The Best News

I was shopping in town today with the Beautiful Baby Daughter, it should be in capitals for emphasis, it was EXTREME SHOPPING, not a child for half measures. After five feckin hours I truly, was losing the will to live. I have been relieved of almost £200, have been cajoled into hot chocolates and rocky roads in Starbucks, Happy Meals (I wasn't terribly happy) in McDonalds and the thing that really fecking annoyed me a £3.90 Oreo milkshake in Coffee Republic, I could hear her dads voice saying "Christ, I could have bought a pint for that"

Near the end someone handed me this leaflet



Ooh thinks the auntie...

I've won the lottery
David Tennant is actually going to shag me
Chanel handbags are being given away free to all 43 year old women for being 43
Fruit and Nut Toblerones are now calorie free
The anti wrinkle fairy has come and kissed me, I now look 25 again

These are just the top 5 of my little fantasy daydreams, so with great excitement, the auntie did, with fingers a quiver, open the leaflet to see which of her top 5 wishes had been granted and read...



Which is lovely news, I know and it's not that I'm not grateful but would it be so difficult to give me one of the top 5 as well? It would, okay then, I'll try and be less shallow and more grateful.

A good heart these days, is hard to find

Last week I spend a huge amount of time and care writing about my friend. I'm only sorry you can't see it for twas ace (for writing that I do, not for proper writers obv). I was writing a profile for her to put on a dating site and I can assure you even I wanted to date her after reading it, she has been overwhelmed at the response it has had.
She was spurred on to do this by someone else we know meeting a fantastic guy and being blissfully loved up, I now know several couples who've met via t'internets and they all seem pretty happy. As my (blissfully happy with new man) friend said to me "Prince Charming won't drop out of a clear blue sky or arrive at your door in a taxi, you have to work at finding him" I didn't care for her tone, quite frankly.

And why can't Prince Charming arrive at my door in a taxi, that seems like a fairly good proposition to a lazy article like me.

So after a very witty and charming description of my very witty and charming friend we had to think about what she wanted in a man and from a relationship, she seems very open to most things and quite low in expectations.

Unlike her pal.


Unfortunately, I can only conclude that I am WAY fussier than any normal human and I'm getting even fussier all the time, my friends are very scathing about it.

A long time ago I did a fantasy new man list about what I wanted in a new partner, you can read it HERE

Oh yes, a tremendously long and detailed list of what I wanted, now I am ashamed to say I probably still want most of those things but it has been joined in unholy matrimony by the list of things I don't want, just as detailed.

And you know that your auntie's going to share that list with you now, don't you?

What I don't want

Someone who's never had children, even if they say they don't want any now, they may in the future change their mind - whilst that ship has not sailed for me, the captain of SS auntiegwen (and God bless all who sail in her) has pulled up the anchor and is steering that boat out of the harbour of weans onto the calm seas of nae weans. I am not returning to port, for anyone.

I don't want anyone with young children - my days of encyclopedic Postman Pat knowledge are thankfully receeding into what is left of my memory. I have no wish to be involved in the potty training/toddler taming/de lousing of anyone elses child. My dues have been well paid, this will be the only account I have credit in.

I don't want anyone with teenagers - thank you, I have 3 of my own, that's plenty.

I don't want anyone with grandchildren - I just can't, it would make me feel even older than I already do. And we all know I'm only a Per Una cardie away and I have already succumbed to the Cath.

I don't want anyone in a different decade to me, in your 40's only please

I just cannot do another IT consultant, management consultant or BMW driver, why oh why are they so attracted to me?

I am very sniffy about starsigns too - yes I agree, I am completely mental.

No smokers - I can cope with a sneaky smoke on a night out but not an everyday smoker. Yes, I did used to be a smoker, enough said.

No stupid music fans - they must have at least heard of 50% of what's on my ipod and go to at least 4 decent gigs per year.

