And they say there's not a God...

I promise that I will shut up about my birthday after this, most unseemly at my age. This is the last bit of birthday porn I will be spouting, honest.

I am so lucky in my friends and family, all tried really hard to send good wishes, find funny cards and select thoughtful gifts.

My dear friend Sixpence and her beloved Bidey, (they have real names but I'm not allowed to tell them) have surpassed themselves this time. On July 28th I received a text to tell me that they were having a good holiday and on a breif sojourn to the pub they'd bought me the best present I'd ever had. I was slightly worried but they weren't lying.

Scroll down a bit, let's build up some excitement here (I'm middle aged now, I have to take it where I can find it!)

Happy Birthday to me

A huge thank you to all for your comments, emails, text messages, cards and pressies. I just had to share the card that my lovely friend Libby who blogs at D-scribes sent me.


It's like she knows me too well!

Dearest Birthday Fairy

On Thursday I will be 44. This is a huge shock to me, I never signed up to be middle aged, I was one of those live fast die young types. I can't bear to think of myself as a grown up sensible sort, I look at my friends/women in my book group/colleagues and in my head (I agree it might only be in there)and think I'm so not like them.

I am probably heading that way. Instead of my usual fantasies about David Tennant, Chanel handbags, Christian Louboutains and fruit and nut toblerones, would you like to hear my current obsession?

Porn alert

I want a new kitchen. Actually I want to knock down the wall between my kitchen and dining room and have a huge open space. I want cream shaker units with silver bar handles. I want a Smeg fridge in pastel green, I want shed loads of Cath Kidston in ice cream colours and a retro radio on my window ledge. I want a beautiful space to heat up oven chips in. I don't want to cook in it, gracious me no, I just want a nice place to do my laundry in, and drink my coffee in.

Yes, I agree, I am truly, truly sad.

And middle aged.

However if the Birthday Fairy is reading this and would like to grant me a few birthday wishes (and I accept that 44 birthday wishes is excessive) I would be very grateful for

Peace of mind.

Nothing else, just genuine contentment and being happy with my lot. I have it often but it's not here at the moment. My worry list is long and my blessings list remains constant but I can't balance them up. I'm in a fairly horrible place at the moment and I don't like it. I feel I'm being emotionally manipulated and I'm as mad as hell at myself for allowing it to happen. I want the drama to stop and I want to be happy.

That's all I ever really wanted.

Things I'd rather not hear

BBD - auntieangela and I saw who you used to babysit for. She's a granny now. That's just grand, thanks for that

EBD - your son does tricks for smarties, I made him pretend to be a dog, he rolled over, gave paws, the lot. Cheers. I'm so proud.

M6 info board - long delays between J23 and J20 (they are feckin liars it was J24 and 18, bastards that they are, I concur most heartily with my friend Edge about the M6)


TBS - that wee light showing on your dashboard means there's an engine malfunction. Feckity feckity feck.

Mad Mother - Could you go on the computer and get me and Gadget Mad Dad a flight to Turkey? Fuckity fuckity fuck.

Things I learned yesterday.

Matlock Bath is a beautiful place.

Getting to small gastro pubs in the Peak district is very challenging for your auntie even with her sat nav. As I type this I can hear Note Bene snort as he knows navigating is not a huge part of my skill set.

Driving up feck off hills and down twisty turny lanes where there are no street lights, big huge hedges so you can't see and with an impatient local driver trying to hump your A class from behind is not a fun end to a Saturday evening.

The peak district is full of campsites and campers.

You look slightly out of place with your high heels, maxi dress, corsage ala SJP, 3 coats of mascara and your glittery Sephora eyeshadow next to all the campers in their fleeces, hiking boots and cagoules.

People who buy you large fruit and nut toblerones are ace.

I am off to The Mother Country in the morning to...

See my mad mother and try and book flights for them to come to Turkey with me in October, pour the gin now.

Look at how my inheritance is being spent and how my gadget mad dad is getting on with whatever new technology he's been spending it on.

Visit my sister and see how many times my niece Alanah's lost her golden time and if she's bitten Yasmin Cassidy again.

And just generally get my fix, my name is auntiegwen and I am a Scotland junkie.

