Welcome

A huge thank you to all friends who commented, texted, emailed, called and visited me over the last week. I appreciate all your input, kind words and advice muchly.

I've pondered on this and thought it round and around and I've come to the conclusion that I really don't mind who reads what I write.

There's not really that much salacious stuff in here, the sex blog I write has had every gasp, groan and grunt in it, so no need to upset Grandma in Cyprus with that here. I jest, I jest.

And as much as I felt I didn't want Gordon to know what I was thinking, I now realise that I'm not that bothered, he's not involved in my life, I'm not interested in his, all that's left is indifference really.

So welcome to you all, the people who comment, the people who don't, the people who know me and those whom I've yet to meet. You are truly welcome to my little corner of blogland.

With love from

Wendy aka auntiegwen

x

Outed

My life is slightly tricky and sad at the moment. I am about to file for divorce and as much as I'd love your input and advice (especially on the subject of how I can raise the £50,000 I need to buy my ex out, actually if you do have a notion of how to do that, please email me) I now feel I can't talk about it.

For 2 and a half years I have spouted the gospel according to St Gwen on a largely unsuspecting public. I have loved every single minute of it, it really has been an absolute privilege to be a part of this community and I am massively grateful for what I have got out of blogging. I love my blog and I thought I could never give it up. It really has been my voice.

Despite the fact I have photos up I feel I have managed to retain anonymity if I have chosen it. Some bloggers I have chosen to be with in my regular life and have become very dear friends, some I am going to meet soon and some I most sincerely hope that we will meet face to face. There are very few people who knew the me I was before blogging.

My ex husband told me today he'd found and read my blog. Around 2 years ago.

He had logged onto my computer in my home and was intrigued by the auntiegwensdiary on the drop down bar.

So he went home to his house and google searched it.

And he found it.

And he was very upset by some of the things I have said about him and some of the family dynamics I have reported from my perspective.

He says that he has only skim read it and he is not interested in my blog. He feels that if it is on the Internet then it is in the public domain and he has a right to read it.

He was also extremely upset to find out I have kept in touch with a mutual friend of ours and that he didn't know about this. This is bothering him muchly because this friend is male.

I don't feel that I have badmouthed him in any serious way and I'm sure that if in time, the children read it that they would not feel that I had misrepresented any of the facts. I have at no time showed this blog to my parents or family or with the exception of the mutual friend, anyone who knows him. I have at no time mentioned our real name or our location.

I probably cannot articulate how I feel, he wanders around my house and invades my physical space whilst visiting our children but the thought of him invading my mental space is deeply disconcerting to me.

He assures me he'll never read it again but do I want to censor every word that I write?

Confession Time

I know I have been very scathing in the past but I will fess up and admit I've joined facebook. So all you regular facebook users will have to keep me right, there are lots of things I still don't quite get and I have a fear I'll be bored with it very shortly.

Resist the urge to throw back your head and laugh like a muskateer as I have been mocked heartily by Edge for it already and I am still slightly confused by it all, especially by the wee thingy that pops up and someone is trying to talk to me, but I have managed to put a wee comment up or reply to my real friends.

I'm not sure of the etiquette of it all yet, I can't seem to refuse to be someone's friend even if I don't know them and in consequence have found myself never short of a wee bible verse or a life coaching kind of a homily.

I have some new friends already, I am very popular with American men. Even more popular with American men who run and also with American Pastor men and as for American Pastor men who run, they just love your auntie!

I am also quite popular with my daughter's friends, I don't accept them as friends though, just too weird, I always get slightly freaked when I read her friends (very middle aged) dad trying to be funny.

So I have it now and I have the American men but what do I do with it? The people I really know on it, I kinda know what they're up to, well as much as I need to know, I already like one of my friends less. I live with one of them and I definitely know enough about her life, I like it better in mummy denial land, so what am I doing with it? I already have the blog to spout off my rubbish.

So I'm thinking about lying on a grand scale with it, make myself look uber windswept and interesting (yes I know that's German, I thought maybe you were getting a bit bored with badly spelled French words and NB's practising his for his holiday to Precisionwithnohumourland.)

So can I say I've come into money ? off on a world trip and post pictures of where I'd like to go ? Can I post pictures of supermodels and say I've had surgery ? Say I'm shagging all the celebrities on my celebrity shag list all at the same time?

I am wondering though if it's okay to say I'm in a relationship with David Tennant one week and then David Ginola the next ?

Where's the harm ?

Decisions Decisions

For the record I know I'm the world's most indecisive woman, I do know that. But sometimes life gives me awful dilemmas. Really awful, I apologize now if someone is having real troubles in their life and have popped in here to hear me wittering on, I know I'm being shallow.

I have some money, this is an unusual event in my life, this is due to me being the hardest person in the world to buy a birthday present for, apparently. Can you feel my eyebrow being raised at that?

I have a choice, I can buy

SHOE PORN ALERT

Christian Louboutains that are the sexiest shoes I have ever seen.

Black as sin.

Beautiful supple strokable leather.

Soft as skin.

Studded as everyone needs a bit of edge in their life.

