Pages

Wednesday, 30 December 2009

The Colour Purple

There is a theme running through our house at the moment and if it is the colour purple then it is IN. Both daughter and I love the the colour purple , He-man preferring bright orange or green. The love of purple is not just restricted to clothes - see recent Howge scarf, handbag, necklace, T shirt, ipod nano, eye shadow, nail varnish etc. It also extends to food. Whilst playing a daft pass-the-time-away game over dinner with The Wrinklies recently I declared that I love aubergines just on colour alone nevermind the shape. This prompted a rant from G-man ( grandad as renamed by He-man ) about how he can't stand the colour purple. This resulted in many a furtive glance between she-ra & I as his Christmas present was a beautiful dark purple shirt from Jaeger. Don't worry, I said to her later that night, he will declare that it is not purple but another colour altogether as the label will sway him. You guessed it on Christmas morn as he unwrapped his very dark purple shirt he invented a new colour for the Dulux paint chart. I lurve my royal dark indigo shirt, he cried. To which we howled with laughter. However still fuelled by a talk of purple the previous night he went onto name the only colour purple he truly liked for which I cannot wait for Dulux to put on their paint charts. " Bell end purple."

Sunday, 27 December 2009

Bodies

The scariest thing after finally finding someone else attractive enough to want do something about it in a lewd, rude and disgustingly sweaty way is that they will see you naked. This has had me in a state. Of a curvy build and more toned than ever in my life due to all the running to get rid of the stress of being married to a complete bastard-who-lived-a-secret-life; as well as a more recent outlet for pent up sexual energy I am the lucky beneficiary of being currently slim with curves. So let's say I am not having hang ups about the scale of the bod. However ... Let's start from the neck and work down... The boobs are no longer pointing northwards. In fact if I could have a peg to keep them looking pert that would be great. They don't need to be bigger just pert. This is further compounded by the fact that She-ra's nickname is Boobzilla - need I say more? Bras are great for giving you the illusion of the most fantastic pair when in fact you have scooped them up, hoisted them in and got them on a tight rein. Illusion is good, reality less so. Skin is next. My skin feels papery. Not bouncy. Not youthful. But old woman papery. Clearly this could improve if I swapped my 2 litres of red wine/fresh coffee combo a day for 2 litres of water but then my children would probably be taken away by social services. So on to -Stretch marks... Those little snail trails that run across your tummy. I did carry 2 children, one of which was nearly 9lb, for chrissake! However I am not going to complain here as I am actually blessed with stretchy skin (which having yoyo'd in weight over the years is more than fortunate ) so having only 4 small ones that are practically unnoticeable are OK by me. Anyway heading south we are now in the regions of the lady garden and it here that my worries have set seed the most. I can best sum this up by relating a recent shopping trip to a posh kitchenware shop with my sister. Whilst perusing the shelves for suitable brother-in-law Christmas presents my eyes fell upon a special oven glove/pan holder. It was pink, made from silicone and fitted like an oven glove over your fingers only having a slight wobbly clammy feel to it. Before I knew I was stood in posh kitchenware shop with said oven glove dangling between my legs to give an accurate ( if not considerably scaled up ) illustration of how I feel about my lady bits. Just hope OTE ( Old Twinkly Eyes ) doesn't notice the pan scrub located above it.

Sunday, 20 December 2009

St Petersburg Technique

I would not recommend that any one follows what I do. I certainly would not want to be held accountable. Newly divorced, having been married for over 20 years, it has been a long time since I have played the courtship game. It;s scary. So how do you get that person to go for coffee etc. Ask - it worked for me. Then hopefully that is a reciprocated in the form of a drink? That worked too. There should be no problem with asking after all if you want something you should ask for it. Those first few conversations are hard though. What do you talk about? Finding common ground helps but nothing too controversial. Clearly the advent of email and texts make things a bit easier and flirting great fun compared to the technology available in my youth, not quite tin can and wire but not far off. All the while establishing whether there is a frisson of passion. In this case - yes.



But how do you read the signs? I would have better luck with tea leaves as I am never aware when someone is hitting on me. How do you know that the other person is interested? Are their pupils dilated? one friend asked - As I couldn't' even maintain eye contact for very long I couldn't establish that until 4th rendezvous. It was here that I finally managed to be myself and I found that a good sense of humour and good line of put downs can be a good aphrodisiac. Having established that there is definitely attraction you need to get a dinner or drinks date sorted. The flow of alcohol loosens up the old inhibitions and before you know it you are talking away. " Don't worry " another friend said " you'll find plenty to talk about ." However don't talk about the subjects I did. Sex, lack of, gagging for it, finding the other person very attractive and referring to your self as Miss Moist ( see sense of humour ) in text messages unless of course you intend to do something about it. With all this direct inference to sex you would expect that once alone with a bedroom not far away ( actually who cares about the bedroom a closed door will do ) that passion would ensue at rate of knots. It was here that I was introduced to the St Petersburg Technique. Not something I had come across before and not a bizarre sexual position although I am sure that I could conjure one up. With glass of wine in hand, heart beating with anticipation it was with wonderment that I found myself watching a tourist information film on the wonders of St Petersburg. Half expecting a Russian plumber to come knocking at the winter palace door only to find the attendants half naked ready willing and able I instead found myself watching a virtual tour of the city in the summer. Clearly the dampening of ardour was moderate and I have congratulated OTE on his unusual technique wondering if there is a second installment of series.

W.I. we are not





























It is that time of year again which kicks starts me into feeling christmassy - the old wreath making. This has been a tradition for over 14 years now and it is the first time that we have had nearly all the ladies at the table, busy slurping mulled wine, nibbling on the occasional mince pie and fashioning something for their front door, or not as the case may be. Even She-ra joined in - a first. The blokes may scoff at our attempts amd class us W.I rejects but we love it. If we weren't making wreaths it would be something else. I am always amazed at how we can all talk at exactly the same time all over each other yet still manage to hold a conversation or three. Although this year I did get undivided attention when I told them of my latest news of going on my first date.There is nothing like the smell of fresh blood in the group to get them to stop in their tracks. All this is with a background of Christmas tracks paying merrily away in the background. The wreaths over the years have been all sorts of wonders. My personal favourite being the silver wreath with silver chocolate coins in huge chunky bunches adorning it. Running a close second was the sprout tree complete with shimmer painted onto individual sprouts. This year my effort has been very tame. My excuse? Just moved, lost all my gear and had no time. I dived out of the car got some trailing ivy and had bought a very long silver organza ribbon. Simple but chic. Anyway we have a gallery today to choose from. Christmas spirit is here even if it is in mulled wine form.












Tuesday, 8 December 2009

Raging hormones hidden agendas

He-mans' hormones seem to be more settled at the moment although I do wish he would stop drawing huge detailed drawings of willies on his school work/gcse exam papers. It really is embarrassing to get yet another phallus alert phone call from a teacher.
She-ra is definitely entering full on teenage hormone country and much flouncing, grunting, tears for no reason, squeaky voices, a lot of eye liner and mascara, plus drooling over New Moon actors ( OK so I did too ) but is also joining me in panting over George Clooney, Brad Pitt and any other hot young thing on our screens.

My hormones are all over the place. Ol' Twinkly Eyes emailed and so far we have managed a long lunch and now have a something almost resembling a date after work. I say "almost a date" as he is playing it very cool, but still managed to clock up 4 emails today. I cannot remember ever being this excited. I have had to go for a very hard run to get rid of all the energy and dog was positively exhausted when we came back. Having divulged my current state of mind to the kids, well I had to I was acting like even more of a crazy woman, I have got their blessing, at least for a short while. No doubt He-man thinks my mind will be less focused on him and he can even more free rein - think again tiger. She-ra looks genuinely pleased. I however am a mixture of complete excitement and omg what do I say,do, wear, will I have time for a bikini wax beforehand etc. My ability to speak disappears when with him , which is very unlike me and I struggle to look him in the eye just in case he sees crazy woman plus the extreme lustful thoughts written across my forehead. I really do need to get a grip otherwise it will be over before it has begun as my scary jabber frightens him off ( if I manage to speak that is ). I'm sure Ann Bancroft didn't have this problem when going for Dustin. Or maybe I need to switch role models.

