Spooning

Another MP is busted for having an extra marital affair with a man, or was he? Apparently the rumour stems from the fact that he and his 25 aid , who happens to be tall dark and handsome, shared a twin bedroom , whilst campaigning. The duo would not have shared a room if they had have known such rumours would emanate from such an arrangement. Let’s assume they shared the room innocently.Is it normal for boys to share, real question as I have not come across such a scenario.Will ask my man what he does on a stag do. Although he very different from a politician. Think manual workers falling asleep face down on the bathrooom floor.
What really happens when men get to hang out..behind closed doors , do they like to have pow wow, do each others hair ,paint toe nails and complain that their wives don’t appreciate them? Although I find the idea amusing I doubt very much that be the case. That is one angle eliminated, so on to the next, saving money. Well I am sure what with MPs expenses , a hotel room each is a genuine expenditure which would withstand the close inspection of the Daily Telegraph. Ok so they’re not pow wowing or needing to save money... That leaves spooning. Even if they are not spooning I don not understand why a politician who can be so guarded during heated and high pressured debating can drop their guard and better judgement when it comes to actions. If you were going to have a cuddle why not cover up properly, take separate rooms and sneak out later, actually forget that , why not come out, stop living a lie and tell the truth.That is the way to earn respect.

Does any male of the human species flush the toilet?

Honestly, if you know one, name him and while your at it, tell the natural history museum too because I am sure the latter will want to know of such a leap for mankind.
I live with 3 males. I appreciate my almost 3 year old is new to the toilet game , thus flushing in the last thing I expect. To make it to the toilet is enough effort to satisfy me. My almost 7 year forgets to flush for numbers 2s but sems to habitually leave wee in the toilet. Gav the elest male in the house flushes for number 2s but like Teia, my 6 year old, he does not flush after a wee wee.

Clearing up after the toddler is a disinfectant job.I Usually have to do the floor and seat.If I am the last person to visit the loo in the morning , I will have to deal with the remnans of several visits from the boys and between all 3 of them none of them will have flushed. The smell and site would tick anyone off ,especially if that person happens to be the poor soul that has to deep clean the area.Cheers boys. The thing, tis only gonna get worst as they get older.

I want my own loo, pretty please.

Lettuce

Oh boy , this sedentary summer has lead to some serious excess weight on my ass and trunk. I got some serious belly rolls going on. Reacting to this weight gain, I have been looking at gym membership and intend to join in October. In the mean time I have been laying of the bread , as to avoid the carb face .My face is large at moment and I used to have a neck but that's on its way out too. Other changes to marathon eating means laying off the kids left overs. Gone are the days of cooking a dozen fishfingers for the kids lunch and then eating 10 plus my own grown feast. Tis no wonder I am a fat mo fo.

Replaced bread and cheese with a whole lot of salad. Bowls and bowls of the stuff. On Sunday I got through about half a dozen just before dinner . Dinner was, you guessed it , an even bigger bowl of salad. Whilst enjoying dinnner,my eldest son looked at me and said "Mummy you eat so much salad," I thought about an extended code response, " why yes Teia,I eat salad because it is good for you, did you know that lettuce leaves are a excellent source of vitamin B . Vitamin B is great because it helps us stay happy."Almost immediately he turned away with an obviuos knowing smile. I knew some smart alec response was due to follow. He seemed to hesitate before he spoke and then there was a clear sod it attitude when he said " Oh that is strange mummy because you are always so grumpy."

Missing my hospital appointment

You know the feeling.. Loosing your keys, getting a parking ticket , missing a train, plane or Dr appointment.Today I achieved the latter. I missed an appointment with my consultant. It was a very important one as it would mean a review of my recovery from my foot op and more importantly removal of my 4 week old moudly bandage. You read correctly, 4 weeks.Yes 4 weeks of wearing the same stinking bandage. A soft bandage which has some crazy, plastic disc that seems to be slicing my foot in two.Honestly its evil.

