auntiegwensdiary

Isn't it strange

2012-01-28T03:41:00.005Z

... how years after your precious baby has learned to sleep through the night, at weekends you are sometimes still kept awake and pacing the floor by them? Or rather you are kept awake by pacing the floor waiting for them to get home. I'm not pacing the floor with a slightly inebriated 6 foot 3 lump of useless upon my shoulder, that would be silly. Not to mention, difficult.

... and how there is a mummy and son phone failure after midnight? O2 and BlackBerry should really get on that. My son never gets any of the texts or calls I make that start around 1am and continue at 15 minute intervals, they all arrive together once he is on his walk home. It really is most peculiar.

... not to mention that my hearing is also impaired on these kind of nights. He is definitely not slurring his words. I am just getting old and deaf.

... that even though it's 3.30am he isn't late, if I don't tell him each time he uses the front door what time his arse is expected back through it, he's not late, he's curfew free. Despite the fact we have these conversations at least fortnightly and the weekend and school holiday curfew always has been, is now and shall remain 1am.

... I am the only Mummy in the world that is concerned about what time their teenager gets home and how much they've had to drink and what effect all this partaaaying has on their health, not to mention their A levels. Apparently no one else's parents care. I am clearly quite deranged through lack of fun in my own life.

...that I worry so much about my child, when he is ALWAYS the most sober one there. He is never as bad as Johnny/Craig/Rachel/Mel and in this instance Imran.

...that I am not proud of my child's public spiritedness and caring nature, clearly he is late home because he is looking after Johnny/Craig/Rachel/Mel and in this case, Imran.

... that genuinely he appears sorry that I am awake but he continues in his mad notion that it is a choice for me to stay awake and worry. Trust me son, I would so much rather be in my warm bed asleep than pacing and worrying. I look like a caricature of a 1970's wife waiting on a husband's return from the pub, I have the dressing gown and sheepskin slippers off to a tee, only the curlers and fag dangling from my lip are missing.

... and now he is fast asleep in bed and I am still awake, and I would lay money on the fact that as soon as I get to sleep, I will be awakened a minute later when his 6am paper round alarm goes off.

... that I still love him. And some days or more factually 3,30 am's that can be slighly more of a challenge.

Things I still don't understand the 2012 remix

2012-01-11T00:09:00.005Z

Hello my lovely readers, a very happy 2012 to you all. Vaguely bemused and confused auntie service is logging on for 2012, in fact this is my 5th Bloggiversary, auntie has been having her say since 2007!!!!

So much has changed in those 5 years, looking back at the photos I see how much my kids have grown and sadly how much I have too :( I used to be a very thin auntie, now I look like I ate the 2007 auntie.

Still, selfless and public spirited to my very core, here I am again, making you feel better about your own life. Ta da - let me present to you - things that still I don't understand...

Why every Hogmanay (December 31st for those of you who are not the chosen ones) I go mental cleaning my house. It has to be spotlessly clean and tidy by midnight so it stays clean and tidy the whole year. It does work, my house is spotlessly clean and tidy every year, on December 31st. The other 364 days it reverts to it's usual slum conditions.

Why there is no real difference between my son and my best friends 5 year old son except height.

How I was expected to keep a straight face when the lovely 5 year old explained how you tell boy dogs from girl dogs - to whit "they have a chubby bit down below, near the back that swing when they walk"

Why BBD put a dark brown colour in her gorgeous titian hair bacause she was called ginger then decided to dye her hair RED, a RED that could be seen from space, not a RED found in any place other than her hair and a child's paintbox.

How all I ever write about are my children and am I ever thought of as a mummy blogger? am I feck. No one ever sends me lovely free stuff to write about, all together now, poor poor auntie

Thanking you all most kindly for reading, for me it's been a great 5 years, I wonder if I'll be here for another 5? Who knows? please feel free to have some cake, it's most yummy and calorie free, what more could you ask for?

A wee present from your auntie

2011-12-28T11:34:00.002Z

Have you had a good Christmas? Are you now feeling a wee bit low and full of food and all shopped out?

Fear not, auntie is here with a little bit of post festive cheer. Courtesy of Hot Boy

Now you're feeling a lot more cheery aren't you?

You're welcome.

My sentiments exactly

2011-12-19T16:31:00.003Z

Pinched shamelessly from my friend Shirley's facebook page

In which The Beautiful Children sulk

2011-12-13T09:13:00.007Z

Well, to be accurate only the 2 that live with me are sulking, the quiet in the house is lovely. The one who doesn't live with me is still at university and still loves me. Maybe that's the reason.

Do you need a HUGE MIDDLE AGED WOMAN ALERT. A RANTIE AUNTIE WARNING?

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin. Or if you want to, you can click away now and come back when normal vaguely bemused auntie service resumes, I'll still love you.

Like many of us, I have a job and children and household chores to do, I have grocery shopping (not nice lady things shopping) and laundry, I have children to drive to many lovely clubs and activities and social engagements, funded by me (of course), I have Christmas presents to buy and wrap, I have cards to write and post, I have a tree to put up and decorate, I am a busy auntie at all times of year, at this time of year I take busy to the max.

Usually, I do this with a side order of low level grumbling that is ignored or the children will pat me and say "poor Mummy" and then go back to ignoring me.

This week however, I am less grumbly and more cross.

I am as cross as I can be.

I have taken agin the children's selfishness. Both children. Especially on the subject of household chores. They think that if it is a chore then it's my job to do it.

I have taken agin The Beautiful Son's smart arse remarks on Twitter.

I have taken agin Beautiful Baby Daughter's back chatting and always having to be right.

I have taken agin their bedrooms, they should be rolled in foam and dealt with by the Royal engineers. Scientists would be queuing up to take samples, they are truly hideous.

I have taken agin The Beautiful Son's wandering in at whatever time he pleases and bringing people with him.

I have taken agin Beautiful Baby daughter's tone and eye rolling when conversing with me.

I have taken agin The Beautiful Son's can't be arsed attitude to school, voluntary work for D of E and anything that doesn't involve mates and alcohol.

I have taken agin most things except gin and cake. Gin and cake remain more than acceptable.

So, I have shouted and stropped and I have made them tidy their bedroom, they have to be Mummy tidy (this scares them, I can be ferociously houseproud when I'm on one)

I have explained that if they are living under my roof then things have to go my way. I am in charge. This is non negotiable. They have to attempt to be regular humans, pitch in with chores, don't backchat me, work harder at school and party less.

They have been grounded for a week.

The Beautiful Son's Crackberry, IPOD touch, laptop and XBox controllers are in the boot of my car. The internet router plug is living in my handbag. If I had room for the TV it would be removed as well.

I am not doing any laundry or chores at all, if they need something doing they will need to do it ALL BY THEIR OWN SELVES.

I am not being a human alarm clock, they are having to get themselves up for their paper rounds and when they oversleep thay are having to explain why to their bosses and get told off for it.

When asked at the last minute for lunch money, instead of driving to the cashpoint, as would be my wont, I say "sorry, I didn't go to the cashpoint, you'll have to take sandwiches from home"

In short, I am doing what my Dad advised me to do, go on strike.

The ex mrauntigwen is looking after them (very kindly, he rearranged his life to let me have a night off at very short notice) so I am off here today, to Kilworth House Hotel for a lovely Christmas dinner and sleep in a posh hotel with 5 lovely friends who are becoming my family. I will use the gym, have an afternoon nap, read my book, have a treatment in the salon. I am having a rest.

I may even spend their lunch money on a bottle of champagne.

Things that have confused your auntie this week...

2011-12-11T12:28:00.003Z

To be fair, I could have been doing this every single week for the 5 years I've had this blog, I am, far too often, perplexed by life. But this week has been particularly bemusing to me. In no particular order, I give you

I have lost 1 pair of navy trousers, the top that goes with them and a very nice Dimity So bra.

I found a mince pie wrapped in a napkin in the front pocket of my handbag.

This morning The Beautiful Son's phone alarm went off at 6am, how come my children can sleep through an alarm that is inches from their ear when I can hear it from another room?

How come my children can only get up if only the human alarm clock that is their mummy comes in and wakes them?

How come my son was not in his bed but asleep on the sofa under the duvet he'd taken off his bed and wearing a ladies Primark zebra print onesie?

How come when I woke up a bit later and proceeded downstairs for the Sunday Times and the first of the coffees that would fortify my day, I met The Beautiful Son's ex girlfriend dressed in a fur coat (are they back in vogue?) and leaving very quietly?

How come I didn't notice there were 2 bodies under the duvet 2 hours earlier?

Miss Marple isn't too worried about me stealing her job, is she?

In which the Beautiful Baby Daughter makes her point

2011-12-09T13:50:00.006Z

The Beautiful Baby Daughter had a maths test yesterday.

She was not best pleased. Not about the test, she is a well prepared child, unlike the other 2 work shy articles I've reared.

In fact, she was so displeased she wrote this at the end of her test paper

Dear Mr Badmathsteacher

I am writing this note to tell you that I am cross with you. In this maths test, there have been 19 out of 57 available marks that I have not been able to achieve.

This is because you have not taught me how to get these 19 marks. As you are a maths teacher you will know that this amounts to over a third of the total paper.

This will reflect badly on me as a student but it should reflect badly on you as you as a teacher as you have failed to do what you are paid to do. If you spent more time teaching us and less time in the maths staff room we would not be having to have this conversation.

Yours sincerely

Beautiful Baby Daughter

I wonder if I should warn Mr Badmathsteacher that you upset the BBD at your peril, I mean before he knows it, she'll be the head of that school and she'll be using him to put her feet up on after he's made her a cup of coffee and cleaned her car.

In which I make a holy show of myself in Debenhams

2011-12-05T11:31:00.009Z

Yesterday the family von auntiegwen had to go into town. Now, en masse this is not such a good idea, if we go in two's it seems to work better and we have a remote chance of getting done what we set out to do. So, I get The Beautiful Son (because no one else will have him) and off we go. This is our list

Christmas jumper - Jack
Chino's 30 waist 34 leg (hard to get, it appears every man in Leicester is short) - Jack
New shoes - clown size - Jack
John Bishop DVD - Lucy
Flat boots - me

We whizz round in record time, that is the joy of shopping with a boy, he will accept any clothes that fit him in the first shop you find. Whilst we are in Debenhams I see a Virgin travel agency so I think while we are waiting for the others we will go and get a quote for our Easter trip to Florida. I haven't used a travel agent since 1998, I source flights and accomodation myself but I think I'll just get a quote, they may be able to get me a better deal.

Whilst we are waiting I ask TBS what he thinks it will cost for us to go, at the moment there are 3 adults, 2 teens and a child so if you want to come with us, let me know quick before I get booked. TBS reckons it will cost £2,500, I so wished he would be right, I didn't laugh outright then, it's unkind to crush a young man's dreams.

The nice Virgin lady takes all the details, I have my dates, I know how many people, I am so careful that we will be back for April 15th when BBD gets to see McFly, not only does she get to the concert she gets to meet them too, this is thrillingly exciting for her, a bit problematic re dates for me, and a real ball ache for her brother who thinks we should just book whenever we please, after all he had to miss MGMT because it clashed with a flight.

The nice Virgin lady tells me they have no villas left for rent, no 3, 4 or 5 bed villas. I ask for a quote for flights.

She can't get me back on an economy flight, TBS tells her not to worry, just book premium economy, it's only money says he, he's quite enamoured of the free champagne and the food served on real plates, I tell her to change the dates. As his paper round won't even cover the airport parking.

So, I get a quote for 6 flights, going for 11 days instead of 14. Guess how much?

Scroll down, get a bit of anticipation going

£7,937

again £7937

for economy flights. No villa, no car, just flights.

I did actually laugh, for quite a long time and my pelvic floor's not what it was (apologies for the TMI)

The nice Virgin lady explains that it's because they have sold the first allocation of seats, so they charge more for the next ones. In the brochure, they give you a guide price of £575 per villa per week, £969 fly drive per adult, £799 per child and £899 per teen, total cost £6654 which is still a huge amount for a holiday. Now when it says that in the brochure I think give or take a few hundred that's what it should cost, I'd be mighty miffed if I was buying a skirt in Marks and Spencer and it said £40 on the price ticket and when I got to the check out they said "oh it's gone up to £100 as that's the second batch we've ordered as it's so popular"

And also it's because I am going in peak season school holidays, that old favourite, get me taking kids to Disneyland in the school holidays, what a weirdo.

She advised me to go and try Virgin Atlantic directly as it'd be cheaper.

So I'm in a travel agents and they advise me to do it myself, marvellous.

PS - I found (on t'internets, all by my very own self) the flights she couldn't get me back on so the full 14 days, an executive (ooh get us, how very posh) 4 bed villa with private pool and games room, a 7 seater people carrier plus insurance and the grand total was £6930, a grand cheaper than I was quoted just for flights.

I can't think why travel agents are having such a hard time, can you?

PPS - I have refrained from tweeting #PRrequest about this (apparently bloggers can actually ask for stuff to review, although how I'd get it back to them would be the tricky part) but if any travel company would like the considered opinions of my good self and the beautiful children, please get in touch soonest, I will blog all the live long day about this trip, and I'd only be too happy, nae delighticated to tell the lovely readers about your kindest of kind offers.

I should have known

2011-12-01T00:30:00.004Z

When you are setting an alarm that begins with the digits 05, you kinda think it's not going to be your best of days.

When you're are driving 90 odd miles north to Skegness at the end of November, you have a notion it's not going to be your best of days.

When someone hits your borrowed car from behind, you officially know

When your neck aches and bizarrely your tooth really hurts and you still have to drive another 80 miles, you are really getting the message

When you spend 2 hours on the phone to insurance companies and brokers and accident repair people and the people who's car you have borrowed, you have got the point loud and clear thank you very much.

When you receive not just 1 but 2 calls from personal injury people, wanting you to sue the poor person who bumped you, you get a tad tetchy

When you have to cancel your trip to see "Wicked" at the theatre because it's taken all too long to sort out and you just don't feel in a going out sort of mood, you feel crap, because you know you are disappointing your Beautiful Baby Daughter, who was really looking forward to a trip to London and a show and some mummy time

When it is time to kiss the day goodbye, you are so very, very glad that it's over

Really, my guilty pleasure

2011-11-28T14:32:00.004Z

I have been watching a startling amount of television recently. This is a new thing for me, I used to be out running, going to gigs and flirting with strange men in bars, I had no time to waste on TV, truth be told, I was a little bit showy offy about not watching it.

Not now, oh no siree bob, I have embraced the telly like I would David Tennant. Nothing makes you auntie happier that her arse on the sofa and full charge of the remote control. I even have a special blanket now, not quite the one with arms that have a special name I've forgotten but a nice snuggly blanket to add to my viewing pleasure. Throw in a bag of maltesers and the aunties wee cup of happiness overfloweth. In twitterati #iknowhowtopaartaay.

I also have to say, the more crap the programme, the more I like it, I am mocked on a daily basis for my programme choices but I care not a jot, I lie there, mouth crammed with maltesers and tissues at the ready, a lot of my telly porn involves cheap emotion, sobbing is my chief exercise at the moment. The more mawkish the emotion, the better, channel 20 is ace for this, Sometimes you can watch "Extreme makeover - House edition", " Don't tell the bride" and "Bridezillas" on the same day - just frickin awesome.

For crap telly virgins EMHE is American, they come and build a house in a week for people who have had the most awful times, death/fire/major health problems etc, sometimes even in the same family. The house is always amazing and huge and free, they don't do aunties new kitchens apparently. Oh that's a regular 2 hanky job.

DTTB - is British, they give a groom and his best man £12,000 and they get to plan a wedding in 3 weeks and the bride just turns up, the best man has to be quite odd for best effects. This always usually turns out well and is a wee discreet tear "aawh don't they look lovely" job

Bridezillas is mental - very stressed, cross, shouty, screaming women who are quite clearly unhinged and in need of a good slap who make everyone unhappy. They're American, I'm sure you could film British ones though. This doesn't make me cry but I scream at the telly a bit and slobber malteser goo down myself though.

Add in X Factor (God, that Janet bored me to death, I know she was reallly young and I'm sure she's a lovely wean but I was getting right fed up with her), Living with the Amish (what nice, no one is going to punch your son in the face trying to steal his Crackberry on a Saturday night, yep, did happen but The Beautiful son is fine and still has his phone) and the Trinny and Susannah thing in Australia (lots of women who've been very busy being wives and mummies and quite often being ill as well to be all dressed up and glamorous every day to boot)

So, there you have it, I've fessed it up, my name is auntiegwen and I'm addicted to crap telly, am I on my own? what do you watch that you're secretly ashamed of? Not that I'm looking for ideas of more telly to watch because I'm middle aged and have no life, not at all, merely offering you the chance to feel oh so much better about your own life.

Selfless to my very core.

Ah, that explains it

2011-11-16T08:56:00.002Z

I love my children, truly I do, despite offering to send them to live with other bloggers regularly, clearly I only do that so I can share their wonderfullness with the world.

Ahem.

I have been a Mummy for a very long time and I think I have a fair opinion of my offspring (I did type fruit of my loins but I had to delete it, it grossed even me out) I am not one of the showy offy type mummies, I do not regale others of my childs academic achievements overly much, I don't make you listen to their musical offerings or insist you peruse their artistic endeavours. I am much more likely to share their WTF moments. I am most definitely not the parent who thinks their child is the new Messiah, I am fairly realistic of their good and bad points.

Last night was parents evening at Beautiful Baby Daughter's school, this is the same school I used to teach at, so when they are talking to me, I know exactly what they are trying to say, there is no point in putting high heels and lipstick on it, I get told straight. This is not a big worry really as BBD has not inherited the "can't be arsed" gene, she has always been the sort that pushes herself and gets involved in everything, she's not naughty and she goes every day so parents evening throws up few surprises usually.

Her form tutor went through her interim report, subject by subject, explained her FFT predicted grades and then offered points for improvement.

For those of you who know the BBD, swallow anything you have in your mouth, do not put anything back in until you've finished reading this post, I do not want to be sent the bill for laptop repairs because you've spat all over your computer, I am skint and I've several weans and a Hot Boy to take to Florida, more specifically Harry Potter land at Easter. Consider yourself warned.

