Tag Archives: Northampton

Why childcare is essential to get the economy moving

I TURNED the radio on halfway through a phone-in about childcare. A woman in her 60s was literally shouting, almost screaming, about how parents shouldn’t be helped by the state to pay for childcare.

The reason for her anger? Because she hadn’t had it herself. She wanted the money to be used to give her a better pension instead.

She was particularly riled by the fact that another caller, “the man with a foreign name” was defending his family’s position that both he and his wife had to work simply to pay the basic monthly bills.

It baffles me how bitter, resentful, and sometimes gullible people can be about child-related benefits.

They seem willing to believe that we are all churning out children we don’t really want, simply to enjoy vast piles of cash handed out by doe-eyed civil servants to allow us to sit and watch Jeremy Kyle.

Or that ‘career’ mothers throw their offspring into nurseries run by automatons to earn money for expensive holidays and designer clothing.

Working mothers are vilified for not staying home and looking after their kids. Stay-at-home parents are vilified for not working and contributing a wage and taxes. And the Daily Mail turns right-minded people into screaming bigots.

We have the highest childcare costs relative to household income anywhere in the world, yet nursery nurses are not highly paid.

If you want the economy to recover, you have to help people be able to afford to work, rather than give up their jobs, lose their homes, and depend on the state for far more than just the cost of a few hours a week childcare.

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All the fear of the fair

Bonnie and Billy fearless at the fair

AS parents living at the less salubrious end of Northampton’s Racecourse, several times a year we have to run the gauntlet of ‘The Fair.’

With all its bright lights, noise and smells, it gets our offspring in a frenzy when we unavoidably drive, walk or cycle past. It may say ‘only £1 a ride’, but that soon racks up when you have four kids.

When I was a kid the fair only came to town once a year. So excited were the people of Great Torrington in Devon that they saved up for it. They bought new outfits for it. And everyone secretly worried that their teenage daughter would run off with the bloke on the waltzers.

The fair was considered edgy and unpredictable – dangerous on more than one level.

Not these days. You can diary in the appearance of Northampton’s familiar family-run fair around the bank holidays. The danger comes not from the rides but from the mobile phones flying out of pockets.

Do you remember not being scared of fairground rides? When does the fear take over the fun? Is it when your wallet pocket starts to hurt?

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Tips for the first weeks at school

Bill's first day in 2008

NAMES in new uniform: tick. Packed lunches: tick. Bedtimes put back considerably earlier: tick. Alarms set: tick.

That’s about as organised as I get for the new school term.

I wish I was one of those parents with itineraries and chore charts and online family diaries. But I’m not.

Our three boys returned to school this week and I think they were grateful for some order and routine. The holidays have seen far too many erratic mealtimes and bedtimes that have been entirely based on what mood Bloke and I were in.

If you’re new to the world of sending your offspring to school, this is going to be an emotional week. You’ve probably been more organised than you ever thought possible, trying to ensure your son or daughter’s first days in formal education are stress-free while your own paranoia reaches epic levels.

Letting them see you worry is not good.

Helping them understand what is expected of them is key to getting them settled in.

They want to be there on time, have the right stuff (and by that I only mean uniform and lunch, definitely not brands) and start to recognise their new routine, expected behaviour and surroundings. This is why the transfer day they had before the summer was important.

All you can do once you hand them over to teacher is smile, wave and try and make it to the gates before you blub.

Even though I’m ten years on from that first child, first day at school moment, I still get stressed when the new school year starts. Mostly it’s about how to get the precariously-balanced timetable of untested events slotted into place.

From various school runs and fitting extra activities around normal life, it takes a good month for the dust to settle.

It gets easier. Once upon a time I too spent hours sewing name tags into everything. then I discovered the speed and indeliblity of a Sharpie marker. One surname in everything, to allow for hand-me-downs. (Unless there are several families with the same name).

A board of some kind is useful just to remember where the heck everyone is. We have an old Ikea blackboard that will be scrawled with the words ‘lunches’ ‘football’ ‘rugby’ ‘reading’ ‘homework’ ‘kit’ ‘swim’ ‘drama’ ‘phone’ ‘washing’ alongside the usual jumble of grocery reminders and random days of the week. Then Bonnie will fetch a step-stool and wipe it all off while no one’s looking.

The first weeks are exciting. Then it all start to slip.

There are going to be times when you forget things. There are going to be times when your kids forget to tell you things.

