Childrens Personalised Books

The Old Man suggested a fry up for dinner yesterday so not one to look the gift horse so to speak- come on ladies how often do the men actually offer to cook- strike while the iron’s hot!!!!

So I said I’d get the essentials- eggs, beans, bread and beef sausage- The Old man has to have beef- no he’s not a Muslim- his reasons for not eating pork are all to do with seeing a boil on a pigs leg when he was 12- yeah right!!

With no time to run down to Sainsbury’s I thought I’d try the local Halal shop. Surveying the meat counter with interest; looked nice and clean and the meat looked healthy. Two types of sausage were down in the bottom corner- one a highly suspicious looking thing that resembled a baby’s umbilical cord and a much more enticing pinkish one.

With not even a hint of a pig in the whole of the shop I confidently pointed at the pink sausage and said I’ll have some of those please. Not quite understanding what the shopkeeper said I nodded happily in my choice of sausage, and didn’t think twice when he began rolling up link after link of the fat chubby meat rolls. As the shopkeeper grinned and wrapped up the parcel he said £7.50- I nearly choked- “what” said I a bit louder than anticipated.”£7.50 for sausage”?. Too embarrassed to admit I didn’t know how much a kilo was, I happily took the £1.50 discount he offered me and hurried outside with the priceless chipolatas.

I left the Old Man cooking- brave I know- but duty called- whilst I picked up the 6yr old who sensibly ate at her friends.

On arrival home a gust of freezing cold air hit me- just before the revolting smell of old socks. There were the Old Man and the 11yr old sitting huddled under blankets back door and windows flung open to relieve the house of the smell of the richly priced sausage. Needless to say we didn’t attempt to taste them!

So if anyone out there wants a kilo minus a few beef sausage from the Halal shop- give us a ring. They’re going really cheap!!

Thursday night was a big night in the household diary. The 11yr old was playing table tennis at the Royal Albert Hall- not only was he playing- he was playing celebrities! So I had my hair done- well I’m not going to miss a chance to be Mother of the talented one- and who knows who I could mingle with?

The Old Man was tired before we even set off for it, yes he gets up for work in the fish van at 4am- but hey it’s not everyday you can say your son’s played at the Albert Hall!! On our way to the car he commented about the length- or lack of it- of the 6yr olds skirt. I could feel a Victor Meldrew evening coming on!!

A nice drive through Hyde Park, waving encouragingly at the running club congregating at the pond, calmed things down a bit and got us in the sporting mood. The hair was looking bouncier than ever and the outfit perfect- not dressy, but not too casual. Make up a bit on the heavy side for me, but I was sure under the subtle lights of the Albert Hall it would knock years of my 44.

Not a chance!!!  The harshest lights I’ve ever seen greeted me on arrival highlighting my pan stick orange face and ghoulish looking eye shadow. The jeans and trainer dressed crowd probably took me to be the half time entertainment. Even the 6yr olds skirt started to look a bit on the short side to me too. Still nothing was going to ruin our night.

We took our seats and watched the Table tennis Masters take to the table. With my new-found knowledge of ping pong, I clapped and cheered in all the right places- adding a few “ooh great serve, ah wonderful backhand top spin”.

Only one more game to go till the ‘celebrity challenge’ and our golden moment!

The 6 yr old picked this moment for a “I need the Loo” run. The Old Man was reliving his schoolboy Champion days, giving advice on the World Number 6’s spin serve- yeah right!! Gladly clown woman shuffled past everyone again and paid £13 for two drinks and a bag of cashews. This was it the moment- as we approached the doors we were stopped by a woman saying “you can’t go in yet, the match is on”- “Yes I know it’s my sons’ match, my moment, my spot of fame- I must go in”- No amount of talking would budge her. We finally got in as we saw the 11yr old leaving centre stage after beating Martin Offiah and some Olympic hurdler, and the announcer saying “one for the future, a superstar”. He didn’t even get to wave to his Mother in the crowd- as she was outside the door crunching expensive cashews!!!

At the end of the night I had to battle through the crowd carrying the now asleep 6yr old, skirt up around her waist, tights on show, as the Old Man went to get the car, to get to the 11yr old surrounded by people. Sir Phillip Green had his arm round him saying how he’d been beaten by him backstage. No Top Shop discount for me then!!

