – in the early hours of Gemma’s first birthday! I howled the whole way in the ambulance; I couldn’t believe I was going to miss being at home in the morning for my first child’s first birthday.

Following an operation in the morning, and once the intravenous pain killers and antibiotics started to kick in, I was soon feeling a lot better – and couldn’t wait to see my wee girl. I’ll never forget the look on my Mum and Dads’ faces as they turned the corner at the entrance to the ward; relief to see that their wee girl was sitting up in bed and smiling – and pride that their beloved granddaughter was walking, yes walking, alongside them. They’d been babysitting while Alex was at work and Gemma had taken her very first steps while she’d been with them that morning. It was so very frustrating. I just couldn’t believe it; because I’d been stuck in a bloody hospital ward I’d missed my first child’s first birthday and her first steps. However, every cloud etc.... I was, in time, delighted for Mum and Dad that theyd been rewarded with that special moment, for just them to treasure and keep. And that still makes me smile and feel good to this day – nineteen years later.

I’ve been lucky in recent years, I’ve not had too many problems with my gammy ear. I’m a bit deaf on my right side and, of course, I still have to plug my ear when I swim or splash around – but no more hospital visits - and no more missing of special moments!

Having too much to say

I’ve been itching to write about the special surprise that I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. Well, I’m now allowed to let the cat out of the bag but, I’m finding it impossible to condense the story into a post that's fitting for this blog; there’s just far too much to say! So, I’ve started up another blog and posted it there. It’s very long, but it's written from the heart! If you've got some spare time, you'll find it here.

The 'Tonight's The Night' Experience

After managing to sit on my hands for the past few weeks, I'm allowed to go public with something I've been itching to write!

 

Three weeks ago every member of our choir received a message asking us to attend an ‘Urgent’ short meeting. The jungle drums started to beat: what on earth could be going on? Maybe the choir had been asked to support Take That (well, we do sing Greatest Day and Angels), maybe Sting wanted to meet up with us (we do sing Every Breath You Take) or maybe The Louis Armstrong Appreciation Society had got wind of us and wanted us to sing at their annual get-together (we do sing Wonderful World)?

What actually unfolded at the meeting was so much better and so much more exciting than all of those things – Yes, even better than meeting Sting! We’d gathered in the church, where we rehearse, and Annie’s excitement was almost tangible – she couldn’t wait to spill the beans - and we couldn’t wait to find out what was going on.

First she explained that Jane, her sister, had asked her to join her for a coffee a few days previously. Nothing unusual so far; Annie found herself sitting in a booth in a local restaurant, opposite Jane, lending a sympathetic ear and offering some good advice on a pressing work issue. Then, the usual was about to become very unusual. A frantic man ran in to the restaurant and hurriedly plonked himself down in the booth behind the girls. He sat with his back to Annie, but she’d already clocked – with some first class acting by Jane - that it was John Barrowman! Do you know the guy? Torchwood, Any Dream Will Do, multiple West End Shows and that Saturday night TV programme where he surprises folk, 'Tonight’s the Night'? Anyway, Annie was fair excited, but that soon switched to concern when she realised that the celebrity was being harassed by a load of paparazzi that were waiting outside the restaurant. Annie, being Annie, turned round and offered to help! She told him he could use their car to get away if he wanted! Next thing, he moves round to sit beside her – stealing some of her garlic mushrooms – before a bunch of photographers burst in to the restaurant to harass the Torchwood star. Except, they weren’t there to harass John Barrowman, they were there as part of a set-up for Annie. And she’d been caught hook, line and sinker!

It turned out that Jane had contacted the BBC after she’d watched the Christmas special of Tonight’s the Night last year. Jane had been babysitting for Annie and she’d been chatting to Annie’s son. She’d asked him; if he could wish for anything, what would it be? He said he’d wish for his mum to appear on the TV. The family all knew that this was a bit of a secret ambition of Annie’s and Jane was touched that - of all the things he could’ve asked for - it was something for his mum that he’d picked. So, at the end of the Christmas special, the voice over had done that thing of ‘Do you know anyone who deserves to have their dreams come true?’ and I guess the voice over was a bit of a coincidental invitation that Jane just couldn’t ignore. She contacted the BBC, told them all about the hard work and dedication that Annie puts in to her choir, about the hard work and dedication she puts in to supporting her family and about how talented a singer she is.

