The Ten Minute Trick

My normal morning routine is characterised by military precision. From Monday to Friday, it goes like this:

06:50 Alarm goes off

06:51 Enter shower

07:00 Exit shower

07:01 Sort out face

07:06 Locate clean/ironed/matching clothes and get dressed

07:15 Eat (gobble) breakfast

07:25 Blast hair

07:33 Clean teeth

07:35 Collect together books, lunch and other school paraphernalia

07:40 Exit flat

I continue to obsessively clock watch for the rest of the day until I wave goodbye to the kiddies at 15:30. Then it gets a bit more flexible.

BUT, today I had a revelation. Calling it the Ten Minute Trick (TMT) doesn’t quite give it the gravitas it deserves for being so wholly transformative, but it does capture its genius simplicity. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of this before. All you’ve got to do is go to bed ten minutes earlier the night before and wake up ten minutes earlier in the morning. Mate, it’s SO good!

Here’s a brief outline of the excellent things that happened this morning because of it:

* I had the option of pressing snooze.

* I sat on the sofa in a relaxed fashion and watched enough of the England-Pakistan test to see two of our wickets fall.

* I made a pot of tea and drank some of it.

* I had a proper conversation with The Boyfriend.

* I washed up my breakfast bowl AND mug, PLUS some stuff hanging around from last night.

* I compiled a very satisfactory lunch.

* I left for work feeling relaxed. Relaxed, I tell you!

Although as I’m sure you will agree this all sounds great, the TMT doesn’t come without warnings. Take heed:

I have realised that I can’t do the TMT every day, because if I do, then at some point soon it’s going to stop being ‘extra’ time and it will just be normal. So, I’ll have to keep putting my alarm back ten minutes, and before I know it, I’ll be dragging myself out of bed in the middle of the night, which will negate anything positive coming from gaining an extra ten. It’ll be a bit (but not really anything) like doing drugs, where you have to increase the dosage to get your hit.

Enjoy your newfound time and appreciate each extra minute for its great potential worth but DON’T think about it too much. I’d say, by about 10am you should have got over it. I’ve been thinking about it literally all day and consequently my expectations of tomorrow are through the roof. I am destined to be disappointed. For tomorrow morning to be good, my cereal needs to somersault out of the packet, perform a can-can on the work surface and dive into my milk with Tom Daley style finesse. It ain't gonna happen.

There is definite potential for continued obsessive clock watching during your get-up due to the need to check whether you still have your ten minutes in the bank. You need to know if you're starting to dip into it...

WOW. SO. I think we can learn three things from this:

1) I highly recommend that you give the TMT a go.

2) It’s very important not to obsess over it like me.

3) Either I have OCD or I’m Swiss.

A smashing evening

One of my best things in life is being superbly productive in time which you anticipated would be spent lolling around vegetating. 

Tonight is an excellent example of this. I fully expected that at 3.30 this afternoon I’d be totally zombified, feeling completely knackered, ready to come home, collapse onto the sofa, eat, fall asleep, wake up, drag myself to bed and fall asleep again... 

BUT, instead it was full of highly satisfying productivity. I did some excellent bashing out of Science marking after school, which had built up into a small mountain, mighty to conquer.  When I got home, The Boyfriend and I blitzed the flat and it turned from verging on depressing back to lush. Then, I was ruthless and sorted out my magazines to prevent resembling that obsessive compulsive hoarder on Channel 4. (I admit that probably too many old Sunday Times Style mags managed to avoid the bin though, just in case I want to cut stuff out of them. You know, sometime.  For a scrapbook of… stuff.) Then, I hung up some photo frames, which I’m absolutely DELIGHTED with. THEN, I rehung my Chamonix print so that it is centred properly over the sofa. AND THEN, after a highly nutritious and delicious dinner, I put The Boyfriend’s India photos into the photo cube on the coffee table, while watching the Ulster-Leicester Heineken clash (FT Ulster 41 – 7 Leicester). Pro-duc-tiv-i-TY! I thought I’d do nothing, I did loads, I’d gained hours of extra weekend!