There will be a lot of very tired and grumpy kids around during the next few weeks as they adjust to it all, whatever their age. Trust me, all parents go through this. You may even enjoy some time to yourself.

Good luck, it’s only six weeks until half term!

Here’s a few tips that may help:

  • Make sure you check their bags for letters every night (don’t rely on them to bring things to you).
  • Use your phone’s alarm/calendar/diary to set yourself reminders.
  • If you have concerns, don’t try and fight for a teacher’s attention at the classroom door when he/she is trying to get 30 kids in/out. Ask at the office for a phone call, appointment or send a sealed note in your child’s bag.
  • Establish bedtimes. It’s easy to lapse now and then, but reception-aged children need 10-12 hours sleep. Teens still need at least eight hours. Don’t be soft about this and allow habits to develop.
  • Don’t give them the third degree as soon as you pick them up. A simple ‘What did you do today?’ may elicit an outpouring of over-information, or they may shrug and say ‘nothing.’ Don’t push it. They may talk more once they’ve eaten or heard about what the rest of the family has been doing.
  • Do be prepared to listen to what may appear to be the most trivial event when you’re in the middle of something else. If you brush them off with “not now,” you’re cutting off communication. (Exceptions: if you are on the phone negotiating a forgotten bill, manhandling hot pans or on the loo).

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Let’s gloss over this decorating disaster

IT was a ridiculous idea. I don’t know what I was thinking. I agreed to the kids helping me paint the hallway.

It was one of the many jobs I’d started before the holidays which I foolishly thought I could continue while the kids were off. Silly, silly woman.

Bored now

They were in old clothes. They had strict instructions. They helped me lay dust sheets, they promised to be careful.

Within about ten minutes there were lumps, yes lumps of white paint on the walls at Bonnie level.

Billy thought it was boring waiting to be allowed to start and painted where there the carpet below was exposed. Thankfully, he didn’t spill a drop but got bored and wandered off.

Jed did well on one wall, but realised rollering makes your arm ache and left a patch unpainted in the highest corner.

Doug sensibly stayed out of the way.

When I called a halt to this débâcle and removed the dust sheets, I found little white toe marks on the green carpet. Bonnie found it much more fun to dunk her bare foot in the tray while no one was looking.

She was certainly the most enthusiastic. After being told that painting would have to wait for another day, she’s spent every bedtime since clasping her hands to her face saying “oh no, we forgot to do the painting again.”

Yes, and we’ll be ‘forgetting’ until you’re all back at school and the painting elf comes and finishes it.

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Tears and tantrums (mostly mine): it’s uniform-buying week

WE’RE meant to be shopping for school uniform. I’m leafing through the endless racks of black trousers in BHS when I realise I’m talking to myself.

Two of the boys are across the shop wrestling over a tape measure while another and his sister have managed to climb on top of a Thomas the Tank Engine toddler ride in which they’ve already lost 50p.

Their coats and bags are strewn across the floor which other shoppers are having to step over. I shout. It’s all rather embarrassing.

One of the boys is ordered into the changing room laden with eight pairs of trousers in differing sizes, some of which are unhelpfully security tagged together in pairs, so when he emerges to show if a pair fits, he’s dragging its twin along like a bedraggled, dusty tail. None of them fit properly.

The shop assistant stares, unhelpfully, as I try to fold them back onto their hangers.

While another son grumpily enters the changing room, daughter decides she’s going to take every adult shoe off the rack and try them on. When this game is stopped she starts the wailing and flopping routine, refusing to walk or be carried.

Son emerges having decided the first pair of trousers he’s tried are fine and throws them into the basket. I look at the label: £16 for one pair. I send him back in with a £7 pair, knowing I’ll be spending most of the year sewing up hems and gussets wrecked by breaktime football. They fit. We buy two pairs. Then two more, cheaper, in M&S.

Here we go again then, one week to go before they’re back at school and the hell of uniform shopping is firmly upon us.

With three offspring in school, two of whom seem to grow every time they leave a room, it’s an expensive time of year – especially if you’ve just reduced your working hours for the holidays. I think this September’s uniform will have cost me over £300. And I’m a make-do-and-hand-me-down-bargain kinda mum.

It’s not just the cost, it’s the stress. I know you’ll tell me it would be a trillion times worse if I had three girls, but let me assure you, traipsing around the shops with bored and grumpy boys isn’t fun either.

