Book

I am writing a book. 

I showed my best friend the intro for the two main characters and she asked, "Is it meant to be funny? I don't get it".

This amused and confused me, but spurred me on to write more, in the same style.

I read it to S and he sat stunned, jaw dropped open and stated enthusiastically, "D, THAT'S FCKING BRILLIANT"!

There were mixed reviews at work - 3 very positive, 1 negative and 1 ambivalent. 

The good thing is, that one of the positive reviews belongs to a gentleman who has already had a short story published and is an avid writer, currently waiting to hear back from a publishers about a novel he has just completed.  He mentioned that he felt he needed to start writing something again, soooooo, I have suggested he write the narrative to my dialogue.  We have come up with a nicely twisted plot and I have never written so consistently. 

So, this is why I've not been blogging. 

Christmas is only a few days away now.  The tree is up and decorated.  My son has started learning to read and my daughter has just stopped wearing nappies.  It's a busy time all round!

I trust you are all in fine fettle?

;)

Giant House Rabbit

Am considering buying a giant house rabbit as our hamster, John J Hambo is on his last paws, whiskering around his cage like a doddery yet still inquisitive old man. He's been an absolute ideal first pet for the kids.  He's never bitten, well, he has but I just told them he mistook their little fingers for carrots and they got over it...plus he didn't draw blood.  Yeah, Hambo the hamster has been a proper little star.

BUT.... look at this...



OK, but this is real....

I don't know who the bloke is but they both look happy don't they?  I think I want one.  The house rabbit, not the man. I have one of those who is currently mentally cocooned himself in the world of Call of Duty ( the xbox game that came out today...well midnight yesterday for some loons who queued outside in the winter cold to get their copy hours before the masses)... so, at times like this, I could definitely befriend a bunny. 

Do they need to be walked daily like dogs? Do they train easily? Would I be forever stepping on currents and slipping in milky rabbity piddle?  Look at his huge fluffy paddy paws?! Ooooh I definitely think I need one... whaddayareckon?

PS: I havent blogged for ages due to infecting my PC by following a dodgy link recommended by a friend, to watch the American series, Real Houswives of New Jersey...  I did manage to watch 17 episodes though so it was almost worth the aggro. 

Hope you're all well and happy ;)

The Point of Stuff

We decided to finally decorate. 

Our front room looked like a student digs, bright pink and royal blue walls with miss-matched furniture. Odds & sods we'd found along the years.

WE decided to decorate but to get S to sit and go through colour schemes, or textures or anything remotely 'homely/shoppingy' was an uphill struggle to say the least.

In the end, after a week of trying to get him to give his opinion, (alternatives rather than one word negatives) he ranted, "it's all just sh!t!  It's just fcuking STUFF...none of it is IMPORTANT"!!!

I decided from that day on to just buy what I liked and the room looks so different now, so homely and grown up!  It still has quirks like a giant clay toadstool and a black & white photo of S looking startled, with his hair like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals...but, it all works.  It's a proper nest now.

Today, me and Marie (my good friend and fellow Mum) were talking in my new homely, grown up, quirky nest and she was saying how she sometimes thinks her life wasn't meant to turn out the way it has.  That she feels like she's just a mum and has lost her identity.  You know, that invisible feeling we all, men and women, feel from time to time.  And I was telling her about S's rant about 'stuff', when it dawned on me that although I have never really been materialistic and am quite rubbish and nonchalant about financial matters and so I do get that the stuff we purchase is non essential to the bigger picture, it is our stuff. 

When we chose to be parents, something changed.  We didn't choose to be explorers, inventors or scientists.  We have chosen to be mum's and dads and so, we are going to spend a lot of time in our homes.  A lot of time not doing anything exciting.  Just routine drudgery.  So, I now figure that if we are to be sat in our nests, we might as well accumulate stuff and if we can get nice stuff, surely that's better than not bothering.  Maybe, we, the Mum's and Dad's, who hate the boredom and consumerism, need to just embrace what's on offer and nest.

I painted this to add to our stuff...S loves it.

Daddy FC

I know I like to moan on about how bits drop off, get wobblier and fall out as I hurtle towards mid life....who am I kidding?  I'm nearly 39, so unless I'm still rattling around at 90, I am already middle aged! 

Well, today I realised that it's a bit of an issue for men too. 

S took part in a charity football match, (soccer).  He was really looking forward to it as it was for a very worthy cause and also meant he'd get to play on one of the local professional teams pitches.

For the last few days he's kept saying to me, "I hope I get even 20 minutes"... he needn't have worried for when we turned up, there were only 14 players and as it was a charity game, they'd all be playing the full 90 minutes. 

They all wandered into the changing rooms and the kids & I took a seat on the empty terrace.  J was getting very excited about watching his dad play football and actually, so was I.  S used to play a lot.  He's got trophy's for 'Top Goal Scorer' and 'Players Player', which are now in our son's bedroom.  S also got sponsored as a teenager and played in America, so he was a pretty good footballer.  He is also very competitive and expects others to 'PLAY THE GAME' too.

Suddenly, the other team trotted out, almost in slow motion, onto the pitch to warm up... for a whole 25 minutes!!! I looked in the programme and saw that they had brought their own physio! hahaha

They were semi pro's and averaging about 22 years of age.  S told me to add that a lot of them were well over 6 foot tall.

S and the other 'Rovers' played the full 90 minutes, pouring with sweat, getting 'nutmegged and being generally out paced by the youthful opponents but they did pull back three goals in the very very long second half to finish with a very respectable score of 3-6 to the amoeba's.

The most obvious observation I made was the huge aging effect that having children has on us all, for whenever any one of the spectating toddlers would shout, "HELLOOOO DADDYYYYY"!!!, nearly all our team would turn and wave wearily, knackered and sweating, whilst the other team would sprint past, without a responsibility, or care in the world.  Your time will come boys, your time will come. ;)

Wayne Rooney in a few years time?

Cakes, Bakes and Aches

I've been watching a show called The Great British Bake Off. 