Sunday, 29 November 2009

The move to the new house doesn't quite feel real. It is like being on holiday. We know we are are here for a while until the house we are buying is ready but it still doesn't feel like ours. It's that make do mentality we have when away.Even simple things like going to the shops is different just because we have traded one parade in for another. If only we had glorious sun shine to go with it it would really feel like a jolly; although with the super efficient heating we are all sweltering it would be quite easy to walk around in next to nothing to conjure up the right image. We didn't unpack everything so we are down on certain plates, pans etc all adding to the " staying in a gite" feel. I shall just have to take to having a glass of rose every night to wash down the pistachio nuts before playing hours of gin rummy with She-ra whilst He-man gallivants with the locals. I hope there is a gorgeous neighbourly hunk ready to help me with my dodgy corkscrew.

All relevant boxes unpacked
Boxes unpacked 20
Clothes rail up
Toilet blocked 1
off the decible scale - the washing machine

Sunday, 22 November 2009

What a difference a move makes

WE DID IT! I can't believe we have finally moved after all the hassle and stress of the past few weeks; see crappiest conveyancing solicitor ever, postal strike and ex husband. I have the best removal guys ever and with free comedy value thrown in to boot. Their removal wagon arrived, filled up had to go back to old house and fill up again because there was more than they had realised and at 21:30 we finished. Throw into the mix He-man's parents evening on same night,which we had to go to, GCSE year and all that, all adding to the whole stress factor. So here we are a whole week later, unpacked in our new home,apart from the boxes sat in garage waiting for move part two in the next few months. We walk past the house we are buying everyday like a happy reminder that it is waiting for us although as slightly worried about the rapidly peeling soffit paintwork and the fact that if the owner sees me she'll have me down as a stalker.


Is it possible to get excited about putting your own things in a cupboard? Is it right to get giddy about deciding on the right place say for a photo frame or a tin of beans?Don't it feel good when you solve the riddle behind why the gate doesn't shut, the flickering light, faulty door, and TV working with bizarre aerial?

Being in rented of course means that when there is a problem we ring up. This is great as it does mean that I don't have to first panic about how much it going to cost and what else it will lead to and it even better it is someone else problem. First weekend we had the bleedin' obvious to fix, such as house keys not working, the flickering night light that had been doing the neighbours head in whilst the property was empty,etc was sorted out by handyman Steve. Next week we will have handyman Geoff who will hopefully repair the toilet that flushes violently and all over the floor, nice, the other blocked toilet ( He-man looks awfully suspicious as the culprit as it is his party piece on more than one occasion, there is a whole blog ready and waiting about his bathroom habits ) , the blocked gutter that is pouring rain down the wall, the door handle with missing screws and a hook for the blind so we can pull it up in one of the bedrooms instead of being in complete darkness all day.

The final boxes were all mine and having just read Jane Alexander's blog on clutter I am wondering whether I should just bin the lot. All I have done is move stuff from one cupboard where it lay for years to a box where it will sit untouched to go into another cupboard. I am never going to wear that jumper or those trousers again and stuff the "it might come in useful theory" because it hasn't so far. The bathroom toys that we have long since forgotten about are never used by nieces and nephews and will we really use that awful stinking shower gel bought as Christmas present in 2003?

I had thought that the dog had settled in too. There was less of the manic panting as we leave the house for the day. No more crapping at the sight of a cardboard box. Excited at the prospect of new bums & lamp posts to sniff. But no, on the return home yesterday, as I stepped into the kitchen having fleetingly glimpsed at She-ra bent over the pc in the hall and He-man with his GIRLFRIEND ( who he swore I would never be allowed to see never mind bring her home ) I noticed bits of wood on the floor. As I walked into the kitchen lots for of much larger splinters of wood were all over the place. Had Jack Nicholson paid me a visit a la Here's Johnny stylee? No. Dog, now renamed the black bitch from hell, decided to open the solid wood kitchen door whilst we were out and took several attempts to do so. Does she gets marks for persistence and not being a quitter? The kitchen door looks like it has been attacked by a mad axe murderer. It is going to take all my creative DIY skills to sort this one and I guess she will have to have full run of the house whilst we are out. No doubt I will find her on my bed watching Dog porn ( Dog Borstal ), havin' a fag in one paw and a tinny ( of food ) in the other.



Sunday, 15 November 2009

I can't believe after much manic packing to move for 31st October we are still sat here in cardboard city. I have realised that the solicitors I appointed are bad on a level I didn't think could exist professionally. This in limbo status has left us all with a strange feeling of not belonging anywhere. The dog has taken to crapping in the house in strange places; if it isn't crapping she is puking. She is a sensitive soul.

So I have time on my hands which I am spending either running or reading. Running is still relatively new to me. I have dabbled over the last few years but took it up last year as a great stress reliever clcking up a regular 3 times a week with the girls . I have now 2 10K under my belt, about to do my 3rd, and a 5k dressed as Santa. Bored of my current play list on the ipod I thought I would update the tracks-to-run-to and spent yesterday afternoon googling and ipoding to my heart's content, uninterrupted by teenagers (unheard of ). A while ago I had heard that Nike had released an album specifically for runners. After much googling I tracked it down and downloaded said tracks. Not my cup of tea really but thought I would give it a try.

My preferred running tunes are as follows:
Black Eyed Peas - I got a feeling ( a bit predictable ),
The Hoosiers - good bye Mr A ( even more relevant given my ex was an A in a variety of adjectives and forenames ),
MGMT - Kids,
Kasabian - Shoot the runner
Coldplay - Viva la Vida
Jamelia - beware of the dog
Gypsy Kings - anything by them
Calvin Harris- I'm not alone and pretty much anything else by Calvin, am a big fan
Queens of the Stone Age - no one knows
Dizzee Rascal - Dance wiv me
Scissor Sisters - I don't feel like dancing
Basement Jaxx - an assortment including Raindrops, Bingo Bango
Underworld - Jumbo

Course the music makes a poor substitute for the girlie gossip I usually enjoy on my runs but we are currently injured, work horses or just plain knackered to manage 3 times a week. I just hope we can get round our 10K next week.

Thursday, 12 November 2009

missing mojo

Recently I posted a blog about my mojo, Mrs Robinson style lascivious thoughts, men and wet patches. I decided after posting it that perhaps this was too much information to share and deleted it. Well apparently judging by the emails I have had it was well received. I can't remember what I wrote now but think the first sentence kinds of sums it up. I might not be completely back in the game but I am certainly prepared to sit on the substitution bench even if it does mean leaving a wet patch or so I thought until my path crossed with someone at work. I am now behaving like a love struck teenager and developing stalker tendencies. Unlike He-man who is behaving like a gentleman towards his girlie ( thanks grandad you taught him well ) making cups of tea for his arm candy, buying Christmas pressies (and taking her girlfriends with him so he gets it right - I am so proud ) and walking hand in hand as he takes her home. I on the other hand having secured a coffee together in the name of work, was so nervous I badly burnt my tongue, could hardly speak during our meeting ( it wasn't a date ) as it was the only way I could disguise the panting and stop the drooling dribble. The email silence that followed said coffee isn't a good sign so I need to get my act together if I want to throw my hat in the ring. I'm just not very good at picking up the "signals" and equally bad at fending of those who have picked up on mine ( which were in fact not intended at all ) I need to be less angus thongs and full frontal snogging and more Ann Bancroft. I better add The Graduate to my Christmas wish list for tips.

