This year I’m going to BritMums Live for the 3rd time. This year I will be speaking at BritMums Live for the first time. This year I am sponsored to attend BritMums Live for the first time. This year, I think you should come too. So you should enter this giveaway to win a ticket to BritMums Live.

I have been fortunate to go on 2 Siblu Holidays since having my children. I never thought I’d be comfortable with a “holiday camp,” given the trips I have taken with Actually Daddy. California driving, South Africa safari, Maldives diving, we’ve been lucky. Such trips with young children are difficult. Aside from the risk of being eaten, kids find that kind of thing dull, and an iPad battery only lasts so long.

So we took the plunge and booked our first campsite holiday with Siblu. We were pleasantly surprised by the facilities and the people there. We discovered that when children are happy, grown-ups have a break. We had fun. We booked again. So if you ask me about holidays when you see me at BritMums Live, I’ll tell you that’s where we’re going.

As well as my holiday plans you’ll hear me talk about how to work with brands. How not to wait for a contact from your dream brand PR, how to make your own approaches, sell yourself, and win the pitch that you want the most. And here’s a thing – I’ll show you my media pack, and give you a copy if you want one.

Go on, enter the giveaway – good luck, and see you there!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Seriously, I don’t know why Daddy ever lets her out alone!

Anyway, I’m told there were lots of reasons to be there beyond the social, and that even seasoned eventers came away with tons of new ideas. For example, there was the session about how to make the most of your Facebook page, with  Cathy from NurtureStore. Mummy has been tinkering ever since, with massive results, as you will see from this post – eek! She also met Nadine, from JuggleMum, with whom she will be speaking at BritMums Live. In the space of 45 minutes they had hatched a plan to go on holiday together, where they would drink wine and eat pasta. You will find them tweeting random stuff about sausages and valpolicella at ridiculous hours

There was a very intelligent bloke, who had figured out that the way to be happy in life, was to decide to be happy. Not rocket science, but the genius was in the fact that everyone in the room had also decided to be happy by the end of his talk! And there was an inspirational panel discussion about how to get a book deal. Mummy has recently decided she’s doing this, so she quizzed Rachel Lucas author of Sealed with a Kiss; and Becky Goddard-Hill, on how they did it. Here is what she managed to ascertain:

How to get a book deal:

• Get a brilliant cover design – Rachel used @danthescribbler for hers and it has been instrumental in her book going to number one in the Amazon Kindle charts
• Grab the reader’s attention straight away – people are busy and they give up quick. You have to compel them to read your story
• Readers must identify with your character, empathise with them, or hate them – either is alright, but make them irresistible
• Bring your characters to life – identify with them yourself and this will be easier
• Every story needs a problem
• Tear-jerkers are always handy – even I know the power of a good cry
• That problem? It needs a satisfactory resolution, or no-one who gets to the end will recommend you
• Don’t forget the blurb on the jacket. It’s what makes the book sell itself off the shelf!

Actually, most of the above are my own tips, gleaned from my writing lessons at school. In addition, the wonderful panel had this to say:

• Pay for an editor – it’s a worthwhile investment. Who wants to be my editor? I’ve got £3.58 in my piggy bank
• Be prepared for rejection – it can take 40 or more agents before one will say yes.
• Self-publish – then you can show the world how wrong 39 agents were…

Right then, see ya – I have a book to write! xxx

For more info on what you missed, head over to the Blog Summit post on Tots 100.

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Creative writing: This year she has a lovely teacher who has ventured into the dangerous waters of loosening the reins on her creativity. For our recent holiday to Florida, she gifted GG a large, brand new exercise book. What I could write on those immaculately tidy, lined pages! The idea was to let her mind run free, to scribble her adventures unrestricted by the national curriculum, fired up by her once-in-a-lifetime experiences. It was a nice idea, in theory.

Describing words: On holiday she claimed she was too busy experiencing the thrill to put pen to paper. A promise was extracted from her to dedicate half an hour a day to her assignment once home. When asked to jot down a word or two to sum up her emotion, as a reminder once home, she wrote “EPIC.” A lot.

Homework ethic:

I might have predicted the daily wrangles that would ensue once back on home turf. She whined, I bossed; she wheedled, I stood firm; she stropped, I didn’t once bat an eyelid. Finally, she acquiesced, wrote one glorious page, and chucked a tantrum. I resorted to emotional blackmail:

“You’re the luckiest girl in the world! You’ve just had the most incredible holiday ever – in term-time (I was laying the guilt on thick by now), doing things I never dreamed I could do, and you can’t fill a schoolbook with all your adventures? You don’t want to impress your lovely teacher?”

She glared at me, and disappeared. She was gone for hours, past teatime, past bedtime, locked up in her father’s study. When she emerged, she had filled the book:

What do you think? Do I give her points for ingenuity? How do you inspire kids to write? All tips appreciated!

Now, if you have your own post to link this week, grab the badge code from the sidebar, and click the link below to enter your post – I can’t wait to see what you have! It’s not obligatory, but if you include a link back here in your own post, I’ll return the favour with a tweet-out. If you’re new here you can check out the Wot So Funee? main page for more info.

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Sixteen years old. I thought I knew it all. I had my O-levels under my belt (what is it with these flippin GCSE thingys anyway?) and I was leaving school – briefly. My 3 meter ribbon contained the signatures and kisses of all my 5th year peers (nowadays it would be year 10 – how weird is that?). I had signed the school heart-throb’s shirt, lingering slightly longer than necessary. I was coming back for 6th form in 6 short weeks. So why the sobbing, heaving red-eyed tears?