They have the mighty red soles.

They are less than half price.

I have the money.


Again, the beauty of the red soles, appreciate the shoes some more, don't drool on your keyboard though.

or I can buy a sat nav.

Thought so, me too.

Another year older

How can I be another year older? Fortyfeckinthree now ! Jesus, Mary and Holy St Joseph, I must now officially be half way to being dead.

So what precisely did I achieve from last birthday to this one?

Didn't kill any of the beautiful children - for which I should be due a medal at the very least.

I visited Dublin, Belfast, Prague and went to Turkey 3 times. I also had a few trips back to Glasgow and some to London.

I saw Russell Kane at the Y and I pretended to be gay with my friend C, Russell Kane didn't believe us, he was very good though. I went to the Leicester Comedy Festival preview show and that was tres amusent, I particularly liked Jared Christmas and John Richardson.

Gig wise this was a streemly good year, streemly. I saw The Killers twice in Dublin and Belfast, Bloc Party suppoted them in Dublin, Glasvegas twice in Wolverhampton and Sheffield, White Lies supported them in Wolverhampton, I saw Primal Scream's encore in Nottingham, Doves at Brixton Academy and the Manic Street Preachers at the Camden Roundhouse.

I also taught a gazillion lessons including my last one.

I started a new job with office perks.

And I still found time to blog 137 posts just to keep you in the loop. Selfless to the core, that's me.

When I write it down, my life is not nearly as boring as I make out !

Things that have rendered me momentarily speechless

I know that according to the google searches that I am the queen of the comeback and I have been known to lob out an occasional smart arse remark. I, am however, sometimes completely lost for words. In this last week this has happened more than once, I am recovering nicely now though.

Male friend commenting on an old photo of me as a 15 year old
"I'd have shagged you."

ag - hoping he meant as a teenager himself and not now as a man of middle years. I am trying to be tactful here, in case he gets offended I originally wrote nearly 50.

John, friend of my parents we went to visit on Friday night
"Grace, I thought you said she'd lost a lot of weight? " "No, you did, you told me she was like a stick insect, she is not" "Ah, well, compared to her sister she is I suppose"

ag - I don't know who was more mortified, my mother or me, probably my mother, I thought she might have another stroke there and then. He did however pop round on Saturday to apologize, bringing me some roses as he knew he'd been tactless.

Text from my Beautiful Baby Daughter who is staying up in Scotland for a week with my parents (so is The Beautiful Son)
Jack said I touched his bum but I didn't and Nana called me a pervert, that was not nice

ag - I didn't think that would be a word my mum would use in general conversation never mind conversation with my children.

Gadget Mad Dad on return from a car boot sale on Sunday morning
"Picked myself up a wee laptop for £25, not got a charger but I've got a few out in the shed"

ag - this is a man who has an all singing all dancing computer that he replaces annually and still hardly uses it, what does he need a laptop for? This is a man who has just spent £15,000 yep that's right fifteen thousand pounds on premium bonds, he's not short of a bob or two, what is he buying an ancient old laptop at a car boot for ? and why in the name of all that's holy did he buy one that had no feckin charger?

Incidentally, he spent all of Sunday trying every charger in the house (yep, that included phone, electric shavers, all his power tools and even their wee black and decker dustbuster wee hoovery thing to pick up crumbs trying to fit into his bargain, no matter how many times I told him they wouldn't work, he would not admit defeat.

auntie goes away

Just a little note to let you know I'm off to The Mother Country at feckit'searly o'clock in the morning. In case you pop in to look for me and I'm not here.

If you're a bitty bored and your feck count is down or your would you give yourself peace level is dropping or you just miss me, you can

a) text or ring me

b) sulk for a bit at my outrageous selfishness (you know who you are)...

c) go read what I wrote here (no comments on how I am becoming a right old bloggy tart, being unfaithful to agd and putting it about a bit post wise !)

I'm going home to have my fix and will return fully Glasmentalled up with quaint tales of the natives of the little fishing village on The Clyde.

I heart Google searches

I love my stats on the google searches of what bring people to my blog. Hours and hours of entertainment !

The pick of this week's bunch is this one, from Tamil Madhu in India, I've left the original spelling.

mifs and aunties hot

Walk right this way...

Apple of my eye

When I was a little girl I lived with my maternal grandparents.

My Grampa was the person in the world I loved the most, he was my world.

He was a very ordinary man, he married my Gran and they had 2 daughters, the youngest of whom is my mother. His family came over from Ireland at the turn of the century and my Grampa was the oldest. He had a brother called Richard and a sister called Sarah.

My great Uncle Ricky was an engineer in John Brown's shipyards. He had masses of hobbies and was very well travelled. He was very healthy, cycling and hillwalking, he was a very talented painter, my mother still has lots of his work and also the painting he taught me to do when I was 5. He was a violinist, he made all his own instruments and I am lucky enough to still have one. He played the fiddle for The Caledonian and Strathspey Fiddle Society. He was a conscientious objector during the Second World War but didn't go to jail as he was in a reserved occupation. He died 11 years ago of Mesothelioma which is a lung tumour which is caused by exposure to asbestos, of which there was plenty in the Glasgow shipyards of the time.


