The Life Behind The Coach

Puppy Party

A week or so ago, we introduced William and Grayson to their new neighbours - two 12 week old black labs, Hector and Doogle – don't ask me which one is which, they're pretty much identical. These are going to be working black labs, their owners, Wendy and Matt are FAR more clued up and in charge than we ever were when ours arrived, and they are so well behaved, I hoped a little of their charm would rub off on ours. Within seconds of arriving at their house, mine had found their pond – complete with Koi Carp...eeek and shortly after that, were heard running around the bedrooms like a herd of baby elephants, closely followed by me apologising profusely to Wendy as I disappeared, uninvited, up her stairs two at a time, in the hope of appearing calm and pack-leader-like as I ordered my two back down stairs with my sternest of faces.

Back downstairs, coffee made and things calming down nicely, one of the lab puppies sat neatly in front of my feet and stared up at me with huge black eyes – what else to do but take his tiny face in my hands and kiss him on the nose – at which point, he decided my nose was literally up for grabs and leapt up with impressive speed to grab his new toy!

You know when everyone around you giggles as you sit there with your hand to your nose, eyes watering furiously, then when you take your hand away from your face, their faces change into 'Oh god...you're bleeding', 'I'm SO sorry' (dog chastising going on), previous calm household turned into a flurry of activity, canine and human as three adults rush for loo roll...lots of loo roll. I spent the rest of the evening assuring all concerned that I was fine (which I was...apart from needing a bit of a make-up job and more loo roll!), after 40 more minutes of bleeding, Wendy insisted Matt (who works in A&E) take a closer look but in fact, it was just a case of stemming the flow!

They both felt awful and to divert attention from my bleeding nose, The Husband regaled how just that very afternoon, he'd had to extract a very painful splinter from my behind with my tweezers in the middle of the kitchen whilst he was cooking dinner (thanks for that Husband!)...clearly it wasn't my day.  By the time we left, the bleeding had stopped and I'd re-assured them that I'd be back to continue the bonding process between our 4 furry children.

Last night, we did just that and held a Puppy Party. My fabulous friend of 25 years Em, popped over with Bolly (short for Bollinger), he's a beautiful, 4 year old HUGE, chocolate brown lab and Wendy and Matt brought the pups Hector and Doogle, plus ours...slightly more obedient this time in their own surroundings.

A fantastic evening of running around, rolling around the floor, chasing each other round the sofa's and generally having a ball, all the canines eventually flopped at their owners feet – no mishaps, no breakages and more importantly no blood loss...phew!

Now that's the way to spend an evening!

Life Coach rants...just this once!

It's not like me to moan (Husband don't pull that face) but there are two things that have bugged me this morning. Well, one thing bugged me last night and one thing bugged me this morning. This morning first...banana chips! Banana chips in muesli to be precise...why?! Seriously, why would you spoil a good wholesome no sugar muesli by putting sweetened banana chips in there? A small thing I know, but an irritation nevertheless – rather like the non-stop-flashing-LED-light phone by my bed irritated me a few weeks ago. In fact, that little moan did me the world of good as no sooner had I pressed 'PUBLISH' on Typepad, I grabbed my purse and headed to Argos for the cheapest non-LED-flashing phone – found one £2.88! Bargain!

As for the banana chips, I fish them out of my muesli every morning and I swear the productivity of my day depends entirely on whether I've missed one or not. So I've just emptied a brand new packet of muesli into the Tupperware container and fished out every flippin one...I somehow feel calmer and more in control strangely.

Now onto last night's irritation – Britain's Got Talent. Now I love this show, it brings back all sorts of memories of when I used to sing and dance on stage...never quite to the audiences that Susan Boyle attracts granted, but I did it nevertheless, and now, post retirement, as I lounge on the sofa with the dogs every Saturday night, I fill up when they do well and criticise the hell out of the ones who are rubbish (as you do!).

Last night, poor 10 year old Hollie Steel had a meltdown, the pressure just a little too much and she couldn't finish her song. Bless her heart, as she pleaded to be allowed to start again, there wasn't a dry eye in the house and when Simon Cowell stood up and decided that whatever it took, she'd be allowed a second stab at it, you can't tell me that every woman's beating heart around the country didn't do just a little flip at his heartfelt care about the little girls feelings.

Being on stage is nerve-racking, being on Britain's Got Talent performing to millions must be out-of-this-world-nerve-racking but I couldn't believe it, just minutes after the show went to a commercial break (clearly had some re-jigging to do!), there was 10 year old Hollie on News at Ten – bursting into tears in front of millions!

How dare they use that little girl in that manner! They then brought in a whole new news item on whether the pressure is finally too much for these little darlings to bear. Yes it may well be too much pressure, yes maybe age 10 is a tad too young, but who is News at Ten to take the tears of an innocent 10 year old and re-play her angst just to fill their air time before her eyes had even dried!

News at Ten shame on you, a little sensitivity wouldn't go amiss – if Hollie is in fact too young to take the pressure of performing to millions, then the pressure of knowing she was used as a pawn to add to your slow news day will surely have pushed her over the edge!

We'll soon see how she performs tonight in the final, bless her after that tear-jerker she was never NOT going into the final. Come on Hollie – gather all your courage up and sing your heart out – you could well top the lot!

Didn't see THAT coming

OK, so The Husband and I are making conversation with the over-the-road neighbours.  I always find it amazing really how you can live next to or opposite someone, without ever doing more than nodding as you get in your respective cars.  Passing the time of day is the next step up I guess and if you get onto the weather - well you're as good as best friends!

What I never expected to happen though when we chatted to the over-the-road neighbours is for Xio (pronounced Seo, we now know she's Costa Rican and thrilled to have neighbours who actually speak to her like they do in Costa Rica!) to mention she has Roller Blades.  ROLLERBLADES!!!  Who honestly has Rollerblades just hanging around in the garage if you're over the age of 12!

Well, Xio tells us in Canada where she used to live, they have special surfaces near the beach for skaters from 3 to 73 to skate - it's the 'in' thing apparently!

You may remember, The Husband and I got skates not long ago - the first outing was pretty disasterous...we forgot we lived on a hill!  Having taken 20 minutes to put our skates on in the hallway, I skated around the kitchen for a few minutes (confidence builder!) my teenager years came flooding back. 'This is great!', 'I remember how to do this!' said I.  We carpet skated to the front door and suddenly noticed the hill.  In a second, my new-found confidence slide right down that hill to number 26 at the bottom.

The Husband was convinced this would be easy, so to avoid looking like a complete girl, I followed him precariously, gripping the wall of the house with my fingertips, The Husband navigating his way across the road to the green.  The green was deemed the safest playground (it has grass!) but having fallen hard on my derriere as we turned the corner, the rest of the journey was just plain hardwork!  Bruised and achy, we made it back to the house - we'd only been 10 minutes!

So when Xio mentionned with great enthusiasm that she'd love to go out with us for a skate, my mouth said yes and my body cried.  A 3 minute drive to the seafront later, (Darren, Xio's partner, brought his bike...no skates - sensibly!), all 3 of us stood up precariously ready to try again.  Well, I say, all 3 of us - Xio got up as if born on wheels and glided quietly off down the prom (she's done this before!).

Turns out she has good skates - like, really good skates.  In comparison, ours were bargain bucket, toy plastic things that shook your entire body over each and every bump in the pavement.  I caught sight of The Husband checking Xio's skates out - they had suspension and everything!  Darren gave in just days later and bought the coolest pair of skates The Husband has ever seen and with skate-envy, he rushed me straight down to the same store to buy skates with suspension - cool ones, in cool colours - mine are even in my brand colours - pink and black!

So, although in previous months we were often found in the middle of a big field trying to entice two puppies back to us - nowadays we're down the prom, with our new playmates, Darren and Xio...skating!  How old am I?

We're on wheels

It's so easy to watch telly, in the comfort of your own home and nod enthusiastically when someone says things like, 'WOW that looks fun', and 'We should do that!'. 'Yeah! Wouldn't that be brilliant!' you agree....from the comfort of your sofa.

It's safe to do that – no-one's going to challenge you,  after all you'll never actually have to prove yourself...will you?

At least that's what I thought when The Husband and I watched Cesar Millan (Sky 3's The Dog Whisperer) roller blading with a pack of dogs down the road!. (You know where this is going don't you). Keen to give our dogs an active, wonderful and fun life, The Husband cleverly put 2 and 2 together and before I even knew where I was I was trying on Rollerblades in the middle of Sports Direct!

Me: 'Are you mad? I'm going to break my neck!'

Husband: 'You won't! You'll get the hang of it...you used to be a dancer – balance is your thing!'

Me: 'That was over a decade ago! My thing now honey is self preservation! I can't even stand up' (as I lose balance and grab a passing spotty 16 year old sales boy...er...person)

Husband laughs as he tries his skates on

Husband: 'It'll be fun' as he attempts  to stand up. (Think large spider having a panic attack)

Me: 'This is SO not going to work', I'm now laughing so hard, I've inadvertently crashed into the rack of Man United Sports shirts.

In disbelief, we leave the shop...roller blades in arms...oh my god!

2 going on 22

My mum had my 2 year old neice to stay over last night.

Pulling her toy dog along the floor, she chatted away to him.  As she disappeared down the hallway, she explained to him 'We're going swimming!'. 

My mum (aka Grandma), a little worried that Lily had her hopes up of actually going swimming, she explained 'No darling, Grandma can't take you swimming, you're not going today'.

With a very serious but reassuring expression Lily explained 'I'm only pretending Grandma!'

WOW - 2 going on 22!

Note to self

Last night I put myself to bed in a terrible mood. I'd done it again – or rather NOT done it again!

I have a landline phone plugged in to my side of the bed. It's faulty. It flashes constantly. In the dead if night, when everything else is pitch black, there's this piercing red LED light that flashes furiously trying to tell me there's un-listened to messages on my phone. There are no un-listened to messages, it's just confused. I turn over with the pillow over my head and fall asleep.

Come the morning I wake up and can't see red flashing LED light – it's barely visible in the morning sun. I wake up with nothing on my mind except walking puppies and turning my laptop on. Why do I ONLY ever remember about irritating flashing red LED light when I go to bed? Even Argos isn't open then to go and get another one – I tell you if it was, I'd be down there in my pink dressing down and cow-print slippers, credit card in hand pleading for one that works.

Of course, it's day time now and I plan with every fibre of my body to go to Argos and just get the cheapiest plug in phone you can get and pray for no LED lights but I must just get this article finished.....

You can't eat wood!

I tell you – just as I wrote ONLY 2 days ago that my darling beautiful puppies have grown up and are no longer amused by naughty doings there they go – I think they read my blog!

I'm typing away – all is quiet – I suddenly realise – a little too quiet. Life Coach leaves laptop to investigate - 2 puppies are merrily tucking in to the next door neighbours fence of all things! All in a bid to get to the dog the other side. They don't like Buster (next doors dog) – never have – always lots of barking and leaping at the fence in their energetic but vain attempts to scare him away, or eat him alive – I prefer to think scare him away. Now they've obviously decided between the two of them to take the fence down bit by bit, panel by panel. As it we needed something to make our garden look a disaster zone. Let's just say we're not natural gardeners – me and The Husband.

The gardening to which I referred in my last blog is out front not out back – out back is exactly where it should remain – out back away from eyes who will judge my coaching expertise on my gardening expertise or rather the lack of it. I've always wanted a nice garden – The Husband did attempt a flower bed at the back once. It had a Japanese maple tree in it and everything – we watered it, we tended it, we sat next to it, admired it, then the weather got cold or I forgot to water it one day and then like a slippery slope, I couldn't be bothered/forgot and decay set it, everything died.

The lavender (amazingly!) did quite well on neglect but following a swarm of bees in my garden month on month of that summer (I'm scared on bees) I decided none of it should stay so eventually even the hardy lavender went the way of the delicate Japanese maple.

SO, visitors of our back garden (or wasteland as we lovingly refer to it) get this advice;

a) don't run on the grass, you'll get caught in potholes, break your ankle and your can't sue me because I've warned you,

b) mind out for the stones (if visitors adorn bare feet) the dogs dig up the stones, toss them around and play with them until I notice and can be torn away from my laptop before a dog starts choking and vets bills are incurred

and c) don't judge the lack of gardening expertise anywhere near my coaching business. I'm a good coach – in fact, I spend all my time and attention doing that to avoid the bloody gardening.

The front though – is 4 weeks old. A source of great pride (currently anyway) to me and The Husband. Nothing has gone brown yet, flowers in the pots either side of the front door (you know the green balls on stems with oversized daisies on them?) they're doing quite well and the lavender shingle (not plant – learnt from that one!) looks great when I've just watered. So that's what I'm about to do now – water the front – in between retrieving more wood from next doors fence from my puppies mouths! Flippin heck!

Back to blogging

I seriously can't believe it's been so long since my last post AND I'm still getting hits - thankyou for bearing with me!  On the up-side my professional blogs (click here and here) have been updated regularly, so I've awarded myself some brownie points anyway!

The past six week have been a whirlwind.  First it was The Husbands 40th - a night in a beautiful hotel was the first we'd had together since the puppies arrived.  My poor mum feeling until now slightly overwhelmed with the thought of her 2 dogs AND my 2 pups in the same household but even in the last 6 weeks mine have calmed down - at 18 months they've decided they're a bit grown up now and not so easily impressed by new stuff (ah bless!).  So off we went for a night of unbridled luxury and passion The Husband convined he HAD to be on a promise (well it was his 40th) but after lounging in the huge bath (in the middle of the bedroom!  seriously cool!) and a few glasses of red over dinner, both of us  fell into bed and never moved a muscle until 8am the next morning!   Anyway The Husband was placated by a new set of very shiny golf clubs and can be found in the garage regularly admiring them and working out the yardage for each one! 

Husband happy, I'm also happy having hired a PA for the very first time in 10 years of being self employed.  Part time - she comes to my house and has integrated well with the puppies, I've even left her on her own with them while I skipped off to Oxford to pick up a rather fabulous car with my brother!  Having someone to help is a whole new thing for me, she literally bounds in the front door, eager for her next challenge - yesterday it was my accounts and she seems determined to bring me up to speed with the latest in spreadsheets.  I scowled.  Spreadsheets scare me, I wanted to cry - she assures me it's the way forward!

There have also been dozens of radio interviews promoting my book 'Behind with the Mortgage and Living off Plastic', I've spent hours in the studio being patched through to everywhere from Radio Leeds, Cumbria, Manchester, Jersey, Cornwall, Humberside and even Radio Europe (who knew!) with a listenership of 650,000 on their own!  Radio Wales has even got a listenership of 442,000 apparently!  SO latest PR campaign put to bed, it's back to the real world.  Back to blogging but just gotta water my pots before I do anything else - yes, she's now into gardening!  You might even get photo's - lucky you!