They must not dress like an old man - fine line, won't cope with skinny jeans but can't be attracted to clothes for comfort (I know, me that lives in her fitflops, I didn't say this was in anyway rational or reciprocal)

I could go on but I'm sure you're getting the drift, fussy is the politest term for me, you may wish to add another of your own choosing.

There cannot be a man in the country who would tick all the boxes I now have, however if you have a mate, brother, colleague you think might fit the bill, send him to me, I'll pay the taxi...

Or if you're David Tennant, it's just a stupid list, come in, why yes, it is very hot in here, just take your clothes off...

Confession Time

I'm not quite sure how it happened but it did. I'm not proud but I am slightly puzzled at myself. I had resisted, despite many others indulging, I had managed to to abstain.

But it's happened now.

Should I tell you and fess it all up? Have I disappointed you? Will you forgive me? Feel free to make me do 10 Hail Holy Queens or as many Glory Be's as you think fit.

Or just shake your head and say "I would never have expected it of you, I just won't feel the same way about you now" or call me a "bad auntie" or make me sit on the naughty step for 43 minutes.

On Saturday...


















I went into Cath Kidston and I bought a peg bag, some oven gloves and a tea towel and a luggage tag.

When I could have bought shoes from LK Bennett or Jimmy Choo.

When I could have bought fancy knickers from Agent Provocateur or Myla.

When I could have bought jeans from All Saints or Jack Wills.

Oh no, I bought retro kitchen porn from Cath Kidston, a shop where they provide a handy basket for men to leave their balls in at the front door.

You have no need to berate me, I have let myself down, I am on the way to being an official grown up, I am one Per Una cardigan away from being past it.

I'll have to organise a big night out with drinking, sneaky smoking and a bit of flirting to keep this reckless middle aged streak at bay.

Tan 90 Squared.

When I was 18 I couldn't wait to leave home, my legs were just a blur as they went through my parents front door and rushed me into my new life. I studied, I worked, I saved and by the time I was 21 had a mortgage, at 21 !!!!!!. Looking back I was so much more independent and grown up than the Eldest Beautiful Daughter.

My child has no desire whatsoever to leave home, not a notion. She is going to live in the Halls of Residence because I say she has to and I have filled in the forms myself as I know my child too well. Far too easy to leave it too late and miss the deadline.

The relationship we have is so different to the relationship I had with my own mother, I do love my mother but I was never close to her in the way my children and I are close. We talk, we laugh, we actively want to spend time together, we are compatible. We fit each other. I am truly, truly blessed, I genuinely enjoy all of my children's company. I won the parenting lottery because my kids are ace, no matter what happens to me in life, whatever sadness or shit stuff befalls us, we have the big love, we are the real deal. Tan 90 squared.

My house is an easy place to live, I don't have many rules, I haven't needed many. Friends are welcome anytime if they don't impact on anyone, it's big enough that you can find somewhere to make noise and not affect the rest of us. The cooking's a bit dodgy but it's clean and comfortable and it's happy. I don't say no for the sake of it, if I do refuse something I state my reasons and they have always been accepted without question. I am fair and I am consistent but the last word is always mine ( much to BBD chagrin.)

Maybe that's why my child doesn't have the desire to leave, I had little privacy at home, I wasn't allowed friends round never mind to stay over, I wouldn't be allowed to drink and my clothing was always criticised. My 18 year old daughter is a young adult, she drinks, she stays out late, she has a boyfriend and she wears what she likes, she can do that at home, without interference.

I am sending my child away, she truly would rather stay at home and commute the 45 miles each way, but I want her to have the experience of looking after herself and managing her own time, life and money. Because at home I tend to do it, I'll check the calendar, fill the fridge, do the laundry, drive and drop off and facilitate things for her, because I have to do it for the younger 2.

The thought of not seeing her every day is incredibly sad for me because I do love her and enjoy being with her, she's very funny and quick witted, both of us tend to look for a chance of a quip and it's just easy to be with her. But I am resolute, she has to move out to give her the experience of living without me.

