Confessions of a Playful Prankster

Dear Reader, please forgive me, for I have sinned. Well, I wouldn't exactly say sinned, perhaps 'for I have, during my time, done some things entirely for my own amusement at the expense of others' is more accurate. Please don't misunderstand this as a nasty streak. It has always only ever been about fun. My fun.

Hmmm, where to start? I guess my confessions should be chronological...

That means starting with a joint prank played upon my elder brother (R) which endured over the course of a whole Christmas holiday visit to our father's house. I say 'joint' because the deed in question was carried out by me, my elder sister (J) and my two elder step sisters (CJ and JJ). See? I learnt this behaviour. I am the real victim in all of this! Poor little impressionable me..... Believe that? Believe anything!!

[Note to reader - the family structure is different for this example from previous posts as it is based at my father's house rather than at my mother's] There were four of us girls and only one boy (R). Unfortunately for R, that meant us girls had all the power, and for my eldest step-sister (CJ), being the big girl that she was and not being adverse to sitting on him, she had quite a lot of it. I cringe (and laugh an ickle little bit) when I think back about it. Anyhow, back to the story...

Our Nannie had knitted each of us girls a raggy doll (not my favourite toy as, as afore mentioned in previous posts, dolls scare me a bit) for Christmas. However, a doll can only be as fun as your imagination... and we had that in bundles! So, very shortly afterwards we decided that our dolls would be used as currency to gain entry to JJ's room (JJ being the younger of my two step sisters, but still older than me). They worked like a secret password. One. Simple. Rule. 'No doll, no entry, no exceptions'. We all found this very reasonable, a perfectly fair rule, not based at all on age, sex or race. A rule that would probably stand up to scrutiny in a court of law discussing the finer points of the anti-discrimination law. R, on the other hand, oddly enough, did not! The conversation went a little like this: knock, knock [R on the door]. Us [CJ, J, JJ and me] (from within): "Yes"? R: "can I come in"? Us: "Do you have a doll for entry?". R: "No". Us: "Well, .....then no". R: "That's not fair, just because I am a boy!". Us: "No, it's not, it's because you don't have a doll". R: "That's because I am a boy!".... and so on, and so forth the conversation went.

Poor R!! Another of our favourites was to pretend that R was 'The Black Hole Man'. To this day, I don't really remember exactly what the rules of The Black Hole Man were, except that he was to be avoided at all costs, so anyone who saw R (aka The Black Hole Man) had to run in the opposite direction as fast as they could screaming "arrrgggghhhh Black Hole Man!!!" as loudly as possible. Poor R spent a lot of time on his own and didn't find the game as much fun as we did!

I, ashamedly, but in laughter, move on to my next confession...

Ok, well, chronologically, the next involves R (but he is a participant in this case), J and me and is set on our farm. We owned the farm, however, our farm was situated around a gravel pit owned by the local council who used to sell fishing licences to keen fishermen. The council owned some of the land nearby to the pit and this was allocated for fishermen's parking. Adjacent to this is was our land, which despite our repeated, polite requests to the contrary, was also used for fishermen's parking. We tried everything to persuade them not to park there: Polite requests, sign posts, even warning them of our dog (which unbeknownst to them was the stupidest, soppiest farm dog in the whole recorded time of farm dogs - although I am not sure exactly where farm dogs are recorded, and if they're not, they should be!). Anyhow, I digress, AGAIN!

So, we eventually found a way to communicate with the serial 'parking on our land' offending fishermen... We (R, J and I) would wait for a car to be 'illegally' parked, then when we were sure the fishermen had left, we grabbed our spades and hurried over to dig deep holes behind both of the back wheels. Then, when the hole was 'big enough', we covered the holes with twigs, leaves and grass to disguise it then rushed back to a safe hiding place to lay in wait. And wait. And wait.... (this bit was actually quite boring).... But, lo and behold, after hours our prey would return and, as he would have inevitably parked right up against our fence (right in front of the 'Private Property - No Parking' sign) the only way they could go was to reverse.... Right. Into. Our. Trap! I don't know exactly why we found this so hilariously funny, but we did. And, funnily enough, after the word got out (they must have a special fishermen hotline to share news about pesky hole digging kids), they stopped parking there. And thus ended our fun!