BBD's form tutor feels that the only thing that could be improved is if she spoke more in form, contibuted and shared her opinions more. Yep, that's right, my child, the one who talks at me till my ears bleed, the one who barristers practice their debating skills with, the one we call Chatty Annie or less kindly, Little Miss Last Word.

After I'd made a holy show of myself by laughing, I explained that she's only been quiet for about 15 minutes of her 15 years, he looked totally perplexed, apparently she never says a word, he didn't realise she was Scottish because he'd never heard her say more than "here" when he does the register.

And the reason for this, dear readers, explained with uncharacteristic succinctness by BBD

" For goodness sake Mummy, of course I don't say anything, I'm not awake yet in form time"

Too good to be true

2011-11-09T19:39:00.005Z

Remember the last post where I was hoping that Beautiful Baby Daughter would be my only regular human child? Well, that's not working out too well, truth be told.

On return from school today Beautiful baby daughter informed me in a proud and happy voice that she'd learned a new word.

From her English teacher.

So far so good.

So, as is a good mummy's wont, I enquired as to the new word.

Would you like to know too?

Promiscuous.

Splendid, so no hope for me then.

As you were.

Help me

2011-11-06T11:36:00.000Z

You know your kids aren't quite the same as others when...

Your elder daughter rings you and says " Mummy, I've just been to Asda and they had no pesto and when I came out there was a man weeing just outside the shop. What kind of a place doesn't sell pesto?"

And in another supermarket, in another town, your son says in a proud and happpy voice "Oh God that's brilliant, a free glass with the Budweiser, that means me and Johnny have the same glass, how good is that?"

So I have a daughter who doesn't gee her ginger at men weeing in the street and a son in the throes of a bromance.

Help me, Lucy Abigail, you're my only hope.

Things that made your auntie cheery today

2011-11-04T11:12:00.003Z

I love Fridays, truly I do, best day of the week for me usually. But today, oh my mercies, aunties wee cup of happiness overfloeth.

My morning got off to the best start as when I woke up it was sheeting down with rain and I didn't have to get up and go out. Indeed I snuggled back down with a humungous mug of coffee and some of my preferred porn, aka The White Company Christmas brochure, they have 20% off dresses and tunics this week, so it'd be rude not to really - auntie has ordered THIS

I proceeded downstairs still fully jammied up and topped up the caffiene levels and proceeded to source flights for an upcoming secret jolly. So far so good.

Then my lovely, lovely friend LOOKING FOR BLUE SKY sent me this

Now I defy you to watch this and not be cheery too. Incidentally, is it wrong that I now fancy John Barrowman as well? What is it with me and camp men? I started off with Alan Cumming, progressed to DT who is not the machoest (if it wasn't a word before when it gets typed in the blog of auntie it becomes one)and now John Barrowman.

Gawdonlyknows who it'll be next.

10 things that could only happen in my life

2011-10-30T11:44:00.005Z

You know the 1 step forward and 2 steps back analogy?, that could have been written for your auntie. For me if a good thing happens then a not so good thing comes along to even up the score. A more Pollyannaish auntie would say that if a bad thing happens a better thing comes along and I do try and reframe stuff to that end but for the purposes of slight comedy value we will go with the 1 forward and 2 back.

Since the dawn of time I have been trying and failing to lose weight This is my lifelong battle as I am an auntie who loves cake with a passion. I am losing badly. Imagine my surprise and delight when I got thinner. Yaay, happy middle aged woman dance of joy.

The down side - it was my wrist and my hands that got thinner. My watch and ring are now hanging off me. Turn away now if you don't want to read swearing, what the actual fuckity fuck fuck?

Both The Beautiful Son and the Beautiful Baby Daughter were out at parties and sleepovers on Friday night. I had looked forward to this unexpected free night with an expectation usually only experienced by kiss and tell girls when they finally realise they are going to shag the footballer of their grubby little dreams.

Then Eldest Beautiful Daughter arrived home from university and that meant all my plans had to be accommodated to include her as she needs constant feeding and entertainment.

I spent a whole day making a presentation so that I didn't scare lay people about a disease. I normally only train doctors and nurses so I can talk about symptoms and side effects and no one turns green or cries.

Then the chairman of the support group showed up and spoke at great length and with astonishingly graphic detail about the scary bits and the side effects that I had been so keen to avoid.

I got a letter from the Inland revenue to say I had overpaid tax and they were sending me five hundred and something pounds.

The next day I got a letter saying I owed them four hundred and something pounds in unpaid NI contributions.

In a fit of unexpected efficiency I ordered 200 stamps from Royal Mail online. I get through stamps on an industrial basis and I am forever running out and then I have to drive to the village, find a parking space and wait behind the pensioners who hide around the corner and appear in a flash mob just before I join the queue. I smugly congratulated myself on such a time saving ruse.

I arrived home from work and find a Royal Mail card saying they had a package that they needed a signature for. I drive to the collecting office, have to pay for parking as it's conveniently situated outside of the village but just inside the city centre and tucked away behind the railway station. I wait in a very long queue and retrieve a very flat envelope. Which contained 200 stamps.

As I always say, my life is massively entertaining if you're not living it.

10 things my children are quite cross with me about

2011-10-26T00:15:00.000+01:00

I have spectacularly failed to be a millionaire and keep them in ponies and Jack Wills all the live long day.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter is cross that she is going to have to get a part time job. This is because she didn't get a job in the summer and save some cash for term time. She is extremely cross that I am not financing her drinking oops sorry studies this year. Her life would be so much easier if I just kept giving her £60 a week for food oops sorry supernoodles and alcohol, wouldn't it?

She is cross that she didn't get to come to Turkey with us last week and missed out on a free holiday. This is due to uni students not having a half term break. The point that it's the university that sets the timetable and not me has escaped her.

EBD is also cross that she isn't allowed to keep her bigger bedroom now that she doesn't live here, when she comes back in the holidays she will have to sleep in BBD's smaller room.

I will not let Beautiful Baby Daughter die her gorgeous titian tresses jet black. She is properly cross with me about this but I will not have it. Yes, I am aware that at 15 I dyed my hair jet black and at 15 her elder sister dyed her hair jet black, I just can't bear the thought of my baby dying her hair.

BBD is cross that I expect her to live in 1 bedroom, she has now spread her crap over her old bedroom and into the bedroom grudgingly vacated by EBD. That means there are 2 bedrooms that look like Beirut on a bad day.

BBD is annoyed that she always has her birthday on holiday, she sometimes has to wait for big presents until we return, she has to delay her party as most of her friends are away tooand she feels it's not as good as when you have a birthday at your own house. My conception of her was very poorly timed, in her opinion.

The Beautiful Son is cross that I won't leave him home alone overnight, especially now he is 16. EBD was at uni before she spent a night alone. I don't like to leave him alone for an evening.

TBS is cross that I impose an 11pm curfew during the school week, he thinks if he can get up for his paper round and school then he should be able to come in at anytime that takes his fancy.

TBS is cross if I go anywhere without him that isn't work or the supermarket. He gets very tetchy if I go out for a meal or God forbid, a gig or a weekend away. I so can't wait till he has a girlfriend and I'll whinge and whine to be taken with them. Everywhere.

10 quirks my family has

2011-10-24T19:05:00.005+01:00

I have lived in England for the last 11 years and I don't see my family often as it's a 700 mile round trip. Having spent the last week on holiday with my parents I am slightly more aware of their little quirks than usual. You know the things your family does and some of it is quite endearing, some of it is puzzling and some of it makes you reach for the gin. I wouldn't say it was stressful or anything but my jaw is beginning to unclench now.

My dad prefers to keep his holiday money in a cushion cover, that's as safe as houses for him.

My dad doesn't think the evening has ended until he's bought some more hooky dvd's. He was buying 10 a night, he has more films than blockbusters.

They both seem to be ambrosia to mosquito's, their anti mosquito protection going to bed routine takes quite some time. They have the plug in deterrents, they spray the room, they wipe stuff they buy from the chemist on any exposed skin, they wear full length pyjamas, they both sleep inside a net they bought in Ikea and they tuck themselves oh so carefully in and still they are bitten to death. I did nothing, not a thing and I wasn't bitten at all. This made my mother a tad tetchy.

My mother looked like a mafia widow most evenings, she has a tiny bite on her face which meant huge black sunglasses had to be put on when we went out. She said she was scared someone would think my dad had hit her. In my head, every evening went the refrain of "only the lonely" but her glasses weren't as nice as Roy's.

When I was in a bikini, they were in jeans and jumpers, my mum even had her tights on under the jeans, she does wear her sunhat though, as it was in the 80's, that is her concession to the temperature.

My mother can't speak to waiters at all, she would tell us what she wanted and when the waiter asked her for her order, she would look frantically at us and mouth what she wanted.

My mother never, ever enjoys what she gets in restaurants. No matter how good the food is, there is always something not quite right with it, if she enjoyed the fish, the potatoes were not right, too lumpy, too seasoned, too hot, too cold, too something. She would always leave most of her dinner uneaten and then we would have to have the conversation with the waiter, obviously she wouldn't complain about anything but she would make us explain that the food was lovely but she's just not a big eater, that's what she likes us to say. I just wanted to say sorry, she's a bit mental and fussy and she hates seasoning and any kind of taste in food at all, she only wants things to taste like porridge.

Silence is a big no no for them, they like to have conversation at all times, especially if you're trying to watch a film, most especially then.

They do insist upon telling you everything 3 times over, it's difficult to appear interested when it actually didn't really matter in the first place

As they are both tee total, they just don't understand why anyone would want to drink, at all. This means my holiday becomes much more sober. At a time where I need alcohol just so much more.

10 things I have learned about my youngest daughter

2011-10-20T06:35:00.002+01:00

Today Beautiful Baby Daughter is 15. I have no idea how that happened, as clearly I'm only 29, ahem. The BBD is the most complex of the offspring and from the get go she required a more flexible approach to parenting. I wonder if this is true of other youngest children?

She is always right, even when she is clearly wrong, she will argue her point until you agree or your ears bleed, whichever comes first

She is startlingly and astonishingly messy, like no other child I've ever met and yet she is so fastidious about her work and her appearance

She is a brilliant young leader at Girls Brigade, she is adored by the little ones

She has a deep seated faith and a genuine belief that God will look after us

She is appalled by racism and truly astonished when she comes across it

She loves heinz tomato soup and would eat it every day

She thinks mayonnaise is the work of Satan

She has a frankly too high capacity for crap telly, Hollyoaks, Big Brother, Eastenders et al

She gave up her cheerleading place when she realised that she was holding her group back. That decision showed real maturity and thought for others, a fine example of team spirit.

She will rule the world one day, but only if she wants to. If she prefers she will stay in her jammies, drinking Heinz tomato soup from a mug and watching crap telly.

Lucy Abigail, your middle name is Hebrew for my fathers delight, which you are but as always, you are mo chridhe, my heart and every day I am thankful you are mine.

10 reasons you should go to Turkey

2011-10-17T16:16:00.002+01:00

I'm lucky enough to go there a few times a year, my house is on the outskirts of a fair sized village and really close to the beautiful Olu Deniz beach. Everywhere I look I can see the most amazing scenery. Let me persuade you to visit

It really is beautiful, the seas are crystal clear and the sand white

The mountains look so incredible, you don't have to look far for a great view

The people are so friendly and helpful

Nothing is too much trouble and people genuinely want you to have the best time

You can rent my house, it's lovely, honest

The local food is amaaaaazing - it's agriculturally self suffiecient and the fruit and veg have real proper flavour, you eat what's in season and it tastes all the better for it

The local cheeses, nuts, olives and oils are fabulous

Eating and drinking are very reasonably priced, it's not in the euro so it's a very affordable holiday

You will be given free bread and olives in 90% of restaurants before your meal at no charge. The bread is lush. You will nearly always be offered free coffee and sometimes a free liqour as well after dinner

Did I mention the sunshine? it's very sunny there.

10 Things I miss

2011-10-14T08:45:00.003+01:00

Apart from my sanity and youth, that is... More along the lines of things you can't buy anymore, this list appears to be food and drink related.

Cadbury creme bears - like creme eggs but you got them at Christmas. They came in a box made to look like a shop window, I loved them but very few people remember them, they were real, honest

Cremola foam - crystals that you mixed with water and it made a fizzy drink, gawdonlyknows what it did to my teeth and insides but as a child I loved them

Fry's five centres chocolate - milk chocolate with fruit flavoured cream centres, the fruit all mixed together, it never corresponded that 1 segment would have 1 flavour, just a bit mushed. We were easier pleased in the 70's.

Fruit toffos - lovely rot your teeth fruit flavoured toffees

Tudor crisps - so much better than Golden wonder which retailed at 2 and 1/2p per packet. Tudor were only 2p bargain and they had a great advert with paperboys and a strap line of "a canny bag of Tudor"

Tennants lager with ladies on the back - not to drink, I used to look at them in shops and pick my favourite girl, yep I was a strange child

Lucozade - when you were a poorly girl or boy you got Lucozade. It was only sold in chemists and the bottle was covered in orange cellophane. It seemed magic to me and always made me feel better.

Kraft macaroni cheese - came in a box, you cooked the macaroni and made the sauce from a powder in a shade of orange visible from space and in my house was always served up with chips and peas. That was my favourite tea when I was young.

Swiss nougat - I only had this when the Ideal Home Show came to the Kelvin Hall. We went every year and this was a strawberry flavoured non sticky version, the texture of fudge but less sweet. It was what I always spent my money on.

MB bars - chocolate with a cream filling but surprisingly firm in texture, a bit like a Frys chocolate cream bar but nicer.

So then, what foods do you miss from your formative years?

10 steps to getting through

2011-10-12T11:42:00.006+01:00

I made a mistake and it is consuming my every waking moment. If I am not in tears or shaking with worry I am apologizing for my mistake. It is inconvenient and expensive and causes a whole lot of people a whole lot of extra work but fixable. I am usually okay ish at life but when I am coming out from a whole load of stress I realise what pressure I have been under. In no means am I unusual in this, I have a busy job, I have children, I have a house, I am tired all the live long day, I am sure most of you will understand that feeling, that strength sapping sense of having total responsibility. At this moment though I have reached my wall, I cannot go on like this any longer. However I know this feeling will pass, I know that I will be okay and quicker than I know I will feel happy again. Tomorrow is definitely another day.

Here are the 10 things that are getting me through

My mistake is being sorted, I am taking steps to ensure it never happens again, no one is giving me a hard time about this except myself

My son and daughter are not being horrible to each other too much as they can see I'm fragile

I know I will be able to cope again

I am going to drastically cut down on my work load

No one expects me to be superwoman/supermum/superworker except me, I am going to cut myself some slack

I am going to go and see my GP, I think there is an underlying reason for how I am feeling

This week is halfway over

I fly out to The Beautiful House on Friday for a week of rest

My parents will be joining me and I will actually be able to rest, that rest will help me carry on

The support and love that my nearest and dearest and colleagues have given me has been immense. The fact that they all have their own stuff to deal with but still have found space to help me has been hugely appreciated, again I am so incredibly grateful that I am so lucky. Please say a good thing to someone you know today, the world can only be a better place if we are kind to each other.

10 last free bloggy thing I've turned down

2011-10-09T11:19:00.003+01:00

I get asked to review stuff, give away stuff as competitions, promote stuff fairly regularly. Now I accept that you probably have to work your way up with reviews etc before you get a go of the good stuff like free holidays and shoes. I'm an instant gratification girl, I want the good free stuff first. I am more than happy to sell my bloggy soul (and possibly a child) for free holidays and shoes.

These were the last things I have been offered

A £500 baby hamper as a comp prize - not likely to set my heart a flutter as my youngest will be 15 in less than a fortnight

To be an adjudicator at a Guiness world record attempt - there was no mention of cake

Pregnancy vitamins launch day - oh I'm not going back down that road, thankyouverymuch

Free £100 voucher to promote a shopping site.

Book blog site - oh I read and I blog but would others want to read about what I'm reading?

Theatre trip - I was on holiday

Experience days - I'm not madly keen on experiences, when someone says "well, that was an experience" I tend to think that is nice lady speak for "well that was crap"

Another theatre trip - a family one, show more suited to younger children than mine, although their behaviour might suggest otherwise

A day out at a science museum - again been there when they were much younger

Diet and fitness app - stop bloody laughing

Free washing powder - I want more exciting stuff than that.

Now once again, please offer me squillions of free stuff to review and promote, especially free stuff that I like, eg cake, weekends away especially trips to Barcelona as Kellogsville and I have a cunning plan, holidays, plastic surgery, clothes, make up and other nice lady things. I will do it properly, honest.

10 Worst Presents

2011-10-07T08:19:00.001+01:00

Leopard print snood - birthday this year, I am not really an animal print kind of girl and I didn't even do snoods in the 80's

Black and white glass bowl - all fluted and swirly from the Colin and Justin range, Xmas present last year, I love my sis in law dearly but that was just hideous. It may have been an emergency present.

A ceramic lemon with a pot scourer inside - from my ex mother in law when I was still married as a birthday present, enough said.

A set of eyeshadows instead of an Easter Egg - I might have been 14 but c'mon, actually my mum still buys me an Easter egg now, she must be scared to stop in case I did another "you've really upset me" teenage strop.

Red lace g string and suspender belt - bought by my brother in law, the minister in an attempt to be "hey I might be a minister but I still know people have sex" It was the Christmas after I got married, I was only 22, and mortified.

Cream fake fur body warmer - the ex mr auntiegwen one Christmas, I looked like a small chubby polar bear

Candle shaped like a wedge of chocolate gateau - looked bad and smelled worse, from my sister

A trip to a Lake District hotel for my 29th birthday - the sentiment was great, the ex mr auntiegwen bought be a Joanna Trollope novel, a box of chocs and a night in a hotel by myself. Jack was 8 weeks old and as I couldn't leave my bosoms at home would have starved. The ex mr auntiegwen didn't think of that. Still I enjoyed the book and the chocolates.

The biggest box of chocolates Thornton's do - I could have had a frock and shoes for the money, (it cost £50 around 15 years ago) but oh no I had to eat them all and get fat (ter).