Yesterday I was meant to be on a training course but it was cancelled but I'd arranged for the other 2 to be looked after all day anyway so she and I drove to Bicester and spent the easiest 8 hours together, we shopped, talked non stop and laughed so much. In the car I was telling her that as she was born 2 weeks too early she had to go have phototherapy for her jaundice, we were laughing about the babies going on a sunbed imagery and how even though the midwives were telling me to go back to bed and have a sleep, I wouldn't leave her on her own. I was in hospital for 3 days and every night I was offered for her to go in the nursery so I could sleep and I'd refuse and I could not leave her.

Then she said "Finally an explanation!"

You may move out darling girl but I will always be there, like our song says "Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear."

Mummy has no money, it's not funny, in the university world.

If you have children going off to the place where they take all your money and teach your child to drink, (I believe some people call them universities?...), come right in, pull up a chair, pour yourself a large gin and we will compare war stories.

If your children are younger, you can either watch and learn from my mistakes and my complete inability to financially plan for the future or you could, with a click of your fingers, retreat to mummy denial land, which was always my preferred option.

In September my child will be treated as an adult, this means that any money I did get for her stops. Her child benefit goes and her father does not have to pay a penny towards her upkeep. I could too, I could say, off you pop, you're on your own now, you're a grown up hahahahaha (I put that in for anyone who knows the EBD to save them the trouble of laughing) Her part time job will have to end as she's away from home and as she has a completely full timetable of 9 to 5 Mon to Fri with just a few hours off on a Wednesday afternoon, I'm not sure she could cope with a full schedule of lectures, plus studying plus working, so I don't imagine she'll have a job in year 1.

C'est tres tres tres expensive...

Her tuition fees are just shy of £3,300 per year.

Her accomodation in the Halls of residence is £93 per week. Approximately £3,700 per year.

She will need £60 per week for food, transport, toiletries, tights, clothes, mobile phone and generally living, approximately £2,400.

I reckon it will cost me about £9,000, yep, nine grand for her first year.

I have saved some money for this, she will take a tuition fee loan for 3 grand of this but the rest will come from the Bank of Mum and Dad, courtesy of me taking on an extra days lecturing to help fund this.

And what is ripping her knitting the most? She got her final information pack and it included her set text list for her first year and her CRB application form. She was whinging and whining about how her books came to £146 something on Amazon and that they wanted £36 for her CRB disclosure.

Yep, that's the real kicker, that last £182.

Grumpity grump grump

I was going to blog about the election and give you the full benefit of my political ignorance. I'm sure you only pop in to find out my views on what's wrong with the world and having no knowledge of a particular topic seems not to deter me a jot from bumping my gums. I really do think I should be the next prime minister, my campaign would be aimed at making middle aged womens life slightly nicer and I'd make it the law that you'd get a free pair of shoes on your birthday. Should I pursue this dream?

Instead of which you are going to have to listen to me moan.

Today I shall be moaning mainly about my weight. I used to be a normal sized auntie, now I am a fat auntie, a getting fatter by the day auntie. To curb this trait I am eating less and moving around more. I have my pedometer and I am diligent in my daily steps, I have given up chocolate and cake and biscuits and all the nice things that make my life slightly better. I am not eating more than 1500 calories per day, the children report that I am less fun and more irritable. What is not happening is that I am fitting into my jeans. Fitting into the jeans is the only reason to go without cake.

So, in a fit of madness I bought a set of bathroom scales, thinking it would help me monitor the progress. I was officially grumped out when I realised how feckin heavy I am. I am the smallest person in this house and the heaviest.

Despite all the stepping and the no cakes and being good, I've lost nothing, that's right, feck all. How depressing is that?

So now I know, I am officially fat, with grey hair, wrinkles and a grumpy disposition. I have turned into Gordon Brown.

Untitled

A debit from my account, £300, a cheque written long ago and almost forgotten.

A letter saying the papers I signed in December have been returned and filed at court.

And so it begins.