The Beautiful Son - fashion guru

My son was not terribly interested in fashion. He used to wear anything he was given, not a bother on him, the good old days, when clothes were cheap and Mummy was happy. Then he got slightly fussier, he wanted a say in what he wore, fair play, he is now fully Jack Wills'd up. I am skint. Enough said.

He's not quite so sure about what women wear though, he has a bemused and confused look when asked for his opinion of an outfit, you can see his wee brain trying to come up with something useful but as he can't play Call of Duty on it or eat it, he's not terribly interested.

He did ask me the other day if I'd slept in my running kit, no dearest son, I get up and leave at 6 am for my run so I get back in time to spend from 7am to 7.45am getting you out of bed, with a sliding scale of irritated voice in proportion.

But the best one was on Friday night, I'm dressed to go out in my new white and silver maxi dress and silver sequinned fit flops (I know, I'm sad) and he looked at me with the bemused and confused look and said "Is that a nightie or are you getting married?"

Gok Wan is shitting himself.

Normal middle aged Pollyanna service is resumed

Today I am feeling much more cheerful. Thank you for all the kind comments, texts, emails, and all round virtual hugs and love to see if I was okay. I am, thank you, just a touch of the Greta's.

Today I am feeling so much better, I actually got up and out at 6.45am and ran for 4 miles, without even having to walk the big hill that defeats me every feckin time.

Regular readers know of my strange obsession with my horoscope. Today I am liking
the one that says I can choose between 2 people. Not liking the one that says I will be cross and shouty.

And really liking that Mystic Meg says I will meet someone for the first time and know this will be the person I will marry.

Oh and I'm going out tonight...

Unsettled

I am rather unsettled at present. I appear to have acquired a new member of my household. This person seems to be always here, I always seem to have a house full of the childrens friends but this one seems to be here all the time.

They often sleep over and this means I have to ensure the coast is clear before I go down to the kitchen in my pants to make my coffee.

When I want to lie on my sunlounger with my fatness overspilling a bikini I feel I can't, so I sit demurely in a deckchair seething in my sundress.

When I want to watch something on TV they are there, making their presence felt.

I am retreating often and oftener to my bedroom. As I retreat, my child and the extra one will come find me and chat to me, so I'm not on my own.

I crave solitude in a way I haven't since I was married, I dream and yearn for a house empty for a full 24 hours where I can be undisturbed and unspoken to.

And I feel hideously guilty about this, I have never discouraged the childrens friends from coming and now every day I chalk up the extra presence in my mental "I'm so hard done to" tally. I neither like nor dislike this person, I can see their good points but I can see their flaws, I am strangely ambivilent to them.

And now I genuinely can say I know how my children felt when I started to introduce my ex partner, a year after their dad and I split. They did not choose to have him there, I did. I hoped just because I loved him and enjoyed him being there, they would too. I saw him as adding to our dynamic not unsettling it and changing it. I wanted them to be happy for me because I was happy and as they loved me they'd want me to be happy again. I thought it would just take time for them to adjust. I expected and hoped for all of these things from children.

But they didn't and I ended it and I have never introduced them to anyone else since.

And now having had a slight taste of my own medicine, I am ashamed of how I kept bringing him here, trying to get people to like him and forcing him upon them. I am ashamed of trying to make my children feel happiness when they couldn't. I am so sorry that you had those 6 months and it took me so long to realise how you felt.

Mea Culpa.

The Best News

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

Near the end someone handed me this leaflet



Ooh thinks the auntie...

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

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



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

A good heart these days, is hard to find

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

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

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

Unlike her pal.


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

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

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

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

What I don't want

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confession Time

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

But it's happened now.

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

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

On Saturday...


















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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tan 90 Squared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she said "Finally an explanation!"

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

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

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

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

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

C'est tres tres tres expensive...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grumpity grump grump

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

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

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

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

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

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

Untitled

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

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

And so it begins.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it

As if to prove my point about Hot Boy fitting right in with us, this happened yesterday.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter has decided I need a romance. She feels an amour will keep me occupied enough not to be in her room on a hourly basis asking how her A level revision is getting on. Hot Boy proffers up Justin the accountant in his office.

Gist of text messages sent between EBD and Hot Boy

How old demands EBD

40

Is he a BMW driver?

Nope, Lexus, Hot Boy's seen it in the car park

How tall?