A few months later, Jane couldn’t believe it when the BBC contacted her – and so it was that she found herself, after having kept the biggest secret of the life, sitting opposite John Barrowman with a very shocked little sister! John Barrowman pulled out a microphone, told Annie that he was there for her, and told her she was going to be flying off for a trip to Nashville where she would not only meet, but would also have a masterclass with, Dolly Parton! He then told her that she’d be recorded singing in front of a live audience at the BBC studios, for his programme ‘Tonight’s the Night’ (which is shown on BBC1 at prime time on a Saturday night) and that the choir would be coming along to support her!

By this point in Annie’s story at the meeting, many of the gathered women in the choir were crying. I think I was more affected by the pure, sheer excitement in Annie’s voice and her facial expressions than the actual fact of what had just unfolded. She was just chuffed to bits, and it was absolutely brilliant to see. Then, Jane took the floor. I wish I could remember what she said word for word; it was such a poignant and touching explanation of the reasons that she wanted to do this thing for Annie. In a simple, but so meaningful, few sentences, she explained what it was all about. About how much Annie does for her family and about how strong Annie has been during her Dad’s on-going battle with cancer, about how much she does for her community – many of whom had or have problems of their own, but have found a valuable tool for helping them cope in the form of the choir – and about how much she’d been Jane’s ‘guiding light’ in the face of much adversity over the past few years.

By this point I reckon almost everyone in the hall - men included - was crying openly. It was such a poignant, incredible moment. And it was more about one person’s love for another than the finer detail of the surprise. I’ll never forget how privileged I felt to be there.

After much sniffing and hugging, we were brought back down to earth with a wee bit of a bang when Annie told us that the BBC didn’t have space in the studio for the whole choir. At that point, she didn’t know how many members were allowed to take part, but she assured us that whoever did get to go would be representing everyone - the whole Heart of Scotland Choir. We all knew how difficult Annie and Jane would find it to split the group up – our choir’s all about community, and communities stick together. But, circumstances often do arise where communities have to nominate representative groups and a sure sign of a well-nurtured community, with a strong spirit and heart, is one that can come back together as one after such a separation. I never had any doubt that, no matter who was lucky enough to be Annie’s backing singers, we would all be back together again soon after, doing what we all do best, new and old members alike.

We waited to hear from Annie and Jane the following morning, while they sifted through the members’ names and made the final decision. Gordon and I paced around at home until we received the message that we were lucky enough to be amongst the forty choir members that would accompany Annie to the BBC. We jumped around and shared the first of many big hugs that would follow over the course of the next couple of weeks – we were so chuffed and I was so happy that I’d be sharing this experience with my son.

We sang at Scribbler's Picnic, a local music festival, the day before Jane and Annie set off for the States. I loved that gig as it was the first for me on home ground, but it was also a difficult one in many ways. There was excitement and anticipation from some of the forty who’d been selected, disappointment and sorrow from some of those who hadn’t. As a newer member, I couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty and so sorry for some of the lovely people who wouldn’t be going along – but I kept reminding myself of Annie and Jane’s plea for the choir to trust their judgement on as fair a selection as they could possibly manage, and Jane’s plea for us all to show Annie that none of this should get in the way of spoiling the whole amazing experience she was about to embark on.

So, Annie and Jane jumped on a jet plane the following morning and, after eighteen hours of travelling, arrived in Nashville, Tennessee. They were knackered and hungry but, on arrival, they were immediately thrown in to it when Annie was handed a sheet of lyrics for the song she had to sing in front of Dolly Parton the next morning! Now, Annie is a gifted musician and singer – but she just about freaked out when she looked at the lyrics; she didn’t know the song! Of all the songs that Annie could’ve been asked to perform, she was being asked to sit in front of Dolly Parton and sing – without musical accompaniment – one of Dolly’s hits that she’d never heard in her life before. A call to her husband, on the other side of the Atlantic, saved the day. He emailed her the music and, incredibly, by the morning she’d learned the tune and most of the lyrics off by heart.

