Tesco saves my school bacon...

Can I quietly scream? Will you mind? Nothing major; just a small strangled ‘aaaghhhhhh’.  Three small words, six meagre syllables that drive me demented. School freaking uniform.  

Get that hair on the left...

The return to school is looming into view and I keep gazing gloomily at the list.  Okay, so I get why schools feel the need to do the uniform thingy. I get that it’s all about ‘TEAM US’ (that’s ‘us’ as in ‘we’, not US as in the USA). I get the argument that it’s a leveler – that it stops arsey little brats coming in and doing the whole ‘I’m wearing Abercrombie/Superdry/Jack Wills/Versace/whatever and you, poor trailer trash scumbag, are wearing ‘George by Asda’ one-upmanship malarkey.  I get that it makes it easier to find and apportion blame when they torch a car or barge past people onto the bus or whatever.  I get it although, to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced.  But, hey, it is what it is and so on and so forth but, but, but…

…really, why do they have to make it so…arcane?  Why can’t they just say – ‘Look, chuck ‘em in grey trousers/skirts; white shirts; grey jumpers and let’s call it a day, guys.’?  Yeah?  No.

It’s always got to be the ‘right kind’ of grey.  The navy jumper has to have the blasted logo on it, doesn’t it?  And then…I shouldn’t have started, should I? Get this… For the last two years (years 7 and 8) James’ school hasn’t prescribed a blazer.  There was some kind of weird optional coat that they all point-blank refused to wear (didn’t remotely blame them, it was seriously minging), so he ended up getting on the school bus each day, even in the depths of winter, even in driving rain, wearing just a skimpy jersey. Mad.  This year (to compensate maybe?) it appears they require TWO blazers. One for everyday wear and one for ‘smart stuff’.  What smart stuff?  Come to think of it, let’s not think about it cos it’s bound to involve more cash.  Oh just…aaaghhh. 

And they’ve changed the sports kit – again.  WHY?  What was wrong with the old one? They’re a school, for heaven’s sake, not a football club. 

It could be worse – some boy we used to know had to wear flipping lederhosen to school – in London.  And again, I ask you…why?  Character-building? 

I suppose nothing has really changed.  When I was at school – in an uber-strict state grammar, we had to wear freaking tartan skirts (yup, kilts - feel free to laugh) and a particular blue open-necked shirt that could only be bought from one particular shop in, of all places, Twickenham. I can remember the look of horror on my poor mother’s face even now as she scanned the seemingly endless list. A boater?  A BOATER?  Thank feck I didn’t get one – only two girls wore them on the first day and they both managed to slide them quietly into a ditch by 9am.

Anyhow. Thank heavens for the kind PRs at Tesco Back to School who must have been reading my anguished mind as they sent an email asking if I’d like some school kit for James.  Er…YESSSS!  For freak’s sake, send it over and send it over fast.  Before my credit card reports me to CreditLine for severe emotional abuse. So they did, bless them.

Tesco Back to School gear...

I used to buy James’ school stuff (the generic trousers and shirts and all – the bits that don’t have to have badges and stripes and logos) from Marks and Spencer but, really, these are every bit as good (if not better actually - cos, I don't know about you but strikes me Marks ain't what it used to be - the last few pairs of pants I've had have just sort of collapsed - and, no, they weren't put under any particular strain) and a fair bit cheaper.  I thought he might go all teenage sniffy on me over the shoes (which are a SERIOUS bargain).  

The last couple of years he has refused to go the usual Clark’s children’s route and has resolutely bought from the men’s department.  But, to my total surprise, he deemed the lace-ups ‘fine’.  The coat met with a curl of the lip but that was just fine and dandy as I simply nabbed it for myself.  Socks, pants, trousers, shirts and really nice bright red polo shirts all met with teenage approval – the polo shirts so much that he’s already wearing them – yeah, by choice, in the holidays, in public.  And at least these won’t fall apart the way the rip-off Ralph Lauren ones from Turkey did. 

So. Seriously. Take a look.  And thank you, Tesco.  And…School...just don’t talk to me, alright? 

Save the lesser spotted small shop

You know what’s bugging me?  Well, no, you don’t but, yup, if you keep reading, you’re gonna find out.  Supermarket delivery services.  All I keep seeing lately is people whining about them – the music at Ocado is boring; Tesco wouldn’t deliver to the right door; Asda were 18 hours late… Eh? 18 hours?  Shit, actually I’d be pissed off at that, come to think of it.

But really.

People say they miss having local shops. They lament the homogenisation of the High Street. They grumble about massive out of town superstores. But, but, but….they sit there ordering vast shops from said supermarkets. WTF?  I just don’t get it.  When you do that you are, quite literally, sticking a stake into the not quite yet undead heart of small local shops. Yes – you!