The voice over is full of sympathetic statements such as, "Janet's got a soggy bottom', "Rob's spilt his fondant" and "Mary-Anne's macaroons have burnt".

It seems like a very English programme but could work in most countries.  It's a bit of a phenomenon as all ages and both sexes are tuning in, week after week, for whatever reason.

I've even got S watching it with me and not under duress but enthusiastically commenting and watching to see what each contestant will bake next.

I, like a lot of it's viewers, have caught the baking bug, which is not good as I have simultaneously lost the exercise bug - temporarily.  I have made a giant light sponge cake and fairy cakes which the kids decorated.  I then made gorgeous Bakewell tarts and a giant un-iced Bakewell sponge cake.  They were all delicious. 

Today I attempted a lemon drizzle cake. 

I promise you all that I pressed the cake and it sprung back. Then, just to be safe, I stuck a knife in it and it came out dry, so I took the cake out of the oven, let it cool for a very short while, then poured over the juice of two lemons mixed with icing sugar.  It was just after I'd done this that S came in from the pub and sneered as I heaved the heavy lump from baking tray to plate.

Now, I have been ferociously hormonal today.  And I mean, FEROCIOUS.  Team this with stomach cramps and a tearful, run ragged, anxious disposition and the sneer was not well received.

It's fcuking sh!t being a woman sometimes.  S is bloomin RUBBISH at dealing with the 'mentalness' of PMT.  Other women are a bit sh!t at dealing with others mood swings too.  Other women should be able to sense when their fellow females are struggling and should rally round offering hugs, space, conversation, silence, a helping hand and whatever conflicting necessities are deemed vital by the victim from one minute to the next.  I do feel for S and the kids for when I am bad, I am awful but I wish S would get it into his head that it's not personal, malicious, premeditated.  That any outbursts leave me racked with guilt and feelings of worthlessness.  That when I go and spend 17 quid on pills and potions to make me feel normal, it probably means I don't like feeling like the ovulating ogre I've become.

On the other hand, it doesn't mean that you have an excuse to make sarcastic comments, throw scornful, bemused looks and be generally loud & patronising for the entirety of RED WEEK.  Just because I'm on the blob, does not mean that you are right and I am 'not making any sense'.  I am in pain and you are obviously just being a tit. 

And so, back to my baking....I took Marzipan Biscuits out of the oven about 25 minutes ago and they have been cooling on the side whilst I've been typing this.  S, who does not have a sweet tooth at all and hates marzipan, came in, got OTT enthusiastic about my 'fantastic biscuits', snapped one in half, (didn't comment when the marzipan fell out in a caramelised lump) and chomped away, giving me the inane, awkward and nervous looking thumbs up. 

Hmmmmn.

Random Acts of Kindness

 

I haven't been to the gym in about 5 weeks.

I haven't checked my direct debit for the gym in ages, assuming no news is good news.

I decided to check through my Direct Debits nd there ws no sign of my gym one.

I rang the bank and they assured me that the DD was still set up and ready to go and that I'd always had sufficient funds,(just about).

The bank recommended that I ring my gym directly.

I worried.

I spoke to S and told him that I had used the service but not been billed for 8 months and wanted to ring them. 

S said he couldn't believe that I was going to ring someone and ask if I owed them money....he made me feel very silly.

I worried some more.

I rang Consumer Advice.  They recommended that I ring the gym and offer to make a payment plan. They agreed with me that I had used the service and would have to pay for it, even though they agreed that it was through no fault of mine.

AAAGGH!!

I rang Marie and Sarah.  They panicked on my behalf and confirmed that they would both bring it to the gyms attention.  They both said they hoped the gym wouldn't foot me with the lump sum for the last 8 months.

I felt sick and emailed the gym.

Ten minutes later, their reply appeared in my inbox. 

I had a horrible, anxious, sick feeling.

Can you believe that they apologised for any inconvenience that I'd been caused by their collection company making such an error and that they would not be charging me for the missed months???!  They also said that they hoped I'd continue enjoying their gym and fitness classes!!!

I was so happy and relieved that I could've ran exercising into the streets, like Richard Simmons! It's so rare these days to have such good customer service isn't it?  It's given me the boot up the jacksy to go back to the regular gym sessions too!

I might take them a massive tin of chocolates... low fat ones naturally!

;)

NO LAUGHING AT THE TABLE!

When I was little, the dinner table was an awkward, edgy hive of frowned upon sniggering and clips round the ear.

Me, my brother and my mum would eat at the table at the end of the through lounge, whilst Dad would usually sit in his chair, opposite the TV and occasionally shout at us to 'stop messing about'. 

On the weekends though, particularly Sundays, Dad would sit at the table with us as we'd all attempt to chew through one of my Mums Sunday roasts. 

For some reason, laughing at the table was a no no.  This would result in lots of suppressed sniggering and shoulders bouncing up and down, whilst me and my brother would try not to get eye contact, as this would result in one of us bursting into laughter and promptly getting shouted at.

Since my childhood memories of family dinner time are so charged with that 'being on eggshells' feeling, to this day, when I have to sit at a table with more than Me and S, I get a funny anxious feeling and if during the meal it goes so quiet that I can hear the gentle, subdued clanking of cutlery, well, I just fall to pieces.

We had our first family dinner time this afternoon.  Me, S, and our kids J & A. 

We've always squashed round a coffee table with A in her high chair but after purchasing our dining table, well, we are now a sophisticated, proper, grown up family.

For about the first 2 minutes, I did hear the gentle clanking of cutlery and polite chewing of sausage, mash & veg. 

Twenty minutes in and 4 yr old 'J' had stuck peas up his nostrils, 'A' was using a half eaten sausage as a rolling pin and was attempting to roll her face flat and 'S' literally cried with laughter, doubled over at the head of the table.  I stood taking pictures!

Peas up the nose



Laughing at The Dinner Table!

 No one got told off.

The dinner still got eaten. 