My 40th birthday trip to Barcelona - I love the city and had been before with friends but the ex mr ag took me and when I was there I/we realised that it was all over. I hope to go back under happier circumstances.

10 Best Presents

2011-10-02T16:52:00.006+01:00

In October I like to do do 10 posts about 10 things, last year I was a bit tardy and had to do 11 posts of 11 things in November. This year I'm trying to get back on track. In no particular order

My teddy, given to me the day I was born by my auntie Gloria, he's called Michael and over the years he's gone from yellow to pale cream but it's the one of the few things I still have from my childhood.

My dolls house, with sliding glass doors and a roof that was hinged to lift up, made for me by my grampa who was a joiner, I was gutted when it rotted out in the shed and gadget mad dad threw it out. I was about 30 at the time. I'm still a bit gutted to be honest.

My bike, I had a Raliegh chopper, I was 9 and thought I was so cool, I think I was the only girl to have one, mine was purple.

My Kindle - God how I love it, wasn't sure if I would but I do.

My ipod shuffle, it's a tiny wee pink clip on one, and I can't run without it.

My childhood photos, taken from slides and made into prints, given to me as a gift when I had my first daughter so I could see if we were alike, we were/are.

My mothers day poems - written by my son and younger daughter and loved all the more for the spelling within.

My wooden hearts - each child wrote their message on their heart and gave it to me for my 40th birthday. They sit in a bowl on my windowsill that my niece Cat brought me back from her trip to Malawi.

My "Windows in the West" print by Avril Paton, hangs on my bedroom wall and is the first thing I see when I wake up.

My engagement ring - I looked at gazillions of rings and tried on a fair few. I kept saying I'd know mine when I put it on. I was right, it fitted perfectly and despite the cost, he knew it was mine and gave me it. I will cherish the ring and the memory of the love I felt at that moment for the rest of my life.

I'm a bit gutted I didn't have room for my sat nav, as it's been one of the most useful presents I've ever had, maybe I should have waited and did this in November. You see, even when I'm being efficient it goes agin me.

Home alone

2011-09-30T08:48:00.004+01:00

Last night we delivered Eldest Beautiful Daughter to the student house she will live in till next year. Mummy no likey, mummy really no likey. It's awful, really grim and it smells funny. It's a 3 bed terrace with a skanky bathroom and nasty old furniture but I expect White Company and Cath Kidston would be a waste of the grand a month rent the landlady's getting, wouldn't it?

I so should have gone into student housing, that would have made my fortune, low cost house stuffed with cheap nasty tat, and spend the rent money on my own house, it would have the White Company coming out the wazoo. Another fail on my part.

There has been intense and protracted negotiations re EBD's bedroom at this house, it's the biggest and the newliest decorated, EBD was really not keen to let it go but BBD is quite forceful and as she says, EBD doesn't live here anymore, just in the holidays. Let's just say it's been tricky, and I, as always have resisted making a decision. However by the time I got back, Beautiful Baby Daughter had moved all her stuff into Eldest Beautiful Daughters bedroom, had a bath and was wearing EBD's dressing gown (which EBD was gutted to have forgotten) and was having a hot chocolate out of EBD's mug (also forgotten) If EBD finds out she'll kill her and I won't have to decide who gets the bigger bedroom.

So today, for the first time in 3 months, I am completely home alone, no EBD floating around demanding to be entertained, TBS and BBD at school and just me. What will I do with myself all day? I wonder...

Downsizing

2011-09-26T17:00:00.005+01:00

I am in a decluttering frame of mind. I am paring down my possessions, downsizing, freeing up, clearing.

Last weekend I took over 500 books to Oxfam. My book collection was getting completely out of control and had spilled into every room. I have only kept what fitted into the 3 bookcases I have in the office and the lounge. Any new boooks will only be bought for my Kindle and one day I will replace the books I couldn't bear to part with as an e version and be actual book free and virtual book heavy.

I have asked for an Ipod for Christmas and I will then get rid of every CD and LP I own.

And then I'm onto children...

Only joking, EBD is going back to uni into a shared house (because as I predicted way back here in JANUARY she hasn't learned to drive and I can't/won't do a 60 mile uni run) but TBS and BBD don't show any signs of moving out.

Yet.

But I live in hope.

Mummy fail

2011-09-21T10:38:00.004+01:00

Picture the scene, a kitchen with 2 daughters and my best friend. I am pottering around doing chores and they are making dough for pizzas. A lovely contented, peaceful picture, could even be used as an advert. My daughters are reminiscing about all the things I used to do with them, they recall baking sessions, cooking sessions, craft sessions and so forth.

The next time I enter the room, I get this

Eldest beautiful daughter - " God, Mummy - you never do anything like that with us anymore, you're so boring now"

auntiegwen - "that's because you are nearly FECKIN TWENTY, I am in flitters with entertaining you. I have had almost 2 decades of finding stuff to do with you, again, NEARLY 2 DECADES.

I know you don't need the capitals for emphasis, sure you're probably the same yourself. I think after all the top notch mothering they have received I should be allowed a bit of time off for good behaviour. I mean all I want is a bit of peace, the ability to water my plants unmocked and not have my clothes ridiculed. Oh and an end to war, a cure for all diseases and thinner thighs, obviously.

It had to happen

2011-09-15T15:40:00.000+01:00

It was only a matter of time, I mean me with my White Company addiction and my fondness for Cath Kidston fripperies.

I must be their target demographic but I have never succumbed for myself, when the children were smaller I did dabble and I was bought something once. But I held firm nothing for me thanks.

They wrote to me, told me I was a hard nut to crack, offered me all sorts of enticements. I ignored them. They emailed and whispered promises of all kinds of middle class loveliness. I caved.

It had to happen eventually.

So I will fess it up.

My name is auntiegwen and I...

sorry, I can hardly bring myself to type the confession

My name is auntiegwen and I bought a Boden raincoat.

The cliche of the middle class mummy.

Feck

More teenage boy stuff

2011-09-14T16:14:00.000+01:00

Just because your boy has grown to 6 foot 2 doesn't mean he's grown up in anything other than a physical sense.

The Beautiful Son had a sore throat, it was so painful that we had biscuits and crisps in our house that survived more than a day, which was unheard of. I told him to go down to the doctors and make an appointment. Our surgery insists you present yourself in person (or a representative if you are too ill to leave home) at their reception desk at 8am to make an appointment. They won't do it by phone, I am sure there were communist bread queues shorter than we have at our surgery.

TBS insists he can't go by himself, so off we go and make his appointment. We get one for 9.10 am, so we go back home for an hour. He insists I have to back with him too. I enquire would he still want me there if it was for a sore bum, he assures me I'd still have to show up for that. As he put it "you're my mum, of course you'd have to come, I can't deal with doctors on my own" I just pray he never gets an STD.

The doctor diagnoses tonsillitis, prescribes antibiotics and says if things don't improve in 48 hours to return for a blood test to rule out glandular fever. He also remarks on TBS being an infrequent attender. TBS felt slightly put out, a bit like he'd been shirking.

Of course TBS can't go to the chemist by himself, I have to take him there too. I tell him he can't take alcohol whilst on them. I elaborate by telling him that mixing alcohol with antibiotics causes diarrhoea, and it's so fast acting most people don't get to the loo on time. I wonder if I can still get away with him believing everything I say if I use my mummy's never wrong tone, will it still work? I see no signs either way.

Later I overheard him tell his friend Johnny "nah, I'm not drinking at Rachel's party, no chance I want to cack myself"

The last word goes to me, we all know how I like the last word. Scuse me whilst I throw my head back and laugh like a muscateer.

In real life

2011-09-12T11:23:00.006+01:00

When you have a blog you can present a view of yourself that's quite flattering, selecting carefully which bits of your world you want to share with t'internets. You can project an image of a perfect life if you so choose. I could tell you that I live in a gorgeous house with beautiful children and my life is chock full of joy all the live long day. I could tell you I am thin, unwrinkled and without a grey hair upon my head, I could claim great wisdom, good dress sense and a serene inner calm and be thin, did I mention that? I am seven stone and 5 foot 10 and have no boobs. I can also cook, sew and sing and I once ran a sub 4 hour marathon. I also have my dream kitchen. In my head.

I wish I'd thought of that, instead I regale you with tales of domestic incompetence, technical ineptitude, drunken teenagers and fatness. It's too late to tell you my life is perfect, some of you have been reading for years and some of you actually know me in real life.

I have a million faults, I wish I didn't. Some of them I've known about for years, some of them I've tried to address and some of them I've just not been ready to see.

In my head I am laid back and almost impossible to stress out, I'm a "go with the flow" nothing fazes me type. In real life I can get to full fat cross shouty shreikery more quickly than a Ferrari gets to 90.

In my head I am a proper traveller, turn up with a passport, credit card and a spare pair of knickers and see where I end up. In real life, I book flights and transfers and live with a low level degree of anxiety that something will go wrong. I am terrified of missing flights and don't relax until I actually arrive.

In my head I am great at sharing, I am a "what's mine is yours" help yourself nice person. In real life if it's mine I like it to stay mine and if I lend you it especially books I want it back, even if I know I'm never going to read it again, it's mine so give it back.

In my head I can't bear the sort of people who at shared dinners whip out their calculators and demand we all pay for what we have eaten, in my head I am one of the people who say oh there's 6 of us, lets just divide by 6. In real life I am secretly glad that they do as I am fed up subsidising someone elses's 3 course and a bottle of wine feast when I've had a plate of pasta and a sparkling water and paid £30 for the privilege.

In my head I am not a control freak and an insistor on getting my own way but in real life my way isn't just the best way but the only way. And I insist upon things being my way and say such caring and loving gems such as "you don't have to live here"

I am just coming to terms with how much control I have and seem to need, I always thought I was really flexible and open to other peoples point of view and wants and needs. I always thought that the kids set the agenda and I just facilitated things. I am sometimes okay with things if it suits me, that's the key right there. I suppose that being the only adult in the house for the last 5 years has given me the last word. I like the last word. I like to be the boss.

In my head I never wanted to be a bossy kind of girl. In real life I have become the bossiest of bossy girls, but I am trying to be less bossy and more open to other peoples wants and needs. I am trying to be better at sharing. I am trying to be less stressy and anxious.

But I still want the last word.

Dads

2011-09-07T11:03:00.005+01:00

Over the last few days Dad's have been on my mind. Probably because of this I keep finding and reading blogs about dads and what they mean to people.

I tried to write about mine but I can't yet.

I read Looking for blue sky and that really touched me

And then I read Adventures in Reality and that completely reduced me to floods of tears.

So to both of these bloggy friends, from the bottom of my heart I send my love and prayers and thoughts to you and your families. I hope I can manage to face my dads illness with a fraction of your grace.

Sleepless in suburbia

2011-09-04T15:52:00.006+01:00

I am a woman of few talents, I can't cook knit or sew, my house isn't filled with things I've made (excepting offspring and mess) and the only thing I can play is the lottery. Oh please don't feel sorry for me, I am decidedly happy with my humble lot.

I have been utterly blessed in what I feel is my best talent. I am ace at sleeping, if there were sleep Olympics I would be up there with the gold and the "God save the Queen" The only time I have had sleepless nights have been when the children were babies and truth be told I was a teeny tiny bit cranky then. Then I sleep trained them and all was well in the world. I am not too shabby at sleep training either, 100% success rate at teaching babies to sleep through. Nothing makes me happier than getting into my jammies and going to bed. My metier is sleep.

In fact, I am sooo good, no matter what is going on in my life, death, divorce, teenagers or lack of gin - I will take myself off to bed, usually accompanied by a humungous mug of fully caffeinated coffee and pop myself between the White Company's finest and nod off. Sometimes just before I drift off I remember the mug of fully caffeinated and rouse myself enough to gulp it down like a student with a Jaegerbomb and then snuggle down for a full 8 hours. I am not showing off here, I'm just explaining. I never feel too hot or cold, or uncomfortable or restless, strange beds or having someone with me do not gee my ginger. I am grand. Nothing wakes me up either, I could sleep through anything, I expect I have slept through all of the childrens parties and there are several photos of assorted weido friends of the children on my good silk throw accessorised with beer bottles and pointy foam fingers. I set my children curfews but I have no clue if they keep to them as I am always asleep.

Which is just as well as I am crap without sleep, really really useless, so God in his infinite wisdom has given me the gift of sleeping, so I don't hurt people on a daily basis.

Except something has gone wrong, my forte has fecked off.

I am not a happy auntie, on Friday I just couldn't get comfortable, I wriggled and jiggled, I changed my jammies before removing them completely (sorry for the TMI - I'm just trying to give you the full picture, well not the full picture, that's on a pay per click at nakedauntiegwen.com, shut up I've got to pay for a new kitchen somehow)
Where was I? oh yeah Friday, I fidgeted and agitated and then I eventually fell asleep. Only to be woken by The Beautiful Son coming in at 2am dressed in a ladies Primark black and white zebra striped onesie. yes I agree, it is slightly peculiar but I didn't want to waste brain power trying to figure it out as I was tired.

Readers, the rest of the night didn't go well and I was working on Saturday so suffice to say I wasn't the cheeriest of aunties yesterday, until around 9pm when I realised I could put my jammies on and go back to bed. That was a moment of mere bliss in my day. So armed with the coffee I go to my happy place And I go to sleep.

To be woken up by someone else's sons at 4.30 am, giving me the full benefit of their alcohol fuelled opinions on the world. And that was it for the night, sure I had a doze on and off but that's a bit like being on a diet, you don't want carrot sticks you want cake, thank you very much. When you've had the good stuff you don't want to go back.

So, I am now rantie auntie, I have been robbed of 2 good nights sleep and I get a teeny tiny bit cranky without it. I might have mentioned that. I imagine that's why everyone is giving me a wide berth today.

And that, my friends, was August

2011-08-30T17:53:00.007+01:00

My August went something like this

work, laundry, shopping (of the supermarket variety, not the nice ladies things variety), try to stop kids from killing each other, try not to kill the kids myself, eat ever such a lot less but still not lose weight, be very very tired, repeat to fade.

And in other news...

I gave up ironing, doing everyone's ironing on a Sunday night made me feel like I did when I was a kid, doing my homework at the last minute, so I gave up, we are embracing the casually dishevelled look. The beautiful children are not best pleased, they're not arsed enough to do it themselves but they are great big glowering and sulking masses of crumpled Jack Willsness.

I had a birthday which made me old and a trip to the Isle of Wight where it appeared to be 1977 in the place I was in, I adored it, I wanted to buy a flat in Sandown but wasn't allowed, meaners. I actually saw the shop windows of my childhood with dresses hung from the ceiling with fishing wire, and cardigans fanned out on the base of the window and a wee note attached saying "Lovely on"

That was the nice bit, oh I got a Kindle too and other nice lady things such as perfume and flowers and some strange assortment of presents which make me think - have they met me?

My son, the 6 foot 2 lump of useless, let his friend Henry try and burn a smiley face onto his arm with a lighter which has still not healed 3 weeks later. You probably heard me, he got full fat cross shouty shreikeyness, stupid stupid boy. This is a child who actually possesses qualifications and now has a hole in his arm, again (in capitals for emphasis) STUPID STUPID BOY AND I DON'T FECKIN CARE HOW MANY FECKIN GCSE'S YOU GOT, YOU ARE A STUPID STUPID BOY. I am still cross about this, I will still be cross at Christmas most probably.

I have spent masses of time in hospitals recently both work and not work and I have turned into the visitor/relative I used to hate. The one who says "I used to be a nurse you know" and follows it up with "in my day" I hate myself for it but I'm not madly impressed. I am not even satisfied.

I have a new car, it is temporary until my company car arrives, it is a Renault Megane, it has an internal sat nav and a strange radio. Both of which defeat me on a daily basis. I am now officially my mother.

And speaking of my mother, she has been on a diet, a very successful one. In truth she is existing on black tea, water and porridge, as my dad says she is the only geriatric anorexic in Glasgow. She has no other conversation except how many pounds she's lost, she tells my sister and I, a lot. A big lot. We are fed up being told how easy it is to lose weight if you just don't eat. We were kind enough not to mention that she's been no stranger to a fish supper for the last few decades so we wish her to stop weighing us with her eyes and shut the feck up.

So if you've read to the bottom I apologise for not putting in a "Middle aged woman ranting" alert, but thanks for reading and a big thanks to those of you who texted, emailed and commented wondering where I'd been.

So, what have you lot been up to?

In which I make myself laugh, a lot

2011-08-10T08:13:00.004+01:00

I have loads of faults, truly I could do a daily post of what is wrong with me and you'd still be reading at Christmas. One of my less endearing traits is my insistence on thinking I'm funny, genuinely I think I am hysterical. And I laugh at my own jokes, a lot.

On Monday, I was visiting my best friends dad, lovely bloke he is and he's reading a book about World War 2.

"Are you enjoying your book?" I asked him in a very polite tone and his reply of
"I've just started it" quickly followed up with "would you like to borrow it" in a slightly hopeful tone made me think not. And before I could stop myself, I hear these words coming out of my mouth " no thanks, I know how it ends"

and then I collapsed in hoots of laughter, and I'm still laughing about it now.

Aw, you had to be there

Crime and confession

2011-08-05T07:34:00.006+01:00

This morning as I waited for the kettle to boil, I noticed that the chopping board was in the wrong place, oh yes Miss Marple has nothing on me, even before coffee. As I moved the board, there was a sheet of paper addressed to me covering this. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you exhibit A - the crime, a very peculiar stain upon my white worktop.

Exhibit B - the confession

The bit you can't read at the end is a list of things they've tried...
fairy liquid, dettol, baking powder, flash, cif, cilit bang and water

I do love Joe, yes, this is the same Joe who had the party in which his mother's and his dead great granny's wedding china got broken but he does dress up as Santa when I need one for my parenting skills group's Christmas party, he must get kudos for that.

And when he refers to the cute note, he means this, exhibit C -

the sorry note (which I kept as he made me hoot with laughter) when he broke my outside light and indeed it was fixed by Joe Cryor.

So, when people tell you children get less messy and break less stuff as they get older, and you're thinking that you, one day, in the fullness of time, can have a lovely home stuffed to the gunnels with White Company and Cath Kidston, don't bank on it before they're 36 or so.

