Bedtime Story (26/12/2018)

So, here we are - the last of the bedtime stories!  I won't say the last ever, in case the feature returns someday, but certainly the last for now.

What else could I end on, but a story about growing up?!

There is, of course, one final podcast for you to listen to, should you prefer.

What Will I Be?

As I lie, tucked up in bed,

It's unbelievable to think

This year is almost over,

It's flown by in a blink.

I wonder what next year will bring?

How much taller will I grow?

I wonder what new things I'll do?

I just can't wait to know!

And as the years keep passing,

I wonder who I'll be.

This world has so much to show

A curious child like me.

I'd love to explore new places,

To travel across land and sea.

Perhaps the life of an explorer

Will be the life for me.

Or maybe I'll stay close to home,

With my friends and family near.

I know I could go anywhere,

But I do quite like it here.

Perhaps one day I'll have a house

And a family of my own.

Maybe that's waiting for me,

One day when I am grown.

I wonder what job I might do?

There's no dream that's out of reach.

I could be a chef or doctor,

I could fight fires or teach.

And I wonder what I'll look like,

When I'm finally finished growing.

Maybe I'll be very tall,

Or have hair that's long and flowing.

I could be anything I choose,

Go anywhere I like.

I only have to wait

For inspiration to strike!

But first, there's growing up to do,

That's very clear to me.

So, I'll wait a while longer

To find out what I'll be.

THE END

Bedtime Story (19/12/2018)

I freely admit that I LOVE sprouts.  I've never really understood their position as the seemingly least liked part of a Christmas dinner.  So, this story is about learning to love the humble sprout.

Click here to listen to this story as a podcast.

Sprouts!

I love the turkey on Christmas Day

And please send plenty of carrots my way!

Crispy roast potatoes, I love those, too.

And why have one stuffing ball, when you can have two?

But there's one thing on my plate that makes me shout:

I simply cannot eat my sprouts!

I really like the gravy and sauce.

The pigs-in-blankets are delicious, of course!

My sister has nut-loaf and I like that, too.

And sweet potatoes?  I'll eat a few!

But there's one thing I always make a fuss about:

Please, don't make me eat my sprouts!

They're round and small and sickly green.

The taste, I'm sure, is quite obscene!

They smell as though they should be binned

And they always give my grandpa wind!

So, unless you want a scene in this house,

I suggest you don't cook any sprouts!

Nan boils them for ages until they turn to mush.

Dad likes them crunchy, as though cooked in a rush.

Whenever I see them, piled high in a bowl,

I feel a sinking sensation, deep in my soul.

You see, in my mind, there is really no doubt:

I could never, ever eat a sprout.

But this year, a sight sent my heart a-flutter:

Mum in the kitchen, frying sprouts in butter!

She added some bacon into the pan

It all smelt delicious - well, as much as sprouts can.

And when to the table she carried them out,

I wondered: is this the year that I try a sprout?!

Whilst the grown-ups pulled crackers and started to talk,

I gently prodded one sprout with my fork.

Ensuring I also added some bacon bits,

I slowly lifted it up to my lips...

Well, all I can say is it's heaven in my mouth!

The best part of Christmas dinner is sprouts!

Never again will I shake my head

And say I don't like something without trying it, instead.

I've learned a lesson the delicious way.

Now my love of sprouts is here to stay!

So listen up, as I give a delighted shout:

"Merry Christmas to all, now eat up your sprouts!"

THE END

Bedtime Story (12/12/2018)

Homemade gifts have a special place in my heart.  I love receiving something that someone has made for me and whilst I'm not the best when it comes to creative endeavours, this year I have made something for someone!  This story is for everyone who has ever made a gift themselves, or who treasures a handmade present from a loved one.

To listen to this story as a podcast, click here.

The Homemade Christmas Presents

Lola had covered the dining room table with everything she would need.  Scattered across the surface were bottles of glue, pots of glitter, sheets of paper and card, paints, pens, ribbons, beads and a whole lot more besides.

Dad frowned over the top of his newspaper.  "What on Earth are you doing?"

Lola smiled.  "This year, I'm going to make you and Mum a special homemade present to give you on Christmas Day."  She leaned forwards dramatically, trying to hide everything she'd gathered on the table.  "You're not allowed to look," she ordered.  "Or it'll spoil the surprise!"

Dad chuckled to himself and returned to his reading, leaving Lola to get started.  She hadn't quite decided what to make yet, but she knew that it should be sparkly.  It was Christmas, after all!  Drumming her fingers on the table, Lola thought about the picture Mum kept stuck to the fridge.  It was of Mum, Dad, Lola and Branson the dog, all sitting at a picnic table in the sunshine.  Lola decided she'd make a frame for it.

