Beautiful Bloggers

The very bright and bubbly Polly at Caught Writing recently nominated me for the Beautiful Blogger Award. In her words both my blogs 'were early must follows'. As always, I'm very touched. It's lovely to know that my words are appreciated.

Now the rules of the award stipulate that I nominate six other wonderful bloggers and then share ten factual nuggets about myself.

The nominating should be easy but the ten facts rather more challenging. Over the last year I have shared many things about myself in similar awards and memes, so I may end up repeating myself. If anything seems familiar, please, just humour me ...

And my nominees are ...

Bibsey - Her expat tales of family life in the Southern Spanish Hills are nothing short of clever, witty and eloquent. Her inspired seven words in seven days challenge has taught me a thing or two about 'proper' Spanish.

Sara Bran - I've only recently discovered her blog. It's so funny, so poignant, so well written and so damn unmissable. I love the on line identities of her two daughters; 'the teenage songbird' and the 'six year old biscuit thief'.

Scribbles from the Middle - In my book, this lady doesn't post enough. She writes in such an engaging style being both strongly voiced and delicately spoken, if you know what I mean. I love the name of her blog, and she has the best name ever, Frances Pringle, an author's name if there ever was one.

Hello Wall - Sarah is a great writer and I always find myself nodding and relating to her posts. A talented poet, and, oh, you must read this, a highly amusing parody of 50 Shades of Blah.

Save Every Step - Family Stories Past and Present - Another blog I've recently discovered. She writes the loveliest memoirs; every week she includes the transcription of one of many fascinating letters sent from an Uncle during the Second World War.

A Party of Seven - She's a mother of five and in her own words an 'aspiring photographer and observer of life'. I think her words and pictures are fabulous, and have inspired me to include more photography in my blog.


And ten things about me ...

I find writing very trying when it's that time of the month, or if I'm unwell with yet another cold my daughter has generously shared with me. Last week I was reaching for both tampons and tissues, so blogging was out of the picture; I only managed one post.

I am terrible at chess. My preparatory school had an annual chess competition. I never passed the first round. Was that the right use of the verb to pass? It confuses me sometimes. Anyway, I gave up the tedious board game in an appropriately childish huff aged ten.

I was, however, very good at kiss catch, so much so, that one day my father received a very concerned call from the head teacher about my playground antics. I was only eight years old at the time. Dad wasn't impressed. I still remember his wagging finger, his disapproving words, which I, of course, never paid attention to. The following day kiss catch resumed with gusto.

Not to sound ungrateful but deep, deep down I think I would've preferred a smaller wedding. I had what would be considered a large ceremony. There were about 107 guests in attendance. Younger Dad's family is large, and as my father dug deep into his pockets to pay for the occasion, this was very much his day too. And if I'd done things differently? Well a simpler affair with only closest family and friends. I would've preferred a wedding in the elements; a quiet breezy ceremony on a dusk lit cliff top, overlooking the swelling currents and inviting expanse of the horizon; or, just Younger Dad and I perched on a hillside in the Lake District with the mirror-still waters of Ullswater below.

From my alternative wedding, you may have gathered that I like a view. There's something so mentally cleansing in looking out over a panorama unhindered by tangled tree tops and concrete walls. It gives me freedom to think and unlimited space for my imagination to roam. If I'm travelling by bus without Little A, I prefer to sit on the top deck, and, if there's one free, I'll always grab a seat at the very front. That way I'll have an unimpeded view of where I'm going and of cars, cyclists, pedestrians, busying below. As a child, I used to spend what felt like hours looking out of my bedroom window at the Sycamores and Oaks standing protectively in the back garden, and at the dare devil squirrels jumping fearlessly amongst their aging boughs.

On the day the final Harry Potter novel was released, I, like a true Slytherin, scandalously jumped the queue. It was just before midnight when I committed the crime. There was an enormous queue snaking its way down the pavement from the closed doors of the Chiswick branch of Waterstones. It slithered passed restaurants, bakeries, banks, stationery shops... The wait would've been at least an hour had I not turned to Younger Boyfriend, as he was then, looked him in the eye and cunningly intoned, "I have a plan". And without any explanation I left my very confused beau and trotted to the other end of the line. There was so much excitement and chatter amongst children parents and friends, that no one noticed when I slyly slipped in at the front. The bookstore opened and I was the third person through its doors. Younger Boyfriend looked stunned when I returned with two hardback copies of The Deathly Hallows. I don't think he realised I had such a wily side.

I am a creature of routine. In other words, I know my mind. If it's a take-away it's either vegetables on fire or green curry, prawn pathia or a korma. If it's a restaurant I steer towards the vegetarian, fish or chicken options. If it's ice cream, it's vanilla, always. My lack of culinary adventure frustrates Younger Dad. I'm predictable and cautious, quite unlike the characteristics of my star sign.

At night, I grind my teeth. I wear a mouth guard but my jaw is so strong that I've usually bitten through the rubbery shield within a year.

My first serious movie star crush was on Christopher Reeve. He was famous for his role as Superman. Under my pillow, I kept a picture of him as the Man of Steel flying with Lois Lane wrapped in his over-sized arms. I used to dream he was flying with me instead. But alas, this was never to be. My delicate nine year old heart was broken.

No! Fly with me instead.

I am a believer in trying all things once. So I once tried a Hollywood. You know, the fully plucked look. Never again.