Wife in shock

I hauled The Husbands suit holder upstairs this morning. He hadn't been anywhere I had. Last night I attended a Fashion Show at The Chesterfield Hotel in London, sporting a beautiful cream Karen Millen 3 piece. Consequently I'd travelled up to London in jeans to change into the speaker they were expecting when I arrived.

As I climb the stairs, I'm talking The Husband through last nights events, the lights, the cameras, the dresses – all very glitzy stuff. Absent mindedly I drag the suit holder into our bedroom and start to lay it flat on the floor to empty everything out, just as The Husband waves his hand...

Husband 'Don't lay it there, put it in the hallway instead'

Me 'Why?'

Husband 'I'm just going to do my push-ups'

Me 'You do push-ups?' (Look of genuine disbelief sweeps across my face)

Husband 'Yes' (ever so slightly defensively)

Me 'I had no idea you did push-ups' (He can't be serious!)

Husband 'Oh yes, then after the push-ups, I do my sit-ups'

Me 'Don't give me that!' (Now I know he's having a laugh)

Husband 'Straight up!' (he's serious!)

Me 'Well, I never knew you did push-up's!' (For once, I'm speechless)

I mutter to myself watching The Husband as he starts his morning ritual.

Me ''Do you know I had absolutely no idea you did this in the morning!'

(Husband can't reply – he's doing push-ups)

Just as he finishes and changes position for the sit-ups I grab my opportunity for more info

Me 'When did you start this?'

Husband 'Yesterday!' he replied

Lucky Husband

The Husband and I have been using our new mobile phones for a few weeks now.

I have to admit I was a tad scared of mine to begin with.

2 reasons for this;

1. every thing's in the wrong place! By that I mean, the space bar is different when texting, I can't seem to make it go to predictive text, taking photo's is a whole new ball game and even making a call needed my full concentration

2. The Husband had given me strict and stern instructions for use. No dropping, no leaving for puppies to attack, no scratch marks and no leaving in taxi's.

Can you see why I was a little nervous?  Yes I looked like an octogenarian with bad eye sight using the phone for the first few weeks, every click of a button waiting for it to blow up or call someone I didn't want to, text messages were very short and without humour – no clever use of exclamation marks (I still can't find those!)

Then there were The Husbands rules...

He can't be blamed – I have done all of the things he mentioned – on more than one occasion each time!  I'm known for losing things, dropping things and not really remembering where I put things.  The only clue I sometimes have, is that I can call my own phone when I lose it and follow it around the house until it gets louder, I've even had The Husband following the phone ring tone underneath the seats of the car in the pitch black before now!

You see the Husband is notoriously careful with his things. You'll never find anything he owns, scratched, left lying around, put in the wrong place, dropped or lost, so you might therefore imagine my glee when we had this conversation just a few days ago;

Husband: Slight problem with my phone

Wife: Go on

Husband: Dropped it in the loo last night

Wife: (smirking) You were twittering on the loo weren't you

Husband: Yep

Wife: Ok so it's broken right?

Husband: It's in the airing cupboard drying out...fingers crossed

Wife: Hope you wiped it first!

Oh, I can dine out of this one for MONTHS! (ok YEARS!).

For the concerned, said phone is now dry and in full working order, water marks disappearing more every day. Lucky Husband, lucky Husband!

Too much time on my hands perhaps

I'm in the kitchen. The Husband walks in looking puzzled.

'Which phone feels heaviest to you?'

I hold my hands out, close my eyes and he mixes the phones up before placing one phone on each hand.

'The left one' I say, eyes still shut, 'definitely the left one'

'That's funny, I thought it was the right one'

'Well give them here, shut your eyes'

Husband shuts eyes, wife mixes phones up and places one phone on each of Husbands outstretched hands

'Ah', (a sign that he's thinking) 'Mmmm'

'Just go by instinct- which one feels lighter' (How hard can it be?)

'Definitely the one on the left'

'Oh, that was the one on my right before – I thought the other phone was lighter'

I take the phones and move swiftly to kitchen cupboards to get the scales.

'This is a bit serious isn't it?' says The Husband, 'I didn't mean to cause a furore!'

'Well I'm interested now'

Husband retreats to lounge to retrieve my other phone. So now, we're weighing 3 mobile phones.

At that point, I did think we possibly have too much time on our hands

But then I stun myself with my ingenuity – 'Hang on, I'm taking a picture, I feel a blog coming on'

SO, in case you were wondering about the whole 'which is the lighter phone thing' – these are the phones in order of lightness – from left to right!

Famous author, renowned speaker and inspiration to thousands and this is how she spends her Saturday afternoon!

Watch out world I'm on Twitter.com

Flippin heck, I'm wondering if I'll ever get any work done again.  I've joined Twitter.com AND I'm on Facebook too.  Between the two of them, my attention is being pulled. I'm favouring Twitter more than Facebook at mo but that could just be novelty factor!

Here's the thing, Facebook you have to 'know' people (or at least know of them) before you can build your friends list. So you send an invite off to who in the real world is your actual friend and then get hugely deflated if they don't respond or agree to add you as a friend on Facebook. The reasons for this could be;

a) they don't want to go down the slippery road of Social Networking in case they can't stop sliding

b) they haven't got the time to join Facebook and wonder how on earth you have

c) they're actually not THAT interested in you and can't be bothered to respond

Clearly c) is death to your self esteem so I try not to think about that response too much.

But anyhow, you start off of course with 0 friends and you feel incredibly stupid, til you've got at least 20 or 30, then you think you're doing well until you realise that other people have 500 + friends and once again, deflated you berate yourself for not going out as much as you should have done when you were in your 20's!

As for Twitter – there's no such nonsense – (beathe sigh of relief).

'Friends' are renamed 'Followers' on Twitter and you don't have to know them – I've only been twittering 4 days and I've got 44 followers! Cool! They are complete strangers who look at your profile and if they think you sound interesting, they'll follow you and whatever you write comes up on their screen and they even reply and you can reply back – instant friends! Perfect for those who fret in the dead of night about not being popular enough.

Explaining this to The Husband the other day, of course, meant he wanted some of the action. So I signed him up and gave him a profile 'MeetTheHusband' (what else!)

So now he twitters along 'with' me – or even 'to' me – while we're in the same room – sat opposite each other – me on laptop – him on my old laptop...

Last night this was the conversation;

wife twittered 'I love my job, will be up at 6am working with tea, laptop and pups at feet'

husband twittered 'don't bring my tea up til 6.45!'

wife twittered 'deal...as long as you put the rubbish out'

Not a word was spoken! THAT'S how a marriage works!

Damn PMT!

Having spent over a year growing my hair and being able to proudly put it in a ponytail and use straighteners for the first time in my life, would it surprise you to know that one bout of PMT and most of it is on the hairdressers floor?

It seemed like THE best idea I've ever had when I picked up the phone to my hairdresser and announced to her that if she didn't cut it that very evening, I would!

In panic, the poor thing tried to soothe my frayed nerves.  She reluctantly agreed to the appointment, and chatted for a good while before the first cut was made about how long we'd been growing it, what kind of styling products I was using and how I was blow drying it - a lot of which made sense but hormones have a funny way of over riding sense don't they - so 'off with it' was my direction!

Another thing about hormones and PMT though is that you're never really satisfied with anything (as I'm sure The Husband would testify)  So after my walk home, my shower and after I'd re-styled it, I still wasn't happy!  SO I called her back (really...poor thing!) 'I don't like it!'  I protested.  Straight back round for more discussions about new hair-do...we agreed finally on a new style - more chopping required.  Sam, my hairdresser actually whinced as she cut more off but FINALLY it's lovely!

PMT or no PMT, I am for now completely satisfied.  The Husband will be pleased!

My good friend and fellow blogger Gabrielle also had something very sensible to say about new hair-do's, I don't think she had PMT when she wrote it tho!

Orange...Talk Talk...Orange...no really...Orange

The Husband has his talents. Shopping around for the best price on phone bills and utilities isn't one of them. We decided (yes joint decision!) that we'd (see how I take partial responsibility?) been slacking in this department for far too long so I sat the Husband in front of my laptop and set him to work. (I made tea!)

After much Errrming and Ahhhing, he announced the ideal package with Talk Talk (we're currently with Orange).

'Perfect!', said I 'Buy it'

He called Talk Talk. Nice man on other end of phone went through everything, a few hidden costs but still not a bad package, so we swallowed the one-off connection fee.

There is where the problem started. Me? Once decided, I'd have left well alone. The Husband? He carried on searching.

'Orange have a better package!' he states

After 30 minutes of internet searching and phone calls with Orange, we change...back to Orange.

The Husband calls Talk Talk back, 'We have a better deal with Orange' he explains, 'Is it just an introductory special deal though?' question Talk Talk, more Errrms and Ahhhs...The Husband doesn't know.

Back on the phone to Orange. It's not a special deal, it's for the whole term of the contract. Back to Talk Talk. 'It's not a special deal, it's for the whole term of the contract.' He tells them. Wait up...Talk Talk are offering a better deal still...really? Nope false alarm...it only appeared to be a better deal.

'Nope, we're definitely sticking with Orange', he informs Talk Talk to another woman who worries on our behalf that the deal is just an introductory offer.

The Husband furrows his brow 'No, I've been through this, it's not a special deal or an introductory offer, do I have to go through this again? I just don't want it anymore'. She agrees (reluctantly) to cancel the newly agreed contract.

Phew...2 hours but phew.

Today? Husband finds better deal (I wish he'd just stop looking!) with Sky and it includes Sky+

Me: 'We're not having it'

Him: 'Why?'

Me: 'Because you spent 2 hours sorting it out yesterday and it's now sorted'

Him: 'But we're the only ones in the street who don't have Sky'

Me: 'Tough'

Him: 'So that's a No then?'

Me: 'Yep'

Him 'You say No to everything'

(Wife glares)

Me: 'Think puppies, think new posh car, think extension'

Him: 'The extension is yours not mine, you said Yes to You there'

Me: 'I'm letting you stand it in aren't I?'

Sweet enough

I have a bit of a thing about sugar.  Nope, it's not that I'm addicted to it and can't give it up or anything, it's just that I understand that constant sugar hits are no good for your body and so I've curbed my sweet tooth really very well for several years now.  My family are very good at this too as it happens, although the reasons for this are different, so it's just coincidence that we all feel the same. 

My mum has diabetes so has to be extremely careful with sugar and she's done exceptionally well, she's lost an awful lot of weight and is more energetic, she looks healthier and her blood sugar counts are excellent.  My sister-in-law is brilliant with my neice, she tasted her very first bit of sugar in the form of a cake on her 1st birthday!  Literally, she had nothing before that, no jars of food and no fast food. 

The Husband has also decided of late to eat more sensibly, and he's developed quite an interest in looking at labels and reeling off the nutritional content to me!  Of course, being the better cook out of the two of us, he has taken it upon himself to be more than daring with his ingredients - even discovering the joys of homemade Humous! (shock!)

So when I'm in a shop and the lady in front is with her daughter - possibly 5 or 6 years old and I hear this conversation...it takes all of my life-coachey calm, tolerance of other peoples lifestyles and behaviour not to look like I've swallowed a wasp in disapproval...what would you reaction have been?

Mother;  'Would you like a chocolate bar honey?'

5 year old; 'Erm, no thanks'

Mother: 'No have one...what about a Marathon bar?'

5 year old; 'No, thankyou'

Mother: 'Well, what about a KitKat then, you like KitKats!'

5 year old: 'I don't think I want one'

Mother: 'Well, Smarties then, they have blue ones now, they're the best'

5 year old; (shakes head to say no)

Mother; 'Yes I think we'll have them, you can eat them on the way home'

......Give me strength!!!!!!!!

I just thought some of you might find this funny...I did!

THE NEXT SURVIVOR SERIES 

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 
3 kids each for six weeks. 

Each kid will play 
two sports 
and either take music 
or dance classes.  They will also attend cubs, brownies, sea cadets or similar.

There is no fast food. 

Each man must:
take care of his 3 children, 
keep his assigned house clean, 
correct all homework, 
and complete science projects, 
also, cook, do laundry, 
and pay a list of 'pretend' bills 
with not enough money. 

In addition, each man 
will have to budget in money 
for groceries each week. 

Each man 
must remember the birthdays 
of all their friends andrelatives, 
and send cards out 
on time--no emailing. 

Each man must also 
take each child to a doctor's appointment, 
a dentist appointment 
and a haircut appointment. 

He must make 
one unscheduled andinconvenient 
visit per child 
to A & E 

He must also 
make gingerbread men or choc chip cakes 
for a social function. 

Each man will be responsible for 
decorating his own assigned house, 
planting flowers outside 
and keeping it presentable 
at all times. 

The men will only 
have access to television 
when the kids are asleep 
and all chores are done. 

The men must 
shave their legs, 
wear makeup daily, 
adorn  themselves  with jewellery, 
wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, 
keep fingernails polished 
and eyebrows groomed. 

During one of the six weeks, 
the men will have to endure severe abdominal pain, persistent lower back aches, 
and have extreme, unexplained mood swings, but never once complain or 
slow down from other duties. 

They must attend 
weekly school meetings, concerts & plays, church, and find time 
at least once a week, to spend the afternoon 
in the park or a similar setting. 

They will need to 
read a book to the kids 
each night and in the morning, 
feed them, dress them, 
brush their teeth and 
comb their hair by 7:00 am. 

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: 
each child's birthday, 
height, weight,
shoe size, clothes size, teachers name, best friends name and doctor's name. 
Also the child's weight at birth, 
time of birth, 
and length of labour, 
each child's favourite colour, 
middle name, 
favourite snack, 
favourite song, 
favourite drink, 
favourite toy, 
biggest fear and 
what they want to be when they grow up. 

The kids vote them off the island 
based on performance. 
The last man wins only if...
he still has enough energy 
to be intimate with his spouse 
at a moment's notice. 

If the last man does win, 
he can play the game over and over 
and over again for the next 18-25 years 
eventually earning the right 
To be called Mother! 

Man with Greyhound, book by cover

So The Husband and I were just walking onto the field with the pups and a little way ahead was the man with the greyhound. Doggie owners notice other doggie owners you see, so although we've never spoken to or even made eye contact with man with greyhound, we feel like we know him.

We know he never lets the greyhound off the lead, we know it looks quite old and walks staidly and nicely next to his owner and we know he'll take no notice of our pups when we let them off the lead for their run.