My great Aunt Sarah had very bad spinal damage and was very hunchbacked, she became a hugely talented dressmaker to make her own clothes and she made many of mine as a child, I remember with great fondness a long green checked taffeta party dress and to match it, a floor length bottle green velvet hooded cloak ala Scottish Widows. I still have her Singers treadle sewing machine from 1929 and it still works. I remember being allowed to open the drawers and play with all the reels, lots of beautiful colours. It was my ambition when I was a wee girl to be taller than my auntie Sarah, I think I did it about age 8. She did a degree in Russian and was a translator for the Russian Embassy. Neither she or my Uncle Ricky ever married and they lived together and travelled all through Russia, Hungary, Bulgaria and the Czechoslovakia. This was quite unusual in the 1950's and 1960's most Glaswegians went "doon the water" to Rothsay or Gourock at the Fair fortnight Glasgow holidays. As I say, the 2 of them lived together until she died after a short illness just before I got married.

Every Saturday, my Gran and Grampa would take me on the bus in Glasgow and to John Smith's bookshop and every week I was allowed to choose a book, they must have bought me hundreds. We then went next door to the health food shop where we'd pick up whatever Auntie Sarah and Uncle Ricky wanted, they ate stuff like natural yoghurt, cottage cheese and malt extract (which I got a spoonful every day in the winter and I loved) again not your usual Glasgow fare. Then we got the bus to Drumoyne and to visit Auntie Sarah and Uncle Ricky, I was always given a cup of tea and that was the only tea I ever drank. They always had unusual things at their house, I loved the Babouchkas and the ukelele. I liked the Russian childrens books with their colourful pictures and the strange writing. Sometimes I'd be taken to Elder Park on the way home.

My grandpa was a joiner and worked in Fairfields shipyards in Govan. He had a huge pride in his work and to him the highest praise was to say something was "Clyde built". He took a tin can into work to drink his tea out of and my Gran used to make his "pieces" (sandwiches) every day wrapped in the wax paper that the Mother's Pride plain loaf came in. He worked in that shipyard all his life and when he was made redundant early in 1975 he lived off his savings, never dreaming of signing on and claiming the unemployment benefit he was entitled to. It was a matter of his pride and self respect. He had a quiet dignity that I think so many of that generation of working class people had.

He made the bed I slept in, my beloved dolls house and a wee garden bench for me to sit on. He loved his garden and he had 2 beautiful lilac trees, one white and one lilac, a golden privet hedge and his pride and joy were his roses. He loved photography and there are a million photos of me and my gran but hardly any of him. He put them onto slides and we often had an evening where he'd put up his white screen and rig up the projector and we'd have a show.

I was the first grandchild and it would be fair to say that I was doted upon. He used to call me the apple of his eye, he carried my picture in his wallet alongside a St Christopher to keep me safe. He would talk endlessly of me and thrust my photo on anyone he met. Nobody was more loved than me.

I always remember him wearing trousers, a jumper my gran had knitted him, a tweed overcoat and always a flat cap.

When I was 9, he and my gran went on holiday to Ireland with my aunt and her family. Whilst he was there he suffered a mild stroke, he sent me a postcard and the writing on it was hardly legible, my gran had to finish it and address it. By the time it arrived he was dead. He went to bed that night and never woke up.


I wasn't allowed to go to his funeral but he was buried with the dark red rose I had cut from his garden.

My life was never the same.

Francis McTominie
20.05.13 - 30.07.75
RIP

An ordinary man to the world, an extraordinary man to me.

Why I avoid the gym

Now you may remember a little while ago I told you that my bosoms were expanding at an alarming rate, well the rest of me has caught up with them.

I am getting fat.

So to the gym I go. Like all normal people I pay my money but don't actually go. It's in the school I was a teacher at.

I was only in the place about 2 minutes when the manager guy comes up and exclaims his surprise at seeing me there as as he puts it "That's the first time in 2 years I've seen you here"

This is a lie, I took both the year 12 AS and the year 12 Btec group there to do a risk assessment as part of their course.

I smile politely and start torturing myself on the cross trainer. He follows me round a bit and chats. I don't do chat at the gym, I have to take my ipod out and I am not best pleased. He tells me how he sees me at school and how he knows I'm a member but don't go. He tells me how he thought "Don't know what she's doing but she looks good on it". He follows me to the thigh machines, I can't remember how to adjust the chair, he shows me and tells me how if I went regularly I'd know that.
He remarks on my inner thigh strength. I am getting more than a little annoyed and faintly disturbed. He follows me to the treadmill and then the mat where I do some sit ups, critiqued by him. He tells me how good I look for my age "You're 42 right ?" I am seriously creeped out.He follows me downstairs and as I am scanning my card to leave, he tells me to make sure the card is a good 6 inches away, he give me what he thinks is a suggestive wink. He tells me how mature women know what they want from life.

I resist the urge to throw back my head and cackle, I know nothing matey, except I will be finding a new gym.

Pronto.

