Flawless plan

We are away at The Beautiful house leaving Eldest Beautiful Daughter aged 19 and a quarter and Hot Boy with some cash, the above intructions and my house.

What could go wrong?

In which I feel more ancient than usual

I went to a 40th birthday night out. One of these nights that you don't really know anyone except the person who is 40 but I don't get out much and it's nice to because we all know I just sit at home and be mocked.

I wasn't the oldest person there (you may read my sidebar and think I'm 41, I was, once, I am now getting on for 45) but where I was sitting everyone was around the 40 age and they all had 4 and 5 year olds. That's lovely, I looked at people's photos and heard all the funny stories but my 19 year old uni costs and my 16 year olds drunk paper rounds aren't really fair to tell, in case they scare easy. Much better for them to think their children still are genii (I can't be arsed to google how to spell it, correct it by yourself) and will never give them a moments worry. I had my children earlier than most people, not quite documentary early but a good decade before the people at dinner. I did feel a bit out of step with the rest.

Indeed, it's a bit weird when your EBD and Hot Boy pop into the restaurant to wish the birthday gal a good one, and then persuaded some of them to tag along to experience the fun to be had jaegerbombing. I expect it's a bit unsettling for them to think of going out partaying with their child as they are still all in Disney mode. Indeed it's weird for me to see an unwrinked and thin version of myself.

The upside is the next morning, no 5 year old bouncing on the bed, fully revved up and waiting to be entertained. Just a hungover 19 year old who didn't surface till tea time.

Every cloud and all that.

Where I am from - The Teens to early 20 Years

I'm from Anne French cleansing milk in the white and blue bottle and Boots Country Born bright green hair gel

I'm from wash in Harmony hair colours in the triangular boxes

I'm from Miss Selfridge Iron Lady fuschia pink lipstick

I'm from Saturday afternoons buying things in Chelsea Girl and then moving onto Flip and Deja Vu for vintage which my mother hated, she despaired of my "second haun claes"

I'm from Razzy denims and Adidas Kick trainers

I'm from Freemans catalogue and paying for things weekly

I'm most definitely from my first love, Alan Osprey, aka Ospur punk extraordinaire, who shaped me so much when I was 15

I'm from only getting 1 punk song played at school discos and doing my Siouxsie skip and him his pogo while the rest watched the weird punk ballet

I'm from being a student and drinking in Byres Rd, before moving onto Cleopatra's on Gt Western Rd, affectionately known as Clatty Pat's

I'm from thinking I was so sophisticated when we qualified and had money and moved onto to Maxwell Plums, the Devil's Advocate and Warehouse and Panama Jax, not forgetting Bennett's, what a Glasgow institution that was

I'm from drinking malibu and pineapple, then Southern comfort and lemonade, then white wine and soda

I'm from smelling of Estee Lauder Cinnabar, then Calvin Klein Obsession and then YSL Opium, never ever Poison

I'm from tight black dresses and sheer black stockings and very high stilettos ala Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video

Where am I from

I read this post on The Girl behind blog and pinched the idea, shamelessly

I'm from Scotland, the Mother Country, the most patriotic and biggest small nation in the world, but before that, from Ireland before my ancestors moved west

I'm from Glasgow, much mocked by others much loved by us

I'm from the shipbuilders on the Clyde, when Clyde built was the highest accolade

I'm from the dignity of the working man

I'm from where self deprecation is a virtue and blowing your own trumpet the worst sin

I'm from growing up with my grandparents and being out of step for not living with my parents. I'm from the devastation and loss that my grandpa's death caused when I was 9

I'm from alcohol and debt, divorce and despair

I'm from living in a council house but going to a private school because my mum wanted the best education she could for me

I'm from growing up in the 1970's when we did what the grown ups wanted to do and if I enjoyed it, it was a bonus

I'm from the children should be seen and not heard generation

I'm from Twinkle and then Jackie

I'm from when children's TV was 1 hour after school and playing out and reading on rainy days

I'm from Mr Benn and Mary, Mungo and Midge

I'm from Enid Blyton Mallory Towers and St Clare school stories and The Chalet School series by Elinor M Brent-Dyer

I'm from Gregory's Girl and chip shops after school discos

I'm from CND and torchlight parades, demonstrations at Faslane and crying full of teenage angst about the world