I cannot imagine how nervous Annie must have been walking in to a room, surrounded by TV production people, to be met by a smiling Dolly Parton sitting in front of a fake piano! (“No point in hittin' that Darlin’, it’s just a prop”, Dolly drawled when Annie tried to find her opening note!) But, she did it – she sat and sang “Here You Come Again” and was rewarded by a massive seal of approval from the legend that made the song famous (...OK, so not everyone’s heard of it...!). With hugs and good wishes, Annie was sent on her way to enjoy a few days of sightseeing with Jane. They were thoroughly spoiled and got a real insight into the celebrity lifestyle (which, by the way, they decided was nice for a few days, but definitely not how they’d like to live their lives!) before heading back home.

After a couple of rehearsals, squeezed in to fit around Annie and Jane’s already-planned and much-needed week’s holiday with the rest of their family, we were all set to spend the weekend at the BBC! We’d been told that the Saturday was for some vocal coaching, to rehearse in the studio, meet the musical director, have our outfits checked and such like and that the Sunday was for the dress rehearsal then the full blown live audience performance and recording. ‘Excited’ doesn’t even begin to describe how we were all feeling.

We’d been instructed to go casual on the Saturday, but still stick to the choir’s signature red tops - some of the girls had taken that quite literally and appeared with lovely new red hair-do’s for the occasion - so a bubbling red sea topped with excited and nervous smiley faces greeted Gordon and I when we arrived at the coach pick-up point early that first morning.

The relatively new building that houses the BBC headquarters at Pacific Quay in Glasgow is pretty awesome. It’s huge, and it sits on a lovely spot on the regenerated south side of the River Clyde, opposite the SECC. It was a lovely sunny morning when we arrived, and I felt quite emotional when I stepped off the coach. Glasgow’s my old stomping ground and I simply love it – and I love the fact that what used to be a pretty dingy, run-down and neglected site has been transformed by some nifty landscaping work and the likes of the Science Centre, the IMAX, the BBC and the STV headquarters. Anyway, back to more important matters. We all filed in to the massive reception area and waited patiently for our passes. I make absolutely no apologies for being really excited about wearing a bit of see-through plastic with a wee card in it that had ‘BBC security pass. Jane Milne’ printed on it. We were then introduced to Claire; one of a wee merry band of staff whose job it was to keep all 40 of us in check over the course of the weekend – and when I say keep us in check, I really mean keep us in check. We weren’t allowed to go anywhere in the building without an escort – so the little team of young staff, time and again, were grateful that our dress theme was red! Especially for keeping track of our naughty bunch of choir smokers, who had their knuckles wrapped on several occasions for nipping out behind the bike sheds!

Claire escorted us to the ‘annexe’ which was to be our home for most of that day. It was a lovely big room, with an electric piano in the corner, tables and chairs, clothes rails, a table full of goodies and lots of fans. The lots of fans were there because there was lots of heat, with nowhere really for it to go! And, I’m afraid, there lies one of the drawbacks of red outfits; sweaty armpits have nowhere to hide! However, we had plenty of deodorant amongst us (some of us even had an emergency supply of red tee-shirts in our bags!) and plenty of water in the cooler in the corner.

I have to digress here for a moment. I was saying that there were bucket-loads of goodies to sustain us throughout the course of the day. Well, one of those goodies was chocolate Freddos – box loads of them. Remember them? Wee chocolate frogs with runny caramel inside. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Just how much better could this day get?

After settling in, we had a session with one of the BBC’s vocal coaches before being escorted down to the studio where the programme would be filmed. Aw man, it was just so exciting. I’ve never been in a TV studio in my life, not even in a studio audience, so I was a wee bit over-awed when we walked in. It was just so cool! Lots of men and women with headsets and microphones scurrying around , hunners and hunners of lights, cameras and wires all over the place, the set of ‘Tonight’s the Night’, and John Barrowman floating around in amongst it all. Now, before I go any further, I’ve got a bit of a confession to make. I never used to watch Saturday evening telly programmes like 'Tonight’s the Night' as I always thought they were a bit contrived and a bit slushy and false. Within a very short time of arriving at the BBC, I’d become the programme’s biggest fan! I was pretty bowled over by the fact that we were reminded constantly that this was all very much about Annie – the vocal coach had made that clear, Claire had made that clear, the director of the show made it clear and, most importantly, John Barrowman made it very clear. There was nothing false about the sentiment, and at no time during the course of the whole weekend did I feel that the programme makers weren’t doing their very best to capture the very essence of Annie and why she deserved this special treat – that’s what it was all about. It completely changed my opinion of the show.