Picures of your auntie

If you would like to see what I looked like as a teenager pop along to madmanicmamas and have a look at the cut of me, I was a really bonny poppet. MMM is a blog about parenting teens, the main work is done by Saz and Fhina and I ship up occasionally and throw my tuppenyworth in.

Also appearing on the t'internet today is a photo of my foot, it's a guessing game on Lady Penelope's blog. Like my eldest beautiful daughter she has a phobia about feet and as we are guesting her blog for her as she suns herself in sunny Rhodes, the 9 of us have flashed our tootsies, an idea beautifully crafted by Dutchbitch. Please feel free to play along and guess which one is me.

So not only 2 pictures of me but 2 posts appear IN ONE DAY. See Edge, it can be done... albeit with piss poor grammar and punctuation (from me, not the other bloggers)

I'll have to have a lie down now !

Welcome to the House of Fun

This is truly a fairly typical and nondescript day in our lives.

On Monday night I was searching for the pasta pot and the colander I need to make dinner with. I looked in the proper cupboard where it lives, I looked in stupid cupboards where offspring might place in anyfeckin where as part of their disgruntlement at having to do any work IN THE HOLIDAYS, I looked in the dishwasher.

Nada

I asked Eldest Beautiful Daughter if she knew where it might be, she tells me last time she saw it The Beautiful Son had put it in her bedroom when she was in the shower.

Porquoi ?

Who knows what goes on in his head, he often puts odd things in your bedroom or shoves stuff under your door.

EBD goes to front door and shouts at TBS who is throwing a rugby ball about with Ollie and terrorising the neighbours at the same time "Hey, Goldilocks, where's the pasta pot and colander?"

and his answer, I kid you not...

"In my room, the colander's behind my telly and the pasta pot's in my wardrobe"

Of course, silly me

The girls and I eat, himself's disappeared with Ollie and outwith shouting distance. Beautiful Baby Daughter only has a token complaint about having to eat pasta instead of the full 3 verses and the disco chorus of what a remarkably mean mummy I am for making her eat it. Could I be winning the pasta war ?

After tea, EBD asks BBD if she can borrow her ipod headphones, EBD goes through headphones like you wouldn't believe, she must have had at least 10 pairs in 2 years. BBD says no, EBD has already broken a set of hers, I go upstairs and hide my ipod and headphones. From downstairs I hear EBD...

"What ever happened to sharing? meant to be a family, blah blah blah, more ranting along these lines"

and I tune in again and hear

"Don't come looking to me for nail polish remover"

and then I glance over and see EBD's nail polish remover on my bedside table so I start the bad Mummy skulk of shame along landing to replace borrowed nail polish remover

and get caught

and get a lecture about borrowing things without asking

and then get the lecture about sharing

I spend rest of night reading blogs, emailing and texting in my bedroom like a sulky teenager. This is why we need a proper grown up to come keep order.

On Tuesday morning, TBS's plate of pasta remains in fridge, when he surfaces I ask him why he didn't eat it when he got back from Ollies.

"You didn't tell me to"

and I reply that at 14, maybe he should have known that when I was looking for the pasta pot etc that tea was imminent and he shouldn't have gone off. Also, when did I ever have to remind him to eat ? Didn't his stomach remind him ?

Apparently the first 25 years of parenting are the worst !

Management Schmanagement

In my new job I will have to organise things and I have a mahoosive project to get going that is both time and budget constrained, get me, I've got the jargon off already. I have never done this before so I am massively calling in favours from everyone I know who could possibly help me. I am doing some work myself, it just may not feel like that to everyone I am pestering at present.

On Saturday I was given the "Brilliant Project Management" book by a lovely man who is very probably sorry I've given up teaching. He is in the same line of work as me and I only seem to talk to him about work stuff now. I think that the book may be a hint as he is too polite to tell me to stop asking him questions.

So I am reading it, honest, and I promise when it gets going I'll have another topic of conversation for you all.

I did actually have a book of my own that I was using, found it quite helpful too.

I Belong to Glasgow

If my week gets any more exciting I'm going to have to bulk buy Tena lady pants.

For myself and the beautiful children on Saturday October 10th are going to Glasgow, which you will agree is exciting enough in itself.

The highlight of this trip will be at 8pm

We will be seeing his royal Billyness.........


OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

I haven't seen him live in over a decade, the children have never seen him live so that will be brilliant but the icing on the cake is to see him at home.

OMfeckinG

Enjoy.

The Executive Life

Here is my disclaimer before I start.

I know I'm a sad article.

I am overgiddy with excitement because at my new job...

I have an office.

I have my own desk, I have never had my very own desk before.

I have a chair that I can raise or lower and twirly round on (and I have, more than once)

They gave me a puter and a work mobile phone.

But the best bit? the most OMG moment... they have ordered business cards for me, with my very own name and fancy job title I now possess written on them !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I cannot tell you how streemly cited I was at that.

I am very nearly a grown up.

Turkish Delight

I have returned from The Beautiful House leaving behind the big round yellow thing in the sky that makes you warm and cheerful. What happened to the summer ? Did it miss me and follow me overseas ? I'm feckin freezing now. Not to mention a tad apprehensive about my new job that starts today, send lots of positive vibes my way.