Hi honey, I'm home

2011-08-04T09:08:00.004+01:00

Eldest Beautiful Daughter and her friends Poonam and Joe were quite confused when they saw, what they described as "a small Asian woman" walk up the path and let herself in the front door.

I am back and extremely tanned following my trip to Turkey, I am like an Cadbury's creme egg in human form, small, round and brown.

The house and EBD have survived, my Bombay Sapphire has taken quite a hit and you can still see the outline of Joe's vomit on the front doorstep but compared to Joe's mums return and finding the breakage of both her and her beloved deceased grandmas wedding china, I think I've got off quite lightly.

Texting for old people - a guide for the middle aged

2011-07-29T06:57:00.000+01:00

My sister sent me this, as I near 45, she obviously feels I need to save as much time as I can

ATD - at the doctors

BFF - best friends funeral

BTW - bring the wheelchair

FWIW - forgot where I was

GHA - got heartburn again

IMHO - is my hearing aid on?

WAITT - who am I talking to?

Flawless plan

2011-07-27T06:04:00.000+01:00

We are away at The Beautiful house leaving Eldest Beautiful Daughter aged 19 and a quarter and Hot Boy with some cash, the above intructions and my house.

What could go wrong?

In which I feel more ancient than usual

2011-07-25T05:05:00.000+01:00

I went to a 40th birthday night out. One of these nights that you don't really know anyone except the person who is 40 but I don't get out much and it's nice to because we all know I just sit at home and be mocked.

I wasn't the oldest person there (you may read my sidebar and think I'm 41, I was, once, I am now getting on for 45) but where I was sitting everyone was around the 40 age and they all had 4 and 5 year olds. That's lovely, I looked at people's photos and heard all the funny stories but my 19 year old uni costs and my 16 year olds drunk paper rounds aren't really fair to tell, in case they scare easy. Much better for them to think their children still are genii (I can't be arsed to google how to spell it, correct it by yourself) and will never give them a moments worry. I had my children earlier than most people, not quite documentary early but a good decade before the people at dinner. I did feel a bit out of step with the rest.

Indeed, it's a bit weird when your EBD and Hot Boy pop into the restaurant to wish the birthday gal a good one, and then persuaded some of them to tag along to experience the fun to be had jaegerbombing. I expect it's a bit unsettling for them to think of going out partaying with their child as they are still all in Disney mode. Indeed it's weird for me to see an unwrinked and thin version of myself.

The upside is the next morning, no 5 year old bouncing on the bed, fully revved up and waiting to be entertained. Just a hungover 19 year old who didn't surface till tea time.

Every cloud and all that.

Where I am from - The Teens to early 20 Years

2011-07-22T06:17:00.003+01:00

I'm from Anne French cleansing milk in the white and blue bottle and Boots Country Born bright green hair gel

I'm from wash in Harmony hair colours in the triangular boxes

I'm from Miss Selfridge Iron Lady fuschia pink lipstick

I'm from Saturday afternoons buying things in Chelsea Girl and then moving onto Flip and Deja Vu for vintage which my mother hated, she despaired of my "second haun claes"

I'm from Razzy denims and Adidas Kick trainers

I'm from Freemans catalogue and paying for things weekly

I'm most definitely from my first love, Alan Osprey, aka Ospur punk extraordinaire, who shaped me so much when I was 15

I'm from only getting 1 punk song played at school discos and doing my Siouxsie skip and him his pogo while the rest watched the weird punk ballet

I'm from being a student and drinking in Byres Rd, before moving onto Cleopatra's on Gt Western Rd, affectionately known as Clatty Pat's

I'm from thinking I was so sophisticated when we qualified and had money and moved onto to Maxwell Plums, the Devil's Advocate and Warehouse and Panama Jax, not forgetting Bennett's, what a Glasgow institution that was

I'm from drinking malibu and pineapple, then Southern comfort and lemonade, then white wine and soda

I'm from smelling of Estee Lauder Cinnabar, then Calvin Klein Obsession and then YSL Opium, never ever Poison

I'm from tight black dresses and sheer black stockings and very high stilettos ala Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video

Where am I from

2011-07-20T11:55:00.004+01:00

I read this post on The Girl behind blog and pinched the idea, shamelessly

I'm from Scotland, the Mother Country, the most patriotic and biggest small nation in the world, but before that, from Ireland before my ancestors moved west

I'm from Glasgow, much mocked by others much loved by us

I'm from the shipbuilders on the Clyde, when Clyde built was the highest accolade

I'm from the dignity of the working man

I'm from where self deprecation is a virtue and blowing your own trumpet the worst sin

I'm from growing up with my grandparents and being out of step for not living with my parents. I'm from the devastation and loss that my grandpa's death caused when I was 9

I'm from alcohol and debt, divorce and despair

I'm from living in a council house but going to a private school because my mum wanted the best education she could for me

I'm from growing up in the 1970's when we did what the grown ups wanted to do and if I enjoyed it, it was a bonus

I'm from the children should be seen and not heard generation

I'm from Twinkle and then Jackie

I'm from when children's TV was 1 hour after school and playing out and reading on rainy days

I'm from Mr Benn and Mary, Mungo and Midge

I'm from Enid Blyton Mallory Towers and St Clare school stories and The Chalet School series by Elinor M Brent-Dyer

I'm from Gregory's Girl and chip shops after school discos

I'm from CND and torchlight parades, demonstrations at Faslane and crying full of teenage angst about the world

I'm from Thatcher's era, reviled over the poll tax but she allowed my mum to buy her council house and become a home owner

I'm from recycling decades before it was fashionable

I'm from The Stranglers and The Sex Pistols and Siouxsie and the Banshees and the dichotomy of being a good girl and a punk

Beautiful not such a baby anymore daughter

2011-07-18T09:48:00.005+01:00

My Beautiful Baby Daughter aged 14 and 3/4's has left middle school. She will join her brother at our 14-19 college in September. I did have a bump of my gums a whiley ago about the idea of a prom, and how much money said prom had cost me. Did I tell you about the £6.50 per head after party as well? My eyebrows are only just coming back down again.

Anyhoo, this is she

So, the baby has gone, she is growing up. Because I see her every day I get surprised when I see her looking like that, in my head she's still like this

The Beautiful Baby Daughter asked me if I had been invited to the end of term assembly, if your child is getting an award you get asked in to see them. I had to say no but reassured her that neither of her siblings got an award in the 8 years they had been there either, I did the it's all about doing your best and being a good person that counts. She is the only one of my children to be motivated by grades or certificates or awards, validation from other people matters to her in a way it is completely irrelevant to the other 2. Mind you, she is the only 1 of my children who is likely to get any kind of award, unless there is an award for lazy arse of the year, which her brother would scoop annually.

When she returned teary eyed after her last day, she presented me with not 1 but 2 awards, outstanding achievement in art and also pupil of the year.

In BBD's class there is another child with the same initials and the same surname, another L.A MacScottishname. We were amazed to find that out, our name is not the most common Scottish one even in Scotland but in middle England, tres bizarre. So the other Mrs MacScottishname got 2 letters inviting her and I got none.

I'm not going to moan and mump, I wish I could have been there to scream and cheer for her, it's not easy finding your place when your siblings are larger than life characters, I tell her every day, it doesn't matter what they've done, we love you just for being you.

But I'm glad that someone else thinks she's great, because she is, simply amazing.

They love me really

2011-07-16T05:51:00.001+01:00

You would think that my children would be filled with gratitude for the, frankly, top notch mothering that they receive. So much so that they worship and adore their Mummy darling and their every waking moment is dedicated to thanking me for my efforts, they are fulsome in their praise, compliments drip honeyedly from their lips, because they think I'm worth it.

Not so much.

My children have all inherited my smart arse gene and they think they are funny, which they are, not as funny as me obviously, but occasionally they have been known to utter a funny wee one liner.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter, whilst looking at my new Marks and Spencer step tone "eat all you like and still lose 3 stone in a day" flip flops

" Those are hideous, you look like a reject from mermaid school"

The Beautiful Son - "if you get any shorter you can officially be a tall dwarf, the height cut off point for that is 4 foot 11"

Beautiful baby daughter - " when you're old and demented you can live with me, well older and more demented. I mean all I have to do is give you a cup of tea and a plant to water and you'll be dead happy"

At which point they all join in, wandering around on their knees like a cross between Yoda and Dobby the house elf and saying "cup of tea, plant to water, mummy happy" over and over again.

Again, this is what passes for entertainment in my house.

What's in a name?

2011-07-13T06:36:00.005+01:00

For the last 10 years I have taught parenting skills (shut up, my kids are grand) I have supported nigh on 1500 families who have had a new baby and on Tuesday 12Th I held my last group. The Red Cross where we have rented premises for the last decade are changing their family support centre into something else and is dismantling it's amazing multi sensory room so I have nowhere to go. As SureStart have expanded there are so many more activities on offer to mums and babies than there were 10 years ago and I have found that less mums stay at home or they go back to work much quicker. When I started I would have women with me for a whole year until their baby was 1 and now that rarely happens.

I have learned not to raise an eyebrow when people let me know their babies name, I just enquire how I spell it. When I did my midwifery secondment as part of my nurse training a million years ago the rule of thumb was the worse the social circumstances the more outlandish the name, I helped Mercedes McDonald into the world, named entirely because it was the only way her dad could have one. The very middle class mummies had lots of Lucys, Charlottes and Emilys. Now it seems that having a name that people hear and understand that it is actually a name is slightly boring, I blame celebrities, I will not bang on about Buddy Bear Oliver again and WTF is Harper Seven or should that be Harper 7?

My real name is Wendy-Jane, yep I'm fully hyphenated up (I know you're shocked, you thought I'd been christened auntiegwen, it's right up there on your list of disappointments with Santa and the tooth fairy) I'm not keen on it, I think it's a bit of a Tracey, Mandy, Sharon type name, you read it and know I'm in my 40's. My friends at school were Karens and Lindas and Susans. It didn't stand out at school but there were always a few Wendys, there were a few hyphenated names too, I know quite a few Anne-Maries and Carol-Anns. My mum had wanted to call me Suzanne which I would have preferred but my dad said it's be shortened to Suzie which he didn't like, I am extemely glad they didn't go down the route of both grannies names or else I'd have been Margaret-Mary, and I went to school with one of them too. I spent my younger years listening to "hey Wendy, do you live in a house?" and other such witticisms now my holiday home is called The Wendy House and I like that, it must appeal to the inner retro thang I've got going on.

I married a Gordon, which was unfortunate. Ahem, no, really I was talking about the name, it was a difficult name for him, not only did you have to learn how to do the Gay Gordon dance in school but in 1978 when he was 12, Jilted John was blasting out his one hit wonder "Gordon is a moron" and now the Gordons who spring to mind are Messrs Brown and Ramsey who may or may not set your gusset aflame. Not an easy name to pull off.

It's tricky to pick a name isn't it? There may be names you like but are associated with people you don't or you may wish to remember a loved one but just find the name doesn't go with your surname. I wanted to call Eldest Beautiful Daughter Ailidh which is pronounced Aylay but was vetoed, he liked Fiona but was vetoed and we settled on Laura Elizabeth, she's not overly keen on her name.

With the boy I wanted Finlay, nope, he wanted Jack and that's what it is, Jack's low level disgruntled we didn't give him a middle name, he thinks we just couldn't be arsed but we couldn't find one that went.

And with the Beautiful baby daughter she was nameless for 3 days as we just couldn't find one we agreed on, me Abbie or Chloe, him Kirsty or Heather, having been originally put off Lucy by a friends smart arse comment about boobs and juicy Lucy, it was still our favourite so she became Lucy Abigail.

I now wish I had called one of my daughters Grace, which is my mothers name, it would have upset my mother in law, so we didn't. It seems to be a much more popular choice now than it was back in the 1990's when I had my daughters
What about you? like or loathe your name?

Ma wee lad's a sailor

2011-07-13T06:30:00.001+01:00

This is the bold boy prior to his ex girlfriends fancy dress birthday party. Those are Hot Boy's white skinny jeans, t shirt and sailor hat, the denim jacket is mine. The pants are his.

I will spare you the photo of what state the clothes came back in but it really was a Daz doorstep challenge. As was the bouncing off the walls arrival home at 2am, followed by the chat with EBD and Hot Boy just outside my bedroom. I wasn't madly keen on the ex girlfriends tearful and very loud phone call either.

At 6 am, The Beautiful Son wasn't leaping out of bed to do his paper round and had to be woken up 3 times, handed clothes to wear and helped to find his luminous yellow paperbag. Which he insisted was his sisters as it had a bike lock key in it. We had to find the identical luminous yellow bag with the identical bike lock key in it. Which we did because it's a luminous yellow bag and they are always in the same place, it was just that the son couldn't quite get his bearings. I can only apologise to the good citizens of auntiegwentown for their missing/wrong/half ripped paper on Saturday. Still it's not everyday you get a hungover/still drunk sailor on a bike attempt to deliver your paper.

Gorgeous John?

2011-07-11T14:20:00.006+01:00

Yesterday The Sunday Times published this article about John Redwood, who in addition to not being a vulcan, has turned into George Clooney.

I bet Mrs Redwood is pleased.

Coming home

2011-07-08T08:35:00.003+01:00

Yesterday I collected Eldest Beautiful Daughter back from her halls of residence, her 1st year at university is over. It didn't really ever feel like she'd left home as every weekend she would come back here, complete with dirty laundry for me. For all of June she was in a teaching placement in a school close to this house so she's been back at home for ages. But yesterday she officially gave up her keys and back home to Mummy.

She has decided that she rather likes it here, with the laundry, fridge filling, maid and full taxi service and she's not going to live away from home again. Ever. Much to the chagrin of the other 2 who have been dying to move into her room. If she doesn't pass her driving test before October 1st I am going to have a massive school run.

I have this horrible fear that rather than my children grow up and leave home, they will remain in the suspended animation of childhood with me mummying them forever and I will become the old woman who lived in a shoe as they add their partners and their children to the household.

If they do that I'm going back to my Mum and Dad.

Not so failed grown up

2011-07-01T10:34:00.003+01:00

Today is my day off and instead of procrastinating as is my wont, nay indeed my trademark, I decided to get on with all the jobs I have been putting off, the ones involving forms and big sums.

By 10 am this morning I had

Paid my M&S bill

Submitted my supporting evidence for EBD's student finance

Filled out my accident report form for the car insurers

Completed the transfer form for my old joint and now my very own overdraft, sorry bank account. How very grown up that makes me sound.

So, now completely surprised by my own dynamic efficiency, I am off to recline on the conservatory sofa with a good book, some coffee and a cherry bakewell.

And when I get dressed later I will be fully entitled to wear my pants outside my tights.

In which I am a big fail, again

2011-06-28T07:11:00.002+01:00

If you looked inside my brain it would be a great big list of stuff to worry/fret/ agitate over like...

I have overbooked the villa by a night. This is not good, you don't go on holiday and then expect to share your bed with a stranger unless there has been a bit flirting and some alcohol involved. You tend not to be amenable to the idea because your landlady is an arse. Your landlady should always check and double check she has selected the correct date from the drop down menu. Your landlady will never have same day turnarounds again, I will work on a strict system of leaving on a Tuesday? next guest can only arrive on a Wednesday. It will be much better for everyone. I am gutted that I have done this and believe me I am trying everything to get it sorted out. I am a technophobic arse who now feels the sweat of doom tricking down her back when she hears or reads 17th August.

EBD student finance application - I can't support her application until I find the 2 P60's I lost when doing my tax return for the 2nd time because I am a form filling numpty arse and cocked it up the first time. I also need council tax statemnts, child benefit statements and tax credit letters. I have no idea where I put them to keep them safe . I hate forms with a passion and will procrastinate till the end. This is now the end.

In addition to the lost stuff above I cannot find The Beautiful Son's bankbook, this is annoying him as he wants to pay some birthday money in and take some out to buy a new bike and understandably he wants it now, his exams are finished and he wants to be off with his mates. I am an "I'll put it in a safe place" arse

I bumped into someone's car and I have got to fill in an insurance claim again. I have had 3 bumps in 20 years, 2 of them have been in the last 7 months. I am an arse who can't judge distance.

I should have sent a letter registered post, I didn't and I am now worried it's gone astray. A "should have been more organised" arse.

I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal for my children from scratch.

I seem to spend my life saying to the children "can't you see I'm working?" ever such a lot.

My lovely teaching parenting skills, aka kissing squishing babies work, the group I set up 10 years ago is closing. The place I rent my room from is closing down and I haven't the energy or impetus to find new premises with a multi sensory room attached for the babies. I used to do it 3 times a week, now down to a Tuesday morning only, I would be sad about it if I could find the spare brain space.

This is in addition to the usual worries of

my weight
my wrinkles and grey hair
my "I'm not an expert at work" yet
my "I don't earn enough money to keep them in Jack Wills"
my Dad and my sister's health
my " oh my God, how much have I damaged them with the divorce"

Again I am running on empty, I am utterly exhausted. Thank you for listening

TMI

2011-06-21T07:27:00.004+01:00

I work on a strictly need to know basis. I can only cope with so much reality at a time. Then I don't have to get myself worked up to either full fat grumpiness or cross shouty shreikyness on a daily basis. Because I have 3 children plus a Hot Boy so you know there are plenty things to get me up to 90 (that probably doesn't translate outside of Scotland/Ireland, it means in a tizzy)

Beautiful Baby Daughter has been going to Girls Brigade for the last 3 years, I have said before I have nothing but gratitude and admiration for people who volunteer in any activity for the benefit of other peoples children.

BBD has come home with a letter which has given me far too much information.

I have found out that 1 of the 19 year old young leaders is pregnant
That she has been in a relationship with the father for nearly a year
That she is not married
That the other leaders and chaplain feel she should stand down as a leader because she hasn't promoted Jesus's guidelines in her own life but she can still attend the group so they can offer her "support and friendship"
That they "do not condone her behaviour" and they accept that "we all make mistakes" and they will allow her to become a young leader again "when her personal life becomes more stable"

I don't like the tone of the letter at all, I can appreciate that it must have been a difficult situation for the Church, they have to promote Christian values but they also have to survive in a world where the majority of people don't abide by the 10 commandments. I just feel it has been very clumsily handled.

