Last month I wrote about how fussy I was and how lazy I was at finding a man, and to that end I asked you to find me one and send him round. Well, I got an email from a chap called Paul. It read
Hello ..
Can i say i have just been looking at your picture and i know this sounds strange but you and my friend Richard would make a great couple.
I dont usually make a point at being cuiped but it would be a shame to miss out on it.
He is 48, single lives in Warwick was married for 25 years and now single for 2 years,
he use to be on a dating site but came off after a few weeks as he thought everyone were players and too many married people on there..
I hope you dont mind me telling you this take care Paul
Now it is extremely kind of Paul to write in and proffer up his friend, any more coming this way or should I just have a go with Richard?
Monday, 28 June 2010
Friday, 25 June 2010
auntiegwens guide to travel
By the magic and good grace of the bloggy fairy by the time you read this I will be en route to The Beautiful House. So your selfless to the core auntie has got her lazy arse into gear and left you something to read whilst I'm gone, which is more than I've done for The Beautiful Children, I haven't even left them food:)
Please read on to be enlightened on your aunties view of travel.
Accept that you will have to spend hours searching for flights that go remotely near where you want to go and at the most inconvenient time to you if you use a budget airline. Stupid o'clock and feck it's early are the only option of the budget traveller. You may want to go to Portugal but end up in Poland, well, if the flights are only a quid, where's the harm? I'm sure Gdansk has a lovely beach, what?
You will have to be prepared for your fingers to bleed over the keyboard as you input your details over and over again, due to increased security you must now give them every personal detail you have and this includes your grannies postcode, your aunties bra size and your dad's inside leg measurement.
They will always sting you for extras such as fuel surcharge, passenger service charge and UK departure tax. You may well be thinking "But what have I paid for?" A seat and some fresh air, I think would be the answer, no promises to go anywhere though. They think it greedy of you to expect that the price of your ticket would include the fuel to fly the feckin plane, a stewardess with bad shoes and far too much make up to look bored and point here, here and here and to ram you with the duty free drinks trolley and of course it is now acceptable to charge you tax to leave the country. I mean, you hardly pay any tax at all in this country, so quit your whining, would you give yourself peace!
It is also par for the course for the airlines to expect you to print off your own tickets, book yourself in online and then print off your boarding card. I fully expect to turn up one day and be asked to fly the plane, I seem to be doing every other job for them.
It will cost you feck off amounts of money to take a suitcase with you, how demanding are you? For the love of God, what do you need clothes and toiletries on your holiday for? be naked and smelly, unleash your inner native.
Remember that a clear plastic bag will stop your lip gloss being a threat to national security, don't forget to make sure you have one to encase your extremely scary and potentially dangerous Juicy Tube. The safety of our nation depends upon it.
Make a pact with your fellow travellers, you know you're going to fall out when you're travelling, accept this, you can bicker and snipe and be as grumpy as you please whilst en route but once you arrive, all sweetness and light and no casting up.
Always, always check with me as to when I am leaving the country, you will be guaranteed to have blazing sunshine for a week, jolly useful if you plan to holiday in the UK. Book your overseas holiday for the day after I return, for it will be tipping it down for at least a fortnight.
See you in July.
Please read on to be enlightened on your aunties view of travel.
Accept that you will have to spend hours searching for flights that go remotely near where you want to go and at the most inconvenient time to you if you use a budget airline. Stupid o'clock and feck it's early are the only option of the budget traveller. You may want to go to Portugal but end up in Poland, well, if the flights are only a quid, where's the harm? I'm sure Gdansk has a lovely beach, what?
You will have to be prepared for your fingers to bleed over the keyboard as you input your details over and over again, due to increased security you must now give them every personal detail you have and this includes your grannies postcode, your aunties bra size and your dad's inside leg measurement.
They will always sting you for extras such as fuel surcharge, passenger service charge and UK departure tax. You may well be thinking "But what have I paid for?" A seat and some fresh air, I think would be the answer, no promises to go anywhere though. They think it greedy of you to expect that the price of your ticket would include the fuel to fly the feckin plane, a stewardess with bad shoes and far too much make up to look bored and point here, here and here and to ram you with the duty free drinks trolley and of course it is now acceptable to charge you tax to leave the country. I mean, you hardly pay any tax at all in this country, so quit your whining, would you give yourself peace!