John Barrowman couldn’t have been more welcoming. He co-owns the company that makes the programme, so he plays a big part in the overall production, not just what you see on the telly. He seemed to be fully involved in every aspect and he seemed to have the final say on everything, but he did it in such a nice way. He became a bit of an Honorary Choir Member, sealed by some good fun banter – especially with one of our lads, Scott; they could’ve been two blokes down the pub bouncing off each other’s one-liners. No airs and graces, just a lot of good fun.

Anyway, I’m digressing again. It’s amazing how small the studio was – it looks so much bigger when it’s on the telly (OK, so the cameras do work some magic on the physical stuff and how it all appears, but the emotions, the voices and the story is very much for real). We soon realised why Annie was only allowed to bring forty of us; there simply wasn’t enough space for any more. Before we were asked to take to the stage, John Barrowman came over and had a chat with us – he picked out Jane and gave her the biggest hug and a friendly pat on the butt. Who would’ve thought she’d end up with a pat on the ass from one of her heroes – and it was so well-deserved for making all of this amazing experience possible!

Initially, the production team had Annie playing the piano while she sang. Annie’s a gifted and talented pianist, but I think we were all a wee bit disappointed; Annie stands behind the piano all the time at choir, and we’d really hoped that she’d be right out front with the spotlight very much on her while she sang her solo. Fortunately, John Barrowman stepped in. He just seemed to get it, without anyone having to make a fuss (not that any of us would dream of making a fuss about not being placed where we’d like, or not being seen, or anything like that – we were all just so chuffed to be involved and would be doing exactly as we were told by the professionals..!). I just thought it was great that he got it, and he really did do his best to do the best for Annie.

The first time we sang in the studio, it was a bit wonky. We were all so tense and over-awed I think – but it didn’t faze us – we had plenty of time to get it right. I was just loving every minute – wonky or not! Later on, when we were back in our room, we had an amazing session with the musical director of the show. He’s worked on such things as The X Factor and it was such an interesting and enjoyable session. Within a few short minutes, he had us harmonising on a raise-the-hairs-on-the-back-of-your-neck version of the Ave Maria chorus. I think it was at this point that I had to change my tee-shirt – not sure whether it was the heat or just sheer jubilation, but I definitely needed freshening up a bit!

To be honest, the rest of that day’s a bit fuzzy. I remember there were some tetchy moments with folk getting a wee bit stressed – nerves, heat and tension can do funny things sometimes, but there was also a group determination to make sure that nothing spoiled this occasion for Annie. We had another trip back to the studio, after a visit to the back-lot to stand on the new tiered platform that the production crew had organised. After it was decided that Annie wasn’t going to be playing the piano, it was decided that the choir would stand as one unit behind her, instead of split into two groups, as was originally planned. This was so much better. We were there representing the whole of the Heart of Scotland Choir, and it just seemed much more fitting to have one big group blending in to the background, rather than two smaller ones where individual faces would strongly feature. From a personal point of view, it was great to be back singing shoulder to shoulder with some of my best buddies from the choir, rather than looking at them across the stage!

During our visits to the studio that first day, we were given some really tricky choreography; we had to sway. Yup, that was it, sway. It’s a lot more bloody difficult than you think you know, starting at the same time then swaying in unison! We were also shown our new position on the stage. The tiered stand was behind a massive set of doors that would open half way through Annie’s song to reveal her choir. A lovely moment was when the director made some minor adjustments to our positions, and, unwittingly, put Annie’s two sisters - Jane and Alexis - and her mum together. Although I was placed on the front row, I was right at the end, so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be seen on the TV. It was kind of weird that that was so unimportant. My overriding feelings were of being extremely lucky to be part of the experience, of doing the choir proud, of hoping that you’d be able to see Gordon on the telly (even just for a moment) and of desperately wanting it all to go brilliantly for Annie.

Lunch was had on the top floor of the building in the BBC canteen. What a view! Some of us sat out on the open deck, soaking up both the sun and the stunning surroundings. I ate my lasagne while looking out over the Clyde, over the top of the wobbly bridge to the spires of the University. During lunch on the second day, the sea-plane came in to land and it felt like we could’ve reached out and touched it. Simply awesome.