6 foot 2 ish

Has he hair?

Yep, light brown

Is he fat ?

Sideways he's got a bit of a gut

What's his starsign?

Scorpio

Is he good looking?

He's ok, he's really funny though

Would my mum like him?

He doesn't look like or act like your dad

That's okay, but she is quite fussy, don't let on to him what we're up to till I've had a squint at him

Lara, I keep going in his office, making him stand up, turn sideways, checked him for baldness and asked him his starsign, he knows somethings going on, but I'll try and take a sneaky pic of him before end of work.

Oh my God, see what we've done, we've turned him as stone mad as the rest of us

Hot Boy and his polar opposite, The Beautiful Son

Hot Boy is fast becoming our families main form of entertainment, we are genuinely fond of him, but he sets himself up for getting ripped apart by us. You may have noticed we tend not to hold back in our going for the funny, we are polite to outsiders though but as he's becoming one of us, no holds barred. TBS really gets on well with him and Hot Boy is incredibly patient and good natured with all of us but he is brilliant with TBS despite TBS telling everyone that Hot Boy is only nice to him because he's grooming him.

On Saturday, Hot Boy and The Beautiful Son were going off to play snooker whilst EBD did some Sociology revision (this is being blogged for posterity as I want to document any kind of A level effort) Hot Boy appeared all primped and preened, wearing skinny 3/4 length jeans, a white T shirt with sleeves rolled up and flip flops. He looked like an extra from a Wham video circa 1983.

The Beautiful Son refused to go out with him, citing the grounds that Hot Boy was dressed like "a poof" and bless dear Hot Boy he changed his outfit. He usually carries 3 or 4 changes of clothes in his man bag "just in case"

Later that night Hot Boy and EBD are going out into town. Hot Boy decides to wear EBD's black skinny jeans, he doesn't like his own skinny jeans as they are too baggy round the arse. We had just got used to the beauty regime and the slightly gay overtones but cross dressing?

The Beautiful Son asked was it not uncomfortable in the crotch area, as they were girls jeans and to quote TBS (remember hear this in an old man Scottish voice) "Nae much room for yer bollocks"

Without missing a beat Hot Boy said "No problem mate, your sister keeps them in her handbag"

Ah yes, welcome to our family, Hot Boy, you're fitting right in.

Who says romance is dead?

This week I was visiting a lady I like and admire muchly. She is in her late seventies and her energy and enthusiasm put me to shame. She's a retired teacher, very brisk and no nonsense but with great heart.

Her husband returned home and called "I'm home, my love" and I remarked that I found his term of endearment delightful and so sweet after over 50 years of marriage.

She gave me a look that was both pitying and withering at the same time and said "My dear girl, he's talking to the cat"

Ranty auntie, the return.

Did you need a BIG HUGE MIDDLE AGE WOMAN ALERT in capitals for emphasis or could you get there all by yourself by the title?

More than one thing that's making me annoyed, I'm afraid, you knew you'd have to pay for all that gratuitous kilt porn, didn't you? In no particular order...

Beautiful Baby Daughter/Carbon Footprint Nazi has taken sulking in her bedroom to Olympic standard. It has been accompanied by alternate cross and shouty screaming and passive aggressive face pulling. The BBD has been grounded causing the majority of the sulking. Chez auntiegwen grounded means no playing out and no computer time. Reason for grounding is for wearing mascara to school. I don't like her wearing make up anyway but school rules forbid it. No matter what rules the school has and they have many, even if I think it's a stupid and pointless rule, again I think her school have many, if it's there I will expect my child to uphold it. I am not swayed by her arguments that some of the girls at her school are orange and wear false eyelashes (sounds like a training school for drag artistes rather than a boringly suburban middle school) I'm sure she feels I'm being unreasonable for her bit of mascara but rules are rules.