My words, my life

Mummy
Daughter
Friend
Prospective lover
Scot
Ex Wife
Sister
Sister in Law
Auntie
Godmother
Cousin
Niece
Great niece
Colleague
Boss
Co-ordinator
Employee
Lecturer
Landlady
Cleaner
Cook
Shopper
Laundress
Fixer of everything
Finder of everything
Rememberer of everything
Pourer of oil on troubled water
Kiss it all better er
Referee of disagreements
Supporter
Failed grown up
Blogger
Confidante
Co-conspiritor
Gig buddy
Worrier
Overthinker
Runner
Reader
Trier
David Tennant worshipper
Wussypants
Hard worker
Woman


We all have lots of roles and identities in life. Many of mine are there every day, some in huge amounts and some have much less of an impact. Some of my roles I have chosen for myself, some I have had no choice at all in, some welcomed and some of them very unwanted. I am great at some and shit at others.

And I wonder why I'm tired!

My name is auntiegwen...

and I, my friends, am a great big wuss.

I'm not the bravest of souls, I am scared of big dogs, I am scared of cats, I just about wet my knickers at the thought of mice. If there was a sign of fire, I'd not be the one ploughing through smoke saving small children, I'd be outside, quite far away, phoning the emergency services as I legged it.

I'm even less emotionally brave. It used to just be with men, I am not very good at letting people in. When it looks like it might be a real relationship with feelings and all, I run a mile. Any hint of romance and the L word is met with smart arse sarcasm and flippancy. To save myself the time and effort of it all going wrong, I have now resorted to finding reasons not to date someone in the first place, the last poor man who tried to woo me scored an astounding 23 reasons not to go. And he was David Tennant. Okay he wasn't really, but you get my drift.

Today, I plumbed new depths even for me. I didn't go to a party because I had to go on my own and I didn't think I'd know anyone. I am now a wuss in all areas of my life.

And as we all know how much the auntie loves irony, my clan motto?

"Fortune favours the brave"

I'm thinking I should return to my maiden name post divorce!

This week we have been mainly...

Relaxing after school finished - The Beautiful Son has done half of his GCSE's and has not a bother on him. Contrasting beautifully with the month of cross shouty screaming that characterised Eldest Beautiful Daughter's GCSE's. However, she was only marginally mental this time, and now has officially left school.

Looking for a summer job - ha ha ha ha I put that in to save you the trouble of laughing for yourself. Eldest Beautiful Daughter has extensive experience in lip gloss application, sleeping till noon and tormenting Hot Boys with her utter gorgeousness. I know, I'm stunned no one wants to employ her either.

Feeling old - because I am. I also bought new kitchen knives, it's hard to keep this reckless middle age streak at bay.

Romancing - The Beautiful Son has a girlfriend, Facebook told me. I told you. His sisters can't wait to meet her and get their revenge on him. Hot Boy is partcularly looking forward to wandering around in his pants and sitting on his bed talking loads and putting paid to any snogging that may be going on. He's waited quite a long time for that. I met her, she's beautiful and he was touchingly worried that I would like her. I do, she's not quite as mad as the rest of us, but we can work on that.

Romancing part 2 - Eldest Beautiful Daughter and Hot Boy still joined at the hip (steady now) and he adores her and it's so lovely to see. She had 2 years of on off with the Matthew. And that wasn't always fun for those that had to live with her.

Romancing part 3 - Beautiful Baby Daughter's friends seem to be getting interested in boys. She's not. She's slightly out of step with her friends. This isn't always fun for those of us who have to live with her. I am playing a lot of board games with her. I hate board games.

Romancing part 4 - oh come on, there's only me left, even Mystic Meg's given up on me.

Once upon a time

A long time ago, in a town far away a young girl prepared for her Prince. She dressed in the finest white lace, a tiara in her hair, silk shoes and stockings on her feet and was driven to meet him in a vintage Rolls Royce. After being showered with rose petals and oohed and aahed over, she walked to the end of the aisle with her father at her side to where her Prince stood. She looked up at him, with tears on her cheeks and surrounded by family and friends she made a solemn oath in front of God to always love him.

