Monday 27 September 2010


EBD has survived her freshers week. It's been strange without her but also weird because without her we've had no Hot Boy. Back they both came this weekend and made up for it.

Hot Boy continues to be my main form of entertainment, he has no capacity AT ALL for self moderation, he watches not a word that comes out of his mouth. He seems to forget I am his girlfriends mum and a very happy inhabitant of Mummy Denial Land. On Saturday, I am, as is my wont, prone on the sofa with a good book in our conservatory. Himself and EBD joined me and in one conversation he managed to...

ask me if I'd been to Cyberdog in Camden and seen the butt plugs for sale. And before you ask, strangely enough, no I haven't, they don't sell cake there so I don't visit.

tell me he was buying his mum some KY for Christmas, apparently you can be a bit dry down there at her age, only in her early 50's his mum is, although I suspect he's aged her quite a bit.

ask EBD to reassure me that although he can't fill out his man thong, she still has nothing to complain about. That managed to age me a fair bit too.

On Sunday he came with us as we drove EBD back to uni, about 20 minutes into the journey she texted him to remind him to watch what he was telling me. Too late, by this point in the journey we'd already covered how he'd be raped if he ever went to prison because he's so pretty, advised my son to be a dentist so he could look down girls tops or a gynaecologist so he could ...

At this point, my beautiful son, the one who's had all my maternal love and care lavished upon him. The one who's been brought up to respect women, nay almost to idealise them, says in response to the gynaecology career idea

"Eurggh, no thanks, manky fannies all day long"

Anyone want to adopt them? No? Sure I can't tempt you?

Wednesday 22 September 2010

Rantie auntie's top 3 of the week

You knew it had to come didn't you? I was ridiculously upbeat with all the wee funnies in the last post so for every yin there is a yang, every action a reaction, the thick seam of dichotomy running through the very core of me means you must have some rantie auntie. Read on McDuff

This week...

3 things that have made your auntie say " For the love of God" if you're of a nervous disposition or "Aw fur fucks sake" if you're not.

Both are in a very exasperated middle aged Scottish way though.

Jamie Oliver called his son Buddy Bear.

A man called Keith Mcdonald has 10 children by 10 different women, according to The Sunday Times this will cost the tax payer £1.5 billion by the time the children reach 18 as this unemployed Casanova impregnates girls/women who are reliant on benefits. He is not the bonniest of poppets but apparently is charming, especially on buses where he's met more than a few of his children's mothers. He doesn't have any contact with any of his children and pays £5 per week out of his benefits towards the upkeep of them. What a guy.

I know I'm sounding more than a little DAILY HEILISH but c'moan... (I would have linked to the Sunday Times article I read but it's paywalled and I'm a poor auntie) Please note since the Daily Mail article of July last year you can click on, he is now longer with Claire and now is expecting a baby with a Sarah who he is no longer with and a Danielle who he is, but she's only been pregnant a month so...

I went to buy new trainers to stop the rest of my toenails turning black and falling off. Apparently you can't just buy trainers, you have to have your gait analysed. For the unwary amongst you, this is what happens...

You put trainers on, the wee beardy boy checks where your toes are like the Start Rite lady did when you were 5, you get on the treadmill, you run - it's filmed, wee beardy boy tells you how wonky you run apparently I very badly overpronate on my left and I run on my toes so all the fancy stuff they put in the heels to stop you overpronate isn't worth a curdy to me.
I tried on 6 pairs.
It took an hour.
I was wearing a maxi dress.
My trainers cost £105, I'm a middle aged Glaswegian Mammy not feckin Usain Bolt.

Sunday 19 September 2010

auntiegwen's top laughs of the week

This week has been a bit of a roller coaster emotionally with the departure of Eldest Beautiful Daughter so any little light relief has been greatly welcomed. As you know I live in a house full of comedians, this is the only thing that stops me running away. So, in no particular order the things that made me chuckle are

The Beautiful Son

As EBD has been at home sans work for 3 months she had taken over loads of the housework. On being told he would have to help out with the cleaning as EBD has gone, the bold boy has got himself a paper round. To pay for a cleaner. I kid you not.

