I have always had a fairly minimal house, perhaps because my family home is so full you can only move sideways in it and they think a surface without stuff and a wall without pictures is a complete waste of space. If you want to see what the Palace of Versailles would look like in a very ordinary Glasgow maisonette (or 4 in a block if you're one of us chosen people), you want to visit my mum & dad.
However in my middle years...
I find myself buying heart shaped things, all the feckin time, there can't be a room in my house without a heart shaped thing in it. To expand this hobby I have taken to buying heart shaped things for the villa, so not only am I imposing my lack of imagination on my nearest and dearest, I have now inflicted it on the good paying public who rent from me. Yesterday I spectacularly bought heart shaped things, in total, 3 pictures with hearts on, 2 cushions with hearts on, 1 metal hanging heart made with tiny bells ( I know), and no less than 8 hanging wicker hearts. I also bought bunting ala Kirsty Allsop but that's a whole other story.
I have taken the buying of small bowls to an extreme art form also. We have a surfeit of small bowls, some are also heart shaped but it's not compulsory. I like bowls, I am particularly attracted to wee bowls. When you have crisps or nuts or snacky thinks it's so much nicer to have them from an attractive bowl.
Candles are also a particular passion, at present in my lounge, I have 25, some arranged in groups, some in bowls (you see, there is another purpose for a wee bowl) we have candles everywhere, inside and out. My husband who monitors our heating on a fancy graph, some Tado thingy that self regulates our heating so you don't have a timer any more (don't mock, Christ he needs something to occupy his mind, living with me) he can tell from his fancy graph when I have lit candles as the temperature increases. I am less impressed with the new fancy thing, I don't have the control thingy, he has one on his phone, if I get cold I have to light candles and put a cardie on or ring and ask him to switch the heating on. Still I have stuff and he has gadgets.
My house is filling up pretty quickly and my ever patient husband has learned not to ask what things are for, he just admires the heart shapes/wee bowls & candles and checks he is still a bloke, living in such a full house.
I am off to the beautiful house for a week, I am taking my husband, my stepson, my parents and several heart shaped things, some bowls and more candles with me. I will buy gin from the duty free and imbibe hourly from 11 to 11 as the combination of my mother telling me the same thing over and over and the boy wonder showing me how he jumps into the pool over and over will most certainly require a more relaxed (aka drunk) auntie to cope!!!
My starter for 10 was yesterday when I was chatting to my mum on the phone, she arrives tonight and I had said how nice it would be to see her. She replied that she was also looking forward to seeing me and then added "and your husband" As I am a very polite auntie, I said " Andrew is looking forward to seeing you too" She closed the conversation with, "Well, I don't know about that but I am looking forward to seeing your husband"
See you in June
Showing posts with label Middle aged.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middle aged.. Show all posts
Tuesday, 20 May 2014
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
And that, my friends, was August
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?
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?
Monday, 6 June 2011
A game of 2 halfs
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
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
Sunday, 3 October 2010
In a safe place
I could have scribed another rantie auntie type post, as time marches on I find myself more and more grumpy, I am perfecting my middle aged status to Olympic standard.
I could have given you more on Hot Boy as I saw him yesterday and there were a few comedy gems, not including his attire of shocking pink and I mean PINK skinny jeans. Gifted to him by Nicki, the keyboard player in his band. She felt they were a bit out there for her, a female girl. Of course, if an outfit is too showstopping, who else would you give it to?
I could tell you all about how my office is moving and as well as my normal work we had to pack up an 8 roomed office with 18 years worth of crap and condense everything to fit in a 2 room office. The wee boys the removal firm sent were the most gormless looking pair you've ever clapped eyes on. I wanted to fetch my son to see them and hiss in a passive aggressive whisper - "This is what will happen if you don't get your A levels"
Instead I will tell you the sorry tale of how the auntie got caught speeding. I am a bad auntie, a fast auntie, an now a quite a bit poorer auntie. I have no excuses I should obey the rules and I shall not whine about getting caught and paying the money. It is entirely my own fault and I deserve everything I get.
In my house no one except me can find anything, my ovaries appear to contain a locating device, I am good at finding things, I get plenty practice. I wasn't too concerned about finding the paper part of my driving licence. I thought it would be in one of my safe places. I actually say "I will put this in a safe place", Michael McIntyre's man drawer has nothing on me. I have a house full of safe places.
So I look in the folder that contains the birth certificates and my PIN for the National Board for Nursing (it's always been kept there, probably since I left home for the first time and my only official documentation was my birth certificate and my pin.)