It is also par for the course for the airlines to expect you to print off your own tickets, book yourself in online and then print off your boarding card. I fully expect to turn up one day and be asked to fly the plane, I seem to be doing every other job for them.
It will cost you feck off amounts of money to take a suitcase with you, how demanding are you? For the love of God, what do you need clothes and toiletries on your holiday for? be naked and smelly, unleash your inner native.
Remember that a clear plastic bag will stop your lip gloss being a threat to national security, don't forget to make sure you have one to encase your extremely scary and potentially dangerous Juicy Tube. The safety of our nation depends upon it.
Make a pact with your fellow travellers, you know you're going to fall out when you're travelling, accept this, you can bicker and snipe and be as grumpy as you please whilst en route but once you arrive, all sweetness and light and no casting up.
Always, always check with me as to when I am leaving the country, you will be guaranteed to have blazing sunshine for a week, jolly useful if you plan to holiday in the UK. Book your overseas holiday for the day after I return, for it will be tipping it down for at least a fortnight.
See you in July.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
And it's all downhill from here...
Remember that lovely cheery post you got last time, where I was all happy? That was the high point.
As always, if middle aged women moaning isn't quite your thing, you can click away now I will always love you, I'm your auntie, a bad auntie at the moment as you'll find out.
At work I am extremely organised, I get into work early, at least an hour before the others and I write down all the things I've got to achieve that day. I work 3 days per week in that job and I am really productive. I have a navy blue and white polka dots notebook that contains all my to do stuff and I use different coloured pens, I have a system and it really works, in meetings, if someone asks me to do something it goes in the notebook and then I tick when it's done, I can look back and tell you what I did three months ago last Wednesday. This works for me. Which is just as well as I have 3 hours spare to do a full weeks work before I go off on annual leave, I am horrendously busy at work presently.
Trying to replicate this getting things done at work success I made a list of all the things I need to do this week at home as I seem to be living several people's lives and am far too busy to be just one person. This was a good move. The bad move was to forget to put things on the list. That was the flaw in my otherwise cunning plan.
I forgot to phone gadget mad dad and wish him a happy fathers day, I'm a bad daughter, I did post cards to him, I also bought cards and presents for the ex mr auntiegwen and I expect I was just all fathers day'd out. Phone call not on the list.
I remembered my godson's birthday and posted card and present on time. I did sign the card auntiegwen, all lower case and with no space, like I type it here. His mother will be surprised at my shocking grammar. But I did sort it out because it was on the list.
I went into work on Monday for a meeting, ON MY DAY OFF. That was definitely on the list, so I wouldn't forget. Me no likey, it's my day off and it was really sunny. I had to get dressed and be indoors when I wanted to be semi undressed outdoors. When I got there I found that my boss had been to a big meeting with the council. They'd called everyone in to warn them that even though they'd agreed funding until April, they were doing an urgent review in September and someone was going to lose money. They are our only source of funding, if that goes, so does my job. I like my job, I don't write much about it here but I genuinely feel it's the right job for me. I now have to decide whether to start looking for another job, because unlike my colleagues, this is not a second salary, it's the only salary. And my kids are used to eating/wearing clothes/living etc.
I forgot my nieces birthday. My sister has 2 daughters and I forget each of their birthdays every single year. This annoys the crap out of my sister. I am a bad auntie. Even though Abbie's birthday is a few days after my son's and Alanah's is a few days after BBD's I still forget, you'd think their cards and presents to my kids would trigger me to remember but nope. I didn't have it on the list.
I forgot to go to the dentist, even though it was on the kitchen calendar, it wasn't on the list.
I happily ticked off, making the appointment for the solicitor, phoning the pension people, paying in cheques at the bank, getting money to go on holiday, handing over register and diary and work to be done to my friend Susan who will be covering for me next Tuesday at my other job, doing a form for a school trip, getting money for packed lunches, form to have locker deposit returned. All happily ticked off as I worked my happy little way down the list.
I failed to fill in the form for my son's school trip, not because of any list, just because someone ate my beautiful boy and left me with a 6 foot lump of Kevin the teenager. He was picked, 1 of 40 kids, to go on a trip to Alton Towers due to excellent attendance, work rate and behaviour. And my wannabe bad ass won't go, because all the good kids are going. Spare me please.
And it's only Wednesday. Send me love or gin. Or both.