We also know the owner keeps himself to himself. Some dog owners are chatty, we know their backgrounds, their hobbies, what treatment they consider for doggie tummy upsets, what they had for dinner that night, what they think of various other dog owners (notably the irresponsible ones whose dogs run riot and they just let them terrorise everyone else!). We look out for each other, we chat and even though we always know each others dogs names, we rarely know each others names and after months or even years of passing the time of day with your pooch, it seems somewhat rude to then ask what 'their' name is, so we don't. It's an unwritten rule that seems to work.

Man with greyhound though is quiet, late 40's/early 50's, head down, always dressed in a suit - strangely (unlike The Husband and I who as you well know are trussed up ready to take on Antarctica) and there's another thing about man with greyhound – he's always on the phone.

'Of course' he's having an affair you know', I've commented to The Husband on many an occasion.

'And you know that' he answered with a frown the first time I said it.

'Of course! A man on the phone? Walking his dog? Same time every day? The dog is his alibi!' I roll my eyes that The Husband doesn't know stuff like this, then I continue, 'The dog doesn't even want to go out, you can tell, he wants a rug and a warm fire PLUS he's not exactly dressed for dog walking is he – in a suit for goodness sake – it's definitely an affair!' I declared. Rather judgemental I know, but heck I'm a woman, I can smell these things!

So onto the field we walk and the greyhound is much more bouncy than usual, raring to go one would say, so much so that we called over cheerily to the owner to comment.

'He's bouncy today, he's usually so calm!', I shout

'Yeah, he wants to chase your two that's why', man with greyhound replied.

We all laugh

'He'll most likely kill them though!'

More laughter

'Yeah right!' we jest

'No seriously' continued man with greyhound - by this time at a reasonable distance away. 'Last year he was the 3^rd fastest dog in the UK and killed a Doberman'.

'Blimey!' say The Husband and I in unison...backing away from previously cute greyhound.

'Yes somewhere in the country there are several dogs with only half an ear!'

Wow. We were both stunned. There we were, all this time, thinking this calm, old, retired greyhound would be a gentle, if long legged, walking companion for our two (if only his owner came off the phone) and there you go – a killer in disguise!

'Well, it's not an affair afterall', I muse to The Husband as we walk away rather more quickly than we would previously have done.

'All this time, he's been on the phone...it wasn't a woman, it was his lawyers!'

Happy New Year!

Happy new year everyone!

I have to say I'm sat at my computer having finally got my head clear following the most disgusting cold over new year.  Almost everyone in my family had it - my mum, The Husband and my SIL & neice, so it was my turn.  Spent New Years Eve and the days leading up to it totally indulging on the sofa with soppy film after soppy film, drank more tea than the population of china and the puppies got completely used to snoozing either side of me, resigned to fewer walks.  I just couldn't get my brain or my body into gear but have woken up on 1st Jan feeling much better all round.

No films today, planning my workload and strategy for this year - which I had meant to do last week, but better late than never - I also love the idea of working today while everyone else nurses hang overs! haha makes me feel a bit smug and ahead of the game - long may that last!

So, puppies asleep after their morning run, Husband at work after just 4 hours sleep (he hosted New Years Eve at the hotel he runs and finally fell into bed at 3am!) and me, finally feeling like I have a brain afterall.

HNY to all x

Roll on 09

Ah, it has to be said this life coach is feeling sad today. I officially finished work for Christmas and packed up by e-mail in-box for the festive season last week would you believe...early I know!

Don't worry this isn't a maudlin blog just a thoughtful one. This year has been strange. It's the first full year lived without my lovely dad and also without Barney our spaniel. There were difficult days and dark days this year but also some beautiful days and days filled with laughter that turned into light relief and pleasure.

I've had a very good year work wise and having so much fill my head space with my dad passing, I didn't really expect to enjoy my work as much as I have this year but my clients are so brilliant to work with, they really are and I'm thankful for coaching and having a career where I watch first hand other people succeed, thrive and move forwards so positively. That in itself has had a profound effect on this life coach.

When dad died I consciously re-evaluated everything I did in my life and I made the decision to keep coaching and teaching as the biggest part of my career – I'm pleased I did. I've loved every minute and Meg Reid who I teach with, is a constant positive vibe in my life, I learn so much from her not only every time we teach together but from those phone calls and chats in between too.

Personally I've seen my darling mum thrive and remain constant in her journey of re-building her life following my dad's death. No-one could have predicted her positive and determined outlook. She has found new friends, reformed her faith and got involved in projects she never imagined she'd be a part of. My brother I know has struggled this year and Tracey his wife, like The Husband, has been unfailing in supporting him. Both Tracey and The Husband have had to navigate our mood swings, tears and introvert moments and have done so brilliantly, how lucky we are.

We all walked into this year bruised, battered and sad, not understanding the effect of death or how one person missing from a family can change its dynamics or the personalities of those who are left. It's true it has changed us all but not all in a negative sense, we see things differently now. We behave differently now I'm sure and both my brother and I – even though both in our 30's – have grown up I think as a result. It's been a learning curve for everyone.

My niece's christening was on Sunday, a day where a very pretty little girl in a beautiful white dress with a white fur trim coat entered a church with her family on a crisp cold morning. She was, it has to be said, overwhelmed to see so many faces she knew, as she was welcomed into a church by a very 'with it' vicar who knows her personally, who plays with her at Edward Bear and watches X-Factor in her spare time! She also saw her parents have their marriage blessed as she sat on her god fathers knee, a beautiful family day, made all the more poignant because of dad's absence.

Finally, yesterday The Husband and I made the very difficult decision to have our beautiful bear of a Chow Chow Georgie put to sleep. Unlike Barney who last year was carried into the vets to sleep peacefully, Georgie hopped through the door, physically nothing but a little arthritis wrong with him. Georgie's problem was senile dementia. He'd forget he'd been out for walks and demand more, right into the early hours of the morning. He'd howl for hours for seemingly no good reason and unlike the puppies who flop after their walks and dinners, Georgie hadn't been emotionally content for some time and it was time, after eleven and a half years to say goodbye to our boy.

He's with my dad now, who he knew and wagged his tail for and Barney who he missed so much last year.

As for me, this christmas holiday is for resting, for a well earned break and to get organised in my very life coachey way before an exciting and packed schedule full of speeches, teaching weekends and coaching business women next year begins. I know as my family and I enter our second new year without dad, even though we will always miss his presence, we will I think, be slightly less battered, less bruised and more able to recover quicker from the days when we miss him most. Above all, I know we'll continue to enjoy our little girl, my god daughter Lily. She never misses a smile, cute comments spring from her lips every minute and her natural charm is shining very bright indeed – thank goodness for little girls!

I'll be back next year!

Sleeping bunnies

As you know The Husband and I are the adoring Auntie and Uncle of Lily May and at 20 months old now, she is funny, entertaining and engaging, she is totally consuming to be around.

At the playgroup she goes to, the 'in' game to play is Sleeping Bunnies. For those of you who haven't yet been introduced to the concept of 30 children pretending to be sleeping bunnies, the name of the game kind of gives it away While the parents sing a soothing lullaby for approximately 3 seconds, the children duly pretend to be asleep, on the floor. Then as the tone changes and the parents and teachers clap and sing much louder 'Wake up bunnies hop hop hop, Wake up bunnies hop hop hop', the children jump up and run around wide awake and squeal with delight a lot – you get the picture.

You may think that at just 5 seconds-ish in length this is a quick little game for parents and adoring aunties/uncles to play – not so! For Lily May, that's simply the major benefit in her eyes, as it means you have plenty of time to repeat it again and again and again. Grandma (i.e. My mum) can often be found being directed onto the floor by her granddaughter to play Sleeping Bunnies and Auntie Net (that'll be me) and the Uncle she loves (that'll be The Husband) are fair game too!

When I took The Husbands first cup of tea up to him the other morning, the bedroom was pitch black and not a sound stirred from under the covers. As I gently placed his cup of tea on the table beside him, I softly sang 'Wake up bunnies hop hop hop' and to my surprise he replied immediately....'Make the bunnies stop stop stop'!

Mixing business with pleasure

Who says you can't mix business with pleasure?  Whilst baby-sitting my 20 month old neice Lily, I launched my brand new web site this evening Pink Skills

Only momentarily interrupted with a small child wanting her mummy but Auntie Net cuddles must have done the trick as we cuddled in her room and I made up a story about Princess Lily and her Auntie Net who successfully launched her brand new website...seemed to do the trick, it sent her off to sleep...only hoping it doesn't send my clients off to sleep too - that wouldn't be cool!

Friends!

Well, this blog is all about the life behind the coach so hold onto your skirts girls!

I have friends. Most people have friends but I'm lucky enough however, to have friends that make me laugh until I can't breathe any more and one friend in particular took this to a completley different level!

At work, she is an extremely well respected expert in her field, and home...well...

The evening started normally enough...dinner, wine, chit chat, more wine...then she launches into the story of the day she had her Diaphragm fitted – yep that's right...apparently they have to be fitted...I'll let her tell you the rest; (Note to reader: for the squeamish or easily shocked...look away now!)

“Lynette asked me to tell you a story that I told her over dinner last week (well I was eating, she was sort of choking allot). This could damage her elegant and sophisticated businesswoman reputation of course, having people think she has a reprobate idiot of a friend. But I've warned her so here goes.

I was telling her about my visit to the Family Planning Clinic at the ripe old age of forty, to ask about being given the Diaphragm. This was nerve wracking in itself since I thought only naughty 13 year olds went to these places. Maybe when I walked in these youngsters would shriek, "What?! Is she still doing it at her age? How revolting! Where is her knitting and why isn't she at Bingo?"

So anyway, thought I'd prepare and try to "look" my best. Have never been a fan of waxing (never fancied having a therapist try and wade through Sherwood Forest with boiling liquid, muttering like David Bellamy), I'm quite nifty with a razor but thought I'd give it a last neat trim with the scissors (have always wanted to practice topiary). Got a bit too enthusiastic though and nicked a bit-only way I could stop the bleeding was to put a bit of tissue over it. The end result was imitating a small beaver with an injury, instead of a neat "young" looking ladygarden!

Oh well, up I sped to the Clinic before I lost my nerve and was herded rather too quickly into a small "Colditz" type room. The nurse (is she a nurse? Matron? Sadistic pervert?) asked me some questions including, "When was the first time you had intercourse?" Sat demurely and replied "nineteen" (well shaved a couple of years off as didn't want her thinking I was a slack Essex trollop). She fixed me with a disbelieving stare. I gave her one back which said "No-one went near my nether regions until I was old enough to vote you old prune". There, that told her.

Then had to get on the examination table to be "fitted" with a diaphragm. They come in all sorts of sizes apparently. Of course, I knew I'd be having the smallest one available since I am a big fan of pelvic floor exercises. (don't do these on the bus though-people think you're trying to wet yourself).

Anyway, Nursey puts long plastic gloves on, and then ensues a scene out of All Creatures Great and Small, you know the bit where Siegfred has his whole arm up a cow's bottom? First of all she says, "I can't find your cervix". "Perhaps I haven't got one?" I offer meekly. Not only does she now think I am a slack Essex trollop, but a dim one at that. "Hang on", she shouts, "I think I've found it!" I didn't like to tell her she'd got her arm so far up there, I think she'd grabbed one of my tonsils.

Then the biggest insult of all.

"I think you'll need quite a large diaphragm". She sees my horror. "I most certainly do not. Can't you get a smaller one to fit?", I squealed. "No, it's too big up there" she says. God this has got worse. (have also realised she has spied tissue over the cut I'd forgotten to remove earlier-more embarrassment). I want to actually remind her that it's my vagina she is looking up, not the Black Hole of Calcutta.

She then extracts her arm and whips out a diaphragm from a drawer. Oh God, it looks like a flying saucer-it's big enough to eat my dinner off-the shame of it, I'll never live this down!

She then leaves the room and tells me to walk with it in to make sure it's comfortable and not too loose (visions of me walking down to the shops and it slipping out down my trouser leg, and some old man picking it up thinking it's my hanky).

Am now traumatised and can't wait to get home to wail to husband on phone. "Wow" he says when I tell him my new diaphragm is a bit on the large side. "Is it as big as a wok?" Have visions of me whipping it out mid "jiggle" to start a stirfry. This is not good. Make mental note to phone Weight watchers to ask if they have classes to reduce the size of your cervix instead of your waistline.  Anyway, that's my humiliating tale (I seem to have lots of these in my life for some reason).  Must dash, am about to fix dinner. Now where did I put that Wok?....”

Friends eh?

oh dear!

Is it wrong to buy a family size pack of mince pies for a friend coming this weekend and then eat them all whilst watching The Paul O'Grady Show? 

Nah, I didn't think so!  Well, I did leave the beautiful boots in the shop window where they belonged today!

Boys and their toys

I thought we were going to see James Bond at the pictures. I even put make up on for Daniel Craig. Just before we left the house however, The Husband changed his mind.

'I think I'd rather look at cars today!'

What? Oh you're having a laugh right? 'Really? You'd prefer cars over James Bond? James Bond has some wonderful cars in it'.

The Husband frowned.

Nope, it seemed we were off to various dealer car forecourts in the continued search for the car of our dreams – well The Husbands dreams.

Now last time we went looking for cars you might remember it didn't exactly go well. This time though, my mood is considerably improved! We do need a new car.

My criteria are;

- must have lumbar support for my dodgy back

- must have big enough boot for the dogs

The Husbands criteria are;

- must have lumbar support for wife's back (no doubt to stop me from moaning!)

- must have boot big enough for dogs (so we can go away on holiday, take the dogs with us and avoid costly telephone calls to see how the dogs are – oh yes and to stop me moaning)

- well...the boy just wants a new toy!

3 hours of garage forecourts later! I have sat in and got out of an abundance of cars/4X4's/jeeps and sports cars (the latter was purely in the name of research you understand).

The last garage we tried was the Nissan garage (the Ipswich version of the Colchester Nissan garage where I lost my will to live a few weeks ago). Unlike previous Nissan garage, these salesmen appear human, friendly and most importantly keen to leave me alone to LOOK at the cars without harassing me or mentally assessing the weight of my bank balance – ok, well they probably were mentally assessing the weight of my bank balance but they weren't obvious about it!

Precisely 40 minutes later, we'd ordered this;

The same model, we argued over 2 weeks ago!

Due date: next week sometime

Colour: sparkly grey!

As we walked out of the dealership The Husband smiled.

'What are you smiling for?'

'I knew you'd say yes to that one!'

'No you didn't....how come?'

'You stroke the cars you really like'

'I do not!'

'Oh you do'

'When did I last stroke a car'

'About 40 minutes ago, you stroked everything you really liked'

I went quiet...so I did, I remember now.

As we got in the car and pulled off the forecourt, we sat in silence for a minute before I smiled and stroked The Husband!

Can I brag a little?  Please?  It won't last long!  For those of you who've had a bad day look away now!