The person who has borne the brunt of most of my tricks, however, is my younger brother H.

Firstly, I convinced him when he was about six that he had to go to live at the zoo because there was a monkey shortage and they had to fill the spaces with children. A very simple trick, but also very effective! I used to do that ring-back thing on the phone when he wasn't watching and then intercept 'the call' and stage the following conversation: Me: "Hello? (long pause - pretending to listen) Oh, hi, you're calling from the zoo? (more 'listening') What's that? You have a monkey shortage? (more 'listening') And you need children to come and live there instead? ('listening') No, that'll be fine, H would love to come and live there! H: (looking slightly worried) But I don't want to go and live at the zoo!!". Me: "Sorry H, but you have to.... there's a monkey shortage".

The weird thing is, that he took this as an absolutely valid reason as to why, against his wishes, he would now have to go to live at the zoo in the monkey enclosure. It was all too easy! So, I tried something else...

Next I showed H a photo of my elder sister J. It was double exposed and had an image of her over the top of an image of an old castle and it looked quite ghostly. I explained that this was taken when J had turned, at age 8, from a boy into a girl. I then showed him a photo of R aged about 8. In this photo he was in fancy dress as 'The Incredible Hulk' - face painted green and looking very strange. This was 'evidence' of when R turned from a girl to a boy. It was not a far stretch to then convince him that when he turned 8 he too, would turn into a girl.

He only believed me for about a year. I can't imagine why, but he soon began to not take everything I said so seriously any more. How peculiar?!!

Another 'group' prank, was expertly performed by the whole of my Geography A Level class, whilst on a school trip to Wales, upon several students from another school staying at the same hostel. Throughout the week we had been the target of several pranks from the other students - including moving all our belongings into other rooms (they didn't steal anything, just mixed everyone's things up in different rooms so no-one could find anything). That was their most elaborate prank, however they were constant and undeserved. Our teachers were firm that we were not to retaliate against them, or at least if we did, to leave it till the last day and not hurt or damage anyone or anything. We took this as 'licence to trick' on the last day. We had become friendly with some of the other kids from their school, and obtained 'insider' knowledge. The key info being: they were travelling home by train and whereabouts in the breakfast hall the key instigators sat each morning. The penultimate day saw us trekking miles and miles to the nearest shop which doubled as a pharmacy. Operations began early doors on the last day. Everyone was involved. We crushed up a strong, but safe dose of laxatives, and added the 'special ingredients' to the milk on their breakfast table, stirred it nicely in, then returned to our rooms to reappear later with innocent, but excited faces. We were all giggles when they were polishing up their cornflakes. They looked at us so strangely.

We had let our 'friends' in on our trick against their classmates, and they seemed happy enough for it to proceed as planned. They were also the ones who reported back to us that, on the train home, there was a sudden rush for toilets and a few panicked faces. We were so proud of ourselves that our teachers knew we had done something naughty, so we told them and - after checking we'd been careful about dosage - they thought it was very funny and that they had needed to be brought down a peg or two after their incessant pranks on us during the week.

There are so many other stories... most of them involve H - poor kid! But, if you think about it, it is probably his own fault really for being so gullible ;)

Hark... is that the zoo phoning? Wonder what shortage they have today....

Disclaimer: No big brothers, little brothers or fishermen have been harmed in the making of this blog post.

London - The Outsider's Inside View

London is like Marmite. Some people love it, whilst others hate it. London commuters are a notoriously unfriendly crowd. Do not look at them, or if you must, do not let them catch you catching their eyes. They are the living descendants of Medusa - you can only look at their reflection, otherwise you will be turned to stone.

OK, well, yes. A little over dramatic perhaps. But the truth is not far off! In London you cannot look directly at another passenger on the tube, you must never speak to them in the lift and woe betide if you dare smile at them. You are automatically classified as one of the many (many) tube schizophrenics and to be avoided at all costs!

I moved to London as a bouncy, just-turned-eighteen, law student. I left three years later, almost twenty one, older, a little wiser and a lot more cynical.