I can hear the reasons and, trust me, I know them. Choice. Quality. Price. Ease. Time. And, for sure, if you work all day and the only shops around you are those homogenised High Street ones…then…well…what can you do?  Honestly, I'm not beating up on you if you do the click click thing.  All I'm saying is - think about it.  And, if you can use local shops, if they still exist, the poor bastards, then use them. Before they vanish altogether.  Because, believe me, the local shop is an endangered species.  It’s the mercantile equivalent of that fluffy panda with the infeasible reproductive cycle; that sad polar bear on its vanishing bit of ice, that small invertebrate that nobody gives a sod about in the rainforest because it isn’t pretty. 

What happened to shopping daily for what you need right now?  It’s actually way more economical cos you don’t buy tons of crap you don’t really need.  Okay, I know I’m lucky.  I work from home and Dulverton has brilliant shops. We have a great veg shop, farm shop, butcher’s, baker’s, deli, sweet shop cum off-licence cum purveyor of coffee-flavoured tablet (oh yes!).  Yet, even so, I still see the Tesco vans ploughing up and down the road and really, it makes me sad.

Cos it’s not just about economics. It’s about community.  When I pop in and out of my local shops, I chat to people; I plug into what’s going on, I connect.  And, before you say it’s a rural thing, I did exactly the same when I lived in inner city London.  Do I use supermarkets?  Yes, of course I do.  But only occasionally, not as the norm.

Let's have some stats eh?  You can't argue with stats...  ;-)

- 2000 local shops close every year

- By 2015 there will be no independent retailers in the UK - that's 50,000 businesses.

- The average person now travels 893 miles a year to shop for food. (and no, you can't wriggle out by saying the van is coming to you - that's still road miles!)

So, c’mon folks.  Let’s give it a go, hey?  Eat local. Eat seasonal. Support small.  Support local people, not thumping great big business. Go on. Start today.  

The cruel scent of Autumn - and free stuff! Yes, free stuff.

The cruel scent of Autumn is in the air.  No, not roast chestnuts and woodsmoke but smelly socks, fetid trainers and singed ironing.  There’s a week left of the summer holidays and really I should be Getting Things In Order. Once again (see posts around this time for the last however many years I’ve been writing this fecking blog) the boy has gone feral and unpleasant (only this time with raging hormones to add to the unsavoury mix). 

Twitter fuels my guilt. It seems like the whole world (apart from the sexbots, men, life coaches and carpet fitters) is sewing in uniform labels and booking itself into Clarks for shoe fittings.  It’s worrying about projects and colour-coordinating stationery.  Actually, even the sexbots are getting out their irons.  I, meanwhile, am wandering around Amazon getting dejected as I realise I now have more books out of print than in print.  L

‘We have to do something,’ I told James firmly over breakfast.  When I say 'breakfast' please don't for one moment imagine some cosy Waltons scene around the large farmhouse kitchen table. I was yelling from bed while he was scarfing a cinnamon Danish on the stairs. 
‘Get dressed and, once I finish this chapter of Lilith, we’ll attack your room.’

Aside: the book is by George MacDonald. Have wanted to read it for years and finally found it had been reprinted. Unfortunately the publisher turns out to be totally illiterate so you have to fill in the meaning on your own a fair bit.  Let me just read you this from the back cover blurb, to gain a flavour (so to speak):

“She then meats (sic) and falls in love with a young man who is already engaged.”  Er, right.

When I read this to Adrian he laughed, in a smutty schoolboyish sort of way and went off muttering, ‘Meat as a verb eh’…  Hmm. If you don’t get that, all I can say is good and that you probably didn’t share a flat with a bunch of Northern lads at university.

Anyhow.  I got up.  Sighed sadly at my shorts and T-shirt from the beach forlornly abandoned at the end of the bed and jumped swiftly into jeans, two jumpers, thick socks and UGG boots.  Yup it’s autumn alright.  The August thing is just a smokescreen.

‘Right, we’re getting Neolithic on your room, mate,’ I said.  James looked worried.

‘Yes, that IS way worse than Medieval, if you were wondering.  Do you KNOW when the Neolithic was?’

He shook his head sulkily and I rolled my eyes. ‘You’ve got a current affairs quiz when you go back to school; this is fecking ridiculous.’
His eyes brightened.  ‘But Neolithic isn’t current, is it?’

‘Er, good point. Okay, how many goals did Arsenal let in?’
‘Eight!!!!’
‘Ha!!! Losers!’  We fist-bumped and heard the distant sound of a man banging his head rhythmically on a desk. 

Well, we threw the entire room up in the air and then tossed things into various mounds and then he sprayed and dusted until I started sneezing so loudly I nearly didn’t hear the postman who delivered a HUGE parcel.