I may subject you to gratuitous shots of sunshine and the beautiful children, you may hear of daily ice creams consumed whilst lying on a lilo bobbing around in my pool and Bombay Sapphire's and bitter lemon drunk with the sun on my face and peace in my soul. You may be told of how the change of kitchen and vacuum cleaners do me the world of good.



But the best things were the conversations, sat on our terrace my beautiful children and I talked every single day, at breakfast, at lunch, in restaurants every night and after dinner we would walk back to the villa, light the candles, listen to music, sometimes we danced but every single night we talked.

My son told me he felt that he used to make his dad angry all the time when he lived with us and as he put it "Because he doesn't have to have me all the time he likes me more" and how I felt such a surge of sorrow for my beautiful son followed with such a surge of love for him. It is true that they had a very difficult relationship and one of the positives of our new mummy and kids life has been the fact that their relationship has improved.

We spoke about what they wanted to do and their hopes and dreams and aspirations. They asked me what I wished for and I realised that I have everything I want, absolutely everything that is essential for my happiness was there, sat around that table. That is one of my truly precious memories. I love them so very, very much, they are my life and my heart, mo chridhe.

auntiegwens guide of how not to date

I couldn't resist this one, and before anyone who's googled in gets humpty, I'm not an expert, so this should be read with a light sprinkling of tongue in cheek but you don't need a full dose of bitter irony for it.

I became single for the second time at the age of forty, which I also referred to as "feckin forty" quite a lot. The first period of singledom ended when I was nineteen. I can truly say that being single never bothered me for the first 19 years, they were a doddle, I am just wondering if the second period of singledom will be as long and as carefree. The dating world of the new millenium is a million miles away from the 20th century one I had experienced.

The first time I was single Michael Jackson was black, George Michael was straight and everyone had pubic hair. Advice in magazines was always about getting boys to call you or how to clean your oven or knit your own boyfriend. They never ever included such articles instructing you on how to give the perfect blowjob or an out of 10 rating for battery operated ladies toys.

I am the last of the generation of good girls. We were the ones who didn't sleep with anyone except our long term boyfriends and it took a serious amount of time before that happened. We were brought up to think that good girls don't. This was the generation before ladettes. Anal sex was only for gay men and a pearl necklace was what you wore on your wedding day.

There was no facebook, internet dating, speed dating, texting (clean, flirty or downright dirty), no mobile phones for phone sex or with cameras to send naked knob shots and no webcams for any kind of virtual and technological shenanigans. If I was going to facilitate someones sexual "happy ending" I was always present.

From November 1985 you can fast forward through a relationship of 21 years and 3 children and get to August 2006 when I technically became single for the 2nd time.

The second time I was single it became clear to me that a 40 year old mother of 3 may not be every one's dream date whereas a nubile 19 year old student could have her pick. There was also the issue of where to meet men, at 19 I would go to the pub after work wearing my student nurses uniform, job done. At 40 I no longer had my uniform and I fear I would have been more Hattie Jaques whereas at 19 year I would have been more Barbara Windsor.

At 19 I had a crowd of mates, all single and available to go out anytime and up for going anywhere. If there was a film I wanted to see or a holiday I wanted to go on, there was always someone to go with. I was never starved of adult company. At 40 all my friends were married and no one is available for nights out because they are too knackered with their kids, their job, the endless cleaning, ferrying offspring to activities etc etc etc. They do not want to go out, that means they have to get out off their jammies, put make up on, persuade husbands or arrange babysitters and then be depressed at how much things cost and how old they are, they want to sleep and who can blame them?

At 19 I was flirty and funny and I did not ever worry about what to say to boys because usually their tongue was in my mouth fairly quickly. At 40 I realised I didn't have a notion of how to talk to men and I always felt faintly ridiculous when someone tried to kiss me.

I don't enjoy dating at all. I accept that if I want the fringe benefits of being in a couple then I have to date. I often feel like I am on a job interview and if I have to explain what I get from blogging 1 more time I will scream.

So I have tried to clarify some points that I have gone a bit wrong on myself, sure there's no point in there being more than 1 of us getting the reputation of being a bad date.

What I have learned - How not to date

Do not talk to men like you talk to your female friends. Be very careful in your choice of conversational topics, they are unlikely to be impressed that you had 3 natural childbirths and that your son weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces, this will make them wonder what effect that had on the part of your anatomy that they may wish to explore at a later stage.

Do not feel free to rip apart their taste in music or the car they drive or what they wear. Even if it kills you to bite your tongue and there is a joke screaming to be made, resist at all costs. Your bitchy sarcastic sense of humour doesn't make you attractive to men at all.

Best not to mention that you read your horoscope every day and that you know what astrological signs are compatable with your Leo (Aries and Leo) and which are bad (Virgo and Cancer) This makes you sound weird.