I thought the appointment was tomorrow. So convinced I was right, that after I noticed the possible mistake, I rolled up my sleeves before I checked the family calendar, I was sure the NHS systems were at fault and when this was confirmed I was gonna call them and give them a piece of my mind. The family calendar only proved how utterly stupid I am. I even wrote the right day on the calendar. What is it with me , I joke that I have early onset of alzheimers and humorously, I blame the aluminum pots my parents used to prepare food. Oh I am hilarious but perhaps it is true. Maybe I do have brain rot with a bit of dementia thrown in. I know that I would benefit significantly from home help and meals on wheels.

I am now faced with that horrible and strangely familiar feeling of loss. Perfect time for the kids to call out “ Mummy, can you,” to which I will roar like a T rex and turn into a zombie mummy “ what , what do you want, I never get a chance to think straight, damn you, I blame you for missing my most important hospital appointment.” Poor dears it is not their fault and luckily they were not around to be blamed, as of course I would have put the blame squarely on their little shoudlers. No they are not here so I must go through the five stages of grief as described by Kubler-Ross . Pretty much dealt with denial, anger and bargaining Right now I am stuck in the depression phase. Mostly because my foot is throbbing like a mo fo. As if it has been hit with a sledge hammer.At least once I am over depression there is the sweet taste of acceptance.

Belsebub

Teia , my almost 7 year old, had a sleep over on Thursday. He came back as the devil in human form. Oh boy, he was a horror. It was a tantrum every two hours. Real stroppy followed by malicious jibes. Eventually, I sent him to bed with a nose bleed and no sympathy. Nope... I did not give him a right hock. His nose bled of its on accord ,honest gov. No really the bleed was probably something to do with his devil possession. I admit, I did feel like giving him a Scotch kiss on more than one occasion. Obviously I refrained. Anyway he slept till 9.30 this morn, which is a new precedent. So now I know that sleep did not occur at the sleep over. Does it ever?

New day , new me trying not to hold a grudge but it is hard when he turns into another bad mood , having been awake for only an hour. Lord give me the patience. What is up with him... Does he have bi –polar , depression or some other problem of the mind. I think I have cheered him up with the promise of a visit to uncle Myles’ house. It seems we have all perked up, mostly due to the idea of leaving this house. I think summer holiday cabin fever is getting to all of us.

Oh I must also mentioned the high pitched squeal that little Luca has developed. It is like the noise of a pig in a moment of acute stress. I think the pair of them are gonna have me in straight jacket by the end of the month.

Men suck

Last night I went to two fortieth Birthday parties. Madness I know...I split the evening between both parties. I left one earlier than expected due to Gav ogling a young filly. Staring at her he said “wow look she is amazing, she has a great figure , what’s she doing with that fat lump for a boyfriend” I stared at him as if he were mad man with a death wish. As I didn’t speak , he continued with his lascivious compliments. I actually got quote annoyed, so annoyed that I couldn’t speak. Finally I broke my silence as it seemed to be encouraging him “ dah, I am your partner, girlfriend etc I am not your mate and I don’t need to be hearing this.” He became a little embarrassed and lost for words...I then nipped in a “ she’s alright I suppose, if you like tarts.” With that cutting remark I flicked my bob to the side and walked off in my sky scrappers and wet look leggings... It was difficult to walk off in a huff without breaking my neck.. But I managed.

Boyfriends suck.. Especially the caveman type.

Bog Roll

What an amazing weekend. Sunshining ..just the day to visit my new next door neighbours for a BBQ. Delightful, kicking back enjoying the sun , panama hat on and sipping Pimms No 1. My neighbours are lovely and today was the first official visit for the boys.So it was imperative to be perfect house guests. Picture this 29degrees in a beautiful English Garden with lovely company. Conversation was flowing as was the Pimms (with all the trmmings)... Gav disappears and then reappears from a visit to the loo. He was brandishing approximately 15 squares of crumpled up loo roll he put the white mass on the table . My observation was confirmed when Gav said proudly “ Look I found this on the floor in the toilet, it hasn’t been used , I thought we could use it later.” What the hell.... Is he on drugs... Is it it me or is it a complete NO NO to salvage loo roll for later...never mind putting it on a dinner table. Faux pas is an under statement.. I thought we were going to be shown the door, right there and then. Luckily our neighbours are so sweet and polite they went along with whole “waste not want not” motto.