The letter wasn't in an envelope just a typed sheet given to the girls to hand on to parents. Does reading that letter make a young girl feel bad about herself because her parents weren't married in the first place? Does reading that letter make a girl feel bad because her parents are divorced? Does reading that letter make a girl feel bad because she might also be having sex (the group has girls aged up to 18 in)?

Now I wonder did I need to know all that? But now I do and it just doesn't sit well with me. My usual default setting is to let it go, it doesn't really affect me but I now have had to think on this, because they wrote to me and I have an opinion now, and as the Church has felt the need to give me all this information I now want to give the Church my take on this.

Dear Church

He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.

Yours sincerely

auntiegwen

Another fine place we can go back to

2011-06-20T09:24:00.006+01:00

Hello my lovely internets, did you have a good weekend?

Now that all our restraining orders have been lifted, the family von strange aka auntiegwen and the weans went out for brunch to celebrate the bold boy being 16. We went to Roodys because Katyboo keeps blogging about how great it was. If you want to look at cake porn click on the word Roodys and the magic bloggy fairy shall take you there.

And it was, we had paninis, we had milkshakes, we had cupcakes, we had pancakes, we had icecream, we had a squidy thing made with curly wurlys. We also had what I call space dust (I'm of an age) you may call it popping candy.

Like Katyboo says, it looks great, the food tastes fab and the service is amazing. Please go if you're around that part of the world, we had a 30 minute drive to get there and we weren't disappointed.

And the best bit?

The best bit of all?

They didn't turn a hair when Hot Boy tried to snort his space dust like cocaine. What? he has an enquiring mind. If you also are curious, let me save you the trouble, nothing happens and you are left with a very sticky nose.

You're welcome.

A chuisle mo chridhe

2011-06-17T08:24:00.005+01:00

Tomorrow The Beautiful Son will be 16. I love being his Mummy, although he drives me round the bend with...

his omnipresent moaning about how slow our Internet speeds are
his work shy tendencies
his eat anything and worry about ownership later stuff
his ability to wind both his sisters up to cross, shouty, shreikyness
his complete disinterest in revising for any test or exam
his total obsession with stripping down his bike/Call of Duty/youtube/facebook and twitter

BUT

He still talks to me.
He still kisses me and hugs me at least once a day.
He makes me howl with laughter in a way no one else can.
He knows when I'm upset when no one else notices.
He said on FaceBook (which makes it official) that I was the person in the whole world he was closest to.

I wouldn't change a thing, he makes me happy and I love him. Jack, a chuisle mo chridhe.

You'll pay for that...

2011-06-13T08:52:00.004+01:00

Is it just me who thinks that if something nice happens it will inevitable be followed by something not so nice just to redress the balance? I have just had a wee jolliday to the Algarve, I had days of sun lolling around here...

And evenings eating and drinking around here...

And for my penance?

Just as I'm enjoying the last bit of sun I get a text from Beautiful Baby Daughter which reads "It's not a matter of life and death but what time are you getting back as we need to tidy up?" So I immediately think Jesus it must be horrendous if they're thinking they need to tidy, they could quite happily live in a skip normally.

When I was on the plane a text arrived saying "if you want coffee you may want to buy milk" I left 12 pints on Tuesday as I went to Waitrose just before I left. The mahoosive shop I did before I left had been eaten so as soon as I'm home back to Waitrose I go.

The washing basket which was empty when I left had been filled up and had a pile just as high beside it left for me, the washing machine had also had a nice break just like me and the nice days of sunshine which would have dried the washing a treat were a mere memory as yesterday it rained biblically because I had 3 machine loads to do and dry. And iron.

The dishwasher has packed up, it won't drain gawdonlyknows what they've put in it while I've been away.

My lifesize cardboard cutout of David Tennant was missing when I got back, I later found him in the wardrobe. Since then he has been found right outside The Beautiful Son's bedroom door, in my bed and this morning was last seen in the children's shower cubicle. What can I say? this passes for entertainment in my house.

So, I has a nice few days off which were preceded with me doing a weeks worth of work stuff and home stuff before I went and have been followed with a weeks worth of work stuff and home stuff to catch up on.

Remind me again, who had a break?

A game of 2 halfs

2011-06-06T09:24:00.008+01:00

Once upon a time this blog was filled with tales of nights out, drinking, flirting and gigs. Now it's filled with tales of kitchen porn and The White Company. It's so hard to keep my reckless middle aged streak at bay.

Readers, in a last ditch attempt to redress the balance, I shall regale you of my Saturday night out.

I went all the way up to Sheffield to see Kasabian. Incidentally the support band Modern Faces were brilliant, another great band singing in their own accents.

One up to the recycled teenager within.

I was right up at the front, 3rd row from the stage, not in the upstairs viewing area with seats, oh no, down with the moshers, close enough to see Tom Meigham's spots and be envious of his ring finger tattoo.

Two nil

I got soaking wet in beer and other peoples sweat

Three nil

I got moshed and bashed around mainly by topless men.

Four nil

I wasn't wearing sensible shoes

Five nil

I didn't leave before the end, I stayed to hear the last song, even though that meant having to pay for an extra 2-4 hours in the car park, yep an extra £4 for 5 minutes. In the clip coming up, I was much nearer the front, just in front of Tom the lead singer.

Six nil.

I went to bed on a different day to when I got up.

Seven nil

Oh yes, I've still got it, middle aged, pah...

I shan't mention the fact that I was cross that it cost extra to book online even though you could only book online, or that it cost £10 to post them even though there was no option to collect in person or that they charged for ticket insurance or some such other nonsense and that the total cost bore no relation to the advertised price. No indeed, for that would make me sound middle aged.

And I shall gloss over the fact that getting covered in sweat and beer made we very wet and quite chilly on the drive home.

We won't go into my feet hurting quite a bit as they weren't in their usual fitflops. In fact they suffered the podiatral equivalent of vertigo.

We shall also make light of my attempts to master the iPhone (yes, eventually I too, have been appletized) and you don't need/want to know that the reason I succumbed to said iPhone was because the buttons and text on the BlackBerry pearl were just too small in the end.

And you are most definitely better off without the knowledge that my best friends mum (who I love dearly but is a pensioner) was giving me tips on using said iPhone and said to me, in the most helpful manner, "if you turn it sideways it makes the keys bigger and easier to type"

Which would have been so much better if it hadn't been preceded with the query to my best friend asking "how can I reply to Wendy if she texts me?"

I think we'll call it a draw, you're not counting any more

Thank you

2011-06-04T15:14:00.002+01:00

... for all your good wishes and thought, prayers and virtual hugs. Unfortunately when my sister went for her scan there was no heart beat. It must be devastating to hear that once but for the 4th time, I can't imagine.

So thank you, it's nice to know people care.

News from The Mother Country

2011-06-03T07:38:00.004+01:00

I have been home on a wee quick jaunt to see The Beautiful Parents. All is not as good as it could be.

Gadget Mad Dad back in the day worked for the gas board, fitting fires and cookers etc, as is a gas fitters wont. For the last few years he has been struggling with breathlessness and was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease which was not entirely unexpected as he's been a smoker for 50 years plus. It now turns out that the main reason for this breathlessness is pleural plaques which are caused by asbestos exposure. There isn't anything that can be done really, except hope it doesn't turn into Mesothelioma which is the cancer caused by exposure to asbestos. The problems don't start until 30-40 years after exposure. Unfortunately, they both looked after my mums Uncle Ricky who died of this so they are more than a little apprehensive at what may be ahead of them. He is really struggling to breathe and this is the reason the beautiful parents didn't come with us to Turkey at Easter, they never miss their 2 weeks there at the beginning of May.

I try not to write too much about my sister and her deep deep need to have a 3rd baby, it's her private stuff but she has been trying for many years now and her last 3 pregnancies have ended in miscarriage. She is pregnant again but has had some cramping, so she's off for a scan this morning, I just hope that this time everything is okay.

Life gets a bit sucky sometimes doesn't it?

Things you don't want to read

2011-05-31T12:23:00.005+01:00

Dear Client

Please be advised that Travel Junky is currently in the process of entering into voluntary liquidation and will cease trading formally on 31/05/2011 (today)

This is what greeted me this morning in an email and I clicked on it quite happily as I thought it contained my boarding passes for next weeks trip to Portugal.

And as I am not turning into my mother AT ALL, I am completely reassured by their declaration that " If you have made a booking with us and are concerned about receiving our service then you do not need to worry because all our suppliers have already been paid in full so no clients should be affected by this"

Sure, it'll all be fine. I'm not concerned at all, not even a teeny tiny bit.

The auntie needs a new kitchen post.

2011-05-27T08:57:00.007+01:00

I need a new kitchen, mine is shabby and tired, slightly falling apart and going off colour, a bit like me in room form.

I have 3 Cath Kidston tea towels, some flowery clothes peg fridge magnets (xmas pressie from my friend Sixy)and some wobble stripe CK oven gloves just quivering in retro style floral porn anticipation. I even bought a set of Kitchen Devil knives. But no nice new apple green painted walls and cream shaker style units with silver bar handles and a pastel ice cream coloured smeg fridge dream kitchen to put them in.

All together now poor, poor auntie.

But I have a cunning plan.

Not like The Beautiful Son's plan of sleeping with older people for money, I fear I may not get enough for the paint. A betterer plan. Remember when Peter Kay did his "Mum wants a bungalow" tour? This is the "auntie needs a new kitchen" campaign.

Hot Boy has always said when he gets famous (outside of Germany, where his band are really, really popular) he will buy me a new kitchen.

Today Hot Boy's band who I think should call themselves Hot Boy's Band, loads of people searching on T'internets will be lead to their site (yes, I think it is a much better name, I thought it up all by my very own self) anyhoo they release their album "Of regard and affection" today. They, however, are still sticking with calling themselves i am in love.

If you all buy the album and tell everyone you know to buy the album, Hot Boy will become famous and will have to buy me a new kitchen to stop me telling the tales that couldn't be put on the blog, yep that's right, you had the heavily edited highlights. God help us all, you only get a smidgen of what he's like.

He will be 21 on Monday and has a huge exam to sit today so send all good positive vibes his way, pleasey please, and if you wanted a good 21st pressie or passing your exams pressie...

Or Eldest Beautiful Daughter has said she'll marry Prince Harry.

She has a 3 pronged strategy for meeting him so he can fall madly in love with her

1 - She teaches at a military school and he comes on an official visit

2 - William and Kate have a child that she becomes the personal tutor of

3 - When Hot Boy is playing at the festivals this summer, she will be hanging around in the VIP area as Hot Boy's plus one and as Hot Boy is wooing the crowds she will engage Prince Harry in flirty banter about her red and white polka dot wellies.

So, the choice dear readers is up to you, you can pay the money for Hot Boy's album or EBD will have to marry into clan Windsor.

You know what's the right thing to do.

We survived

2011-05-23T19:49:00.008+01:00

So, the world didn't end and it's still business as usual. I'm sure we all enjoyed the skiving off part though but it was a bit pants to realise I did actually have to clean up and get back to work.

I am a poorly auntie, if I was a man I would have flu but as a mere auntie I just have a cold. I am feeling slightly under par so have retreated to bed (after finishing work of course, couldn't let my unblemished I've never had a day off sick record go, could I?)

I love my bed with a passion some people reserve for their spouses. Nothing makes your auntie more cheery than going to bed. And now I can take to my bed, sans guilt, in the manner of a consumptive Victorian heroine, I have the cough nailed. Please feel free to pop by with grapes and anything else you think would make auntie better.

And so, dear readers I shall leave you with the bed of loveliness in all it's glory.

Scroll down, let's have a little anticipation.

I paid The White Company a lot of money for my bed linen, you know, let's get my money's worth.

Ta da!!!!!

Middle class porn for middle aged ladies at it's best, I'm sure you'll agree

The end.

2011-05-20T09:45:00.003+01:00

Well my lovely readers, it's been a blast, 4 years of me spouting the gospel of St Gwen, patron saint of procrastinators, middle aged women and failed grown ups.

All good things must come to an end and so I bid thee farewell, if the world does end tomorrow at 6pm I am not wasting my last day cleaning the kitchen, I will retreat to the garden and read a book, but what a choice I have to make, I mean if this is my last book I want it to be a good one.

And tonight I will have everyone I love with me (except Hot Boy as his band have a gig at The Good Ship in Kilburn, if you're local pop along) and we will eat drink and be merry.

And if the world doesn't end tomorrow I will have had my day in the sun and the Kasabian tickets, forthcoming trip to Portugal and new high heel peep toe wedges won't go to waste.

See you on the other side. Failing that probably next week.

Where did I go wrong?

2011-05-18T08:36:00.015+01:00

I have a lovely son, a son that I love and adore, a son I have tried so hard to make into a well rounded human being (okay a regular human)

Sometimes I think I've cracked it, he'll show me a depth of feeling or a sense of empathy and understanding that I am still surprised by, and I will allow myself a proud mummy feeling. I will bask in the glow of maternal pride and think I made him.

Other times not so much.

On Saturday he was telling me about his cunning plan to make money. He is going to find himself an older lady who he will accompany to parties and business functions and he will then sleep with her. For money.

My son, aspiring to be on the game. I am so proud, my friends sons only want to Doctors and lawyers, my son wants to be a gigolo.

He has found a website called sugarmommies which promises to spoil young men and he is so looking forward to being 16 so he can join said site.

Far be it from me to tell him of the flaws in his cunning plan. I am sure that successful business women will be flocking to him, every woman who has climbed the corporate ladder would be dying to have a 6 foot 2 lump of useless who needs washing, dressing and plugging into his Ipod every morning, wouldn't she?

And I'm sure any ones work colleagues would be madly impressed with his urbane chit chat about Facebook, the best laughing babies on youtube and his extensive Call of Duty knowledge. He could whisper sweet nothings in her ear in his best GCSE French. He could wake her up every morning with a cup of coffee before he goes off to do his paper round. Who could fail to be jealous as he turns up on his BMX to collect his lady friend and give her a backy to said business functions with his pants on show to the world. And I'm sure he'd wear his best Jack Wills ones for such a lucky lady.

Flawless plan son, who wouldn't want to date this fine specimen of male?

In the last month I have been mainly...

2011-05-10T07:03:00.005+01:00

at the beautiful house with the people I love, sunshine, good food, gin and laughter. Not too shabby, is it?

In other news...

Hot Boy and his band (whom he's rejoined but not sure if he's staying, lots of hard decisions to be made) have been played on Radio 1 as part of their introducing programme, please have a listen and buy lots of their stuff (album out on May 27th), Hot Boy has promised me a new fitted kitchen if they get famous, you wouldn't deny auntie a new kitchen, would you?

He's the one on the right of the picture, he's either in his black hoody with tartan shirt or stripped down to his burgundy vest. How he'll love that in years to come.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter has been in a Catholic school on a teaching placement. One of her first jobs was to escort the children to Mass, she's sat with a naughty child on either side of her and she's a bit bemused with the genuflecting and all, very different from her Presbyterian church going and naughty child says (in tones of great incredulity) "Miss, have you never been in a church before?"

The Beautiful Son is completely denying the need for any GCSE revision. He continues in his mad notion that exams are a reflection of what he knows on the day and any kind of revision is therefore cheating. Shame he's not doing GCSE's in Call of Duty or looking at laughing babies on youtube or annoying your wee sister. We'd be grand then.

Beautiful Baby Daughter is currently dementing me with her prom, I think it's a mad notion that when she leaves middle school aged 14, I have to lash out tons of cash for her to be in a frock more suitable for a nightclub (yes I am aware of how old that makes me sound, thank you very much) a hair do, and a ride to school prom in a limousine, is she from Essex? I think not. This bloody thing isn't until mid July but I am bored to death looking for shoes, dresses, accessories and I have abso bloody lutley refused both the fake tan and the white Hummer/pink stretch/fire engine or any other form of transportation that isn't a regular car. I know, bah Humbug phone Childline.

I am still working, still trying (and failing) to lose weight although I have started Zumba and last Wednesday myself and my friend Eileen went to our first fat loss body conditioning class, it was Sunday before I could walk down stairs without wincing. I know know what I'll be like as a pensioner. I am continuing to turn into my mother and it's escalated a fair bit. My forgetfulness and my misplacement of things is now up to Olympic standard currently searching for 200 cigarettes I brought back duty free for my dad last October (I had even forgotten I'd bought them till my mum asked them to bring them with me when I next go home) on the plus side I have found both my denim jacket and my Tiffany necklace. I don't live in a huge house, just a tip.

And that's been about it. What have you been up to?

Don't stop believing

2011-04-13T10:24:00.007+01:00

Own up now, who's singing along now? and who's cursing their auntie for putting that tune in their head all day?

Ahem,

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin.

Once upon a time, there was an auntie, who blogged about being fat, how her children could outsmart her and her great longing for The White Company life. Only a few posts ago, she blogged about random acts of kindness and how they made her cheery. It's quite a job being cheery with the 3 work shy beautiful children and Hot Boy that auntie has, auntie has to work at it. It's why she blogs, because only the lovely readers actually keep her sane.

And lo and behold, as a reward for reading blogs and leaving comments she was visited by the Fairy Blogfather. Via Kellogsville, who also reads blogs and leaves comments. A great big thank you to you, Kellogsville, my dear.

And he bestowethed (shut up, that is a word, and if it wasn't before, it is now, made up all by my very own self) upon her the gift of Amazon. Not the river, it'd be a bugger to wrap.

This made her even more cheerful. More cheerful that when she looked at the 10 day forecast for her upcoming holiday and seen a big row of shiny suns. And that made auntie extremely cheery.

And to share this good fortune around, the Fairy Blogfather, who in his day job works for a company called appliancesonline and in his alter ego floats the bloggesphere dispensing £20 Amazon vouchers would like you to go look at his cookers (not a euphanism) and also leave a comment. Go on now, click HERE and go look at the cookers, I'll wait here till you get back. Okay, comment away and maybe the Fairy Blogfather will choose you next.

What a cool job, reading blogs and giving out vouchers, I know what I want to be when I grow up.

And shame on all of you who didn't believe in fairies, till now.