I'm from Thatcher's era, reviled over the poll tax but she allowed my mum to buy her council house and become a home owner

I'm from recycling decades before it was fashionable

I'm from The Stranglers and The Sex Pistols and Siouxsie and the Banshees and the dichotomy of being a good girl and a punk

Beautiful not such a baby anymore daughter

My Beautiful Baby Daughter aged 14 and 3/4's has left middle school. She will join her brother at our 14-19 college in September. I did have a bump of my gums a whiley ago about the idea of a prom, and how much money said prom had cost me. Did I tell you about the £6.50 per head after party as well? My eyebrows are only just coming back down again.

Anyhoo, this is she



So, the baby has gone, she is growing up. Because I see her every day I get surprised when I see her looking like that, in my head she's still like this



The Beautiful Baby Daughter asked me if I had been invited to the end of term assembly, if your child is getting an award you get asked in to see them. I had to say no but reassured her that neither of her siblings got an award in the 8 years they had been there either, I did the it's all about doing your best and being a good person that counts. She is the only one of my children to be motivated by grades or certificates or awards, validation from other people matters to her in a way it is completely irrelevant to the other 2. Mind you, she is the only 1 of my children who is likely to get any kind of award, unless there is an award for lazy arse of the year, which her brother would scoop annually.

When she returned teary eyed after her last day, she presented me with not 1 but 2 awards, outstanding achievement in art and also pupil of the year.

In BBD's class there is another child with the same initials and the same surname, another L.A MacScottishname. We were amazed to find that out, our name is not the most common Scottish one even in Scotland but in middle England, tres bizarre. So the other Mrs MacScottishname got 2 letters inviting her and I got none.

I'm not going to moan and mump, I wish I could have been there to scream and cheer for her, it's not easy finding your place when your siblings are larger than life characters, I tell her every day, it doesn't matter what they've done, we love you just for being you.

But I'm glad that someone else thinks she's great, because she is, simply amazing.

They love me really

You would think that my children would be filled with gratitude for the, frankly, top notch mothering that they receive. So much so that they worship and adore their Mummy darling and their every waking moment is dedicated to thanking me for my efforts, they are fulsome in their praise, compliments drip honeyedly from their lips, because they think I'm worth it.

Not so much.

My children have all inherited my smart arse gene and they think they are funny, which they are, not as funny as me obviously, but occasionally they have been known to utter a funny wee one liner.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter, whilst looking at my new Marks and Spencer step tone "eat all you like and still lose 3 stone in a day" flip flops




" Those are hideous, you look like a reject from mermaid school"

The Beautiful Son - "if you get any shorter you can officially be a tall dwarf, the height cut off point for that is 4 foot 11"

Beautiful baby daughter - " when you're old and demented you can live with me, well older and more demented. I mean all I have to do is give you a cup of tea and a plant to water and you'll be dead happy"

At which point they all join in, wandering around on their knees like a cross between Yoda and Dobby the house elf and saying "cup of tea, plant to water, mummy happy" over and over again.

Again, this is what passes for entertainment in my house.

What's in a name?

For the last 10 years I have taught parenting skills (shut up, my kids are grand) I have supported nigh on 1500 families who have had a new baby and on Tuesday 12Th I held my last group. The Red Cross where we have rented premises for the last decade are changing their family support centre into something else and is dismantling it's amazing multi sensory room so I have nowhere to go. As SureStart have expanded there are so many more activities on offer to mums and babies than there were 10 years ago and I have found that less mums stay at home or they go back to work much quicker. When I started I would have women with me for a whole year until their baby was 1 and now that rarely happens.

I have learned not to raise an eyebrow when people let me know their babies name, I just enquire how I spell it. When I did my midwifery secondment as part of my nurse training a million years ago the rule of thumb was the worse the social circumstances the more outlandish the name, I helped Mercedes McDonald into the world, named entirely because it was the only way her dad could have one. The very middle class mummies had lots of Lucys, Charlottes and Emilys. Now it seems that having a name that people hear and understand that it is actually a name is slightly boring, I blame celebrities, I will not bang on about Buddy Bear Oliver again and WTF is Harper Seven or should that be Harper 7?