This blunder was the second embarrassment in 2 days. Yesterday he went on hunter gatherer mission and came back with Jamaican BBQ. Hehappened to roll up in car with the rusting heap of junk , just as my neighbours were saying good bye to guests.The thing is massive a real eyesore, the whole street must have seen him lumbering it in. It is Made from 2 oil barrels (they look like oil barrels) that have been soldered together. The top even had a chimney.. think red neck .. "Deliverance" and your on the right track... I half expected a body to be inside it. Not only is it enormous but it is also rusty, I pointed this out to Gav and he happily replied "I know, don't worry, I have an idea, I am gonna paint it." With a crumpled up face I retort "WHAT, " all I could imagine was the rusty eyesore being replaced with big black eyesore and I don't want either. Reading my mind Gav said " Yeh, I am gonna paint it red , gold and green."

Am I kill joy, no don't answer that. Maybe in years to come my boys will laugh and joke about their eccentric dad , who would turn rubbish into useful objects. Maybe I should chill and see interesting side instead of being so annoyed. Maybe Gav is totally cool and I should should try and understand instead of criticize. Yeh, Yeh I need to try and be a better person.. Will work on it!

Ill placed confidence

Last Saturday I went out with 2 of my oldest friends (no pun intended) .Like any good night it was filled with food, drink, tears , dancing and a whole lot laughter. The hot topic of the night was age and getting old. Us girls realized that we had passed our "pink of perfection." It is a difficult reality to come to terms with. Youth and everything that goes with it are completely taken for granted when you have it. I have always been critical of my looks lack ability , when I look back I think Wow I actually look good back then and I had opportunities that I simply passed by because I was too busy partying or hating myself.

Our night began with aperitifs and ended in a club named Ponana's. We almost didn't make it as my home girl was refusing to go to a club that had a name that sounded so much mike poo na nee. Was Ali G gonna be there , No far from it , Once inside we found that we were in a Bristol Uni posh boy ecosystem. Revellers were an average age of 19 years,wore seemingly compulsory freshly ironed gingham shirts and stood at a minimum height of 6foot and 1 inch and up to 6foot 7inches .At one point it looked and felt like a tall man convention.

Initially the girls and I felt awkward in such a place, especially since we were dwarfed by giants but after more than a few sambucas the place was ours , to terrorize with our witty repartee and killer dance moves. I do recall shouting “ in my day people would go out to have fun and dance.” Oh dear, why do I continue to sound like an old woman. We shook our booties for several hours and spoke to anyone that would listen.Even if folk weren't interested , we ranted anyway! I vaguely recall moshing and jumping around as if I were attached to a pogo stick. You got it, I am a girl who knows how to have fun and deeply annoy people.I certainly had a fantastic time doing it and laughed my head off for most of the evening.

Today is Monday I ask myself was this ill placed confidence. Should I have left such a inappropriate situation , was the night an imbroglio that should could have been avoided or did us girls do well to make the best of our unusual surroundings/company. I think the later, our age and happy family lives leave us to be “free , to do what we want to do, have fun,”without the constraints of youth such as diffidence, insecurity and the hunt for a man.

Computer induced tantrum

My eldest son Teia has been so good recently but tonight there was huge fall out, it was a return the raging tantrums he used to have . It happened when I collected him from a play date and asked him to end his turn on the computer. Heaven forbid I should dare to request such a thing. A long tantrum followed. His reign of terror went on for approx 90 minutes. I didn’t lose it, so proud of myself. Teia even pretended to leave home . It was an ill thought out plan as he left the house with no shoes on and had to hobble instead of strut away from the house.It was a pitiful yet funny site.

