When I first decided to started blogging I was inspired by my sister's blog and felt a need to let others know about how to handle divorce, separation in what were quite singular circumstance. I didn't want anyone else to go through what I went through. But then I forgot about my original reason and kind of got into it. Dipping into others blogs I started to feel a real sense of community and in some instances parallel lives. A conversation with my father the other day made me think about my blogging content as he had a rant about the whole Big Brother ( not the TV programme ) somoeone is watching you, they know what you are doing etc.
but Dad, I pointed out, do you really think the CIA are going to be interested in my lady parts, terrible teens and desperate state of my love life?. Point taken daughter. But it did get me thinking particularly in light of my postings. Maybe I should start writing about controversial subjects, as I listen to Radio 4 and scann the weekend papers there is often inspiration and thought I could start a conflab on the French banning the Niqab or who still cares about Jill Dando after all there is plenty to be contentious about.
I have enjoyed blogging about my life with teenagers, dog and life in general. Maybe I need to reign it in on the dating game though. Wearing my love life on my virtual sleeve has brought some real thoughts of kindness but sometimes I think the comedy tone has been missed by dear readers. I mean c'mon, my most recent outing was with a 5'6" had a hard-paper-round bloke.
She-ra has asked me not to divulge the nature of my divorce so I won't. But I would like to put the record straight that I am not some divorcee gagging for it, desperate for any man (ok well maybe a little gagging ) but 2.5+ years post separation the pickings have been bare and window shopping disappointing. My barrister said that within a year all divorcees are hooked up with a most wonderful person and live happily ever after and her husband, a divorce lawyer, bets all his clients a £5 to prove it and he hasn't won a bet yet ( a part from the ugly one she said ). Well I have 10 days left until my 1 year divorce anniversary to find the love of my life and to be swept off my feet. Guess I am the statistics that bucks the trend - well wouldn't you belive it.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
OK so my dad doesn't have Tourettes like you or I would know it. He does suffer from TVtourettes. That is he can be found shouting at the TV at all manor of programmes; listing such things as the presenters political persuasion, how does he know?, the last time that topic was aired, who was the original idea behind the thought and so on. He's very Clever. His wife is even more Clever and it makes for great arguments. He also suffers from Car tourettes. To be honest I do suffer from this slightly too. So there you are having a conversation when suddenly an AC Cobra will roar past, a MGA, or a rare breed of Lancia etc. Whatever he was talking about he will stop, suddenly, mid sentence, utter the make and model of said vehicle before resuming the conversation as if nothing has ever happened. I grew up with this, my ex also did it, to me it is normal. Until a VGF pointed it out. It's not normal.
He is extremly accident prone, fallin over own feet, small stones, dogs. Spraying food down his designer shirts, puncturing bodily parts and spraying blood everywhere. It is an endless list of disasters. He is good for an argument my dad. He is also good for saying or doing totally outrageous things. He has to write under various pseudonyms in order to get his letters published in the papers, which he does frequently. He loves it. He'd be a great blogger, venting his spleen but he keeps warning me of the evil of the wonderful web. "The CIA could be watching everything you blog about daughter, he warned recently. I assured him that the last thing the CIA want to read about is my love life, porridge stuck in my pubes and teenagers. I still giggle at the thought of the local council opening his entry to their photography competition themed around the local high street. He took stacks of photos of dog turds made that his entry. i still try to picture the poor person in the council office opening that particular entry. His most recent outburst; I don't know if I dare share this with you. I am still shocked....
" they ( the local council who are usually on the receiving end) have been digging up the pavements and kerbs. Why? Because we have 3 people in wheelchairs where I live"
And dad what pray is wrong with that?
"it's costing nearly a HUNDRED thousand pounds to re do these kerb stones. Those folk have managed fine before now, no one has asked them if they want these alterations or if they would like the money spent on improving their lives in some other way. NO! They've just done it. "He's in full flow now " that's one hundred thousand pounds of tax payers money!"
Yes dad, I sigh resignedly into the phone, thinking he sounds like he is winding down now maybe we can get onto a safer subject ( there aren't many )
"it would have been more cost effective to use £30K and pay a hit man to get rid of them"
Monday, 26 July 2010
Oh how I laughed at my sister's recent blog. It then gave me a flashback and so being the cruel evil sister that I am I felt compelled to share it...
We were living in a lovely tall Victorian terrace in the days of 1 toilet only per household. I had a home based business that I ran with my Scottish BFF. She had recently entered into a very passionate affair that was about to consummated. You could feel the sexual tension in the air. Said man was hot footing it up the M1 probably driving his Golf with his own joy stick. My sister, aged about 13/14 at the time ( although I am sure she was much younger, maybe it's how they make them these days?), was staying with me. It must have been school holidays or something. She was doing what teenagers do and we weren't paying her much attention as we were far more excited at the prospect of Scottish BFF next 48 hours of rampant sex.