Uniform?  Uniform!  Oh yes. Thank you, gods.  Or rather thank you, Tesco.  Once again, bless ‘em, they’ve come up trumps. Trousers, shirts, t-shirts, Top Gear pencil case and assorted stationery.  If there’s chocolate in there, I’m going to spontaneously orgasm….but no.  Sadly (or perhaps fortunately, given the postman was still lingering around the door) not.  There’s even a nifty notebook that says:

At which point I got quite excited (no, not THAT excited) and thought someone had finally figured it out but no, you (or presumably your child) are/is supposedly supposed to come up with the plan your/his/herself. Which is a Tall Order.   And then that reminded me of something and someone else, but I’ll save that for another day…

Anyhow. Tesco. Good for school uniform.  Saved my bacon anyhow.  Now I only have to sort out the shoes (and I’m sure we could just cut a hole in the front so the old ones fit) and invest in the new tracksuit (this school is getting a bit FA on us, frankly, we’ll have new home and away kits each season at this rate).  Which reminds me...Arsenal again...remember *that* away kit? Vomit.

Oh, and because I’m all heart (and because they offered it), I could nab you a new school uniform for your child too (or, hey, for you, if that kinda thing rocks your boat)… I’ve got a £15 e-voucher to spend online for the Back to School range…and, let me tell you, you’d probably kit out a family of ten for that… So, just leave a comment (and please make sure I can get hold of you – if you don’t have a blog leave an email or, hey, your postal address and where you leave your spare key…). I’ll close my eyes and stab the screen (making sure I get it that way round) to pick a winner by the weekend. 

Free coffee and £100 to spend in Tesco

So, in the last post I thanked all you dear adorable people who clicked for me over the Christmas Next promotion. You did me proud, you really did. If you didn’t read that post, I’ll save you the bother (and, seriously, I wouldn’t recommend it as it’s one heck of a self-absorbed dirge) and recap here: basically you made this the winning blog (out of the 100 in the promotion) and so it’s all thanks to you that we, the sorry denizens of The Bonkers House, will no longer smell rankly offensive and won’t die untimely deaths through inadvertent electrocution. My gratitude is deep and enduring.


So deep and enduring that I figured I ought to offer something in return. So, when a very nice, very polite PR said: ‘Would you like to offer your readers the chance to win £100 of Tesco vouchers?’ I said, ‘Tell me more.’ Trying not to sound my usual cynical, suspicious self.
‘Along with some free coffee,’ he said.
‘What’s the catch?’ I said.
‘No catch,’ he said. ‘Honest, guv.’ Well, okay, he didn’t say that, but he did in my mind’s ear.
‘It’s just it sounds like you have a pretty busy schedule and we thought you might like to try some coffee to give you a bit of a boost.’
Yeah, right. Like coffee, however nuclear, could sort out my deep soul sickness, career suicide and severe writer’s constipation (block doesn’t even touch it).

Anyhow. Turned out that Douwe Egberts, the Dutch coffee company, are launching a new ground coffee product on 14th February (why does that date ring a bell? Ah yes, my lovely agent’s birthday) and, in order to launch it with a swing, they’re offering one of you lot £100 of Tesco vouchers. So, basically, you can have your next food shop on me (or rather on Douwe Egberts).  Oh, and they’ll even throw in two tins of the coffee.  See, I said he was a nice guy.

So I said yes. Well of course I did. But I did warn him that we take our product testing very seriously chez Bonkers and that I couldn’t guarantee a glowing report. Bless his heart, the PR gulped manfully and said, ‘Okay, go for it.’

So we did. Now I don’t drink a lot of coffee. I love coffee-flavoured things but neat caffeine just sends me slightly ga-ga (okay, more ga-ga than usual). So it was down to Adrian and Lulu (who was staying) to test.

‘Ewww,’ said Lulu. ‘It looks like a tin of Whiskers.’
‘I think it’s supposed to look sultry,’ I said.
‘It looks like Whiskers,’ she said, firmly. ‘What’s it called?’
‘Aromettes,’ I said.
‘What? No!’ She snatched the tin from me and peered closely. ‘Shit. I thought you were kidding.’
‘Why the surprise?’
‘It sounds like some kind of sanitary product.’
‘Mixed with essential oils,’ I added helpfully.

I tore off the lid. ‘Well, it smells nice,’ I said.
She dug her hand in the tin and pulled out an “aromette”. ‘Ooh, neat idea!’

Lulu, btw, is a marketing guru so she knows about this stuff. And, lo and behold, the ground coffee had been squished and squeezed into coffee bean shapes (coffee beans on serious steroids, it has to be said).  I reminded me of something but I'm not entirely sure I want to recall exactly what it is...

Basically, you bung one bean (let’s not say aromette, it’s starting to disturb me) per cup desired into your cafetiere or filter machine, bung on the hot water and lo and behold. No mucking around with measuring; no need to clip the top of the packet or bung it in the fridge or whatever (and yes, I know all that doesn't work anyhow).