Friday, 30 October 2009

packing it in

I have been packing for several days with various friends popping into help. Thank god for that for after 7 days intensive packing I ache all over and dare I say it ....feel my age. During this period of cardboard and brown tape hell I decided that half term had to at least involve my kids, well one anyway. She-ra and I headed to town, me for a hair cut and she for a fleecing ( of me .) Actually she was quite restrained having already serviced her need to shop with a quick foray into Primark and New look before meeting me at my hairdressers. When looking for a suitable place for lunch we walked past McDonald's. Ah the memories. Pre kids this was my hangover cure - a quarter pounder with fries and coke. I can remember driving through and grabbing the food with my mates before gorging ourselves in the car park and then belching so loud i sounded like a truckers car alarm.When the kids were little we often went for a happy meal ( a misnomer if ever I heard one ) sometimes with other mums. It was a frentic session fuelled by additives and a lot of tomato sauce. Now it is given a wide berth. She-ra took one look at it and said "McFatties more like"
Box 500 packed. Phone calls to solicitors - lost count. Move date set. Exchange of documents yet to take place. Thanks to Royal Mail. Free cycle -1 ebay - 0 ( thanks to vanishing winning bidder with more items yet to be sold). Trips to charity shops - 7 trip to dump ( or the household recycling waste site ) -6

Thursday, 22 October 2009

no time to spare


I have realised that of late I am not getting the time to blog at all. Lunchtimes used to suit me just fine as it would be a quick half hour of light relief before back to the grind stone but everything is by the seat of the pants at the moment. If I am not trudging into town on a mission to buy say replacement pencil case because heman glued shera's together, or checking billions of emails about rubbish then I am either scouring the rental columns to find suitable house, arranging to view multiple houses and fending off phonecalls from Hemans school. Added to this the fact that I am trying to avoid having to pay ex husbands bad debts, organise a complicated house move, hold down job, pack, sell numerous unwanted ( and wanted ) items on ebay which I detest all whilst trying to keep sane seems to be helped by Messrs Cabernet & Sauvignon at the moment. So you can imagine my joy having had 3 long phone calls with one solicitor another 3 with estate agents and another 3 with letting agents, when I receive this call from shera...." mum what do you do when you have been bitten bya squirrel?"


you can find me in the box on the left

Saturday, 17 October 2009

Running Water Riding Bicycles

I have a new nickname- Running Water. It's not some reference to the fact my pelvic floor ain't what it used to be or that I can quaff wine like water. No it is in fact my pub singer name. Whilst away with the girlies ( alright middle aged womenies ) we had much hilarity one night after a fantastic deli dinner spread chez nous. Chez nous by the way was a fantastic Dutch house, canal side just off prisengracht http://www.vrbo.com/147781 ). At some point during the evening it was suggested that we play pub singer a la Vic Reeves stylee. This was a well received suggestion until we had to decide who went first. Ever the shrinking violet I opted to go first with my rendition of Call me by Blondie. It was at this that we discovered that I sounded less pub singer and more Native American. I have to say it was the most funniest thing I have seen and heard in a long time, one sounded like a cleft palated mute, another Frank Spencer on speed, another a frenetic chicken. We all agreed that what happened that night had to stay in the room but as always at lunch the next day we couldn't help ourselves but to re-enact it.

In addition to the pub singer we discovered stroopwaffeln which are deceptively heavy biscuits, quite tasty, but something we found hysterically funny. I actually think this was less to do with the biscuit and more to do with the fact that we had been up since 4am. We played the old stand by game celebrity lookalikee with always contentious results. One friend of well endowedness got her boobs stuck under a table whilst running buddy 1 was presented by the staff with a banana complete with quickly fashioned foreskin and pubes much to the amusement of the restaurant staff( Sama Sebo best Indonesian in Amsterdam, you wont find it in any guide books ). The allocation of bedrooms was done pre arrival but was quickly rearranged once the highly sought after loft room was discovered to have near vertical steps for access and no toilet. This is not good for middle aged women who have poor bladder control and the need for midnight piddling. Never before has the phrase "a pot to piss in" been more appropriate as one party member missed out on the luxury level below complete with 2 toilets thus finding herself scouring the apartment for suitable receptacles to hold a middle of the night wee. Unfortunately this first night the said pot was not big enough and we spent much of the rest of the holiday pointing out suitable vessels.

We packed a lot into a short stay but the cycling had to be my fave. Particularly as we scooted round the warm autumn sun in the Vondel park with mum of three displaying her speedy prowess whilst others clearly had forgotten how to ride a bike. This culminated in taking in a beer at the Film museum sat in the warm sun and a rather attractive 40 something wealthy Amsterdammer offering to take several group photos. By the end of the afternoon we had all secretly plotted to leave the UK get a job in a coffee shop and ride a bicycle. Now how do we tell out families.

Monday, 5 October 2009

Queer as folk

Sometimes the strangeness of people is just over whelming funny. First we clocked up yet another house viewing. I think we must be on about 100th now and still no joy. We arrived at houseviewing 99 - the home to an oriental family. She was most annoyed with her husband that he had taken the key to the garage and therefore I could not view the inside of this magnificent building. Fook that! the rest of the house looked like something a tsunami had spat out. In fact I am sure that her husband was hidden under the duvet as I had never quite seen a bed made like that before. The living room was a quanrtine zone for a very swine flu looking a girl and there was a strange child running about in a vest. The best we could say about the house was that her cooking smelt really nice.

Who could have thought that a a quick trip to Big Tescos could have brought so much amusement. The woman on the check out had more hair clips in her hair then a branch of Claire's accessories. I was fascinated and couldn't stop staring. She-ra picked up on this and no eye contact was vital to make it away without laughing. Then there was was nice but dim security guard who had to apprehend us because the hair clip demonstration model had forgotten to take off the security tag. He wrote some very important numbers of the back of his hand which he then smudged when he went to wipe his nose with the same back of hand. He ould have easlily been related to Forrest Gump. Finally - completing the setting there was the broken down car. This was actually blocking our car and having just bought my own body weight in ice cream - various flavours - then this was not a good situation to be in. There was a youngish couple trying to push the car out of the way but with no result. Shit, I thought selfishly to myself, I'm going to have to help here - where is my son when you need him he could move this easily. The couple continued to try and push the car out of the way as we approached when the guy flounced to the front of the car where there was a rather large man sat in the driver seat. Ah that's why it isn't moving. But no there was more. With much arm waving there then appeared a rather large lady from the back seat most indignant that she had been asked to out of the car. You could almost hear her saying, as she shifted the weight of her humongous breasts from one arm to another " I'm a size 6 yah know...." Cluck cluck

Thursday, 1 October 2009

News alert! frantic house hunter spotted!

The house hunting is reaching a hiatus. My offers have been rejected by the divorcing couple who are clearly not ready to move on. This half of a divorced couple is definitely ready to move on and fast. But where are the houses? There is nothing out there and the pickings are slim. Then we have to factor in huge sized teenagers whose trainers are big enough to sleep in. My need for a garden that is south facing - I'm not talking acres here but big enough for a BBQ table and chairs only in the sun. Then there is the number of beds and sizes of said bedrooms. The burning question for the kids is who gets the smallest room. Many a time it has been suggested that I, mater, should be the recipient given that I am now the smallest member of the family. However I think He-man should have it. He uses his room only for sleeping and PS3'ing with sleep overs conducted downstairs. Whereas She-ra has girlies over and much time nutty tuttying goes on en chambre. Location Location Location is of prime importance though and bedroom sizes have been renegotiated in favour of getting the location right. Teenagers and friends are attached at the hip and suggestions of moving further away results in an allergic reaction. So far I have looked at houses with only one child, and never the same one, having never managed to get both together at the same time. However they realise that this is serious now and we have to be out in approximately 6 weeks time and have yet to find somewhere to live. Renting does really appeal and guess what ? there aren't many suitable rentals out there either. I didn't expect it to be this bad. But despite the prospect of being homeless, that we have way too much furniture to fit into any of the homes and that I am amassing cardboard boxes at a rapid rate it is not stressful as everyone seems to think it should be. Besides the cardboard city in my garage could soon be a comfortable abode for 3 and a dog.