My real name is Wendy-Jane, yep I'm fully hyphenated up (I know you're shocked, you thought I'd been christened auntiegwen, it's right up there on your list of disappointments with Santa and the tooth fairy) I'm not keen on it, I think it's a bit of a Tracey, Mandy, Sharon type name, you read it and know I'm in my 40's. My friends at school were Karens and Lindas and Susans. It didn't stand out at school but there were always a few Wendys, there were a few hyphenated names too, I know quite a few Anne-Maries and Carol-Anns. My mum had wanted to call me Suzanne which I would have preferred but my dad said it's be shortened to Suzie which he didn't like, I am extemely glad they didn't go down the route of both grannies names or else I'd have been Margaret-Mary, and I went to school with one of them too. I spent my younger years listening to "hey Wendy, do you live in a house?" and other such witticisms now my holiday home is called The Wendy House and I like that, it must appeal to the inner retro thang I've got going on.

I married a Gordon, which was unfortunate. Ahem, no, really I was talking about the name, it was a difficult name for him, not only did you have to learn how to do the Gay Gordon dance in school but in 1978 when he was 12, Jilted John was blasting out his one hit wonder "Gordon is a moron" and now the Gordons who spring to mind are Messrs Brown and Ramsey who may or may not set your gusset aflame. Not an easy name to pull off.

It's tricky to pick a name isn't it? There may be names you like but are associated with people you don't or you may wish to remember a loved one but just find the name doesn't go with your surname. I wanted to call Eldest Beautiful Daughter Ailidh which is pronounced Aylay but was vetoed, he liked Fiona but was vetoed and we settled on Laura Elizabeth, she's not overly keen on her name.

With the boy I wanted Finlay, nope, he wanted Jack and that's what it is, Jack's low level disgruntled we didn't give him a middle name, he thinks we just couldn't be arsed but we couldn't find one that went.

And with the Beautiful baby daughter she was nameless for 3 days as we just couldn't find one we agreed on, me Abbie or Chloe, him Kirsty or Heather, having been originally put off Lucy by a friends smart arse comment about boobs and juicy Lucy, it was still our favourite so she became Lucy Abigail.

I now wish I had called one of my daughters Grace, which is my mothers name, it would have upset my mother in law, so we didn't. It seems to be a much more popular choice now than it was back in the 1990's when I had my daughters
What about you? like or loathe your name?

Ma wee lad's a sailor

This is the bold boy prior to his ex girlfriends fancy dress birthday party. Those are Hot Boy's white skinny jeans, t shirt and sailor hat, the denim jacket is mine. The pants are his.

I will spare you the photo of what state the clothes came back in but it really was a Daz doorstep challenge. As was the bouncing off the walls arrival home at 2am, followed by the chat with EBD and Hot Boy just outside my bedroom. I wasn't madly keen on the ex girlfriends tearful and very loud phone call either.

At 6 am, The Beautiful Son wasn't leaping out of bed to do his paper round and had to be woken up 3 times, handed clothes to wear and helped to find his luminous yellow paperbag. Which he insisted was his sisters as it had a bike lock key in it. We had to find the identical luminous yellow bag with the identical bike lock key in it. Which we did because it's a luminous yellow bag and they are always in the same place, it was just that the son couldn't quite get his bearings. I can only apologise to the good citizens of auntiegwentown for their missing/wrong/half ripped paper on Saturday. Still it's not everyday you get a hungover/still drunk sailor on a bike attempt to deliver your paper.

Gorgeous John?

Yesterday The Sunday Times published this article about John Redwood, who in addition to not being a vulcan, has turned into George Clooney.

I bet Mrs Redwood is pleased.

Coming home

Yesterday I collected Eldest Beautiful Daughter back from her halls of residence, her 1st year at university is over. It didn't really ever feel like she'd left home as every weekend she would come back here, complete with dirty laundry for me. For all of June she was in a teaching placement in a school close to this house so she's been back at home for ages. But yesterday she officially gave up her keys and back home to Mummy.

She has decided that she rather likes it here, with the laundry, fridge filling, maid and full taxi service and she's not going to live away from home again. Ever. Much to the chagrin of the other 2 who have been dying to move into her room. If she doesn't pass her driving test before October 1st I am going to have a massive school run.