Reaching across the table, Lola grabbed a sheet of brightly coloured card.  She'd never made a photo frame before, but she guessed it couldn't be too hard.  All she needed to do was put some decorations around the edge of the card and then stick the photo in the middle, didn't she?  Mum would definitely notice the picture was gone from the fridge, but Lola was sure she would be pleased on Christmas Day, when she saw it looking really special.

Lola opened a bottle of glue and tried to gently squeeze some onto the edge of her card.  It spurted across the whole sheet, leaving it sticky and wet.  Lola frowned.  That wasn't meant to happen!  Using her fingers, she tried to wipe the glue away, but that just made her hands all sticky, too.  Besides, the more Lola wiped, the thinner the card seemed to be getting.  Before long, a small hole had appeared right in the middle.

Lola let out a long sigh.  This wasn't quite going to plan.  Not that she'd had a plan...

After a minute or two of frustration, Lola decided to carry on as best she could.  She grabbed a pot of bright pink glitter and pulled off the lid.  With a flash of colour, the glitter exploded from the pot and rained down onto the table, the card, Lola and everything else in sight.

"Is everything okay back there?"  Dad called, putting down his newspaper again.

"Yes, Dad," Lola called, pulling a face as she desperately tried to sweep all of the glitter back into the pot.  It stuck to her gluey fingers, leaving them pink and sparkly.

Lola looked down at her photo frame.  It looked okay; maybe a bit dog-eared and overly glittery, but she could rescue that, she was sure.

Lola leaned across the table to take a handful of beads.  As she leaned over the frame she was decorating, her clothes stuck to the glue.  To Lola's horror, her jumper was covered in glitter and the frame she'd been working on had lots of bright red fluff all over it.

Lola groaned as she tried to pick the fluff off the frame, but all she succeeded in doing was making her hands even more glittery than before.  She let out a sigh.  "Fine," she said to herself.  "It'll be a glittery and also fluffy photo frame."

She began to add a little more glue, so that she could stick beads onto the frame, but the card was now wearing ever so thin and soon, there was so much glue around the edges that the whole thing began to bend.  Worse still, the glitter Lola had poured on earlier was starting to drip all over the place as the glue ran.

Lola started trying to mop up the glue with a sheet of kitchen roll, but it stuck to the glue and soon her photo frame was a soggy, slightly ripped mess of glitter, fluff and bits of kitchen roll, plus one or two stray beads.  "This is rubbish," Lola sighed.  "I'll paint a picture, instead."

She leaned over to grab a bottle of paint, but as she squeezed the bottle, paint spurted out all over the photo frame.  It was the final straw.  Lola held her head in her hands and stuck out her lower lip.

"Oh," Dad said, as he appeared behind her.  "You've made a...  Um...  It's a..."

Lola rolled her eyes.  "You weren't supposed to see it until Christmas Day," she tutted.  "It was going to be a photo frame," she added, with a sigh.  "But it's no good."

Dad shook his head.  "I don't agree," he told her.  "I think it's great!  And your mum will really love it."

Lola frowned.  "But it's all messy and there's not a nice, clean space for a photo!  It looks like I've just chucked a load of paint, glue and glitter at the page and then got my clothes and a load of kitchen roll stuck to it.  Which...  I sort of... Did."

Dad chuckled.  "But when you stick a photo in the middle, none of that will matter," he said.  "It'll just look like funky decorations around the sides.  And your mum will know that you made something special, all by yourself."

"I was going to use that photo we took in the summer," Lola explained.  "The one Mum keeps stuck to the fridge.  I know she loves it."

Dad disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the photograph in his hand.  He gently stuck it in the centre of Lola's handmade photo frame.  "There," he said, stepping back.  "It looks brilliant."

Lola gazed at the photo frame and then back at her dad's broad smile.  The frame was still messy and it didn't look anything like Lola had imagined it would, but her dad didn't seem to care.  Lola wrinkled her nose.  "Don't you think it should be prettier?  Or at least neater?"

Dad shook his head.  "I think it's perfect as it is," he insisted.  "Because it was made with love.  That's all that matters, Lola.  You wanted to do something nice and you put a lot of thought into it.  The very best Christmas presents aren't necessarily the ones that cost a lot of money.  They're the ones that show how much someone cares."  He smiled at Lola.  "I think this will be your mum's favourite present, this year."

Lola beamed up at him.  "Thanks for making me feel better," she whispered.