Afterwards I cleared the table & washed up, got a giant bar of Aero from the fridge and we all played Ludo.

The Italians have a saying, “A tavola non si invecchia mai roughly translated as, "No one grows old at the table.  I think it basically means that meal times should be relaxed, enjoyed, savoured and treasured. 

Talking of treasures, we trawled round another boot sale this morning and even though we had a serious discussion on the drive there, that we would not buy any rubbish and would not waste any pennies, we managed to come home with a couple of frivolous items...

A Skeleton Suit

"The Boys side is definitely cooler than the Girls side"!

Mask & wig : Worth 30 pence of any ones money...

And lastly, a cake made yesterday by Me & the kids, and a toadstool.  If eaten, one of these may kill you....

 

;)

Recycled Post from my old Blog...

Today I was showing mums best friend my blog and ended up visiting my old blog, http://invisiblewomanukblogspot.uk and reading through some of my old posts. 

This is a funny one about how uncool I was at school... thought you might like a laugh at my expense.

 

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

Too Cool For School?...

There’s a photo of me, aged 11/12, first year senior school, in the snowy playground, sort of ‘running’ towards the camera in a pathetic attempt to make the camera operator think I was gonna get them with the snowball (flake) that’s stuck to my cheap red gloved hand.  

I would’ve definitely missed, had I had the nerve to have thrown it.  

That photo, taken by my cool, confident friend Sarah, sort of summed me up at that age. 

A bit of a prat but nice enough in an annoying, groovy way.

Some people are just cool aren’t they? Some people have a swagger, or an aura that seems to draw other lesser folk to them. Some people would never have a photo that bad in their entire back catalogue.  Thank goodness for digital cameras eh?

It’s got to be confidence that makes these people stand out from the crowd but how do they become confident? What made them so self assured?

It’s not money necessarily, as there are a lot of seemingly cock-sure people who live in poor housing estates, just as there are sappy, unconfident kids attending our private schools.

So what is it?

I’ve done ok considering I was often one of the last to be picked during PE at school.

I remember at aged 7, standing in the playground, staring nervously at the basket of big orange net balls, thinking, “surely they’re gonna pick me before her, she stinks”… I remember being shocked and feeling like I’d been prodded in the solar plexus the one time I was second to last and all the ‘boffins’ had been picked before me! 

I was never a bully and I hate all that bitchiness but there is a definite hierarchy at school and you can’t help but think like that sometimes.

Actually, I hate to admit it but there were occasions when I stood by and laughed while others were bullied.  Not physical stuff but name calling.  And I participated in name calling and poking fun at one particular girl who I am ‘Facebook friends’ with now and has done very well for herself.  Sorry K!

Oh and I also shouted out ‘Jodie’s a wanker’!  in the queue for the tuck shop, as a dare.  She wasn’t a wanker at all actually.  Well, there was never any evidence to suggest she was.

I wonder what would have happened if I had been confident enough to say something to the bullies.

Until I was 12, my Mum chose my clothes.  I wasn’t sporty either and so Mum dressing me as a nerd, (before nerds were ironically cool), with a pageboy haircut and ‘pear collars’ on my shirts was where I was at.  

I was also only allowed two pairs of Clarks, or Startrite shoes a year - navy T bar flats in the summer and brown T bar flats in the winter. 

I once spent an entire day demanding that my poor Mum, ‘get me some open toed shoes’!  It must’ve been a Friday for that afternoon, my Dad Stanley-knifed the front of my shoes off and made me wear them all weekend!  I was mortified.

I thought open toed shoes would make me cool. 

Another thing that 7 year old me thought would aid my rise to the rank of ‘trendy and popular’ was getting my ears pierced. 

I remember crying and screaming, again at my poor Mum, that, “everyone in my school had their ears pierced…at least twice”! But my Dad used to come home from work and bark, “You can do what you like when you’re 18”! And, “stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about”!

Do-gooders be calm!  My Dad is a fantastic father and there is no cause for concern. ;)

So, it wasn’t til I was 12 years old that my Mum actually decided that a pair of ‘small gold studs’ might actually look rather sweet and I remember posing in a photo booth with her afterwards…modelling a Lady Diana flick and a denim waistcoat, beaming like a Cheshire cat.

It didn’t make me cool though.  I am just not like that.  It has to be inbuilt.

I loved watching Sandra Dee’s transformation into Sandy, in Grease.  I loved it so much I watched that film right from Betamax, through VHS and again later on DVD.

There are things that I think help you to be cool, accepted and popular.

Being good at a sport for example.  Not table tennis or chess.  These don’t become cool until you’re a parent, or an auntie/uncle and can show off exaggerated below-average skills to young relatives who have just found out about these past times.  Random memory alert - an old, eccentric Dutch guy called Herman taught me how to play chess, on his speed boat in the Canary Islands.  No… just chess!

Some kids used to just naturally make cool choices even with something as trivial as crisps.…  how they reacted when asked for one.  I remember most kids used to grimace when asked to share a ‘Ringo’ and they’d separate just half a crisp at the top of the packet and grip the bag tightly so there’d be no chance any more would be taken.  Sarah was too cool for that sort of nonsense and probably had a mountain of crisps anyway, so, as long as you had clean fingernails, she’d just casually offer them.  You could even have a second one!

Bags were another area to show how cool you were.  Which carrier bag would you be carrying your school books in?  Benetton, or Next were good.  Iceland, or Bejam were not and DEFINITELY NO ‘FASHION HOUSE’ BAGS!

A year or two after the carrier bag trend had really taken off, Sarah came in with a proper draw string bag with a clock on it! Well, you just couldn’t compete with that kind of style could you?

Although I did well by becoming friends with someone so cool, it also showed up just how un-cool I was in comparison.  Like the time we walked to her home from school and I fell over.  She laughed a lot but nowhere near as much as I’d have laughed had it been the other way around.  Anyway, I picked myself up and scurried behind her confident strides, resembling Baldrick & Black Adder.