In London, people live in bubbles. Your bubble consists of your friends, the local chippy and pub, the man who serves you coffee every morning at the station and taxi drivers. That's about it. Talk to anybody else and you are considered psychotic. Once you get used to the rules, which include reading the same twenty word advert on the tube fifty times to avoid eye contact with another soul, London is amazing.

I first started coming to London when I was fourteen. I used to starve myself at school lunchtime, instead pocketing my £1 lunch money to scrimp and save for months to be able to get tickets to see my favourite bands play in various venues throughout the city. My first ever gig was to see Blur at the Mile End Stadium. I remember working on my Mum for weeks beforehand to allow my friend and I to go. We felt so grown up - a night out at the biggest stadium gig held in the UK (until Oasis topped it the year later with their Knebworth gig) - on our own. Well, until my sister convinced my Mum that she should go too.... and her friend.... and my brother.... anyhow, we remained silly excited. I was wearing my Dodgy skinny tee and my baggy checked trousers, my blonde hair and down to my bottom, donning my red John Lennon glasses. They (Blur) had several supporting acts, so we got there early and settled in for an amazing day. We stayed with my brother throughout the day, and took it in turns to sit on each other's shoulders and sing madly to the Parklife words. We were the first audience to hear their new song 'Country House' and weeks later they released a live CD. I fell in love with gigging and it remained a theme throughout my teens, my twenties (the highlight has to be meeting Gaz (beautiful lead singer from Supergrass) before their gig in a pub in Tufnell Park and offering him a drink) and even now in my (very very very) early thirties.

London has a great live music and clubbing scene. My uni years saw me dancing madly at 'The Cross' near King's Cross (old station archways, which get so hot they have turbine fans to cool the clubbers down), Fabric, and, when with my gay male friend, cheesily at 'G.A.Y.' in the London Astoria.

London has sights-to-see galore. My earliest being the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square with my friends and I being chased up and down in the lifts by the security guard who had warned us not to play in the lifts any more or we'd be chucked out (not my most proud or mature moment). The odd thing about Londoners is that they generally walk right past the sights without seeing them. In my last week of uni, after three years of living in London, my friends and I decided we should probably actually go and see the traditional sights. So we went to see if Lijjibeth (my three best friends at uni were Asian, so Queen Elizabeth II was nicknamed Lijjibeth for the day) was home for tea at Buckingham Palace. We were an odd bunch of friends - one Muslim, one Sikh, one Hindu and one Christian - but it worked and we were inseparable.

The best thing about London is you can always find something new. Like the heavy concealed doors off of Shaftesbury Avenue leading down into the best Moroccan restaurant, quiet parks dotted amongst the streets trodden by thousands, hilarious newcomers to the comedy stage in back rooms above struggling pubs near China Town, and, whilst rollerblading in Hyde Park, discovering masses of roller skaters intricately break dancing to the beats provided by beat boxes on the shoulders of spectators. Then, when the night is done, if you accidentally miss the last tube you can always find an all night cafe in Soho to nurse a coffee or two until the sun returns for morning, and another day in the city begins.

London is not all excitement and light. There are hundreds (thousands?) of homeless on the streets. I used to see the same young girl (thirteen?) on the underground every time I exited at Oxford Circus. She looked so tired, so hungry and so forgotten. And that was before you even noticed she was cradling a young baby. I remember one freezing winter, just a few days before Christmas, I went shopping for last minute bargains, excited about the upcoming festivities, full of gift ideas for my family. I was wrapped up all toasty, disgustingly chuffed with myself in my present choices, ready to set off home (which at the time was Brixton) so treated myself to a Gingerbread Latte at Starbucks before heading towards the tube. I was descending the steps, when I saw her. She looked so cold. I felt embarrassed. I'd just been spending money on glittery cards and shiny gift tags, all pretty, but totally useless items. All the while oblivious to her quiet misery. There was not much I could do to help her, so I emptied my purse and gave her the rest of my money whilst wondering where her family were, and whether they were hoping against hope that she appear on their doorstep on the 25th. She didn't even look up. Her problems were bigger than money - my measly offerings couldn't fix anything for her.

I was once told that, at some point in your life, you have to live or work in London. It is the only way to 'understand' it. It's true, you do see a different London to the London the tourists see. It can be awe inspiring and yet so utterly heartbreaking right around the corner.