In which I reflect on why I'm tired

2011-04-11T09:51:00.005+01:00

On Friday, I did a full days work, drove 200 miles and got stressed about parking taking the children to see Peter Kay. On Saturday morning I was back to being a bad mummy for not driving BBD the mile to cheerleading in the blazing sunshine, so I got up and walked with her, rather than sit in the sunshine with my book, I know, that is matenal devotion personified, isn't it? So we walk and this was the focus of the conversation.

BBD - I'm so looking forward to Hot Boy coming on holiday with us, it'll be so much better with someone else there, you're so boring on holiday, all you want to do is relax and read your book.

ag - when you're a Mummy you'll realise it's because it's tiring being a single parent with 3 kids and a Hot Boy, a job, a house that no one else cleans, laundry, ironing, shopping, heating up (I don't even bother now to pretend to t'internets I cook) and driving service, a cash machine, a sorter out of problems and a referee for all your disagreements

BBD - God Mummy, it's not like we don't appreciate you.

I won't bother telling you about my raised eyebrow at this, you can put that bit in yourself.

Saturday evening - my only Saturday evening without the 2 younger children this month, my night off, if you please, I arrange to meet best friend in the pub for wine and food and probably a moan about my weans. Just as I'm about to leave, EBD floats in and enquires where I'm off to, on being told the pub starts to pout.

EBD - Mummy I can't be on my own now, I've got too used to being in Halls where everyone is around all the time, Hot Boy got a free ticket to see The Vaccines and I've got no one to play with.

Oh you so know I took EBD to the pub, where she got free food and wine and she got to moan about how crap it is to be a student.

Nope, I've no idea why I'm tired either.

In the style of Bridgit Jones

2011-04-07T06:57:00.002+01:00

Next weekend we are off on holiday. Nothing like it for motivating you to lose the winter weight, is there? Oh, except people who you're not related to coming with you, that helps too. I have no fear inflicting my flab in a bikini on my children, this year we will have the delights of Hot Boy joining us. I am less keen on letting Hot Boy see my wobbly bits. Never mind, I'm sure the compensation of enough blog fodder to keep me going all year will help.

Anyhoo, I started early, I thought if I gave myself 15 weeks (from after Xmas to Easter hols) I could lose a few stone quite easily. So I cut down, I got out and ran a bit, I gave up chocolate for a few weeeks, absolutely nothing. Not a pound. Bugger.

So because I now have to lose 3 stone by next Friday, this week I upped the ante, oh your auntie was upped, so she was.

On Monday, I went to Zumba for the first time with my friend Eileen, it's a bit like aerobics but with Latiny type music, I walked the 3/4 of a mile there and back and wiggled my wobbly bits for an hour inbetween. Total steps walked (yep, the pedometer's back) 16,000 that's 8 bloody miles. 1 glass of Rose with dinner and 4 chocolates out of EBD's birthday box. How can she be my child and have chocolates left nearly a whole month after her birthday? This probably explains why I need to lose 3 stone and she doesn't need to lose 3 pounds.

On Tuesday, I walked to my kissing squishing baby work and back, total 4 miles plus normal walking around, total of 12,000 steps, no wine and no chocolates, went to bed early to resist temptation. Grumpily.

On Wednesday, I walked around lots while I was training, and when there was a lunch break, I went out and walked then too. Actually bloody ran the 3/4 mile to Zumba, wiggled and wobbled more energetically than on Monday, ran the 3/4 mile back and then went for an hours walk with my friend Christina. No wine and no chocolate, total steps 20,000.

This morning, got up and felt every single one of the 13 muscles in each leg, I can't beleieve there are only 13, I couldn't remember from my nurse training so I googled it, I feel like I have 504 muscles in my legs at least. I stepped on the scales after having a wee and before coffee, no point in adding extra weight, fully expecting to have lost something.

Not a bloody pound. I hate dieting.

How to make a good impression at work

2011-04-01T08:56:00.004+01:00

I work for a big UK wide charity. All the field staff are based at home (which is cheaper than having lots of wee offices everywhere for us to sit in) I like this, it means if I'm not out training people, I am in the dining room in my jammies. And we all know how I like my jammies.

The downside to this is

a - I have to have a ferocious amount of technology that me, myself and I alone have to operate and maintain, laptops, projectors, infra red pointers, speakers, shredders, scanners, printers. Jesus you should see my phone, it's like a switchboard, I can transfer any call to anyone in the organisation, well regular humans can, I just tell people it'd be quicker to redial, I seem to cut people off a fair bit.

b - We do a lot of things I have never done before such as conference calls, Internet meetings, signing out group documents etc and all kinds of spreadsheets that I am forever breaking. Don't even get me started on mail bloody merge.

c - there is no one around to show you what to do, if you're lucky you can ring someone and they'll try and explain it down the phone. This may work with regular humans, not so much with aunties. I spend a bit of time every week in a tizzy.

Every month I complete my expenses, I have a page for mileage (fine), things I've bought for work (fine) and then the receipts page (not so fine) I have to put the wee arrow in a certain box, put the numbered receipts to correspond with the line they appear on and while I've got another tab open reading the instructions for the scanning of expenses, click insert picture from scanner. You only get 1 go and if your scanned picture doesn't show the total, it's no use.

Me no likey.

My lovely boss has left and we are awaiting her replacement. This month I had to send my expenses to my ex lovely boss's boss. She's 1 down from the Chief. I had a real problem with the scanner yesterday (there's bog all wrong with the scanner, it's just me)so in my covering email I apologised and said I had had problems scanning the receipts in but I still had the original receipts and I could post them to her.

I received a very charming reply saying how sorry she was about my scanner but I hadn't actually attached the expenses document at all.

There's an internal vacancy for head of IT, guess she won't think I'm up to that then.

Welcome to the house of fun

2011-03-28T08:43:00.007+01:00

Chez auntiegwen - a flavour if you please, a little taster of what my life can be like.

I get home to be greeted by TBS and BBD so excited they could burst. They proffer a tin of cat food and try to lead me to the conservatory where they tell me is the new pet cat Hot Boy has bought them. I am feart of cats, cats would be my last choice of pet - no harm to any readers who have cats, I'm sure yours are lovely, I'm just scared of them.

This followed a conversation that we've had many, many times over the years where the kids ask for a cat/dog/guinea pig/hamster/bunny rabbit/pony and I say no. The animal changes the answer doesn't. Hot Boy asked if he and EBD could get a cat, I say no (waste not your time wondering why Hot Boy wants a cat at my house, he thinks he lives here, he thinks he's one of us, he's even asked if he and EBD split up if I'll convert the garage for him as sleeping in the same bed with her would be awkward, he's only half joking) Hot Boy tells me he'll just get one anyway. I tell Hot Boy on no account is there a cat to be bought and brought to my house.

Hot Boy is the most difficult to manage of them all, he is the one I have least control over. He is the most impulsive of them all, he also has cash to fund this impulsiveness. He is less scared of me than the others as when I get to full fat cross shouty shreikeyness as he can leave and go to his own flat. He also has his own Mummy, he doesn't need me the way the others do. This is a deadly combination.

So as we go towards the conservatory, I am ready to kill Hot Boy, I am searching in my phone for his number and I am ready to do full fat cross shouty shreikeyness down the phone. It's not the same but it'll have to do.

We get to the conservatory and I make the others go in first to collect the cat, who I'm now worried that it'll have gone mad being cooped up in there and will have scratched the furniture to bits and shit all over my cream sofas. I'm hiding in the dining room scared to go much further and I'm now trying to work out what to do with this feckin cat.

Then TBS and BBD crack and nearly piddle their frillies, total wind up from them all, even to the extent of buying the cat food.

Bar stewards the lot of them.

This was on top of EBD fake pregnancy frape on FaceBook, which nearly caused my mother to have another stroke and more than a few people called and texted me to find out if it was actually true.

And TBS Facebook posting of a picture of chopped up polo mints, shaped into a line with a rolled up fiver beside it entitled "How to scare the living shit out of your Mum"

My life is so much funnier when you're only reading about it.

Take 2

2011-03-26T22:29:00.006Z

If you've been reading a wee whiley, you may remember an attempted Primal Scream gig. I say attempted, as that night, the band in a very not rock n roll style finished their gig around half past nine.

This is very poor, even by my standards, which consist of jammies on and bed at the earliest possible opportunity.

Anyhoo, take 2 found me at the 02 place in where I do live, which is the arse end of nowhere, middle Engerland.

So, this time I arrived really really early, so early I had to amuse myself by throwing ice cubes down peoples T shirts for fun. I was there an hour and a half before before the band, to be on the safe side, it'd be pants to miss them twice.

So, 20 years on they play Screamadelica in it's entirety. I missed the 90's music completely being up to my arse in weans and nappies, Postman Pat and the wheels on the bus were the soundtrack to my life then. I now realise that Screamadelica is for the stoned, Mani kept the band's end of the bargain up beautifully, sadly I was drinking diet coke, not a euphanism.

The encore was, again, the best part of the gig. But, as always, being with your best mate and live music is an unbeatable combination.

Happy

2011-03-24T08:23:00.004Z

I'm sure the lovely weather has had a massive impact on my cheeryometer but I am ridiculously happy at the moment. It's like the universe has turned it's random acts of kindness beam in my direction. I have been the recipient of several nice things recently and all of these are contributing to my warm fuzzy glow.

Things that have made your auntie happy, in no particular order

The sunshine

My lovely friend Libby send me an Edward Monkton book on shoes and a Scottish tea towel to make me laugh. Thank you Libby, much as I love the book it's the thought that you saw it and you thought of me that I love, I am blessed with great friends.

Alienne very very kindly offered to send me her copy of the Hardeep Singh Kohli book, and she did. Last Saturday I read it, sat in the garden in the sunshine, how good is that? So many thanks to you, Alienne.

A lovely lady emailed me from America to say she's been reading for a year and she enjoys the blog, how cool is that? a lovely non work email. Another lovely man from Portugal did too and I'd love to read your blog back but it's in Portugese.

I am running again, not to real running standards but wobbly and slowly I have my trainers on and am putting one foot in front of the other. It is a joy to be out in the sun.

Kellogsville and Mde Worthington are encouraging my running on twitter. Laura and I are getting excited about the new Cath Kidston shop on twitter.

I am participating in the 30 day song challenge I heard about on facebook, I am loving that.

The people at Innocent sent me free tokens to buy juice with, I love free stuff, Innocent, I love you, there is a game to play too, to win free stuff http://juice.innocentdrinks.co.uk/ The White Company, what's keeping you?

At present the children are happy and not trying to poke each other with sharp pointy sticks, even metaphorical sharp pointy sticks. That's got to be a win?

Oh and the sun is shining, did I mention that? Tell your auntie, what's making you cheery?

11.15 am - Happiness update - the postman has just been and delivered a card from my dear friend Libby, sent just because she was thinking of me, how lucky am I to have such a good friend?

3 by 9

2011-03-21T08:48:00.001Z

When Mrs W asks, Mrs W gets, even in the same week! boy am I impressed with my blogging efficiency

Three names I go by: Mummy, auntiegwen and Wendy

Three places I’ve lived: Glasgow, Edinburgh and Leicestershire

Three places I’ve worked: Hospitals, schools and home (boy do I work at home!)

Three things I love to watch: Sex and the city, Chewin the fat, Take me out (my very guilty and now not so secret pleasure)

Three places I have been & love: what, other than Scotland?

Olu Deniz and surrounding area, Turkey - my other home, Inshallah may it always be so

Paris - my favourite city

New York - it edged Prague and Barcelona and Rome and Portofino, just

Three people that email me regularly: work, work and work although out of work it has to be Libby and I sometimes have people who read the blog email me, I love these emails, I love any non work related emails

Three things I love to eat: cake especially coffee cake, strawberries, pizza

Three things I am looking forward to: my decree absolute and the recognition of the beginning of my new life it brings, summer as I am heartily fed up of lack of sunshine, and getting back into shape and being less of a lardy auntie.

I am supposed to tag 3 readers but I am rubbish at choosing and I know lots of my bloggy friends have already been tagged, I would like to hear from all of you so please consider yourself tagged, I know lots of lady bloggers will as I've read a few already so what about the boys? did anyone tag them, panic not, it's not kiss chase so Steve, Troy, Nota Bene and Andy would you like to play?

No offense

2011-03-19T05:05:00.001Z

I rang my daughter yesterday. The eldest one who allegedly has left home. There was no reply. A few minutes later I receive a text message

EBD - I'm in a seminar, what's wrong? x

ag - sweetie I love you and think you're great and all but if there was something wrong, would you really be the best person to ring? xxxxx

EBD - point taken, I'll be home at 2, if you're in we'll go get coffee and cake, our eyebrows waxed and go to waste your money type shops, I got paid xx

It's lovely when you know each other so well.

In which I nearly spit out gin.

2011-03-17T20:41:00.007Z

I'm not often lost for words. I know, you're shocked at that revelation aren't you? What can I say?, even I, Queen of the smart arse remark, can, on occassion, be stumped for the correct response.

Anyhoo, I was having a conversation with someone about their upcoming date. This was a first date with a man they had met through t'internets. I wasn't shocked at that. I was, however, surprised that t'internet site was based on rich men taking women out and paying for everything. Well, London has it all, doesn't it?

So, a site where rich men take women out for drinks and dinner and expect nothing in return, just the pleasure of your sparkling chit chat and company.

I nearly spat out my gin and tonic, my £5.35 gin and tonic!!!!!!! (and it wasn't even Bombay Sapphire, just Gordon's)

Aye right. (to be heard in as Glaswegian accent as you can manage)

auntiegwen's guide of what not to do - decorating for numpties

2011-03-15T07:21:00.006Z

We are still deep in decorating chez auntiegwen. As always, I started without a clear plan of what I was doing and then made it up as I went along. This is not clever and also frighteningly expensive. As I am public spirited to my very core and I am so fond of you, my lovely readers, read on so you don't weep for you will not make the same mistakes as your auntie.

Do not try and paint your room the same colour as the sky in your Christmas present painting. A trained and talented artist spent years learning to lovingly blend colours to get the irridescence of a winter sky. A wee spotty boy in B and Q with an hours on the job training is unlikely to be able to recreate the tonal effect of said sky, no matter how good the paint machine is. You will feel like a numpty stood there with your painting under your arm. Even the wee spotty B and Q boy with his 1 hours training knows he can only do flat colours.

Ditto in the carpet shop.

Do not think that you and your offspring can paint a room. You can but you will reach cross shouty shreikyness fairly quickly and what you save on a properly trained and experienced painter and decorator you will spend on gin, you pays your money, you take your choice.

If you do manage to get a shade of beigey pinky greyey paint you like, DO NOT (in capitals for emphasis) paint all 4 walls if you only need 3 doing as you are having 1 wall with feature wallpaper. I emphatically did not make a mistake, I knew I only needed 3 but I also knew it may take quite some time to get around to wallpapering said wall and I felt that it would look better meantime to have all walls the same colour.

If you base the whole theme of the room on the 2 rolls of wallpaper on the feature wall, it is then A VERY BAD IDEA to decide that you are not actually a feature wall sort of person and you actually like all 4 walls in the beigey, pinky, greyey paint. Especially if you have driven to no less than 5 branches of B and Q in a 50 mile radius of your house to buy the 2 rolls of wallpaper.

Check that the beigey, pinky greyey silk lightshade that is the perfect shape to match the bedside lamps and that you fall in love with is actually for a ceiling light and not a lamp. There is a difference, who knew?

If you have champagne tastes on a beer income do not even have a sneaky peek at The White Company website or catalogue, it doesn't come with an addiction warning.

When you actually succumb to The White Company do not add up what your bedlinen cost you, because when people ask you in shocked tones what your pure silk bedspread in taupey grey, your 2 sets of grey piped duvet covers and Oxford pillowcases and the extra deep kingsize bed sheets costs you will be truthfully unable to tell them, this is much better for your mental health. Especially when you realise that your pure silk bedspread doesn't actually serve a purpose, it just lies there looking pretty.

Do not buy an extra metre of pelmet covering fabric to make cushion covers and tie backs, yes, you will be fair away with yourself and may fancy yourself as the next Kelly Hoppen thinking your room will look very what swish and co-ordinated but if you have no idea of how to and no means of making these cushion covers and tie backs, it isn't one of your better ideas. Especially when you actually prefer your interim solution of your curtains tied back with the black and cream ribbons you get tied round your Links of London jewellery boxes.

Do not try and outsmart yourself. I have a tendency to live with things unfinished, this time I have tried to overcome this by buying everything for the room at once, new furniture, new carpets, new linen, bedside lamps, light shade, curtains (paid extra to be made up quicker) and fabric plus tonal piping for to cover the window pelmets and to make tie backs and cushion covers for the bed. This was ANOTHER VERY BAD IDEA I have spent more than I earn and I get panicky if I can't clear my credit card bill in full every month. I am now afeared of the big feck off bill shortly due from my credit card.

When your room looks beautiful, it becomes a sanctuary for you. Your calm and serene room awaits you every night, lovingly inviting, not just to you but also for your nearest and dearest. They also wish to spend time in the calm and elegant sanctuary. This unleashes your inner Monica, I now clean and hoover every day, my usual slattern has been replaced by a cross shouty shreiky creature who doesn't want people to walk in her room as it leaves footmarks in the carpet and the thought of people lounging around on my bed makes me ill, I mean their feet might touch my pure silk White Company bedspread! I now want a lock on my door as I know when I am in London for a few days they will roll around and mess my bed up and send me pictures of them doing it, with glee on their faces.

When you have finished it just makes the rest of the house look so shabby so you think I'll have a go at the rest... and so it begins... decorexia.

Happy Birthday EBD

2011-03-11T07:32:00.005Z

Today my Eldest Beautiful Daughter is 19. For the first time in her life she wakes up on her birthday without us there. No breakfast in bed, no cards or presents or singing (she might actually be glad to skip that!)

But tonight she will be home here with us. And Hot Boy.

Happy Birthday to you my dear practice child, I didn't do so badly with you after all, did I?

Lara, mo chridhe, tha gaol akam ort.

My ladies car

2011-03-09T08:12:00.003Z

My car is flashing her orange warning light at me again. I care not for the orange warning light. It is like a little harbinger of doom on your dashboard, a little flashing light that smirks evilly at me "I'm going to cost you money" and does the mwah ha ha ha evil laugh.