Wednesday, 30 September 2009

small accomplishments

This has been a week of small accomplishments and I mean small but boy do I feel pleased with myself. This equally makes me feel very sad that I feel good about such small things.
Firstly I conquered the ironing mountain to achieve that rare occurrence of no washing in the linen basket, washing machine, on the washing line or waiting to be ironed. This doesn't happen very often and what kept me going as I ironed he-mans' 100th t shirt was that I could achieve karma on the washing front. ( I am not tied to the ironing board and the kids do help out here i woudl like to point out -see point 4)
Secondly after years of trying to achieve the perfect Audrey Hepburn eyeliner flick only ever to manage one good eye and the other making me look like I had been struck with Bells Palsy I manage to get both eyes perfect. Will I be able to achieve this again I doubt it.
Thirdly whilst being a self proclaimed domestic goddess and loving the cooking ( apart from having to conjure up weekly teatime delights which is pure hell invented to torture mothers ) I am not good when it comes to cooking rice. You guessed it I acheived the perfect egg fried rice has also been achieved.
Fourthly I managed to give the kids a rollocking in a really cunning way and without "going off one " as He-man is oft to accuse. ( rollocking on not helping with housework etc )
Finally a did the perfect roast beef and yorkshire puddings. The beef was cooked to perfection and as a reward my friends and I drank far too much and everyone had 4 puddings each.
Is there no end to this feeling of domestic smugness? Will I get the same feeling when I fix She-ra's bike for nth time or manage to eek out the cupboard and freezer for an extra week so I can pocket the money to spend on a pair of black leather boots I am currently coveting?

Thursday, 24 September 2009

Do you ever wake up sometimes with such a feeling of heaviness that you feel like you are sinking into your mattress? And that when you look across the bedroom it feels vast and empty? Do you have to remind yourself when getting ready for work that "putting your face on " is just that and the smile you left hanging on the bed post last night has to be fixed in position before you face the day? Do ever sometimes feel that no matter how many people tell you that you are lovely that you feel quite grotesque and that no one could ever find you attractive again? That as you go through your daily routine there is a great big whole making you feel like some giant polo mint. Separation is different to being divorced and whilst you don't want to be with that person who you divorced there is a sense of failure rather than celebration that follows. Whilst there is definitely a feeling of relief and that ,yes, you can sense a weight being lifted post divorce and trauma, that you actually feel like you are in no man's land irrespective of how busy and full you make your life. Putting on a brave face is just that and after doing it for so long it has become second nature. But sometimes, just sometimes, you catch yourself and find yourself thinking how the hell did I get here?

Monday, 14 September 2009

Table Manners

At a late lunch the other day She-ra and I were sat at the dining table having completely different meals. She having the compulsory post horse ride mug shot - packet of dried floor sweepings and e numbers whilst I had something that was supposed to be pate and which She-ra declared to be poo in a pot. It certainly wasn't the rillettes style I enjoyed on our recent jaunt to France but it satisfied my need for something intensely savoury just as her mug shot satisfied hers for something intensely disgusting. As I finished of last piece of gherkin I washed it down with the very unhealthy Diet Cherry Coke that I have recently discovered ( realise I am painting a picture of complete unhealthiness but it's Sunday and happens only in a blue moon ) Taking a swig of coke quite often I find it is then followed by a burp but I had forgotten this. Moments later following a rather huge expulsion of air that took us both by surprise it was quickly followed through by newly chomped pieces of gherkin. Hmm nice

Later that night after tyring out my new chicken and pistachio spicy kebabs ( delish by the way ). She-ra decided this was also the time to demonstrate the need a for a new bra by twanging her straps to demonstrate the lack of support she was receiving. This had a similar effect to my Coke induced mega belch earlier that day and her recently quaffed chicken and pistachio kebab exited gob-wise at a startling pace.
Clearly blessed with toilet humour we found both incidents extremely funny. I'm just glad He-man wasn't there to join in as he hates to be out done.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

So having survived the mammoth school holidays how do we all feel now? Well I for one feel pretty relaxed and that is after spending a week back at work. He-man is slightly less vile than he was and She-ra is glowing.
After 5 weeks of being at home we finally set sail on holiday stage one to visit the wrinklies. Lovely time had by all just a slight hiccup the night before with He-man's steadfast refusal to come at all. However once he realised that there was no way he was going to be allowed to stay at home and maybe he had gone too far he set off in good grace and prepared himself for some full on spoiling. She-ra was positively giddy with the thought of riding yet again and when it transpired not only would she be going on a hack but talking the hoss deep into the sea the pleasure was plain to see.

So skip to holiday part 2. South of France here we come. 7 days of sunshine, pool beach beach pool mooching eating reading playing cards and oh playing more cards. This was to be a first holiday as a happy little 3. I prefer to refer to that rather than on our own as we were not on our own per se. So what did we learn from our 3 go abroad jaunt.
  1. Do not let your teenage go out the night before. Even with a curfew of 10pm they still come back late and are obnoxious. Plus they have not packed their bag.This is a particular problem if you are leaving at 4 in the morning
  2. Do not take salt and herbs in individual plastic bags in your luggage, particularly your hand luggage. What was I thinking? They didn't look suspiciously like drugs at all.
  3. Don't leave your swim shorts on the clothes line at night when you are tucked up in bed. They get nicked, particularly if you are the nearest tent to the beach.
  4. Staying in a tent is not so bad. In fact is was quite good fun. You just have to remember not to leave your last trip to the toilet block to the very last minute.
  5. Don't believe what the brochures say. I haven't booked a brochure holiday for nearly 20 years but we wanted to try camping easy fashion. So even though I know we could book mobile homes direct with the site for considerable saving we opted for a tent with Canvas. Canvas were lovely people and it all sounded great and indeed the tent was lovely ( but is a tent and an expensive one at that ). I booked our site at Argeles sur mer because it had a club for teenagers. Hurrah I thought I can get some peace and quiet and read a book. It was disappointing to see on the booking confirmation that this was no longer available at the site. Pity they didn't mention it before. And just what is end of season. I'd say 28th August is still a few days away for the end but apparently not. All the on site activities such as scuba diving, horse riding, teenage discos had finished as had the local bus route to the nearest aquapark which brings me on to my next point...
  6. I will never ever ever go on holiday again without a car. The brochure lied. It was not a short stroll to the nearest village but a jump onto the expensive tourist train at nearly 14euros return for 3. This is addition to getting taxis to aquaparks and the station/airport all added up considerably although we did enjoy the French trains. It did mean a 10mile trip to the next picturesque village took nearly 2 hours on public transport. As the campsite was in complete wind down at one point there was no food to make meal unless you wanted to eat cold meats again & again. When it did arrive on Day 4 it was like wartime rations with a mass dive for last pack of sausages. If only I had a car I could be heard to wail I would have been far more than we could eat/afford.
  7. The couriers were on wind down too and really couldn't give a flying fook. Oh they were all pleasant enough and we enjoyed seeing them party with their mates. He-man was particularly taken with their lifestyle and befriended Vacant Tommy. Pedestal and all that. Great he has now got an idea of the sort of job he'd like to do. Unfortunately Vacant Tommy was pretty crap as a courier and was about as informative as NHS helpline, not good for someone who had been there all season. He was the only non university student courier and bone fide dosser/nice guy . At least he told He-man to get as many languages under his belt as possible so some element of study will be required. After the 2 years we have just had if he wants to be a courier and skip university I'd just be glad he has a purpose. He-man has certainly come back with the mantra of "I'm gonna knuckle down this year mum " but I'll wait to see the evidence before commenting.
  8. Single people are frighteningly honest on holiday. Not me but some people we met. Within an hour I knew that one woman had been sectioned against her will by her husband earlier in the year or that single dad had adopted 2 lovely lads and one had ADD and then told me some of his lads problems. You need to develop good exit strategies if they are a bit full on ie sectioned lady and good strategies for staying in touch with single dad George Clooney lookalikees.
  9. When given a god's gift of a handsome man, good sense of humour and your haven't been in the saddle for, ahem, a while then there is no fairy god mother out there waiting to wave her magic wand. They will not hook up with you back in Blightly if you don't exchange contact details. (Yes I am still saying why oh why on that one )
  10. After 1 week I did not want to strangle either child and I don't think they were at the point of wanting to hold a pillow over my face either. In fact I was remarkably impressed how we all got on. We had little for entertainment other than the ipod, a pack of cards and our sens of humour. At the last minute I packed the old Sony walkman which kept He-man in some state of contentment.
  11. For one week I was cool mum due the fact I could speak French like a local and the kids were in awe. It's not often I earn brownie points these days but if it means spending all our holidays in France for the foreseeable future it might just be worth it.