I have this horrible fear that rather than my children grow up and leave home, they will remain in the suspended animation of childhood with me mummying them forever and I will become the old woman who lived in a shoe as they add their partners and their children to the household.

If they do that I'm going back to my Mum and Dad.

Not so failed grown up

Today is my day off and instead of procrastinating as is my wont, nay indeed my trademark, I decided to get on with all the jobs I have been putting off, the ones involving forms and big sums.

By 10 am this morning I had

Paid my M&S bill

Submitted my supporting evidence for EBD's student finance

Filled out my accident report form for the car insurers

Completed the transfer form for my old joint and now my very own overdraft, sorry bank account. How very grown up that makes me sound.

So, now completely surprised by my own dynamic efficiency, I am off to recline on the conservatory sofa with a good book, some coffee and a cherry bakewell.

And when I get dressed later I will be fully entitled to wear my pants outside my tights.

In which I am a big fail, again

If you looked inside my brain it would be a great big list of stuff to worry/fret/ agitate over like...

I have overbooked the villa by a night. This is not good, you don't go on holiday and then expect to share your bed with a stranger unless there has been a bit flirting and some alcohol involved. You tend not to be amenable to the idea because your landlady is an arse. Your landlady should always check and double check she has selected the correct date from the drop down menu. Your landlady will never have same day turnarounds again, I will work on a strict system of leaving on a Tuesday? next guest can only arrive on a Wednesday. It will be much better for everyone. I am gutted that I have done this and believe me I am trying everything to get it sorted out. I am a technophobic arse who now feels the sweat of doom tricking down her back when she hears or reads 17th August.

EBD student finance application - I can't support her application until I find the 2 P60's I lost when doing my tax return for the 2nd time because I am a form filling numpty arse and cocked it up the first time. I also need council tax statemnts, child benefit statements and tax credit letters. I have no idea where I put them to keep them safe . I hate forms with a passion and will procrastinate till the end. This is now the end.

In addition to the lost stuff above I cannot find The Beautiful Son's bankbook, this is annoying him as he wants to pay some birthday money in and take some out to buy a new bike and understandably he wants it now, his exams are finished and he wants to be off with his mates. I am an "I'll put it in a safe place" arse

I bumped into someone's car and I have got to fill in an insurance claim again. I have had 3 bumps in 20 years, 2 of them have been in the last 7 months. I am an arse who can't judge distance.

I should have sent a letter registered post, I didn't and I am now worried it's gone astray. A "should have been more organised" arse.

I can't remember the last time I cooked a meal for my children from scratch.

I seem to spend my life saying to the children "can't you see I'm working?" ever such a lot.

My lovely teaching parenting skills, aka kissing squishing babies work, the group I set up 10 years ago is closing. The place I rent my room from is closing down and I haven't the energy or impetus to find new premises with a multi sensory room attached for the babies. I used to do it 3 times a week, now down to a Tuesday morning only, I would be sad about it if I could find the spare brain space.

This is in addition to the usual worries of

my weight
my wrinkles and grey hair
my "I'm not an expert at work" yet
my "I don't earn enough money to keep them in Jack Wills"
my Dad and my sister's health
my " oh my God, how much have I damaged them with the divorce"

Again I am running on empty, I am utterly exhausted. Thank you for listening

TMI

I work on a strictly need to know basis. I can only cope with so much reality at a time. Then I don't have to get myself worked up to either full fat grumpiness or cross shouty shreikyness on a daily basis. Because I have 3 children plus a Hot Boy so you know there are plenty things to get me up to 90 (that probably doesn't translate outside of Scotland/Ireland, it means in a tizzy)

Beautiful Baby Daughter has been going to Girls Brigade for the last 3 years, I have said before I have nothing but gratitude and admiration for people who volunteer in any activity for the benefit of other peoples children.

BBD has come home with a letter which has given me far too much information.