2 weeks ago I had to replace the brake pads and that cost me at least a pair of LK Bennett peep toe platforms or a White Company Westbourne duvet cover, 4 Oxford pillowcases and a fitted sheet.

Yesterday the evil orange engine malfunction light reappeared. Summoning all my huge and extensive mechanical knowledge it feels like another coil has gone. My flighty car may have already worn her coil out. Is she drving someone else on the side?

I fear my car is me in mechanical form and she is now tired. When she was bought 9 years ago she was never expected to go anywhere further than the shops. She was a ladies car, a Mummy car, she took the children to ballet, rugby, Brownies, music lessons, swimming lessons etc and me to the supermarket. She did little short trips 30 minutes at most. She was indeed A class.

She never had to do early starts, dear me no, she was allowed to wake up gently, we never went anywhere before 9.30am, the children were walked to school, I would return and have coffee and then we would be off, to nice lady places like the gym or the coffee shop.

However life has changed for both of us. I am no longer an executive wife who worked 2 or 3 mornings a week because I liked it. I am someone who has to work to pay for life. I need a car to do it.

Sometimes I have to leave at 6.30 am and drive 90 miles to be training at 9am. This has been a huge shock to both the car and me. For the first 5 years I had my car I only did 5,000 miles a year, I now average 1200 miles per month. My lovely car feels it's just too much for her, she's getting on for 60,000 miles on her clock and it's beginning to show. She wants to protect her lady status, she is absolutely fine on short trips but my long work trips are when she protests.

I didn't want to take the company car and the fuel card I am entitled to as part of my package. I love my car. But I can't afford the garage bills and the soaring fuel costs. I think I will have to reluctantly accept my fate of the company car, I can have an Astra or an Astra and there is no metallic purple option either.

My lovely ladies car will be passed on to Eldest Beautiful Daughter for when she passes her test. Don't hold your breath, she phones me and in tones of great excitement lists what she can do after each lesson, after lesson 6 she actually managed to get into 3rd gear and she can now turn right if there is no oncoming traffic, if there are cars coming, she pretends she hasn't heard the instructor and just carries on to the next right turn that's clear.

So reluctantly I will apply for my company car but I will miss my lovely lady car.

However if Mercedes read this and feel that they need the kudos that having their A classes driven by a middle aged mummy blogger with a penchant for The White Company, they should feel free to replace my lovely A class and I would be happy with any colour, it doesn't have to be metallic purple.

And The White Company? c'mon what's keeping you? would you not like some beautifully written bed porn reviews?

And when you thought it couldn't get any weirder...

2011-03-05T09:47:00.004Z

Hot Boy has quit his band. Tis a shame because he worked really hard at it but he wants to do something more heavy. They were a bit electro pop and wore tie die, Hot Boy is currently channeling his inner Metallica, something had to give. Plus the lead singer is a knob.

Anyway, he and Eldest Beautiful Daughter were going to clear out his kit from the practice room last night, he was listing all his bass es and amps and pedals and stuff I don't know what it really is and he delivers the killer line...

"And that bloody dildo is mine, we're taking that as well"

And I just had to ask why. You see, public spirited to my very core, you wouldn't have been able to sleeep until you found out why there was a dildo in the practice room, it's okay, I've got it covered.

Apparently there is a device called an ebow (I even texted him to confirm I had the right technical terminology, oh yes care and attention for you at all times, dear readers) This ebow is like a bow on the guitar strings that works on tiny vibrations.

Real ebows cost upwards of £80. Hot Boy bought a rabbit in Ann Summers and uses that instead. Same principle.

So, to recap he can lick his own nipples and plays his bass with a vibrator.

And he's dating my daughter.

Serendipity or did I do something really bad in a last life? Joking aside, we love him, our life would be much the poorer without his comedy genius.

Middle Class Porn

2011-03-03T07:59:00.007Z

BIG HUGE MIDDLE CLASS MIDDLE AGED WOMAN PORN ALERT.

The older I become, the more I seem to gravitate to the the middle class lifestyle porn that is peddled mercilessly at me, it's in my magazines, on t'internets, I am even sent porn through the post, lovely seductive catalogues that scream, sit and stroke my subtly sexy pages and be immersed in my middle class world where there is no recesssion and everything is lovely. If I buy from them my life will be immeasureably better, I will be thinner, my children will be tow headed poppets, my husband will be lantern jawed handsome. I won't take it too far, we all know what my life and children are really like.

My name is auntiegwen and I am addicted to The White Company (and others but one step at a time) I like soft things. I like very plain things. I like things that last. I don't mind paying for quality things as long as there are no labels and bling and no one can guess they were expensive (the dichotomy thing that runs through my very core) I am The White Company's marketing department's wet dream.

I buy their candles, they do a lot of candles. I love candles and I always have one burning away somewhere.

I have their vases and fairy lights and Christmas pot pourri and wreaths. I have their vase that looks like a big fishbowl filled with their very fancy white lantern fairy lights in my conservatory, it is very what lovely. It screams The White Company.

I wear their clothes, they do a lot of grey, I am strangely drawn to the colour grey.

I have managed to keep my The White Company habit under some financial control. I started small, a candle, a liquid soap. Not all the time - just when I was feeling a bit low and needed a quick pick me up. I worked my way up through the ranks.

Until now.

Now I want more. I have the deep yearning for their bedding. Dear God, protect me from myself.

I so want the CARLYLE bed linen. I love the subtle striped softness and plainess of it.

I covet with covety covetousness the GREY CASHMERE throw and cushions.

I know it would be outrageous and obsecene for me to spend hundreds of pounds on bed linen. But the inner voice says so what if the children don't get to eat for a while. Or they cut my gas off. I will be cushioned from the harsh realities of life.

I won't feel it because I will be in middle class bed heaven, gently slumbering on soft as a whisper 600tc Egyptian cotton sateen (made in Italy, where all the really stylish bed linen gets made, none of your made in China for TWC, no siree Bob)

I will be thin and beautiful and in a grey slip nightie (oh how well they know me, everything in that feckin catalogue is screaming BUY ME) I will have a gentle peaceful life, I probably do yoga as well.

My bedroom is a sanctuary, I have fresh white flowers in an effortlessly stylish vase, my candle is beautifully subtle, I am serene and calm. I read improving books in bed with my soft as a baby's breath cashmere throw around my shoulders. My life is so chic it hurts.

I know it's not right for me to spend that money on bed linen but I still want it. I long for it. It's top quality porn.

My name is auntiegwen and I am addicted to The White Company.

If I was on Twitter...

2011-03-02T18:28:00.006Z

It would say

Monday evening - drive to B and Q in Northampton to buy 2 rolls of wallpaper for feature bedroom wall. Returned empty handed as they only had 1. Also v peed off at Waitrose as they had no fig and walnut bread. Oh the deprivation (hear that in Billy Connolly's voice)

Tuesday afternoon - spend gazillion hours trying to source said 2 rolls of feature (in my head now another f word) wallpaper. Find that Coventry B and Q has some. Drive to Coventry with TBS, on leaving the car TBS has pins and needles and waddles into shop looking like a constipated penguin (due to jeans hanging off arse showing feature pants)

Tuesday evening - as TBS had already fulfilled his helpfulness quota that day by sitting beside me in car and misdirecting me, I had to wash down all walls in bedroom ALL BY MY OWN SELF.

Wednesday afternoon - spend far too much time on The White Company website trying to convince myself that £400 for bed linen is a perfectly reasonable amount and I really deserve a cashmere throw. And silky velvety cushions. Some of you may be pleased to know I resisted temptation. For now. That website should have a middle aged lady addiction warning on it.

Wednesday evening - should be painting the bedroom ceiling. Instead am wasting time on here pondering the fact that my son has twitter and my mother has facebook. And I don't even have a cashmere throw. Oh the deprivation.

Tired

2011-02-28T09:17:00.003Z

I am tired, more than my usual low level tiredness because I am a middle aged mummy, that I live with. This tiredness is bone deep, not quite at lie down and cry level but approaching it scarily fast.

Main reasons are kids, work, house and self in no particular order.

The children are fine but keeping them fine requires huge amounts of emotional input from me, I am weary of being an emotional cheerleader, my pom poms have wilted and my rah rahs are all rah rahed out. I know this will pass but I am being stretched mightily thin at present.

I am not the world's leading expert in my work field and I am pissed off at myself for not being so, I've been there for nearly 4 months now, what is wrong with me? I hate this feeling, I spent the last 10 years in childcare and schools and I was really, really comfortable there, I knew lots. I have moved back into the medical field that I left and I don't know everything. I am running to catch up, constantly researching/ reading/asking questions and I hate my lack of knowledge. There is so much to learn and I want to know it all right now. I want to feel that when I am training people I know my subject inside out and I don't yet. I can't begin to tell you how uncomfortable I am with this.

The house is, quite frankly, a tip. It hasn't been cleaned properly for weeks and I can't summon up the energy to tackle it. My recent attempts to redecorate the bedroom caused Hot Boy to remark that I had taken refugee chic to the next level. It is not pretty and as decisions still haven't been made, the end is still not in sight.

I am beginning to loathe the way I look. I haven't ever felt like this before, I used to be really comfortable in my own skin and now because of my weight I'm not. I am eating and drinking far too much, my running is almost non existent. I am bloated and puffy and I lack the impetus to change. I know how to fix this, I know I need to eat less and move around more, it is so incredibly simple but so incredibly difficult for me at present. It doesn't make the slightest bit of difference that the people who love me think I look beautiful, I don't feel it and I need to feel at ease with the woman who looks back at me from the mirror.

And I am not even going to begin on Scotland's 6 nations.

Thankfully February is nearly over, tomorrow is March and in my head the beginning of spring. I look forward to it.

My skill set.

2011-02-20T21:36:00.009Z

There are very few useful skills in my set. I could list the stuff I'm crap at and it would keep the blog going for weeks, Hell, if you read regularly you'll know I am fairly ineffective at most things that don't include me laying on a sofa eating biscuits. Thankfully I am good at laying on a sofa eating biscuits. And procrastination, I am ace at procrastination.

A few months ago I broke my bed.

Probably because I lay around on the sofa and eat biscuits. A lot.

So I broke my bed and had to choose a new one. It's harder than choosing shoes. Or underwear, I am good at choosing and co-ordinating underwear. Bedroom decor not so much.

However after many, many months of procrastination I actually chose a bed. The bed is the wrong colour for the rest of the bedroom furniture. Even I know this is wrong, I now need to replace everything. Bugger.

I have lived in my house for 11 years now and have lived with the decor. Every house I have ever bought I have lived with the previous owners decor, I am piss poor at decorating. So I learned to adapt to what I had. I most probably needed to decorate several years ago but I procrastinated. Partly due to my can't be arsed gene but partly due to my complete inability to make decisions (very well blogged about.) One of the many things that I lack is artistic flair. I have none. It's a pity.

This house was the ex show house for this estate and came fully furnished and co-ordinated out the wazoo. It's not really to my taste, much too fancy but it was new and I am ace at procrastination. The only rooms I have touched have been painted Biscotti which I believe is magnolia in a fancy tin and priced up accordingly. So I live in an ex show house stuck in a late 1990's time warp. Pale yellow, green and blue everywhere. Laaverly.

On Thursday I chose the new bed and bedroom furniture. I feel smug for about 10 minutes, decision making, nae bother to yer auntie.

Now, on Sunday I am in flitters, I have 2 weeks before the furniture is delivered to get the rest of the room ready. I have looked at house porn on the telly, house porn on t'internet, house porn in magazines. I have been to show homes for inspiration. I really want to lay on the sofa and eat biscuits.

I decide on a feature wall, I select many wallpaper samples and pin them up, all the children, Hot Boy and even the window cleaner who's come to collect his money all like a different one. I like them all. I have full control over every last detail. I don't want it.

I try and find a wall colour that will tone in (is that the proper lingo?) with the wallpaper. I need a taup ey, grey ey, beige ey shade. It is the exact shade of the sky in the painting I was bought for Christmas. A Glasgow winter sky. Feck, it's hard. To match the wallpaper samples I have hanging up I now have several squares of none of them quite right taupey/greyey/beigey paint.

The bed canopy has gone along with most of the ceiling and the pelmets from both the windows are now blocking access to the wardrobes (which will also have to be changed from their 1990's white to a 2011 very dark acacia stain, I have not a baldy how to do that) When taking down the pelmets the curtain rail decided to follow and now it's being held up by a ribbon that says Merry Christmas.

I need to choose a new carpet, new curtains and material to cover the pelmets. I need a duvet and bed linen as I stupidly bought a bigger bed than I had before. I need a throw for the bottom of the bed and dress pillows and cushions. I need new bedside lamps and vases and candles and a whole heap of other stuff. I need gin.

I have 2 weeks to source, select, paint, carpet and curtain, I have no hope.

Some people do this for fun.

Facebook envy

2011-02-17T19:32:00.000Z

My mate Bill is a very fine fellow, the most amusing of amusing people. He has the best social life and the most understanding wife in the world. He has it sussed. His facebook statuses never cease to make me howl.

My personal faves from Bill in the last week have included

finished the night in the Port O Leith, watching fist fights and Smurfs dancing on the bar. Best pub in Edinburgh by a country mile!

made it back from Paris intact, with Monkey Boy fit and well. Highlights included a beggar with a rabbit, a tramp doing a jobby on a roundabout and touching a famous penis in Pere Lachaise cemetary!

I so wish I was living in Edinburgh again, how much fun would it be to be out with Bill on a regular basis? This blog would be so much more entertaining - Hot Boy and Bill on a night out? Quality.

Where is a Debretts guide when you need one?

2011-02-14T07:46:00.000Z

I am pondering what would be an appropriate engagement gift for my not yet divorced from me husband.

Suggestions in the comments please.

Precariously balanced

2011-02-13T10:31:00.003Z

At the moment life chez auntiegwen is a teeny tiny bit tense. The exmrauntiegwen got engaged and told the children on Saturday. He told my son a few weeks ago which caused him to be stressed silly, my son told my elder daughter whom I feel is also stressed about it but Beautiful Baby Daughter was told yesterday on return from her school ski trip.

My poor little one was so shocked and upset, she was actually shaking and couldn't understand why she felt so cold, she has cried her little heart out. She can't articulate why she isn't happy about it, she just doesn't feel right about it.

The exmrauntiegwen has lived with her for the last 4 and a half years so I am only surprised it didn't happen sooner but the children have been massively upset by this.

So yesterday the children didn't go to stay with their dad as planned, my youngest daughter won't speak to her dad and spent most of the day crying on and off, my eldest went to stay at her boyfriends and my son went to a party and got very drunk.

I imagine there will be more to come. Thank you to Adventures in Reality for letting me steal this lovely photo to illustrate a less than lovely situation.

In which we inflict our weirdness on the world, part deux

2011-02-07T08:52:00.005Z

It's February so I must spend vast sums of money so one of The Beautiful Children can go to Switzerland to pursue all things Alpine, it's the law. We dropped Beautiful Baby Daughter off at school for her ski trip and the rest of the Family Von Strange went to a local cafe for brunch. It's a tradition, we drop the chosen child off at the school, the other children get to eat pancakes, not quite the same but always a good second. I have written before about how weird we are en masse to the general public, to read about our trip to the dentist click HERE

This time we have Hot Boy with us. Hot Boy can make us look well adjusted.

We love this place, it's always really busy and has a great mix, students with hangovers, parents with toddlers, ladies who lunch and us.

There is no category for us.

We are doing quite well, we order, we chit chat, we are bothering no one.

We are having conversation that wouldn't scare people in the main. Then The Beautiful Son tells me that when TBS was walking down the hall after his shower, Hot Boy tried to lick TBS's nipple.

I try and gloss over this, it's not big and it's not clever but I don't want TBS to start yelling in his old man Scottish voice that Hot Boy is grooming him. It's a nice cafe, we come here a lot. I don't want to have to stop.

Then Hot Boy informs us he can lick his own nipple and before we can stop him, he pulls his man vest to one side and does indeedily lick his own nipple, just in case we had a problem believing it. The family who had him directly in view were more than a little startled. They did leave very quickly afterwards too.

The worrying thing is that my daughter, his beloved, didn't turn a hair. Not a bother on her. I suppose there is a comfort to be had that my son isn't the strangest boy in the world. Not enough to make up for having to avoid the lovely cafe for a good while. But some comfort.

More FaceBook Fun

2011-02-03T15:42:00.002Z

This was something The Beautiful Son posted on his wall yesterday

I really can hate my sister sometimes. This parents is why you only have one child.
23 hours ago

2 people like this.

"Fair play to the boy", you might be saying or "Poor lad, he must have an awful time, living in the house of perpetual pre menstrual tension"

For the readers who don't actually know The Beautiful Children...

My son was the second born child.

Things I don't understand the 2011 remix

2011-02-01T20:23:00.004Z

I read on my friends FaceBook that she was going to the Doctors to have her contraceptive implant taken out.

I wondered firstly why she felt the need to tell us all.

Then I wondered why she needed one.

She's gay.

Well, that was January

2011-01-28T09:53:00.003Z

I think I've mentioned before that I don't enjoy driving. I will now clarify this point by stating quite clearly if I never had to drive again, not a bother would be on me. I should have thought about the driving before I agreed to take a job that necessitated me covering 5 counties and spending on average 4 hours a day in my car.

My January has been filled with driving.

Rush hour stuck in traffic type driving.

Getting to places so far away on tiny rural roads that my sat nav keeps going off in a huff because she thinks I'm ignoring her and driving in a field type driving.

Leaving so early Chris Moyles isn't on the radio driving.

Getting stuck behind a tractor and driving at 16 miles an hour and not being able to overtake as it's a 1 track road with a ditch filled with water on either side type driving.

Constantly stressing about whether or not I'll get there on time driving.

I am truly worn out. And my teeth have been ground down to stumps. I am in flitters.

This is part of the reason for my pitiful, hardly managing a post per week blogging.

On a cheerier note, my blog was 4 this month.

4 years of me getting my say. Amazing.

These last 4 years have seen me change jobs a few times, fail to finalise a divorce, moan about my children, fall in and out of lust, see me remain the worlds least romantic woman, hopefully occassionally be happy with my children and read quite a lot of your blogs.