Sarahs parents home is beautiful and was very trendy, the kitchen in particular was like something out of a magazine.  Pristine and crisp.  I walked in and politely said ‘Hello’ to her Mum and threw my bag on the white kitchen work top.

A few seconds passed and Sarah’s mum sniffed and turned her nose up, “ooh yuk can you smell something girls”?  We all sniffed the air and agreed there was a nasty pooey pong.  “Oh what’s that!?!!” cried her Mum, looking at my bag.  Sure enough, when I’d fallen, my bag had landed in dog shit, which I’d then flung over my shoulder and up my coat and then all over their lovely clean surfaces.

It wasn’t long after that episode that their pet Doberman attacked me, ripping my one pair of royal blue, Benetton cords.  Maybe she could still smell the shit and thought I was trying to mark her territory!

Anyway, I think I got on alright coz I wasn’t particularly nasty.  I was clean, (B.O is definite bully bait) and I read quite a bit so I was fairly articulate which helped when I was trying to make the cooler kids laugh.  Laughter is a passport to anywhere.

Aww, I will chat more on school days as there’s such a lot to be said about them.  I hope yours weren’t too uncomfortable and I hope they make you smile when you think back to them.

 

The Squirts.

Unfortunately I'm not referring to my kids here, no, I have had a dreadful bout of the Trotsky's. 

On day one I joked about how diarrhoea will finally help me to lose weight but oh dear, by day three I thought I'd never get better.  Just awful,

I was advised by docs to avoid dairy,(obvious) but also meat, fish and eggs.  She said to stick to uncomplicated food, like rice, porridge oats, dry toast etc.  I lived like Howard Hughes for a week. A reclusive, shrunken, manic wreckage of my former self, covering everything I touched or breathed near with disinfectant.   Anyway, it's finally gone now and I had sausage, mash and veg for dinner, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmnnnn

Me and S had a shared day off today which is unusual during the week.  It felt like a mini weekend which is bloody lovely as it'll really break the working week up. 

We had the home visit from our son's teachers this morning. I think it's a new thing for reception class age, (just starting school), and I think it's a fantastic idea,  seeing as the likes of Social Services miss so much due to being short staffed, desensitised, managed wrong, whatever... I reckon all teachers should make regular visits...three times a year or something.  J loved it and seemed really proud of his home & family which was lovely to see.  Both kids came across as articulate, sociable, bright, interested little angels.

They fought as soon as the teachers had left though so we went out.

First we went to the shop to buy J's first ever school trousers, then we went to a great charitable organisation who go and collect decent furniture that people are throwing out and they sell it from this big warehouse for such a cheap price and it's for charity which is great. 

We went there hoping to find a table and chairs that'd fit in the small kitchen, to enable us to eat together as a family for once.  Well, we found a large round pine table that can extend to a huge oval and then we rummaged a bit more and I found four really classic solid wooden chairs.  The great thing is, the chairs need the dark old varnish sanding off them and maybe some light wax on them, so they should go well with the table.  Plus, the seats are the old fashioned type that just lift out, so I am looking forward to finding some groovy material and recovering them.  In total, the four chairs and large table cost us £30.  Fantastic!

When we got home, I cooked dinner and we all watched Diary of a Wimpy Kid.   What a great film! It's about two young boys who start 'middle school' (American term that I think means like Junior school, so for about 9/10 yr olds?)  Just a simple little story about how when you're at school, the most pathetic things mean the world and how the minutest action can effect your popularity for your entire school life but in the end, being yourself and being a good friend is the most important thing.  Sounds cliched and dull but it really was laugh out loud funny in a lot of places; the whole, 'cheese touch' storyline in particular.

Anyhoo, I'm only posting when I feel like it now.  I was trying to post every day but it began to feel like a chore as inside my head is not that interesting at the moment!

I'm enjoying reading others blogs and am trying to get into the book, One Day, that's just been made into a film.  Ho hum, hope you're all very well ;)

Self Fulfilling Prophecy

You know how some shops are nicer than others and have a better,classier type of clientele? Well, on my way home tonight I stopped off in ASDA to get some bits. 

• A dummy shaped teething chew for a puppy
• Some exclusive travel brochures
• Pizza & Potato Salad
• Two jars of red jalapenos
• a DVD called Super

I always feel repulsed when walking around ASDA because a lot of the customers are what I would describe as dregs.  Leeches.  Inbred, ignorant, unhealthy, baby making, needy, aggressive, ill mannered dregs.

They do fuq all, all day.  Tell a lie, they wake around 9.30, light a fag from their bed, shout "KYLEEE, SHERULL, REEEE-ANNAH, BRITTNEEE, LOUWEE, SYMUN, FERRAREEE"(their kids are usually named after current 'stars' or cars but spelt differently), just to make sure all their kids have got themselves ready, fed themselves a breakfast of dry Sugarpuffs & coca cola and left to walk themselves to school.  Then, they'll slump infront of the telly with another fag, to watch Jeremy Kyle.  Whatever goes on in the show they repeat to their mates LOUDLY on their up to date ifones... whilst smoking more fags and flicking through the catalogue to buy more leggings, stripper shoes and sexy undies, for when one of their childrens fathers drops in to sleep over on the way back from the pub.

They might get washed, they'll get dressed to the nines!!! A lot of make up, severe eyebrows, plucked and dyed black.  Hair scraped to within an inch of it's life up into a tight high ponytail.  Massive earrings, pierced moustache and eyebrow, chewing gum in, fag lit and away they go.  Slop scuff swear spit shout all the way to ASDA.

In ASDA, I walked past the books, looking for Alan Whickers Journey of a Lifetime, (I bet it wasn't to ASDA) and there were literally rows of 'books' with sad looking children on the front entitled things like "Mummys little secret" and "I just want to be loved" and "Please Daddy Stop"..... absolutely unbelievable sickening tales of nastiness, turned into a genre, especially to entertain these layabouts.  These books were peppered with books on serial killers, thugs and other crimimals.