I have found out that 1 of the 19 year old young leaders is pregnant
That she has been in a relationship with the father for nearly a year
That she is not married
That the other leaders and chaplain feel she should stand down as a leader because she hasn't promoted Jesus's guidelines in her own life but she can still attend the group so they can offer her "support and friendship"
That they "do not condone her behaviour" and they accept that "we all make mistakes" and they will allow her to become a young leader again "when her personal life becomes more stable"

I don't like the tone of the letter at all, I can appreciate that it must have been a difficult situation for the Church, they have to promote Christian values but they also have to survive in a world where the majority of people don't abide by the 10 commandments. I just feel it has been very clumsily handled.

The letter wasn't in an envelope just a typed sheet given to the girls to hand on to parents. Does reading that letter make a young girl feel bad about herself because her parents weren't married in the first place? Does reading that letter make a girl feel bad because her parents are divorced? Does reading that letter make a girl feel bad because she might also be having sex (the group has girls aged up to 18 in)?

Now I wonder did I need to know all that? But now I do and it just doesn't sit well with me. My usual default setting is to let it go, it doesn't really affect me but I now have had to think on this, because they wrote to me and I have an opinion now, and as the Church has felt the need to give me all this information I now want to give the Church my take on this.

Dear Church

He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.

Yours sincerely

auntiegwen

Another fine place we can go back to

Hello my lovely internets, did you have a good weekend?

Now that all our restraining orders have been lifted, the family von strange aka auntiegwen and the weans went out for brunch to celebrate the bold boy being 16. We went to Roodys because Katyboo keeps blogging about how great it was. If you want to look at cake porn click on the word Roodys and the magic bloggy fairy shall take you there.

And it was, we had paninis, we had milkshakes, we had cupcakes, we had pancakes, we had icecream, we had a squidy thing made with curly wurlys. We also had what I call space dust (I'm of an age) you may call it popping candy.

Like Katyboo says, it looks great, the food tastes fab and the service is amazing. Please go if you're around that part of the world, we had a 30 minute drive to get there and we weren't disappointed.

And the best bit?

The best bit of all?

They didn't turn a hair when Hot Boy tried to snort his space dust like cocaine. What? he has an enquiring mind. If you also are curious, let me save you the trouble, nothing happens and you are left with a very sticky nose.

You're welcome.

A chuisle mo chridhe

Tomorrow The Beautiful Son will be 16. I love being his Mummy, although he drives me round the bend with...

his omnipresent moaning about how slow our Internet speeds are
his work shy tendencies
his eat anything and worry about ownership later stuff
his ability to wind both his sisters up to cross, shouty, shreikyness
his complete disinterest in revising for any test or exam
his total obsession with stripping down his bike/Call of Duty/youtube/facebook and twitter

BUT

He still talks to me.
He still kisses me and hugs me at least once a day.
He makes me howl with laughter in a way no one else can.
He knows when I'm upset when no one else notices.
He said on FaceBook (which makes it official) that I was the person in the whole world he was closest to.

I wouldn't change a thing, he makes me happy and I love him. Jack, a chuisle mo chridhe.

You'll pay for that...

Is it just me who thinks that if something nice happens it will inevitable be followed by something not so nice just to redress the balance? I have just had a wee jolliday to the Algarve, I had days of sun lolling around here...


And evenings eating and drinking around here...



And for my penance?

Just as I'm enjoying the last bit of sun I get a text from Beautiful Baby Daughter which reads "It's not a matter of life and death but what time are you getting back as we need to tidy up?" So I immediately think Jesus it must be horrendous if they're thinking they need to tidy, they could quite happily live in a skip normally.

When I was on the plane a text arrived saying "if you want coffee you may want to buy milk" I left 12 pints on Tuesday as I went to Waitrose just before I left. The mahoosive shop I did before I left had been eaten so as soon as I'm home back to Waitrose I go.

The washing basket which was empty when I left had been filled up and had a pile just as high beside it left for me, the washing machine had also had a nice break just like me and the nice days of sunshine which would have dried the washing a treat were a mere memory as yesterday it rained biblically because I had 3 machine loads to do and dry. And iron.

The dishwasher has packed up, it won't drain gawdonlyknows what they've put in it while I've been away.

My lifesize cardboard cutout of David Tennant was missing when I got back, I later found him in the wardrobe. Since then he has been found right outside The Beautiful Son's bedroom door, in my bed and this morning was last seen in the children's shower cubicle. What can I say? this passes for entertainment in my house.