Time allowed us, both days, to relax outside at the front of the building for short spells. Great laughs, great surroundings and great fun trying to dodge Claire with her instruction to ‘stay out of the sun’ ensued. (Continuity darlings, we can’t have any red faces on set, or anyone collapsing with sun-stroke! She smiled along with our banter, but still made sure that we did as we were told!)

We went home that night; happy, knackered and excited about our next big day at the beeb.

Another, even earlier, start in the morning saw us all standing at the pick-up-point in all our red finery. We’d been told to wear the outfits that we’d be wearing for the live show as we’d be going straight to dress rehearsal when we arrived. The red sea this morning seemed calmer, still with waves of excitement and anticipation, but just a whole lot more settled – and very finely turned out!

We were shown to a different hospitality room on the Sunday – one with air conditioning and big windows that we could open. Bliss! More importantly, it was also well-stocked with box-loads of Freddo’s. Perfect! We shared the room that day with a lovely group of people who were there to surprise a lady in the studio audience. A special moment was when the vocal coach arrived to teach this other group the song they would be singing along with their friend. They all had the same look about them as we’d had the day before (rabbits..spotlights..), so it was lovely to be asked to join them while they were learning their song – and give them a bit of moral support. We were old hands, you see! Later on in the day, some members of the choir were asked to provide a bit of back-up on this group’s backing vocals. Gordon was lucky enough to be one of them – so him and a few others from the choir got to spend a wee bit longer on the studio floor, and have some more banter with John Barrowman. Gordon’s a great Torchwood fan, so he’s really chuffed to have been able to meet, and chat to, one of his TV heroes!

After the dress rehearsal, we changed out of our glad rags and relaxed in our casual - though still, of course, red - gear. Lounging, lunch and lots of laughs filled the time till we were told to get ready to go live. Us girlies were in our element; doing each other’s make-up, straightening our hair, sharing tips on such vital things as the best way to curl our eyelashes or how to find the colour of lippy that suits us best. I learned a lot, but I laughed lots more.

There were many, many emotional moments over the course of the weekend, but one of the most poignant had to be the one when Annie walked into our room wearing ‘the dress’ and simply looking stunning. Jane and Alexis had gathered us all together for a sing-song. We were all dressed and raring to go, and I think Jane just thought it would be nice to do what we do best to help us relax and pass some time. So, we all were standing in a big huddle, singing ‘Lean on Me’ when Annie came in to the room. It just so happened that Colin, her husband, was standing closest to the door and I will never forget the look on his face when he spotted her walking down the corridor towards the room. Before I saw her, I knew Annie was coming, just from the totally gob-smacked and adoring look on Colin’s face. And, boy, no wonder. The dress was perfect and Annie looked gorgeous. Her mum, Ray, couldn’t hold back the tears as she hugged her amazing daughter, while we all stood around singing ‘Lean on Me’ with big salty smiles and wavering voices. I’ll never forget it.

Just when we thought things couldn’t get any more emotional, Claire asked us to gather around a wee telly to watch the lead-in recording that would be shown on the programme. We all squeezed round and watched, and cried, with Annie and her family as the story of why Jane had wanted to do this amazing thing for her sister - of her commitment to her Dad during his illness, of her commitment to the choir, of the boost she’s given to so many people in her community, of her support for Jane and of her dream of singing on the telly in front of millions of people – unfolded. We also saw the brilliant footage of Annie being surprised in Stirling by John Barrowman. If ever we needed a crystal clear reminder of why we were there – and of how lucky we were to be there – this was definitely it. I cried buckets, and most of us had to re-do our carefully applied make-up.

We all wished Annie luck as she was whisked away, then made our way nervously down to the studio for the last time. Before going in to the main studio, we waited in a wee sort of holding room off to the side. You could almost touch the tension, but there was also an air of determination to get the performance just right for Annie - and for Jane. Eventually, we were ushered quietly through to the stage and took our places behind the big screen doors. As soon as Annie started to sing I started to cry. The audience were clapping and cheering big style, aw man, she was awesome. Everything that Annie had experienced over the past couple of weeks had been surreal and incredible, from being surprised by John Barrowman to meeting Dolly Parton – but this was what it was all about; getting the opportunity to appear on the telly and sing in front of millions of people. She did Dolly, her family, her choir and herself so proud.