Yesterday what remained of that young girl dressed head to toe in black walked down an alleyway with the jakeys and junkies and the great unwashed to the courthouse. She avoided beer cans and rubbish, went through a scanner, was searched and had her perfume removed. She went into a dingy room and waited on hard plastic municipal chairs. And then completely alone, she faced an anonymous court employee through a window, like she was buying stamps at the Post Office. She held a bible in her hand and swore an oath on it that the affidavit she'd brought was the truth. What remained of the young girl cried as the affidavit was stamped and filed to allow the decree nisi to be applied for and the fairy tale to be brought legally to an end.

She emerged into the pissing rain and went to the train station where her fairy godmother of a friend was there to love her. She spent the day warmed by the kind fairy godmother and her hatbox of special goodies and treats bought to cheer. Touched to her very core by the thoughtfulness and blessed that she has love.

And that she won't be alone because she has family and friends who love her.

You know you're getting old when...

You get to have breakfast at the weekend with your daughter. She is returning home after a night out and you're just getting up at 6 like you always do.

Weekend mornings become very peaceful, there is no rush to swimming/ballet/drama/rugby/horse riding. You are the only person awake till at least mid day.

Your son counts the beer bottle tops in his pocket when you ask him how much he'd had to drink. The vomit on his t shirt and in his hair kind of gave me a clue is was more than his allotted 3 shandies.

Everyone stares at you as you walk down the street, well at your very beautiful daughter beside you. You are now invisible.

You cry at the end of Toy Story 3, I won't spoil it as I know I've seen it early but it is particularly poignant for Mummies with teenagers.

Your child has a boyfriend with a mortgage, a car and a career and pension plan.

I'm so proud

I know I'm getting on and I know I'm turning into a middle aged woman but feckity feckity feck, teenagers are getting dafter the older I get. A few years ago I did a post on the stupid stuff they said HERE I am extremely sorry to say that there appears not to be any improvement.

My eldest beautiful daughter is not really that stupid but appears to have no general knowledge to speak of.

This last week she has astounded me by not knowing who Eva Braun was, thinking you could put parmesan on a pudenda is and the piece de resistance...

Telling me Copenhagen was in Yorkshire.

I was slightly ripping her to Hot Boy when I realised that he had no idea either. He thought Copenhagen was in Canada.

And his education cost his parents a quarter of a million pounds, I'd be looking for some kind of refund.

Boyfriend of the year award...

You would think that being surrounded by girls that The Beautiful Son would have a head start, not to mention having a mush junkie for a mother. I always thought that my son could be trained to be the perfect man, stop laughing right now, I can put you on the naughty step...

Last week it was the new girlfriend's birthday, they'd arranged to go into town, see a film and then go and eat afterwards, there was a group of them going. Just as well.

The Beautiful Son came home from school and feeling a bit tired, decided to have an afternoon nap, so got into bed and set his alarm. This was at 3.15 pm. At 7.45pm he was awakened by his Dad, who'd just got home from work, enquiring as to whether the cinema trip had been cancelled.

The bold boy had slept through his alarm, 8 missed calls and a gazillion text messages.

And she still didn't dump him, apparently she found it quite funny that her boyfriend slept through her birthday. How very understanding of her. Maybe he has other redeeming qualities that I, as a mere Mummy, can't see.

My little cyber shelf of nice things

Despite being hugely crap at passing on awards, tags and meme's I am lucky enough to get them. I really do appreciate them but my huge "I'm not worthy" complex seems to make it difficult for me to display them, so they go on my little cybershelf of nice things.

Pathetic creature that I am, I'm scared I'd hurt someones feelings if I didn't tag or award them, so please consider that any award/tag/meme that's around on my blog as yours if you'd like them. What's mine is yours, with the exception of fruit and nut toblerones and David Tennant, obviously.

The very lovely Ayak who writes about her life in Turkey, my second home, send me this. I am slightly scared that the only thing that is heartfelt is the need for the fruit and nut toblerones and the David. Note to self, be less shallow.


Then my little cup of cyber joy continues to overflow when the very lovely Mrs Boo, who delights me with her witty and stylish proper writing send me this, again not really deserved as I think I should get a medal for getting 3 posts a week out, quite often herself will do that in a day, I am an absolute slacker compared to her.



and the very lovely Becky, another proper writer who puts me to shame gave me this.


I have to give you some honest facts, I feel almost certain I cannot have anything left at all that you don't know, I give you way too much honest stuff, remember the one about the grey hair, oh dearie me.