As always, if middle aged women moaning isn't quite your thing, you can click away now I will always love you, I'm your auntie, a bad auntie at the moment as you'll find out.
At work I am extremely organised, I get into work early, at least an hour before the others and I write down all the things I've got to achieve that day. I work 3 days per week in that job and I am really productive. I have a navy blue and white polka dots notebook that contains all my to do stuff and I use different coloured pens, I have a system and it really works, in meetings, if someone asks me to do something it goes in the notebook and then I tick when it's done, I can look back and tell you what I did three months ago last Wednesday. This works for me. Which is just as well as I have 3 hours spare to do a full weeks work before I go off on annual leave, I am horrendously busy at work presently.
Trying to replicate this getting things done at work success I made a list of all the things I need to do this week at home as I seem to be living several people's lives and am far too busy to be just one person. This was a good move. The bad move was to forget to put things on the list. That was the flaw in my otherwise cunning plan.
I forgot to phone gadget mad dad and wish him a happy fathers day, I'm a bad daughter, I did post cards to him, I also bought cards and presents for the ex mr auntiegwen and I expect I was just all fathers day'd out. Phone call not on the list.
I remembered my godson's birthday and posted card and present on time. I did sign the card auntiegwen, all lower case and with no space, like I type it here. His mother will be surprised at my shocking grammar. But I did sort it out because it was on the list.
I went into work on Monday for a meeting, ON MY DAY OFF. That was definitely on the list, so I wouldn't forget. Me no likey, it's my day off and it was really sunny. I had to get dressed and be indoors when I wanted to be semi undressed outdoors. When I got there I found that my boss had been to a big meeting with the council. They'd called everyone in to warn them that even though they'd agreed funding until April, they were doing an urgent review in September and someone was going to lose money. They are our only source of funding, if that goes, so does my job. I like my job, I don't write much about it here but I genuinely feel it's the right job for me. I now have to decide whether to start looking for another job, because unlike my colleagues, this is not a second salary, it's the only salary. And my kids are used to eating/wearing clothes/living etc.
I forgot my nieces birthday. My sister has 2 daughters and I forget each of their birthdays every single year. This annoys the crap out of my sister. I am a bad auntie. Even though Abbie's birthday is a few days after my son's and Alanah's is a few days after BBD's I still forget, you'd think their cards and presents to my kids would trigger me to remember but nope. I didn't have it on the list.
I forgot to go to the dentist, even though it was on the kitchen calendar, it wasn't on the list.
I happily ticked off, making the appointment for the solicitor, phoning the pension people, paying in cheques at the bank, getting money to go on holiday, handing over register and diary and work to be done to my friend Susan who will be covering for me next Tuesday at my other job, doing a form for a school trip, getting money for packed lunches, form to have locker deposit returned. All happily ticked off as I worked my happy little way down the list.
I failed to fill in the form for my son's school trip, not because of any list, just because someone ate my beautiful boy and left me with a 6 foot lump of Kevin the teenager. He was picked, 1 of 40 kids, to go on a trip to Alton Towers due to excellent attendance, work rate and behaviour. And my wannabe bad ass won't go, because all the good kids are going. Spare me please.
And it's only Wednesday. Send me love or gin. Or both.
Monday, 21 June 2010
Priceless
Sometimes someone in your life does something so sweet and generous and kind that it makes you smile for the rest of the day.
Yesterday my friend Neil rang me.
Just to let me hear Sharleen Spiteri live at Hampden Park.
And that is just one of the many reasons why he is my best matey boy.
And always will be.
Yesterday my friend Neil rang me.
Just to let me hear Sharleen Spiteri live at Hampden Park.
And that is just one of the many reasons why he is my best matey boy.
And always will be.
Friday, 18 June 2010
Happy Birthday to the boy I love
Today my beautiful son is 15. This has been a year of firsts for him. He started high school (he's at a 14-19 college, we have a 3 school system in this county), he has had his first spots, his first exams (when he remembered to go) he even has a GCSE today, he's most disgruntled about my bad family planning and also his first girlfriend, it's not a secret we all read about it on the book of face.
I'm very proud to have made him, he's extremely kind, screamingly funny, useful at getting things down from a high shelf and I have it on very good authority, he's a hot boy.
It's amazing the difference a year makes, in the post I wrote last year for his birthday, he wasn't that much taller than me, see HERE and this year he towers above me.