When the big doors opened our nerves escaped out. We all just seemed to totally relax and do what we do every Monday night at rehearsal; sing our hearts out for Annie. We even got the swaying right. I will never forget how incredibly good it felt. Annie there with the spotlight on her, a live and very appreciative audience in front of us (Annie’s kids and proud Dad included) and we stood shoulder to shoulder with our smiling and swaying choir buddies. Simply amazing.

As we were leaving the stage, John Barrowman congratulated and thanked us all for doing this thing. As I was passing, I thanked him for being so lovely and he rewarded me with a wee hug. On the scale of choir hugs, it was pretty tiny, but it was a hug all the same, and I was touched by the gesture. A better hug was to come though; I stepped to the side outside the studio and watched all my friends from the choir cry, cuddle and chat excitedly as they headed back to our room. Gordon was one of the last to appear as he’d been up on the top tier of the stage. It had been so special for me to share this incredible experience with my wee boy, and our weepy hug in the hallway is one I’ll never forget.

And that was it, all over. Except - it wasn’t all over. Four days later the choir met in its usual venue to rehearse for its next gig. It was brilliant to be there singing again with the whole choir, with the exception of a sorely missed few who were on holiday or such like. The buzz was the same as ever, the banter was as plentiful as ever, the singing was as heart-lifting as ever and the old endorphins were flowing yet again. This is what Annie and Jane’s choir is all about.

We did our wee gig yesterday, then got together last night to watch ‘Tonight’s the Night’ on BBC1. We sat in the restaurant where it had all started; Annie and Jane sat with the rest of their family at the very table where John Barrowman had sprung his surprise and the rest of us crowded round the TV screens that the restaurant had kindly set up for us. It was an incredible evening, with even more laughter, more hugs, more cheers and more tears. The BBC had done a fantastic job of capturing the very essence of Annie, and we were all so very proud.

For Jane, it was mission accomplished. For Annie, it was a dream come true. And, for the rest of us, it was a fantastic reminder of how privileged we all are to be part of the incredible Heart of Scotland Choir.

Congratulations are in order for making it to the end of my very long post! Please feel free to leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you.

Thinking about Gemma doing her thing

I’ve been missing Gemma. I’m well used to her being away from home, but it doesn’t mean that I don't miss her hugs, or one of our late night Glee-fests or one of our into-the-wee-small-hours blethers. Also, we’ve both been really busy over the past three weeks since she headed off, so we’ve not even had much of a chance to catch up properly; texting and the odd quick phone call have been about as much as we’ve managed. It was great to get one of those wee calls yesterday.

I’m having to eat my words as I didn’t think Gemma would enjoy this job. She’s doing an internship (a paid one thankfully) with a company that’s all about preparing students and graduates for a career in the business world. They provide relevant work experience that will, hopefully, increase the student’s skills and, in the process, give them some meat to impress future employers with. Gemma’s never done any kind of sales job before, so she’s opted for door-to-door selling; trying to get folk to commit to helping a local Children’s Trust charity. In typical Gemma style, she’s thrown herself into it and seems to be fair enjoying herself – even though she’s spending most of her time trudging around the streets of Greenwich from morning till late evening, knocking on doors and trying to get folk to sign up to a charity. I honestly thought she’d hate it. But, she’s doing really well, is surpassing her targets, has been fortunate to be placed within a good team (a bunch of other students whom she's really hit it off with) and, most surprising of all, she seems to be meeting some lovely - and interesting - people on the doorsteps.

I thought Gemma’s days would be filled with slammed doors and angry residents telling her to sod off. But nothing could be further from the truth. She’s been welcomed in to folk’s houses, sits at their kitchen tables and delivers her spiel – with great results so far. Some of the pitches, however, are more interesting than others.

As Gemma was approaching this house the other day, she could hear singing coming from inside. She half-heartedly rang the door-bell and, thinking that nobody would hear it, turned on her heel. However, the singing stopped and within a few seconds the door opened. Gemma smiled and said her stuff and the woman, kindly, invited her in to chat some more. On entering the lounge, Gemma was confronted by a lively bunch of folk, standing in a group, obviously waiting for the lady of the house to return.

“Hi there. Do you like Gospel singing?”, one of them asked.

“Yes, I love it!”, she replied (she would probably have replied yes to "Do you like Pinky and Perky?" if it meant getting a sale).

“Great! We’ll sing for you!”

So, Gemma stood in a stranger's living room and listened to a bunch of strangers belt out a lovely Gospel song. It got better though. Gemma clapped politely when they'd finished and complemented them on their fantastic performance.