Would we go on holiday in a tent again - probably. South of France - sure. Just the 3 of us - why not but if they can bring a friend can I do too?

Thursday, 27 August 2009

House of hormones

Welcome to the house of jism. It is everywhere. It is all consuming. It has become He-man's obsession. The various signs over the past few months start to make sense. The mysterious globs in the bathroom sink, the one hand print against the huge bathroom mirrors, the very late to bed, the I-wasn't-watching-porn-look of innocence, the huge amount of time spent locked in said bathroom. Grandad has been giving him man-t0-man talks about the opposite sex, much welcomed by He-man to whom I can't even ask if he has used the bathroom without him going off on one. Apparently there are at least 10 stages with the opposite sex and He-man is at about a 4 -5. When discussing this on a recent night out this came as news to the other male role models in He-mans life. "what do you mean 10 stages?" they cried. We thought there were 2! " hello " and " wham bam thank you mam". These 10 stages have caused much merriment to my peer men folk. Could they be as follows?:

  1. Dare to look at women in eye
  2. Offer to hold open the door for lady
  3. Put one's cloak over a puddle
  4. Offer of one's handkerchief when lady in distress
  5. Offer to take out for afternoon stroll
  6. Suggest an evening at the flicks or A romantic meal for 2
  7. Footsie under the table
  8. The holding of hands
  9. Meeting of the parents
  10. A kiss goodnight

I think not and I don't want my father to enlighten me. We are guessing somewhere between suck and blow and copping a feel.


She-ra on the other hand is obliviously giving off the scent of sex to the opposite sex. When we walk down the street I want to put her in a burka to ward off the admiring glances from all ages. I have already looked up bulk purchases of mace. The pneumatic curves, the glossy hair and oblivious nature is very alluring. I'd like to think that maybe some of the glances by the older males might be directed at me but I don't think so. No glossy (& far too much grey) hair, a face covered in spots ( due to stress), clothes baggy from loss of weight, tits saggy too. I have the worries of the world written all over my face. She too spends huge amount of time in the bathroom but of a deplitory & cleanliness nature .

I must remember to buy that mace and bumper supply of tissues....
I went to see mum today. After 18 months of complete misery and stress it was good to feel happy again and I wanted to share it with her. It was just me and the dog, who goes very feral when we go to see her due to the huge amounts of rabbits. She has a fantastic view and someone has very kindly put a huge bench nearby so you can take in the view at your leisure. As I sat down Aretha Franklin " say a little prayer" came on - how fitting. We didn't say anything, just took in the view in the warm sunshine.It really did feel good to be without the whole churning stomach and racing heart and to be looking forward at last. When it was time to leave Iggy Pop came on " Passenger" - a song of my wild youth. We smiled and I left.

R.I.P mum R.IP. XX

Monday, 17 August 2009

Madness of grandad

madness of being grandad
My father has just been to stay. He has more toiletries than me. He spends longer in the bathroom than the entire family put together. Looking good is important to him. He does make the most ridiculous excuses for his vanity though. I have decided that he has an inner Noel Coward with a very clumsy side. Yes he has a special bag for his pyjamas, yes he carries his cigarettes in a large cigarette case, yes he travels all the way from overseas because he doesn't trust the local dentist, hairdresser and mechanic.He recently entered a photography competition to illustrate local life and sends pictures of dog poo ( can you imagine the person's face opening that entry), he opens cartons of orange juice with pen knives only to find their entire content spilling onto the floor ( why he can't do it the normal way ). Once when buying a bar of chocolate he reached out to the shelf and managed to rip his fingernail and blood was squirting everywhere. At night the local night life throw themselves into his eyes. I have learnt to keep lit candles away from him as he tends to knock hot wax all over his goolies. He tells me about his anti itch bollock cream - I wish he didn't. He regularly falls over his own feet the most recent being a spectacular tumble on a beach before he tombstoned. When he stood up his ( vintage ) raybans ( what else? ) were skewed and one lens fallen out. The women in his life, wifey, shera and me, gave full support by laughing. Other falls have included jumping over a wall only to discover a much greater drop on the other side and landing in front of a load of builders. Or tripping up in a pub and falling in front of a slobbering great Dane that was ready to take his head off. The exploding kethcup bottle is old news in our house and no meal time is complete without glass being broken, wine spilt and something going onto his latest purchase from Jaeger. The wrinklies have gone back now and we miss thier hilarity but we will be with them again soon and I can't wait to see what daft things he does next

Sunday, 16 August 2009

meet the dog




I have been meaning to write something about my best friend, the dog from the title of my blog. Black, shiny coat, mixed breed ( lab and collie with a bit of whippet thrown in for good measure ), ex-dog's trust, very faithful, squirrel scarer, rabbit hunter, cute and prone to making groaning noises as if in conversation with you. But other than the daily dog walk, breaking off a log that is way off the scale in proportion to her size, her need to be the dominant bitch with other dogs, sometimes with embarrassing consequences there isn't really that much to add....Until her accident. Not a bad accident, she cut her front dew ( how do you spell that? ) claw on some glass on one of her many hide and squirrel hunts. A trip to the vets, eye wateringly £250+ later ( we have no insurance ) she has stitches and a CONE. It is the wearing of the cone that has made me realise how much like her owner she really is. Whilst highly embarrassed at wearing it in public, displaying a real clumsy side ( like me ) by bashing into everything, me included and have the bruises to prove it, she also has realised that it has a second function. Utilising the Cone shape, as befitting any worthy whose-line-is-it-anyway contestant, she manages to; place it over her bowl to feed which means her visiting mates ( see Peanut ) can't get to her food before she can, she has used it to catch her ball in and probably best of all, the one she is most proud of, is that when given tit bits ( hey she needs fattening up ) she kind of saves bits on the inside of the cone. Think chicken juices that she can lick later. I'm very proud of her. The Cone gives her a regal Queen Elizabeth I quality but I think she will be quite glad to become a commoner again.