The family meeting to discuss Oreo's pissed me off somewhat too. This was the idea of Eldest Beautiful Daughter. Not one of her better ones. Sainsburys have had Oreo's on special offer, I bought lots, EBD didn't get to eat lots. Too much effort to get cross and shouty, low level pissed off, ergo moan at family time not even very cunningly disguised as a family discussion. I don't even like Oreos and have eaten none, The Beautiful Son's protestations had a ring of truth about them, he fessed up to a snack pack of 4. This left 4 snack packs total 16 biscuits unaccounted for, I know you're riveted by the thrills that go on in my life, what can I say? happy to share. More discussion found a 6 pack of wagon wheels gone too, all gone in 3 days. Culprit found to be BBD, sulking needs a ferocious amount of biscuits to fuel apparently. This lead to more discussion about sharing, not eating too much crap, The Beautiful Son asking if she got really fat could her roll her down a hill, EBD and TBS saying she'll end up 23 stone and they'd have to feed her wagon wheels on the end of long pointy sticks because they couldn't reach her, Hot Boy adding she'd have to wear control pants like his sister leading to cross shouty leaving of room, door slamming and crying in bedroom. Poor poor BBD. I'm pleased no one brought up the broken garden table of last weekend.

Flight booking is rather tedious at present. I apologize in advance to anyone reading this who's been stranded and having a crap time or has had their holiday cancelled or lost money because of the hurdygurdystrangename volcano. My sister who thought she was going to Cyprus yesterday found out she's now going to Lanzarote on May 20th, fair play. I need to get to Turkey in June for a week with 1 child and then I need to go again for another week in October with the other 2. I know tough life. The complete inability to decide or compromise over our holiday means going to the villa in October half term with only the 2 youngest as EBD will be at uni and have no half term break, so she and I will pop over in June as we have a spare week and her A levels will be finished.

When you see a flight, the price quoted seems to have no real correlation to what they take off your credit card. They just seem to put a random bunch of numbers up and hope for the best. I am charged extra for using a card to pay despite I can only use a card to pay, there is no facility for me to feed ten pound notes into my laptop.

I have also been charged for and I don't even begin to understand it
UK Departure Tax: 33.00
Passenger Service Charge: 31.68
Fuel Surcharge: 96.00
ChargeCode TDT, TicketCode TR (DLM-LTN): 40.50

See, just random numbers.

I have no wish to take your travel insurance, I have my own thank you, a year long policy that covers us all and still costs less than your one trip wonder. I laugh at the thought of paying £10 per person for a meal, come on.

They charge me stupid amounts of money to take a suitcase. How very unreasonable of me to take a suitcase on my holiday, I've a good mind to turn up wearing a weeks worth of clothes and have done with it.

I'm simply not prepared to pay £7.50 per person each way to choose my seat, you slyly tell me I may not be able to sit with my beloved and so easy to travel with teenagers. This would only add £45 to the cost of my flight. I decline, I'm sure it would be much better for me and each child to sit seperately for the 4 hour flight. I'm sure your other passenegrs would agree than low level bickering is not an enhancement to the start of their holiday. I feel I've now got a bargain, 4 hours without the she said he said, ipod in, good book, Christ I think I would pay £45 to ensure we do sit seperately.

I'd like it much better if it was how it used to be, they told me how much, I paid, I turned up with a suitcase and a passport, they didn't complain that my lip gloss wasn't in a plastic bag and therefore causing a huge threat to national security and I got on the plane.

I've been awake since 2am, this is not good, it's now 5 past 4 and I'm going to try and get some sleep before I wake up at 5, which is still far too early.

My Celebrity Shag List

All credit to BeeLikeJ as that's where I pinched that lovely quote and pic from. And with the greatest of thanks to Jacey, you can in fact click HERE and see my number 1 in all his glory, yes, my dear sweet readers, it is, the divine Mr David Tennant. Oh be still my beating heart.

I wouldn't say no to Ewan McGregor either, many thanks to fanpop for the gratuitous kilt porn. Many thanks to Queensjoy who made the Ewan graphic that somehow ended up on fanpop where I pinched it from.


I could also be tempted by the very lovely Craig Ferguson, once half of Bing Hitler now a chat show host in America. Bit of a theme emerging here.


And how could I say no to Gerard Butler, he took his mammy to the premiere too, are you loving the kilt porn?


Last but no means least, who could resist Sharleen, especially in her Elvis gear?


Okay, so who's going to have a go? Obviously you don't have to pick 5 Scottish people, you'll probably want to but it's not compulsory.

I had a very technologically trying day

I am usually a happy wee scone on Mondays. I laze around whilst offspring are at school, I stay in jammies eating chocolate and then I pretend I've been working. I am usually very happy to be clickety clickety on the internets. Not today.

Today I tried and failed to order a new garden table from Marks and Spencer, the one I want is out of stock.