Then I look in my travel folder with the passports as you need both parts to hire a car abroad. I have never driven abroad and have no notion to. But I like to think of myself as a well prepared, windswept and interesting type traveller.
I look in my bedside drawer and the spare bedside drawer where I had a lovely time reading little letters that BBD had sent me and smiling through tears at the baby spellings and the sweetness of it all. Which took the edge of her struntieness this week, she has been very strunty. I also found a card from the ex mrauntiegwen telling me how much he loved me and thanking me for 20 years together and asking for another 40. We'll gloss over that, I think it's best.
I emptied the wicker hamper that was a corporate Christmas goodie from Fortnum and Mason that I use as a coffee table and a receptacle of things I think I might need at some unspecified in the future. I have no idea why I have kept 9 Argos catalogues and old pay slips from 2002, I also have no idea why there was a carrier bag containing all the Christmas cards I received in 2007.
I looked in every drawer in the Welsh dresser in the dining room unearthing some cards from my 40th birthday and 6 old diaries. My God, I did a lot of going to school things with my 3 children, it seemed like every week I was there for a family assembly, a sports day or a parents meeting. No wonder I only worked part time, I wouldn't have been able to fit it in.
Reader, I will not take you on a full looking and finding tour of my safe places in this house, there are many. I have kept a lot of crap over the 10 years I've lived here. Some of it was lovely to see again, other's just bemusing as to why I hadn't got rid of it at the time. I eventually gave up and ordered a new one as per my dear friend Note Bene's suggestion on the book of face.
My ovaries which were formerly top notch locating devices are now a little tired and middle aged. They have caught up with the rest of me.
I could have given you more on Hot Boy as I saw him yesterday and there were a few comedy gems, not including his attire of shocking pink and I mean PINK skinny jeans. Gifted to him by Nicki, the keyboard player in his band. She felt they were a bit out there for her, a female girl. Of course, if an outfit is too showstopping, who else would you give it to?
I could tell you all about how my office is moving and as well as my normal work we had to pack up an 8 roomed office with 18 years worth of crap and condense everything to fit in a 2 room office. The wee boys the removal firm sent were the most gormless looking pair you've ever clapped eyes on. I wanted to fetch my son to see them and hiss in a passive aggressive whisper - "This is what will happen if you don't get your A levels"
Instead I will tell you the sorry tale of how the auntie got caught speeding. I am a bad auntie, a fast auntie, an now a quite a bit poorer auntie. I have no excuses I should obey the rules and I shall not whine about getting caught and paying the money. It is entirely my own fault and I deserve everything I get.
In my house no one except me can find anything, my ovaries appear to contain a locating device, I am good at finding things, I get plenty practice. I wasn't too concerned about finding the paper part of my driving licence. I thought it would be in one of my safe places. I actually say "I will put this in a safe place", Michael McIntyre's man drawer has nothing on me. I have a house full of safe places.
So I look in the folder that contains the birth certificates and my PIN for the National Board for Nursing (it's always been kept there, probably since I left home for the first time and my only official documentation was my birth certificate and my pin.)
Then I look in my travel folder with the passports as you need both parts to hire a car abroad. I have never driven abroad and have no notion to. But I like to think of myself as a well prepared, windswept and interesting type traveller.
I look in my bedside drawer and the spare bedside drawer where I had a lovely time reading little letters that BBD had sent me and smiling through tears at the baby spellings and the sweetness of it all. Which took the edge of her struntieness this week, she has been very strunty. I also found a card from the ex mrauntiegwen telling me how much he loved me and thanking me for 20 years together and asking for another 40. We'll gloss over that, I think it's best.
I emptied the wicker hamper that was a corporate Christmas goodie from Fortnum and Mason that I use as a coffee table and a receptacle of things I think I might need at some unspecified in the future. I have no idea why I have kept 9 Argos catalogues and old pay slips from 2002, I also have no idea why there was a carrier bag containing all the Christmas cards I received in 2007.
I looked in every drawer in the Welsh dresser in the dining room unearthing some cards from my 40th birthday and 6 old diaries. My God, I did a lot of going to school things with my 3 children, it seemed like every week I was there for a family assembly, a sports day or a parents meeting. No wonder I only worked part time, I wouldn't have been able to fit it in.
Reader, I will not take you on a full looking and finding tour of my safe places in this house, there are many. I have kept a lot of crap over the 10 years I've lived here. Some of it was lovely to see again, other's just bemusing as to why I hadn't got rid of it at the time. I eventually gave up and ordered a new one as per my dear friend Note Bene's suggestion on the book of face.
My ovaries which were formerly top notch locating devices are now a little tired and middle aged. They have caught up with the rest of me.
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