So, I has a nice few days off which were preceded with me doing a weeks worth of work stuff and home stuff before I went and have been followed with a weeks worth of work stuff and home stuff to catch up on.

Remind me again, who had a break?

A game of 2 halfs

Once upon a time this blog was filled with tales of nights out, drinking, flirting and gigs. Now it's filled with tales of kitchen porn and The White Company. It's so hard to keep my reckless middle aged streak at bay.

Readers, in a last ditch attempt to redress the balance, I shall regale you of my Saturday night out.


I went all the way up to Sheffield to see Kasabian. Incidentally the support band Modern Faces were brilliant, another great band singing in their own accents.

One up to the recycled teenager within.

I was right up at the front, 3rd row from the stage, not in the upstairs viewing area with seats, oh no, down with the moshers, close enough to see Tom Meigham's spots and be envious of his ring finger tattoo.

Two nil

I got soaking wet in beer and other peoples sweat

Three nil

I got moshed and bashed around mainly by topless men.

Four nil

I wasn't wearing sensible shoes

Five nil

I didn't leave before the end, I stayed to hear the last song, even though that meant having to pay for an extra 2-4 hours in the car park, yep an extra £4 for 5 minutes. In the clip coming up, I was much nearer the front, just in front of Tom the lead singer.

Six nil.



I went to bed on a different day to when I got up.

Seven nil

Oh yes, I've still got it, middle aged, pah...

I shan't mention the fact that I was cross that it cost extra to book online even though you could only book online, or that it cost £10 to post them even though there was no option to collect in person or that they charged for ticket insurance or some such other nonsense and that the total cost bore no relation to the advertised price. No indeed, for that would make me sound middle aged.

And I shall gloss over the fact that getting covered in sweat and beer made we very wet and quite chilly on the drive home.

We won't go into my feet hurting quite a bit as they weren't in their usual fitflops. In fact they suffered the podiatral equivalent of vertigo.

We shall also make light of my attempts to master the iPhone (yes, eventually I too, have been appletized) and you don't need/want to know that the reason I succumbed to said iPhone was because the buttons and text on the BlackBerry pearl were just too small in the end.

And you are most definitely better off without the knowledge that my best friends mum (who I love dearly but is a pensioner) was giving me tips on using said iPhone and said to me, in the most helpful manner, "if you turn it sideways it makes the keys bigger and easier to type"

Which would have been so much better if it hadn't been preceded with the query to my best friend asking "how can I reply to Wendy if she texts me?"

I think we'll call it a draw, you're not counting any more

Thank you

... for all your good wishes and thought, prayers and virtual hugs. Unfortunately when my sister went for her scan there was no heart beat. It must be devastating to hear that once but for the 4th time, I can't imagine.

So thank you, it's nice to know people care.

News from The Mother Country

I have been home on a wee quick jaunt to see The Beautiful Parents. All is not as good as it could be.

Gadget Mad Dad back in the day worked for the gas board, fitting fires and cookers etc, as is a gas fitters wont. For the last few years he has been struggling with breathlessness and was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease which was not entirely unexpected as he's been a smoker for 50 years plus. It now turns out that the main reason for this breathlessness is pleural plaques which are caused by asbestos exposure. There isn't anything that can be done really, except hope it doesn't turn into Mesothelioma which is the cancer caused by exposure to asbestos. The problems don't start until 30-40 years after exposure. Unfortunately, they both looked after my mums Uncle Ricky who died of this so they are more than a little apprehensive at what may be ahead of them. He is really struggling to breathe and this is the reason the beautiful parents didn't come with us to Turkey at Easter, they never miss their 2 weeks there at the beginning of May.

I try not to write too much about my sister and her deep deep need to have a 3rd baby, it's her private stuff but she has been trying for many years now and her last 3 pregnancies have ended in miscarriage. She is pregnant again but has had some cramping, so she's off for a scan this morning, I just hope that this time everything is okay.

Life gets a bit sucky sometimes doesn't it?

Things you don't want to read

Dear Client

Please be advised that Travel Junky is currently in the process of entering into voluntary liquidation and will cease trading formally on 31/05/2011 (today)

This is what greeted me this morning in an email and I clicked on it quite happily as I thought it contained my boarding passes for next weeks trip to Portugal.