Today my google reader thingy is completely blank, this means that when anyone I have on my bloglist posts I don't know they have, I like to know this, I like to read your posts, I'm not ignoring you, honest.

I absofeckinlutely hate the student finance section of directgov, my child is putting in her correct passport details, we have the feckin thing in our sweaty mitts, we can't go any further in the application process and we are now both bored to death with it.

If she cannot access this, she will be unable to obtain a tuition fee loan, I am now strongly considering naked ironing, apparently you get £35 an hour for it, just hook your web cam up and away you go. I fear I will be a bad parent if I insist on her making erotic films, even though there has been a demand. Naked ironing seems like a good compromise.

I was going to write about my celebrity shag list, I have spent quite a long time trying to find naked pictures of David Tennant today. I have failed, I did see one of him partially covered but the bit that was covered was the bit I'd be partial to.

I will try and post my celebrity shag list tomorrow, I fear I may have already told you this a few years ago so if I have please just pretend you don't remember and act surprised.

I hate homework

I really do, as a child I seemed to spend all my Sundays doing it. As a teacher I hated setting it because I knew I'd have a fight to get it back in and then I'd have to mark it. As a parent, I hate it because I have to get involved in a way my parents managed to avoid. If it's a subject I know about I mind less, but attracting the wrong men, repelling the right men, lip gloss merits and eating chocolate till you feel sick are strangely missing from the national curriculum.

I have been a mummy for a very long time and it's getting quite wearing to measure rainfall over a week or make an erupting volcano or anything else the year 8 geography teachers get out of the Times Educational Supplement sharing resources site for the 3rd time.

This week, Beautiful Baby Daughter has to measure our carbon footprint. I hate this topic already and we've only just started. The BBD has not been blessed with the can't be arsed gene like the rest of us and she espouses causes with the zeal of the newly converted. She is a girl looking for a cause, when the community Police Officer came to Girls Brigade and gave them a talk on the dangers of drink and drugs, my life was a feckin nightmare. She had this wee whizzy wheel thing that added up your alcohol units and it fair put you off a second glass I can tell you.

She is now a carbon footprint Nazi. Our house is causing all the global warming problems and it's most probably the reason why people are stuck in airports over the world waiting to get back here. Some of my light fittings don't have energy efficient bulbs and not all my appliances are A rated, some of our battery operated devices (steady now) we don't recharge our own batteries for, we leave lights on, use too many gadgets and aren't on a green tariff. On the plus side I did get big ticks for always recycling paper, glass and plastic and never using a tumble drier and I have taught my children not to run the tap whilst brushing their teeth but overall we are not very green, maybe a pale wishy washy eau de nil rather than emerald.

I will just have to wait for this topic to be over and she gets converted to a new cause.

I thank you...

I have been awarded some nice new bloggy bling which are now up on my cybershelf of nice things. This lovely one from Mrs W.

On this new template it's less clear than the old pink, but I promise you if you clink on the names, by the magic of the bloggy hyperlinking fairy she will take you immediately to these good people's blogs.

Now I need to tell you 7 things I'd rather not tell you. Jeez, this is hard, you know how fat, skint, old and boring I am, I share everything with you.

1. I'd rather not tell you that I accepted a man to be my friend on facebook purely because he was nice looking, we only have 1 friend in common and that's a blog friend so I have never ever met him.

2. I'd rather not tell you what I would do to David Tennant if I got the chance.

3. I'd rather not tell you about my very quick date with the man with the worst teeth in the world.

4. I'd rather not tell you about my few dates with a semi famous comedian and how this relationship is slightly teetering because I think I am funnier than he is. Despite the fact he gets paid and people turn up to see him.

5. I'd rather not tell you about how my very first ex still texts me and still wants to see me and do stuff he used to do to me.