When the frame was dry, Dad helped Lola carefully wrap it in sparkly paper and together, they placed it underneath the Christmas tree.  Lola knew that it wasn't the best photo frame in the world, but she also knew that that didn't matter.

You wouldn't be able to find another photo frame like it, even if you searched all over town.  Lola's photo frame was handmade with love.  And that made it extra special.

THE END

Bedtime Story (5/12/2018)

As is tradition on this blog, I'll be writing some Christmas themed bedtime stories, this month!  However, before we get into the first one, I would like to make a small announcement.

For over three and a half years, I've been writing weekly bedtime stories.  These stories have been published here for free and there is now a full list of hundreds to share with the children in your life.  Whilst I've enjoyed creating these stories, it has, at times, been difficult to maintain a level of originality and to ensure that new stories are ready to go up each week.  Finding time to podcast the stories as well, in order to make them more accessible, has also been challenging, given that this blog is something I maintain as a hobby, alongside my day job, my YouTube channel, running an abuse-awareness campaign account on Twitter, being in charge of social media for the chorus I sing with and of course, practising for said chorus.  Add to that the fact that I would like to be writing more books and a wider range of blog posts and you might understand just how much effort goes into ensuring that the bedtime story feature goes live each week without fail.  

For these reasons, I have decided that, as of January 2019, the bedtime story feature will be going on an indefinite hiatus.  I'm referring to it as a "hiatus," rather than saying the feature will stop and never return, as I don't want to rule that out entirely.  However, for the foreseeable future, my goal is to find time to write more blog posts and to potentially begin working on a new book, whilst also trying to grow my YouTube channel and begin working to improve my directing skills (did I mention I'm also Assistant Director of the chorus I sing with?!).  With all of that taking priority, I don't see myself finding the time to keep up with the bedtime story feature, as the very last thing I want to do is to rush the process and create stories that are not up to the usual standard I pride myself on.

I'd like to thank everyone who has shared the weekly bedtime stories with the little ones in their lives, over the last almost four years.  The bedtime stories page will remain up on this blog and therefore the stories can still be enjoyed for years to come.  I also hope you will enjoy these last few, festive additions and that you'll continue to visit this blog, to see what I get up to next!

With that out of the way, let's get on with the story!  As usual, it's also available as a podcast.

"What Shall We Hang On The Christmas Tree?!"

The Christmas tree was standing tall,

Green and lush and proud.

Mum handed decorations to all;

Shiny baubles, gold and round.

But "what are these?" Young Florence asked,

Looking ready to make a fuss.

"These round things don't mean anything!

We should hang something special to us!"

Her brothers frowned and scratched their heads.

Whatever did young Flo mean?

"Our Christmas isn't baubles and stars," Flo said.

"It's a very different scene."

"We should hang excited faces,

Hardly able to sleep.

And piles of torn off wrapping paper,

Lying crumpled in a heap."

Her brothers gathered closer:

"We could make our own!" They cried.

"Pictures of what Christmas is to us;

Festive films, cocoa and mince pies!"

And so the family set to work,

creating decorations to hang.

Laughter rang out through the house,

As from each mind an idea sprang.

"I'll draw my cosy pyjamas,

I wear each year on Christmas Eve.

The ones with Santa's sleigh on the front,

And reindeer flying up the sleeves!"

"Then I'll draw Bobby at dinner,

refusing to eat any sprouts,"

Florence said with a giggle.

"Those Memories are what Christmas is about."

Her brothers laughed and nodded.

"I'll draw Dad with the Christmas lights,"

Bobby replied, with a chuckle.

"They always get into a fight!"

"Draw the dog chasing wrapping paper,"

Flo's brother, Ben, exclaimed.

"Or the photo of Dad eating turkey at midnight!

The one Mum printed out and had framed!"

They all sat around the table,

Sharing memories from Christmases past.

With each joyful memory they laughed and smiled,

Hardly believing that time flew so fast.

"Remember when Ben got a ping pong set

And the ball flew across the room?

It knocked over a flower pot

And Mum just laughed and gave Ben a broom!"

They thought back over presents

And family games they'd all played.

They remembered delicious Christmas dinners

At a table all festively laid.

Christmas cracker jokes that made them groan,

Cosy evenings with a warm, glowing fire.

The three children remembered it all

And their smiles grew wider and wider.

"This is what Christmas is all about,"

Flo said, "not baubles on a tree.

But memories shared and fun to be had,

With your best friends and your family."

And together they hung all their pictures

On the Christmas tree with pride.

Seeing all of their happy, festive memories

Made each of them feel warm inside.

"We'll add the baubles as well though,"

Flo said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Because decorating the tree together

Can be a memory we make this year."