He is now and always will be mo chridhe, my heart.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
How the hell did that happen?
Ten minutes ago I held her hand and took her to school for the first time, off she went to Flora Stevenson Primary in Edinburgh. She had her beautiful long dark hair in a school hair band, a proper leather schoolbag and a blazer. She had a navy pinafore, a school cardigan and a shirt and tie. In the cloakroom she changed out of her black leather Start-rite Mary Janes and into black plimsoles and added a navyblue and white checked smock over her uniform to keep it neat.
Today she left in skinny jeans and a Jack Wills t shirt, the long hair still there and with a hairclip shaped like a button. Converse on her feet, the Mary Janes still beloved but much higher of heel and saved for nights out. She has a pen in her back pocket ready to sit the penultimate of her A levels. Please send all positive vibes today for her and on Friday for her last ever school exam and because of that, her last day at school.
How strange does that feel?
Saturday, 12 June 2010
The Beautiful Son - genius.
School has changed the way they do their exams, in some of TBS's GCSE subjects they now take half the GCSE this year in year 10 and take the other half next year in year 11.
TBS and his maddest mate Rhys Daniel arrived 15 minutes late for their year 10 graphics exam, in their defence, they had an exam timetable telling them to go to the sports hall at 1.15pm which they duly did.
The exam lady gave them a bit of a row but when she was shown their timetable, there was a bit of to ing and fro ing and then they were allowed into the hall and told they would have an extra 15 minutes on at the end as it wasn't their fault.
School in their infinite wisdom have got half the hall sitting year 10 graphics and on the other side, year 11 graphics.
TBS and his mate are shown to the wrong side and given the wrong paper.
Rhys Daniel starts to read the paper realises it's year 11 and too hard for him, sticks his hand up and tells and gets moved to the year 10 side and given the correct paper. Like a regular human would.
My son? of course I couldn't have normal weans could I? he says nothing, not a word, doesn't want to make a fuss, just has a crack at the year 11 paper. At least half an hour passes then Rhys notices that my son is still on the wrong side of the hall with the wrong paper and puts his hand up and tells the invigilator, who duly comes over, ascertains that the bold boy is actually a year 10, brings him over to the correct side and finally after nearly an hour, himself gets the correct paper.
The worrying thing is, despite only having just over half an hour, he finished it along with the rest who started on time. Not holding out much hope for a pass in graphic design...
TBS and his maddest mate Rhys Daniel arrived 15 minutes late for their year 10 graphics exam, in their defence, they had an exam timetable telling them to go to the sports hall at 1.15pm which they duly did.
The exam lady gave them a bit of a row but when she was shown their timetable, there was a bit of to ing and fro ing and then they were allowed into the hall and told they would have an extra 15 minutes on at the end as it wasn't their fault.
School in their infinite wisdom have got half the hall sitting year 10 graphics and on the other side, year 11 graphics.
TBS and his mate are shown to the wrong side and given the wrong paper.
Rhys Daniel starts to read the paper realises it's year 11 and too hard for him, sticks his hand up and tells and gets moved to the year 10 side and given the correct paper. Like a regular human would.
My son? of course I couldn't have normal weans could I? he says nothing, not a word, doesn't want to make a fuss, just has a crack at the year 11 paper. At least half an hour passes then Rhys notices that my son is still on the wrong side of the hall with the wrong paper and puts his hand up and tells the invigilator, who duly comes over, ascertains that the bold boy is actually a year 10, brings him over to the correct side and finally after nearly an hour, himself gets the correct paper.
The worrying thing is, despite only having just over half an hour, he finished it along with the rest who started on time. Not holding out much hope for a pass in graphic design...
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Not to be missed...
Dearest PR people for holiday companies,
I would like to offer you an unbelievable opportunity. Your selfless to the core auntie has cleared the first 2 weeks in August for you, ready and willing to undertake a review of a holiday. I have a selection of offspring plus offspring's friends and romantic partners and not forgetting elderly parents . I have a lovely assortment of friends and fellow bloggers. A great cross section of society to be sure.
