Why I avoid the gym

Now you may remember a little while ago I told you that my bosoms were expanding at an alarming rate, well the rest of me has caught up with them.

I am getting fat.

So to the gym I go. Like all normal people I pay my money but don't actually go. It's in the school I was a teacher at.

I was only in the place about 2 minutes when the manager guy comes up and exclaims his surprise at seeing me there as as he puts it "That's the first time in 2 years I've seen you here"

This is a lie, I took both the year 12 AS and the year 12 Btec group there to do a risk assessment as part of their course.

I smile politely and start torturing myself on the cross trainer. He follows me round a bit and chats. I don't do chat at the gym, I have to take my ipod out and I am not best pleased. He tells me how he sees me at school and how he knows I'm a member but don't go. He tells me how he thought "Don't know what she's doing but she looks good on it". He follows me to the thigh machines, I can't remember how to adjust the chair, he shows me and tells me how if I went regularly I'd know that.
He remarks on my inner thigh strength. I am getting more than a little annoyed and faintly disturbed. He follows me to the treadmill and then the mat where I do some sit ups, critiqued by him. He tells me how good I look for my age "You're 42 right ?" I am seriously creeped out.He follows me downstairs and as I am scanning my card to leave, he tells me to make sure the card is a good 6 inches away, he give me what he thinks is a suggestive wink. He tells me how mature women know what they want from life.

I resist the urge to throw back my head and cackle, I know nothing matey, except I will be finding a new gym.

Pronto.

Picures of your auntie

If you would like to see what I looked like as a teenager pop along to madmanicmamas and have a look at the cut of me, I was a really bonny poppet. MMM is a blog about parenting teens, the main work is done by Saz and Fhina and I ship up occasionally and throw my tuppenyworth in.

Also appearing on the t'internet today is a photo of my foot, it's a guessing game on Lady Penelope's blog. Like my eldest beautiful daughter she has a phobia about feet and as we are guesting her blog for her as she suns herself in sunny Rhodes, the 9 of us have flashed our tootsies, an idea beautifully crafted by Dutchbitch. Please feel free to play along and guess which one is me.

So not only 2 pictures of me but 2 posts appear IN ONE DAY. See Edge, it can be done... albeit with piss poor grammar and punctuation (from me, not the other bloggers)

I'll have to have a lie down now !

Welcome to the House of Fun

This is truly a fairly typical and nondescript day in our lives.

On Monday night I was searching for the pasta pot and the colander I need to make dinner with. I looked in the proper cupboard where it lives, I looked in stupid cupboards where offspring might place in anyfeckin where as part of their disgruntlement at having to do any work IN THE HOLIDAYS, I looked in the dishwasher.

Nada

I asked Eldest Beautiful Daughter if she knew where it might be, she tells me last time she saw it The Beautiful Son had put it in her bedroom when she was in the shower.

Porquoi ?

Who knows what goes on in his head, he often puts odd things in your bedroom or shoves stuff under your door.

EBD goes to front door and shouts at TBS who is throwing a rugby ball about with Ollie and terrorising the neighbours at the same time "Hey, Goldilocks, where's the pasta pot and colander?"

and his answer, I kid you not...

"In my room, the colander's behind my telly and the pasta pot's in my wardrobe"

Of course, silly me

The girls and I eat, himself's disappeared with Ollie and outwith shouting distance. Beautiful Baby Daughter only has a token complaint about having to eat pasta instead of the full 3 verses and the disco chorus of what a remarkably mean mummy I am for making her eat it. Could I be winning the pasta war ?

After tea, EBD asks BBD if she can borrow her ipod headphones, EBD goes through headphones like you wouldn't believe, she must have had at least 10 pairs in 2 years. BBD says no, EBD has already broken a set of hers, I go upstairs and hide my ipod and headphones. From downstairs I hear EBD...

"What ever happened to sharing? meant to be a family, blah blah blah, more ranting along these lines"

and I tune in again and hear

"Don't come looking to me for nail polish remover"

and then I glance over and see EBD's nail polish remover on my bedside table so I start the bad Mummy skulk of shame along landing to replace borrowed nail polish remover

and get caught

and get a lecture about borrowing things without asking

and then get the lecture about sharing

I spend rest of night reading blogs, emailing and texting in my bedroom like a sulky teenager. This is why we need a proper grown up to come keep order.