It really was the prettiest tree;

Probably the family's best ever!

But better than any decoration

Was the joy of just being together.

THE END

Bedtime Story (28/11/2018)

Sometimes, I am guilty of being a bit needy and perhaps trying too hard to show people what they mean to me.  I think it's almost certainly because of situations I've found myself in, over the years, where someone I've wrongly thought of as my "best friend" has turned out to be anything but.  This story is all about friendship, love and letting someone know you care.  

If you would prefer to listen to this story, it is also available as a podcast.

Melanie's 'Best Friend' Mission

All weekend, Melanie had been up in her room, working on a top secret project.  She hadn't gone to play at the park with her older brothers.  She hadn't watched any of her favourite TV shows.  She was only interested in finishing what she was working on. 

Finally, on Monday morning, as Mum was getting everyone ready for school, Melanie emerged with her project completed.  In her hands, she held a rather misshapen scarf.  

"Remember when Nan said she was going to teach me to knit?"  Melanie beamed, holding the scarf up for approval.  "Well, I practised and practised and I've made Willow a scarf.  She always gets cold, this time of year and I wanted her to have something to keep her warm, because she's my best friend."

Nobody mentioned the holes in the scarf.  Nobody mentioned that it was wider at one end, or slightly frayed at the edges.  Everyone told Melanie what a lovely thing she'd done.

At school, Willow grinned when she saw the scarf.  "I can't believe you made this all by yourself," she exclaimed, wrapping it carefully around her neck.  "Thank you!"  

Willow wore the scarf at play time.  She and Melanie played together just as they always did.  But, as they walked back to the classroom, after the bell rang, Willow noticed that one end of the scarf was stuck in the zip of her coat.  Even though she tried her hardest to get it out gently, before long, the scarf began to unravel.  All of Melanie's hard work was undone.

"I'm so sorry," Willow sighed. 

Melanie shook her head.  "No, I'm sorry," she insisted.  "I didn't make it strong enough.  It wasn't very good."  She stared at her feet.  "I just wanted you to have something nice to keep you warm.  I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, but I couldn't even knit a simple scarf..."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but Melanie trudged away, taking her seat in the classroom without another word.

Their teacher handed out thread and some brightly coloured beads.  "We're going to practise threading and making patterns," she announced.  "You can make a necklace, a bracelet or anything you like, as long as you remember to stick to a pattern."

Melanie's eyes widened.  "I know how to make it up to you!"  She gasped, turning to Willow.  "I'll make you a necklace!  Then you'll know how special you are to me!" 

"You don't have to make it up to me," Willow insisted, but Melanie was already scooping up all the purple and green beads, because she knew those were Willow's favourite colours.  Willow smiled.  "Okay, well I'll make you a necklace and we can swap at the end."

For the rest of the lesson, the girls worked hard on their necklaces.  Just before lunchtime, their teacher told them it was time to finish up, so everyone began carefully tying knots in their thread.  Willow tied her thread and held up a pretty, pink and blue necklace.  "Here you are!"  She grinned.  

Melanie was struggling to tie her thread into a knot.  It kept slipping through her fingers, somehow.  The more she tried, the more flustered she became.  Before she knew what was happening, the thread slipped out of her grasp once more and the beads came sliding off, scattering all over the table.  "No!"  Melanie cried, clutching at the beads as they rolled away.  "I promised you a necklace," she whimpered, avoiding Willow's gaze.  

Willow held out the necklace she'd made.  "Do you want to wear the one I made you?"

"I don't deserve it," Melanie replied.  "I'm such a rubbish best friend.  All I wanted to do was show you how much you mean to me, but I can't, because I'm not good at anything."

"That's not true!"  Willow cried, but Melanie had already darted out of the classroom.

Willow finally caught up with Melanie in the hall, queuing up for lunch.  "Please don't be upset," she urged.  "You don't have to do anything special to prove that you're my friend."

"But you do so much for me," Melanie insisted.  "I just want to show you what it means to me."  She blinked suddenly, reading the dinner menu on the wall.  "I know!  They have strawberry mousse for pudding, today.  I can get one for you, it's your favourite!"

Willow frowned.  "But you don't like strawberry mousse," she reminded her.  "And I can just get my own.  You can get a pudding you do like!"

"But if I get a pudding I don't like and give it to you, you can have two!"  Melanie replied.  "And then you'll know that I really care about you and it'll make up for the scarf and the necklace."

Before Willow could stop her, Melanie had placed a strawberry mousse onto a tray and had handed over her dinner money.