I've had a GOOOOOOOD day!  You know when everything just runs perfectly and slots into place, flippin heck, when it works it feels good!  I have;

-whizzed through my coaching e-mails at a rate of knots

-thrown away tons of useless old papers that were cluttering up my files

-written, edited and sent out the UK Coaching Partnership newsletter

-written an article on Listening Skills for The Lunchtime Fix

-edited the second draft of my clients very first book, it's TONS better than the first draft

-bumped into an ex-client at the supermarket who's literally changed her whole life as a result of coaching - she left her husband, lost 4 stone and is re-training for a completely new career!

-shopped at above supermarket for food (we had none!)

-made homemade Mushroom and Butter Bean Soup - delish!

- ensured that The Husband got to his hair appointment on time, had time for a shower, fed him and then got him off to his Champagne Tasting this evening (that's part of his job - a terrible, awful, miserable part of his job - he assures me!)

-walked 3 dogs - twice!

Perfect huh?  Smugness over...for those of you who read the blog regularly you'll know that 'perfect' cannot always be relied upon, it's just that TODAY IT HAPPENED!

I'm running a survey on how women in particular worry about being perfect and the lengths they go to to come across as perfect - perhaps you'd be kind enough to click here to answer my 4 questions?  I'd so appreciate it!  Thanks!  Perfect!

Ooops!

Oh dear – the car is pink. That's a sentence I never thought I'd write! There was a time when I looked on enviously at the new KA Sports in baby pink but thank goodness it was only a phase – red is now the new pink as half my wardrobe dictates. However, that doesn't' change the fact that the car is pink.

Following last weeks disastrous events, I was determined this week would be better. The back is now much improved, the cold is gone – well given to The Husband actually but I'm not even going to start on the whole men with colds thing – I haven't got time!

As soon as my back would allow me to sit up straight for more than 10 minutes, I opened my laptop to see what I'd been missing. A busy week ahead...lots of coaching appointments, including a client trip to London and plenty of articles to write. A nice week! One meeting I was particularly looking forward to was lunch with an associate of mine.

I took the opportunity to look good, having spent the past week walking and looking like an octogenarian in a bad mood. Out came the high heels (yes I know! But I can't help it!), great outfit and a bag that hadn't seen the light of day for months.

This particular bag is gorgeous, very small but bold colours with sparkley beads etc – very now! So I filled it with the essentials – phone, money, keys and tissues (yes I was still replying on the tissues for that 'Do excuse me, I'm just getting over a cold' thing).

What I hadn't remembered, was that the last time I used the bag, I'd used it for make-up. Having parked the car outside the venue, I took out a tissue and with it came half a ton of rose sparkly blusher.

Pink dust was EVERYWHERE! All on my phone, the tissues were useless unless I wanted to undo the 'No I haven't' really got a red nose' make-up job. With little room to move in the drivers seat and aware that I didn't want pink blusher all over the seats, I carefully picked out the phone, keys and money, opened the car door and shook them all outside.

Obviously last time I used the bag the blusher had crumbled out of its container and there were large lumps of it everywhere still crumbling in the bottom. I turned the bag inside out thinking I was being really clever, wiped away the blusher with another tissue but it wasn't all gone so I walloped the bag against the car door until I was satisfied the bag was clean–ish.

Impressed that I'd cleaned myself up with not too much fuss, I put everything back in the bag and got out the car. Straightened myself up only to notice the inside and outside of the car door was a very definite girly shade of rose pink! Personally I think it's a nice touch, don't tell The Husband though eh?

Stop press - she's ill!

Yuk, I'm ill! I've got a cold.  I've eaten a whole box of chocolates, not that I tasted any of them, but I was sure they were making me feel better at the time. I now feel queezy. I've gone through an entire loo roll and had it not been for my darling mum, who helped me clear up the house, OK – did most of it for me - there'd have been a trail of strewn bits of loo roll following me around. She turned up wafting yellow marigolds in the air declaring them her 'washing gloves' – are there any other types of marigolds then? Don't answer that!

The cold is the icing on the cake this week. There I was giving a talk to a room full of women in business when I noticed my neck tightening up. By the time I left, the whole left side of my neck was in spasm. What caused it I don't know, it could have been the hooker heels I was wearing – they are outrageously high but looked fabulous with the dress so ho-hum! Whatever caused it, the 1 hour drive home finished it and I was in agony. 4 days later and I was barely able to move.

The Husband practically stretchered me to an emergency physiotherapist where I must have looked pretty awful. The receptionist came out from behind her serving hatch, knelt down by my head (which was in my hands) and asked if she could get me a hot bean bag. 'Anything!' I whispered, 'just make the pain go away!'.

I repeated the same to the very nice looking physiotherapist too. If he'd have recommended head severance at that point I'd have considered it a good idea! 'Is there anything in particular you'd like to be able to do that your back won't allow you to do right now?' he asked politely. Are you kidding? 'Walking would be nice!' Don't snap Lynette it's not his fault.

Sunday was meant to be the start of our wedding anniversary celebrations and I'd booked a hotel for a night of unbridled passion, yeah well THAT clearly wasn't going to happen so we cancelled!

I placated The (by-now-getting-slightly-less-patient) Husband by suggesting a romantic trip to the cinema instead but when he picked me up from the physiotherapist's second appointment it was clear that sitting through a 2 hour film wasn't going to be an option either.

'Never mind', he said trying to sound jolly 'I'll take you to look at this new car I've seen'. We'll just pop in on the way home'. My heart sank. Popping in, in husband language means at least half an hour of 'oooo it has this' or 'ahhh it has that' whilst I try to kick off a leach of a salesman. If there's one thing I can't stand it's sales talk. Seriously, if I want the car I'll buy it – if I don't I won't – it's THAT simple.

Keep calm, think happy thoughts I chant, feeling every bump in the road radiate through my spine. Looking at cars was the very last thing I wanted to do – what I wanted was a hot bath, that warm beany bag thing the receptionist had given me and a cup of tea!

We get to the car show room and my face must have said it all 'Well if you're going to look like that!' exclaimed The Husband, as we walked up to the beautiful but over priced 4x4 on the forecourt. 'What! I'm thinking happy thoughts' I smile and start singing 'happy thoughts....happy thoughts..... la la la la' OK you can stop now Lynette his patience is wearing thin.

It seems The Husband has been to the showroom before, he was on first named terms with the salesman! Whilst he was measuring the boot (for the puppies you understand) I looked at the price HOW MUCH?! You're having a laugh aren't you! My jaw dropped open just like the physiotherapist had told me to to stop my neck muscles from seizing. I held on in there for as long as I could before retreating to the car, even the salesman had that 'No business here' defeated face on as we left, damn right no business here!

By the time we got home, we were mid argument. The frustration of the cancelled weekend away, no cinema special and certainly no 4x4, The husbands patience depleted.

We're fine now, still no 4x4 on the drive, the neck pain is hanging around but no where near the agony it was and on the bright side at least the cold is coming out - paracetamol anyone?

Poo rage

The Husband made a decision. Easy on there hubby! 'Winters coming', he declared 'and I'm not spending another winter walking dogs with wet, cold feet'. It's true. Last winter was miserable. The pups were very little, they'd taken their first walks in near freezing conditions and our feet had routinely been frozen and defrosted with every walk. We feared frost bit at one time but as we still have all our toes, we think we got away with it.

'This year will be different', he stood tall, grabbed the keys and I followed. We were going shopping...in search of 'protective clothing'. Oh god thought I this could be expensive.

I'm often wary of things labelled 'waterproof' or 'extra warm'. My body has never taken much notice of such statements and they never seem to work, but when we happened upon a pair of bright pink sort of moon boot things and I tried them on, well....it was like resting my sore feet in a warm pillow of fluff! At THAT moment in THAT shop I found heaven! I stomped around a bit and decided I could walk reasonably normally in them and that we'd give them a try. My natural suspicion of anything waterproof suspended due to the deep joy of feeling warmth.

Well, they are a hit! The Husband bought a pair too and so we go out together now looking rather like we're embracing the North Pole, especially as The Husband bought a luminous yellow ski jacket too. I drew the line at that one, but you can certainly see him coming and it's been very helpful in big supermarkets as I scan the isles looking for the wanderer that is The Husband.

Anyway, I digress, this morning, been out with pups flinging – they ran a fair few miles, we stood in the middle of big large green in our his'n'hers waterproof, extra warm moon boot things and life's a peach. Until I noticed it – it being the smell.

All dog owners have a natural instinct for this particular smell, your senses adapt to it when you first get a puppy. Any dog owner can sniff a whiff and pin point its exact location with the expertise of those heat detectors that police use when looking for criminals from helicopters on dark nights. Yup, poo! Too late, I've trodden in it and consequently it's all around the house.

There is nothing worse than poo being trapsed through your house and not only that but somebody else's dogs poo – that's so much worse. They say that mums will do anything for their babies and think nothing of changing teething nappies but the thought of changing another childs nappy becomes suddenly quite overwhelming. It's the same in doggy world with poo.

At home I'm fastidious about it and no sooner have they done the deed in the garden than I'm out there in all weathers, all times of the day and night, poo bag in hand for fear that they run in it and bring it in. The Husband once caught me in my pink dressing gown with nothing on underneath and my equally pink wellies clearing up poo and even admitted that I looked quite hot!

Poo has featured quite heavily in our lives as it happens. There was the time Georgie was doing the business by the road side, us stood there patiently til he'd finished before responsibly whipping out a freezer bag and clearing up the offending mess.

A woman had passed us in her car and pulled over about 100 yards up the road. I watched her as she watched us. 'I think we're being watched' said I slowly, she was actually watching that we were picking up the poo! The Husband waved the poo bag around in the air, worried that her mirror might not have caught all the action. She did a 3 point turn there and then to challenge the wave 'oh know...poo rage...I don't believe it, you've started a poo rage situation, I bet she's got a knife', I snapped.

I grabbed the Georgie's lead from The Husband and held Georgie protectively close (The Husband I concluded could fend for himself). She wound down the window. Face like thunder, she looked like she'd chewed on a wasp. 'I hope you're clearing that up, some of us have to live around here you know!' and with that, she put her foot to the floor and sped off like some kind of juvenile on a Saturday night.

'Where do you think WE live' shouted The Husband incensed at her comment, again waving the poo in the air like some sort of demented teenager. The woman then did another 3 point turn to continue her journey, clearly having impressed herself that she'd challenged the poo offenders. She was just coming up to us again, foot still to the floor when the Husband lept out into the road to continue the conversation. Oh god – he's up for debate! Still waving poo around desperately, he actually wanted to assure her strongly that we agree, that there is too much poo on the ground that disreputable dog owners leave and that we're one of the responsible lot.

Clearly terrified though that she'd caused a disturbance in her otherwise crime-free suburban neighbourhood, she shut her eyes as she sped passed like something out of dukes of hazard movie narrowly missing The Husband. Disturbance over, we walked home in silence, The Husband tutting occasionally.

For now, this poo situation isn't quite so dramatic but before I've even been able to START thinking about opening my laptop this morning, I've cleared up poo, washed carpets, thrown towels away, wiped down soggy puppies, walked Georgie, fed them all, cleared up more poo from the garden and finally cleaned up the pink moon boots – which by the way have unusually deep grooves underfoot!

Where's The Husband? Golf!

That's how clothes mountains appear!

I saw this on Working Mum on The Verge and instantly thought 'that's how I felt yesterday morning when I couldn't decide what to wear to meet my publisher in London!'

The Husband left early yesterday for a management meeting and the M&FIL had a lay-in which gave me plenty of time to scoot round the house tidying, cleaning up, removing various clutter mountains from around the house and generally enjoying becoming the queen of clean. 

'Plenty of time' I kept chanting, 'Plenty of time' I repeated as I cleaned the en-suite.  Until I realise that I DID have plenty of time about 2 hours ago  - where THAT time went I have no idea!  Whilst trying not to adopt my 'Bugger, I'm going to be late' face, I found myself throwing clothes around the bedroom in a bid to transform myself from hostess with the mostest to author of the year.  I tried on 3 outfits including the Zara number that the FIL chose for me abroad but 5 laps of the bedroom and I realised I was pulling at the polo-neck for air - Not quite cold enough for that one...damn what now?!

All change!  Including handbag, tights and shoes...'Plenty of time' I chant 'Plenty of time'!  You see Husband?  That's how the clothes mountains appear!

Life coach does Walkies - again!

I'm worn out – again! And I know that I've got another day ahead of me today. You're probably wondering is it work? Hell know that invigorates me! The M&FIL coming over to stay? (they arrived yesterday for the week – simply a delight to have around the place and they come bearing gifts from Zara so definitely not them) Puppies? You might smile Damn right it's the puppies!

We have a problem. They're fit! Very fit! So fit in fact that we can't wear them out. When we got these two, I decided that we were going to give them tons of exercise, well I was advised not only by Cesar Milan (the god of the doggie world) but Mel across the road. Exercise they assured us would have them so shattered at home that they wouldn't be bothered to play up.

So against my will, I had to overcome some personal struggles. Letting them off the lead was one of them. I used to hyperventilate at the very thought – now? It's comfortable, exciting even to see them run at full pelt to chase each other. We run them, The Husband proudly worked out between 2-4 miles a day. This is full pelt running by the way. But they're getting fitter and it's now harder to wear them out – in the process I'm getting worn out – by 9am yesterday morning I was on my 4^th walk! (The pups got one, then the Porge – different speeds you see – then the pups, then The Porge)

All suggestions for wearing 2 fit working cocker spaniels out welcome!

And before you consider your answers – read below;

The arrival of these two wasn't plain sailing. For one, I didn't want them and on a scale of 1-10, I didn't want them a whole big MINUS 10. The Husband did want them though, 10 out of 10 on the same scale. After a whole weekend of 'talking' it through I basically gave in. He went back to work happy and content with his newly arrived bundles of joy, I however was left holding two un-house trained devils with very sharp teeth and an older dog who didn't know what'd hit him!

On one particular walk I remember shouting at him in tears. I was desperate to have a clean house that didn't smell of poo, I was desperate for these puplets to be tired enough to let me sit in peace and I was desperate for some help from golden boy himself, except as usual, despite all the talk-me-into-talks we'd had that he'd help and he'd train them and he'd walk them, he spent most of that time at work! The conversation went like this;

Me: I'VE BEEN ON 7 WALKS TODAY AND THEY'RE STILL NOT TIRED! Out of all the dogs we could have got, YOU chose WORKING COCKER SPANIELS, they're WORKING dogs for goodness sake, they need miles and miles of walks every day and I just can't walk that far AND do everything else – WORKING cocker spaniels!!

Him: They don't know they're working cocker spaniels!

Give me strength!

Bribery just works!

