Wot's yr addy?

It's a simple enough question, but in a world obsessed with 24/7 accessibility, it's a tricky one to answer. No longer will it suffice to give the number, street and postcode of one's humble abode, as was the norm back in the 'olden days'. My kids use that term to refer to the era of my childhood. I think they do it to humour me, or at least I hope they do. On the surface things don't appear to have changed that much in 20 years, it's the pace of life which has turned from a relaxed meander into a jog on the treadmill.

These days we're in too much of a hurry to wait for things to arrive through the letterbox. We're too busy to go shopping but need a new jacket. The shops may be closed by the time you've finished work - no problem - you can browse all your favourite fashion stores' websites 24 hours a day.

How many of you have been sick with worry when you have been unable to contact a loved one for more than few hours? Who'll admit to annoyed and frustrated when calls to a friend, phone company, bank's local branch have gone unanswered? I will, but I wouldn't have said that 20 years ago.

Now, when someone asks me for my addy (text-speak will appear in a future what grinds my gears style blog)I'd be most likely to give them my e-mail address. Well, one of them. Over the years I've acquired a few in the way some women seem to accumulate shoes. I sometimes wonder if it's a status thing. Like having lots of addresses makes me some kind of property tycoon; landed gentry even. I don't understand the shoe hoarding thing though.

If you've ever been in a chatroom, you'll know that 'wot's yr addy?' is a question usually designed to obtain your MSN/Yahoo username. I'm sure the anonymity that web based (e.g. Hotmail) addresses bring has been a factor in the huge growth of the companies which provide them. Instant messaging may have its benefits but they are outweighed by the frustration caused by the misinterpretation that can occur.

So, up to now, we have found 3 variations to go on the list of definitions of addy. At this point, I feel Twitter worthy of a mention. In just 11 characters I can direct someone to my profile. From there, they can leave me a message, link to my e-mail via a link to my blog.

Add Facebook to the equation and we're up to 5. I'm sure it won't be long before someone comes up with the idea of combining all these contact points in to one URN. A unique reference number for each and every one of us. We could have our codes tattooed onto our forearms, thus negating the need to ever ask the question again. 'Wot's yr addy?' will one day become the kind of thing your nana would've said.

A Slice of Turkey without Cranberry.

It's 11 o' clock on a humid, mid-August night and I'm having my first taste of Turkey. At 31 degrees it's pleasingly warm and smells, if I'm honest, a bit like chicken with a sprinkling of cumin. The aroma from the kebab shop in the airport foyer welcomes a plane load of hungry Geordies. After 4 hours of being forced to sit and drink the beverages trolley dry, they're ready for something to soak up the alcohol. It's not unlike the Bigg Market on a Saturday night but here there are more Trolley Dollies than trollied dollies.

That was almost two weeks ago now and the flavour's fading as fast as my tan. Short summer vacations are one of the perks of Pots' job. Conversely I have 7 consecutive weeks of 'holiday' this year giving me precious extra hours for cooking & cleaning, washing & ironing, picking kids up & dropping them off, negotiating & mediating........ a job in the education sector is great - just make sure you don't have your own kids!

Oh dear, that makes me sound all bitter and twisted. It's not that I wish I was childless. I quite like my kids really. Especially when they are asleep. That's the only time the effort:domestic tasks ratio decreases unless, of course, you're in a 5* hotel. This year we decided to throw sand in the face of anyone daring to suggest: '' a change is as good as a rest.'' Sure, food shopping in a foreign market is a welcome change from trudging Asda's neon-lit aisles but you still have to prepare and cook it, before clearing up, washing up and putting away. For a single week, the first this year, we were holidaying abroad as a family and I was determined to have change AND rest.

Goldcity Tourism Complex stood majestically on the Alanyan hillside, it's lights (I think they were trying for golden, but orange is a fairer description) twinkled proudly to greet us as we wound our way up the steep road towards it. The next seven days were going to be spent indulging in luxury and I wasn't going to feel guilty about it.


Thanks to the stunning views, delicious food, sublime spa, amazing architechtural detail and the staff's attention to detail, my mission was accomplished. Total relaxation. I usually measure this in brpw (books read per week). This year's score is a healthy 3.

I won't bore you with a descriptive list of the resort's amenities because its snazzy website can paint that picture far better than I. What it fails to do however, is project the personalities of the people that make the whole experience; the fellow tourists with whom new bonds and friendships are formed; the attentive staff whose individualism remains unstifled by corporatism. Our favourite bartender, Dolly Dimple as we affectionately called her, had such an infectious smile that you couldn't help but grin as she skipped around the bar, on tip-toes, messing up everyone's drinks orders: ''Oh, so sorry. No cranberry for vodka so I bring you beer instead. Is Ok?''

Bearing in mind that we didn't venture further than the slick rooftop bar on the sixteenth floor or the outdoor massage tents in the Spa's gardens at lower basement level, it would be ambitious to claim that we'd seen a real slice of Turkey. I may need to wait til Christmas before I can have it with cranberry, but after my summer taster, I'm ready to book again for autumn. Join me.

Lazy Cow

I suppose this blog's title does apply to me, as far as updating my online ramblings go anyway. I temporarily abandoned Mad Cow Patter in favour of indulging myself in other social networking activites.

Yes, I discovered Twitter. No-one I know is following me so it makes my updates seem pretty futile, but I've been Tweeting away regardless. More fun though, is reading the Tweets of others - snippets of the lives and opinions of people from all around the world. Compared with the likes of Facebook and Myspace, this phenomenon seems to have attracted an older crowd which makes me feel more at home. I was quite excited to see I had some followers of my own, but the early flushes of pride soon drained away when I realized that the majority were bots. The first 'person' to request updates of my random ramblings was an oriental girl with her very own sex-cam. That'll teach me to mention lubricants in my updates. When I said 'smearing myself in Vaseline', I was referring to my feet, in preparation for the Moonwalk!

Actually I haven't been that lazy when I come to think of it. The Spring months were spent training for the charity walk ( I don't do running) I'd somehow volunteered myself for. A balmy Edinburgh night, surrounded by women (and men) in bras and trainers pounding 26 miles of scottish pavement in aid of Breast Cancer. Quite an uplifting (pun intended) experience. We even saw Lorraine Kelly who's actually a lot less caviidaeic* in real life. Best part of the weekend was when our taxi driver showed his support by giving us £10 for the charity. And we still had our t-shirts on at that point.

On the home front, there's a new addition to the family. She's 4 months old now and has already quadrupled in size since we adopted her. After being pestered for months by the kids, I finally succumbed and started researching dog breeds. I trawled the internet for weeks to find the ideal pet. A soft coated wheaten terrier. All my fears about mess, noise, dirt, smell and general hassle are forgotten when I come home to her enthusiastic waggy tailed greeting.

One the second home front, we will, by tomorrow, be the owners of a new house. I say new, but it's 30 or so years old . We won't be moving into it. I could never sell this house. I don't think I would ever find one I loved as much, even if it could do with a bit of work. No, our recent purchase will be let out. I've already found 3 lots of interested potential tenants. Guess where I found them............................via Facebook and Gumtree. Seems time spent on the internet isn't always wasted.