Shortly before Said Man arrived my sister, she of big bowels, went for a dump. I should at this point point out the irony of Said man and his line of work. He ran a swanky pot pourri company and was blessed with a very sensitive sense of smell. We were busy working upstairs in the attic room when a smell wafted up the stair well. First the dog got the blame. Then Scottish BFF went on the hunt for the smell. Jesus there was something akin to the size of a zepplin loitering in the bathroom. Sister had disappeared oblivious to the nuclear reaction she had left behind. Nuclear reaction being Scottish BFF who was busy trying to hide the smell with various air fresheners and perfumes when the door bell rang.....Mr lover lover. Needless to say the Eau D'Poo didn't catch on when creating a love nest ambiance.
Since then we have grown as a family to hoot about various poo moments as there have been so many..
..when Grumps caught short in the woods in local park had to have a crap in the woods with is dog looking on mortified, confused by the change in status and frantically looking for a poo bag amongst its person ( thank god no one spotted him )
..when She-ra, newly potty trained, ate a Linda McCartney's sausage that went straight through and had to have a crap in the grounds of a Stately Home. As I was struggling to decide what to do next with the orange poo the dog thought yum Linda's sausages are great and ate it all up
..when He-man went for a Richard he used to be gone for hours, stripping down naked, now he is just gone for hours - it is cause for much amusement amongst the family
..when I, yes even I have my own poo tale, got caught short whilst swimming in the Ionian sea many moons ago and had to swim very fast away from the floater that appeared to do front crawl faster than I.
Any more good poo stories out there......?
Coming soon Puke tales - we've got some beauties
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
The Gallery entry
What a toughie this was. A novel idea!A photo to illustrate your favourite book or children's tale etc. Well if I had a bit more time on my hand I would have loved to have illustrated a children's' story,most likely Roald Dahl, but here goes...
My favourite book from the last couple of years has been A Brief History of the Dead by Kevin Brockmeier. I think it is a book you will either love or hate. The cover reads;
" Imagine a place between heaven and earth. A city where everyone ends up after they die. This city looks like any other, with trees and houses and newspapers, where people work, drink coffee and fall in love. And here they remain alive by the memories of those left behind on earth."
Ok so how I do I illustrate this? I did think to go to the grave yard on one of my favourite walks as I know that there are gravestones of children who had a brief life. A bit morbid I know and no time to do it. So call me sentimental but I think about my mother everyday since she died 22 years ago. She has never met my children and their only knowledge of her is a couple of photos ( I don't have many ) and what ever I can remember ( I have a bad memory ) so they have a brief history of her. If such a place exists then it would mean I would get to meet my mother one more time as long as there was someone else left on earth with a memory. And I would get to tell her how much I love and miss her.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
The stresses and strains of gcse's have passed and we are now in holiday mode. Although in our household you would be hard pressed to tell the difference between the two. Everyday, I am told, is one to be enjoyed and must not be spoilt by me making demands such as taking the dog for a walk, any other job I may think of, restricting the time for coming home at night ( he goes at 9 or 10pm ), and getting a job. Then he suddenly metamorprhed into job hunter. The CV dusted down had lain waiting. Then one day I returned home and all 20 copies had gone, they had been distributed round various city centre establishments along with every other recently graduated teenager waiting of gcse results and realising money is much sought after accessory for said holiday.
I had already registered He-man at the job agency at the university where I work. The pay is good and working graduations is hard work. It might only be a week or so of work but they are long hard days and he is working. Some of my friends kids have either always had a job or are really struggling to find gainful employment. If he is lucky he might be able to wangle a few more shifts most likely in the food court or kitchen. He has been working his charms on the 20+ brigade so I am sure it hasn't gone a miss.
On Saturday night having worked 4 days til 7 at night he declared he was ready to party with his new friends from work, in the heart of student-ville. I was concerned. I hadn't bargained for the " new friends" scenario. I am only just getting to know his high school friends who have been kept at arms length until recently. I voiced my concern but in a cool play it down kind of way. He then opted to hang with old friends more local although it was still a late night.
To get paid he has a final stumbling block; getting bank account. I have left the requisite documents out for him to take to the local branch for sometime. The passport ID has now expired and he needs me to find the birth certificate. Am I bovvered? Well he certainly isn't but he knows he has to get it done before the 31st July or else he doesn't get paid. I am guessing this is the date he will do it. I'd love to be proved wrong and I am making a solemn vow to myself not to remind him to do it. He has spent the money several times over in his head on his forthcoming inaugural festival trip. A rite of passage that seems costs a wad. I hope this little foray into the world of employment will help teach him an appreciation of a hard earned quid. In the meantime " mum can you lend me some money?" I am keeping tabs....