End of an era: It was an emotional time. I imagine it still is for most 16 year olds – the climax of the first big set of exams, the first pressure on young shoulders, the end of childhood, and the start of what happens next. Old crushes left school for good; one became a bus driver, another worked the tills at Tesco, still another is now a millionaire – funny, he was the shortest, least charming, least physically attractive boy in my class, but his life has been a massive success. As I recall, his grades weren’t as good as mine. Just goes to show, those first 16 years do not dictate what you will be. Remember that, my children.

Eighties perm

It was “de rigeur,” the perm. I had thick, straight hair. My hairdresser complained about how much of it there was. (That has changed). There was not a hint of curl or body, just the kind of hair that today’s girls crave and re-create with straightening irons. The Eighties required big hair, and so there was the perm. It’s not a look I’m proud of. I also wonder why I wore my collar up, and what was with the hat?!

Suntans

Factor what? Whilst the first hint of sunshine in 2013 drives me to slather the faces of my offspring – despite their protestations – with factor 50, the Eighties saw me rejoicing in the fact that my Spanish apartment (language degree, I know) had a flat roof. The Andalucian heat bounced off the whitewashed walls, and onto our olive-oiled bodies, frying our skin. We looked awful. We loved it.

One of the boys

Pre-nineties, girl-power had not yet made it’s mark. Girls at my University still balanced their intelligence and drive with their femininity and reserve. Me? I joined the rugby team. 3 points if you can figure out what position I played. It did me no favours, Girls didn’t get me, and boys thought of me as one of the lads. It was fun, but I still have pain in my ripped shoulder 25 years later.

Special K was a diet food. I remember begging my Mum to buy Special K. I was enticed by the fun and flirty ads, I had puppy fat, and I wanted to be gorgeous.

Of course, she wouldn’t hear of it, so I had to wait until I left home to try it for myself. I’ve always enjoyed it – it has a kind of malty satisfying taste that cornflakes fail to achieve for me. 30 years on, Special K have a new image. Gone is the mumsy couple, and in their place are sexy powerful women, with curves, and health. Special K also has a new recipe, although – and I’m being totally honest here – it tastes just the same to me, and as ever, it’s delicious. My kids request it as often as they want Coco Pops, and my husband is wondering where on earth Special K yoghurty has gone – it’s his favourite!

Some things have not changed. First, the ability to appreciate what an amazing body you have, when you’re still in it. This is me, aged 18, in 1985. Only now, aged 46, can I see how gorgeous I was. I thought I was a bit flabby. I had never dieted, I was never allowed. I did not know how unecessary it was! I don’t want this for my children. How can I make them see that healthy eating, exercise and a zest for life are all they need to look beautiful?

Second, looks run in families. I’m guessing that it is only by the fashion you will be able to tell which is me, and which my daughter (I still haven’t forgiven my Mum for that nappy)!

This post is for the BritMums/Special K “How I’ve changed Linky challenge.” I did this post because I wanted to share something with my daughter and son. We were sent a free box of Special K, to add to those already in our cupboard. Needless to say it’s all gone now.

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Things they liked about their wedding:

• Fireworks – it was bonfire night, and they’d managed to convince someone that theirs was the go-to gig for his fireworks display business.
• Abba (tribute band, obviously!) – could have gone either way, but in the event, the dance floor was packed.
• It started really early. In retrospect this may have been a negative (see below).
• My Mum wore this over her dress. She loved it. She still has it. She still loves it, so watch this space…

Things they wish they’d done differently:

• Used a more unique location – they had the standard hotel chain, who tried to save money on the meal by using “cheap french duck” instead of Gressingham Duck. They know this because the owner of Gressingham Duck is the Bug’s Godfather, and was at the reception, and challenged the chef…
• Started later – Mummy was on the champagne from breakfast. Daddy had the local pub open at 10am for his pre-ceremony stiffener. They were both tipsy on arrival at the church. You can imagine how it deteriorated by the end of the night.
• Not banned children. This is a biggie. M&D had been to weddings where their young adult enjoyment was “marred” by hordes of young children expressing their boredom throughout the speeches. They decided they didn’t want children there. This, as you can imagine, caused aggro. They stand by their decision – no-one has a right to judge a couple on their wedding day. But 13 years later they have me and the Bug, and they wish we could have been there.
• Mummy wishes she’d had the dress experience she was hoping for and didn’t get. She shopped at Virgin Bride, and ended up in an averagely pretty dress that didn’t flatter her, disappointed that she was not made to feel special while trying on princess gowns. There will be more on this…
• Married in their home town, in the beautiful church they now belong to, in which my brother and I were baptised.

So. A party is being planned. There will be some of the same things, and there will be some changes. There will be a renewal of vows. There has already been some really fun trying on of dresses. It’s not a wedding, it’s just a party, held locally, at a cool venue. There probably won’t be a wedding dress. There will definitely be a bridesmaid’s dress. There won’t be any worrying about what people think. They want a party and they’re having one. And there will be children…

It won’t cost as much as the average wedding, but it won’t be cheap. Some extravagance will have to be offset by savings elsewhere. So this infographic is a useful tool  as they plan the party of their forties!

Disclosure: we were paid for posting this infographic. The party is happening, and everything I wrote is true!  

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