I’d hoped that Dougie’s compulsory school uniform would last more than a year. It hasn’t. His blazer has a weird bleach mark across it, his tie is mutilated, his PE kit is either lost or too small. Along with Jed’s new kit, the official stuff is going to cost the best part of £200 when the shop opens this week.

Shirts are easier. Multipacks for boys are between £7-10 and Bill’s yellow polos cost a fiver for three. Job done.

But then there’s the annual trouser hell. Girls seem to have lots of styles and stretchy fabrics. Boys are stuck with flat front or pleated in stiff Teflon coated fabric. Two sizes – skinny or enormous.

Shoe shopping for our boys seems to have a basic formula.

The conversation usually goes:

Them: “I like these.”

Me: “They look like trainers. You aren’t allowed shoes that look like trainers.”

*repeat several times and get home empty-handed.

There have been some successes. A speculative TKMaxx run stocked us with rucksacks, coats and shoes for Jed. Dougie is still shoeless and Billy’s, bought at Easter, may have to last a little longer.

If you witness me having a nervous breakdown in a shoe shop later this week, keep walking, there’s nothing to see. . .

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No pocket money for my kids, they’re better off than me

DON’T talk about pocket money in earshot of my children, because they don’t get any.

Yes, you read correctly. That mean woman doesn’t give her children any pocket money.

Well, they don’t get any traditional, set-day, hold-out-your-hand-if-you’ve-been-good pocket money.

Last week a press release issued by a bank (I’m not going to give them more publicity) turned into a news story. Despite the recession and the ridiculous hike in the cost of living, children have apparently seen a rise in their pocket money.

Oh, and consistent with the unequal grown up world, boys get more cash than girls.

The figures show a third-from-bottom ranking for the East Midlands, with an average £5.62 a week.

The national average for 12-year-olds is £6.60 with a whopping 8p increase on that for being 13.

We used to give pocket money, briefly, when Jed and Dougie were aged around four and five. It was around £1 each.

We did it to encourage them to learn about money, about how you need to save for things you want, rather than nag your parents every time you saw a new toy/chocolate bar/balloon/ball/comic. Chores had to be done and behaviour good to earn that weekly hand-out. It could also be withheld.

It soon became clear that a) the boys weren’t very good at remembering they were due pocket money b) we weren’t very good at remembering to give it to them. Piggy banks became stuffed with IOUs.

It sounds a lot to me, and I know what would happen if I stood and doled out £5.62 a week into each of my kids’ waiting palms.

Jed and Dougie would race to the Co-op, spend it on sweets and then fight over them.

Billy would squirrel his away in one of his many piggy banks then nag daily about going somewhere to spend it all on Star Wars cards.

Meanwhile, Bonnie just thinks money is something to post between floorboards.

Unlike our parents’ generation, for whom household money talk happened away from little ears, we have always been candid with our offspring about cash, especially the fact we never seem to have much.

We’ve tried to be honest: there are things you need and the things you want. We taught them that if you want something you need to save.

They’ve all got junior bank accounts holding varying sums: the two littlest have healthy statements because their birthday and Christmas money has been saved over the years and I hold their bank books.

However the two elder boys were sent their own cash-point cards once they turned 12. This means they’ve all but emptied their accounts getting out a tenner here and there for sweets and pop, so I’ve taken guardianship of the cards.

Eldest now has a paper round which pays less than a fiver a week, but at least he’s earning.

While I might be mean old Ma, they are given ‘pocket money’ by relatives and friends. Both sets of grandparents sneak little envelopes of cash to the kids, as do fairy godmothers and child-free friends.

Embarrassingly, even strangers have given our kids pocket money.

Once, while waiting on the corner of Billing Road and Cheyne Walk, Billy, then aged 6, was reading aloud the faded inscription on the Edward VII memorial. An elderly gentleman, clearly delighted at this effort, tried to give Billy a pound coin, then realised it was a bit of an odd thing to do, and tried to give it to me to ‘reward’ him instead.

Similarly, at a recent concert, Billy was unself-consciously dancing his socks off, and a nearby security lady was so impressed she told him he should dance for a living and handed him yet more “pocket money.” Confusing messages: Don’t accept gifts from strangers/Money should be earned.

Without pocket money, the boys have become very good at negotiating deals between each other. They sell their used computer games on eBay and pool their takings to buy newer games, or computer game credits.

They also save up and contribute towards any expensive school or sporting trips that they know we just wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise, due to there being four kids in the family.

