Mummy's Rant

Prevention is better than cure, as the proverb goes. You can't cure suicide - by its very nature, it's fatal - so it's appropriate then that today is Suicide Prevention Day across the world. Every year, more than 800,000 suicides - one every 40 seconds - are successful. It's one of the top 20 leading causes of death of people of all ages across the globe. As with many mental health problems, there's a stigma attached to suicidal thoughts and behaviours, and it's time that changed. You could be closer to it than you realise. Here's a snapshot of how mental health problems and suicide has touched my life in the last 20 years. Suicides  gun shot, hanging Attempts drowning, overdose, cutting wrists Behaviours  self-harming, alcoholism, mania, violence, withdrawal, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, paranoia, lack of personal hygiene, mood swings, extreme fatigue, talking and researching suicide methods   You don't need to know ...

I've never looked forward to a Wednesday as much as I did this week. Wednesday was when the mini-RMs went back to school, and between the hours of 8.30am and 3.30pm give or take, it was someone else's turn to deal with the noise that, despite combined very best efforts, has filled our house over the very (very) long weeks of summer. The new term dawned like a open double shit sandwich announcing the demise of the summer season. That's a hybrid on steroids of the normal shit sandwich by the way, what HR departments the world over train their managers to deliver ("I like your tie; you're not good enough to be here; I like the font on your email"), but with only a single layer of positivity - it's raining, the kids can't go outside to burn off the energy that is making the very foundations shake with their screaming, shouting and fighting; Yay! they're back at school; it's raining which is going to make the school run fun and I'm stuck indoo...

Not since Justin Hawkins flew into the Brighton Centre on a massive pair of tits, has there been a better entrance than Julian's on Saturday night to #Justock Part II. I'll set the scene... as you know, the whole day has been a surprise and it's been a year in the planning. We've dashed back from tennis (Part I) and are back out the door in just over an hour (late, we're always late) to pick up our friends for "dinner". As we pull up to Tomas and Jana's house, Julian remarks on how unusual it is to see the gates closed. He gets out the car and Tomas calls from the other side of the gate he'll let us in. I step through the gap, and the gate opens wide to allow Julian to step over the threshold. There's a split second before our friends and family (those who could get to us, there were notable absences with good reason, but it didn't stop us missing you), led by the Mini-RMs chorus "Surprise!" and the best tribute band in our ...

Julian loves tennis - always has and always will. We've a number of family traditions throughout the calendar year and tennis tournaments are in that list. Important matches are a treat, with our own eclectic "tennis breakfast" and the remotes placed reverently under daddy bear's control. So when I began planning what is affectionately known as #Justock, tennis was a no-brainer. We're members of Polo Farm Tennis Club, and thanks must go out to Sharon for helping me with the booking for the courts, and arranging use of the facilities there. We booked courts for Saturday afternoon, and the invitations went out. Now, I love tennis and I "play" but I'm nowhere near Ju's standard, but we've some great friends who are. We were joined by Simon and his wife Izabela and their pooch Abby, who took time out from Izabela's own birthday celebrations to join us; ink-king and yummy-mummy-eye candy tennis coach Ben; and co-conspirator and secret-ke...

Every great festival we've ever been to has had a hog roast. And Justock was no exception. When I started planning my husband's 40th, I had no idea how brilliant the day would turn out, I just knew it had to include his favourite things. One of those things is a hog roast, and I took to Google to find someone who could make the date. I spoke to several companies, but then I found Posh Hog Catering - you can find them here . I don't remember what it was that clinched the deal: the menu, described in mouth-watering detail on their website, or John, who couldn't have done more to help me in the lead up to the party, and on the day itself. Whatever, something clicked and karma played its hand when he confirmed he was free that day, and booked me in the diary then and there. If you're going to spend the night dancing to the greatest (tribute) band ever, you're going to be hungry, so I went for the Platinum menu. Hog roast and all the trimmings; baked potatoes a...

My girls and their friends love their rock music, and their food, so they had a great time at Justock this weekend, but there's nothing in this world that can't be improved with glitter. Fortunately, we had Mrs Jelly Baby at the party too. This lady is a bubble of loveliness, from her box of face-painting tricks to her liquorice-allsorts print dress. She was recommended to me by an old (old) school friend (my friend isn't old, she's the same age as me, I mean she and I went to the same school from the age of 4), and it was a great shout. Girls, boys and parents all sat unbelievably still while they were transformed under the artistry of Mrs Jelly Baby. This wasn't just face-painting, this was face-art. Chunky, home-mixed glitter, 3D unicorn horns and butterfly wings, every colour and texture you could ask for, expertly applied by this lovely lady. She worked throughout the party and asked for nothing more than a table and a chair. Obviously we fed her! It wa...

We're going out tonight. We've got plans. And no children (thanks mum and dad). As it's OH's big birthday coming up, the exact terms of engagement remain a mystery, which has caused some dilemmas on the "what to wear" front, so I have two options from which to choose. Casual chic, or deconstructed elegance. If they don't hit the mark, there's the reserve option too - whatever I can get into. I know how it's going to work out, there's a pattern. I start well, plenty of time to get into the shower and enjoy the luxurious rainfall experience without a small person (one of mine obviously, anyone else's would just be weird) sitting on the loo (please God with the lid down), giving me a running commentary about something of great importance interspersed with observations about my boobs. Or sharing the shower. By which I mean standing under the full force of the water like an outtake from a Herbal Essences ad, while I try and wash myself under...