On Tuesday morning, TBS's plate of pasta remains in fridge, when he surfaces I ask him why he didn't eat it when he got back from Ollies.

"You didn't tell me to"

and I reply that at 14, maybe he should have known that when I was looking for the pasta pot etc that tea was imminent and he shouldn't have gone off. Also, when did I ever have to remind him to eat ? Didn't his stomach remind him ?

Apparently the first 25 years of parenting are the worst !

Management Schmanagement

In my new job I will have to organise things and I have a mahoosive project to get going that is both time and budget constrained, get me, I've got the jargon off already. I have never done this before so I am massively calling in favours from everyone I know who could possibly help me. I am doing some work myself, it just may not feel like that to everyone I am pestering at present.

On Saturday I was given the "Brilliant Project Management" book by a lovely man who is very probably sorry I've given up teaching. He is in the same line of work as me and I only seem to talk to him about work stuff now. I think that the book may be a hint as he is too polite to tell me to stop asking him questions.

So I am reading it, honest, and I promise when it gets going I'll have another topic of conversation for you all.

I did actually have a book of my own that I was using, found it quite helpful too.

I Belong to Glasgow

If my week gets any more exciting I'm going to have to bulk buy Tena lady pants.

For myself and the beautiful children on Saturday October 10th are going to Glasgow, which you will agree is exciting enough in itself.

The highlight of this trip will be at 8pm

We will be seeing his royal Billyness.........


OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

I haven't seen him live in over a decade, the children have never seen him live so that will be brilliant but the icing on the cake is to see him at home.

OMfeckinG

Enjoy.

The Executive Life

Here is my disclaimer before I start.

I know I'm a sad article.

I am overgiddy with excitement because at my new job...

I have an office.

I have my own desk, I have never had my very own desk before.

I have a chair that I can raise or lower and twirly round on (and I have, more than once)

They gave me a puter and a work mobile phone.

But the best bit? the most OMG moment... they have ordered business cards for me, with my very own name and fancy job title I now possess written on them !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I cannot tell you how streemly cited I was at that.

I am very nearly a grown up.

Turkish Delight

I have returned from The Beautiful House leaving behind the big round yellow thing in the sky that makes you warm and cheerful. What happened to the summer ? Did it miss me and follow me overseas ? I'm feckin freezing now. Not to mention a tad apprehensive about my new job that starts today, send lots of positive vibes my way.

I may subject you to gratuitous shots of sunshine and the beautiful children, you may hear of daily ice creams consumed whilst lying on a lilo bobbing around in my pool and Bombay Sapphire's and bitter lemon drunk with the sun on my face and peace in my soul. You may be told of how the change of kitchen and vacuum cleaners do me the world of good.



But the best things were the conversations, sat on our terrace my beautiful children and I talked every single day, at breakfast, at lunch, in restaurants every night and after dinner we would walk back to the villa, light the candles, listen to music, sometimes we danced but every single night we talked.

My son told me he felt that he used to make his dad angry all the time when he lived with us and as he put it "Because he doesn't have to have me all the time he likes me more" and how I felt such a surge of sorrow for my beautiful son followed with such a surge of love for him. It is true that they had a very difficult relationship and one of the positives of our new mummy and kids life has been the fact that their relationship has improved.

We spoke about what they wanted to do and their hopes and dreams and aspirations. They asked me what I wished for and I realised that I have everything I want, absolutely everything that is essential for my happiness was there, sat around that table. That is one of my truly precious memories. I love them so very, very much, they are my life and my heart, mo chridhe.

auntiegwens guide of how not to date

I couldn't resist this one, and before anyone who's googled in gets humpty, I'm not an expert, so this should be read with a light sprinkling of tongue in cheek but you don't need a full dose of bitter irony for it.

I became single for the second time at the age of forty, which I also referred to as "feckin forty" quite a lot. The first period of singledom ended when I was nineteen. I can truly say that being single never bothered me for the first 19 years, they were a doddle, I am just wondering if the second period of singledom will be as long and as carefree. The dating world of the new millenium is a million miles away from the 20th century one I had experienced.

The first time I was single Michael Jackson was black, George Michael was straight and everyone had pubic hair. Advice in magazines was always about getting boys to call you or how to clean your oven or knit your own boyfriend. They never ever included such articles instructing you on how to give the perfect blowjob or an out of 10 rating for battery operated ladies toys.