The family and friends von auntiegwen will happily go anywhere you send us and review your holidays. We will go by plane, train, car or boat, we will be rigorous in our testing of your facilities, should you wish any alcohol testing EBD's your girl, spa treatments or testing sun loungers that'll be me, beauty products or fashion would be Hot Boy, Xbox or other gaming type things, step up The Beautiful Son, Beautiful Baby Daughter is a making/crafting/ artistic sort, excellent at kids club type reviews. Food could easily be anyone of them, veggie and vegan friendly testing also undertaken. Any gadgets, well do I not have gadget mad dad? things to occupy pensioners who don't like foreign and get very very stressed would be the beautiful mother. Are we not the most versatile bunch?
I solemnly promise as many posts full of witticisms about your undoubtedly fabulous holidays as needed, which will be read by the most discerning of blog readers who I'm sure, are most admiring of my taste in all things and would be happy to rush out and spend their hard earned sponduliks on holidays recommended by my goood self.
Although not always thought of as a Mummy blogger due to the high feck count and numerous mentions of shagging David Tennant, may I take this chance to reassure nervous PR types, I can go for hours without swearing and with nary a thought of David crossing my dirty mind. In my defence I have been a Mummy for a very long time, 18 full years, I have 3 great kids, none of whom have asbo's or fillings, and some of them even have qualifications, not to mention the fact that all 3 can walk, talk and go to the toilet all by their own self. I thank you for your kind applause. I can do the mummy blogger thing, nae bother to your auntie.
This post was prompted by The Beautiful Sons naked envy of other bloggers children getting to go places, do stuff and then review them. His actual words were (remember, said in an old man Scottish accent) "Could ye no write a better blog, marmee and get us some of the free stuff"
I would like to offer you an unbelievable opportunity. Your selfless to the core auntie has cleared the first 2 weeks in August for you, ready and willing to undertake a review of a holiday. I have a selection of offspring plus offspring's friends and romantic partners and not forgetting elderly parents . I have a lovely assortment of friends and fellow bloggers. A great cross section of society to be sure.
The family and friends von auntiegwen will happily go anywhere you send us and review your holidays. We will go by plane, train, car or boat, we will be rigorous in our testing of your facilities, should you wish any alcohol testing EBD's your girl, spa treatments or testing sun loungers that'll be me, beauty products or fashion would be Hot Boy, Xbox or other gaming type things, step up The Beautiful Son, Beautiful Baby Daughter is a making/crafting/ artistic sort, excellent at kids club type reviews. Food could easily be anyone of them, veggie and vegan friendly testing also undertaken. Any gadgets, well do I not have gadget mad dad? things to occupy pensioners who don't like foreign and get very very stressed would be the beautiful mother. Are we not the most versatile bunch?
I solemnly promise as many posts full of witticisms about your undoubtedly fabulous holidays as needed, which will be read by the most discerning of blog readers who I'm sure, are most admiring of my taste in all things and would be happy to rush out and spend their hard earned sponduliks on holidays recommended by my goood self.
Although not always thought of as a Mummy blogger due to the high feck count and numerous mentions of shagging David Tennant, may I take this chance to reassure nervous PR types, I can go for hours without swearing and with nary a thought of David crossing my dirty mind. In my defence I have been a Mummy for a very long time, 18 full years, I have 3 great kids, none of whom have asbo's or fillings, and some of them even have qualifications, not to mention the fact that all 3 can walk, talk and go to the toilet all by their own self. I thank you for your kind applause. I can do the mummy blogger thing, nae bother to your auntie.
This post was prompted by The Beautiful Sons naked envy of other bloggers children getting to go places, do stuff and then review them. His actual words were (remember, said in an old man Scottish accent) "Could ye no write a better blog, marmee and get us some of the free stuff"
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Me, me, me and me again
I am truly shocking at keeping up with the awards and tags given to me. If I've missed doing your tag, just mail and let me know, my middle aged memory is not what it was and if I've forgotten my homework, just remind me. Apologies for all delays etc, I will always get around to them, eventually. As with all these things, they're open to all who read, I'd be interested to read all of your responses. Please have an award, mine came love from Tuppence.
I know that Looking for Blue Sky definitely tagged me for 15 confessions and Tuppence wanted 7 unknown things (I can't believe I have anything unknown left!) Gigi also wanted my 5 years.
15 confessions
I'm scared of missing planes.
My son is screamingly funny.
I hate unfairness.
I don't understand the Clyde Tunnel, I understand tunnels per se but I can't figure out where the water is near that one. I am ashamed of how many people have explained (in tones you'd use on a 6 year old) to me.