So, I guess I have now been out of London for long enough that I am now a tourist too. I was in London twice last week and I even caught myself sitting on the tube doing that 'one, two, three........ nine' head nod thing while counting the stations until my stop. That is a sure sign of a tourist - Londoners never count the stops, they know the tangle of underground stations inside out and back to front as if it were their own veins. London is in their blood.

So, as for me, I have danced in King's Cross, lived on the Caledonian Road, been a barmaid for an Arsenal pub, shopped the amazing foods at Borough Market, pub-crawled 'Upper Street' and gigged my little heart out. But there will always be so much more to see in old Londinium...

My Bucket List - Because Life is for Living

Life is for the living, if only we had the time, money and imagination. We only get one life and we don't know how long we'll get. I don't understand those that whittle it away, losing the opportunity to experience the wonders our world offers. Yes, it can be expensive. Yes, it can be scary. But adventures are out there waiting for us, we just need to grab them.

But, what to do? Where to go? There is only one thing for it - I need to write a bucket list!

There are two types of people who write lists. The ones who write lists of things they still have to do and those who write lists which, in addition to the things they still have to do, also include some of those they have already completed, just so they can cross them off and feel good. I, embarrassingly so, belong to the latter. It is totally illogical, I know, but the action of crossing off items already completed on my 'ink just dry' list somehow makes me feel like I am one step closer to completing my list. I feel it is about momentum.

So, after 30 years of deliberation, here is my draft bucket list (and because I'm me, I've thrown in some items I have already done). It is draft because I intend to add to it as new ideas come to me, so, dear reader, if you have any extra ideas, feel free to add your ideas as comments to this blog and if they make it onto my bucket list I will attribute them to you.

1. Step foot on all 7 continents
2. See all new wonders of the world (Great Wall of China, Petra, Christ the Redeemer, Machu Picchu, Chichen Itza, Colosseum, Taj Mahal, Great Pyramid of Giza)
3. Write a blog (tick) and a book
4. Read the entire completed words of Jane Austin (Pride and Prejudice (tick), Emma, Persuasion (tick), Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park (tick) and Northanger Abbey (tick)
5. Go zorbing
6. Own my own home (tick - house bought November 2011)
7. Swim with dolphins (tick)
8. Ride something bigger than a horse
9. Spend a day on a deserted tropical island (tick) (deserted Maldivian Island in the Indian Ocean)
10. Surf (no matter how badly)
11. See The Grand Canyon (tick), Niagara Falls (tick), the Hollywood Sign, The Golden Gate Bridge (tick), Times Square (tick), the Amazon, The NASA building (tick) and Mount Rushmore
12. Sleep under the stars (no tent) (no ponies)
13. Officially name a star (tick) (tick) (tick) (that's thrice - not a typo)
14. Participate in 'Burning Man'
15. Fly a plane (tick)
16. Skydive
17. Patent my invention (don't ask, I can't tell)
18. Grow my own vegetables on an allotment
19. Visit every Country in Europe - those already 'ticked' are: England, Wales, Scotland, France, Germany, Spain, Holland, Italy, Iceland, Switzerland and Belgium.
20. Make every Christmas present I give for one Christmas (tick - Christmas 2011 - hampers and scarfs)

OK, there's 20 for starters. Some, admittedly, are easier than others. I will update the (tick)s as I achieve them, and add to my initial 20 as more come to me.

Right, no time to chat! I've got a bucket list to be getting on with.....

The New Forest Pony Survival Guide

It all started very simply. "Do you want to come camping in The New Forest with us?". I jumped at the chance! I love spending time with my brother's young family, and I hadn't been camping for almost ten years. I had almost forgotten how much fun it was. I had completely forgotten about The Ponies!

I haven't always been afraid of ponies. Growing up my sister had a dapple grey named Braidy and a Shire Horse called April. I used to want to ride them, but I was always told I couldn't "because of your allergies". Later, when I was a little bit older, I was allowed to ride the horses my step-sister used to look after. I say 'ride' but with Charlie, perhaps 'try to persuade the lazy lump to even move' is more accurate. I was still allergic, but if I didn't ride the horses, there was literally nothing else to do. So I accepted the sneezes and asthma over death by boredom.