Now I don’t give pocket money each week, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get anything.

The older two got mobile phones when they turned 12, but not on contract. I pay £10 a month for each to have phone credit, and when it’s gone, it’s gone.

Then they get ‘tuck’ money when they go to various clubs and activities. That’s usually about a £1 each a couple of times a week. Or comics, which happens about once a month for the smaller two.

And there are the random, increasingly rare occasions when I’m in a good mood in a shop and they ask sweetly for sweeties. Add it all up and they probably do get about a fiver each, maybe just not every week on the same day.

Kids might be getting a rise in pocket money, but they are getting hit by inflation even more than us. Children’s typical purchases include sweets and chocolates, which have seen a 24 per cent price hike. Games consoles are up by 27 per cent, while mobile phones have increased by 10.4 per cent.

And children are affected too by cuts: many parents have reduced the amount of pocket money, or stopped it all together, while children’s bank accounts have some of the worst interest rates. Poor kids. . .

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We need safety in numbers at the Numberjacks

CHILDREN’S theatre can be a joy. It can also be a bum-numbing ordeal. I can say this because having had four children in ten years, I’ve seen it in most guises.

Northampton’s Royal & Derngate gets a huge range of shows for the good parents of the region, with its own award-winning shows and many touring productions.

Coming in September is TV shoe tie-in The Numberjacks. And quite frankly, it freaks me out. A combination of real-life kids and computer generated talking numbers and the weirdest baddies you’ve seen.

Mention the Numberjacks to my three-year-old daughter, however, and she’ll jump for joy. Loves ’em. Not freaked out at all.

So we’re going to the show when it comes to Northampton. Just to see how on earth they will be transferring that weirdness to the stage. You should go too. Safety in numbers. . .

The Numberjacks and the Puzzler

The press blurb:

CBeebies award-winning television series, Numberjacks, takes to the Derngate stage on Wednesday 14 to Sunday 18 September as part of their exciting UK tour, helping young children learn about numbers, shapes and sizes in a fun and imaginative way.

 Embarking on their first live adventure these ten superheroes need the audiences help solve tricky problems which crop up along the way, but watch out for the dastardly meanies who do all they can to disrupt proceedings.

 These horrid meanies include The Numbertaker, tall and silent he causes trouble by taking numbers and numbers of things and hiding them up his very long sleeves. He and the Spooky Spoon delight in stirring up trouble but with Northampton’s help the Numberjacks could win the day!

 Winning the Royal Television Society Award for the best pre-school educational programme two years running, and adheres to the Early Years Foundation Stage syllabus and the Primary National Strategy Framework for Teaching Mathematics, Numberjacks introduces children as young as two to the world of maths in a fun and lively way.

 Join the CBeebies heroes at Royal & Derngate when Numberjacks perform live on Wednesday 14 to Sunday 18 September. Tickets are priced at £13 and are available by calling Box Office on 01604 624811 or online at http://www.royalandderngate.co.uk.

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Why we can’t allow Delapre Abbey to become history

Front of house

WHEN I first started working in Northampton 14 years ago, I can clearly remember a reporter more long in the tooth than me giving clear instructions about correct pronunciation:

Cogenhoe was Cook-know, Duston has a silent ‘T’ and Delapre is Dela-pree, not some fancy French Dela-‘pray.’

delapre abbey walled gardens

I went on to write various articles about Delapre Abbey, including seeing the last boxfuls of the County Record Office being removed after the late Joan Wake had campaigned to move Northamptonshire’s history to the site 40 years before.

I covered horse trials there. I returned a few times as the abandoned house and gardens slowly fell into disrepair, but until last week, I hadn’t been for years.

Huge tree trunk

Bored with the endless rows over money, and procrastination about the anti-traveller bund, I, like many Northamptonians, had simply driven past on the London Road, no longer able to see the park and house through the trees.

What a pleasant surprise. Not only is this the most enormous public space for the families of Northampton to enjoy – with acres of fields and woods – the walled gardens and tea rooms are a hidden delight.

Billy not impressed by Lady with Kittens by Walter Richie, Delapre Abbey

Bonnie, aged three, Billy, seven, and I arrived quite late in the afternoon. The older boys had stayed at home, now at the age where “walking and looking at stuff” is of no interest.

We missed the entrance to the tearooms (after I ignored Billy pointing and telling me the correct way to go), and found ourselves wandering the perimeter of the house and finding semi-formal shrub gardens and amazing trees.