6. I'd rather not tell you that I'd quite like him to, because he was good, far too good.

7. I'd rather not tell you that I feel extremely guilty about this because I don't actually like him very much.

Moving swiftly on, this lovely one came from Tuppence


Please feel free to take either of the awards and do either the tag if you're brave enough. My lovely friend Mae asked me weeks ago for my ten favourite things, I'm not counting family and friends as I'd fill my ten with them alone so other than that, in no particular order

1 Sunshine
2 A good book
3 Live music
4 Live comedy
5 Pink fizzy
6 Being thin enough to fit into your jeans
7 Kisses, especially on the neck or back
8 Looking forward to a Saturday night out
9 The internet, where would I be without it?
10 Rum and raisin ice cream

And last but not least a great big thank you to the lovely, lovely reader who nominated me for a Mads award, Sally from the mads popped in to tell me that I have been nominated for mad Blogger of the year and funniest mad blog, well my life is quite mad but it's only fecking funny when you're not living it! But to the person who could be arsed to log on and vote, tapadh leat (thank you) You are truly very kind and I appreciate the gesture, muchly x

Adventure is our middle name

The Beautiful Children and I have spent the last 5 years going on holiday to our villa in Turkey. That's the point of having a holiday home. It also gets rented out and this gives me the twin joy of actually having enough money to pay for it and blog fodder when I get stories of what people do on holiday. It also means I can avoid decisions as we know the auntie is not good at being decisive.

Ever since the Beautiful Baby Daughter was a baby, we have always holidayed in a villa, we rented them all over the place, the ex mr auntiegwen spent so much time meeting and having to schmooze people at work when he was on holiday he didn't want to make small talk with other holiday makers. This suited me fine, I always managed to get a sunlounger where I wanted it and I didn't have to spend sunny afternoons in a hotel room trying to put a fractious overheated toddler down for an afternoon nap. We just put them in a cot, baby monitor on and back to the sunlounger. We just wanted our own house but with sunshine, ergo buying the villa.

This year our villa is booked solidly throughout the summer holidays (earning money so I can send Eldest Beautiful Daughter to that place where they take all my money and teach my child to drink, I believe other people call them Universities)

I thought The Beautiful Children would be pleased to go somewhere else, I imagined that they would enjoy a hotel/apartment complex and they could meet other teenagers and have someone other than me to talk to. Not so, the years where maybe they would have enjoyed meeting other kids appear to have passed. They all want to go to their own house, at a push they will go to where our house is but in the villa we rented before we bought our house.

Either we have our summer holiday in October when we have space or we be brave and go somewhere else. The suggestions that are possibe are Italy or Greece, those that are getting less possible and quite expensive (in my head that came out in a French accent and with a French laugh at the end) Cuba, Thailand, Dubai, a cruise, South Africa, Antigua or Australia.

I can't seem to please all of them, one wants an all inclusive which is another's idea of the 3rd circle of hell, one wants a villa and solitude another wants a busy place with loasd of people, one wants somewhere we've never been before and another likes our village because they know where all the good places are. This is why I don't do decisions, if it were up to me we'd all be learning to do pilates in France.

Suggestions please, where can the family von auntiegwen go for their holidays.

And when you thought it couldn't get any weirder

BIG HUGE MIDDLE AGED WOMAN ALERT

This post may make you feel middle aged or out of touch or extremely dull or Daily Mailish (i.e worried about the youth of today, this country's gone to the dogs, in my day etc etc)

Eldest Beautiful Daughter was at a friends house watching The Boy in Striped Pyjamas (this is not especially relevant but the devil is in the detail they say) on DVD. She was given a lift home by her friend and her friend's boyfriend.

When they arrived at our house they were chatting in the car and her friend mentioned that it was her and BF's anniversary at the end of the month, they've beeen going out for a year. The friend asked her if she would help them with their anniversary present and before EBD could reply the friend added but this will only work if you're open minded.

Now EBD is getting slightly nervous, she is a product of her environment which means God love her, she has had the diluted version of my upbringing (Irish Catholic , good girls don't, you reap what you sow, guilt etc) but with the addition of her fathers Scottish Presbytarianism (with the hint of Wee Free, Thou shalt not and most certainly not on a Sunday) and my added on, not quite fully understood but like the notion of stuff like Karma. It's fair to say that EBD is not the most open minded 18 year old you'll find, she's too feart of her mammy finding out.

The friend went on to say that as EBD does Media Studies at A2 level ( waste not your breath that it's not a real A level, we've had that conversation many many times, EBD can do my part verbatim and deadpan) and has made short films and has access to cameras and an editing suite etc, would EBD film friend and friends boyfriend having sex

Of course, the perfect anniversary gift, nothing says I love you more when you're 18 than a bit of home made porn.

Welcome to my world

Entranced by this beautiful weather we, like every other family in the UK, decided to have a barbecue.

