I have a new title!

No, I don’t mean I’ve finally caved into social pressure and become a ‘Miss’ instead of a ‘Ms’. What would I do with all the time I spend correcting people? Besides, being a bit militant about being a ‘Ms’ makes me sound like some kind of 30 something lesbian, and seeing as I very rarely get recognised as a 30 something lesbian it makes a refreshing change.

Anyway, I digress. I’ve changed my blog title. I’ve gone for something Meat Loaf-esque. You know, ‘catchy’ in an ‘Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer than they are’ kind of way. (The random capital letters started to look odd towards the end so I just let them drift off.) WordPress has informed me that I need to have more of a focus or people won’t read my blog. So I decided to focus on the home education stuff, but in a kind of non-committal, ‘leaving my options open’ way. Hence the new title of ‘Pinklucy’s Adventures in Autonomous Education amongst other things’. (There go the capital letters again.)

So now I’m expecting millions of followers due to my new sort of focused blog title. The blog world shall be mine I tell you! Mine!! That it if I can concentrate long enough to write any actual blogs amidst the sounds of tardis take off and the death cries of Star Trek characters who appear to be being destroyed by a roll of wrapping paper and an elastic band. I am supposed to find this all FASCINATING and get loud shouts of ‘Look Lucy!!!’ if I appear to be less than riveted. So I’d better go. Bye for now.

Random photo of Jessy under my Dora the Explorer duvet cover. It’s from ages ago but I imagined he might be shouting ‘Lucy! Look!’ like he was just now.

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The taxi driver

I got in a taxi the other day. With me came my 7 year old son, my friend’s soon-to-be-seven year old daughter, a suitcase, a pink princess wheelie bag, an overflowing Doctor Who bag (free with a magazine so helpfully held together with a piece of velcro as big as postage stamp, resulting in it usually bursting open), a muddy lunchbox, a large backpack, and a carrier bag containing, as yet, unwritten birthday cards for the twins party we were heading to, alongside a novelty shower puff and some mint imperials.

“You been on holiday?” asked the taxi driver. He was just making conversation. “Um…” I said. I wasn’t quite sure where to go next. Because the actual answer goes something like this:

“Well I recently broke up with my girlfriend. She lived in Sheffield. We used to live in Manchester but then we moved to Sheffield but now we’re moving back to Manchester, except I don’t actually have anywhere to live right now so I’m staying with friends, except I haven’t been to my friends’ house yet because my other friend needed someone to look after her daughter for a few days so I went straight to her house which is why I’ve got the suitcase. Not ’cause I’ve been on holiday. The kids are home educated but they go to this thing called wood school (which is were he’d picked us up from except you wouldn’t know as the entrance is a green gate hidden in a hedge) so they need lots of spare stuff like waterproof clothes and lunch which is why we have the other bags. Oh and we’re on our way to my ex’s house – not the ex I just mentioned, the one before that (sheesh I suck at relationships!) ‘caus it’s her kids’ birthday so we have some stuff for that too.”

I didn’t really want to say all that to a taxi driver who was just making conversation, so I mumbled a vague approximation of random parts of my recent story and felt thankful it was a short journey.

Photo: 7 year old boy-child among the packing boxes just before leaving Sheffield.