But then, I morphed from Wonder Woman into taxi driver, and on the way to taking The Boyfriend to meet a friend at the pub, smashed into someone’s wing mirror. 

Revelling in productivity has stopped. Headache has started. The Boyfriend says I shouldn’t worry because it’s what insurance is for. I’m gutted! So, I’m going to collapse onto the sofa, fall asleep, wake up, drag myself to bed and fall asleep again... 

BOO.

Christmas 2011 went like this...

Christmas Eve Eve:

Carols on Classic FM in cosy car, while driving home for Christmas in torrential rain. First place prize for best descant line awarded to Hark The Herald Angels Sing (we sang along at the tops of our voices), with special mention to John Rutter, aka Christmas personified.

Home! Hugs, love, tree and tea. :)

Nativity! (the film). So cute. Without a doubt we’ll watch it every year from now on, in the same way that The Holiday is whipped out for festive viewing at some point during every Christmas holiday, no exceptions. 

Christmas Eve:

Last minute present dash and hunt for cheap tat for our inventive wrapping competition. Braving the high street was a bold move on Christmas Eve but it ended up being a highly successful trip. Poundland served me very well for the wrapping resources and I’d forgotten how much I like going shopping with Dad (we’re bad influences on each other, but that’s probably why I like it).

Saints triumphed over Bath at Franklin’s Gardens (admittedly not as convincingly as they should have done: 22 – 13 final score). Wearing tights under trousers, two pairs of socks, a vest top, long sleeved top, cardigan, Saints shirt, coat, scarf and gloves was a good move.  Mary and Joseph were in the crowd.  A satisfying early Christmas present, even without the bonus point.

Christmas vigil service at church after the rugby. We played our instruments and Mum smashed it on the organ in an EPIC carolothon. Christmas build up at its best.

Homemade bread and pate and cheese and chutney and other total deliciousness after church. Ate too much to expand stomach in prep for Christmas Day. 

Sherlock Holmes: put on for my benefit (I haven’t seen any of them and apparently NEED to before the new one comes out on New Year’s Day), but I fell asleep. Embarrassingly predictable.

Slightly stressful, late night, last minute inventive wrapping endangered my eight hours (still vital despite crashing out on the sofa for a good hour and a half) but got it done just in time. Spilt a lot of fake snow onto Charlotte’s bedroom floor (by accident).

Christmas Day Part One (The Motherland):

Church! Carolothon #2. Congregation clapped us at the end. Felt choked. Reminded myself of Grandad.

More last minute wrapping. Tea. 

Pre-presents croissants and more tea. Soundtrack: The Military Wives Choir. Choked again.

Incredibly amazing and highly amusing efforts by all in the inventive wrapping competition, which turned more into an inventive wrapping ‘festival’ because we thought it might be too stressful to deem some people losers on what should be a day of joy. So funny and would highly recommend. Another tradition has been born. 

Post-presents tea, chocolate and general family loveliness.

Christmas Day Part Two (The Inlaws): 

Singing on the doorstep, hugs, love, tree and tea. :)

Pre-Christmas dinner drinks with presents, round two (lucky!)

EPIC Christmas dinner. Huge turkey. Wine. Turkey. Stuffing. Wine. Turkey. Stuffing. More turkey. More wine. More stuffing. Cheeseboard. Wine. LUSH.

Log fire, post-dinner drinks and girls vs. boys Trivial Pursuit, followed by Downton Abbey. Never watched it before, enjoyed it during the post dinner slump, not in a hurry to watch it again.

Boxing Day:

The Boxing Day Games. Walked up the hill to the village green to wear off the (some) turkey, which rendered my forehead disturbingly moist. Resolved to get fit in the new year. Not before. 