Signalling to him to meet outside I decided to forget mingling I was too ruddy tired. Of course it was raining as I got outside, turning the sleek, shiny hairdo back to its original ball of frizz. The heavy mascara had run into the eyes making me look like a panda with an orange face.

As I tucked the 11yr old in bed he said, “Mum, it was great, what a shame you didn’t see it, you would have been so proud” “I’ve had the best night ever I said”, and I meant it- I mean it’s not everyday you get to kiss a TT superstar goodnight now is it??

I was very excited about our holiday in Spain- but not so excited about the journey. As I packed, then unpacked the cases, taking out all the ‘I don’t really need those’ items, my hands shook as I started on the ‘carry-on bag’. Stomach churning, sweat forming I went through my usual panic about not having enough entertainments for the kids. Every holiday journey it’s the same. The airport is great- loads of things to see, a bit of money to buy something special for the flight, kids get fussed over on boarding, excitement carries over to take off- and then!!!!!!

It seems that no matter how many sticker books, favourite books, soft toys, new toys I can fit in the bulging carry on- it’s never enough. How come Mr Bumble’s a great book at home and we can spend two hours reading it- yet on a plane we can’t even read it once without fidgeting, scratching and kicking the heck out of the seat in front.

The snacks are soon seen to and it’s not that easy to play eye-spy with a two year old. The aisles are sooo inviting to the 2yr old who decides now is the time to practice for the marathon. On the 17th trip to the toilet the 5yr old is convinced that the man with the eye pads on doesn’t really want to sleep, they really want to be woken up by a child yelling “wakey wakey” really loudly in their ear.

With lots of apologies and umpteen choruses of wee willy winky the two yr old decides it’s time to sleep. Bliss thinks I- until 5 mins later I’m told it’s “cabin crew, prepare for landing”.

Ever entered a country with a screaming two year old, a grumpy 5 year old, a jumper covered in stickers and a very dehydrated face? Bet Victoria Beckham never has this problem.

Meatballs from Green Thing on Vimeo.

Meatballz With Attitude return with their sizzlin’ new rap that proves that less meat don’t mean less machismo. Also featuring the salami and cucumber scratchin’ skills of DJ Broc Da House. Tune by Tom ‘Scratch’ Skelton , vocals by Dan “it’s a rap” Lapaine and directed by Dom Del Torto of KOG , Large.

Moosnight from Green Thing on Vimeo.

WHY GO EASY ON THE MEAT?

To produce just 1kg of beef, enough for a spag bol for you and 5 friends, creates a whopping 34.6kg of CO2. On top of that, farm animals, particularly cows, are a windy bunch. They’re responsible for 37% of global methane emissions, which is even more than Michael Winner, and methane is 23 times more harmful than CO2.

Introducing the grandson to books is an absolute joy. Of course he just wants to eat them all, but when you get that spark of recognition that they are actually seeing the pictures and feeling the different materials, and hearing the squeaky squeaks it’s a truly joyous moment.

I have kept all the favourite books from my eldest- his Dad- and the 6 and 11yr olds- and it’s true what they say- you can’t beat the old ones- definitely the best. ‘Mr Bumble builds a house’ was the 11 and the 6yr olds favourites and at the time I searched high and low for a sequel with no luck. It’s now held together by tape and flaps missing but you can bet that the grandson will love it just as much.

I love to read with all the kids- although the 11yr old is far too old for that now. The thrill of opening up the crisp pages of a new book gives me the same thrill as it did when I used to read my Jill and her ponies books. I can remember it like it was yesterday and it seemed like I always had a book on the go. But then of course I had bags of free time and no worries or responsibilities.

I hope when I’m in my twilight years I’ll be able to get back to my reading- but then again I’ll probably have more grandchildren and who knows even great grandkids- wonder if Mr Bumble will survive??

Well the old man has finally outdone even his own stupidity.

Picture him now, 7am Camden market, and fish tray in hand delivering just inside the stall area. He walks towards the entrance swerving to avoid some workmen setting up a tent around a hole in the ground. The weight of the box of salmon caused him to veer slightly too far to the left where he felt he was in danger of bumping into an Arab lady dressed in black with her back to him, standing at a scarf stall. Using his initiative, he called out to the lady in an attempt to ask her to move slightly to let him through.

