Little things make a big difference and a Sports Direct haul

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For a home improvement blog we haven't been doing much in the way of DIY recently. But we have done a couple of jobs that have been lingering on our 'to-do' list for years. Yes, that's right. Years.
We 'finished' the bungalow about three years ago - completing bits and pieces after we moved in. I think we even went a few months without a bathroom door but eventually the most important bits got finished and all the doors were hung... Except one.
The back bedroom, aka the junk room, aka the future nursery, had a door waiting to go on. I'd painted a base coat on one side but then I accidentally dropped it on it on the edge of a radiator and gouged a massive hole in it. SBB repaired it but I never got round to painting it. And so it sat, resting against the wall for 3 years. We didn't really mind that there wasn't a door on the back bedroom - plus Cillian enjoyed running in there and hiding under the bed when we weren't looking.
Then, last weekend when SBB decided that the door had been sat unused for far too long and decided to hang it. And here it is...!

Okay, it's not a very attractive door I'll grant you but it feels like we've finally got a complete house.
Another job that's been nagging at me was wardrobe storage. Years ago I bought a wrapping paper storage bag that is designed to hang on a hook on the back of a cupboard door. I'd intended to hang it in my wardrobe on a dowel rod and had even had it specially made in yellow and white fabric to match our bedroom. I'd told my dad about it and he very sweetly made four shaped blocks with holes pre-drilled to insert the dowel into.
Then, I'm ashamed to say, they sat, unused, on my dressing table for... ooh... probably about 2.5 years. But I've finally fitted them! Completely on my own too - SBB was out and I measured, I cut (slicing up my thumb nail in the process. Doh!) and I even used a level to make sure everything was square. It was the dirtiest level SBB owns (it lives in the garden and was covered in mud and spiderwebs) because he'd taken the key for his toolbox with him - but I was not deterred.
I was so happy to get them up - although I did forget to use the level when I attached the last one so it was a little wonky. Whoops.
But here they are, and I can't help smiling every time I open my wardrobe now.

Finally - just because I'm so chuffed - I'm going to share a clothing haul. SBB's Gran and Grandad always get me a M&S voucher for my birthday and sometimes for Christmas which is great because I only tend to shop there when I have a voucher.
This time I had a bit left on a old gift card and then this year's birthday voucher. I wanted to buy a new swimming costume as the last one I'd bought (also an M&S purchase) had been worn to death but when I got there they had the smallest section of swimwear I've ever seen and no basic, 'normal' costumes. For shame, M&S. For shame. The only option for me was the bandeau costumes which, for the bustier woman, were downright indecent. So that was a no. I left with a new pair of work trousers, three t-shirts (two white and one purple), a pair of white linen shorts and a birdhouse. I know the birdhouse seems a little random but I didn't want to leave anything on the gift cards and couldn't really find anything else I wanted - and who doesn't want to encourage birds to nest in their garden?

So, when I came home I went online in search of a new swimming costume. I just wanted a basic costume and I knew I'd seen some in Sports Direct so I headed to their website. I found some. I bought some. One for £3 and one for £4. That's right. £7 for TWO swimming costumes. Awesome. While I was there I decided to have a little browse of the rest of the sale and this is what I got:
2x swimming costumes
2x basic t-shirts
1x three-quarter length sleeve 'baseball' shirt
2x bikini bottoms
1x basic white vests
1x green vest
1x pair jeans
...all for the price of one M&S swimming costume. I was a little bit chuffed.

You can see my little spree in the picture below (although it doesn't include one of my white M&S t-shirts or the purple one as they're in the wash)

Have you recently bagged yourself a bargain?

These boots were made for planting

Flowers are growing quite happily in our garden (so are the weeds, but that's another story) and the bumble bees are really loving the lavenders I've bought, which is lovely.

There's been something I've wanted to try for a while; putting flowers in boots. My mother-in-law, who (as the daughter of a gardener) has a lovely one in her garden that I've been quite envious of, so when I noticed that SBB had left a pair of his old work boots in the garden over the winter, I knew my chance had come. I casually asked him one day what he was planning on doing with them.
"Nothing," he answered, "I thought you'd like to plant something in them."
"Really?" I asked, delighted. "How could you tell?"
He smiled. "Because I know you."
It's true, he does, and the fact that he thought of me and purposely kept them for me is lovely.

