Tuesday, 30 March 2010

Cat nip

I have been weaning my self off Mr OTE quite successfully. Haven;t seen him for a couple of weeks, zero contact, me too busy, him? who cares? Oh and then today I have a meeting which he just happens to be attending. So I was aware of this in advance so that must have been reason that sub consciously I put some killer heels on, seamed tights and a very good suit. I deliberately tried to avoid sitting next to him at said meeting to no avail. he plonked himself next to me. I deliberately avoided speaking to him at said meeting about anything else than the subject matter at hand. Phew I had managed to contain myslef when the impulse to grab his leg liek a friggin dog was almost overwhelming. For 2 hours I sat there! I felt worthy ! I had survived! So why why I ask, did I send him a text when I got home stating following " Do you want to go for a drink tonite?... Pref at your flat with wine. Mrs Moist has been experiencing a period of extreme drought n that's not good. !"
I had all on to stop myself from asking if there was a good episode of Inspector Frost on tonite because I know that would have nailed it. OMG what was I thinking. Did I get a response? Too feckin' right I did but one I have had to book in for next week. That's not good. That's shite in fact. God what a girl have to do to get her leg over?

Saturday, 27 March 2010

Bonkers Nan

When I was a little girl my maternal grandmother loved me with such ferocity it was frightening. She was the same with everyone. She had to know that you loved her back with the same passion; that she was your favourite grandma or that you loved her more than your own mother, father, sister etc. To ensure she would be number one in your affections she would employ a number of different techniques.

Technique number 1 - shower you with money.

Technique number 2 - take you shopping - interchangeable with Technique 1.

Technique 3 - buy you lots of your favourite food until you could no longer stand the sight of it.

That doesn't sound so bad you think but all of the above came with conditions, mainly that you had to listen to ranting about all the people she didn't like ( there were lots ) and not disagree with her about anything. Usually the vitriol was directed at your mother, father, sister or other relatives or friends. If you dared to disagree or speak up THAT WAS IT! You were either publicly humiliated, she would lie to your family about you and then send you to Coventry for a long time. She would only forgive you if you agreed with what ever it was you initially disagreed about and apologised in a public fashion.

It was a frightening relationship for all of us. You were always on tenterhooks and an innocent remark could find you in hot water. For example " we don't need another tv, stereo, car etc why don't you spend the money on yourself? " could land in you in exile for months.

She once made me pretend to be someone else when I had to visit my mother in hospital just after my sister was born, dressed me up in strange clothes and was generally acting quite bizarrely. All because my mother had just had my sister and I had been the first to know and not her. I was 10. She then didn't see my mother or sister until my sister was several months old.

When my mother died my grandmother had not been speaking to us for some time. I haven't really had much to do with her since. That was over 20 years ago. Sure she has dipped in and out of our lives but I haven't really seen her for over 5 years. The last time I saw her she blamed me for everything that was wrong with her life. This was with much finger wagging and melodramtic speeches on the door step. The last time I spoke to her it was my sister's fault. The time before that? Oh who cares!

Her entire family do not speak to her. The friends and distant family that she has adopted over the last 20 years have all fallen foul of her techniques and she has been physically thrown out of people's homes, people cross the street to avoid her. You see not all little old ladies are nice. She is now in her 90's. We think she has lived so long pickled in vitriol of condensed proportions.

She is now in the hospital having suffered a stroke, or so we are to believe. I have been to see her with my sister. At least she was asleep but we are aware that it is going to open the door to an awful lot of bitterness that I just don't want anymore. The silent phone calls, the personal attacks, the playing off the kids against one and other. Such intense love is frightening and over whelming. It is such a shame that she could have had so much enjoyment with her family over the years instead of taking such glee in conniving to upset them.