It made me wonder about what would happen if all this sh!t was just stopped. Taken off the shelves and replaced with books about positive, happy, aspirational people and places and events.  What if the likes of Eastenders and Tabloid papers were just halted? 

S said that it was 'self fulfilling prophecy'.  If you hear it enough, you'll believe it.  If someone tells you you're useless all your life, you become useless.  If you watch enough sh!t, you believe it and go on X Factor and make a right t!t of yourself.

Where is it all going to lead?  Riots, unemployment, crime, teenage pregnancies, messed up immigration, neighbourood harrassment, less Police. Hmmmm. Something's got to give eh?

Long Time No Post & Pooey Bins.

Hello.

Sorry I've not posted in a while.  Not sure why really.  I didn't feel like sharing my thoughts as my thoughts were a bit grey & miserable. 

Today I left work early to go to the gym and as I parked outside my home, I watched the neighbour chuck a black sack of rubbish into his shared bin and just leave it outside on the pavement, instead of dragging it back into the front garden like most people would.  He'd also just ignored another bin that had been knocked over on the pavement.

I slammed my car door, walked up to the bin behind him and loudly muttering, "FOR FUQ SAKE" lifted the bin and straightened in myself.  His bin.  Lazy horrible bar$tard! 

Then, feeling annoyed at the state of society nowadays but also strangely pleased with my own superiority, I dragged my bin up the path and into our garden.  As I turned, facing the bin, to close the garden gate, I got the most awful whiff of sickly, rancid sh!t.

I dropped MY SHOPPING bags, and opened the lid.

The stench was putrid, rotting poo & waste and I am embarrassed to say so but maggots were wriggling around happily in the mush.

So, feeling not quite so superior anymore, I boiled pan after pan and kettle's full and bleached and Dettol'd and scrubbed the inside & outside of the bin until it smelt ONLY of cleanliness.

In the process, as I'm so obviously not used to the cleaning bin process, I splashed boiling hot water up both shins, (luckily I had opaque tights on which saved me a bit) and got through all but one ofthe scouring sponges. 

I'm sure there are levels of cleanliness and after today, I'm not sure where I fit it anymore.  If level 10 was OCD and level 1 was a tramp, then i'd have said I was a good 6.8/ 7 until the sh!t & maggot infested bin debacle but now, hmmmmn, maybe I'd scrape a 4 !!! 

I blame my daughter.  She is one of just three left at nursery in her group still in nappies.  She really can't be ar$ed with the whole toilet ritual and enjoys the freedom a nappy allows her exploring schedule.  Unlike the rest of us, she doesn't have to miss a second of the action, be it watching television, playing hide & seek or sand castle building.  I was much more uptight when it came to my son and nappies.  With daughter, she is so sure of herself and really couldn't give a hoot what others think and I kind of like that attitude. 

I will still blame her pooey ar$e for dragging me down in the cleanliness stakes though!

Just beautiful - watch & listen - Lana Del Rey - Video Games

Let it all Out

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahJ6Kh8klM4

I'm feeling a bit fragile.

I've had the worst moods for the last 7 days and thought it would ease off but today I feel really, really sad.

I went to Docs last night regarding the trapped nerve/numb arm and it was good.  He gave me loads of stronger anti inflammatory tablets and has referred me for physiotherapy and an MRI scan, as the neck/shoulder problems have been coming back for years, even though this is the first time I've felt numbness. 

Whilst in the doctors waiting room, I was flicking through an old Good Housekeeping magazine that had Lulu on the cover.  I actually took a photo of two recipes out of the mag, Ginger & Thyme Chicken Meatballs and Smoked trout Jacket Potato (with sweet potato).  I will attempt to make these at some point in my life but last night we opted for cheap n easy lambs liver, bacon, mash, cabbage n leeks and onion gravy.

I met my new team leader at work a couple of days ago and it's left me feeling a bit uneasy.

She's probably very nice but I just didn't feel an instant rapour.  I felt on edge and like the whole meeting was a bit corporate and guarded.  Probably more on my side than anything.  It's all so unsettled at the moment.  It's hard for all involved in any sort of restructure that involves cutting costs.  I hope she saw through my awkwardness and didn't feel it was personal.  I do miss my old boss though. 

Me, S and the kids were sitting in the garden on Sunday evening with radio 6 playing on the PC and me & S were squashed into the corner of the patio, desperately craving the last square metre of sunshine before it set behind our home, watching the kids giggling and wrestling on the lawn.  Nightswimming by REM came on and S turned to me and said, "if I ever suffer a bump on the head or something and lose my memory and don't know who you and the kids are, please just know that I have had the best time of my life since I've met you Deb".

REM are definitely a band to play when you fancy 'letting it all out'.  Personally, Day Sleeper makes me cry but I have stuck the link for Nightswimming at the top of this post for you to play, because it really is a simple and beautiful song.

I read a friends blog post about her son being a bit off and her suggesting he step away from the computer and choose a board game for them to play.  He chose Monopoly and his mood lifted.  Even reading that made me emotional. 

The whole Amy Winehouse thing has had a weird effect on me, as has the waste of young innocent lives in Norway by that kunt who needs to be destroyed instantly. What the hell they're wasting time and money on him for beggars belief. Get rid!

I bought the Mail on Sunday, (because the advert tricked me into believing there was a £5 off voucher for TESCO inside but actually, you have to join the Daily Mails website and give your details first)... I would not under normal circumstances buy the Mail. 

I was reading an article in one of it's supplements by a middle aged woman who had gone out of her comfort zone, to a festival as her very new boyfriend was playing in a band there.  He'd invited her to camp with him, (in a posh tent).  The article was good at first but after a while, it was full of cliches about how some young leggy blonde hippy chick checked her in and how she had not a scrap of make up on blah de blah de blah.