Saturday, 1 August 2009

I'd like to return this faulty teenager please, Mr Shop Keeper

I have decided that I have got a faulty model and have thought about how the possible conversation might go....
Excuse me I'd like to get a refund please. My model 14y+50weeks seems to be faulty
Ah madam what would appear to be the problem
Well up until about 6 months ago it functioned quite normally. You would ask it to do something or engage in conversation and you would get a normal response
So what would appear to be the problem now
Well if you ask it the sames questions as 6 months ago it makes weird nosies. For a start if I say what would you like for tea? We get a weird groaning noise, stamping and slamming of doors. If I talk to its friends there's lots of highly embarrassing hand signals and groaning. Although apparently I make a good taxi.
Ah madam what model did you say this was?
14y+50weeks
Well that does explain it. It has gone into phase 2
What is phase 2?
Teenage years. What you are experiencing is all quite normal
What the grunting, slamming doors, inordinate amount of time spent in the bathroom?!
Yes
And the becoming a night owl overnight?!
Yes
The wearing of trousers 5 times too big for you so that your arse is continually hanging out?!
Yes madam
The fact I can no longer buy Tesco clothes and all clothes have to be from certain shops that I am not allowed to enter?
Oh madam it sounds lilke your model is functioning perfectly for its age
What about "I can be totally charming to all my mates parents but to you I am hell "?!
A speciality of that model I'm afraid
How about I am going out and will not answer my mobile phone and will stay out until I feel like coming home?!
Some models work on that basis I'm afraid
How about if I mention a girl's name and get lots of groaning and " you don't understand" noises at high volume
These are all very typical of that model madam
But it's driving me nuts. What about the amount of sleeping?
Yes teenagers need as much sleep as a new born baby. It's all that growing you see.
And the food? It requires refuelling almost constantly but not healthy stuff I'm talking chocolate biscuits consumed in vast quantities and in seconds and often to other similar aged models
Yes that too I'm afraid. We do try to encourage joining the family for meal times to help overcome the huge junk food ingestion but realise that this model is not always welcome at the dinner table due ot its attitude
Mine has a particular phobia to something called homework. I believe it is allergic and I seem to spend as much time at the school as he does.
Some models overeride the inner nerd but we can usually kickstart that 6 months pre gcse
How do you do that?
The inate fear of failure suddenly kicks in and the realisiation that some of their mates inner nerd button was functioning for quite some time
Oh well at least we can hope for better results.
There is a draw back to this though
oh really

it will all be your fault
Arghhhhh!

Sunday, 26 July 2009

Shera returns

Gone for less than a week Shera returns from her Doit4real adventure. Having waved her off last Sunday amongst a number of scary looking parents ( OK Chav) I was worried that I had sent her off to Chav land for a week of hell. The instructors looked pleasant and were all logod up with PGL - slightly reassuring - and seemed to know what they were doing. The travel arrangement were all a bit sketchy. I think I would have preferred to know beforehand that the bus was taking her to a hub bus depot where she would then be dispatched with other similar thrill seekers residing at the same camp. The Hub and the vision of all these kids on a coach going off to the unknown all smacked of the recent Torchwood affair and left you feeling decidedly uneasy. Following their strict instructions of no mobile phone, camera, mp3 etc she left with change to give me a call from a payphone ( would she even know how to use one ) having abandoned the idea of taking the old ( brick ) mobile for fear of social exclusion, along with a disposable camera. Going by the saying no news is good news I didn't hear anything until Friday when the organisers gave me a bell. OMG she-has-fallen-down-a-cave scenario flashed through my mind...But no, she couldn't remember if she was coming back on the coach or not and could I confirm her arrangments. The centre then told me the pay phone didn't work and the reception was poor. Was she OK? I ask gingerly. Yes was the reply and they put the phone down.

Waiting for her at the station where the parents didn't look as scary second time round they finally arrived. She of way too much eye make up, think Dusty Springfield in her heyday ( when did that happen?) and the broadest grin ever descended from a much smaller coach than had collected them. What had happened to all the other kids? Had they been given to aliens? " Am gonna cry" she declared. I was flattered by such display of emotion clearly overwhelmed to see me, " I miss my friends so much I'm gonna cry " Oh well she clearly had a good time then. Shera who never really gushes very much and is prone to teenage monosylaballiosis with the best of them then proceeded to GUSH at full force all the way home. It is now 3 days later and she is still gushing. A definite hit then.


Shera writes " it was very scary being on a bus surrounded by chavs and not very sure about what the Hub was. Fortuantely all the chavs seems to go for watersports and not where I went. The week was really fun and enjoyable. I did orienteering, weasling, archery ( got a bulls eye ) , climbing ( was first up the rock ), felt ill when it was kayaking, walked 7m ( views were gorgeous ),stream scrambling, gorge walking, zip wire ( upside down & back to front ) and lots of coach journeys on bumpy roads. The food was great, lots of jacket potatoes. Evening activities included team building, discos, limboing, watching movies. Made some fab friends"

Thursday, 23 July 2009

Day 7 in the School Holiday house only 49 to go

Can someone give me a map so I can navigate the minefield that is teenage hormones... please? I thought, bad start I know, that once the school holidays started the minefield that is the relationship between me and He-man would be much improved given that the major obstacle ( school ) was out of the picture. How wrong could I be.

Firstly...He has no credit on his phone as after many threats to do so I have switched his phone from contract to pay as you go. This means he cannot ring me to tell me where he is. I do ring him, however this gets ignored. So we have already clocked up a few AWOLS.

Having managed to squeeze in a couple of hours of unexpected mother and son bonding time on Tuesday whilst Shera is on DoitforReal course somewhere in UK I was quite taken aback that this could so quickly change whilst I was out of the house for less than 2 hours. I came back to the house, found him slumped over the PC fielding numerous msn and facebook messages under a black cloud of doom. What on earth had gone on. I immediately offered a shoulder to cry on in a very tactful/casual-let's-not-make-a-big-deal-out-of-this way whereby he stormed off to the bathroom ( for 2 hours! Tommy tanking again ) and told me I should die. God I thought some thing serious must have happened. Maybe he has been fired for being the most unreliable paper boy ever or maybe one of the many girls have dumped him. I finally found yesterday that he had gone too far apparently in telling a friend what he though of him and hadn't liked the response from said friend. Was that it? I thought, all that melodrama for that? what is he going to be like if he does lose paper round, girlfriend etc? Lock himself in the bathroom for a whole night Tommy Tanking.

In addition to this he has immediately fast forwarded to operating at the complete opposite end of the day to me. I had expected this but it to have been a gradual process not "I am going to bed at 2:30am in the first week." We had words about this on Sunday night given I had to go to work the next day. It was all "Unacceptable, unfair and whilst he thinks he is being quiet he tiptoes round like the dancing elephants in Dumbo." (me ) Him - "sorry mum wont do it again ." Point made - so I thought. Last night he did it again. He blames his bedroom door for waking me up as it makes some bizarre farting noise every time it opens or shuts and that the dog who had rolled in fox shit was omitting noxious fumes that I couldn't possibly sleep through. None of it of course was his fault. " Oh and can I have some money to go to town tomorrow mum please " SAY WHAT!

Sunday, 19 July 2009

hair in funny places

Yesterday definitely had a theme to it. Hair. In unwanted places. How is it that you can go to bed looking normal yet wake up the next day and horrors of horrors you have a Tom Selleck style moustache appear? Not normally a problem as is easily rectified with my long term friend Jolen ( not the Dolly Parton track ). However I did not have time to do anything about this morning as I had a house viewing calling round in less time than I could rip off the lid of pot of bleach. Cue frantic plucking at said black haired spikey monsters on my upper lip. However this resulted in a bright red top lip so I stopped plucking, thought b*ll*cks I will just have to brave it out and hope my personal welcome mat was not off putting. The door bell went and I opened the door. What was I worrying about? The woman in front of me was a fully paid up member of the Tom Selleck fan club and I looked like a pre-pubescent boy in comparison.