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
This is my niece, aka the 6 year old. The picture is slightly blurred. Apologies. It is slightly blurred because when I took her for her birthday treat to Build-a-Bear she went kind of demented ( as her mother put it )
Armed with £30, she bought a bearskin, had it stuffed after kissing and wishing on a fabric heart that went inside said bear. She jumped on the pedal to stuff it with such gusto I thought the shop assistant was going to get stuffed too. We then bought a Cinderella outfit with matching glass slippers. She also tried to convince me to buy a new bed because her new bear couldn't possibly go to sleep on her bed. She also tried her best to convince me to purchase 2 pairs of roller skates for her other build a bear (a dog ). Maybe next time. She was, as you can see, absolutely ecstatic.
We had been accompanied by my Lancastrian Very Good Fiend and her 10 year old daughter who were already familiar with the phenomenon that is Build-a-Bear with the 10y old already clocking up 2 bears. After Sunday she added another 1 to her collection. She was powerless to resist their charms. Even She-ra was tempted and she didn't come with us.
Why didn't I think of the Build-a-Bear concept. What a money making machine that is. Is the owner sunning themselves on some remote island counting out their dosh? cried Lancastrian friend. A Sunday afternoon and this shop was heaving. What recession?! My personal favourite outfit was a Star Wars combo. Fortunately my nephew, aka the 4 year old, has asked if he could have a similar treat when it is his birthday and could well make a bee line for the Jedi Knight clobber. This shop will certainly see out a few present ideas for years to come. I am sure though that there are some people somewhere( OK so let's just say America ) that have collected all the Build a Bears complete with the full wardrobe.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Leave it with me is great phrase I use at work when I don't know the answer . It's a stock phrase when the kids want something and I don't want to be pressured into making an on the spot decision. Leave it with me however is not a good response to some one on your first date when they ask if they can see you again. At the very moment having uttered those 4 little words, watching the face of my companion for the evening crumple ever so slightly, I wished for the ground to open and swallow me up. Instead I bade them good night and walked off into the balmy night berating myself as I went. What was I thinking?! But as the hours passed by I knew in my heart of hearts that whilst I had had a pleasant enough evening it would never have gone much further. The 5'10 43 year old was in fact a touch of the Tom Cruise and was smaller than me in my heels which meant he was no taller than 5'8. I think he had heels on too. We laughed,we joked and we drank very little ( clearly not feeling myself that night) but there was no connection for me at all. As the evening drew to an end I started to panic as I could tell that he clearly felt more for me than I he. We walked back to his car and I started to wonder,worry, what I would do if he went for a kiss.I really didn't fancy him at all.I had been listen to the fanny barometer all night and there wasn't a smidging of a movement towards the slightly damp setting. I felt like a teenager not knowing what to say or how to handle it. So I said "leave it with me"....
Pre date I felt like calling it off. Cold feet etc. But I felt that with OTE but went through with it and had (good) fun and an amusing number of anecdotes to boot. Now we are friends.
Post date I felt miserable.This was not where I saw myself aged 43. I have felt miserable all day, have had quivery bottom lip and eventually had a bit of a sob. I feel like the rescue dog that was once well loved and through no fault of their own are now left wanting. Waiting to give all that love back. And I know my fate. After a year of looking out of my piss ridden cage with sad eyes. a well loved toy ( Ann Summers collection 2010 ) a pair of kindly old lesbians will take pity on me and take me home with them. Argh! pass the Kleenex.
Monday, 5 July 2010
A conversation with a teenage girl with attitude. Picture the hair in the ruffled pony tail, industrial strength eyeliner and mascara, fuggs.
Me " Tea will be ready in a few minutes"
She-ra " I want lasagne"
Me " We're having moussaka"
She-ra " But I want lasagne"
Me " We are having moussaka that I cooked last night but you two didn't eat"
She-ra " I thought it was lasagne"
Me " Well I suppose it looks a bit like lasgane. It has similar ingredients.It's Greek"
She-ra " Well what's in it then?" I have to be careful here as I once did moussaka with aubergine layers instead of potato. Tthe looks from the pair of them was if I had layered the dish with slugs. I hoped she hadn't remembered.
Me " Well it's like lasagne but instead of pasta you have thinly sliced potato"
She-ra, harrumphing now, "Well, why don't you call it potato lasagne then?!"
Me " Because it is called MOUS_FRICKIN_SSAKKAAKAAKAA! Actually I just said Moussaka.