We were in B&Q, looking at plants. I was looking for something that would be okay in the pot and I'd been looking for a few minutes before I remembered I know NOTHING about plants. Nothing. SBB suggested just talking to his mum and asking her advice. I agreed and then I saw them. Geraniums. We shared a look and identical smiles. You might be thinking that we're a bit crazy so at this point I'm going to mention that we're fans of The Dubliners. In order to get the reference (and the joke) check out Seven Drunken Nights, by The Dubliners.
It had to be done.

There's a Headcrab in my garden

I made an odd discovery in our garden recently and I'm not sure what it is but it reminds me uncomfortably of a Headcrab (from Half-Life) or the red and black thing that chases Chris Pine in Star Trek. If anyone has any clue what it is, please let me know - it'd be nice to know that an alien species isn't hatching in my garden.

Creepy, isn't it?

Butterflies have been abundant and I've been trying to snap pictures of them when I can.

We've also got a new blackbird in our garden. We already have one blackbird that lives in our hedge and makes a next every year - he's rather friendly and is perfectly happy to come and sit near our feet when we're digging anything up in the garden. I've named him Benji.
But when we were last out in the garden we noticed a different blackbird - it may be Benji's son, we're not sure. He looks a little raggedy (possibly due to still losing his baby feathers?) so I've called him Scrappy Toots.

He's quite friendly, though, and came all the way up to my foot but I didn't want to get my phone out to take a picture in case it scared him away.
 

SBB has cleared along the back hedge, creating a tunnel in the foliage which looks rather magical, I think.

 

Working in the garden

Well it turns out that God does indeed move in mysterious ways. In my last post I was feeling a little depressed about the state of things then, barely 48 hours later, I was struck down by a stomach bug that my sister-in-law thoughtfully brought down with her for our Bank Holiday family get-together. I lost about 9lbs in four days. I couldn't eat anything. It was awful and I'm not sure I've ever been so ill.
All I could think was how lucky it was that I wasn't pregnant and therefore didn't have to worry about anything other than being ill.
See? Mysterious ways.
SBB and I have been working in the garden. I had to tackle the front garden because, frankly, it was looking like someone had lost a game of Jumanji out there.
Then I turned my attention to the hedge bed which is currently edged with stone but I have plans to bed in some grey bricks that SBB rescued from being thrown in a skip. The webbing also has some weeds and brambles growing up through it so I'm going to replace that too.

SBB has been working in the back garden, putting a path in alongside the finished patio and digging out the garden path to our driveway which we've been working on (I'll post pictures later)

Happily, the sunshine and warm weather has brought out the flowers - and the bees!

Pre-pregnancy - 7 months in

We're just entering our seventh month of TTC - or 'Trying To Conceive'. I've joined up to a couple of forums to chat with other women who are trying to get pregnant and that's about the only acronym I can remember... and I've still no idea what 'evap' is.

There seem to be babies everywhere - even on the Audi advert at the cinema. We turn on the TV and we have recordings of Jane the Virgin. Laura Diamond thinks she's pregnant. We decided to try to finish off the Friends DVDs and realised that we're watching the series where Emma's just been born and Monica and Chandler are trying for a baby. And if you've read the latest Harry Dresden? Well, you'll know.

I also seem to be at the age where all the women I went to school with are either pregnant or have just had babies.

Last year after my sister-in-law got pregnant she told us that they'd decided she'd come off the pill and they'd 'just see what happened' - you know, oh-so-casually. I usually have the Jeremy Kyle show on while I'm cooking and, as you'll know if you've ever watched it, it seems the contestants (yes, I call them 'contestants') just need to message someone on Facebook and they get pregnant. There was a girl on there the other day - she'd been with her boyfriend for nine weeks... and she was nine weeks pregnant.

It seems to be so easy for everyone else.

Realistically, I know that it takes time - about 6 -12 months for the average couple - and that in the grand scheme of things, compared to some couples that try for years, 7 months isn't a great amount of time. But the frustration is starting to set in.

Also, if you've ever read online articles on how to get pregnant, the information is confusing. I've read baby/pregnancy-related sites that say the only time to try is around the time of ovulation (and if you miss that 48 hour window, you're stuffed) and I've read the NHS website that said a woman could get pregnant at any time of the cycle - which is always what I was taught growing up. My mother used to tell me that my reproductive system was always trying to get pregnant, working against me at every turn, so I'd sort of assumed that when I came off the pill last year that getting pregnant would be pretty quick. If I'd have known then what I now know about the process I'd have come off the pill much earlier.

The other part of the frustration is not knowing what's going on. I've thought I might be pregnant a couple of times but the tests were always negative (obviously, otherwise this would a less frustrated post!). To SBB I've likened the process to being blindfolded and being asked to throw a dart. At a moving board. In the dark. Whilst you yourself are being spun in the opposite direction to the board.