Hot Boy and I are going to get a tattoo together, this is completely his idea, I'm not sure if we are doing feet or arse, no difference at all. Yes, I agree it's slightly weird to go get a tattoo with your daughter's boyfriend.

I have a very Scottish surname, I get really pissed off when people don't spell it correctly. It starts MacK and goes on. After having a child at that school for 8 feckin years, I returned Beautiful Baby Daughters report card with the correct spelling of her name in red pen, I actually wanted to write it on the teacher's forehead. I hate saying M a c capital K, but I do, over and over again.

I hate my legs, with a passion, I hardly ever wear skirts.

I am scared to do twitter

I am thinking of organising a big bloggy meet up, I've been lucky enough to meet some of you already and Libby, you will never get rid of me now, we are friends forever, no back backers. If I do, will you all come?

I am officially the worst singer in the world, bar none.

I get mildly stressy until I've reached my destination, I worry about missing planes.

Despite the blogging, I am extremely private and even secretive by nature, it's the anonymity thing that makes it easy to put my stuff out there.

I worry about my future, quite a lot, I earn a pittance and my stay at home fit my life round the kids life didn't set me up well for a healthy financial future post divorce.

Despite all the low level worries and crap life throws at me, I'd still rather have my life than anyone elses and I am supremely and utterly grateful for my life because I have it and I'm living it. Remind me of that if I start to bump my gums too much.

I'll probably be packing up to get home by the time you read this, so wish me a lovely last few days and I'll give you some gratuitous holiday porn when I get back.

Ask and ye shall receive

Last month I wrote about how fussy I was and how lazy I was at finding a man, and to that end I asked you to find me one and send him round. Well, I got an email from a chap called Paul. It read


Hello ..
Can i say i have just been looking at your picture and i know this sounds strange but you and my friend Richard would make a great couple.
I dont usually make a point at being cuiped but it would be a shame to miss out on it.
He is 48, single lives in Warwick was married for 25 years and now single for 2 years,
he use to be on a dating site but came off after a few weeks as he thought everyone were players and too many married people on there..
I hope you dont mind me telling you this take care Paul

Now it is extremely kind of Paul to write in and proffer up his friend, any more coming this way or should I just have a go with Richard?

auntiegwens guide to travel

By the magic and good grace of the bloggy fairy by the time you read this I will be en route to The Beautiful House. So your selfless to the core auntie has got her lazy arse into gear and left you something to read whilst I'm gone, which is more than I've done for The Beautiful Children, I haven't even left them food:)

Please read on to be enlightened on your aunties view of travel.

Accept that you will have to spend hours searching for flights that go remotely near where you want to go and at the most inconvenient time to you if you use a budget airline. Stupid o'clock and feck it's early are the only option of the budget traveller. You may want to go to Portugal but end up in Poland, well, if the flights are only a quid, where's the harm? I'm sure Gdansk has a lovely beach, what?

You will have to be prepared for your fingers to bleed over the keyboard as you input your details over and over again, due to increased security you must now give them every personal detail you have and this includes your grannies postcode, your aunties bra size and your dad's inside leg measurement.

They will always sting you for extras such as fuel surcharge, passenger service charge and UK departure tax. You may well be thinking "But what have I paid for?" A seat and some fresh air, I think would be the answer, no promises to go anywhere though. They think it greedy of you to expect that the price of your ticket would include the fuel to fly the feckin plane, a stewardess with bad shoes and far too much make up to look bored and point here, here and here and to ram you with the duty free drinks trolley and of course it is now acceptable to charge you tax to leave the country. I mean, you hardly pay any tax at all in this country, so quit your whining, would you give yourself peace!

It is also par for the course for the airlines to expect you to print off your own tickets, book yourself in online and then print off your boarding card. I fully expect to turn up one day and be asked to fly the plane, I seem to be doing every other job for them.

It will cost you feck off amounts of money to take a suitcase with you, how demanding are you? For the love of God, what do you need clothes and toiletries on your holiday for? be naked and smelly, unleash your inner native.

Remember that a clear plastic bag will stop your lip gloss being a threat to national security, don't forget to make sure you have one to encase your extremely scary and potentially dangerous Juicy Tube. The safety of our nation depends upon it.