Sometimes, it'd be nice to read a whole magazine that was packed full of women my age who were positive and confident and who didn't give a toss about what others thought.  No wonder we're all crippled with anxiety about our appearance, sexual prowess, talents, parenting skills etc etc

This morning, I played Adele singing 'Someone Like You', live at The Brits, (watch it on You Tube) and as her powerful, vulnerable, emotive, crowd silencing performance ended, my four year old son remarked, "she's got a bit of a fat face though hasn't she Mummy"?  That really p*ssed me off and got me questioning the sort of influence I am on my kids and how I must moan about my weight too much in front of them.  Why did he even notice fat, or thin?

It's summer holidays here and all the schools have broken up for 6 weeks.  The summer holidays always felt weird when I was younger as Mum didn't let me just go out and play as she was a huge worrier, so I rarely went to others to play, or had friends over and just wasn't allowed to walk round the corner to my friends house so I always felt cut off.  All these years later and I feel like that today.  My friends are miles away, or at work.  I still have no one to play with!

I'm getting my kids into sports and activities from an early age because from my experience, S has a lot more confidence than me and his childhood was completely the opposite to mine.  According to him, his Mum being very young, wasn't really ready to be a mum and hence, he was often playing out at four years old,  and even overnight, he reckons as early as eleven years!

As a result, he seems relaxed, adaptable and streetwise, where as I am cautious and guarded.  He panics and fusses over our kids though and I tend to push them and want them to toughen up.  We both cuddle them and encourage them a lot though, so it works.  It works really well.

It's one of those nothing days.  The sky is grey and just so still.  I'm off today with the kids and have been making stuff out of Lego but they now want to watch CBBC.  The days where you have nothing to do, nowhere to be and no one telling you to hurry up are very rare.  Me and the kids are enjoying slothing about, unbrushed, unwashed and still in our PJ's.

Things are changing.  Work, family, relationships, friendships, age, health.... things that we have not much control over. 

Colleagues who I class as real friends have been moved to other areas, under the new structure. 

I am trying to potty train my daughter and my son is starting school soon.

On Sunday, my son ran into the kitchen crying uncontrollably.  He'd been playing in the garden and something had happened.  Both S and I thought he'd been stung and ran to where he'd been playing and asked him to calmly tell us what had happened.  He pointed to a hole in the fence and forced the word, "HAMBO" out, before crying again. 

I jumped up onto the fence and peered over it.  There I caught a glimpse of white fur, disappearing behind a plant pot.  Our son had snuck his hamster, John J Hambo, out to play in the garden and he'd escaped into next doors garden through the gap, to have a nose around.

The neighbour guided Hambo back towards the hole and he crawled back to the safety of S's hands. 

It was a real eye opener for me and S and we realised then that our four yr old son had matured and developed a real nurturing, caring 'friendship' with the little hamster who til then, I'd bought on a whim and S had thought was a bad idea.  We've had him for almost 3 years now and he's just sort of there, being fed and cleaned out by me.  To our son though, he's always been there and means more to him than we gave him credit for.  It really was a lovely moment, if you know what I mean?

This post is a bit disjointed and all over the place but I suppose it is how my brain is functioning today.

I'm fed up of moaning, (although I, rather obviously from this post, will not stop) and am trying to do positives to lift my mood.  Exercise. Drinking water. Apologising.

I am attempting to write a children's book.  I am stuck on Chapter three, which in positive speak means, I have got off to a good start and written two chapters that I like, out of thin air.  My son laughed in the right places too, so that's a good sign.

Books are funny things.  I never got into Harry Potter and have never read even one of the books and until last weekend, had never even watched one of the films all the way through.  I did however, watch The Chamber of Secrets, from start to finish, curled up on the settee with both my kids and S on the other settee and thoroughly enjoyed it.  It's the only really magical, atmospheric 'kids' film I've seen in years. 

As a kid, I loved Bedknobs & Broomsticks and Wizard of Oz and Charlie & The Chocolate Factory with Gene Wilder.  Since then, there's been bugger all to really get into for kids.  In my opinion. 

A friend bought my son a few of the Horrid Henry books, for his 4th birthday and after catching a bit of the series on telly, I thought it was inappropriate, like the AWFUL Tracy Beaker.  Just a rude kid back chatting and disrespecting all grown ups, for laughs.

I decided recently to give Horrid Henry another chance and started reading the books again. 

Yeah, I would clip Horrid Henry round the ear if he were my kid but he isn't.  And Just like I used to read Burglar Bill, or My Naughty Little Sister and thoroughly enjoy reading about how disobedient she was but didn't want to act like them, my son chuckled all the way through the Horrid Henry books.  We're going to watch Horrid Henry 3D next week at the Cinema.  Can't wait!

At the end of Horrid Henry Rocks, Henry finds himself on stage at a 'babies' concert and through sheer embarrassment blurts out a horrid poem, "Granny on her crutches, push her off her chair, Shove shove shove shove, SHOVE HER DOWN THE STAIRS"!

Well, my son thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and promptly rang my mum, to sing it down the phone to her!  Luckily he was laughing so much that she couldn't really get what he was saying.

I am not feeling quite as fragile after writing this.  Sometimes, you just need to let it all out eh? 

Thanks for listening.



Three



good



books

    

The kids with John J Hambo



What a Nerve

Doctors tomorrow, as I have a suspected trapped nerve somewhere near my right shoulder blade.

I felt myself getting sort of compressed, from jogging on the treadmill and kind of achy from weight lifting (small weights, high reps) and so I decided I'd pop along to Pilates. 

I thought I could do with a damn good stretch.

Well, it wasn't even that stretchy and I walked out of there feeling like I'd go again BUT Thursday morning came and I could hardly move me neck!  Well, it hurt a lot to look down and wasn't particularly comfy looking left, right & up either.  Now, after a trip to minor injuries on Saturday, due to my right arm going numb, I have been advised to go to Docs if problem persists.  Well, it has not only persisted but got progressively worse.  The Nurofen work for about 30 mins then back to sickly pins & needles feeling again.

AM I DESTINED TO BE FATTY PATTY ALL BEEF OR WHAT?

First i got shin splints, now a trapped effing nerve.