It's Monday morning and for some reason I just can't shake myself awake. It's true I have had a pretty full on weekend, Meg Reid and I ran the first weekend of our Coaching Diploma course – the 6^th one we've run and as usual the first weekend saw the induction of 10 more eager-to-get-on-with-it students.

They listened and soaked up the information we hurled at them, they asked a million questions all of which were relevant and interesting and by the end of Sunday night, they were exhausted. Invigorating and exciting as it is for myself and Meg too, it's also exhausting and at the end of Sunday we usually leave, always much more jaded than we remember being the previous time with our books, flipcharts and folders under our arms for an evening of nothing much – because nothing much is usually all we can muster!

At the end of the Saturday evening, one diligent student asked what homework they should do before the Sunday – Meg and I said in unison – 'Watch Strictly Come Dancing!' Except I'm more of an X-factor girl as you know and I did exactly that, one puppy either side of me on the sofa and my mum on the other sofa.

It's become a weekly habit now and Mum and I laugh together at the awful auditions or cry at the sob stories of very normal looking people who have had tragedy in their lives but open their mouths to reveal voices to die for.

My heart sank on the Sunday morning though when I woke up and saw the mess that was once my lovely clean house. How is gets like that I absolutely don't know. There's only me and The Husband and 3 dogs and you'd think it'd been trashed by a the England rugby team! There's clothes mountains, washing up waiting to go in the dishwasher, clean plates waiting to come out the dishwasher, the laundry bin over flowing, the rubbish to put out, not to mention the dog toys littering the floor and half eaten blankets (the puppies) covering most of the carpets.

It gets like that when I work a lot, it just happens. One minute I'm in a nice tidy house, eyes down at my laptop, then two days later when I look up from the keyboard the whole house has reorganised itself – badly!

Sunday I only hoped and prayed that The Husband might also notice the mess and just deal with it all while I was with my students all day and he was at home.

I jested (as you do!) at how nice it would be to come back to a clean ordered house, one smelling of fresh laundry, the dinner cooking and a large glass of red poured out for me – oh yes and the smell of a bubble bath wafting down the stairs from my freshly drawn steaming bath. It was met with that eyebrow-up/side-on look that said I'm also knacked from working all week, and I have the Ryder Cup to keep score of and sleep to catch up on...wife! But he smiled a half smile and got on with his breakfast.

Bugger...that won't do it! I thought, Stronger message Lynette stronger message I chanted. 'Oh honey...when you do the laundry today can you make sure the pups bedding goes in because they brought mud in from the garden' that should do it – nice and direct – clearly delivered with a presumptuous tone - perfect! Except I was still met with the same eyebrow-up/side-on look from before, only this time the tone was No seriously, I have still plans that involve a sofa, a remote control and the game with the small white ball!

Damn – this isn't working...Subtlety? Tick. Directness? Tick. Only one thing for it...bribery!

I'm not going to let you in on the details of the bribe, but lets just say I left with an I'll-see-you-later smile (and the laptop under my arm to take away distractions). He did still have the eyebrow-up/side-on look, except his smile had widened! Boys...they're so easy to play with!

Anyway, a wonderful Sunday was had, the students are a delight to work with and although full of books to read, dissertation titles to think about, various new ways of asking questions and listening to add to their skill set this week, I, and they, left elated but exhausted.

I came home to THE freshest smelling, most tidy house ever.  Airing cupboard emptied, clothes mountains disappeared, laundry on the line, pups walked and hurled, dinner on, red wine waiting and a hot bubble bath!

Bribery...works every time!

Puppies, bathtime and jumping baby gates!

  Ok, I'm really fed up of having to wipe dog slobber off my puppies back!  The Porge has taken to following William around the house and slobbering all over his back.  His best trick is to do this just as he's had a long drink of water, then he trapses around looking for William leaving puddles wherever he goes and if I have to wipe poor William up again I'm going to scream!

I'm thinking that maybe William rolled in something on the field when we took him for a run - if he did, it's nothing the human nose can detect but Georgie just won't leave him alone.  I know the answer is to bath William and probably Grayson for that matter and I've been putting off for days now because of another problem.

The Pups aren't allowed upstairs.  There's a babygate that stops them and for 8 months they've been REALLY good and just didn't bother trying to go upstairs as they knew the baby gate was there.

Then one Sunday morning muggins here thought it'd be sweet if I took the pups upstairs with me with a cup of tea for The Husband.  I knew they'd jump on his head and get very overexcited and wake him up (my plan - saves me prodding him for 20 minutes!).  It worked, the did exactly as I planned and jumped on him, waking him up in good humour and once they'd calmed down they fell asleep on the bed - lovely.  'Maybe we could make this a Sunday morning treat for them!' I exclaimed NIAVELY!

For now, Grayson thinks that going upstairs is not only normal but expected, he's got a smashing trick of jumping the babygate - with no effort - no desperate clambering over the top of it - just a clear leap over and he's away - 14 times I brought him down the following day!  Each time, using my Pack Leaderish calm, assertive manner (Cesar Milan would have been proud) - well I may have shouted...just a little...on the 14th time but even Life Coaches have their limits.

The jumping has been reduced to perhaps 3 times a day now - which is still infuriating as I know I caused this whole thing! 

SO, if I want to bath them...guess where the bath is!  You got it upstairs!  So now, I've been putting off bathing the little gorgeous bundles of fun because surely that's tantamount to giving in?  They'll have to have a bath soon though - all dogs get regularly bathed in this house.  What to do?!  Suggestions welcome!

Who's idea was it to get puppies anyway...HUSBAND!

Just in the Nick of time

The Husband asked me a very simple question. But it was the tone he asked it in that was disconcerting.

'Where's your mobile phone?' he queried.

'Um...'

I started to look around for it, then I remembered. You know when you start a sentence and then slow your words right down because you realise you just made a biiiiiiig mistake?

My sentence started;

'I left it......on......the......back......of......the'

'Sofa' was to be my next word but that one never came out. My mouth opened wide in horror. The Husband held my beloved phone in the palm of his hand...see below. 

He had retrieved it out of Grayson's mouth. Grayson looking like butter wouldn't melt stared up innocently...see below.

Who's idea was it to get puppies anyway...HUSBAND!

Duchesses, Divas and Dandies party at Home House, London

It's this time of year that I get asked to do more speeches and talks than any other time, I also get asked if I am willing to donate coaching sessions to prize draws and auctions and so when the gorgeous Dan Doherty asked if I'd donate to a Promise Action for his latest party for charity I said a big fat yes!

I'm donating £600 worth of coaching session to the lucky bidder, but if you want to be in with a chance of winning my sessions or tons of other equally brilliant prizes you're going to have to be there and you're going to have to bid!

Join the exuberance at this special party at London’s most glamorous private members’ club. Home House is celebrating its adoption of the Westminster Society for People with Learning Disabilities as its charity of the year for 2008 - so the theme for the evening is very much ‘Westminster’.

Stretch your imagination to decide what you’ll wear! Will you transform into a duchess of Duke Street? a dandy or a diva? A parliamentarian, a Queen or a flunky? Westminster is home to them all! Stretch your creativity to its limits by thinking of tube stations, or Monopoly® squares! It's not 'fancy dress' so just come smart if you wish.

The party starts at 7.30pm with music, wine and canapés ‘til 9pm. Then it’s a cash bar and disco, midnight feasting and carriages at 1am.

Who Will Benefit?

THE WESTMINSTER SOCIETY (affiliated to Royal Mencap), is an independent local registered charity which has long experience in providing support for people of all ages with learning disabilities. Facilities include a nursery and family centre, family advisory services, a drop-in centre, sixteen residential homes and many flats for ‘independent’ living. It also runs the Croxley Project, offering leisure and educational clubs which have become a magnet for learning disabled people of all ages living in central London

Home House project

The Rainbow Family Centre, off Harrow Road, occupies a small Victorian school in a very deprived area. It has been skilfully converted to meet the needs of the children at the Nursery. Over time, however, the play area has become unsuitable for the frail children with multiple disabilities who now attend the Nursery.

Home House is this year dedicated to raising the money to fully redesign and install a completely new play space. The money from this event will be devoted to getting this scheme off the ground. Thank you for your interest and support

Home House, Portman Square, London W1

Friday 26 September 2008

7.30 pm music, wine and canapés ,

9 pm disco and cash bar

Midnight Feast 12. pm

Carriages 1 am

Tickets are £50 for non-club members (the Goody Bags alone are worth that!) and you can get more information by contacting Dan Doherty

Or book direct now:

Kim Gallier, Home House, 20 Portman Square, London W1H 6LW

Tel. 020 7670 2000

Email: kim@homehouse.co.uk

Please note that your contact details will be passed to WSPLD so that your booking can be acknowledged.

Have fun!

My glamorous life

Ok, it's Tuesday morning and this morning was SO restful! I woke up about 6am and Grayson woke The Husband up when he jumped the baby gate and landed on his head at 7am! We're all up, in our dressing gowns having our first cup of tea, me on the internet surfing and The Husband writing. I look at the time to realise that British Gas could be here any minute to I run upstairs for a quick shower.

It's been 5 days since the new boiler was fitted and British Gas have been back TWICE already to fix it!

The first time was the day after it was fitted – I had escaped to a fabulous hotel called The Swan in Southwold, courtesy of Karen Hester from Adnams, (Winner of the East of England Business Woman of the Year award where I was a keynote speaker – that's how we met) She suggested I visit and she put me up in a wonderful hotel – no puppies, no husband, just me and a big bed!

My body clock woke me 6am as usual but with no-one to walk or feed (except myself) I called The Husband to get him up, so he could walk and feed the pups.

In fact, I phoned 4 times before he hauled himself out of bed...to find a distaster. Boiler leaking, flooded kitchen, British Gas to call, puppies and Georgie to walk and feed...he was in panic mode!

Now you might think I'd smile, in my nice calm hotel room 90 minutes away, grinning that The Husband is getting a taste of the chaos I sometimes have to deal with and yes I do admit that I did sink back under the covers smiling delightfully (cruel wife!) BUT then guilt set in! Should I go home and cancel my meeting? He's not coping! The word 'stressed' probably conveyed about a fifth of the terror in his voice!  Pants, why am I feeling so guilty?!

Anyway, by the time I came home, my mum had stepped in and come to the rescue, sat with the pups waiting for boiler man to arrive and had cleared up my flooded kitchen for me (ah, what a mum!) and all was calm. Boiler man turned up, grimaced a lot, moaned incessantly about his boss and called him all the names under the sun (mmm....professional!) before fixing the boiler and leaving under a cloud of more mutterings about his inadequate boss.

THEN, the radiator in the spare bedroom we realised was permanently on – how does THAT happen?! Another call to British Gas. We were assured after The Husbands strong tones that we'd be their first call – they weren't wrong.

8.28, just stepped out the shower, and they're here. Naked and dripping wet I search frantically for some clothes whilst trying to get dry and shout to The Husband not to bring him upstairs yet.

First thing I grab and fall over putting on are Long Johns?! Flippin heck' Long Johns! Why couldn't there have been a spare Karen Millen suit hanging around or that gorgeous Frank Usher I got the other day – nope, I find Long Johns and an old t-shirt, hair still soaking and boiler man and The Husband climb the stairs.

The Husband introduces him to the airing cupboard, then rushes into the bedroom shoving me out on the landing in the Long Johns to deal with boiler man so he can get his shower!

You can just tell when your day can only get better can't you. I did tell you my life was glamorous and you didn't believe me did you?

Boilers, Workmen and Hooker Heels!

It's boiler day.  By that I mean that my £2000 boiler (yes really that much!) is being fitted and I have work men scurrying around my house as I type. Do I mind workmen in? Nope I don't think so. This pair are courteous, I've made tea but they've not demanded it, there's a good deal of banter going on which is never a bad thing either, so the process seems to be a smooth one.

I loved having my builders here during the winter actually when the extension was going up, there was always someone to have a chat with and working from home on my own with only the 3 furries for company can make you feel like you're the only one in the world and as if you're going slightly insane.

Still insane I'm not fortunately, I know that because despite the radio being on for the workmen (I usually prefer silence to work in – sounds boring but I just can't sing and concentrate!), hearing the odd knock and bang as they work cheerfully, I've still managed to send e-mails, start my newsletter and work diligently on my trusty laptop – spaniels and chow chow at my feet.

I spent yesterday evening chasing around a bit tidying/hoovering/cleaning floors to make sure the workmen realised they were coming to a well kept house even though I know they're slowly trashing it as they cart their stuff everywhere.

I even made sure to put my clean underwear (from yesterday's forced laundry-do) on my bed out of workmens eyes and following a shopping spree a few days before, I lined my nice new high heeled shoes up by the bed as I can't bear to put them in the wardrobe yet – I feel I need to look at them a bit longer. They're so high and have platforms that I have to practice walking in them and I've nick-named them my 'Hooker Heels' – I can touch the ceiling in my bedroom with them on!

Now I've just realised the workmen have been in my bedroom turning the radiators back on...with the Hooker Heels and Knickers on the bed...Why doesn't the earth open when you want it to?!

Behind with the Laundry...

I step out of the shower this morning to find The husband emptying the entire contents of the airing cupboard onto our bed.

He sees me standing there dripping wet in my towel with my 'What on earth are you doing?' look on my face and simply says 'I have no boxer shorts!'

The following ensued;

Wife: 'You have boxer shorts, if you look on the top of the airing cupboard pile which is now the bottom of the airing cupboard mess on our bed you'll see them'

Husband: 'I looked on the top of the airing cupboard pile and couldn't see any boxer shorts which is why I'm emptying the contents onto our bed'

Wife: head in hands now pulling various items out of clothes mountain to attempt to help find afore mentioned boxer shorts

Husband 'I think you need to put a wash on today'

Wife: glare!

Husband; Tone of voice, low and lighthearted; Speed of voice, calm; 'Perhaps I should have a little bin by my side of the bed where I put my boxer shorts and socks and then you could just put that in the wash sometimes?'

Wife: glare!

Husband; Tone of voice, helpful(irritating); Speed of voice, calm; 'Well I know my boxer shorts get sucked down to the bottom of the basket!'

Wife: 'If I put you in there, will you get sucked down to the bottom of the basket!'

Husband: 'I'm only trying to help'

Wife: thought process; 'You put some f****** washing on then!' Actual words spoken; 'You will have every single pair of boxer shorts washed and dried by the time you come home....my darling'

Husband – Sharp Exit!

SO ladies and gentlemen, in between coaching, writing and working my way through my 'to-do' list this morning, I have run around like something out of a Benny Hill sketch except I wasn't in my underwear and there wasn't a big fat man chasing me in his underwear. I have fitted in 3 loads of washing - including every pairs of boxer shorts in the laundry basket – see below!