Do not mention your ex or ex's. This is tricky as my ex is the reason I live where I live and the "Tell me why you left your own country?" chat always happens. This also rules out a lot of good conversational topics (point 1) such as places you've been on holiday, this is usually a good topic and if you can mention your trip to Paris or New York or Barcelona without mentioning who accompanied you, then do your best travelogue.

Do not mention your kids too much. They are not cute and sweet to anyone else except you and your immediate family. Mine are not cute and sweet to anyone, even me.

Some men think women who have cats are worth avoiding (sorry Lisa, maybe only British men think cat lovers are odd) If you love your cat and he sleeps on your bed, you have a photo of him as your screensaver and you speak to your cat in a ickle baby voice and refer to yourself as mummy, don't tell your date.

Don't be tempted to go for the 3rd glass of wine, in my case it's the 2nd. It may make you feel relaxed and you think you are having some flirty banter and witty repartee, the bon mots are tripping silkily and seductively off your tongue and you think you are being so funny that you wonder how much it would cost you to put on a one woman show at the fringe. This is your cue to stop drinking, have a diet coke or a water. You're not being entertaining, you're getting pissed and he either thinks he's getting lucky or he's getting scared.

When your date tells you that you are so sexy he means he is horny. Every man I have ever dated has told me I was the sexiest woman they had ever met. This is pish, I am not remotely sexy, even when I try, which to be fair isn't that often. Do not be fooled.

At the end of the evening do not be surprised if they wish to do more than kiss you on the cheek. They may wish to take the knickers off you. You don't even know each others surnames but some people are more than happy to have knowledge of you that would rival your gynaecologist.

I'm off to The Beautiful House for a week, see you when I get back.

Powerless

I have and can cope with the stuff life throws at me, I refuse to lie down and be a victim of anyone or anything. I will find a solution to problems, make changes and adapt to survive.

This week, someone whom I love very dearly has had news that has floored them. They nor I cannot change the outcome and they are reeling from the shock. My heart aches for them, aches. I would do anything for them not to feel this way.

All I can do is love them and help them accept. We are incredibly lucky that as a family we have love in abundance, please add some of yours to ours and we can surround them in a big blanket of love.

Your dream car ?

Do you think that your choice of car says something about you ? Or do you drive what you do out of necessity and not choice ? I am often rude about BMW drivers and I sometimes think that the bigger and more expensive the car the less courteous the driver. I don't like funny shaped cars either and I wonder why people buy orange or bright yellow cars too. Are they cheaper than regular colour cars ?

So if you saw a little black Mercedes A Class with a Scotland sticker on the bumper and a Grumpy Old Woman window sticker, would you recognize me ? think that about summed me up ? Not even a bit surprised ? Nah, me either.

My car was bought for me, I specified I wanted it to be smallish and high up to help me see where I'm parking (driving is not a major part of my skill set and I have told so many lies about how many attempts it took me to pass my test, I can't even remember the truth, it was probably the first though !!!!) So although I didn't pick it, I love it and very boringly when it needs replacing I will buy exactly the same again, even if I won the lottery I would choose another A Class. So what do you drive and what would be your dream car ?


Incidentally I have been a bit flighty blog wise and have written a post on another site. If you want to read it you can click here and by the magic of the beautiful bloggy fairy you shall be transported henceforth to the other site that allows your auntie to spout. It's a site about being the parent of a teen, it has a new post everyday and there are lots of contributors that you may well know already. If not, go get to know and love them too.

Things I don't understand, the 09 remix.

How can people renting my villa take the curved, corner unit shower door off it's runners ? Actually, don't tell me, I don't like to think of how people treat The Beautiful House when they rent it. I can't begin to imagine what they thought would happen by phoning me at 10.30pm in England, in what way I could assist them, that I could wave my magic landlady wand and all would be well ? They also locked themselves out of their bedroom but fortunately I could fix that by telling them where I keep the spare keys. Sometimes I think people are too stupid to leave the country.

How can it be so unbelievably hot and sunny all week making my classroom hotter than Hades and yet today ON MY DAY OFF it rains ? I had a lovely day planned, a sun lounger had my name upon it, a bikini was awaiting me, a good book begging me to read it and NAE WEANS, a whole day of peace, and it rains, bad Karma, bad.

How can I have spent £3,389.72 IN A MONTH ? Feckity feckity feck, it did include flights to Turkey, some holiday money, the new washing machine, the car service, The Beautiful Son's birthday presents and meal out and all the other regular stuff, but even so. That's the biggest bill your rubbishwithmoney auntie has ever had.

Why do I keep buying lingerie (that will be on next month's credit card bill) when absolutely no one except me sees it? Please look at my fancy new knickers, I'll feel better about spending the money on them, I thought they were divine and would look deadly with my tan, again poor auntiegwen, no one to appreciate the tan and the new knickers.

So to recap, stupid people in my villa and I'll see the unedited version of how they left my house as they leave the day I arrive (next Saturday).

Feckin weather, hot when I'm at work, raining when I'm off.

Credit card bill, Marks and feckin Spencers.

The tumbleweed that is my romantic life.

All together now, poor poor auntie.