Luckily, SBB is remaining quite positive and supportive but I know he's starting to feel left behind too. He's a great believer in things happening for a reason, and usually I am too, but I'm also impatient - I want to know what the reason is and what sort of timescale we're looking at!

So long, Cardiff, and thanks for all the stress...

We headed over to Cardiff last weekend to see the Paper Aeroplanes live. I'd bought the tickets months ago and had been looking forward to it... however the experience didn't quite meet my expectations.

We'd really been looking forward to a relaxing weekend - the plan was to arrive in Cardiff, head over to Bravissimo so I could pick up a new sports bra and mooch around the city a bit, then go to the Doctor Who Experience, grab some dinner and go to the gig. Then mosey on home on Sunday. Easy breezy, right?

What's going on? Where's my stuff?

Your activity is suspicious. I'm not happy about it.

Where'd the stairs go?

We dropped off the bunnies at their 'Granny's' on Friday night. They seemed to sense that something was going on and they weren't happy about it. Usually an independent little miss, Pancho suddenly became clingy and wanted a cuddle which lasted twenty minutes before she started fidgeting and when we dropped them off she was quiet and wouldn't leave the cage. I also forgot their vegetables which made me feel terrible. Saturday we were up bright and early and packed up the car to catch a ferry at 9:30am.

This, as it turned out, was our first mistake. Traffic delays and road works meant it took us nearly forty minutes just to get out of Southampton. Then, after joining the A34, we were in a line of traffic in the left-hand lane. We were going uphill, behind a car and a lorry. Even though it had taken longer to get out of Southampton than planned we weren't in any particular hurry so we were happy following behind the lorry, someone else, however, had other ideas. From behind us came an unmarked white lorry and I watched as its front grill got larger and larger in the wing mirror as it came intimidatingly close to our rear bumper. Then it pulled out into the right-hand lane and tried to overtake but only came in line with our rear passenger doors as the hill got steeper and then the driver had to drop back. He stayed in the right-hand lane and began blaring his horn repeatedly. At this point SBB and I were wondering what the hell was going on. A line of cars had built up behind the lorry and eventually he pulled back into the left-hand lane, still blaring his horn and gesticulating wildly, and rudely. SBB and I were left asking ourselves, repeatedly, 'what the hell?'. Just what was he trying to do and what was he expecting US to do? We knew he was completely in the wrong but we debated the situation repeatedly in our annoyance and in doing so missed our exit for the M4. We took a detour past Wantage, which added about forty minutes to our journey but the pretty route did wonders to calm us down and we'd pretty much forgotten about the lorry driver by the time we got onto the M4.

We stopped off for lunch at Burger King (where else?) and picked up some Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Since discovering the stands I think we may end up planning our future journeys via Moto service stations from now on! Checking the time I realised that we needed to get a move on if we were going to make our booking for the Doctor Who Experience. I typed it into our sat nav and my stomach dropped through the floor when it told me that our expected arrival time was 3:45. Our entry time was booked between 3 and 3:30 pm. However, as we drove I noticed our sat nav was trying to take us off the M4 to loop back the way we came and then head north - completely the wrong direction - so we ignored it and just headed for Cardiff and arrived in the city at about 14:50 - plenty of time to get there.

Or so we thought.

I knew we needed to head for Cardiff Bay but our sat nav didn't recognise it as a place so we tried just following the brown signs and ended up going round in circles. I typed in the post code on the ticket and it took us to a military base. We tried following the route I'd printed off from Google maps and ended up in a residential area, with no idea where we were. I've never had a phone with internet connection before, so it wasn't until this point that it occurred to me to check the website for other direction instructions. It had two postcodes for entering into sat navs - we'd already tried the first one so I put in the second one and this, thankfully, took us to a car park near Cardiff Bay.

I've made it sound relatively simple, but it wasn't. It was stressful. Really stressful and all the time we were getting stuck in traffic or sent down wrong roads or roads that had no thoroughfare, our time slot was whittling down. SBB was annoyed by the road signs, or lack thereof, and I was really surprised that NOWHERE was there any sign for the Experience until we got to Cardiff Bay - surely this is a big tourist attraction that should be signposted before the actual place is visible? I almost broke down in tears several times, worried that we'd miss out and waste tickets that I'd already paid for.

We parked the car and then zig-zagged through the dawdling crowds in the Bay towards the Doctor Who hangar. We arrived at 3:33pm to find a sign outside the front door which said the last tour was at 3:30 and the experience was now closed.