And as I am not turning into my mother AT ALL, I am completely reassured by their declaration that " If you have made a booking with us and are concerned about receiving our service then you do not need to worry because all our suppliers have already been paid in full so no clients should be affected by this"

Sure, it'll all be fine. I'm not concerned at all, not even a teeny tiny bit.

The auntie needs a new kitchen post.

I need a new kitchen, mine is shabby and tired, slightly falling apart and going off colour, a bit like me in room form.

I have 3 Cath Kidston tea towels, some flowery clothes peg fridge magnets (xmas pressie from my friend Sixy)and some wobble stripe CK oven gloves just quivering in retro style floral porn anticipation. I even bought a set of Kitchen Devil knives. But no nice new apple green painted walls and cream shaker style units with silver bar handles and a pastel ice cream coloured smeg fridge dream kitchen to put them in.

All together now poor, poor auntie.

But I have a cunning plan.

Not like The Beautiful Son's plan of sleeping with older people for money, I fear I may not get enough for the paint. A betterer plan. Remember when Peter Kay did his "Mum wants a bungalow" tour? This is the "auntie needs a new kitchen" campaign.

Hot Boy has always said when he gets famous (outside of Germany, where his band are really, really popular) he will buy me a new kitchen.

Today Hot Boy's band who I think should call themselves Hot Boy's Band, loads of people searching on T'internets will be lead to their site (yes, I think it is a much better name, I thought it up all by my very own self) anyhoo they release their album "Of regard and affection" today. They, however, are still sticking with calling themselves i am in love.



If you all buy the album and tell everyone you know to buy the album, Hot Boy will become famous and will have to buy me a new kitchen to stop me telling the tales that couldn't be put on the blog, yep that's right, you had the heavily edited highlights. God help us all, you only get a smidgen of what he's like.

He will be 21 on Monday and has a huge exam to sit today so send all good positive vibes his way, pleasey please, and if you wanted a good 21st pressie or passing your exams pressie...

Or Eldest Beautiful Daughter has said she'll marry Prince Harry.

She has a 3 pronged strategy for meeting him so he can fall madly in love with her

1 - She teaches at a military school and he comes on an official visit

2 - William and Kate have a child that she becomes the personal tutor of

3 - When Hot Boy is playing at the festivals this summer, she will be hanging around in the VIP area as Hot Boy's plus one and as Hot Boy is wooing the crowds she will engage Prince Harry in flirty banter about her red and white polka dot wellies.

So, the choice dear readers is up to you, you can pay the money for Hot Boy's album or EBD will have to marry into clan Windsor.

You know what's the right thing to do.

We survived

So, the world didn't end and it's still business as usual. I'm sure we all enjoyed the skiving off part though but it was a bit pants to realise I did actually have to clean up and get back to work.

I am a poorly auntie, if I was a man I would have flu but as a mere auntie I just have a cold. I am feeling slightly under par so have retreated to bed (after finishing work of course, couldn't let my unblemished I've never had a day off sick record go, could I?)

I love my bed with a passion some people reserve for their spouses. Nothing makes your auntie more cheery than going to bed. And now I can take to my bed, sans guilt, in the manner of a consumptive Victorian heroine, I have the cough nailed. Please feel free to pop by with grapes and anything else you think would make auntie better.

And so, dear readers I shall leave you with the bed of loveliness in all it's glory.

Scroll down, let's have a little anticipation.




I paid The White Company a lot of money for my bed linen, you know, let's get my money's worth.






Ta da!!!!!



Middle class porn for middle aged ladies at it's best, I'm sure you'll agree

The end.

Well my lovely readers, it's been a blast, 4 years of me spouting the gospel of St Gwen, patron saint of procrastinators, middle aged women and failed grown ups.

All good things must come to an end and so I bid thee farewell, if the world does end tomorrow at 6pm I am not wasting my last day cleaning the kitchen, I will retreat to the garden and read a book, but what a choice I have to make, I mean if this is my last book I want it to be a good one.

And tonight I will have everyone I love with me (except Hot Boy as his band have a gig at The Good Ship in Kilburn, if you're local pop along) and we will eat drink and be merry.