I tell you what, I deserved those two slices of cake at lunchtime.  I DESERVED THEM!

Lard and Lakes

I have had a few days off the old exercise and a few days on the chocolate, crisps and party food.  Due mainly to the wedding on Friday and then, well, I just slunk back into the cosy world of laziness.

Saturday just gone, we were quite rightly hungover, although S was a lot worse than me as he drank pints whilst I opted for rose spritzers.  Weak rose wine and fizzy water.  So I did make a bit of an effort as it would've been easy for me to opt instead for litres of Baileys, (mmmmmn Baileys) but I didn't.

I did eat half a quiche and probably 10 cocktail sausages, wedding cake, crisps, etc etc and on the Saturday morning, after getting in at 1.30am, the kids were still in the land of nod, as was S, by 9.30 so I shuffled downstairs and brought up 6 slices of very thick cheese on toast.....mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmn, cheese.

At about 11 am, the four of us plotted on the sofa, like a family of Ozzy Osborne's and ate onion rings, nik naks, salt n vinegar squares, beef monster munch, spicy transformer snacks, prawn cocktail walkers, milk bottle sweets, kinda bueno, bounty bars and other chocolate and a chicken!

We had a small dinner.

Sunday, we had a walk around the lakes.  This took about three hours and we explained to the kids that due to the gluttony of the past few days, we all had to 'get some air in our lungs'.  They loved it.  We loved it.



My family




I told the kids this was the magic faraway tree




My boys sorting out a good future fishing spot




some pervy bugs, makin love not war

 For once, I took proper photo's of the surroundings and although I have no idea how to work my cheap digital camera, the scenery spoke for itself.  Just pure and utter serenity.

So, Monday came around too quickly, as always and I had vowed that I would get back down the gym.  I didn't.  I came home and asked S to pick me up a Toblerone on his way home.  I sat and ate the entire bar in a few minutes.  I hadn't simply fallen off the wagon, I had plummeted to the ground, got the reigns wrapped round a fat ankle and been dragged by said wagon,  through several towns.

Today, Tuesday, I had already booked myself into an exercise class and got my 50p ready for the big weigh in.  I have put on 1lb, so I am back up to 11st 5lb. Not bad eh?  It did get me thinking about cake a lot and today at work, I got talking to my colleague Jo who said she was thinking about baking a cake and bringing it in.  Jo has a gluten intolerance so she said she'll make in 'healthy'. I suggested attempting to make a really healthy cake with no butter and no sugar.

When I got home and read a few blogs, I saw Linda's post for today and thought, 'what a bloomin coincidence'!  Or is it that all us poor women are constantly battling our brains and taste buds to sustain a less rotund waistline?

http://www.lindastwaddle.com/2011/07/healthy-baking.html  Have a look at Linda's post and if you can think of a way to make a cake without the use of fat and sugar, TELL US ALL!!!???!!

Tonight, whilst reading Linda's blog, I ate 6 fish fingers and some curly kale.  hmmm.

Seven Large

Would anyone out there like to give me £7000? 

I was just reading that the Scottish couple who have scooped £161 million on the Euro Lottery may have to flee the country after being inundated by begging letters.

One hundred and sixty one million pounds.

Surely they could hire someone to sort the wheat from the chaff?  I mean, come on, if you won that kind of money, you'd want to help quite a few people out. Wouldn't you?

None of the low life spamming scrotes who bombard us via email every day, trying to stitch people up and con us all no but all the people you've met over the years who just struggle.  Like me.

I would definitely help someone like me, who works but can't afford to get certain over priced necessities. 

I would help working people, disabled or retired men and women who bothered to explain their situation and why they needed a little extra financial help, if I agreed, or understood their plight. 

According to some websites, the interest on £161 million is around £9000 per day. So you could easily give away say, £7000 a day to worthy people and still be making lots of money.

It's a shame that they are worrying already about beggars.  If you dealt with the beggars properly, it might be quite fulfilling. 

So, back to me and that £7000.  Honestly, if anyone out there is rich enough not to miss £7000 too much and would like to give it to me, I will use it wisely, for a necessity that I simply cannot afford.

Well done you two!

Social Anxiety & The Wedding

I don't know about you lot but I suffer from anxiety.

Not all the time and thankfully, not often but if there is an event, or we have agreed to go somewhere in the near future, I start panicking.

I think you call it 'social anxiety'.

First time I had it was when I came back from travelling and was attempting to live a normal, non partying, routine existence.  Work, home, bed- work home bed- work home bed and seeing my friends on the weekend only.  I wasn't a good drunk at all and really don't need drugs or stimulants as I am naturally quite obsessive and hyper and tactless.  Add drink and drugs into the pot and quite often, I was a nightmare.  I was listening to BBC Radio 1 on Thursday and they had Westwood warning young men and women that when they go to these party destinations, Majorca, Cyprus etc etc not to go on to the beaches at night as they really aren't safe at all.  I used to be out of it, dancing in some club and get bored, so without telling my friends, I'd walk out of the club, onto the beach, alone and run into the sea for a cooling, sobering swim.  I am so lucky that nothing ever happened to me.

Anyway, when I came back from years of partying, occasionally, the whole seriousness of life would give me anxiety.  I think I was worrying what people thought of me, or what they expected me to act like.

An anxiety attack could happen in the middle of a shop, on the way to work, wherever.  For a few long months, it was very, very difficult.  It actually opened the communication up between me and my Dad because I had tried telling Mum about them but she had panicked and just kept offering me cups of tea, so one evening, I had come home from work and attempted to tell my Dad that I had accidentally bought a travel pass that didn't cover me for the entirety of my journey and was made to feel like a scum bag, criminal by the station inspectors and I started crying.  It wasn't a 'normal' reaction to a fairly mundane story and this alerted my Dad.  He looked at me and asked why I was getting in such a state about, 'some poxy pen pushing parasites who have nothing better to do than bully young women' and I kind of broke down.  I went on and on about how hard I was finding the transition from partying to sobriety, from no responsibilities or routine, to work and groundhog day. Uncharacteristically, my Dad, who is a clever man but a man of few words, (hardly any at all until that moment) sat bolt upright and said sternly, 'Well, I can give you a pat on the back, or a hug but I can't do it for you', and I wailed, "GIVE ME A HUG THEN" and before he could peg it out the door with his golf bag, I hugged him and he hugged me.