Do you think I've made my point?

It's ironic that given the title of my first book 'Behind with the Laundry and Living off Chocolate' that the Laundry situation is absolutely spot on and my 'to-do' list is now the only thing preventing me from running down the road to the corner shop and picking up the chocolate to match!

On a more glamorous note....after my emotional week last week (see blog below), this week started brilliantly as I gave a speech to The Worshipful Company of Marketors at The Royal Exchange in London where I spoke on the virtues of networking to some of the most important marketeers in the city.

The Husband accompanied me as it was a late event and did me proud i.e. Said all the right things at the right time and looked very handsome for me (clearly he had found Boxer Shorts to wear for the night!)

A really wonderful event, I had a great time, I was received so warmly and was even more thrilled to be given a FRANK USHER outfit as a thank you for my speech.

I wore it there and then, it fitted perfectly. It's from their new DUSK collection and I advise all women to visit the FrankUsher.co.uk web site for more of the same. Thank you June and all at Frank Usher.

Back in the real world today though and I now realise that the man at the back of my house is having his fence replaced and I've got drilling noise and dust emanating from his garden into mine all over The Husbands boxer shorts and into my house – do I care?

I know I should but..... ho-hum!

A day at the zoo!

It was around 9.45am on Tuesday 2^nd September that I realised we were quite mad! The Husband and I were in convoy with my brother, my SIL, my niece and my mum on our way to Colchester Zoo... in the driving rain.

Windscreen wipers on full blast along with the de-mister. I could just about see the Mummy Bus (My SIL's Citreon Picasso) in front and off we were all going – to the zoo!

As I squinted to see where I was driving and The Husband was quietly meddling with his mobile I decided that no other family would be do this! Why were we off to Colchester Zoo on the wettest day of the year so far? Well, Tuesday was the first anniversary of my dad passing away and after very long debate about how to spend this potentially hideous day, my brothers suggestion of getting a memorial bench at the Zoo was agreed by all and today was viewing day.

The day of the anniversary has, I have to admit, been looming over me for some time, I just didn't know what to expect. Should we be happy? How could we?  Was I actually going to make it out of the front door without sobbing into The Husbands hanky? I just had no idea how I or the rest of us would react. I was terrified of clock-watching and also of making a show of myself at the zoo and then of course, worse, upsetting my family at my terrible state.

My emotions (nothing to do with me!) opted for having a minor melt down the day before as it happened. I had slowed down my workload for this week in anticipation of an emotional disaster and Monday it seemed was the day. I pondered about whether to blog about Monday or not, but this is after all the Life Behind The Coach and death of course is something each and every one of us will have to face at some point, so I decided to let you in on my gloomy Monday.

In fact, gloomy Monday possibly saved and altered what could have been Terrible Tuesday! As I drove behind my brother on the Tuesday, all I could think about was the flippin' driving rain, keeping close enough to my brother so that I could see him but not too close that I kissed his bumper – I decided that would not be a good move, today of all days!

The point was, I actually felt fine. This was after all a family outing with small child in tow and she is too young to note the fragility of the day, so simply giggles and peers around her mum at you with a toothy smile and all you can do back is laugh. The rain though we did agree was some kind of ironic joke as there is no way in hell Dad would have come out in the rain to look at some bench – whether it had his name on it or not!

Anyway, here is the bench. It is beautiful, it's brand new and in exactly the right place, between the   Penguins and the Monkeys! Colchester Zoo have done us proud. Lily my neice as you can see was the only one who could actually sit on it though, my SIL sensibly dressed her head to toe in tiny waterproofs complete with braces! We'll go and sit on it another day... when it's not pouring with rain I suspect. I have a feeling Dad would been very proud to have a bench with his name on it – he always did like a sit down!

The attack of the Printer

Stop Press...Our boiler has died. It struggled through the winter and was given the last rights by the plumber when it conked out earlier this summer. For a month, we had no heating at all (luckily its been a warm summer) and the hot water was through the immersion – not the most economical way of getting hot water but there you go.

With winter on the way, we finally get around to replacing the boiler and go onto the British Gas website. There's no contact number, no way of phoning and calling 'a person' – of course! It seems efficient enough though when I find the right page though and asks me to choose an appointment at my earliest convenience. So far so good. I book it for 3 days ahead. I even get an e-mail confirming the appointment – great stuff – impressed!

Then we get a phone call from a real person – it seems they can't make that appointment after all and she'll phone back with another. 3 days later The Husband reminds me we haven't heard from them, so we phone them. 5 phone calls it take to get to the right person and a frustrated Husband is being told that they'll get back to us when they can fit us in. 'I don't think so' says The Husband masterfully, 'I'm going to walk my dogs now and I'm taking my mobile with me, you'll phone me back within the hour with an appointment time'.

Clearly shaken, man on phone decides this customer is not to be reckoned with, so there we are out on the field hurling the boys and British Gas calls back – with a new appointment. Except when I get back home, I realise I'm in London that day – The Husband is at work and unless we can train the pups to let the man in and discuss boiler options, he can't come!

SO I have to phone back to re-arrange. The next appointment apparently is 3 weeks away. Good job it's not winter! They assure us that if our boiler has actually broken down – which ours has – that they'll fix it within 24 hours, 'But this is 3 weeks away!' 'High demand' is what we're told.

3 weeks was yesterday and boiler man turns up for his appointment complete with laptop. The choosing of the boiler is swift enough – it's white and box like what do I know about boilers? It's at this stage that you realise you could be completely taken for a ride. I can write what I know about boilers on a postage stamp and still have room. Here, I am expected to look like I know what I'm talking about. He's talking kilowatts and litre-age, re-wiring, adding bigger pipes – help?!

The Husband amazes me by asking what seem to be fairly eloquent questions – I later found out that he was blagging it too and had no idea what boiler man was saying either. I remember aged 11, being taken to France with the school. We were encouraged to speak to the locals and very confidently I strolled up to an elderly man and asked him directions to the post office (as you do), I stared and nodded occasionally as he reeled off a load of directions before saying 'Thank you' in my best French having not understood a single word – that's how I felt with boiler man! So I sat on the carpet with the pups instead, where I'm in control!

Boiler man took a shine to the pups – well it's hard not to. He said he was fine with dogs and didn't mind them jumping up. I stiffened as he left his paperwork on the carpet beside his chair, don't panic I thought, just watch them, paperwork and pups don't mix.

When the Building Inspector came to pass off the house extension earlier this year, we'd only stepped into the garden for a minute but returned to find his folder literally scattered all over the carpet. Everything was a soggy chewed up litter of confetti. His face was like thunder and his hands went up to his face in shock, he was so NOT happy I can't tell you. All I could do was apologise profusely, direct the pups into the kitchen and retrieve what was left of his notes from their mouths and the floor. I've never apologised so much in my entire life.

So you can see my angst when boiler man leaves his paperwork on the floor. Paperwork for now though is safe. We agree on the white box that will replace our boiler and boiler man efficiently moves into admin role. Out comes the printer, connected to the laptop – also on the floor and yep this was the final straw for the pups, who'd up until now behaved perfectly.

The printer started up and Grayson decided it was about to attack. To be fair this was Grayson's first 'printer' experience and with our bill and guarantee spewing out of it, he jumped on it with steely determination. William joins in too as they gang up on the printer. Paper is now being ripped, coming out of the attacking printer all skew whiff. Both of them get hurled out to the kitchen while, again I find myself apologising profusely to boiler man. He assures me it's a simple procedure to print the whole lot again!

Half an hour later, printer episode dealt with, boiler man is packing away and so the pups are let out the kitchen. All is calm. Until William catches sight of The Husband – who is in the garden sorting a poo situation and in slow motion straightens up his haunches, focuses his eyes on his daddy and launches himself through the lounge and into the garden taking the printer and the cables with him!

Boiler man has just lost his aren't they sweet pup appeal and he too has brought his hands to his head in shock just like the Building Inspector. The printer is in pieces. The Husband and I are quick to the rescue – pups in the kitchen (again!) as all hands are picking up leads, wires, plugs, printer trays and batteries. Almost everything fits back together after some manhandling except the feeder tray which is broken. The Husband and I share a look of embarrassment as we balance it in place.

Boiler man leaves quickly without a backwards glance to the pups, instead they get the sharp end of our glare as we let them out of the kitchen for the 2^nd time in the hour. Walkies time me thinks!

Dog tired!

Morning everyone!  Let me introduce Georgie the Chow Chow, photographed here by the very talented Jason Bergdahl.  You don't hear much about Georgie - not because he's any less important in our lives that the pups but because he can generally be regarded as trouble-free.  He's 11, an old man in doggie years.  He's calm, can't be bothered to stir up trouble and leaves the pups to run riot around him while he slowly lifts an eyelid as they collide into him or use him as a roundabout in their made-up race track.

However, of late, he has been literally driving us mad.  Georgie wasn't what you'd call 'trained' when he was a puppy.  House trained sure, but as for sit, stay, heel and fetch forget it.  He looks at you like 'You sit stay heel and fetch - go on, I'm watching!'  He's always been so calm though, trouble was never a word you'd associate with him, so his plodding around the block once a day on a lead was all he ever demanded.

The down side to that is that he has a mind of his own, a strong one at that and no matter what your tone of voice he disregards you entirely!  Even The Husbands new found pack leader status means nothing to the Porge (as he's affectionately known).  Porge simply has his own set of rules that us humans must follow and they are; no baby-gates and no doors closed.  That's it - simple enough - 2 rules and if we don't abide, I'm telling you, this calm, docile old man turns into dog-from-hell! 

And that's what we've had for a month - dog-from-hell!  It happens at night - he's awake, walking around the landing, in and out of the bedroom (he sleeps with us) constant whining to go downstairs.  Rule Number One, it seems, was broken - baby-gate at bottom of stairs (to keep the pups from coming up).  We get up, let him down through the baby-gate and go  back to bed.  Frankly I don't care where he sleep as long as he sleeps!  Ten minutes later, he's whining again to come back upstairs - ignoring him for a while only leaves your truly laying awake anticipating the next bark or whine, getting more and more frustrated, so down I come to let him back upstairs once more.

Man, it's exhausting!  I vividly remember my friend years ago who'd just had a baby and I called round to find her and her husband literally zombie like, deathly white with dark circles for eyes through lack of sleep and this is exactly how The Husband and I we were getting to feel.

The night before last, it all came to a head when after having listened to him whining and barking for an hour (Cesar says that any attention is a reward for their bad behaviour and it's best to ignore it).  We lie awake, not talking to each other for fear that the other one MAY be dropping off to sleep (fat chance!) until eventually The Husband sits bolt upright and declares he's spending the night on the sofa taking The Porge with him so I can get some sleep. 

Yep you heard right - so I can get some sleep!  Just at the thought of finally getting a few hours of sleep in a row makes my eyes automatically close tight shut but has it really come to this?  You see this on Victoria Stillwell's 'It's me or the dog'.  We've always watched it as these poor people let their dogs rule their lives as they sit on the sofa while they're on the floor, as their husbands sleep in the sofa while the wives sleep in bed, we've watched them in disbelief as these people actually let their dogs behave this way and here we are, midnight, frustrated and it's happening to us! 

The Husband grabs the duvet from the spare room and his pillow next to mine and ushers The Porge down stairs with stern words that I can't repeat.  Next morning, it's off to the vets.  Mrs Long concludes that his erratic and nocturnal behaviour is inconclusive.   It could be the start of Alzheimers, yep, even dogs we're told can suffer too. We're given ear drops for his ears in case that is the problem, a hormone shot in case that is the problem and Alzheimers drugs in case that is the problem (fortunately The Porge is insured!) 

All three of us walk out of the vets, slightly lighter in pocket, slightly more desperate for sleep! 'THIS HAS TO WORK!' I growl to The Husband, 'I refuse to have another Victoria Stillwell moment!'.  It's on the way home, again in silence, that it dawns on me.

It'll be the Baby-gates, I remember now how much Gerogie hates them. It simply hasn't occurred to us that this could be the root of the problem and the answer to some shut-eye. We rearranged the house downstairs with baby-gates to give the puppies more room as they're getting bigger and now we think about it, The Porge's devil-like behaviour started around then.

The Husband and I share a look of 'You're kidding, why didn't we get that!' I'm quite sure between Cesar Milan and Victoria Stillwell, they'd be screaming at us to stick with it, to let him know who's in charge but quite frankly, this Life Coach needs some sleep, and The Husband and I rather like the idea of the easy option.

SO, home we come, and re-assess all the baby-gates. The Pups get a smaller space but you don't hear another peep out of them when they go to bed, they are good as gold so we reckon, they'll be fine and The Porge gets the run of the house. It works! 7 hours later, a whole night of blissful, quiet, uninterrupted, beautiful sleep. I LOVE SLEEP!

There were we thinking we'd cracked this pack leader business when all along The Porge know he's got us sussed. Do we care? Not when sleep feels this good!

The Husband and the lawn

You know when you start something and then realise why you've been putting it off – because it's actually a HUGE job? At that point it's too late though. You find yourself half way through afore mentioned job and know in your deepest heart that you have to see it through. That's what happened to The Husband this afternoon...I shall expand.

First though, update on the pups. If you remember they had their 'bits' chopped off. They came back on Friday evening feeling sorry for themselves and very dopey. Saturday – they woke up!

Trying to get these hooligans to remain in a calm state when their energy levels are sky high is simply outrageously difficult! They were literally bouncing off the walls (and sofa's!).

The Husband and I concluded that if the vet wanted to give advice like 'no walks for 10 days' then she should come and live with them herself. So we went against all advice and took them for a very gentle walk. That at least seemed to passify their energy levels a little.

We kind of 'faked' the fact that they'd been cheated out of their usual long walk. We explained to them on our return how tired they must be after their long, long walk. It worked...for 20 minutes!

We didn't totally abuse vets advice but did sneak them out over the weekend for some sanity and this morning they got the thumbs up from Mrs Long herself. She told us how impressed she was at their physique (The Husband smiled manfully in that 'well it's in the genes' type way!) They are full of muscle, we worked out that we run them between 3 – 4 miles per day – every day – hence their lunatic behaviour on being denied the field.

Their wounds have recovered SO nicely that she is happy for them to run (mmm...did we mention they'd be doing that...a bit?) so finally, off the lead it was, over the field for a few hurls. With Harvey – another furball who frankly gets more of a run than ours do as he chases ours all over the field. It's usually Rufus mind who joins in our boys hurls – his owner walks around the field in a big circle leaving Rufus in the middle with us as he takes it in turns to chase first William then Grayson. Of course they pay very little attention to Rufus, we're very proud of the fact that they're fixed on us and their tennis balls. Rufus' mummy or daddy then collect worn out Rufus when they've finished their walk around the perimeter of the field and take him home.