Sunday, 21 March 2010

I have a confession I am a shoeaholic

My name is Kate and I am a shoeaholic. Yesterday I fed my addiction. Twice. I am particularly attracted to high heels, the higher the better. My range of flat shoes isn't even into double figures. ( actually have just done a mental recount and it does run into double figures - high heels are my passion though) I don't know how many high heels I have, partly because I still haven't unpacked since moving in as we will be moving again soon, and partly because I have lost count. Yesterday I became gripped in a real fix. I could have bought a lot more than 2 pairs and am actually contemplating going back for those I didn't buy ( red boots, mocha pumps and deep purple peep toes with metal studs for starters. ) The shop was an unexpected find. Like any self respecting addict you know where to get your fixes in your area so find a new supply is like having a secret stash. Strictly speaking this shop isn't in my area but Running Buddy Mother of 3 has recently acquired a coastal bolt hole a couple of hours bolting distance and had invited us girlies ( ok women in their 40's ) for the weekend. I thought I knew said coastal town quite well but when she showed us this little street with a number of great finds, the new dealer( shoe shop ) was there. I was in Nirvana. Deciding to leave our purchases for our return trip later that afternoon I think I became twitchy when I though we wouldn't make it back in time. In fact I formed a break away group of fellow addicts to make sure I got back in time to the shop. I don't think the strange little shop keeper man, complete with beret and BO, could quite believe his luck when we piled back in and started buying. My shoeaholic buddy mother of 1 ( also known as Imedla Marcos such is her passion ) bought 3 pairs and we were getting quite giddy and needed reigning in.

My love affair with shoes probably started when I was about 4, doing the whole dressing up in your mother's clothes and finding a pair of silver sparkly slip shoes with a heel ( think Dorothy's slippers in Wizard of Oz ) and I was hooked. It wasn't long before the lure of the stiletto heel had pulled me in. I started low ( to appease mother ) but was soon on 3" heels with a passion. I remember my grandmother ( also a shoeaholic and shopping addict to boot ) buying my first pair. 3" ox blood red stilettos. I think they were from Freedman Hardy & Willis. I used to smuggle them in my school bag to swap with my sensible loafers out of sight of my mother. The addiction just grew from there. I still have a couple of pairs bought in my teens, including a pair of black suede thigh boots. The suede went baggy very quickly so I used to tie them with scarves and leather shoe string to keep them up; think less strumpet more Captain Jack Sparrow.
I regularly pop into shoe shops to ogle, dribble, stroke and covet those out of my price range . Harvey Nicks is a great place for this and one day I will own a pair of Christian Louboutin ( or L'boobatins as we call them ). I can also pinpoint a specific shoe an occasion etc. I have given away shoes in the past thinking that I would never wear them again. The mocha snakeskin and suede ones were the last pair I bought with my mother before she died - now both are long gone. The red suede stilettos with black stitching detail on the heel from Bertie - I wore them on my first date with my ex husband. They weren't practical at all for a long pub crawl - now gone ( shoes and husband .) My dark blue pop pom shoes that I used to get the heel stuck in the pom poms so I would fall over - gone too. Ah the memories.

I will be going to Spain soon with work and probably take one of the new pairs with me. But I have already planned my wardrobe round the hit shoe of the moment the RED ones. I don't think I can recall a shoe ever having such a devastating effect on men. Putty in your hands doesn't even come close to effect they have which is great for donig business. I have even had accompanying colleagues if I am taking said shoes with me. ( and yes I did wear them on my first meeting with OTE ). I have other red shoes but not patent with bows. In fact it isn't even a great looking shoe it reminds me of goats hooves but when you put them on something happens and you are transformed.

I think this is actually a medical condition and is hereditary. He-man has shown the classic signs for some time and even goes on Nike site to deign his own on a regular basis. She-ra just covets mine. I just long for my own pair of Christian Louboutins with red lining. That would be the biggest high ever.

Friday, 19 March 2010

guest post - the one where I review my sister's man friend

Guest post by my Sister

I must say she does put it rather well....

I went out with My Sister on St Patrick’s Day. We went to Browns where it was Happy Hour (which lasts for 5 hours) where cocktails were £3.50 each. For some reason we decided, instead, to drink double gins; Garnished with cucumber (have you ever heard of such a thing?), apparently it’s the only way to drink Hendricks Gin.
Anyway, her Man Friend, Ole Twinkly Eyes (OTE)turned up for one drink and stayed for four. OTE is a long-standing bachelor of mid forties, never married, no children.
He has been her Man Friend for a couple of months now. My Sister is recently divorced.
Attractive and very tall he talked about sport whilst I nodded (I couldn’t actually hear him in the most part due to the jazz pianist in the corner of the bar getting a bit over zealous with his tinkling). When he wasn’t talking about sport he told me that he thinks that Midsomer Murders is the best thing on TV. He doesn’t wash his own clothes, doesn’t cook and that he’s never picked up an iron … and never will. His washing machine and cooker probably still have their instruction manuals inside their shiny innards.
He’s clearly intelligent and doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but I think he lacks the ability to make my lovely sister belly laugh. He likes her, I could tell by the twinkle in his eye but his lack of affection and inability to talk about anything other than work and sport (in the two hours I spent with him) makes him appear indifferent.
So, she wanted my verdict and my verdict is … He’s arrogantly charming and has a twinkle in his eye. Great starting point after a shitty divorce but time for something new. Too much of a bachelor he will probably always be a Friend With Benefits.
Next week I will be putting My Sister on the Internet. I am going to find her a man. Not a friend with benefits. A boyfriend with benefits. He doesn’t have to be a world champion ironer either, someone who can have a two way conversation would be a good.
But, before she finds a new Man Friend she has to get a picture of Ole Twinkly Eyes asleep holding an iron.