Off to town with my sister. She of Blonde hair and delicate eye browns beautifully shaped. Whilst mooching in Debenhams sale ( at a particularly gorg pair of shoes, I'll have to go back ) we noticed a threading concession. I'd love a bit of threading on my beetle brows but not in full public. 2 women were busy having their brows done, although they could have had top lip chin or even beard done in full public view too if they wished. There was a beautiful black women having her browns attended to. She sat up and smiled at us when all thoughts of joining the threading club dissipated. Her brow and forehead were bright red and swollen in a Klingon stylee. The thought of gallivanting round town looking like that had us running for the hills. Actually Browns and very nice glass of chilled Pinot Grigio whilst we waited for our girls to spend up.

And so to the evening....after a while the ageing process conversation arose, as always, and the amount of unwanted hair us ladies seem to be developing. There was the usual top lip and hairy chin discussion followed by a main course of rampant lady gardens with the occasional grey hair. We then got on to talking about nasal hair. I shared my tip of using Immac shoved up the old nostrils and a quick blow to the nose - job done. My 2 running buddies pricked up their ears at this as a possible solution to their dilemma. Our Mr legaleagle dad very proudly brought out his electric nose hair trimmers. Soon all the blokes had had a go of said gadget, all admiring it. Not to be out done running buddies 1 & 2 joined in! God they'll be doing their ears next!

Sunday, 12 July 2009

Old Skool parenting

In the Saturday Times I read an article that made me feel smug. I then read the article underneath it that made me feel ashamed. The latter was the story of my youth. My hobby, looking back, was alcohol. Granted I imbibed in some culturally wonderful places or art/architectural/social importance but nevertheless. I think much of my twenties and thirties were spent in a permanent state of inebriation, a bit like the drunken family on Harry Enfield & Chums. The weekend would start and finish with a drink. I credit my still reasonably youthful appearance on the fact that I am fact pickled and the aging process stopped aged 30 ish. You could say that once my affair with alcohol waned, post children, that I began to realise that I had bugger all in common with Mr X. Fast forward a few years and I am now waiting for the nisi to become absolut ( legal parlance not the vodka .) However post children the consumption of alcohol takes on a different slant. It really is a race to the vino on a night. A slug of lemon tea really doesn't give you the much needed hit you are after post a hard day's work and navigating a teenage or toddler land mine. But these days I appreciate quality rather than quantity and the bottle bank trips are much less embarrassing.
So there we are for one brief moment a family all together, i.e. 2 teens, a dog and me, about to watch the move as sent by lovely Mr Tesco DVD rental. The Defiance, hurrah an adult film that I can relate to. He-man snarls and sits reluctantly much preferring quality entertainment such as The Hangover or The 40 year old virgin which he watches later that night, yet again. I think he is looking for tips ( more on that in another post .) She-ra sits politely asking when the chocolate and popcorn is coming. As expected after half an hour and not a boob or shag in sight He-man skulks off declaring it to be a old of crap and Daniel Craig can't act. She-ra however is in it for the long haul. She has discovered that sometimes a film can be crap ( which it isn't by the way ) but if the eye candy is of high enough quality then you can sit through anything. See many of Brad Pitt or George Clooney films for supporting evidence. I for one really enjoyed the Defiance. I even missed the fact that had Google Grandad been around we would have had a much welcome (ruining) running dialogue about the Jewish Poles during the second world war right down to the weaponry used. She-ra asked questions during the film, always at the crucial moment, infuriating but encouraging. The question she really wanted to know however was what was the name of the supporting actor in the role of Zus, who was also in Wolverine ( an added bonus in her eyes.) After much thought half way through the film she finally declared who he was..... Levi Arsehole! (see Leiv Schrieber - sorry mate but you will be for ever Levi Arshole )

Friday, 10 July 2009

Google grandad

Grandad is like a walking encyclopedia to the kids. I am sure that they devise ways of trying to catch him out for when he and wifey come to stay. For instance " if we are all god's children what makes Jesus so special?" asks shera. (I must point out we were in the garden of one of the many recent very hot days with her back to us sitting in the most comfortable chair placed about 10ft away from everyone else.) "because he is the only true son of God" replied grandad without taking his eyes away from the newspaper and in a split second. She was happy with this response. Later my son tried his geographical knowledge by quizzing him on various places names and capitals across the world. He didn't falter once but when he got to question number 49 and with no signs of relenting he passed the baton to wifey. She in the encyclopedia's encyclopedia. All questions were correctly answered and no gloating in sight.

If the wrinklies aren't flexing their amazing knowledge ( which is one of the purposes of being a grand parent let's face it ) then we get tv tourettes. This is where grandad ( again without moving his eyes from what he is doing ) will shout out the political persuasion of every single newsreader, actor or anyone who happens to be on the box. How does he know Natasha Kaplinski is a leftie? BBC newsreaders are is favourite targets. However it does become a pain when you are tyring to watch your favourite telly programme to the background of
" communist! Marxist! etc" If it isn't the political persuasion then we get the political context of said film. This usually results in lots of teenage flouncing as yet again they have been unable to watch Friends without grandad's verbal sub titles

Thursday, 25 June 2009

Early Morning Munchies

My dad has come to stay for a couple of weeks. It's great entertainment. First day in he asks me where the sultanas are.

"In the cupboard where they always are" I reply. He's been many times and knows his way round the kitchen.
"There's a jar and a new bag" I add
"No there isn't "
I produce said bag and decant into a new jar, show him the jar and where it is located.
"Well I didn't eat that this morning"
Well you have to ask don't you.
" What did you eat"

Dried pasta apparently.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Are you looking at my bottom? Clearly not

Today I walked part way to school with Shera, as I often do, to give the dog a quick airing and opportunity to scare the local Squirrel community. I often am a couple of paces behind Shera as she walks incredibly fast, or may be she is just trying to get away from me. This brief walk of all of 10 mins can often include her talking at high speed ( See art of conversation posting ) and lots of nodding from me. But not to day. I have upset her. Over my bottom. If anyone should be upset over my bottom it should be me.

Why should she be upset over my bottom? Because dressed in only bra and knickers working up a sweat this morning whilst trying to get ready for work her clock fell off her bedroom wall. She couldn't fit it back so there I was balancing on a chair putting it back for her when jokingly I turned around and said " are you looking at my bottom? " which I then repeated for comedic effect a couple more times as everyone knows that repetition is a key part of comedy. I also did a couple of over dramatic turns with lots of hair swishing. Clearly a comedy moment if ever I saw one. Well clearly not in this case. Like I said I have upset her over my bottom and believe me if anyone should be upset over it I should be me. Are you looking at my bottom?

Monday, 22 June 2009

Boy 0 - Mum 1

I know that I am going to regret posting this almost the minute I press the publish button but sometimes you just have to. After a few weeks of struggling with He man I think I have cracked him. Cracked as in broken him down, got him to comply with my rules, I am the winner! I could become a chief interrogator and torturer after the past weeks as I didn't crack and kept to my main aim - utter compliance. Unless you count the numerous bottles of wine consumed to get me through the ordeal and the tears down the phone to my sister at the sheer pain of having to live with a mumping teenager. What is it that they do that just cuts you to the core? The look, withering, the speech, snarling, the mood swings, the silence I could go on.