We went in anyway and the girl behind the desk told me that we'd missed the tour. I explained what had happened and another of the workers went to see how far along the tour was and if we could catch up. The worker came back and told me we could go in but we'd missed the first few minutes of the interactive experience. I told them it didn't matter; I'd rather see something instead of nothing. Plus, the tickets are non-refundable if you miss your slot, so it wasn't like we could come back the next day. We joined the tour, calmed our racing hearts and settled in to enjoy the interactive experience.

Out of the interactive experience, we went into the exhibition hall where there were plenty of photo opportunities and a photo souvenir if you've got a fiver!

 

We went upstairs to see reproductions of the Doctor Who monsters and, whilst trying to balance for a photo with a Cyberman, my legs collapsed underneath me and I fell onto the exhibit. Admittedly, it was just onto the step in front of the Cyberman and I wasn't close to touching anything important, but still.
I fell.
Oh, the embarrassment. Then, when I tried to brace my foot back against the step I'd just fallen onto, I got told off for touching the exhibit. Suitably chastened, I gave up on getting the photo.

The Cyberman with the hand out is the place of my shame...

 As we were the last tour the employees followed behind us, silently ushering us out. It was understandable - it was the end of the day, after all, but I couldn't help feeling a little rushed. I joked to SBB it was like being stalked by Weeping Angels; every time I turned round, one of them was standing closer.

Eventually, after a quick trip to the gift shop, we headed back to the car feeling a bit more relaxed and happy that we'd been successfully to the Experience. Then we set off for the hotel and hit a horrendous traffic jam. SBB even looked at me and told me he just wanted to go home. I agreed with him and if I hadn't already paid for the tickets and the room, we might have done. We were sat in the same position for half an hour, watching the traffic lights a few cars ahead of us turn green, then amber, then red. Over and over again. Around us, other lanes were moving, but not ours. Eventually the light turned green again and we started to move! We'd just got through the lights when the car in front of us stopped. In a yellow hatched area. And we were stuck behind them, across another road but there was nothing for it. We were stuck. I commented to SBB that we'd just have to wait and he said,

"Yes, but if someone wants to come down that road, I'll have to move."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a car pulled up, indicating to go down the road we were blocking. SBB tried to pull forward, to create space for the car to get behind us but the people in the car in front of us started yelling at us out the window, even though they could see the car trying to get past us, who was now yelling and honking his horn. Exasperated, SBB turned into the road.
At least, we thought it was a road.
Despite no signs to advertise the fact, it turned out to be an entrance to an underground John Lewis carpark but, having realised our mistake, there was nowhere for us to go but inside. With sinking hearts, we saw the queue of cars waiting to get out, which looped down the exit ramp and all the way round the carpark. We joined the end of the queue. We crawled forward a couple of inches and I realised that we would have to pay before heading to the exit. I took the ticket to the machine and put it in. We'd only been in there seven minutes, hadn't even parked and it charged me £2. £2 for taking a wrong turn. We sat in the same place for twenty minutes before it occurred to me that we were within walking distance of the hotel and we could have just parked the car there overnight - but it was too late. I'd already paid for the ticket. Forty minutes later, we were on the way out. There were two barriers - luckily we were in the one that was moving. The other one had someone sat at the barrier, trying to put the ticket into the machine but they obviously hadn't paid as the passenger got out and ran towards the payment machines. That was a lucky escape for us but it did little to lift our spirits.

If that's what the traffic is like every weekend it's a wonder that anyone goes there in their car.

We eventually got to the carpark I'd picked out near the hotel and walked through the main high street towards the hotel - ML Lodge. I wasn't expecting great things - the place doesn't even have a reception, you have to check in at the Sandringham across the street. The room was basic but seemed clean, if a little worn. The bathroom, too, was clean although the shower door had been removed and they'd braced a shower pole across the room to the middle of the window so you couldn't close the curtain, which was a little bizarre.

Stinky plug hole in the bathroom floor

Brilliant place for a curtain pole

We were very pleased to see two bottles of water waiting in the room. SBB and I are never without water - particularly in the night and, although most bathroom taps in hotels are classed as 'drinking water', they don't always taste great so these bottles were a welcome sight!

View from the window

View from the window

Having dumped our bags we wandered out into the street to find somewhere to eat. Litter piled up against walls and blew across the street, catching against our shoes as we walked. Homeless huddled in doorways and shrunken old women hawked flowers to passersby. The loud screeches and shouts of rowdy drunken stag and hen parties assaulted us from all sides. It was about five thirty.