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

Update on the Ole Twinkly Eyes Situation

A few weeks ago, having been fed up with OTE's lack of effort amongst other things, I tackled it head on whilst out for a drink. " What is this thing we have going on here?" as I waved my hand around the bar. Am not sure what I was trying to indicate but gesticulations are my thing. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Well are we just friends, or friends with benefits ( aka fuck buddy ) or what?" Clearly he thought it was in the "or what" category. I then went on to explain that I can't have a separate relationship with him to the rest of my life, that I have kids and at some point he would have to meet them. ( He currently rings me from the car when he picks me up - this from a man who declares he is oozing with self confidence ) At this point I really though he would down his pint, grab his coat and head out of the door. Before I had the chance to say much else he looked straight at me and " I need to put in more effort". Now whilst I agree with this what I don't agree with is the effort part. It shouldn't be effort, I want to shout, it should just come naturally. I have since been out with him more times than I care to remember since then, have had public displays of affection and the occasional rumpy pumpy and no episodes of Inspector Frost. Actually I am not so sure about the latter as the last time I was at his Siberian out post I was so pissed I headed straight for the bedroom and collapsed whilst I think he went and watched a series catch up, whatever.

So whilst this temporary upgrade/effort is welcome I want to also upgrade his manners and attitude to sex. I expect doors to be held open for me, chairs to be brought for me, for my drinks to be ordered and my well being & desires put first. I also expect my knickers to be ripped off the minute we have the opportunity and not to play second fiddle to either football or Frost. We maybe making headway on the latter but we are a long way off the knicker ripping stage and given this is supposed to the first flush of passion it is not a good sign. Maybe less first flush and more flush down the pan? Anyway I think I am secretly looking forward to challenging him on his supposed self confidence views and lack of sex drive. although I am not sure it is really worth the effort ( see that word again ) but have little else on at the moment and I hope that one day should he be ever lucky enough to have a long term, nay permanent , relationship with a woman ( rather than a pint glass or football ) that they would find him a well rounded, well mannered sex god.

Sunday, 14 March 2010


New word. Melonising as in " my friends were singing and trying to sing in harmony" hence melonising when really mean harmoninsing. Alternative meaning - rubbing your melons together.

I have a boyfriend conversation 1

She-ra is doing the washing up ( hurrah as the floor gets a good wash too when she's on duty.) And we have the following conversation...
" I've got a boyfriend now"
Me, trying to be cool " Oh that's lovely. What's he called?" I was at this point desperately trying to not ask a whole load of questions when really I wanted to strap her into a chair, shine a light into he eyes and go for full on interrogation.
" He's called Luke"
Great, I am thinking we have a name, makes it easier to track him down and shine a light in his eyes whilst shouting STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!
" so who's class is he in? " am trying to be nonchalant here
" dunno"
"he's not at school..."
What! Alarm bells ringing very loudly here.
" What do you mean?"
"he's left school, I think he is in the army"
I can feel the panic rising.
"so how old is he?"
"16" At this point the alarm bells ringing in my head are so loud, think submarine siren, I am sure she can hear them. Sixteen! He is clearly attracted to the 2 HUGE nuclear missiles strapped to her chest ( so are most of the boys in her school it would later transpire ) and will be on a covert mission to examine them up close.
" So how do you know him?"
" He saw me at the stables when he came with F's boyfriend to pick her up. He said he can't stop thinking about me"
Aha so at least I know the source of the introduction. The stable hand. Clearly the stables are a hot bed of lust and loin girding.
Question. How has he got in contact. Obvious answer - The stable hand F introduced him via facebook. I decide at this point I have asked enough questions. She is clearly delighted that boy she has never met has asked her out and she has already texted her friends about it. I am thinking " monitor situation closely but be cool"
2 days later she announces " I've finished with him" Inside my head I am doing a mental dance of victory. "why?" I ask, this could be important data for future dates.
" He lives too far away ( about 20 miles I measured it ) and wanted me to go to him" Clearly the lad has been using Ol' Twinkly Eyes as a role model, " but I can't be bothered" she said, clearly she has followed her mother's example.
I smile, high secret sigh of relief, this is no longer a code red situation.