PS - don't feel too sorry for me, it's 12.27 now, I'm still in bed reading blogs, posting this and eating a box of Guylian La trufflina' s that were kindly given to me by students.

Not too shabby.

The Last Lesson

If you click on the photo you can read the messages, apologies for the language.

This afternoon I taught my last lesson at school. We don't finish for another week but we go onto next years timetable for the last week of term. This means next week I will be killing time so I will clear my desk and office. So today my nice year 12's had brought in party food and they'd got me presents and cards. The board had been written on too, all messages wishing me luck.

It was very strange to lock my classroom for the last time.

It will be very strange the first time someone asks me what I am and I can't reply "I'm a teacher".

auntiegwens guide of what to do lesson 2 - Parenting - the teenage years

Da dun dun, cue scary music.

Parenting teenagers is a doddle if you've worked in a zoo or on peace keeping missions in Iraq. Most of us haven't, have some more of my handy hints.

Don't watch Skins or Hollyoaks, especially Skins, it will fret you.

Don't ask questions that you won't like the answer to. I work on a strictly need to know basis. I'm sure that's much better for my peace of mind.

Find a good hiding place for your stuff. Teenage girls in particular think that any cosmetics/perfumes/toiletries that are in the house belong to anyone that needs them. This goes for shoes, clothes and jewellery too, it is much worse if you are the same size, your 17 year old daughter looks so much better in all your clothes. Teenage boys think all food in the house belongs to them, no matter how many times you tell them that if it's a fruit and nut toblerone it's yours, they'll still eat it.

Music has to be played at 1 decibel below ear bleeding to be fully appreciated by the teenage ear. Train them early to like your music, it hurts less when you like what's being played.

Choose your battles carefully - sure where's the harm if they look like they got dressed in the dark or have been at the dressing up box. Take pictures, lots of them - in years to come you'll have hours of enjoyment looking at the cut of them.


If you put food in the fridge, it will be eaten. If there is beer, it will be drunk. If your house gets the rep of having such items you will be descended on by a plague of hungry/thirsty teenagers. This is expensive.

They appear not to get tidier with age. You would think that having 3 teens you could delegate some of the chores out, spread the weight a bit. You can try. Good luck with that.

The behaviour level is sometimes similar to the toddler phase, especially when the hormone fairy has visited, they are significantly less cute though.

What excited them when they were 5, will excite them again at 16/17/18. They love trampolines, bouncy castles and jelly. If you do a birthday party with kids games like pass the parcel and provide alcohol, you will have some very happy teenagers.

Remember when your adorable little cherub of a toddler got you up at 6am every day ? It is incredibly enjoyable to go into a teenagers bedroom (double the fun if they're hungover/woke you up when they stumbled in drunk/vomited in a bathroom cleaned that very day)and wake them up. You can bounce on their bed, open the curtains and say in a nice cheerful tone "S'morning now, morning now, get up, get up, get up, I'm wake now, entertain me, hungry now, bored now, can we go to the park ?" or any other little saying your cherub was fond of in their pre dawn years.

auntiegwens guide of what to do lesson 1 - Parenting - the pre teen years

As some of you may know I have 3 children. I had my 3 children in the space of 4 and a half years. I knew nothing of how to bring up kids, nothing at all. Take heart - they and I have survived.

Tell them you love them every single day. Tell yourself that too.

Find something to praise them for daily. I know this can be tough, feel for me, I have teenagers.

Accept that your pre child ideas of parenting will not happen. You know your own particular brand of parenting snobbery. These usually go something like "I'll never allow..." Mine were chocolate biscuits and snot. I failed. On both counts.

Gina feckin Ford and her contented little baby is a big fat lie. Gina feckin Ford has not had a baby of her own, contented or otherwise. Therefore I feel that Gina feckin Ford should shut the feck up.

When children are quiet then something is afoot. You can either enjoy the peace whilst it lasts, take 5 to do what you love to do, flick though a magazine, eat a hobnob, go to the toilet all by your own self and accept that you will have to deal with the consequences later or you can go investigate immediately and perform damage limitation. You pays your money you takes your choice.

Small children will believe just about anything if you say it with enough authority. Enjoy this stage when you are the most clever person they know. You will be usurped when they fall in love with their primary school teacher. Then every sentence will start with "Miss Primary School teacher says..." You won't care for their tone.

When small children are fractious tell them it's because they need a poo. If you use enough authority in your voice (point 6) they will go and sit on the loo. This will give you 5 or maybe even 10 minutes if you're lucky for the situation to diffuse (this is much better than free time as in point 5). Then you can either praise them for performing or trying (point 2)

Like puppies they need the holy trinity of fresh air, exercise and boundaries. I wouldn't advise smacking them on the nose with a rolled up newspaper though. Social services don't like that.

No one will love your kids or be interested in them like you are, I found this very hard to believe when I had the world's most perfect and beautiful child and I wanted to share her magnificence with the world. Imagine my surprise when I found that other people felt that their child was the world's most perfect and beautiful and they wanted to tell me all about it.