We came across a restaurant called The Meating Place. They were fully booked but said if we could be out by 8:15 then we could have a table. The gig started at 8pm, so that was no problem.

The serving staff were lovely and the menu looked very tasty. A couple of vegetarian dishes caught my eye but, as I said to SBB, if you come to a restaurant called The Meating Place, it'd be rude not to eat meat, right? So, meat it was!

The menu

At the table

SBB had the steak and I had a chicken hanging skewer, mainly because I was interested about what made it 'hanging'. We'd been sat there a few minutes when I noticed the table next to us had a huge metal skewer of meat pieces hanging from a hook above the table. I pointed it out to SBB.

"Oh no," he said. "Is that what you're having? You're going to stab yourself with it, aren't you."

Oh ye of little faith.

The skewer

The plate (chunky chips in the metal cup)

After eating we headed over to Clwb Ifor Bach for the gig and took up our customary spot - at the back, against the wall, out of the way - expecting to quietly enjoy the music.

The warm-up act was Ellie Makes Music - I'd never heard of her before but was pleasantly surprised that such a strong singing voice came from such a petite girl! I really enjoyed her set and I'll be looking up more of her music.

Towards the end of her set a young woman who looked like a blonde Fake Monica turned up and joined a group of her friends who were already there and started to tell them, loudly, about her journey to the gig. The group also started moving backwards until one of them was stood so close to the woman next to me that she had to turn her head away to keep her nose out of the other's hair! I commiserated and suggested that she should have a coughing fit, at which she smiled ruefully. Eventually the group moved to the bar and the woman next to me, and her boyfriend, moved forward in anticipation of the main act.

Another group of young women came to stand next to me and one particularly rotund masculine woman came to stand in front of me, so close that her hip was against my arm. Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed her look me up and down before she put her hand against the wall next to my head, brushing against my ear and resting her arm millimeters over my shoulder. At this point I was wondering what the deal was with the Welsh and personal space.
Luckily they moved away before I had to say anything.

At some point another group came to stand on the other side of us and started a conversation which lasted through the intermission and well into the Paper Aeroplanes' set. A lady stood near me eventually went over and said,

"Excuse me, do you mind taking your conversation elsewhere? You're spoiling it for the rest of us."

They looked at her like she was a piece of dirt on their shoes and her husband stood between them until they got fed up and went to the bar. We enjoyed several songs without the unwelcome disturbance until they came back and started talking again. It didn't matter what sort of song was playing - upbeat or slow and quiet - they kept talking. I listened to half an hour of their conversation before I went over and said,

"Excuse me guys, but all I can hear is you talking. Could you keep it down?"

"Or you could go stand over there," the woman told me, holding her arm out in front of my face.

They did stop talking, for about a minute, but then started up again. I think they ended up going to the bar but that left us in peace for only three songs before the end of the gig.

SBB did suggest moving but I liked our spot - apart from the inconsiderate people - and it was the principle! I didn't want to reward their rudeness. I wanted to argue with them, to tell them that such a gig may be a normal weekly occurrence for them - perhaps they went there every weekend - but I didn't travel over 150 miles and spend out about £200 to listen to them talk about which friends got wasted the weekend before or that 'we need to fight back against the bloody Tories, because we've never stood up for ourselves before'.  It's just unreasonable. You want to dance? Great. You want to sing along? Awesome. But I paid to listen to the band not your conversation.

Sadly, I don't remember much about the gig other than the fact that the crowd - or rather the select people in the crowd - made it one of the worst I've ever been to. The Paper Aeroplanes were great but the whole experience was soured for me due to the needless rude and aggressive behaviour we experienced in the crowd.

We went back to the hotel and went straight to bed. We'd brought earplugs, as usual, and only heard a couple of rowdy groups come shrieking up the stairs around midnight. Luckily our room didn't face out over the high street, otherwise I'm sure we'd have had a terrible night.

I woke early to the sound of the plumbing humming and gurgling away and eventually at 7:45 made a cup of tea. I'd planned to head over to Bravissimo as we hadn't made it there the day before but when I looked on my phone for opening times and we saw it didn't open until 11, we ditched the idea. We just wanted to get out of Cardiff as soon as possible.

I was disappointed that we didn't get to see more of the city but from the troubles we had just trying to see the small amount that we did, I sort of think seeing more would have just caused more problems. It was one of the most stressful 24 hours I've ever had and after such an experience I don't think we'd ever go back.

Has anyone else been to Cardiff? Did you have a better experience?