As well as this, I am trying to sort out flights for my parents to come to Turkey with me in October, this is probably the most stressful thing I do in my life, I am my parents own personal travel agent, they are SO unbelievably hard to please in this respect only.
Before I die I would like to shag David Tennant
I can make a fabulously sinful Baileys cheesecake, I am ace at cakes and puds, naff all else in the culinary department.
My default personality is happy, it takes a huge amount to get me down.
I can't play any musical instruments.
I think you should listen to more indie music, glamorous,indie rock n roll is what I need. Extra points if you name the song and band.
I think you shouldn't listen to anyone who reads The Daily Mail or as my mate Matthew at Abode 123 calls it, The Daily Heil.
I would like to learn how to manage my money properly, I am truly pants with cash, all them years married to a banker and I have not a notion of money.
I particularly like to eat any semi spicy veggie food.
I drink coffee by the gallon, pink and gin in the summer, red in the winter and fizzy at the drop of a hat.
When I was little I watched Mary Mungo and Midge and Mr Ben.
7 Unknown Things
I have never been off work ill in my life, I am disgustingly healthy.
I still have a teddy my aunt bought me the day I was born, he is called Michael.
The first album I bought was Parallel Lines by Blondie.
I was bought a rabbit as a 40th birthday present.
I don't like patterned or coloured bed linen, mine is always plain white.
I'm usually always late, except for work, I'm always early for work.
I have a really filthy mind.
Five years
5 years ago I was living here, my children were 13, 10 and 8, I was married to my husband of 17 years, I was buying my holiday home abroad, I was working as a pre school teacher and as a childcare lecturer. I was probably the same size as I am now but it was about 8 months before I took up running, I was blonde (I have no clue why either but I was for a few years in my 30's) I was unhappy and it was the last year before my husband and I split up.
5 years from now , my children will have left home, I have no idea where I will be living, will I still be here? or will I leave as my children hopefully will all be at university or be working (the eldest anyway) Jeez, that's a thought, exciting to think it'll be all change in 5 years.
5 snacks I eat regularly, I don't eat snacks, I'm fat enough thank you
If I was a billionaire, I would buy somewhere nice to live, take care of friends and family, buy a new car, have my teeth straightened and whitened, have liposuction, breast perky uppery surgery, buy a Chanel handbag 2.55, and I'd book a gorgeous big island with fab accommodation, invite all my friends (yes, all of you too) and have a great holiday and I'd pay The Killers to come do a private gig for us.
And if I'd any money left over I'd see if I could buy David Tennant
Monday, 7 June 2010
The Beautiful Son - fashion guru
My son was not terribly interested in fashion. He used to wear anything he was given, not a bother on him, the good old days, when clothes were cheap and Mummy was happy. Then he got slightly fussier, he wanted a say in what he wore, fair play, he is now fully Jack Wills'd up. I am skint. Enough said.
He's not quite so sure about what women wear though, he has a bemused and confused look when asked for his opinion of an outfit, you can see his wee brain trying to come up with something useful but as he can't play Call of Duty on it or eat it, he's not terribly interested.
He did ask me the other day if I'd slept in my running kit, no dearest son, I get up and leave at 6 am for my run so I get back in time to spend from 7am to 7.45am getting you out of bed, with a sliding scale of irritated voice in proportion.
But the best one was on Friday night, I'm dressed to go out in my new white and silver maxi dress and silver sequinned fit flops (I know, I'm sad) and he looked at me with the bemused and confused look and said "Is that a nightie or are you getting married?"
Gok Wan is shitting himself.
He's not quite so sure about what women wear though, he has a bemused and confused look when asked for his opinion of an outfit, you can see his wee brain trying to come up with something useful but as he can't play Call of Duty on it or eat it, he's not terribly interested.
He did ask me the other day if I'd slept in my running kit, no dearest son, I get up and leave at 6 am for my run so I get back in time to spend from 7am to 7.45am getting you out of bed, with a sliding scale of irritated voice in proportion.
But the best one was on Friday night, I'm dressed to go out in my new white and silver maxi dress and silver sequinned fit flops (I know, I'm sad) and he looked at me with the bemused and confused look and said "Is that a nightie or are you getting married?"
Gok Wan is shitting himself.
Friday, 4 June 2010
Normal middle aged Pollyanna service is resumed
Today I am feeling much more cheerful. Thank you for all the kind comments, texts, emails, and all round virtual hugs and love to see if I was okay. I am, thank you, just a touch of the Greta's.
