In which I am temporarily deranged

Last week I was complaining about my mother and then almost to illustrate the point that I am turning into her, I completely lose the plot. Do you need a middle aged woman alert? thought not, that's what you expect now really.

I could cite you several examples of my losing what few marbles I have, I could regale you of how I am so unenamoured of my new smart phone (cue hoots of derisory and slightly maniacal laughter from your auntie) and how my handbag (Cath Kidston large canvas tote, greyey bluey with polka dots, what? I know some of you were wondering) seems to keep accessing the interwebs upon it, resulting in 02 texting me to tell me I have used up all my data allowance. This has resulting in me keeping my phone switched off and I now switch it on once a day to check if anyone has texted or rang me. So, to recap I have a fancy phone that I chose so I could tweet and bookface and blog and email and chat and text etc etc all the time, so I could be part of the digital revolution and I now keep it switched off and check once per day. It is driving the beautiful children wild, all that technology going to waste. I am only feeling slightly superior to my mother in that I can actually text on it, albeit at arms length and with very wild spelling (the keys are very small and it's a qwerty keyboard, c'mon it's dead easy to hit the key next to the one you were aiming for.)Plus, I do keep it with me at all times just in case I need it, it's not in the kitchen drawer with the tea towels like my mother's.

I could recount the middle aged lady noises I made when I received a work email and in the signature at the bottom, not only was there the person's name and job title, there was also a photograph. A sultry pouty pose peering over one shoulder with a startling heavy blusher application to confirm that indeed the 12 year old child sending me the email was indeed a (and I quote) human resources executive.

We will brush over the fact that in the middle of the new James Bond film, I got overly excited and at a moment of much action upon the screen (I think the lady with the curly hair was kicking someone/something - I had eaten myself into a sugar coma at this stage) I exclaimed, in a not as quiet as it should have been, voice "Those are the Jimmy Choo's I want, they're called Lace" I don't think all the James Bond fans who were appreciating the film needed my fashion interjection.

And finally, in a shamefaced, fess it all up fashion. I completely lost the plot and spent £210 on madly expensive goop for my face. And as if we needed any more proof of how mental/old I am, I couldn't even read the damned instructions on how to apply it (even at arm's length), for all I know it could say " Ha ha ha, we have your money old woman, you are old and now £210 poorer, you don't need instructions, you will still be old even with the £210 cream, it matters not a jot in what order you apply them, in what way, use liberally and come back and buy more, sucker"

I still feel queasy when I think of what that money would buy, I have tried all the justification maths but I can't justify spending it at all, in any way, shape or form. This is nice lady things gone mad. I could give you my top 3 excuses as to why I succumbed to the hype

I am old, I would say I am middle aged but unless I live to 92 I would be lying

My skin tone would be scary to the general public if I went out with a naked face

My daughters are in that lovely youthful bloom stage and I just look awful by comparison (maybe I should make friends with some 80 year olds? then I would look better)

I just want to look like the best version of me I can, I am getting older, I don't look as good as I did 5 years ago and I'm doing all the right stuff, I run, I drink water, I eat healthily, I don't drink much now at all, I sleep well and usually 8 hours a night but I still look old. I have to accept the inevitibilty of ageing but I don't want to yet.

Thank God I don't have the money for plastic surgery, you wouldn't recognise me.

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?

All women turn into their mother

I don't mind that, I really like mine. I feel slightly sorry for my daughters though. For the people who don't know us in real life, my eldest beautiful daughter is just me but without the grey hair and wrinkles. We have the same tastes, the same gestures, expressions and are spookily similar.

She was out at last night and was talking to a friend's older brother who's home from uni.

EBD - "What are you studying?"

Friends older brother " I'm doing a PHD in computing"

and before eldest beautiful daughter could stop herself, she hooted derisorously and this fell out her mouth

"What, a Doctor of clickety, clickety and facebook?, would you give yourself peace!!!"

She said she could even hear me as she said it !

The Great Black Hope

I've been a bit tearful over the last few days. I've been reading "The Secret Life of Bees" by Sue Monk Kidd, it's set in the 1960's in the deep south of America. It's a very poignant read and is filled with elegantly effortless prose. It makes me despair that I sully blogland with my crap.

It's very thought provoking especially around this time and I keep bursting into tears. I was trying to explain why to EBD as my children get overly anxious when I'm upset. I was trying to articulate how we shouldn't forget, just because America has come a long way, from Obama's fathers experiences to him becoming the first black president. I feel it's really important to remember how people have struggled and suffered and what a soul destroying insidious poison prejudice is.

I'm a white and Scottish and I cried at his speech, God only knows how I would feel if I was a black American. I encouraged her to watch it with me again on youtube. I was attempting to articulate my thought processes to EBD and as usual she brings me down to earth by laughing at me, I gently remind her that we all turn into our mothers and her parting shot...

" Christ, what a thing to look forward to, being forty odd in a fleece and crying at youtube"