Ol' Twinkly Eyes update
In the month since I declared I was no longer bothered about said hunk of loving and indeed laid this on the table in no uncertain terms to him I have since seen him more than I did before. We have public displays of affection and has even invited me more recently to an event at work where by his colleagues are in no doubt that we are an item, at least in his head anyway. He might not understand the term Friends with benefits but I do and it at the moment it works for me.

Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Finger of doom

Recently I reached a milestone. It was over 2 years since my marriage ended. I am ok with this. (Well as Ok as you can be.) I am now divorced, moved on and in a relationship which I have entitled ( unkindly some say, realist says I ) with the " transitional man." s a.k.a. Ol' Twinkly Eyes. I thought I had dealt with it. It being the death of a long marriage. My body however had other ideas. First I got flashbacks. Not nice, they were nicely buried memories thank you very much. Then we had tears out of the blue. Aw for fecks sake! Then we had the physical symptoms almost to the hour when it happened but 2 years on. Feeling sick, dizzy, disorientated, unable to sleep , extreme thirst, loss of memory, panic, fear etc. This was beginning to freak me out. I was no longer in control. And then the friggin finger thing started. 2 years ago it was a mishaped sausage, swollen and very painful. My friends had me plunge it into a bowl of scalding hot salt water which as very painful and didn't work. Now it looks like I have severe rheumatoid arthritis in my index finger. 2 weeks later all other symptoms have long gone but the finger still remains.Yes I have been to the doctors. That in itself is a major event for me as I Never Go To The Dr. It's like my own personal barometer, she said. Now that's a diagnosis worth waiting for.

Tuesday, 9 March 2010

A weekend in the life of....

Not much has been happening in my neck of the woods recently. He-man has finished being a vegetarian. Apparently it was all my fault, naturally. It is true that I maybe cooked more bacon butties and pepperoni pizza than normal but surely he could have had better will power than that. We have received He-man's half termly student achievement record and for once it is going in the right direction. With less than 10 weeks to GCSE countdown THANK F*CK FOR THAT! is all I can say. He is even doing geography homework without being prompted as I write. He also scored 2 tries at the weekend and did some good moves in the match. The sky was blue the sun was warm and I got to see my boy play a sport he is good at it. Bliss.
She-ra is floating around and doesn't know what to do with herself and is giving me evils as she hasn't checked her facebook today, despite being at home 3 hours before me on a daily basis. She has baked a lovely cake and helped cooked tea a few times this week. She hung out at the stables on Sunday and my car still stinks of horse shit 3 days later.
The dog is not happy that I don't take her running any more and is sat next to me on the sofa having to be happy with a much shortened walk round the block with one of the kids. She is no longer welcome on the runs as she loiters near rubbish bins so I forget about her or if I put her on the leash she nearly takes my arm off when she stops suddenly to eat the chips/fish/roast chicken she has found.
The weekend was most uneventful but relaxing. Drinks after work on Friday, also attended by Ol' Twinkly Eyes including public displays of affection. Saturday am had a coffee in park with Sci-fi mum of 3 folloed by pootling around the house on Saturday with a massive family shop at 2 supermarkets as we had run out of so much food. True I didn't need to visit 2 but the dog only likes Aldi dry dog food, in addition to the roadside buffet she enjoys. I must stop my pantry becoming so bare as A) I end up doing expensive top up shops all week where I spend even more and B) when I do finally get thee to a market of superness I am overloaded with mother guilt that we have no food in the house and buy too much.

In addition to pootling I did a lot of sleeping. She-ra says since moving into our temporary abode I drop off to sleep at the drop of her hat. Most unlike me.

Sunday was the usual dropping kids off at activities, watching said activity in my son's case, getting Sunday Times, reading said paper, going for a run in the sun with good running friend for first time together this year, ironing, cooking Sunday tea and then to bed. All pretty average; on a bad day this kind if a weekend would leave me feeling full of despair a "is this it?" feeling. But this was a good day and I felt happy with my mundane lot.