Mud. Mulled wine. Laughed at people making fools of themselves by falling over lots. Favourite game: the one where you spin yourself into a maniacal frenzy by running around a post ten times and then attempt to run dizzily back to your team. The only injury was to a small child, who got knocked off a hay bale, when one participant went enthusiastically, but uncontrollably, careering in the wrong direction. The overall winners bagged a photo in the Advertiser and were obviously delighted with the bragging rights. The cricket club team won the tug of war, ending the very long run of annual victories seen by the scout leaders. Much pride. The prestigious 'loo seat' trophy will be displayed for all to see in the clubhouse.

Delish lunch with friends, more wine and four highly competitive rounds of Articulate.

The Boyfriend well and truly unconscious at 7.30pm, after another afternoon of excess. 

Brief summary of the above: LOVED IT. :)

The Five Day Countdown

Reasons for wanting it to be the holiday NOW:

1) This last week of term is going to be, simply, MENTAL. Some bits will be fun (cannot wait for the teachers’ Vanilla Ice inspired rap in the school talent show – oh yes!) and some bits will not be fun (like keeping the kids grounded until 3.30pm on Friday, without anyone jumping out of the windows or requiring to be peeled off the ceiling), but ALL of it will leave me needing to sleep for a week.

2) Impending assessment doom means that this week’s workload has the potential to be horrific if I want to relieve the first week of the holiday.

3) We have Christmas personified, or, well, you know, tree-ified, delightfully twinkling in our living room. (There must be a real word for that…)

4) Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas, which is entirely LUSH and makes me want to sit and make Christmassy things from now until the 25^th. I particularly desire a handmade vintage heart garland.

5) I'm feeling very unprepared because I still have Christmas presents to buy, cards to send and inventive wrapping to do, and am highly unlikely to sort it all out before the holiday.

6) Jamie’s Family Christmas – LOVE. Give me a bowl of crispy yet fluffy, garlic and rosemary infused roast potatoes now!

7) Much excitement for next weekend, which is going to be ACE: the CYCB Christmas Concert, a much needed haircut, Chris’s 18^th birthday celebrations and Saints-Castres at The Gardens on Nay’s birthday. Can’t friggin wait.

8) Not watching ‘The Holiday’ in far too long is starting to give me withdrawal symptoms. I think the last time I watched it was last Christmas – how I’ve lasted out a whole year I have no idea! Anyway, it’s time to snuggle under the duvet and bring on Jude Law. Got to be a plan for next weekend.

9) The children have been hinting about Christmas presents they’ve bought me. My conscious effort to be nice may pay off!

10) And finally, I have much excitement for a lush Christmas Day with the fam, the village Boxing Day Games and merriment at New Year in Devon. 

Come on holiday, hurry up!

Dinner dance distress

Tonight, we're going to the Cricket Club Dinner Dance.

We'd just arrived chez in-laws this afternoon when my heart stopped. I had forgotten my dress. ****. The most intense hour of my life had started.

Distraught and trying to fight back tears, I sped into town with one hope: the country's smallest Monsoon. It has, like, three dresses. The chance for failure was massive and hung over me like a huge black rain cloud about to dump.

In the car park, the ticket machine gobbled up my money and spat out the wrong ticket. The pressure increased; I only had one hour to get this mess sorted.

I dashed to Monsoon as fast as my legs would carry me, without drawing any attention to my panic. Heart pounding, I entered the shop.

Dress 1 was ugly. My blood pressure rose. Dress 2 I desperately wanted to think would look good, but realistically was always going to look awful. Dress 3 needed to be good. IT NEEDED TO BE GOOD.

Sitting at home drinking tea in front of the log fire, The Boyfriend was blissfully unaware that, in the cold and dark of the town centre, I was teetering on the edge of crumbling into a million pieces and he was going to have to pick me back up and put me back together again. A million pieces is a lot of pieces.

But back in the shop, divine intervention was about to happen. Out of the corner of my eye, amongst the granny-wear, I noticed sequins. Delicious sequins. Could it be that I was about to be saved?

Not taking my eyes off the sparkles in case they disappeared, I made a beeline for dress number 3. In the space of half an hour, I had turned into a crazed magpie.

They had my size and on the hanger it looked good. Very good. So I darted through the rails and ran to the changing rooms, nearly knocking over a small child in the process.