"There!"  Melanie beamed.  "That's to show you that you're my best friend!"  She turned to carry her tray to a table, but didn't notice another child standing close by.  With a gasp, Melanie tripped, dropping her lunch tray onto the floor and sending its contents flying across the hall.

"Melanie!"  Willow shrieked.  "Are you alright?!"

Melanie's eyes streamed with tears.  "I just keep getting everything wrong!"  With a sob, she ran out of the hall.

It took Willow a while to find Melanie.  Eventually, she spotted her sitting, huddled beneath her coat, in the cloakroom outside their class.  "What are you doing here?"  She asked, sitting beside her.  "Come back and have some lunch.  You must be starving!"

"I dropped my lunch all over the floor, remember?"  Melanie sniffed.  

"You can share mine," Willow promised. 

Melanie shook her head.  "You're always doing nice things for me," she sighed.  "And I tried so hard to do something to show you how grateful I am and I just...  I make a mess, every time."

Willow smiled.  "I know you're grateful," she insisted.  "But I'm not your friend just so that you'll feel like you have to do nice things for me, you know.  I don't expect you to make presents for me, or go without pudding just so that I can have two!"

"But I just want you to know how much you mean to me," Melanie replied.  "I want you to know that you're my best friend."

Willow chuckled and placed an arm around Melanie's shoulders.  "I do know," she told her.  "And it's not because of anything you buy or make me.  I know I mean something to you because you make time for me.  You listen to me when I'm sad.  You help me whenever I need it.  You always think of me and you want to do nice things for me.  I know I'm your best friend, because you're mine.  That's much more important than any present or extra pudding could ever be!"

"Am I really?"  Melanie asked, managing a smile.  "Even though I'm clumsy and silly and I made a scene in the hall just now?!"

Willow grinned back at her.  "Always," she promised.  "Those things are just part of who you are and I love everything that makes you you."

Melanie flung her arms around Willow's neck.  "Are you sure you don't want me to buy you another strawberry mousse?!"

Willow laughed.  "I'm more than sure," she insisted.  "You know what I do want, though?"

Melanie shook her head.

"I want my best friend to come back and have lunch with me.  And I want her to promise that she won't ever think I need her to do anything to prove herself to me, again."

Melanie smiled.  "I think I can manage that."

And with that, two best friends walked back to the hall, to share a lunch together.

THE END

Bedtime Story (21/11/2018)

I'm a firm believer in the BEST things in life being the things that money CAN'T buy.  So, this story is my way of sharing that message.

To listen to this story as a podcast, click here.

"I Wish I was RICH!"

"You should make a wish," Jasmine declared,

As the candles were blown and the birthday cake shared.

Her brother, Harry, yelled at an ear-splitting pitch:

"I wish that I was incredibly rich!"

Jasmine's face looked rather confused.

"Is that really your wish?!" She asked, unamused.

"You could wish for something magic or funny.

I think it's boring to only wish for more money!"

Harry shrugged.  "But money buys things!

Just think of the fun stuff my millions could bring.

I'd buy toys and games and endless sweets.

We'd have day after day of incredible treats!"

"That doesn't sound special," Jasmine insisted.

She gazed at the presents Harry had been gifted.

"Having new stuff is a treat now and then.

You don't need new toys, again and again!"

"If you buy yourself presents every day,

It won't be so special when it's your birthday.

And when you get a treat you've saved up for,

It somehow makes it feel worth so much more."

Harry stuck out his lip, he groaned and he frowned.

He'd heard that money made the whole world go round!

"But if I'm rich, I can have whatever I like;

The latest computer, or a really cool bike."

"I'd fly around in my own private jet.

Everyone would be so jealous, I bet!"

Harry let out a long, dreamy sigh.

"Just tell me ONE thing that money can't buy!"

"I'll tell you loads," Jasmine said, happily.

"Money can't buy you a family!

It can't buy you love or friendship or health.

Some things are much more important than wealth."

"Money can't read you a bedtime story,

Or protect you if a spooky film gets too gory.

Toys and games are good fun to play,

But they won't kiss you goodnight at the end of the day."

"The best things in life can't always be bought,

Like laughter or memories," came Jasmine's retort.

"If you want to wish for money, I can't make you stop,

But you can't buy happiness in ANY shop."

Harry sat and he thought long and hard.

He gazed at all his presents and cards.

It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

The smile on his face was one he couldn't hide.

"You're right," he said. "My life's too good to switch,

I've got all I need; I don't need to be rich.

I've got family and friends.  I should listen to you!

All my birthday wishes have already come true."

THE END

I'm Getting CRAFTY!