Make a pact with your fellow travellers, you know you're going to fall out when you're travelling, accept this, you can bicker and snipe and be as grumpy as you please whilst en route but once you arrive, all sweetness and light and no casting up.

Always, always check with me as to when I am leaving the country, you will be guaranteed to have blazing sunshine for a week, jolly useful if you plan to holiday in the UK. Book your overseas holiday for the day after I return, for it will be tipping it down for at least a fortnight.

See you in July.

And it's all downhill from here...

Remember that lovely cheery post you got last time, where I was all happy? That was the high point.

As always, if middle aged women moaning isn't quite your thing, you can click away now I will always love you, I'm your auntie, a bad auntie at the moment as you'll find out.

At work I am extremely organised, I get into work early, at least an hour before the others and I write down all the things I've got to achieve that day. I work 3 days per week in that job and I am really productive. I have a navy blue and white polka dots notebook that contains all my to do stuff and I use different coloured pens, I have a system and it really works, in meetings, if someone asks me to do something it goes in the notebook and then I tick when it's done, I can look back and tell you what I did three months ago last Wednesday. This works for me. Which is just as well as I have 3 hours spare to do a full weeks work before I go off on annual leave, I am horrendously busy at work presently.


Trying to replicate this getting things done at work success I made a list of all the things I need to do this week at home as I seem to be living several people's lives and am far too busy to be just one person. This was a good move. The bad move was to forget to put things on the list. That was the flaw in my otherwise cunning plan.

I forgot to phone gadget mad dad and wish him a happy fathers day, I'm a bad daughter, I did post cards to him, I also bought cards and presents for the ex mr auntiegwen and I expect I was just all fathers day'd out. Phone call not on the list.

I remembered my godson's birthday and posted card and present on time. I did sign the card auntiegwen, all lower case and with no space, like I type it here. His mother will be surprised at my shocking grammar. But I did sort it out because it was on the list.

I went into work on Monday for a meeting, ON MY DAY OFF. That was definitely on the list, so I wouldn't forget. Me no likey, it's my day off and it was really sunny. I had to get dressed and be indoors when I wanted to be semi undressed outdoors. When I got there I found that my boss had been to a big meeting with the council. They'd called everyone in to warn them that even though they'd agreed funding until April, they were doing an urgent review in September and someone was going to lose money. They are our only source of funding, if that goes, so does my job. I like my job, I don't write much about it here but I genuinely feel it's the right job for me. I now have to decide whether to start looking for another job, because unlike my colleagues, this is not a second salary, it's the only salary. And my kids are used to eating/wearing clothes/living etc.

I forgot my nieces birthday. My sister has 2 daughters and I forget each of their birthdays every single year. This annoys the crap out of my sister. I am a bad auntie. Even though Abbie's birthday is a few days after my son's and Alanah's is a few days after BBD's I still forget, you'd think their cards and presents to my kids would trigger me to remember but nope. I didn't have it on the list.

I forgot to go to the dentist, even though it was on the kitchen calendar, it wasn't on the list.

I happily ticked off, making the appointment for the solicitor, phoning the pension people, paying in cheques at the bank, getting money to go on holiday, handing over register and diary and work to be done to my friend Susan who will be covering for me next Tuesday at my other job, doing a form for a school trip, getting money for packed lunches, form to have locker deposit returned. All happily ticked off as I worked my happy little way down the list.

I failed to fill in the form for my son's school trip, not because of any list, just because someone ate my beautiful boy and left me with a 6 foot lump of Kevin the teenager. He was picked, 1 of 40 kids, to go on a trip to Alton Towers due to excellent attendance, work rate and behaviour. And my wannabe bad ass won't go, because all the good kids are going. Spare me please.

And it's only Wednesday. Send me love or gin. Or both.

Priceless

Sometimes someone in your life does something so sweet and generous and kind that it makes you smile for the rest of the day.

Yesterday my friend Neil rang me.

Just to let me hear Sharleen Spiteri live at Hampden Park.

And that is just one of the many reasons why he is my best matey boy.

And always will be.