And if the world doesn't end tomorrow I will have had my day in the sun and the Kasabian tickets, forthcoming trip to Portugal and new high heel peep toe wedges won't go to waste.

See you on the other side. Failing that probably next week.

Where did I go wrong?

I have a lovely son, a son that I love and adore, a son I have tried so hard to make into a well rounded human being (okay a regular human)

Sometimes I think I've cracked it, he'll show me a depth of feeling or a sense of empathy and understanding that I am still surprised by, and I will allow myself a proud mummy feeling. I will bask in the glow of maternal pride and think I made him.

Other times not so much.

On Saturday he was telling me about his cunning plan to make money. He is going to find himself an older lady who he will accompany to parties and business functions and he will then sleep with her. For money.

My son, aspiring to be on the game. I am so proud, my friends sons only want to Doctors and lawyers, my son wants to be a gigolo.

He has found a website called sugarmommies which promises to spoil young men and he is so looking forward to being 16 so he can join said site.

Far be it from me to tell him of the flaws in his cunning plan. I am sure that successful business women will be flocking to him, every woman who has climbed the corporate ladder would be dying to have a 6 foot 2 lump of useless who needs washing, dressing and plugging into his Ipod every morning, wouldn't she?

And I'm sure any ones work colleagues would be madly impressed with his urbane chit chat about Facebook, the best laughing babies on youtube and his extensive Call of Duty knowledge. He could whisper sweet nothings in her ear in his best GCSE French. He could wake her up every morning with a cup of coffee before he goes off to do his paper round. Who could fail to be jealous as he turns up on his BMX to collect his lady friend and give her a backy to said business functions with his pants on show to the world. And I'm sure he'd wear his best Jack Wills ones for such a lucky lady.

Flawless plan son, who wouldn't want to date this fine specimen of male?

In the last month I have been mainly...

at the beautiful house with the people I love, sunshine, good food, gin and laughter. Not too shabby, is it?

In other news...

Hot Boy and his band (whom he's rejoined but not sure if he's staying, lots of hard decisions to be made) have been played on Radio 1 as part of their introducing programme, please have a listen and buy lots of their stuff (album out on May 27th), Hot Boy has promised me a new fitted kitchen if they get famous, you wouldn't deny auntie a new kitchen, would you?

He's the one on the right of the picture, he's either in his black hoody with tartan shirt or stripped down to his burgundy vest. How he'll love that in years to come.

Eldest Beautiful Daughter has been in a Catholic school on a teaching placement. One of her first jobs was to escort the children to Mass, she's sat with a naughty child on either side of her and she's a bit bemused with the genuflecting and all, very different from her Presbyterian church going and naughty child says (in tones of great incredulity) "Miss, have you never been in a church before?"

The Beautiful Son is completely denying the need for any GCSE revision. He continues in his mad notion that exams are a reflection of what he knows on the day and any kind of revision is therefore cheating. Shame he's not doing GCSE's in Call of Duty or looking at laughing babies on youtube or annoying your wee sister. We'd be grand then.

Beautiful Baby Daughter is currently dementing me with her prom, I think it's a mad notion that when she leaves middle school aged 14, I have to lash out tons of cash for her to be in a frock more suitable for a nightclub (yes I am aware of how old that makes me sound, thank you very much) a hair do, and a ride to school prom in a limousine, is she from Essex? I think not. This bloody thing isn't until mid July but I am bored to death looking for shoes, dresses, accessories and I have abso bloody lutley refused both the fake tan and the white Hummer/pink stretch/fire engine or any other form of transportation that isn't a regular car. I know, bah Humbug phone Childline.

I am still working, still trying (and failing) to lose weight although I have started Zumba and last Wednesday myself and my friend Eileen went to our first fat loss body conditioning class, it was Sunday before I could walk down stairs without wincing. I know know what I'll be like as a pensioner. I am continuing to turn into my mother and it's escalated a fair bit. My forgetfulness and my misplacement of things is now up to Olympic standard currently searching for 200 cigarettes I brought back duty free for my dad last October (I had even forgotten I'd bought them till my mum asked them to bring them with me when I next go home) on the plus side I have found both my denim jacket and my Tiffany necklace. I don't live in a huge house, just a tip.

And that's been about it. What have you been up to?