I won't lie to you, dear reader.  My Inktober/Blogtober challenge was exactly that: a challenge.  Writing a blog every day for a month was in many ways a really wonderful experience; it made me rediscover my passion for writing and it forced me to write about different things, taking me out of my comfort zone.  But it was also exhausting.  For the first couple of weeks of November, all I wanted to do was avoid writing, completely.

The trouble with avoiding something is that it's never a permanent solution.  You have to face whatever it is you're hiding from, eventually.  And for me, what I was really shying away from was the fact that for a month, I'd had prompt words to help me write something new every day.  I didn't have to think overly hard about a writing topic, because the words usually led to one pretty easily.  That was a huge bonus for me, because anyone who writes will, at some point in their life, experience the dreaded WRITER'S BLOCK.

Indeed, that's exactly what I started suffering with, the second November began and I knew that anything I wrote here had to come from me and not from a handy list of prompt words.

And that's where my friend Rachel stepped in.

There she is.  She's the one that isn't me.  Obviously.

Rach sent me not one, not two, but three sets of writing prompts I could use for future blogs, should I find myself struggling.  Today, I decided the time was right to do some blogging, so I opened up one of the prompt lists and stumbled upon the question:

"Have you ever given someone a handmade present?"

The short answer is "yes."  From little things I made at school as a child, to bits and bobs I cobbled together as a young adult who was (and, to be fair, still is as a middle-aged woman) always broke this time of year, there have been many times when I've handed someone a gift that I'd made, myself.

The trouble is, I am bad at craft.  Like...  Really bad.  If you've watched my most recent YouTube video, or you've ever stumbled upon the drunk craft channel I co-run with my wonderful friend Lesley, you'll know just how bad I am.

Sometimes, I'm bad at something and my failure to be any good at it causes me to loathe the activity completely.  See: any form of mathematical equation.  But now and then, I am rubbish at something and yet still enjoy it.  See: Bowling.  And also craft.

This year, I decided that I wanted to make something for someone.  I can't elaborate much further, just in case said someone decides to click on this blog and guesses what it is I've been working on, but suffice to say, seeing as I'm someone who is distinctly un-crafty, the task I set myself was quite a big one.  For someone with the ability to thread a needle without poking themselves in the hand, it would probably be nothing at all, but for me, it was no mean feat.

Just going out and buying the things I'd need was a big deal.  I mean, I don't do crafty stuff.  I didn't really know what I needed.  And once I'd gotten the materials home, there was a point at which I sat on my bed, staring at it all, wondering why on Earth I'd decided to try something so far out of my comfort zone.

Then I remembered what I wanted to make and why.  I had already bought Christmas presents for the recipient of my crafty endeavour, but I wanted to give them something I'd taken time over.  Something that really was from me.

I did it.  I persevered at something that I found difficult and although the end result isn't the best thing ever, it's something I'm proud of.  I look at it now (obviously it won't be given away as a present for a few weeks, yet...) and I see mistakes and areas where I needed to slow down and take more care, but I also see a finished product that I never really thought I could achieve.  It means a lot to me that I stuck at it and created something that I think is nice.

The thing is, now it's given me the craft bug.  

This morning, I've painted an object with acrylic paint, ready to turn it into... SOMETHING ELSE.  It's a top secret project (yet again) and I'm getting very excited about seeing this one through, just like my last crafty mission.  Taking bare bones and raw materials and turning them into something pretty, useful or interesting is, as it turns out, an awful lot of fun.  Plus, I get to use a GLUE GUN.  It's win-win.

The things I make might not win any awards for their brilliance.  I certainly couldn't sell them, anywhere.  I'm under no illusion that I'm suddenly incredibly gifted in this particular area.  But I'm learning all the time and I'm having an absolute blast doing it.  There are now bigger, trickier things I want to try, like learning to knit, or making my own jewellery.  I'll probably suck at both, but you know what?  I'll have fun giving it a go, anyway.

And on that note, I ought to go and see if that paint is dry, yet.  I have important, crafty things to do...

Bedtime Story (14/11/2018)

This story is an homage to some of the children's books I read at work with the young ones I teach.  It's also a good excuse to write about cake...

This story is, as always, also available as a podcast.

Jasper And The Birthday Cake

Jasper's mum's birthday cakes were legendary.  She made the moistest sponge.  She whipped up the fluffiest frosting.  She created cakes of all shapes and sizes, with all kinds of delicious flavours.  Everyone in the village knew that if they wanted a birthday cake made, Jasper's mum was the person to go to.

So, when it came to Jasper's mum's birthday, Jasper was worried.  Who was going to make her cake?!