At the top entrance to the walled inner gardens, we found not only a huge thatched game larder, but a mixture of flower beds laid out in a classic council park style, a topiary hedge, herbaceous borders and historic sculptures that deserve far more recognition and visitors.

And all this is available thanks to the incredible work of volunteers, the Friends of Delapre Abbey. (See www.delapreabbey.org)

While Bill and Bonn ran around the gardens and rolled down the lawns, I was looking at the brick art of Walter Richie. Lady with Kittens, a frieze in the wall between the two Victorian glasshouses, one restored, one awaiting funds.

Billy screwed up his face at it: “You can see her boobs.”

The Lovers by Walter Richie

Hidden in the corner is the upright brick column of The Lovers, while most prominent is the famous Woman with a Fish by Frank Dobson. This was once in the town centre, but apparently caused outrage and was frequently vandalised, but now sits in her own little garden. “You can see her boobs too,” muttered Billy.

The tea rooms, open daily 10am-5pm, serve home made snacks and cakes, and we sat outside with lemon cake and ice-creams, wondering why we hadn’t come before.

Back out in the fields fronting the house, the kids were delighted by the ‘giant park bench’, and Bonnie met her first horse. A girl had been galloping across the park but came over so Bonnie could have a pat and tickle the horse’s hairy nose. The boys at the same age wouldn’t have been so brave. I’ll let Bloke deal with future fruitless pleas for ponies.

Apparently work starts soon on recreating an original water feature which hopefully will further Delapre’s cause as a place of genuinely interesting and beautiful history for people to enjoy for generations to come.

Delapre's biggest bench

Ignore the usual nay-sayers who say the money should be spent on town-centre loos instead. Delapre undoubtedly needs huge amounts of money to be invested to get visitors from further afield, but it can, and must, work. Wrest Park in Bedfordshire was similarly neglected but since English Heritage became involved just five years ago, it has opened as a major attraction.

In the meantime, take your family, your dogs, your children, and go and enjoy our own secret garden.

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Riots in Northampton or kidults wanting some drama?

AS parts of the country were razed by rioting, we should be grateful in Northampton that most of the trouble in our county was restricted to a bunch of prats on the Wellingborough Road and ridiculous rumours spread by bored teenagers.

Only the older kids and I watched events in London unfold on TV, and the following day, a baffled Billy watched the breakfast news and asked us solemnly if we had heard: bad people somewhere had been smashing stuff up.

How do you explain the riots to a seven-year-old when most of the grown-ups don’t seem to know what on earth just happened?

As Day 2 went on, we were seeing rumours appear on Facebook and Twitter about how things were ‘kicking off’ closer to home in Northampton. We soon realised the sources were 14-year-old girls living in rural villages, desperate for some drama.

Later that day we were heading to the sunny Racecourse, to play on the swings, when a group of about six teen boys with scarves covering their faces and baseball caps started to congregate near the play area, swaggering, shouting on their phones about how they were going to join together their ‘flocks.’ Six turned into eight, then 12, and before long about 18 youths, fired-up by testosterone and each other, were blocking the entrance to the park.

They weren’t breaking the law, but the atmosphere was hardly relaxed. They were playing at being what they’d seen on TV.

As we walked home, we saw a police car arrive and within moments the would-be-looters were gone, hopefully home to have their tea and watch telly with their mums.

They might not like it now, but those lads should be grateful that they do live in boring old Northampton. I know I am.

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Time to enter the Rescue Run and raise funds for the Air Ambulance

IF you need an exercise goal then Northampton’s annual Rescue Run is ideal, offering either a five or ten kilometre course you can run, walk or skip around with the family. This year’s Rescue Run takes place at Billing Aquadrome, Northampton, on Sunday, September 4 at 11am.

The Rescue Run has been organised for nine years by new Mum Selena Jacobs from Virgin Active and her band of volunteers, and all the entry fees go direct to the Warwickshire and Northants Air Ambulance.

Our unfit family joined in a couple of years ago complete with three under tens and a baby in a buggy. We may not have got the fastest times but felt rather proud of our efforts!

You can enter on the day or get the paper work out of the way by printing out the form in advance by clicking RR Entry Form 2011

Entry costs £8.50 for adults and £5 for under 16s on the 5k run, and £12 adults and £10 kids on the 10k run. There are medals for all finishers!

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