I took both the beautiful daughters to Sainsbury's so they could relieve me of £127 something (and there is nothing for tomorrows tea there at all) fleeced by daughters chucking stuff in with gay abandon. Eldest Beautiful daughter managed to spear her knee on a fork randomly left in my car and promptly fainted at the sight of the blood.
Bring EBD round drive home, unpack and try and find space for all the crap I've been hoodwinked into buying.

Beautiful Baby Daughter goes to give the garden table a wipe down, after such strenuous activity, she had to have a wee rest, so completely ignoring the 6 chairs around it, sits upon the table itself.



Cue smart arse son to quip in his old man Scottish voice...

"Think ye might need to drop a few pounds, hen"

I'm off to the pub with my friend Sixy for a gin or two, I feel the need.

Post Script - it's 11.30pm, I've returned from the pub after my 2 Bombay Sapphire's and was greeted by BBD at the door looking sheepish. First words she says to me... "Mummy, I've broken the ironing board"

Tomorrow, I'm keeping her in bed, I can't afford for her to get up.

Things that have bemused my family this week

I went to The Burrell Collection, which is a great museum in Glasgow with my Gadget Mad Dad and TBS. I was very confused to see "The Thinker" by Auguste Rodin as I'd seen it the week previously in The Musee Rodin in Paris.


Out shopping in Glasgow BBD asked me if I knew the sales assistant who'd been chatting to us as she's serving us. My kids who've spent 10 years in England are still surprised that people talk to people they don't know when they don't have to.

On a scale of 1 to 10 how bad is it that I like playing with this? If it's around I can't help myself. The Beautiful Son's mate brought it back from Portugal as a present. It got a bit dirty the other day and TBS left it in the shower to be washed, it did surprise the Beautiful Baby Daughter somewhat. I was hailed with "Mummy there is a fake bosom in the shower"


Eldest Beautiful Daughter went to a party and at this party she met a girl who introduced herself thus..."Hi, I'm Siobahn but everybody calls me Shed" so EBD says "Hi, I'm Lara, everybody calls me Tent" She has no idea why she said it but she was called Tent for the rest of that night. I have a theory that cider plus the smart arse gene she inherited from me might be it.

After the same party EBD has a very large graze on her shoulder and it appears an inability to use doors when she's in her cups. After failing to open the front door, she assumed that we'd left keys in the back of the door (we hadn't), she tried the back door which did have keys in, and finally the conservatory where she managed to get in. She then couldn't open the door to the dining room to get into the main house and so went for a wee nap on the conservatory sofa. Which is where I found her an hour later when I got up. I put her back to bed (still drunk) and en route she was very puzzled by the front door and it's faulty lock. She doesn't remember my involvement in this at all.

Hot Boy and his band have just returned from a 5 night tour of Germany where they sold out 500 and 600 seat venues every night. They sold out of T shirts and CD's every night too. Their last gig in Nottingham sold 30 tickets and a CD.

The Beautiful Parents

My parents live in what my EBD calls "the place where technology comes to die" I might have mentioned before that I have a gadget mad dad. My dad has a penchant for buying the very latest in technology, I have no complaints that's how I got my very posh Tom Tom but it is guaranteed to annoy the EBD. In their house my parents have...

A 50 inch TV with surround sound and the all singing all dancing every channel going Sky package in the 2nd lounge. In the main lounge they have the plasma one that hangs on the wall like a picture and ditto both the bedrooms.

An Xbox 360 and a Wii, not forgetting a Gameboy, a PSP and a Nintendo DS, my dad will always buy the new version so he can play his "Who wants to be a Millionaire" game on it.

There are 2 Ipod Nano's, an Ipod classic and at least 3 other MP3 players. Not forgetting 2 Ipod touches, my mother has yet to use hers.

There is a replaced every year computer and a laptop because I foolishly pointed out they didn't need the router they'd bought as they only had a main pc, so obviously they needed the laptop to go with the router.

An Iphone and another fancy Samsung touch screen phone which he bought for my mother. She has yet to take it out it's box as she still has £7 credit on her old phone and she wants to use it up first, that'll take her a decade or so. This is really ripping EBD's knitting as her phone is so old it doesn't even have a camera on it and it switches it's self off every hour or so when it's tired and needs a wee rest.