I ripped off my clothes and pulled the dress over my head as quickly as I could and BEHOLD, thank you God, it fitted and it looked good and I hadn't ripped off any sequins in my feverish haste. In fact, it looked better than good. It. Was. Friggin. Perfect!

It was so perfect that the blow of the price tag didn't make me fall over. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't filled with joy at the damage my bank balance was going to have to take, BUT, I didn't fall over. And desperate times do call for desperate measures and all that.

But THEN, I realised that buying Easy Living Magazine last week had happened for a reason. I grabbed my handbag and hurriedly started fishing around in amongst all the receipts (gulp) and other detritus to find - ta da! - my shiny £20 Monsoon Gift Card, smiling up at me.

A-men.

So, I am about to get ready to go and, miraculously, I'm going to feel good. Phew!

Cheese

Smiles from the past 48 hours:

• Yesterday’s break-time presentation, from pupil to me, of a perfectly formed jam tart. It. Was. EPIC.

• Reminiscing about Africa when I showed my class some of my photos this afternoon. They were so excited and interested and it was totally fab and I LOVED it.

• Being asked by a kid in the cloakroom at the end of today if I like making men cry. (See next point.)

• Sending the kids crazy by waxing our male teachers’ legs in assembly for Children in Need.

• Stories from my literacy group which were based on African tales. Lots of them miraculously had a flavour of Africa; yam vines, millet plants and baobab trees featured in most and some even had cases of malaria!

• One of the 'cool kids' referring to his drawing of a butterfly, created from plotting coordinates in four quadrants, as “Totally mint!”

• Remembering that I only got through 2 glasses of the last bottle of wine on the wine rack last night, so there’s ample yum for tonight.

• Gregg Wallace on The Great British Food Revival, referring to dauphinoise potatoes as “The closest you’ll get to a snog on a plate.” So true.

• Realising that I’ve actually coped remarkably better than expected without The Boyfriend (once the first few days were out of the way), which isn’t to say that I can wait for him to come back, because I very much can’t, BUT, you know, I’ve not died or anything. And that’s probably down to my fab colleagues, who are just fab. And because I’ve not done much in the way of proper cooking this week, I don’t have the anticipated horrific piles of washing up to get through this weekend.

• Being able to start the three day countdown to The Boyfriend’s return. At last!

• Pure and unadulterated delight at realising that, not only are Saints playing tonight, but it’s also being broadcast on Sky friggin HD2. Thank you, Christian, for the heads up, and yes, I do predict an Ash-Splash!

Duped

My worst magazine purchase ever was probably OK! Magazine when Katie Price was on the front cover, in her huge, horrific, Barbie pink, gypsy-wedding meringue (utter fail of a dress), under the headline “Katie Walks Down The Aisle Again!” She’d only very recently split from Peter Andre, and here she was, proclaiming her love for another man, when poor Pete was still mopping up his tears! What a bitch!

So I hastily bought it, swiftly realising that my £2.60 was wasted because actually her sick inducing ‘wedding dress’ was in fact a bridesmaid’s dress, which she wore for her friend’s nuptuals. I’d been had! 

Today, I made a similar error. At my petrol stop in the BP Garage on the way home, I opted for Easy Living Magazine. This decision took me by surprise, but there were three solid reasons for my choice.

1. Cosmopolitan has lost its appeal. You wouldn’t believe it, but they recycle the same features from month to month!
2. Kirstie Allsopp was on the front. I have no qualms in admitting that she is my heroine. I want to be her. 
3. Most importantly, there was a shiny £20 Monsoon Gift Card attached to the glossy cover.

      I looked at it and thought that there might be a catch. I tried to give it a good inspection through the cellophane to see if there were any terms and conditions hiding anywhere; I didn’t want a repeat of the wasted OK! None were visible, so I bought it, thinking that it could be that they were being generous.

Turns out my naivety failed me and terms and conditions do very much apply. I’ve got to spend £80 before 10^th December to be granted my £20 prize. 

Bum.