Hot Boy

After a slight disagreement with EBD, she smacked him one, playfully. He came in to me and complained about her behaviour. He wanted me to make her write an apology to his future wife explaining why they wouldn't be able to have children. He went on to clarify that it was his favourite testicle that she'd hurt. The one that hangs lower than the other, apparently that's the good one. Who knew you could have a favourite?

Also, I do want to tell you about his cure for the glums but this is a family blog and it might upset you. Hot Boy is a massive giver of too much information.

Beautiful Baby Daughter

Sobbed her heart out all the way home from dropping EBD off. When we arrived home she went and lay on EBD's bed. 10 minutes later she appeared in the lounge wearing EBD's coat and her black patent leather shoe boots. Having full and unrestricted access to all EBD's clothes she can't take to uni (tiny wardrobes) is a great cure for BBD's glums. Cheered her right up.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter

Her facebook status at 3.30am today read...

the walls are so thin in this flat I can hear the guy upstairs chucking up. lovely.

Get used to it, sweetie, I'm sure it will be a recurring theme.

The ex mr auntiegwen

Offered the daughters chewing gum in his car yesterday. Sore point as I don't allow it and also that BBD was caught chewing it at school (also not allowed) and got a detention. Even though I pointed all this out, the gum was still proffered with a cheeky grin.

Which very quickly disappeared when I took it from his hands and threw it out his car window.

Tuesday 14 September 2010

To My Eldest Beautiful Daughter

The day I knew was on it's way is almost here. The day that you, my Eldest Beautiful Daughter, will leave home. For 18 years I've had the honour and the privilege to be your Mummy. I've marvelled at you all the way from the first moment I held you in my arms to now when I never want to let you go. You have been, are now and always will be the delight of my chridhe.

You have taught me so much and so well. Thanks to you I know the meaning of unconditional love, patience, flexibility, and pride. I will never love anyone in the way I love you and your siblings. You 3 and I are enmeshed and wrapped together with a love that is the real deal, the big love, Tan 90 squared.

And I will miss seeing you every day with an ache that is soul deep. To not see you and touch you and laugh with you in our own wee routine will be the toughest thing. You being missing round the table will leave a great big gaping hole in our lives and I know that your brother and sister feel the same.

I am so proud of you, you're kind, funny, smart and beautiful. You have been the joy of my life and it's been the best fun to be your Mummy. I do hope that when you think of your childhood that you feel it was good and that although there was that big blip with your dad and I that you forgive us, and feel that overall, you felt secure and know that you are loved.

So off you go, into the big wide world. I've given you life so go live it but remember...

Someone once asked you where home was, meaning Scotland or England and you answered "My home is where my mummy is" and may that always be true.

Sunday 12 September 2010

Poor poor auntie

I think I missed the memo that said for 2 straight months we are going to take every penny auntie earns and then take some more.

I am a poor, poor auntie.

Things that are making me poor, in no particular order are...

My Eldest Beautiful Daughter and her imminent departure to the place where they take all my money and she gets to perfect her partaying technique. Who knew she needed so much stuff? and Marks and Spencer £7 for a colander? Would you give yourself peace!

My car - a service, a coil fitting and road tax means I have spent £592 in a month on my car. IN A MONTH (in capitals for emphasis) I do love my car and it has never cost me as much in a year as it has in the last few weeks. Baah - that's a middle aged lady exasperated noise for the young uns amongst you.

My son - if he grows 1 more inch I will have to cut a hole in the roof, how can his legs be that long? For the first time in my life I am grateful for the jeans below the arse showing the pants look, it means I don't have to go into TopMan every 4 weeks and hand over £90 for 3 pairs of jeans. I am replacing jeans that haven't even had time to get dirty for feck's sake.

My watch - the ex mr auntiegwen bought me a watch for my Christmas 2005. This watch was a Cartier Tank Francais, it's a lovely watch, very plain, very simple, not bling in the slightest. But it cost him a fair amount of cash. Last week it stopped working so I popped into the jewellers, foolishly and naively saying to EBD if I put it in before we had lunch and did our shopping we'd be able to pick it up at the end.

When you have to ring the doorbell to get in a jewellers you know that's not a good sign.