Anyway back to The Husband. Upon returning home from the vet he made a magnanimous gesture. 'I'm going to mow the lawn' he said with gusto. 'Right-o' I replied whilst looking away at the pups with a 'blimey!' type look (This life coach has learnt not to show surprise or amazement at such comments in case they're retracted!).

Well, I get on with my work leaving The Husband to mow the lawn. He's a long time. Come to think of it he's a very long time.

I look out the front window to find the lawnmower abandoned and him literally digging up the whole lawn. Yep – half gone! Strewn on the pavement, he's sweating and huffing and puffing like a trooper. He hasn't seen me. I retreat around the corner out of sight.

Do I say anything? Should I help? Can I be bothered to help? Why is it digging up the lawn? Part of me wants to slink unnoticed back to my laptop – the other half is too intrigued to know why The Husband is in the middle of the street with his shirt off huffing and puffing and digging up the front lawn.

I investigate. He tells me it had died and was too embarrassing to mow (well I told him that at least a month ago!) 'OK' I replied (again with THE look to the pups as I walk inside for fear of being directed to pick up a shovel).

Four hours later (I kid you not) he's finished. Bless him. I do manage to get him out with me to hurl the pups on the fresh advice of Mrs Long but before I can even get their leads off back at home – he's disappeared (now where's he gone?). I find him in the bath with Cesar Milan – well not literally with Cesar Milan – with Cesar Milan's book on puppy training (the read of the month!) AND MY FACE PACK ON! Apparently his skin needed attention (another look PLUS an eye roll in the pups direction!).

I retreat to let him get on with his soak. I've decided I'll reward him for his efforts with a chinese takeaway and a glass of red – not a bad life!

My life is now complete!

Ah...thank goodness for that...my life is now complete! I'm completely unashamed to admit that I'm thrilled X-Factor is back!

It's true I have the attention span of a knat. Some would say it's the Gemini in me, others would say it's a sign of intelligence and The Husband just thinks it's all the years of bleach on my head – but to keep my attention, things, topics, people, TV shows have to be truly inspiring.

Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boormans, Long Way Round is one (Sunday's nights!) The Dog Whispher is another (most evenings on Sky 3) and now X-Factor (every Saturday til Christmas!)

You may think because I work from home that the TV is a strong influence, you'd be wrong! I never have it on during the day. It's my unwritten rule, I'd much rather be working with my clients and writing for a living. It's the real world and real people that get my attention and I guess if you look at the TV picks that take my fancy you'll see they're all real world stuff.

Each of these programmes is about real people doing extraordinary things and X-Factor last night hit the spot again with the introduction of Rachel.

Rachel hasn't had it easy so far in life, she's 26, with 5 children – the oldest who's 13. She's been in trouble with drugs and prison and had her first 3 children taken away. Since her 4^th child, she decided to re-write her life and allow herself to start again. Rachel has always sung she says so I'm surprised that no-one has picked up on this amazing voice. She was simply mesmerizing!

The power in her voice, the power in her commitment to re-build and change her life, the power to make her children proud of her just flowed out of the TV. It's programmes like these that change peoples lives, that give them the confidence to try harder, to keep going, to not get pulled off track by distractions – I'm so enthralled by shows like these that triumph human determination, there's no wonder I'm a coach.

Coaching is perhaps my own piece of life reality TV, I get to back my clients, I get to encourage them and help develop change in someone's life for the better.

Rock on Rachel! I have a feeling you're going to go far!

Newsflash - Superwomen reveal all

Someone asked me the other day why I was writing this blog. Interesting question. Initially I was curious about this 'other' unfamiliar blogging world and several people suggested it would be a great place for me to write. Then I wondered what I should write about. Those I hold in great esteem assured me that I should write about me, the life behind the coach.

I have to be honest and admit that I wasn't sure anyone would be greatly interested but then something occurred to me. It occurred to me that I bang on and on to my clients, my students and my friends to be themselves, to let their personalities shine and also to let the world in when things aren't going to plan instead of trying to bluff their way through pretending to be perfect.

It's a huge misconception that we women believe we need to be perfect (for goodness sake we are most of the time, so surely we' re allowed the odd crap day huh? ;). If you google Lynette Allen, you'll see the professional me, the books, the speeches, the coaching. It all sounds very impressive, it's the side of life I'm good at, I seem to have a talent for and I enjoy that. I've even impressed myself on occasions but that's only one side of the story, that's not the whole of me and I was appalled when one of my clients told me how she very nearly didn't ask for coaching with me because she thought she could never be as good as me!

It was at that moment that I realised the importance of showing the other side life, the side that people don't ordinarily share – when things go wrong, when you're worried, when you're frustrated or not very good at something. And so, The Life Behind the Coach was born.

Doesn't it damage your reputation to appear not so perfect after all? I think you're more likely to damage it if you try to fake it! People see through fakes in an instant. Not only that, to pretend that all is well when it isn't, is exhausting, draining and debilitating. The energy it takes to lie and put on a brave face is far better used telling the truth and finding common ground with everyone else.

When my dad died last year, I wondered if I should just tell my clients that I was researching the next book or something as a cover for 'I'm not functioning right now'. I decided not. When I announced to friends, work colleagues and clients that for those months I wouldn't be functioning as the 'all singing all dancing version of Lynette Allen', I was relieved to hear other people's experiences, relieved to hear that I could still be respected even though I wasn't functioning properly.

My point is that we're all good at something, we're all exceptional at something and we women in particular enjoy knowing that and feeling that. We don't brag about it often, but when others see it and notice, it's a privilege.

To be human though and to know that we're not good at everything can be a huge relief. A relief that we're still learning, that we have the potential to be better than we are and that in the process of being honest, we're likely to get the support and peripheral learning need to help make us better. The peripheral learning comes from those people we are honest with. Because for our honesty, they'll be honest back and we'll see we're not much different from each other after all.

What I'm talking about is being honest enough to just be you, to be proud of what you're good at and not ashamed to admit when you're not good at something.

So, there you have it. If you've read the professional blurb, you'll know what I'm good at and if you've read the blog you'll know what I'm not so good at. So far I'm enjoying the sometimes frustrating learning the puppies are giving me, the life learning my dad's death is giving me and the respect from clients who feel more able to talk to me because I'm still learning – it's all good.

Rock on Monday!

As you know, this blog is about the life behind the coach and if I'm completely honest, this life coach is shattered! I have to say I'm absolutely pooped! Which means I've done it again...I've rushed around like a rabbit on speed for 2 days and now my shoulders ache, I have a headache behind my eyes and I could sleep right now, except I can't because I'm baby-sitting two, currently dopey, puppies who've had their 'bit's chopped off!

Bless them!

If you read my previous blog, you'll know that debate was hot about whether to snip or not – clearly...we did! I'm now a rather anxious puppy mother who looks on at two very sleepy docile pups. I know at any moment, they could both spring back into action and start licking their stitches (not allowed) trying to lick each others stitches (not allowed) trying to get on the sofa (usually allowed but currently not allowed) and feeling so much better that they could do with a bit of a walk (you got it – not allowed!). 4 days, we're told without walks (heaven help me!).

As I type right now though, the house is peaceful and so, at last, is my mind.

I wasn't that worried today about their op. Slightly anxious when I left them there at the vets and handed the leads over to Mrs Long. She's such a wonderful, truly inspirational vet though and has dealt with all of my dogs over the years I did know they'd be in very safe hands. So off me and The Husband went. The timing worked out well today as The Husband had a meeting near the vets so I sat outside at Milsoms for an hour reading one of the most stimulating books I've ever read. It's called 'EVEolution, The eights Truths of Marketing to Women' by Faith Popcorn and Lys Marigold.

It's about how women's minds work and how to market to women. My client base is women and of course being a woman myself I could see so much of me in this book, that I was scribbling away furiously at Milsoms and laughing out loud as I saw my own habits right there on the pages in front of me. It's about why women buy products, what impresses women and what really turns women off about the whole old school sales and marketing methods. It's just riveting and despite the headache just behind the eyes, I kept reading, making notes, reading, making notes and then I read that women, 'read and make notes' (that's me! I laugh again!)

My mental stimulation came to a halt when The Husband picked me up, I took him straight back to work and had an hour back at home before I had to leave to get The Husband again and then it was back to pick up the puppies (apparently they reacted so well to the anaesthetic and woke up so wide awake that they are ready early and listening between the lines, the vets would be quite pleased if they went home!)

SO, the clock was on to wash and dry the pups bedding, wash the kitchen floor (open wounds and all that!), put the hoover round, unfill and re-fill the dishwasher, clean and re-fill all their water bowls (there are quite a few as I have various bowls of water dotted around the house for them!) then I realised if there were any hold-ups at the vets I wouldn't have time to make tea before The Husband goes back to work this evening, so I got out the meat and started a casserole.

I smiled as I rushed around the house cleaning/wiping/tidying/filling/unfilling – Faith Popcorn's book says we do this too! It's called getting organised, multi-tasking and thinking ahead of the game. Making those millions of little decisions that mean life works. In fact, I think what has worn me out these past few days is probably the decisions I've made along the way.

I went to London yesterday to meet with a chap to talk about working together on a coaching project. It all sounded interesting so off I trotted with a very positive mood to meet him. The project will be time consuming, so in my head I'm re-scheduling stuff, prioritising what I can do, what I can pass on to someone else, what I have to keep, how I can manage my time.

It's do-able – a bit tough but certainly do-able. There's only one niggle. And that is that I'm feeling a niggle – I don't know why. It's just a little something that's preventing me from being totally over the moon about this project. I meet my appointment, he's nice, to-the-point but nice. We're in a crowded bustling IOD cafe in the centre of London so I tune in carefully to hear more about his thoughts.

The more I hear, the bigger I realise the project is. The more I shift in my seat uncomfortably and think about the impact this project will have on the rest of my work and family life. 'It's do-able' I tell myself, It's a challenge but I'm up for that. THEN comes the clanger! I didn't expect it I have to say – he has such completely different views to me about what coaching is and isn't. I instantly flag up my discomfort and state my case. He states his – firmly and puts his point of view across again, in a different way (I heard you the first time – I got it the first time!).

My face seems to say it all. I can't work with this chap. He's entitled to his views and if it works for his clients, then good for him, but they are so far away from mine that I realise that's what the niggle was. Something probably already told me that we weren't aligned enough to work closely and make this project successful.

I wish him luck and tell him, this project isn't for me. He's disappointed I can see. Not necessarily that I personally won't be working with him but I think he rather hoped he'd found THE someone to work with him. I can't help feeling completely relieved. You know you've made the right decision when the relief washes over you and your shoulders fall on the floor as you realised they've previously been touching your ear lobes!

SO two major decisions in two days – the pups were 'done' and the project is most certainly 'done'! This evening therefore is for relaxing, keeping a close vigil on my babes and taking the weekend off. I'll re-charge and then re-appear on Monday my usual productive, pro-active, positive self once more...rock on Monday!

To chop or not to chop!

  Do you know I've had THE most productive few days, I've made lists, made phone calls, sent e-mails, written brochures and all sorts – it's a rather smug feeling to have just got on with everything and feel up to date, so this evening I'm enjoying that bit.

I've just come back from playing with my niece – now nearly 18 months old, she's copying every word I say, playing hide and seek behind cardboard boxes and taking my hand to show me in and out of every room where her toys are. You can't help but light up with joy when she's around. She's going to be a very funny, humorous, clever little girl with tons of friends all vying for her attention. Auntie Net (that'll be me!) is not going to get a look in then I shouldn't think but for now, she's the one who thinks I'm funny...long may that one last!

The Husband didn't think I was so funny today though. Among a ton of things on my 'to-do' list was 'Call Vets'. Nope nothing wrong (fortunately) and no emergency but there have been mutterings in this household for some months now about whether 'to chop or not to chop' if you know what I mean – not The Husband by the way – the puppies.

Do we really get rid of their bits? What good would it do? We've been inundated with advice from friends who've had friends who've had friends who's dogs have or haven't been 'done'. They all have a different horror story and everyone conflicts each other.

Our reasoning behind the chop is that it might curb some of the fights – yep they are adorable and yep for 95% of the time, they are gorgeous puppies who play together but every so often, they have the biggest scraps! It's horrible actually, I've never lived with dogs who fight and they really sound like they're about to kill each other! There's like a red mist that comes over and no amount of control stops that if it's going to happen. Sometimes it's only been because we've interfered and physically parted them that they've stopped. Of course some people say you shouldn't do that either, they have to fight it out – but how can you just have that going on in your house while you're eating dinner and carry on like it's normal! It's not nice and so after much deliberation, I decided that The Husband wasn't really going to come up with a decision and that maybe I needed to just go ahead and make it myself.

So, on my 'to-do' list it was and pick up the phone I did – they're in at 9am Friday morning! (2 days time!) The Husband was slightly taken aback that I'd taken such a bold step (well he wasn't going to do it!) I called him at work and said it very quickly! A sharp intake of breath later and a calm 'Riiiiiiiiight' meant, flippin heck we're actually going to do it! There is definitely something about that whole male bonding thing about that means men actually don't like talking about it much (the snip that is) and shudder when anyone recounts having had it done.

Anyway, we talked about it and we decided that we were right, that some had said the fights would stop, so that's that. Except, The Husband was at work today telling one of his customers that THE decision had been made, when he was completely horrified! It seems he knows a thing or two about dogs having got 10 of them and his best friends dog won Crufts apparently! Flippin heck more advice! He's going to talk to him later about why he's a staunch advocate for keeping the pups in tact. SO very confused and now I've made the appointment time is a ticking – anyone got an opinion either way? Should they stay or should they go? You've only got 24 hours to get your opinion in, Friday at 9am (UK time) and they're off! Ouch!

Unexpected perfection!

  You know when you think you're really good at something and then it turns out that you're not – it's just a little...well...crap to be honest!

This particular life coach, like most of her clients, feels the need to create perfection in her life. Perfection comes in all forms from how many clients one has, to how many books one has written, to how clean ones house is and how well trained ones puppies are. Perfection also means being a great daughter, a helpful sister in law, a caring big sister and an exciting auntie – not to mention an amazing wife. I could go on, but you get my drift. The need for 'perfect' is common and yet often found in the most unexpected areas. Unfortunately we don't look for the unexpected perfection that just appears out of nowhere, we look for the obvious clean house, great puppies, amazing coach type perfection as proof that it exists and so does everyone else.

Perfection, therefore, is presumed when people find out you're a life coach. Rather like being a doctor I suppose at a party – everyone feels they can whisk you off into a little corner and tell you about their clicky knee or their dodgy back. As a coach, people react in one of two ways. Either, they don't go near you for fear of you seeing straight through them, that they're not perfect and that you're instantly going to try and make them as perfect as you – which could be painful! Or they stick to you like glue desperate to find out how they can live as perfect a life as you – they're eager for tips, scraps of information that will turn them from rags to riches in a single step. Of course life is never as easy as that but it's their reactions when they realise I'm a perfectly normal human being that can be really funny!