Jasper got out of bed bright and early.  He dashed into his mum's room and handed her a card and present.  He gave her a big, birthday hug and then, before Mum had time to thank him, he announced: "I'm just popping out to see Gran and Grandad!"  And with that, he darted out of the house.

Gran and Grandad were a little surprised to see Jasper, considering the early hour.  But Jasper had an important plan and he needed their help: together, they were going to bake Mum the best birthday cake ever.

It wasn't easy.  Jasper wasn't sure his arms were strong enough to stir the cake mix properly.  It didn't look as smooth and creamy as when Mum made it.  

Whilst the cake was cooking in the oven, Grandad tried to show Jasper how to whip up the frosting, but no matter how hard Jasper tried, his frosting looked much grainier than Mum's.

When the cake was cooked, Gran took it out of the oven and Jasper pulled a face.  It wasn't perfectly shaped like Mum's were; the top was wonky and there were dents in the sides, where Jasper had put too much baking parchment into the tin.  Then, when he added the frosting, he couldn't help but think it looked much lumpier and messier than Mum's ever did.

Still, Jasper used an icing pen to write "happy birthday Mum!" on the top of the cake in large, slightly wobbly letters.  And even though the cake didn't look perfect, Jasper had to admit that the smell was delicious.

"Come on," Jasper called to his grandparents.  "Now we have to take this cake back to show Mum!"

Jasper set off, with Gran and Grandad close behind.  They hadn't gotten far, when Mr Terrance, the old man whose retirement cake Mum had made a few years before, noticed them and headed over to see what was going on.  He could smell the delicious scent of the cake and decided to follow Jasper and his grandparents, in the hope of getting a slice.

They rounded the corner and headed onto the high street, Jasper leading the way, with Gran and Grandad and Mr Terrance following behind.

As they walked past the corner shop, Mum's friend Betty spotted the cake.  It smelled so good, she thought she might like to try it, too.  And so she followed on behind.

Outside the salon, Mum's hairdresser, Cassie, was just about to open up for the day.  She spotted Jasper, carrying the birthday cake, with Gran, Grandad, Mr Terrance and Betty all following behind.  She sniffed the air and smiled.  Perhaps she could just follow them and see if there was a spare slice for her...

Jasper, Gran, Grandad, Mr Terrance, Betty and Cassie headed down the street and stopped at the traffic lights.  There, Frank the policeman, who'd once helped find Mum's missing purse, was just on his way home from a long shift.  He hadn't had any breakfast yet and the cake had such a lovely smell, it made him hungry.  He decided he'd best follow everyone, just to be sure they were safe, of course...

Crossing the road, Jasper walked past the park, with Gran, Grandad, Mr Terrance, Betty, Cassie and Frank the policeman all following behind.  In the park, Mum's friend Anne was walking her dog, Buster.  Buster tugged on his lead, wanting to know where everyone was going.  Anne chuckled to herself, as she joined the procession of people, walking down the street.

On the corner of Jasper's road, Jasper's best friend Tom was playing on his scooter.  He blinked in surprise when he saw everyone pass by.  Tucking his scooter under his arm, he decided to join them.

And so, Jasper, Gran, Grandad, Mr Terrance, Betty, Cassie, Frank the policeman, Anne, Buster the dog and Tom all arrived back at Jasper's house.  Mum was waiting by the front door.  "Oh!"  She gasped, as she saw everyone.

"I made you a cake," Jasper explained, not noticing the commotion behind him. "But it's not as good as the ones you make."

Mum shook her head.  "You brought everyone with you to share it!"  She exclaimed.  "All my friends and family!"

Jasper frowned and finally glanced behind, laughing as he saw everyone waiting for a slice of his cake.  "I...  Well...  Yes, I suppose I did!"

Mum grinned.  "Anyway, the best birthday cakes are the ones made with love.  Shall we have a slice?!"

"YES!"  Cried Jasper, Gran, Grandad, Mr Terrance, Betty, Cassie, Frank the policeman, Anne and Tom.  "WOOF!"  Barked Buster the dog.

And they all went inside, to eat a very special birthday cake, that may not have looked perfect, but tasted just right.

THE END

Bedtime Story (7/11/2018)

Being a proud military brat, I can never let Remembrance Day go by without marking it somehow.  As this is the closest bedtime story before the 11th, I wanted to write a poem in tribute.  Today is also the day that my closest friend's poppy exhibition opens to the public at Cornwall's Regimental Museum (I am so, so proud of her!), so this subject just feels very appropriate.

You can also listen to this story as a podcast.

"Why Are They Wearing Flowers?"

Everyone was walking ever so slowly,

In their coats, their hats and their scarves.

Hardly a sound was made as they walked,

Just the birds and the passing cars.