I am the last of the generation of good girls. We were the ones who didn't sleep with anyone except our long term boyfriends and it took a serious amount of time before that happened. We were brought up to think that good girls don't. This was the generation before ladettes. Anal sex was only for gay men and a pearl necklace was what you wore on your wedding day.

There was no facebook, internet dating, speed dating, texting (clean, flirty or downright dirty), no mobile phones for phone sex or with cameras to send naked knob shots and no webcams for any kind of virtual and technological shenanigans. If I was going to facilitate someones sexual "happy ending" I was always present.

From November 1985 you can fast forward through a relationship of 21 years and 3 children and get to August 2006 when I technically became single for the 2nd time.

The second time I was single it became clear to me that a 40 year old mother of 3 may not be every one's dream date whereas a nubile 19 year old student could have her pick. There was also the issue of where to meet men, at 19 I would go to the pub after work wearing my student nurses uniform, job done. At 40 I no longer had my uniform and I fear I would have been more Hattie Jaques whereas at 19 year I would have been more Barbara Windsor.

At 19 I had a crowd of mates, all single and available to go out anytime and up for going anywhere. If there was a film I wanted to see or a holiday I wanted to go on, there was always someone to go with. I was never starved of adult company. At 40 all my friends were married and no one is available for nights out because they are too knackered with their kids, their job, the endless cleaning, ferrying offspring to activities etc etc etc. They do not want to go out, that means they have to get out off their jammies, put make up on, persuade husbands or arrange babysitters and then be depressed at how much things cost and how old they are, they want to sleep and who can blame them?

At 19 I was flirty and funny and I did not ever worry about what to say to boys because usually their tongue was in my mouth fairly quickly. At 40 I realised I didn't have a notion of how to talk to men and I always felt faintly ridiculous when someone tried to kiss me.

I don't enjoy dating at all. I accept that if I want the fringe benefits of being in a couple then I have to date. I often feel like I am on a job interview and if I have to explain what I get from blogging 1 more time I will scream.

So I have tried to clarify some points that I have gone a bit wrong on myself, sure there's no point in there being more than 1 of us getting the reputation of being a bad date.

What I have learned - How not to date

Do not talk to men like you talk to your female friends. Be very careful in your choice of conversational topics, they are unlikely to be impressed that you had 3 natural childbirths and that your son weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces, this will make them wonder what effect that had on the part of your anatomy that they may wish to explore at a later stage.

Do not feel free to rip apart their taste in music or the car they drive or what they wear. Even if it kills you to bite your tongue and there is a joke screaming to be made, resist at all costs. Your bitchy sarcastic sense of humour doesn't make you attractive to men at all.

Best not to mention that you read your horoscope every day and that you know what astrological signs are compatable with your Leo (Aries and Leo) and which are bad (Virgo and Cancer) This makes you sound weird.

Do not mention your ex or ex's. This is tricky as my ex is the reason I live where I live and the "Tell me why you left your own country?" chat always happens. This also rules out a lot of good conversational topics (point 1) such as places you've been on holiday, this is usually a good topic and if you can mention your trip to Paris or New York or Barcelona without mentioning who accompanied you, then do your best travelogue.

Do not mention your kids too much. They are not cute and sweet to anyone else except you and your immediate family. Mine are not cute and sweet to anyone, even me.

Some men think women who have cats are worth avoiding (sorry Lisa, maybe only British men think cat lovers are odd) If you love your cat and he sleeps on your bed, you have a photo of him as your screensaver and you speak to your cat in a ickle baby voice and refer to yourself as mummy, don't tell your date.

Don't be tempted to go for the 3rd glass of wine, in my case it's the 2nd. It may make you feel relaxed and you think you are having some flirty banter and witty repartee, the bon mots are tripping silkily and seductively off your tongue and you think you are being so funny that you wonder how much it would cost you to put on a one woman show at the fringe. This is your cue to stop drinking, have a diet coke or a water. You're not being entertaining, you're getting pissed and he either thinks he's getting lucky or he's getting scared.

When your date tells you that you are so sexy he means he is horny. Every man I have ever dated has told me I was the sexiest woman they had ever met. This is pish, I am not remotely sexy, even when I try, which to be fair isn't that often. Do not be fooled.