She-ra exit stage left, flouncing!
So the Gallery theme this week is holidays. . drop by sticky fingers and see what holidays grab your attention. . Only these days there aren't that many of them; the one time we get to go away and we are not staying at friends is now fraught with stress trying to accommodate everyone needs just so the 3 of us can get away together. This year it's camping in Cornwall. A first for us all and I am truly looking forward to it even though it is with more or less complete strangers and I am a ickle bit worried on my lacking of camping experience ( zero ) + with my extreme lack of common sense = potential disaster. Although it could provide good blogging material, me just suddenly thinks.
So for my holiday theme I have gone for the ladies in my life. We opted a few years ago to do a group trip to Barcelona. 40th birthdays being the main excuse, ahem reason, for celebration. But then we have kept on going. So far we have clocked up Barcelona, Nice, Palma, Alicante, Amsterdam and this year is the turn of Montpelier. I have brilliant memories of each and everyone. We all have roles to play; the restuarant finder, the map reader, the trasnslator, the kitty keeper etc The common denominator is: it must be self catering - to allow for late nights, late mornings, our noisy chatter, our need for food and chilled fizz. The destination must have a mix of shopping, culture and good food and be a short haul away. Oh and the bathroom : girlfriend ratio is very important too.
Barcelona memories - experiencing an unseasonable cold spell at end of April we took the coldest open top bus ride, being told be quiet ( a lot ) and fantastic tapas. Late night chats. 2 friends sharing a double bed in a room that opened out into the kitchen where they would hold court during breakfast. We chilled in the Park Guell and shoe-aholics amongst us were in heaven.
Nice - not getting into our apartment on our first night and then getting drunk before we had even got in there. The Issy Miyake room freshener or rather one broken bottle of, that made everyone rooms smell gorgeous.The wonderful markets and a bloody big hill, a trip to Monaco where I taught the girls how to play celebrity look a like in a harbour side restaurant. We howled with laughter and not a single drop of alcohol was consumed as all too hung over from day before. The beggar tat mirror bought as a gift by VGF2 husband. (I don't think he buys her anything anymore after that incident)
Palma - a particular fave of mine and I would love to go back. The big boobies at the Art gallery, the apartment with the minge mirror. The Arab garden & baths with the really strong smell of jasmine, the lovely little shops down winding alleyways, the bar with the piles of rotten fruit on the floor as frequented by the Beckhams ( the memory of the smell made me want to hurl. )
Alicante- The year of Alicante was the year my marriage fell apart, the pound fell out the bottom of my wallet and I opted not to go. My friends were having none of it and between them clubbed together for my flight and spending money. I remember fiestas with parading camels, a sailing competition, Alicante train station. Discovering a fantastic Moroccan restaurant where the owner declared she was the menu and invented something on the spot. A lot of rose and inventing super hero powers for us all, I think I was orgasm woman ( don't ask ) and laughing about our respective powers till the tears dried up.
Amsterdam - I know Amsterdam pretty well having been on many a holiday with my ex. In fact we had been there less than week before D-Day. I remember walking into the bar in the park and suddenly being overcome with memories of last time in there and by everything I had lost in the space of two years. A beer, a hug and a dapper Dutch City Silver Fox chatting to us brought me back to my senses and I have lovely memories to take over from the bad ones. I had wanted to come here and stay in a dutch canalside house for as long as I can remember and who better to do it with than the girls. What we didn't realise was that the stairs were so steep up to our room that this would cause major inconvenience during the night when wanting to go for a pee. The house was fab in a swanky area with the most bleedin' expensive cheese shop ever. Riding the bicycles round the Vondel park fabber still and an evening at my favourite Indonenisan restaurant Sama Sebo even fabber( you have to be a local to know a bout this one but is always heaving. ) In fact we seemed to cause quite a stir with the staff who couldn't understand how we knew about the place and took great fun in playing with us. This could only be topped by an evening in the following day where we played Vic Reeves club singer but what was sung in the room stayed in the room. I think it was wet gussets all round that night. By the end of the weekend we all wanted to give up our lives back home, work in a coffee shop and ride a bicycle all day.
This year is Montpelier but I have already declared that I will not be joining them one this one. I thought I might have been able to scrape the funds together but my car had other ideas and it needed fixing. Plus I would really like to get away somewhere warm with the kids as I am mindful of the fact that there probably wont be many more family holidays as He-man is flexing his independence. Still I know there will be more Girls weekends away and there are plenty more destinations waiting to be discovered. In the meantime any Dutch gentleman looking for a date look no further. Two taps of my clogs and I'll be there faster than the turn of a windmill.