“Excuse me”, he asked in his nicest voice. No reply
“Erm, excuse me” he said a little more forcefully- as the weight of the Salmon was now bearing down on his not so beefy arms. Still no reply.
“Oi, lady”, came the third attempt.

At this point a man popped his head out of the hole in the ground and piped up, “Ere, mate, that’s a dummy”. To which, the stall holder promptly swivelled the Arab lady round to reveal a mannequin draped in an assortment of black scarves.

Not too sure what the Old man’s reply was- something witty I’m sure ????

Having spent the whole of last week battling with the tickly throat I finally succumbed to full blown flu and spent the whole of Saturday in bed. “Don’t worry about anything”, said the husband- “I have everything under control. I’ve got the kids with me and we’re fine. You just rest up”. Yeah right !!!!!

Although I drifted in and out of sleep- you could hardly call it restful. Still not too sure what competition was being contested downstairs- but safe to say it wasn’t a game of tiddlywinks!! Unable to physically move, the words of the kids,” Mum, Dad doesn’t know how to turn on the toaster, where do you pour the fairy liquid in the dishwasher- didn’t exactly help matters. An endless supply of tea with honey, tea with lemsip and the best of all tea with day nurse- yep just what I needed- a huge intake of caffeine whilst bed bound did nothing to ease the soul.

The next day after a night filled with crazy caffeine filled nightmares, I was able to move and tentatively made my way downstairs. The house was quiet- too quiet. Making my way through the kitchen it was difficult to make out where the bin ended and the floor began. A sea of pizza boxes, chinese takeaway cartons and fizzy drink cans- all empty!!! The front room resembled some kind of a squat, more fast food containers, clothes strewn on the floor, game controllers of every description thrown casually around the room, and an array of video and dvd cases all empty lying around the floor. Worse was to come. In the front room there were the kids, fully clothed, laying on the sofas with mouths covered in a fast food assortment. The kids friend, laying on the hard wooden floor with his hoodie over his head, and the mother -in-laws dog curled up in my brand new sweaty betty coat. One of the kids even had their hand still in a family pack of maltesers.

The room looked like we had suffered at the hands of ransackers- who were too lazy to actually take anything.

Two hours later, when the troops had arisen from their slumber I was greeted with a “Oh Mum, Dad was really great, can you be ill again”. Ever get the feeling you’re doomed forever to be bad cop???

My 6 yr old came home with the best book ever. ‘The nearly ghost baby’.

Yep sounds a bit weird and not really what you imagine a 6yr old reading, but hey each to their own, thought I.  She started reading it in the van on the way home from gymnastics- after we’d picked up the 11yr old enroute from table tennis (it’s a long story). Avoiding the smell of fish from the refrigerated back of the van (even longer story), we thought a distraction was in order.

The 11yr old began the huge long sigh before the first page had even been opened- yes it’s a male 11 yr old!!. As the 6 yr old- yes female- launched into the opening scene of a small seaside cottage where a tragedy occurred 100 years ago, he removed his hands from his ears, stopped humming and sat back to listen. 40 mins,( yes it’s a long drive home), 7 chapters and a lot of ooing and aahing later we arrived home and the book was finished.

Well what a revelation, the book was brilliant, the kids chatted about the story like they were life long friends and the 11 yr olds interest in books seemed to be re-ignited. That is until he came home the following day moaning he had to read Silas Marner for English- Oh well things are back to normal!!!

There are many reasons people buy a personalised book- the main one being seeing your child’s/friends/yourself’s name in print. Imagine seeing your faces as well- At saronti we take photos and place the heads on the story characters. See yourself ride an elephant in the circus, race on a donkey at the beach or smile with santa at christmas time. Seeing your face in a book has many benefits – very young children love to ‘people spot’, beginner and reluctant readers familiarise themselves with words quicker, and older readers don’t get bored of reading when there’s funny charcters known to them in the book illustrations.

A photo book is a personalised book with a real difference- guaranteed to tantalise even the most diehard non-reader.

A photo book is a great idea and makes a wonderful present for any child. Even better is a photo book with all the family in it. What present can you possibly get for the Grandparents who live down under and never get to see the whole family together. In a Saronti they’re all there- everyone in the family doing something amusing in any of the family titles. The perfect gift- small and light to send. A book with the whole families faces and names in is a wonderful gift for anyone. There is nothing else like it!

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