So you get the picture, their house is stuffed full of technology that they don't use to it's full potential. This pains my daughter muchly, she is so jealous of all the clicky finger gadgetry at their disposal that they don't use. Actually she is jealous of them being pensioners which she thinks would be a dream life, getting up and going to bed when you like, no work or studying and no one making derisory and smart arse comments when you want a wee afternoon nap.


Every year my parents spend 2 weeks in May at The Beautiful House in Turkey and every year I tell them to book flights online as it's cheaper. Last year we had the saga where I booked the flights for them online. This year as I'm with them I offer to book the flights on their computer while they're with me and I get a flat no, the last time was stressful enough and the company I used has since gone bust (way after they had flown home).

They will use a travel agent thank you very much, so I leave it and go back to my house and you know what's coming next, don't you? Cue my mother calling in a state of high agitation (my mum is getting extremely anxious as she gets older and me being a smart arse is a real trial for her) The travel agent can't get them on the Wednesday flight they want, can I?

Sure, I've now become God of all flights, I had left the flight details I found for them written down so they could tell the travel agent what they wanted and how much it cost online but she has to try and type in the site and find the same flights, I then spend an hour trying to talk my mother through the online booking process as I have no Internet access, so every screen has to be described and explained, we find flights, she's still agitated but by the time we get to the checkout someone else has bought the last 2 flights.

My mother just about explodes but has to leave as she has a dentist's appointment and she's trying to impress the new dentist (she has a new dentist because she got barred from her last one, yep, that's right Mrs Stresshead fell out with the hygienist over the hygienist's poor opinion of my mothers electric toothbrush which was, of course, a present from gadget mad dad and my mother refused to see the hygienist and this caused a bit of argy bargy so the dentists have asked her to leave) How can I have a mother who's been barred from a dentist? Who has ever been barred from a dentist? Ever, in the whole history of the world?

As soon as she's gone my dad rings and asks me to book the flights myself, I do, in 4 minutes and I send him the email confirmation. Of course their printer doesn't work, actually neither does mine, I know my mother will die unless she has those printed off tickets in her hand so I email EBD's boyfriend Hot Boy and he prints off a copy and posts to my mum, going for the belt and braces approach I ask the ex mr auntiegwen to do the same.

So by the time you read this my stress head of a mother will have 2 copies of her tickets and the next hurdle in this saga will be the inputting of the e border passport information, which will have to be saved for another day as I can't cope with her when she speaks in that tone only dogs can hear.

Conversations with my niece.

My sister has 2 daughters Abbie is aged 8 and Alanah is 7. Abbie is a goody two shoes and Alanah has character, I like this muchly, my sister less so.

When I go back home to visit Abbie loves to tell me how naughty Alanah has been, I ask Alanah on a scale of 1 to 10, she usually goes for a 6. I love this level of honesty. Alanah and I have big long chats about what's going on in her world, she has THE most Glaswegian accent and she makes me scream inside with laughter when she fills me in on the highs and lows. This is what I've found out, I have all the gossip on primary 3...

Alanah has her name put under the big cloud with tears dripping from it more often than it goes under the smiling sun.

Alanah lost her whole golden time because she bit Yasmin Cassidy.

Caitlin McNie needs a hanky, her nose is always snotty and it gives Alanah "the dry boke"

Andrew Moss has tried to steal her pencil sharpener twice and tried to kiss her once and this "pure annoyed" her.

Yasmin Cassidy "thinks she's it" and this doesn't please Alanah.

Courtney Campbell and Yasmin Cassidy along with Lara Taylor wouldn't let Alanah join their club but Alanah doesn't care because "it's a stupit club anywey"

Alanah and her friend Carly-Jean and Carly-Jean's twin brother John-Henry set up their own club and they won't let Yasmin Cassidy, Courtney Campbell or Lara Taylor join.

The first rule of Alanah's club is be kind to everybody. The second rule is let anybody join your club!

I love Alanah.

The Mother Country

Today I will drive 320 miles to go home. I love going back to The Mother Country not only because I get see my mother and of course gadget mad dad but because it will always be my home. Alba an Aigh.

I have the giddy delights of 3 teenagers squashed into my very small car and 1 of them will be hungover. 2 of them will bicker but with a bit of luck and plugged into their ipods, they will sleep.

But it will, as it always is, worth it.

All together now...

Well I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more.