"Why are they wearing flowers?" Asked Sam,

As she clutched on to her mother's hand.

"Those red flowers are ever so pretty, Mum,

But what do they mean?  I don't understand."

"To remember all of the soldiers," Mum said,

"Who never came home from war.

To give thanks to those who fought for freedom.

That's what the flowers are for."

"Where do the flowers come from?" Sam asked.

"And why did they choose one that's red?

Everyone looks serious and sad,"

Sam added, with a shake of her head.

"The red poppy grew in the fields," said Mum,

"After terrible battles took place.

It sprung up, new and beautiful;

Hope in a cold, tragic place."

"Now, these little paper flowers

Can be bought for just a few pence.

And the money we use to buy them,

Goes to good causes, which makes perfect sense!"

"The Royal British Legion

Looks after service folk, young and old.

They help people in all kinds of ways

With the money from each poppy sold."

"The world would be a different place,

If past conflicts had not been won.

So, by wearing poppies we thank the soldiers

And remember them - every one."

Sam nodded her head. "I understand.

Those flowers mean more than I guessed."

And with respect and gratitude,

She pinned one to her chest.

THE END

Inktober/Blogtober Crossover: Day 31

I can't quite believe I've stuck to this whole "blogging every day for a month" thing, but here we are on the final day of my Inktober/Blogtober challenge and that's exactly what I've managed to do.  Somehow...

The final word is "slice," which could only mean one thing, in my greedy, greedy brain: PIZZA.

If I were to compile a list of favourite foods (please don't make me, it would be much too hard), pizza would have to be somewhere near the top.  It's a near-perfect food in so many ways.  

For a start, it can be adapted to suit almost any taste: you choose your toppings and you can remove anything you don't like before you even make the order.  Want a pizza with lots of veggies on and no meat?  Go for it.  Want a pizza with extra tomato sauce?  That's fine.  Want a pizza with no cheese at all?  It's perfectly doable.

Secondly, it's an ideal food to share, making it a fabulously social meal.  

It's also quick and easy.  Pizza dough isn't especially hard to whip up, if you fancy having a go at it from scratch, but equally, readymade pizza bases are available if you only want to worry about toppings.  And if you're really stuck for time, fresh or frozen pizzas already made up can be found in any supermarket, to be popped in the oven at home, where they cook in no time at all.

If you're lucky enough to live near a pizza place that delivers, there's even less work to be done - just call or go online and order whatever it is you fancy.  There's something deliciously decadent about eating pizza straight out of the box, too.

It's also one of those meals that's versatile to everyone's eating habits.  If you want to pick it up with your fingers, go for it.  If you'd rather have a knife and fork, that works, too.

From stuffed crusts to thin, crispy bases, the humble pizza can be adapted and changed to suit almost anyone.  It's also often the food that accompanies nights in with friends, a quick and easy treat at dinnertime or the need to mope on the sofa for an evening.  

It's a food that can do basically anything.  And for that reason, it will always hold a special place in my exceptionally greedy heart.

Bedtime Story (31/10/2018)

How could I post a story on this date and NOT have it be about Halloween?!  This is all about the REALLY scary things in life...

To listen to this story as a podcast, click here.

What I'm REALLY Scared Of...

It's Halloween and everyone 

Is dressing up as something scary.

But I'm not scared of monsters

That are big, angry and hairy!

The things that really frighten me

Are worse than any ghost that could appear.

So here's a list of all the things

That I actually fear...

Being called to see the headmaster,

When you know he'll be cross with you.

A really difficult maths test,

When you just don't know what to do.

Missing the final step or two,

When you're walking down the stairs.

Having the same school bag as someone else

And accidentally taking home theirs.

Falling out with my best friend,

Or forgetting my school lunch money.

Telling a joke in front of my class

And nobody finding it funny.

Standing on stage to sing a song

And forgetting all of the words.

Having a root canal at the dentists 

- Because my brother says that hurts!

Forgetting my PE kit

And having to do it in my undies.

Being told to be silent somewhere important

Then doing a massive sneeze.

Jumping off the highest board

At my local swimming pool.

Trying to impress someone

And looking like a fool.

Being chased down the street

By an angry, buzzing wasp.

Being in a go-kart

And not knowing how to stop!

Standing in something wet and gross

When I'm walking with bare feet.

Getting lost in the supermarket,

Because I'm too busy looking at sweets.

All these things scare me,

But I still don't hide away.

I go out there and face my fears

Every single day.

And I'm sure you'll understand,

Now you've read of phobias like these,

Why meeting a monster or a ghost

Would frankly be a breeze!

THE END