Happy Birthday to the boy I love

Today my beautiful son is 15. This has been a year of firsts for him. He started high school (he's at a 14-19 college, we have a 3 school system in this county), he has had his first spots, his first exams (when he remembered to go) he even has a GCSE today, he's most disgruntled about my bad family planning and also his first girlfriend, it's not a secret we all read about it on the book of face.

I'm very proud to have made him, he's extremely kind, screamingly funny, useful at getting things down from a high shelf and I have it on very good authority, he's a hot boy.

It's amazing the difference a year makes, in the post I wrote last year for his birthday, he wasn't that much taller than me, see HERE and this year he towers above me.

He is now and always will be mo chridhe, my heart.

How the hell did that happen?

Ten minutes ago I held her hand and took her to school for the first time, off she went to Flora Stevenson Primary in Edinburgh. She had her beautiful long dark hair in a school hair band, a proper leather schoolbag and a blazer. She had a navy pinafore, a school cardigan and a shirt and tie. In the cloakroom she changed out of her black leather Start-rite Mary Janes and into black plimsoles and added a navyblue and white checked smock over her uniform to keep it neat.


Today she left in skinny jeans and a Jack Wills t shirt, the long hair still there and with a hairclip shaped like a button. Converse on her feet, the Mary Janes still beloved but much higher of heel and saved for nights out. She has a pen in her back pocket ready to sit the penultimate of her A levels. Please send all positive vibes today for her and on Friday for her last ever school exam and because of that, her last day at school.

How strange does that feel?

The Beautiful Son - genius.

School has changed the way they do their exams, in some of TBS's GCSE subjects they now take half the GCSE this year in year 10 and take the other half next year in year 11.

TBS and his maddest mate Rhys Daniel arrived 15 minutes late for their year 10 graphics exam, in their defence, they had an exam timetable telling them to go to the sports hall at 1.15pm which they duly did.

The exam lady gave them a bit of a row but when she was shown their timetable, there was a bit of to ing and fro ing and then they were allowed into the hall and told they would have an extra 15 minutes on at the end as it wasn't their fault.

School in their infinite wisdom have got half the hall sitting year 10 graphics and on the other side, year 11 graphics.

TBS and his mate are shown to the wrong side and given the wrong paper.

Rhys Daniel starts to read the paper realises it's year 11 and too hard for him, sticks his hand up and tells and gets moved to the year 10 side and given the correct paper. Like a regular human would.

My son? of course I couldn't have normal weans could I? he says nothing, not a word, doesn't want to make a fuss, just has a crack at the year 11 paper. At least half an hour passes then Rhys notices that my son is still on the wrong side of the hall with the wrong paper and puts his hand up and tells the invigilator, who duly comes over, ascertains that the bold boy is actually a year 10, brings him over to the correct side and finally after nearly an hour, himself gets the correct paper.

The worrying thing is, despite only having just over half an hour, he finished it along with the rest who started on time. Not holding out much hope for a pass in graphic design...

Not to be missed...

Dearest PR people for holiday companies,

I would like to offer you an unbelievable opportunity. Your selfless to the core auntie has cleared the first 2 weeks in August for you, ready and willing to undertake a review of a holiday. I have a selection of offspring plus offspring's friends and romantic partners and not forgetting elderly parents . I have a lovely assortment of friends and fellow bloggers. A great cross section of society to be sure.

The family and friends von auntiegwen will happily go anywhere you send us and review your holidays. We will go by plane, train, car or boat, we will be rigorous in our testing of your facilities, should you wish any alcohol testing EBD's your girl, spa treatments or testing sun loungers that'll be me, beauty products or fashion would be Hot Boy, Xbox or other gaming type things, step up The Beautiful Son, Beautiful Baby Daughter is a making/crafting/ artistic sort, excellent at kids club type reviews. Food could easily be anyone of them, veggie and vegan friendly testing also undertaken. Any gadgets, well do I not have gadget mad dad? things to occupy pensioners who don't like foreign and get very very stressed would be the beautiful mother. Are we not the most versatile bunch?

I solemnly promise as many posts full of witticisms about your undoubtedly fabulous holidays as needed, which will be read by the most discerning of blog readers who I'm sure, are most admiring of my taste in all things and would be happy to rush out and spend their hard earned sponduliks on holidays recommended by my goood self.