Some of the blogs I read and loved 4 years ago have gone, I've added some new blogs to read and love. I've been invited in to have a peek at lives all over the globe, some very different and some spookily similar to my own. I have laughed and cried with you both virtually and in real life. I am so massively grateful to blogging.

I hope you've enjoyed a little peek into my world and somewhere along the 4 years I've made you smile, so if you can be arsed, pop by the comments box, even if you don't usually and say hi to your auntie. It's my birthday.

Things I learned yesterday

2011-01-21T09:35:00.002Z

Always check the chair before you sit down.

Especially in Nursing homes.

It isn't comfortable to be delivering a 3 hour training session with a wet patch on your middle aged lady Boden wrap round dress.

Taxing Times

2011-01-18T22:35:00.005Z

I would so love to spout off the full 3 verses and the disco chorus of how unbelievably tedious my evening has been.

But that wouldn't be fair.

The short version is in October I filed my short tax return. I was a numpty and didn't include a page and we won't even get started that it happened to be a page I didn't need. They sent it back to me and told me to file online. The rules state you must have a full set of foreign pages and I didn't. Rules is rules or some other bollocks.

Tonight unfortified by wine or gin, I attempted to register for online filing. This was a mistake. They wouldn't let me, they said I had already registered. Glory Be there is a God, I managed to find a letter dated 2007 with my log in details. I have no clue how that happened.

Easy peasy thinks your auntie, with the returned paper copy of her tax return beside her, she's thinking she'll be done in time for Mary Portas being cross about customer service.

I was wrong. On both counts.

The short paper version asks you for your combined earnings (I had 3 part time jobs in that year) the online version wants each employment separately and the tax reference number for each.

I managed to find the P60 I'd lost. But have managed to lose the 2 P60's I had.

I don't know how much I earned or how much I paid separately, only all added up. It was pitiful anyway, I read somewhere you should be earning your age, in that tax year I was just out of knees socks. And I was knackered.

I also failed when I didn't have any tips to declare, it demanded tips, I said I'd been tipped £1. This is a lie. No one ever tipped me a curdy.

I had been at this for hours and I was only 7% complete.

I ate nearly half a tub of Rum and Raisin ice cream. I ate nearly half last night too which necessitated it to be forcibly removed from my sweaty mitts. When I was returning the 2 spoonfuls left of ice cream to the freezer, I spotted the box of emergency present chocolates left over from Christmas. That'll be the same box I am munching through now.

I gave up and then I was hugely disappointed to find out I was a day early for Mary and was more than a little confused to see very young girls in very big dresses getting married. They reminded me of the doll my granny used to have on top of her toilet, she kept a loo roll up the dolly's frock, was that just a Scottish thing?

The irony is, according to the tax man, they owe me over £600, I'll let them keep it if I don't have to file the fecker.

PS - My laptop is fixed, as in my own, never let me down fashion, I offloaded it to someone else and whined and cajoled and pleaded till it was done. I have no shame.

Blogger Interuppted

2011-01-11T21:44:00.005Z

Much as I love blogging my life has a nasty habit of getting in the way of my free time. I lied, I have no free time, I have hardly the time to blow my nose at present. I shan't play "I'm busier than you" Top Trumps because I would win and it would be boring for both you, dear reader and for me.

Edited highlights of the last few weeks

Beautiful Baby Daughter

Continues with her plan of household domination by wearing me down, she is good. She has no end of reasons for why I should give her what she wants, as I've said before top barristers could practice their debating skills with her. Fortunately I love her and this is why she is not dead or living with her Dad. Also she is very good at inserting video clips in my PowerPoint's as I have no patience expanding wee boxes, they are too foutery for me.

The Beautiful Son

Is unhappy, stressed, off his food and not sleeping. For once I can't make it better, he just has to accept that life is changing and he will have to accept it. I can't bear to see him unhappy and I have no control over the circumstances. I am not even meant to know, TBS has been sworn to secrecy and that is something that he can't deal with, so he came home, told me all and I can't do anything as he wasn't meant to tell. Secrets and change, double whammy for him. Pants. Big fat granny pants.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter

Came home for Christmas, made a lot of noise about mess, got upset about siblings saying they preferred her and her moaning about mess to stay at uni. Has to decide whether to find people to share a house with next year at uni or come home and commute in every day. She feels about decision making what TBS feels about change.

Cons in both plans...
Sharing house - there are very few students who will cope with her low mess threshold and her need for strict order in kitchen cupboards, not to mention her need for daily bathroom cleaning.

Coming home - despite the fact we will pay for a lesson a week and take her out to practice and on passing she will be given a car, she has yet to start driving lessons. This is possibly because she will actually have to do this for her own self, this is something she can't offload onto me or Hot Boy, both chief recipients of EBD's offloads. Shall I look in my crystal ball and give you my prediction? She will decide to come home, she will fail to learn to drive, I will spend a frantic 2 weeks before uni term starts trying to find somewhere my pampered princess can cope with living in. Before you start giving out to me, I know it's my fault. Even Hot Boy now texts me with her inability to be more use than a 5 year old and ends with "You raised that"

House

Despite having a week off at Christmas, I yet again failed to have an Anthea Turner standard of cleanliness. I also failed to do the eleventy million wee jobs that so need doing. I hate cleaning, so do the others who live here, so rather than be accused of nagging I do it, very passive aggressively. I still do as much as I did for my children as I did when they were 4, the only difference is they can bathe and wash their own hair now. I have swapped the bedtime story for the daily telling of "So she said and then I said" though on balance I think I preferred the nightly rendition of The Tiger Who Came to Tea. I can still retell it, every single word verbatim, it's my party piece.

Work

I love it. I don't always love the fact it takes me hours to get there. I can regularly spend 5 hours a day in my car. I also have a ferocious amount of technology to take with me to do my presentations, laptops, speakers, projectors, pointers etc. I am coping (but only if BBD does the bits I can't be arsed with)

My laptop

Still fecked. I have AVG, I have Norton and Norton 360. I think I have got rid of the nasty trojan but now when I try and log on it says Mozilla uses a proxy server and it doesn't have permission and to contact my service administrator. I have no clue who that is. I need the Internet, I haven't read my horoscope for days. I am writing this on my work laptop and I am terrified I will infect this one, the last one appeared when I clicked on someones photo on their blog.

General Failure of life stuff

I am still not divorced.
I can't find a P60.
I need the P60 to fill out the online tax return.
I need to fill out the online form as I filed my paper return with a page I didn't need missing, oh I'm still mithered about that.
I have a leak in my underground water pipe in Turkey. It appears to be an expensive leak.
I lost my work mobile phone.
I had to fess up this to the IT guy at work. The IT guy cowers under his desk and rocks when he sees it's me calling. I think I am accounting for about 90% of his work problems at the moment.
I am fatter than I was before Christmas, and I was fat then.

Now then, have I cheered you all up? made you realise that your life isn't as bad as you thought?

You're welcome.

Christmas present buying for boys

2010-12-28T12:19:00.008Z

If you need a proper "auntiegwens guide to" I can write one but if you are a boy with a short attention span this idea would do.

Buy a beautiful handbag for your beloved.
Inside the beautiful handbag, place a surprise present.
For maximum effect it should look like this

This type of behaviour makes women (well, women in the auntiegwen household) very, very enamoured of the man who bought the present.

Tech feckin ology part eleventy squillion

2010-12-24T17:07:00.003Z

I have fecked my new laptop. It has died.

I am writing this on a borrowed laptop, in someone elses kitchen, in Kirby Muxloe (that is a real place)

I should be at home, doing mummy type Christmas prep. I am not. I am 2 glasses of the red down with no tea.

I wish you all a very merry Christmas. I will leave you with a picture of my very tasteful Christmas cake, Nigella is shitting herself!!!

Things I have to do before Christmas

2010-12-20T20:47:00.007Z

Yes I know I'm a last minute Lil, don't give out to me, I am middle aged, tired and in need of a wife. In no particular order I have to

Find a new hiding place for the Christmas beer, it has been found and decimated by the 2 older teenagers and the Hot Boy who live here. I wish to save the remaining few tins for beer drinking visitors.

Go to the supermarket again, Glory be to God, I'm never out of supermarkets, I go in spend £100 a time on tins of Quality Street, DVDs, batteries and wine. Have I anything for tea? that'll be a no.

Wrap presents.

Oh wait up, I still need to buy presents.

Not get cross with The Beautiful Parents when they continue to uhm and ahr about whether or not they'll be joining me for Christmas, I fully appreciate that they are scared they'll get stranded on the M6 but I kinda need to know one way or the other. It's not beyond them to tell me they won't be coming and then show up as a nice wee surprise for me. I'm not sure my last remaining nerve would cope with that level of surprise or the second guessing of the possible surprise. My parents being here affects when the children see their dad, what I will be doing on Christmas Eve, Christmas night and Boxing day. It also affects how much more food I need to buy, what presents I can buy my nieces (as my parents can take home with them and I don't need to post them) and how tidy my house needs to be. I have no wife and no cleaner, there is just me. Even just typing this has made me tired. And grumpy.

Ice my Christmas cake, my beautiful home made, filled with brandy and good stuff Christmas cake. Not baked by me so it should be safe to eat, I get to decorate it though. I am currently uhm ing and ahr ing about tasteful decor or Christmas on crack, place your bets.

Turn my office back into a dining room if my parents come for Christmas - I know I've done the parents bit but I remembered too late. If they don't come I will just shut the door and we'll eat in the kitchen.

Replace light bulbs in my office/dining room. It is very dark after 3 in there.I did buy light bulbs on one of my many Quality Street buying trips. I just need to buy the right sort of light bulbs next time.

Post Christmas cards, after I've written them obviously.

Remove bag of ice from front doorstep, it was left over from the very upmarket drinks soiree on Saturday night. Nothing beats a bunch of schoolfriends getting together 1st night back from their repsective uni's is there?

Lose 2 stone so I can put it back on by New Years eve, I have a ferocious amount of Quality Street here tormenting me.

Find a takeaway that is open on Christmas day, no one wants to eat a traditional Christmas dinner, the only meat eaters don't like turkey and well okay then, no one wants to eat a dinner cooked from scratch by me.

Get the dishwasher fixed, it only works if you hold the button in, I'm not sure jamming it in with a cocktail stick is a long term (IE over the Christmas holidays) solution.

Fix the arial problem. Apparently we have no TV, I didn't notice, when you switch it on it reads no signal. I am extremely tempted just to leave it, I doubt there would be anything I'd miss.

This is in addition to the normal working, driving offspring places, heating up, laundry (of which there is a fierce amount due to Eldest Beautiful Daughter bringing all her washing and a fair amount of fellow students washing home with her), cleaning and other stuff I do every other week of the year.

Then on Christmas Eve I will go to church and get down on my knees and give heartfelt thanks for my life, because I am blessed, my life is wonderful. I know I moan here week in and week out about my life but genuinely deep down I know how incredibly fortunate I am. Deo Gratias.

I wouldn't trade places with anyone.

Things that make your auntie cheerful

2010-12-15T16:17:00.004Z

Yes, I know I'm old enough to know better but it just makes me laugh.

Things I don't understand part eleventy squillion

2010-12-14T19:45:00.004Z

In the Cath Kidston shop in Bicester today there were 2 security guards at the door. How nasty were they expecting middle aged woman deprived of retro floral household porn to get?

Feck, even last Tuesday this place only had 1 security guard.

TMI

2010-12-10T05:10:00.001Z

You know it's time to de friend your son on facebook when you read

Formspring

"You ever kissed a boy?"

Answer

"yeah"

So, you have to ask, don't you?

"Did you really kiss a boy?"

"Yeah, it was a dare, I was drunk"

I'm going back to Mummy denial land, this time I'm keeping the duvet pulled over my head.

The Big Chill

2010-12-09T08:27:00.007Z

I feel the cold, my default temperature setting is "a bit chilly", I blame it on being born in the summer. I like it hot. No sniggering at the back please. I can sunbathe in 45 degree heat, you will never hear me say I'm too warm. Never. It's a shame I live in a cold place, I am more suited to somewhere like Hades, climatically speaking.

Readers, my central heating has broken down. I have no heat and no hot water. I have no fires or other means of heating my house. There is a teeny tiny electric wall heater in my winter fridge, you may call it a conservatory? This means if I had a barometer it would read "Fecking Freezing"

This is my own personal doom. I am not good in the cold. Not good at all. I am tetchy, significantly more tetchy than normal. I am writing this in bed, attired in jammies, tracky bottoms, a rugby thermal top, a fleece, thermal socks and a cardigan awaiting someone who I will love for evermore coming to fix it. I am practising being a poor pensioner, I feel I've nailed it.

Please feel free to drop by and hug me to warm me up. Or to point and laugh at my attire, your choice.

Update 3pm

My boiler was indeed repaired and it stayed on for an hour, it's gone off again now. I will get another engineer after 6pm tomorrow to try and refix it. I am a very chilly auntie again.

Update 6pm

The company I pay stupid amounts of money to every month to fix these problems have called to reschedule the engineer due to sheer volume of central heating breakdowns. The first available slot is next Wednesday. They did apologize profusely and tell me I could buy electric heaters up to a limit of £50 and they would refund the money. They also offered to reimburse me if I found someone else to fix my boiler whilst at the same time telling me that they have taken on every local engineer they could find. As a last resort they have said I can check into a local hotel.

Not a very happy auntie this night.

Oh Christmas Tree

2010-12-06T07:37:00.007Z

I must warn you, if you are of a Bah Humbug disposition you may wish to avoid visiting for the next few weeks as there may be a whiff of the seasons around the posts. I am very keen on Christmas.

I'm not overly keen on the preparation though, due to my can't be arsed gene. I love all the decor, the food, the presents etc and I would love them even more if I didn't have to facilitate it. The Beautiful Children probably are because they don't. The exception to this is my Christmas tree, I love doing my tree.

On Sunday I have to put up the tree, The Beautiful Son has to get the tree down from the attic because I have watched Michael McIntyre and know that as a woman I'm not allowed in the loft.

The Beautiful Son and Beautiful Baby Daughter decide they want to help me. Now you think I'd be glad but I'm not. I am a bit possessive of my tree and yes I do know I keep saying my tree. It is mine, fully mine, I only let the others look at it because I'm kind.

I like my tree to look nice, this is why I don't want help. I have been decorating my own Christmas tree since I was 22 and that is a very long time ago, I put on Christmas music, light my Crabtree and Evelyn Noel candle and have a tasteful one colour theme tree. I do a good tree. The children have their own tree, it looks like Christmas on crack, it has every colour ever known and is done up like the tinkers dog. They can't be arsed with 2 trees this year, they just want the one, my one.

I relent, they can help, he is 15, she is 14, they're not little anymore, in fact he can now reach the top of the tree and save me standing on a chair. We have the lovely Christmas smelling candle, we have the lovely Christmas music. At the end we have a not quite as lovely as if I'd done it myself Christmas tree.

I was slightly hurt when he compared me to Stalin and she compared me to Monica from Friends.

Still, David looks cheerful in his Santa hat, doesn't he?

Nature v Nurture

2010-12-03T08:58:00.007Z

The Beautiful Son and his first girlfriend have split up. Eldest Beautiful Daughter read it on the book of face and told me. I told Beautiful Baby Daughter and explained that although he annoys the crap out of her, she was to make allowances and under no circumstances give him a hard time.

I asked him how he was and he actually said "These things happen, it just wasn't working" I was a nice kind Mummy and didn't laugh, it was a 6 month thing, that's fairly heavy duty at his age.

Readers, we were worn out being nice to him, I was fetching cups of coffee in bed for him, watching what he wanted on TV, ordering pizza in, trying really, really hard to wrap him up in a big blanket of love.

I shouldn't have bothered.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter read his Formspring (for the middle aged non facebookers amongst you it is a thing where you can ask him anything and you can remain anonymous)

On this Formspring there were several enquiries asking why he'd dumped her, heavy duty guilt about how miserable she is, lots of comments on the new leggy blonde thing who has been worshipping at the altar of Jack for several months and a few enquiries about his parentage. I can assure you I was married to his dad, I have the lawyers bill to prove it.

I was not happy.

Neither were his sisters.

So, this bold boy of mine, who had been brought up to respect, no, actually revere women has dumped a lovely wee girl, has had a replacement lined up, had us, the women in his life in flitters looking after him because we think he's been dumped and not cracked a light?

As his big sister says "We fail, he's turned into a bloke"

Eleven reasons you should visit my country

2010-11-30T00:12:00.000Z

Scotland is a beautiful, beautiful place.

The people are friendly and funny (well, most of us are. Some are a bit po faced, just avoid them, they're probably incomers)

The cities have amazing architecture, really good shops, Princes Square in Glasgow is so beautiful.There are masses of galleries/museums and suchlike, most of which are free.

I can tell you good places to go in Glasgow & Edinburgh, special hints and tips on hotels, bars, restaurants, clubs (who am I kidding it's been at least 2 decades since my booty was shook - I can tell you nice places to get cake though) that's never to be sniffed at, cake is very cheering.

We have lovely food and great restaurants. It's not all deep fried mars bars.

I can do good shop porn for you. In George St in Edinburgh there's a Space NK, Jigsaw, LK Bennett and a gorgeous jeweller called Lime Blue in an almost unbroken run. How good is that?

You are allowed to go round peoples houses on a Sunday afternoon in open house sale viewing. I always go to very posh places in the New Town and pretend I'm moving back. I love a good nosey round someones house. What? like I didn't sell 3 houses in Edinburgh and have nosey people coming round to look at my house? I'm entitled

A rugby match at Murrayfield with drinking after is a not too shabby way to spend an afternoon.

If there's rugby, there'll be kilts, men in kilts are so sexy, are you needing some kilt porn to entice you? May I present for your delectation... Chris Cusiter

You'd be disappointed if he didn't make an appearance, wouldn't you?

If you want to do outdoorsy type stuff, you can go walking, climbing, fishing, skiing, hitting a ball with a stick (I believe you Y chromosone people call it golf?) You can even do surfing (that might be a wee bit chilly)

We have beautiful beaches, shut up, we do so

and

Come visit, you'll love it

Happy St Andrews Day