The tides turned on how I felt about ponies following a riding accident in which we lost a young member of our family. It was then that I fully noticed their huge size and strength in comparison to ourselves. And, whilst we allow ourselves to think we 'break' them in and can then maintain control over them, I believe they are just humouring us, because, if they want to, they can really show us who's boss! It also doesn't help that I had a vivid dream (bordering on nightmare) about a giant black horse and armies of soldiers emerging from the sea marching towards me crying 'War'... but that it another story entirely...

So, I no longer trust ponies. It's not like I think they are going to trick me into giving them my pin code. I am not even sure what the would do with my pin code when they inevitably got it from me. Sainbury's bumper bag of carrots and a pack of Polos perhaps? It's more to do with the fact that they are just too unpredictable for me.

Let me start to tell you about my New Forest Pony Survival Guide. I'll start by explaining why I need a pony survival guide in the first place...

The New Forest has hundreds of wild ponies living in it which are free to roam day and night. They don't have a curfew. They don't even have an ankle tag! The first night camping was fine, I had seen a few ponies around the site, but they seemed to be minding their own business, no doubt contemplating whether to get shod with new shoes - I could almost see the pale girly one visualising the sparkly sling backs she'd seen through Dorothy Perkin's window and whether they would go with her new pony tail 'up do'. No, night one was not a problem, it was Night Two when the trouble began....

We'd had a great day taking my little niece to the deer sanctuary and reptile house. We'd cooked sausages on the camp fire. We'd even had toasted marshmallows. The only minor issue was that I had forgotten to bring a torch, so on sun down, it was an early bedtime for me! Apart from that, everything was good. For a short while.

Just as I was falling asleep I heard clumsy footsteps and heavy breathing outside my tent. My heart started to do that 'I think there is someone in the house so I am going to beat twice as fast and really loudly so the intruder can hear it and know exactly where I am' thing. Who was it? Or worse, what was it? I thought I should get my torch and have a look, then remembered my torch is fast asleep on the shelf in Oxford. Lazy torch! The heavy footsteps and breathing soon was interrupted by the sound of tearing and chewing, it was then that my supersonic brain joined the dots and identified the noises as a pony outside my tent!! Scary bananas!! I stopped breathing in case it found me. I shortly started breathing again because I thought possible injury by pony was a better bet than definite death by lack of oxygen. Quick, brain... what should I do? The best brain came up with was curl in a ball, ignore it and go to sleep. Sleep? Very funny brain!

So there I was, in the dark, curled in a ball, panic stricken and wide eyed, 'trying to sleep', when it became apparent that the ENTIRE population of The New Forest Ponies had converged on our camp site and decided that now (1am? 2am? I had no idea, for which I blame lazy torch, lazy watch, and lazy 'I have no batteries left' mobile), NOW was the perfect time to all begin neighing and stampeding through the site, right past my tent. Brain had to re-think. Carrots! If I had some carrots (which for some reason I forgot to pack in my essential camping bag) I could throw them away from our tents and divert the ponies to someone else's tents. But then they might send the message out to other ponies 'free carrots, come quick' so I thought, better not. No, carrots could make things worse. A cattlegrid! I could quickly install cattlegrids around the perimeter of our tents to stop them getting near, yes that would do it, cattlegrids were a great idea. A wall would be quite handy too. It was in this 'helpful' vain that brain continued until I became aware that I must have somehow found sleep because here I was waking up. Alive.

So, in my knowledgable position as 'pony survivor', I wanted to share my recommended pony survival kit with you:

• Carrots (although could be risky, see related danger of 'more ponies' discussed above)
• Cattlegrids (not an 'easy fix')
• Walls (easier)
• Moats (only recommended for experienced landscape gardeners)
• Electric Fencing (installation must be undertaken by a CORGI registered electrician)

The ponies came back the next day and gatecrashed our barbecue. Although, if they thought they were going to get their hooves on our burgers and trifle they had better think again! I am very protective of friends, family and food.

Honestly! Those New Forest ponies - they have no boundaries! I personally blame the parents.