The secret was a total multi media ban coupled with complete withdrawl of motherly support ( read taxi driver, all round skivvy, cashpoint ) with an added grounding. First take the confiscation of the PS3 to the tune of I don't care. This was quickly followed with a ban of PC and therefore no MSN. As India Knight has already declared that regardless of the number of GCSE's my child may or may not get he'd still be unemployed at the end of it all so no pc access didn't make me feel so bad. Besides I had bought him all those revision guides that were gathering dust on the study floor. The final blow was the mobile phone. This last piece of confiscation coup de gras was also accompanied by the I don't care theme tune that can be heard quite readily in my home. It is usually accompanied by percussion aka door slam.The confiscation of said phone was for nearly a week and even though He man was grounded and therefore had no social life its impact was disproportionate to its size. The flouted grounding on the first day by doing paper round until ridiculously late and then hanging out to play football with mates till late merely meant I added an extra day to the ban without telling him. This also worked a treat and comes thoroughly recommended. Don't have a shouting match about something they've done. Wait until they are on the back foot and want some thing from you and strike then. The impact is much better. I realise that I am now approaching my teenagers wilderness years with some what of a military style, we're talking tactics, manoevres and clearly there can be only one winner. What on earth am I doing!? These are the fruit of my womb not the enemy. Although the repeated playing of theme tunes has been a military tactic used in the past the I don't care theme tune in my house is a tactic the kids have introduced not me. I am under enemy fire and am responding accordingly. Doubtless having posted this my smugness will be short lived and the sales of cheap wine will rocket at the local store but surely I am allowed to gloat in a little bit of mummy glory. Teenage boy 0 - mother - 1

Friday, 19 June 2009

Porridge Pubes

In an effort to save money, thanks India Knight thrift book, I decided to exfoliate using one of her recommended methods. This was so I could put Fake Bake on my peely wally legs ( that's whiter than white ). Previously I always found I would decide to do fake tanning application when I was either very tired or having drunk one to many vinos. Result: disastrous. This time I was going to get it right. first exfoliate. Bring on India and her top thrift tips. Use porridge oats in the shower, smells nice, is cheap, always to hand in our house and job is a good un. So I thought. when I looked down said oats had collected in my pubes in a lovely porridge triangle and took bleedin' ages to get out.

I bet they don't have that problem at the tanning salons. Still my legs looked good afterwards and I smelt very porrdigey. Sugar or honey with that?

Thursday, 4 June 2009

Work Experience

Heman is doing 5 days work experience at a major high street fashion retailer . I am hoping that it will be the kick up the bum he needs to start working at school to get a better career etc. I'm not sure it is working though. On Monday he moved stock from one floor to the other and played spot the teenage mum, made friends with unsuitable older role model who crashed out of uni and bummed around ever since, he was very tired ( read grumpy gnark pants ) when he came home. The upside was we had civil, fun even, conversation ( before he became tired and grumpy gnark pants ) . I had my lovely boy back. On Tuesday he moved the stock back again, got accidentally locked in a store cupboard, used his mobile phone to ring for help and then promptly had it confiscated, panicked went AWOL looking for intelligent best mates dad ( don't ask ) to get it back for him, played spot the Fat angry women, arrived at my work very late to take him home and was very grunty and annoyed that he couldn't then fit in revision and playing football and go on PS3 ( cos I need to RELAX ) in the space of 20 minutes. Wednesday, after trying to throw a sickie, he pretended to be Mexican, moved stock around again, was allowed to tag things, got told off for rolling his eyes but was prompt to meet me. Thursday started with a blank refusal of ever going to work at that Sh*thole again, driving to work in complete silence. Thursday afternoon I get an email to tell me that he had been sent home from work. Yet again my child is the only one who can never seem to do a simple task. I am the mother who has hung her head in playground shame on to many an occasion and has gone late to collect said child to avoid the tuts and silent glances. This all stopped at high school but I fear as the teenage hormones kick in that it is all about to start again. On the other hand when I find out that the said high street retailer has failed to keep any student more than 2 days and he lasted 4 I didn't feel so bad. They also admitted that they hadn't had much time to give him any attention I felt even less bad as they had cocked up not my boy ( well kind of ).

After much ringing around, hey I've got nothing better to do in my highly stressful job, I got him a job at work... Only to find that he had organised himself a job elsewhere. I was impressed he had shown initiative. All be it he would be working in a night club during the day getting the stage ready for a gig that night, all of which took about half an hour and then he came home, he thought that kind of work was brill. Even better he doesn't need qualifications for it so why bother trying at school. My head is in my hands.

the art of conversation

Heman grunts, She-ra mumbles or talks so fast Ican't keep up with her. Take yesterday for instance. I managed to prise the butt cheeks of younger child to go for a post dinner walk around the park with dog. Despite her reluctance the moment we had set foot out of the house she started talking.And never shut up. I tried desperately to keep up with what she was saying, glad that she was at least taking the time to talk to me ( at me ) but I couldn't keep up. The conversation kinds of goes " youknowmyBFFwellIhateherandmyotherBFisdrivingmenutsandMRxatschoolisapratandIcan'tspeaktoBFno3becauseshe'lltellBFF.... " I am losing the will to live. Either I made the wrong "yes I understand " noises and at the wrong time, asked her to repeat it again too many times, got friends names wrong or just basically DON'T UNDERSTAND. Plus she speaks in text jargon. Not only that but the speed of lateral thought was incredible. I would be trying to get in my head why she didn't like so and so and she was already on friend analysis number 3. KEEP UP MUM. I give in. I just need to practice my nodding and oh yes's and she'll never know. All the same I would still listen to her just to get the chance to have some sort of connection.

Heman just grunts. Or he shouts. Shouting can happen when you ask a civil question like " what are you doing tonight? " Or "please pass the bread". Grunting occurs all the time. Schmoozing happens when we want money, to get back the PS3 after shouting, not doing homework.

Someonee needs to write a guide book with transaltions bit at the back, The lonley planet guide to teenagers.

Thursday, 7 May 2009

Boys2men

Heman is older than she-ra. She-ra has just become a teenager although has been displaying the symptoms for some time now. Heman at 14 nearly 15 has been developing teenageness at a slower rate. However I think we can safely declare that he has arrived. Physically he has always looked much older but now he can add grunting , attitude, smell, lack of awarenes of time and complete disregard for anyone else to his list of achievements. The bedroom floor is awash with clothes, mainly dirty. The trousers are half way down his backside showing suitable trendy undercrackers which means I can no longer buy tesco value pack as it just wont do. In fact I should consider taking out shares in H&M as that is where most of the money seems to go. That and TK Maxx. The shoes are plenty in number and are of a size most dwarves would class as a des-res. He lives entirely on pizza, cheese, and vast quantities of cereal. I find myself shrieking about spots, hygiene, wanting to know where he is and treating the house like a hotel. Now where have I heard that before?

first gig

I took she-ra to her first gig, basement jaxx along with some of my friends and one other intrepid girl. What was I thinking?! First we were the oldest women there and therefore stuck out like a sore thumb, were decidely uncool in daughters eyes which meant they hot footed across the sticky dance floor to be as close to the stage and as far away from us as possible. All was well when warm up act was on, getting a bit busy, more crowded but hey ho. Then suddenly it was more like a guinness world record attempt of sardines. The girls disappeared from view and by now we were squashed against the soundbox. The other mother went into lioness-protecting-her-cubs-mode and somehow managed to swim against the tide and finally locate the girls and bring them back like a labrador hoicking a stick from a lake. Much sulking and glaring under fringes went on but at the same time you could tell they were relieved to be close by. Basement jaxx were great...if you were 10' tall and could see over everyone, otherwise much looking at feet, avoiding the drunks ( and there were many...terrible habit ahum) and trying to dance to fab music. We all looked longingly at the upstairs balcony complete with seats, no crowds and excellent view of the stage but not wanting to admit that that was where we really wanted to be and admit we were over the hill 40 somethings. I later discovered that my cool 20 something friends all go on the balcony. Despite being of an age where I should know better I wore new pumps. Big mistake. I still have the contours embedded in my feet and my toes repel everytime i go near my hush puppies. I digress. She-ra asked to go home half way through the gig, 10 minutes later her feet ached and 10 mins after that she was going to be sick. But I must remember that that is code for fab night for that was she she declared aferwards.