Although not always thought of as a Mummy blogger due to the high feck count and numerous mentions of shagging David Tennant, may I take this chance to reassure nervous PR types, I can go for hours without swearing and with nary a thought of David crossing my dirty mind. In my defence I have been a Mummy for a very long time, 18 full years, I have 3 great kids, none of whom have asbo's or fillings, and some of them even have qualifications, not to mention the fact that all 3 can walk, talk and go to the toilet all by their own self. I thank you for your kind applause. I can do the mummy blogger thing, nae bother to your auntie.

This post was prompted by The Beautiful Sons naked envy of other bloggers children getting to go places, do stuff and then review them. His actual words were (remember, said in an old man Scottish accent) "Could ye no write a better blog, marmee and get us some of the free stuff"

Me, me, me and me again

I am truly shocking at keeping up with the awards and tags given to me. If I've missed doing your tag, just mail and let me know, my middle aged memory is not what it was and if I've forgotten my homework, just remind me. Apologies for all delays etc, I will always get around to them, eventually. As with all these things, they're open to all who read, I'd be interested to read all of your responses. Please have an award, mine came love from Tuppence.

I know that Looking for Blue Sky definitely tagged me for 15 confessions and Tuppence wanted 7 unknown things (I can't believe I have anything unknown left!) Gigi also wanted my 5 years.

15 confessions

I'm scared of missing planes.
My son is screamingly funny.
I hate unfairness.
I don't understand the Clyde Tunnel, I understand tunnels per se but I can't figure out where the water is near that one. I am ashamed of how many people have explained (in tones you'd use on a 6 year old) to me.
As well as this, I am trying to sort out flights for my parents to come to Turkey with me in October, this is probably the most stressful thing I do in my life, I am my parents own personal travel agent, they are SO unbelievably hard to please in this respect only.
Before I die I would like to shag David Tennant
I can make a fabulously sinful Baileys cheesecake, I am ace at cakes and puds, naff all else in the culinary department.
My default personality is happy, it takes a huge amount to get me down.
I can't play any musical instruments.
I think you should listen to more indie music, glamorous,indie rock n roll is what I need. Extra points if you name the song and band.
I think you shouldn't listen to anyone who reads The Daily Mail or as my mate Matthew at Abode 123 calls it, The Daily Heil.
I would like to learn how to manage my money properly, I am truly pants with cash, all them years married to a banker and I have not a notion of money.
I particularly like to eat any semi spicy veggie food.
I drink coffee by the gallon, pink and gin in the summer, red in the winter and fizzy at the drop of a hat.
When I was little I watched Mary Mungo and Midge and Mr Ben.

7 Unknown Things

I have never been off work ill in my life, I am disgustingly healthy.

I still have a teddy my aunt bought me the day I was born, he is called Michael.

The first album I bought was Parallel Lines by Blondie.

I was bought a rabbit as a 40th birthday present.

I don't like patterned or coloured bed linen, mine is always plain white.

I'm usually always late, except for work, I'm always early for work.

I have a really filthy mind.


Five years

5 years ago I was living here, my children were 13, 10 and 8, I was married to my husband of 17 years, I was buying my holiday home abroad, I was working as a pre school teacher and as a childcare lecturer. I was probably the same size as I am now but it was about 8 months before I took up running, I was blonde (I have no clue why either but I was for a few years in my 30's) I was unhappy and it was the last year before my husband and I split up.

5 years from now , my children will have left home, I have no idea where I will be living, will I still be here? or will I leave as my children hopefully will all be at university or be working (the eldest anyway) Jeez, that's a thought, exciting to think it'll be all change in 5 years.

5 snacks I eat regularly, I don't eat snacks, I'm fat enough thank you

If I was a billionaire, I would buy somewhere nice to live, take care of friends and family, buy a new car, have my teeth straightened and whitened, have liposuction, breast perky uppery surgery, buy a Chanel handbag 2.55, and I'd book a gorgeous big island with fab accommodation, invite all my friends (yes, all of you too) and have a great holiday and I'd pay The Killers to come do a private gig for us.

And if I'd any money left over I'd see if I could buy David Tennant

The Beautiful Son - fashion guru

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

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

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

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

Gok Wan is shitting himself.

Normal middle aged Pollyanna service is resumed

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

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

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

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

Oh and I'm going out tonight...

Unsettled

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mea Culpa.