Today I am feeling so much better, I actually got up and out at 6.45am and ran for 4 miles, without even having to walk the big hill that defeats me every feckin time.
Regular readers know of my strange obsession with my horoscope. Today I am liking
the one that says I can choose between 2 people. Not liking the one that says I will be cross and shouty.
And really liking that Mystic Meg says I will meet someone for the first time and know this will be the person I will marry.
Oh and I'm going out tonight...
Today I am feeling so much better, I actually got up and out at 6.45am and ran for 4 miles, without even having to walk the big hill that defeats me every feckin time.
Regular readers know of my strange obsession with my horoscope. Today I am liking
the one that says I can choose between 2 people. Not liking the one that says I will be cross and shouty.
And really liking that Mystic Meg says I will meet someone for the first time and know this will be the person I will marry.
Oh and I'm going out tonight...
Thursday, 3 June 2010
Unsettled
I am rather unsettled at present. I appear to have acquired a new member of my household. This person seems to be always here, I always seem to have a house full of the childrens friends but this one seems to be here all the time.
They often sleep over and this means I have to ensure the coast is clear before I go down to the kitchen in my pants to make my coffee.
When I want to lie on my sunlounger with my fatness overspilling a bikini I feel I can't, so I sit demurely in a deckchair seething in my sundress.
When I want to watch something on TV they are there, making their presence felt.
I am retreating often and oftener to my bedroom. As I retreat, my child and the extra one will come find me and chat to me, so I'm not on my own.
I crave solitude in a way I haven't since I was married, I dream and yearn for a house empty for a full 24 hours where I can be undisturbed and unspoken to.
And I feel hideously guilty about this, I have never discouraged the childrens friends from coming and now every day I chalk up the extra presence in my mental "I'm so hard done to" tally. I neither like nor dislike this person, I can see their good points but I can see their flaws, I am strangely ambivilent to them.
And now I genuinely can say I know how my children felt when I started to introduce my ex partner, a year after their dad and I split. They did not choose to have him there, I did. I hoped just because I loved him and enjoyed him being there, they would too. I saw him as adding to our dynamic not unsettling it and changing it. I wanted them to be happy for me because I was happy and as they loved me they'd want me to be happy again. I thought it would just take time for them to adjust. I expected and hoped for all of these things from children.
But they didn't and I ended it and I have never introduced them to anyone else since.
And now having had a slight taste of my own medicine, I am ashamed of how I kept bringing him here, trying to get people to like him and forcing him upon them. I am ashamed of trying to make my children feel happiness when they couldn't. I am so sorry that you had those 6 months and it took me so long to realise how you felt.
Mea Culpa.
They often sleep over and this means I have to ensure the coast is clear before I go down to the kitchen in my pants to make my coffee.
When I want to lie on my sunlounger with my fatness overspilling a bikini I feel I can't, so I sit demurely in a deckchair seething in my sundress.
When I want to watch something on TV they are there, making their presence felt.
I am retreating often and oftener to my bedroom. As I retreat, my child and the extra one will come find me and chat to me, so I'm not on my own.
I crave solitude in a way I haven't since I was married, I dream and yearn for a house empty for a full 24 hours where I can be undisturbed and unspoken to.
And I feel hideously guilty about this, I have never discouraged the childrens friends from coming and now every day I chalk up the extra presence in my mental "I'm so hard done to" tally. I neither like nor dislike this person, I can see their good points but I can see their flaws, I am strangely ambivilent to them.
And now I genuinely can say I know how my children felt when I started to introduce my ex partner, a year after their dad and I split. They did not choose to have him there, I did. I hoped just because I loved him and enjoyed him being there, they would too. I saw him as adding to our dynamic not unsettling it and changing it. I wanted them to be happy for me because I was happy and as they loved me they'd want me to be happy again. I thought it would just take time for them to adjust. I expected and hoped for all of these things from children.
But they didn't and I ended it and I have never introduced them to anyone else since.
And now having had a slight taste of my own medicine, I am ashamed of how I kept bringing him here, trying to get people to like him and forcing him upon them. I am ashamed of trying to make my children feel happiness when they couldn't. I am so sorry that you had those 6 months and it took me so long to realise how you felt.
Mea Culpa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