At the end of the evening do not be surprised if they wish to do more than kiss you on the cheek. They may wish to take the knickers off you. You don't even know each others surnames but some people are more than happy to have knowledge of you that would rival your gynaecologist.

I'm off to The Beautiful House for a week, see you when I get back.

Powerless

I have and can cope with the stuff life throws at me, I refuse to lie down and be a victim of anyone or anything. I will find a solution to problems, make changes and adapt to survive.

This week, someone whom I love very dearly has had news that has floored them. They nor I cannot change the outcome and they are reeling from the shock. My heart aches for them, aches. I would do anything for them not to feel this way.

All I can do is love them and help them accept. We are incredibly lucky that as a family we have love in abundance, please add some of yours to ours and we can surround them in a big blanket of love.

Your dream car ?

Do you think that your choice of car says something about you ? Or do you drive what you do out of necessity and not choice ? I am often rude about BMW drivers and I sometimes think that the bigger and more expensive the car the less courteous the driver. I don't like funny shaped cars either and I wonder why people buy orange or bright yellow cars too. Are they cheaper than regular colour cars ?

So if you saw a little black Mercedes A Class with a Scotland sticker on the bumper and a Grumpy Old Woman window sticker, would you recognize me ? think that about summed me up ? Not even a bit surprised ? Nah, me either.

My car was bought for me, I specified I wanted it to be smallish and high up to help me see where I'm parking (driving is not a major part of my skill set and I have told so many lies about how many attempts it took me to pass my test, I can't even remember the truth, it was probably the first though !!!!) So although I didn't pick it, I love it and very boringly when it needs replacing I will buy exactly the same again, even if I won the lottery I would choose another A Class. So what do you drive and what would be your dream car ?


Incidentally I have been a bit flighty blog wise and have written a post on another site. If you want to read it you can click here and by the magic of the beautiful bloggy fairy you shall be transported henceforth to the other site that allows your auntie to spout. It's a site about being the parent of a teen, it has a new post everyday and there are lots of contributors that you may well know already. If not, go get to know and love them too.

Things I don't understand, the 09 remix.

How can people renting my villa take the curved, corner unit shower door off it's runners ? Actually, don't tell me, I don't like to think of how people treat The Beautiful House when they rent it. I can't begin to imagine what they thought would happen by phoning me at 10.30pm in England, in what way I could assist them, that I could wave my magic landlady wand and all would be well ? They also locked themselves out of their bedroom but fortunately I could fix that by telling them where I keep the spare keys. Sometimes I think people are too stupid to leave the country.

How can it be so unbelievably hot and sunny all week making my classroom hotter than Hades and yet today ON MY DAY OFF it rains ? I had a lovely day planned, a sun lounger had my name upon it, a bikini was awaiting me, a good book begging me to read it and NAE WEANS, a whole day of peace, and it rains, bad Karma, bad.

How can I have spent £3,389.72 IN A MONTH ? Feckity feckity feck, it did include flights to Turkey, some holiday money, the new washing machine, the car service, The Beautiful Son's birthday presents and meal out and all the other regular stuff, but even so. That's the biggest bill your rubbishwithmoney auntie has ever had.

Why do I keep buying lingerie (that will be on next month's credit card bill) when absolutely no one except me sees it? Please look at my fancy new knickers, I'll feel better about spending the money on them, I thought they were divine and would look deadly with my tan, again poor auntiegwen, no one to appreciate the tan and the new knickers.

So to recap, stupid people in my villa and I'll see the unedited version of how they left my house as they leave the day I arrive (next Saturday).

Feckin weather, hot when I'm at work, raining when I'm off.

Credit card bill, Marks and feckin Spencers.

The tumbleweed that is my romantic life.

All together now, poor poor auntie.

PS - don't feel too sorry for me, it's 12.27 now, I'm still in bed reading blogs, posting this and eating a box of Guylian La trufflina' s that were kindly given to me by students.

Not too shabby.

The Last Lesson

If you click on the photo you can read the messages, apologies for the language.

This afternoon I taught my last lesson at school. We don't finish for another week but we go onto next years timetable for the last week of term. This means next week I will be killing time so I will clear my desk and office. So today my nice year 12's had brought in party food and they'd got me presents and cards. The board had been written on too, all messages wishing me luck.

It was very strange to lock my classroom for the last time.

It will be very strange the first time someone asks me what I am and I can't reply "I'm a teacher".