So, that was the first time I can remember ever having any kind of anxiety.  It lasted on and off for a few months whilst I got used to not living on a holiday island.

I didn't get them again until about 6 years later at my friends wedding.  I was a bridesmaid and was really excited for her and looking forward to helping her with her hair and make up.  The morning came and the bride and maid of honour, ended up playing dolphin music to me whilst burning lavender scented candles and plying me with chamomile tea!  Hahaha funny now but at the time, it was bloody horrible.

An anxiety attack, if you've never had one, feels like your mind has built something up so that your body is now dreading an event and this brings on the fight or flight reaction.  I think my body/mind always chooses fight and this means it pumps my system full of adrenaline, (getting ready for the fight).  Adrenaline is such a useful chemical but only when you need it.  When you don't, it sort of spins and whirrs around your blood like electricity.  In really strong attacks, I feel like I want to climb out of my own skin, or hide under a huge duvet.  I get tunnel vision and cannot smile, (even fake ones), and can't eat, drink or stop yawning.  The yawning is because your brain is telling you, in order to fight, you need more oxygen and the tunnel vision is something to with back in the day, when we had to hunt our food, we'd have to focus in on the beast in question...so your brain kind of blocks out your peripheral vision to stop distractions.

I hate feeling anxious. 

The only way I have ever been able to contain, or cancel out the attacks is by being very brave and instructing it to do it's worst.  I have to say to myself, "COME ON THEN, BRING IT ON"! 

See, the thing with social anxiety for me is that it's usually just me over analysing a situation, making up imaginary conversations, awkward scenarios and hostility that will no doubt, not ever happen.  So, by telling myself to bring forth with the terror that awaits, tends to be a massive anti climax and the anxiety attack eventually fizzles out.

On the odd occasion when me fronting the attack head on doesn't work, I need to tell anyone who will listen about my fears and gather as many positives as I can from each individual. 

This happened on Thursday.  I had been dreading what should have been a very happy family event for nearly six months.  I had wound myself up into such a panic, that for two weeks before it, I had had an upset stomach and constantly bickered with S about what was inevitably going to occur.  He had done his best to convince me that it was all in my head and that there was no need to feel anything but joy at the upcoming wedding.

Problem was, his ex wife and his sister, (The Duelling Banjo's from my old blog http://theinvisiblewomanuk.blogspot.com/) were going to be there.  I had convinced myself that I would need to fight, I would have nobody to talk to as they were all friends and that the Duelling Banjo's would have given their opinion of me to all the other guests and so, I would be eyeballed all day and night.

The wedding was on Friday 15th July and after months of panic, it went really, really well. 

I had initially made apologies and said it'd be for the best that I did not go, however, on a rare night out, S had explained to me so thoroughly and honestly why he needed me to be there, supporting him, (as the Best Man) that I agreed to go.

When I looked at the seating plan, I felt sick.  I noticed that the duelling banjos had been placed on the table down from the top table whilst me and my kids had been squashed onto a table that seemed as though it was in a separate room, (separated from the top table by an archway).  I wanted to cry and shout and leave there and then but S asked me not to and said it was not done intentionally.  I was convinced, (in my anxious state) that the sister had definitely had a big hand in that. 

The day was a bit awkward at first as I had months of negativity to battle that was going on in my head, simultaneously to me making small talk with numerous faces.  But I filmed S's Best Man's speech, (in which I had some comedic input) and something shifted. 

I was so proud of him as he had been nervous about standing and addressing people he didn't know and trying to make them laugh and it kind of put things into perspective.

After the dinner, we all went outside and S's favourite cousin, who I was convinced was in the duelling banjo's gang, was actually the friendliest, brightest lady ever and chose to sit with me and gossip and fill me in on family history and funny stories, over numerous bottles of wine. Her fiance was there and it was his first time meeting everyone too.  I soon forgot my anxiety and when S's Mum and Step Dad made a bee line for me at separate occasions to tell me how important I was and how I was definitely the perfect match for S and how much they all loved me, (and to stop being so bloody insular) I felt embarrassed and sorry for the months of shite I'd put S through. 

I didn't talk to the Duelling Banjo's but I did talk to their partners who were both friendly and funny.  I saw S's entire family in a different light.  None of us are perfect and we all fcuk up but I really do hold a grudge.  They all tend to just get on with things and there's a lot more enjoyment to be had out of life when you have that kind of mentality.  I have to learn to stop focusing on the what ifs and just concentrate on being me.  For according to some, I am not that bad.

On the Thursday at work, before the wedding, a group of friends/colleagues individually gave me such encouragement and really made me feel it was all possible.  Emma T, Lola, Toni, Janet, Sharon H, Liz, Justina, Sarah C, Chareen, Alison, Linda Twaddle and Jo R were all brilliant.  They all had to put up with hearing about it for months and not one told me to shut up, (and I was thinking it, so they must have been). 

I seem to need a lot more encouragement than S does, even though he loves my attention and gets stroppy when I want to be alone sometimes, he has a confidence about him, where as I am full of self doubt.  It's often the people who appear bolshy and confident that suffer from depression, anxiety and other stuff.

It really was a fabulous day though.  Everyone looked happy.  The bride and groom looked in love and meant to be Mr & Mrs.  So many people  approached  S and me to say what a credit our children were to us.  And the sun shone for the only day that whole week.

Our gorgeous babies!

Me, not looking anxious - with beautiful A and Grandad S.D.

So, a great big stupid thank you to everyone who puts up with me.  Truly, thank you.  x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x PS: When I read this to S, he said, "no one puts up with you Deb, they love you"...awwwwwwwwwwww!!!