It matters not a jot at what age they walk, talk, crawl, cut a tooth, get potty trained etc. This does not make your child a genius nor is this a sign of them going to be President of the world. I have taught an awful lot of teenagers, even the most stupid of them could walk, talk and go to the toilet.

auntiegwens guide of what not to do lesson 2 - How not to upset people.

Lesson 2 in my handy hints to life guide

Do not forget your niece's birthday, this will annoy your sister. It cuts no ice that you have 3 jobs and are bringing 3 kids up by yourself and your niece's birthday is not top of your list of priorities, your sister will still be annoyed.

If you get 2 free tickets to go see the new film "My Sister's Keeper" do not choose to take 1 of your daughters. It matters not a jot that you took the other one to the free showing of "27 Dresses" and it's the other daughters turn. It also appears not to matter that it is in fact one of Eldest Beautiful daughters favourite books. Beautiful Baby Daughter will still be pissed.

It is unwise to mention that for the £5 you spent buying ingredients you could have bought a really nice cheesecake from Marks and Spencer. This will make The Beautiful Son feel irritated, it's not like he chooses to make cakes is it? He goes to school, gets told what to do, comes home gets moaned at, just like me, you'd think I'd undertand. The cheesecake was in fact delish.

When EBD's friend Phil comes to visit you and he on arival he says "I know EBD's not in, I've come to see you" (that seriously perplexes me, he comes to see me every visit home from uni, why ? ) It's fine to ask how his course is going (geology at Manchester) fine to ask about field trips (Devon and France) fine to ask about gigs (Download, Prodigy were amazing as were Slipknot apparently) but not fine to ask how his girlfriend is (glued to the hip for past 3 years) the glue's become undone, in a big way. Oops.

Best not to schedule a haircut after you've given yourself a "nice wee rinse" This will not escape your hairdresser's notice. This may annoy her and may explain why she's cut so much feckin hair off when you asked for a wee trim.

auntiegwen's guide of what not to do - lesson 1 make up, hair and personal grooming for the 40 something woman.

Make up

It is not a good idea to be seduced into a free make over using the new seasons colours IF

The Clarins lady is a child who looks like she's been at the paint box. That's your starter for 10.

You will be made to sit on a very high chair in the middle of Boots with a NAKED face and your hair very unattractively pinned back from your face showing your sticky out ears that you are still conscious of.

This child will then examine your pores with a magnifying glass and then realise your face is old. No shit, Sherlock.

The child will then proceed to give you "a glamorous evening look" This means your face will not match the rest of you, as you will be attired in your normal Gap jeans, Petit Bateau kids vest and fit flops.

The result would be a slightly more ramped up version of Jodie Harsh. Who knew you could have all the colours of the Jamaican flag on your eyes?

If I have not put you off, schedule this at the end of your shopping trip, not the beginning, it is quite surprising for unwary shoppers going about their business.

Hair

In the interests of economy you may decide to not pay a proper fully trained and experienced hairdresser to cover up your grey hairs. You may decide you can give yourself a "nice wee rinse" and save the cash, you may like your auntie be doing the justification maths - "if I dye my own hair I will save £80 a pop, 6 times a year, feck that's £480, a pair of Choo's and a cake on the way home"

You will be in Boots (wisely avoiding the Clarins child and her free feckin make overs) and you may choose a Botanics Bitter Chocolate (yep the irony wasn't lost on your auntie either) semi permanent rinse.

When you get home, you may like myself, sequester yourself in your bathroom, and apply as per instructions. It is probably not best done after a large glass of the red stuff furthermore it may be wise to avoid having a 2nd glass whilst you are waiting. Also this is not the time to apply anything else to your person (this will be covered in full in section 3)

It is a very bad idea to be harangued by your son to come watch the new Michael McIntyre DVD he got for his birthday, in doing so you will leave the Botanics Bitter Chocolate "nice wee rinse" on for 6 times as long as it says you should.

Your hair will not be Bitter Chocolate at the end, it will be a kind of 1950's Glaswegian Bingo Caller Black. You, however will be both bitter and in need of chocolate.

Personal Grooming

I can't be faffed with all this waxing stuff. However, it is summer and more of me is on show than normal, steady, I meant shins. Also I am preparing for when I am in a situation with another person that requires me to remove more than my cardigan, well, you never know!

I unearth a very old and manky tube of Immac and whilst waiting for the hair dye, I apply liberally and with abandon all about my personage, under arms, legs, bikini line. Remember I'm one glass of the red stuff down. So I am sat on the loo (yes I know this is TMI) but I've nowhere else to sit in my loo and I am flicking through Red magazine.

I am harangued by son to watch DVD so I throw on my dressing gown and go. Very biddable sort I am.

When I go for my shower I am amazed at what manky old Immac can remove. I am completely hairless. My pudenda looks startled without her fringe. This is a look I am very unused to.

Recap and Plenary

Avoid children with make up brushes
Avoid wine whilst attempting any kind of spruce yourself up stuff
Do not be overenthusiastic with hair removal cream, even if it's old it still works.
If the thoughts "sure, where's the harm" "nae bother" or "what's the worst that can happen" enter your head at ANY point in the proceedings, stop immediately.