Did my testers like them? Well. Hmm.  Put it this way – they’re the kind of coffee snobs who think Starbucks is a dirty word. Who buy fresh beans to grind – only after lengthy discussions about the very field in which said beans were picked and the precise humidity level of the day on which they were picked. So we'll gloss over that.  Instead I offered them to normal people (a random selection around town) who reckoned they did the business very nicely, thank-you.

Anyhow...don’t take this lot’s word for it – try ‘em for yourselves. You can buy them from Tesco only from 14th February and they come in two varieties – Smooth (strength 3) and Intense (strength 5).

Anyone who comments before February 14th will be entered into the draw (sadly, you have to be a UK resident and I will need to be able to contact you in some way other than mind reading). Simply tell me what your take is on coffee – love it? Hate it? Uber-snob or anything goes? Oh, and give me a reason why you'd like to win (go on, make me feel better about my crap life - gimme your sob stories!).

Rules? Not many. One entry per person. Winners will be notified within 28 days and prizes will be sent out a further 28 days afterwards.

 
btw, if you want to read more of Lulu's reviews, check out her blog.... (in which she also relates her views on the Bonkers House and its inhabitants). Lies, perfidious lies!

I love parcels

Only a few more days and we go on holiday! Am so excited I can barely type. We’re going up to Northumberland and will be staying at THE most magical place. Then we come back, I launch into a flurry of washing and then, ye gods, term starts.


I am feeling rather smug actually as, for once, I am pretty much on top of the uniform thing. James is moving up to senior school (AAAGHHHH) and I was terrified that the uniform list would be crucifying but actually it wasn’t too bad. I think schools are beginning to realise that parents have enough on their plates without having to take out a mortgage for blazers and boaters.

I can clearly remember the look on my poor mother’s face when my uniform list came in. I was only going to the local girls’ grammar but by heck there were three pages of it. Actually (I kid you not) there was even a boater. The skirt was a kilt - rather a nice tartan actually. The shirts were a particular shade of sky blue and came from a particular shop in Twickenham. No wonder she turned white.

Actually I think there is some kind of bias against girls because, as we pitched up at James’ school shop to buy our gear, I noticed that the girls still had to get special skirts and, yup, particular blouses while the boys were let off with any old grey trousers and white shirts. And halleluyah for that. I usually top up our kit at M&S but a few days ago I got an email from Tesco asking if I’d like a big bag of school uniform.

Naturally I said, ‘Nah, that’s okay, mate, I’d rather buy it. Give it to someone more deserving.’

Okay, so how many of you believed that? Even for a moment? Yeah, thought not. Suffice to say, I bit off its arm (if an email can have an arm).

Anyhow, at this point (biting the arm of the email) I had to walk away from my PC (okay, lunge) to extract my bra from the Soul Puppy’s piranha sharp teeth. Naturally this would be the precise moment that the delivery man chose to arrive (trying not to laugh as the SP and I had a tug-of-war with my industrial strength underwear) and handed me THE most enormous parcel, all tied up with a big black bow.

Oh god I LOVE parcels. Even parcels with, ahem, boys school clothes in them. But still – one gets that little frisson that accompanies any parcel (along with the random yet hopeful thought that maybe there might be a bar of chocolate stuck in there somewhere). Alas no (as Dumbledore would have said) but there were pens and pads alongside the clothes and (serious smile) a voucher for me to buy something online at Tesco who (who’d of thought) actually have a whole bunch of designer stuff now. Mind you what’s the betting I end up buying stuff for James? Adrian can’t understand why I no longer buy myself clothes but get armloads for the boy but really it’s simple. I can buy something knowing it will a) fit and b) look good. *sigh*).

Meanwhile, back at the parcel, I’m pretty impressed. The shirts, in particular, are good quality and the jumper is ace. Must add that this is the F&F Signature range. Anyhow, have a butcher’s.....

They’ve also asked if I’d like to nominate another blogger who might like to receive their largesse. Didn’t take me long to think of Milla – partly because her younger son, F11, is also off to big school but also because if anyone can make buying school uniform hilarious, it’s Milla and I rather yearn to read what she’ll make of it. So, Fairy TescoToes – please send a parcel to dear Milla (tip: if you want to make her REALLY happy, sneak in a few bottles of wine – she’s rather partial to Tesco Finest pinot if I recall).

Now all I have to do is sew on a few more labels. A monumental task as the school demands (for some inexplicable reason) that kit be labelled in HUGE type. It’s at this point that I wish I hadn’t married a bloke with a stupidly long double-barrelled name. James’ name tags are about six inches long (honestly, no exaggeration).

As I stab the needle in yet again, I narrow my eyes and feel a flash of unsisterly loathing for the mothers of Tom Hunt and Ann Green.


btw, of course it was only a question of time before this happened......