“We're even better when our pianist's here. It’s a pity she's ill today. It’s just not the same without her..... you don’t happen to play the piano do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do!”, says Gemma

So, next thing, the woman has Gemma sat down at the piano and is handing her a sheet of music!

“Can you manage this one?”

And, blow me, it was one of the songs that Gemma was brought up on! While other mums were lulling their kiddies to sleep with 'Twinkle, Twinkle' or 'Rock-a-bye-baby', I was crooning away with 'Day by Day' or 'Can’t Help Lovin Dat Man' or 'Another Suitcase in Another Hall', or some other such song from one of the musicals. So, there Gemma found herself; plonking out the chords to ‘Prepare Ye’ from Godspell in accompaniment to a Gospel choir in some wifey's front room! Aye, never a dull moment in the life of our Gemma!

After all that, the woman declared that she already gave enough money to charity and politely showed  Gemma the door! So, no sale in that house - but it sounds as if it was a whole lot of fun trying!

Moving on again

I finished module 2 of my course at college last week. It wasn’t a pleasant last day and I came away feeling angry, frustrated and sad. Angry because I felt let down by the course tutor, frustrated because I had passed the module but knew we hadn’t covered everything we – technically - should have, and sad because I wouldn’t be seeing most of the girls in the class again. I’ve registered for the next two modules back at Rowan – where I completed the first part of the course – as I know, from past experience, that the style of tutoring will be much more to my liking.

If only it could’ve been that easy to chop and change teachers when I was at school! I had a particularly horrible French teacher, called Mr Horn, who completely put me off studying French further. I only ever got the belt once in my school life, and it was Mr bloody Horn that administered it, when I was 13 years old. I’d been swinging on my seat and he’d told me to stop. I forgot. I did it again later in the lesson and he completely blew his top. He had a sharp chin and these weird pointy ears with really gross grey hairs sprouting out of them (in fact, I’m sure that Mr Burns from The Simpsons was modelled on our Mr Horn!). He was a complete nut job.

I’ll never forget how frightened I felt as he bounded up to me, with a manic look on his bright red pointy face, and bawled at me to get out of the class. I couldn’t get off my chair quick enough and immediately did as I was told. This is a man, after all, who’d been disciplined for putting sellotape over a pupil's mouth some years before (or so the rumours went anyway..!). I stood, holding back the tears, out in the corridor. I knew I was going to get the belt – and I was bloody scared!

Within a couple of minutes the door opened and out came ... Alex!

“Are you OK?”, he said.

“No, I’m shitting myself! What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I told him he couldn’t speak to you like that and he told me to get out.”

“Are you off your head?!! He’ll kill you!”

A few minutes later Mr Horn appeared. He shouted first at Alex;

“PUT UP YOUR HANDS!” Alex, being Alex, raised both his hands above his head and shouted;

 “DON’T SHOOT!”

My hero then got belted – hard. I can’t remember how many times and I can’t remember what he did next but I do remember – very clearly – that I then got one of the belt. It was friggin sore and I had to bite my lip hard to hold back the tears (there was no way I was giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry).

Dad went marching down to the school the next day to complain – as I’m sure many pupils’ parents had done over the years – but Mr Horn was still teaching at that school for a long, long time to come. Shocking really.

Yup, if only it was as easy at school to change class as it’s been for me with my course. You never know, I might even have ended up with a good qualification in French instead of being completely put off! Ça ne fait rien - c’est la vie!

So, I felt sad to be leaving my friends at college, but delighted to have reached the half way point in the course. I’m now looking forward to the next module and, again, meeting a whole new bunch of folk....And I’m sincerely hoping for a tutor that does it for me – or I might just have to set Alex upon him.....!

Reciting my thank you poem to Annie and Jane

Although the date up there says July, it's actually October at the moment! This is a post that I meant to slip in ages ago and, whilst carrying out some housekeeping on my blog this morning, it dawned on me that I'd never got around to it.

I basically just wanted to have a record, on my wee online diary, of the poem I did for Annie and Jane after our appearance on the telly. I wrote a very long post about the whole thing, so felt the poem was a bit of overkill on my blog at the time. However, I do want it here for posterity, so here it is! I wrote the poem the night after our BBC weekend; it was very late at night and I'm very jaded!