When the nice young man tells you that you can't have just a battery changed because your watch needs serviced, you have your bemused and confused middle aged lady face. Why do watches need serviced? It just sits on my wrist telling the time. Isn't that what watches are supposed to do?

When the nice young man tells you that it will take 2 months to do, you have to resist the incredulous explosion of "WTF" that is screaming inside your head, remember you're in a posh jewellers and you have your nice middle aged middle class lady face on.

Then to round it all off the nice young man tells you it will cost £245. Yep, you read right TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE FECKIN POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because I suppose, the Cartier people have specially employed watch fixing fairies who fly over specially and take your watch on a red velvet pillow to their special watch fixing palace. Then, with gossamer wings, they polish the steel (not silver or white gold or heaven forbid platinum, just bog standard steel) and kiss the watch back to life and fly it back again. I expect that's why it takes so long and costs so much, I mean fairies don't come cheap, do they?

I won't even begin to do the nice lady things maths because I know it'd be enough for a Chanel 2.55 and a pair of black patent leather platform peep toe Louboutins and a bag of chips on the way home.

All together now, poor poor auntie

Friday 10 September 2010

I'm so proud...

Hot Boy won £79 pounds on the lottery on Wednesday, he texted EBD to tell her and also to say he was going to spend it all on lottery tickets as it seemed like free money. He went on to say he hoped he won so he could give half to her and she wouldn't have to go to university. (It's been a teeny tiny bit tense chez auntiegwen as Hot Boy is more than a little rattled about EBD forthcoming departure.)

The mummy worry meter turned itself on...

ag - "But, you'd still go to uni even if you had a million, wouldn't you?"

snorting EBD - "Hell no, why would I bother?"

The mummy worry meter cranked up to mild disconcertedness...

ag - "What would you do all day?"

and without missing a beat, a peko second later came this reply,

EBD - "Prance round my new pool on my pony"

My Presbyterian work ethic's completely bypassed that child then.

Wednesday 8 September 2010

I've had a very puzzling day

Today when I arrived at work I found the carpark absolutely full. Not a space left and some very creative parking had been going on. Our office only has 4 people working in it, I always arrive first and the carpark is completely empty. I had to park round the corner and walk back, an hour later when everyone else arrived the car park was back to it's normal empty self again. They looked at me like I was mental when I told them I couldn't get a space.

At 11 am my lovely gorgeous shiny purple crackberry pinged a new email. The sender was the ex Beautiful Man, I nearly died when I saw his name in my inbox. We haven't spoken since January 2008 when I left him. I had to have a coffee before I could open it, when I did there was a sweet soppy message. This confused me muchly. I became even more confused when I read the date sent 27th June 2007. WTF? I don't even begin to understand that.

I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Or there's always gin.

Sunday 5 September 2010

Family Portraits

Today the most patient photographer in the world came to take a family photo of us. We are extremely difficult to photograph at the best of times. We don't look the right way at the right time, we blink, yawn, scratch and develop nervous tics. We surpassed ourselves this time though.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter had been in London as Hot Boy had been playing a gig in Kilburn, she got home at 3am. Tired and hungover was the look de jour.

Beautiful Baby Daughter had come out in a rash all over her face and was in tears because of this, poor wee scone. So red and lumpy was her only choice of face.

The Beautiful Son was spending time away from both the fridge and his X box, not to mention being asked every 2 minutes to pull his jeans up as his pants kept showing. Arsey is how I'd describe his look.

As for your auntie, I think I look like a perfectly regular human in real life, I don't look remotely normal in photos. I seem to acquire 3 stone and accompanying chins and by the end TBS said I was smiling like a serial killer. I look a bit like the love child of Lorraine Kelly and Jabba the Hutt.

However, the most patient photographer in the world was determined to get a good family shot. She had us pose in the conservatory, in the garden, on the stairs (and she had to stand on the downstairs loo to get those done), hugging, close together, far apart, smiling, not smiling, sitting, standing and all kinds of posing. No wonder Kate Moss looks bored and does drugs.

Then after 2 hours and 118, yep you read right, one hundred and eighteen pics she called it a day. When I get the one we won't frighten people with I'll show you, and you know it will be just the one.