They physically recoil when I tell them that a laundry pile in my house is not above the realms of possibility (especially considering the title of my first book!); they look disbelievingly when you let on that you house appears so clean because you've spent the last 15 minutes rushing around swiping things of tables and shelves and taking them upstairs where they belong and whizzing the hoover round as their finger tips are grasping the door knocker!

Funny isn't it? That a life coaching qualification doesn't come with an excemption certificate for stress – wouldn't that be great! 'Here's your life coaching diploma certificate – you will never feel stressed, overwhelmed or tearful in Tesco's again!' How cool? Where do you get one of those?

What being a life coach does do though, is give you access to clever effective strategies. That's where being a coach does come into its own. It means that after you've realised your brain space is getting full, when you get that rising panic that you've taken on too much and are actually feeling overwhelmed with your commitments, when you've finished sounding off at the nearest people – usually family – when you've finished with all your negative rants, what happens afterwards is that you create calm and organisation relatively quickly.

You give yourself some space (as a coachee would get in a session), and you take a step back emotionally. This is my comfort zone, this is what I'm good at. I may rant and rave occassionally, stress out when I realise I'm not perfect and worry I'll never get a grip again – not actually that's not my comfort zone. Stepping back, writing long lists and getting organised IS my comfort zone and that's what my clients tell me they love. That's what they can do that with me, in an organised, confidential environment. It's when I remember why I'm good at my job and that me having a hair-raising rollercoaster few days does not disintegrate my standing, in fact, it just goes to strengthen my standing. I AM my clients, I try to be all things to all people, I try to excel at what I do, to be the best I can be.

My honesty and stresses help my clients, they can look in my eyes and understand that although we'd deal with situations differently, they do know there's an element of understanding and empathy. Those episodes in my life mean my clients get the very best me.  We get to roar with laughter at the impossible situations they find themselves in, it means we get to chanter on a bit about the right's and wrong's of the world, each knowing that the other just 'get's it'! Then progress is made, clients move on and so does their coach. Unexpected perfection!

The edge of a coaches comfort zone

  Ah-oh, it's two minutes to nine and I already feel there could be fodder for a spat brewing with The Husband. The potential spat has not yet happened and will not happen if The Husband accepts my comfort zones, if he doesn't there could be trouble!

The morning started off a bit bleary eyed, HUGE thunderstorm last night, one of the worst I've seen, the lightening was like something out of a horror film and the thunder was just incredible. I don't like thunder. I don't like lightening. Still it started at 11pm so I was under the duvet and fairly confident we were all reasonably safe. Still not much sleep was had – well The Husband managed to sleep through most of it (how?!), he declared this morning it only lasted half an hour but my ladies and fellow dog walkers on the field confirmed my thoughts that it had lasted until at least 1.30-2am leaving The Husband quite dismayed that he'd been proved wrong.

Some staunch dog walkers even protested it went on until much later but I think that's more for dramatic effect between you and me. Anyway, afore mentionned potential spat is not about thunder. My friend has asked if we'll go to dinner at her house on Sunday. Lovely. I think we can take the pupppies which is good too. She has Bolly a HUGE chocolate lab, seriously huge – think small horse. Georgie our older dog just wants to hump him so I'm not taking him, he can guard the house but the puppies (last time at least) loved their huge paymate and looked up to him adoringly.

We decide if we take them on a long walk before the half hour car journey, we should have a quiet and trouble free drive. They're quite good in the car generally with the exception of the time we took them for their first puppy training class. We drove almost an hour to this womans house on what was possibly the coldest day of the year. Miserable was not the word. Dog tainer woman herself was nice but we were completely inappropriately dressed for walking on such a cold day, my fingers deadened within three minutes and I couldn't feel the lead at all, let alone try to control an over excited/slightly nervous puppy. We should have known it wasn't going to go well on the way there.  The boys poo'd and threw up simultaneously in the back and in the confines of a car those smells really aren't good! The Husband and I managed to swiftly come to a stop in a pub car park, sort out the mess in the back, clean up the pups – all relatively calmly and quickly. In fact, I was quite proud at that bit, we felt like those parents you see who quickly and effectively clean up messy children with the skill and confidence of having done it thousands of times. That bit, I remember, was good. It was an omen though, the worst was yet to come.

Woman dog trainer thought I was some neurotic first time doggie mother. She insisted on plying them with foul smelling treats after they'd already been sick and quite frankly all William and Grayson wanted to do was to be together for support but on a narrow pavement with The Husband in front with William – (who by now is strangling himself to get to his brother), me behind with Grayson (desperately lunging forwards towards William while my dead fingers cut into the lead) and Woman dog trainer feeding him titbits, we paid her quickly and left a soon as we could. Car journey's have been much better since, we've learnt...no food for at least an hour prior to car journey and definitely a long walk before is a must.

So, what's the potential spat then? The Husband wants to take them to the beach before we leave for my friends house. I have no problems with the beach, it's very near us. I like the beach. BUT he's going to want to let them off the lead – that is the precise moment my back stiffens and all thoughts of them running off/getting lost start to spiral! On the field, I'm very good now, my confidence has grown and The Husband's pack leaderish commands are listened to intently by the puppies – on the whole! He tells me my confidence has to grow further (right-o!). He tells me I must push my comfort zones (why?). He tells me I must trust them (what? They're 10 month old puppies with the attention span of a knat and a sense of smell that takes over their minds like little possessed beings!). Here is the potential spat.

The Husband has actually learned something new about his darling wife. Suggest something...give it a while to sink in...let me mull it over and build my trust up...THEN I start to move forwards. Push and push the point home and I'm more stubborn that an old mule! My comfort zones as far as I'm concerned are stretched beautifully already thank you. I mutter under my breath as I clean my teeth this morning. I regularly speak in front of hundreds of people at a time and live radio shows faze me not, I'm just not sure I get this whole off-the-lead thing...this needs work I know...pants! Fingers crossed for later everyone...may the force be with me!

One Life Coach, 2 heroines and a brand new blog!

I'm often asked who I look up to, my answers vary depending on which mood I'm in. There's Cesar Milan, The Dog Whispherer on Sky 3 (the man who literally saved my sanity when my puppies were tiny), there's Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman, Long Way Round and their epic journey around the word, I adore these two! Jack Bauer (aka Kiefer Sutherland) of course features very heaily and I'm sure I don't need to explain that one!

Then there's a more unlikely herione, one I discovered whilst having my tea watching Richard and Judy with The Husband one day. Judith O'Reilly. I shrieked with delight as she was introduced to the sofa 'I've coached her' I stammer as I poke The Husband in the ribs and he nearly chokes on his black pepper dusted broad beans, 'I know her!' I poke again. Judith O'Reilly, I learn, was uprooted by the husband she loves dearly with her children to go and live in the north, leaving her friends and city life behind. 'I remember something about that' I poke The Husand again...this time, he blocks me with a swift forearm up movement.

I move from the dining room table to the sofa and The Husband offers to clear dinner away and feed the dogs as I sit engrossed. Wow...how proud am I? She's amazing! Imagine that! I must get in touch with her! It's been some time since Judith and I were in touch, I only vaguely remember murmurings about the north and I'm thinking her previous e-mail address may not reach her. The ONLY way it seems to contact my now very famous friend is to leave a comment on her blog – which I do. She calls...we're in touch...a lot has happened to her since we last spoke and now she's a celebrity with a best seller on her hands and I'm smiling ear to ear.

Of course the next thing I do, is check out my own blog for masses of hits! I've only just started it granted, but I'm hoping it's being looked at...a comment on it would be awesome! Nothing! Nada! Tipota (greek!) Zilch! Pants! I suddenly have a new urge – to write a blog as famous as Judith's. I log-in and have a search around a bit...some would say it's all greek – but I understand/speak Greek so it's definitely not that. I don't understand it though, not a single word. It's all widgets, tags and categories! Categories of what? I haven't a hope! Back up is needed I decide, Back up is Elaine I decide.

Elaine has been a friend of mine for 8 years, and I know she's had a blog for several of those (http://www.randomjottings.typepad.com). She reviews books, publishers are now so concerned with her reviews that they send her boxes of books and cross their fingers for enthusiastic words. I love Elaine, she's authorative, self assured and doesn't mess around – she'll get me sorted! I send her an e-mail keen for her help, I'm paying her with lunch and the chance to play with 2 cute puppies and my nonchelant older dog Georgie – she loves him. That's it I think, lure her with lunch! Done!

Elaine arrives, I open my laptop and log-in. She looks a little blank. She explains that it's not the system she uses and that even the language is different. Phew thank god it's not just me who thinks it's a little technical! 'Nope' she says firmly, 'this won't do' – I knew she'd be authorative, 'Lets create an account with Type pad – it's brilliant' she announces!

Phew near blog disaster averted. Within minutes she has me up and running, she explains widgets, links, stats and hits, I knew this would work. Time runs out though, she's off to run her 96 year old mother round Tescos and I'm left with the new blog. Now at this point I know more than I did but I'm still scared. Elaine had explained that the best thing to do was to faff with it, changing the way things looked until I learnt my way around the system. Right thought I, That's what I'll do! 5 hours later and I sit back in wonder. I now have a banner (above!) matching colours to my website (http://www.lynetteallen.co.uk) and newsletter and I'm chuffed to little mint balls – this, I think, is probably how The Husband feels after a great round of golf! Amazing!  Thanks Elaine!

Apparently I'm perfect - not!

Ok, now it has to be said I'm more of a dog person than a cat person (I guess if you've read the blog you'll know that!) but if there was any picture that summed up just how prickly I felt yesterday this would be it!

The day started off well...the sun was out, the puppies perfectly well behaved when I came down stairs bleary eyed and searching for the kettle.  Every morning they bring me something in their mouth, it's too cute, it is usually their bedding which they heave out of the kitchen and drag through to the lounge, bottoms wagging enthusiastically as they silently stare at me, desperate for attention (well as you've also gathered, they're starved of that usually!).  I smiled as they proceeded to drag these huge heavy duvet covers (our old ones) through the house as I walked to the backdoor to let them out - they are a treat...really!  The Husband had informed me the previous evening that he'd see what the weather was doing before he called his friend to book a game of golf.  Golf, I have learned, is serious.  Golf, I have learned, is more than chasing a small white ball around a large green field.  Golf, I have learned, is sanity!  His! But then consequently mine!  I never moan about him playing golf, he is a far better husband and man when he comes back from his bonding session with the 'boys', he's relaxed, chirpy and ready to enjoy the rest of our day.  Of course I have to listen intently as I get a blow by blow account of each hole (how he remembers each hole when he has difficulty in remembering to bring the hoover downstairs with him I'll never know!) but that's a minor inconvenience and when I've really had enough, I simply change the subject skillfully onto the puppies and he's back in wifey land again.

Yesterday though, sunny as it was, perfect as it was for golf - The Husband called his friend to say he was having a Wifey day!  A wifey day hey?  Mmm sounds cool BUT I must subconsciously have internally  interpreted his threat of 'I'll see what the weather's like' as a 'I'm playing golf tomorrow' and therefore had set my internal schedule of my jobs for the morning.  Jobs, I now become painfully aware will NOT get done.  Jobs, I should do and want to concentrate on.  Pants! I realise, he's going to want my attention!   

Don't get me wrong, I love attention, The Husband and I have a great relationship but with the best will in the world when he comes home from work, my work must stop.  He's never been a 1950's 'Where's my dinner?' sort of chap, he's a very up-to-the-minute new man, always interested in my work, my latest projects and proud as punch when I get on TV or radio but seriously, have you ever tried to concentrate on an e-mail when your hubby's leaning over your computer waiting for you to finish so he can get on YouTube?  It's true, I, (not he), have decided that I can't work when he's here so that's that, accept and move on I chant, accept and move on!

Contrary to popular belief, my patience is sometimes a little...well...thin!  Bless him, everything he did wranckled me...everything he said I contradicted, everything he suggested was met with a 'but' from me.  He wanted to take me to the cinema (I have stuff to do!) I screamed internally, he wanted to take me shopping - usually a girl's delight (I have stuff to do!) I screamed internally!  We settled on walking the puppies to the hairdressers so he could get his hair cut.  The puppies picked up on my...er...scratchy...mood and followed suit, right near a busy main road (they hate traffic) Grayson decided to poo - probably through nerves.  The Husband couldn't find the poo bags in my round-the-waist pouch, he was flustering around checking I'd actually packed them (of course I have!) whilst giving Grayson's lead to me.  I was busy trying not to strangle poor Grayson with his choke chain as he both panicked and poo'ed simultaneously, meanwhile William, sensing his brothers panic yanked me backwards sharply as an inconsiderate lorry drove past at some speed, yanking his brother straight IN the poo which The Husband hadn't cleared up because he'd spent so long faffing in my round-the-waist pouch. 

Of course I tutted...loudly...so as to be noticed that it was his fault and his faffing that had caused said poo disaster.  Now I had two 'alert' dogs by the side of a busy road and The Husband, still faffing with poo, was in danger of getting it on his fingers, so was swearing like a trouper! (Why didn't he just go to golf?!)  So onwards we go...on the way to the hairdresser.  'I'll take them round the block when you go in' I suggest...meaning I have to get out of your sight cause you're really p***ing me off now!  'No come in and wait for me' he replied...meaning Come on, let's try to repair previous poo incident by pretending we're not p***ed off with each other.  'But Grayson's covered in poo!' I hiss - I look at him like You know that - I can't take him into the hairdressers- a place where we only get away with bringing a dog in because we know the hairdresser so well but she definately won't be chuffed if he's bringing half his poo in with him and fankly I don't blame her - what are you thinking?

Finally, we reach said hairdresser...bless her - it's obvious there's, well, a bit of tension.  'I think I'd better go home' I announce 'Fine' snaps The Husband, poor hairdresser standing to one side as if to give us enough physical space to start a full scale row right there and then!  Off I storm, in he storms, poor puppies looking back for Daddy.

I stomp home, tears rolling down my face as I do, knowing full well that by the time he arrives back with his haircut, we'll hug and apologise (we always do - spats are very short in this house!) but quite frankly at that moment in time, I needed half an hour before the hug to calm, re-focus and re-start the day.  It's now 1.30pm - can the day be rescued?

Half an hour, a cup of tea and plenty of tissues later and I'm a calmer version of my former self, the stomp home did me the world of good.  In walked The Husband, smiling, arms open for the hug, I apologise, he tells me no need 'You're perfect!' he smiles...not!