After a few minutes he returned to loving yet flat bosom of his mother, ME. Where I lambasted him briefly before trying to put him to bed. Finally he calmed down and we shared a moment of piece, just as daddy came to sing him a song... the final part of his punishment!

I think video games are evil. They were the reason for his tantrum. Maybe I should expose him to video games more often, so that he can learn to "step away from the " computer in a gracious fashion. Nah ... I just don't think it is healthy to encourage an obsession with a visual display unit!

Standards

In July I will be having an operation . The old biddy that I am ... I will be having me bunionette fixed and will be in bandages, plaster and using crutches for 6 weeks. Think “The mummy returns.” I was gonna pass on the op but that would be the beginning of the end. What would I “let go” of next... grow a beard and hairy chest, not wear mascara... No methinks not... have to keep some standards even if they are low.

Speaking of standards, my cleaner came today for her 2nd visit. I found that the cleaner- high is not restricted to during and after the fix. There is actually a pre fix high and I would say it lasts approximately 3 days. It’s basically re adjusting my standards and tolerance of mess. Since Friday instead of hoovering and cleaning every night , I have merely picked up toys , when thoughts of hoovering entered my mind I quickly counteracted them with “no--- pea chill your boots, don't bother because the cleaner is coming on Monday.” Boy , that thought process felt good and my limbs appreciated not having to do a full work out. Are my standards slipping or is this normal behaviour. Meaning that the cleaning ritual that I used to do every night was part of my existing neurosis? Whatever... at least I am getting better.

The cleaner has done another lovely job. I think I am falling in love with her. Don’t think she’d have me though... too much baggage and she probably thinks I am lazy cow, who is defo passed her prime... she wouldn't be wrong re the last point.

This is the good life. I think the days of stepping on , or even worse kneeling on a piece of lego have finally passed.Horay!

Claridges

Today was my mother’s birthday and to celebrate my sister and I took her for afternoon tea at Claridges. It was my first time to Claridges and entering the foyer was like entering a different world. A beautiful, decadent , deco world. Where the walls are covered with sunburst mirrors and the perfectly , polished , black and white marble floor are so luminescent that you can actually see you own reflection .Staff whizz around and tend to each guest’s every need. I decided within 10 minutes that I wanted to move in, take up permanent residence. I imagine the staff and I would would get on like cheese and toast. Tis a beautiful dream and one that I will revisit again and agin.

In between daydreaming and sipping Earl Grey Tea, I wolfed down sandwiches and scones . The scones were served warm ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh devine. Every second was bliss. It made me realise that drinking tea is a fine art that I don’t partake in . It is not that I don’t usually drink tea, I do.. It is just that the cups of tea I make at home go like this... boil kettle once twice maybe 3 times over the course of 45mins , finally get time to make a brew, pour hot water onto to T bag , look up and see that number one son has walked in our dog’s poo and is spreading it , much like Nutella all round the house. I forget tea , to berrate son and then begin to deep clean house. Go back to cold cuppa, take a sip and ditch it, muttering “I never get to drink my tea.” I repeat this ritual several times everyday. Therefore being served tea and being able to sit and drink it at its optimum temperature was a REAL treat.

Like tourists little sis and I brought our cameras. In each picture my sis looked sallow ,slightly jaundiced, as if she needed a new liver ‘ll give you half of mine” I suggested. Her jaundice made my ruddy, rosacea cheeks look even worse. My skin is crap, it’s official. I used to have soft, even toned , perfect skin. Since my late 20s my skin has gone down hill , to the point that now in photos I look like a alcoholic, that has spent a summer drinking in Brockwell park. My nasty complexion is probably not confined to photos but if I admit that ,then I don’t think I would ever leave the house... I guess you could say I am in D E N I A L.

Mummy dearest loved the whole experience, she is after all the queen of cakes and would happily skip breakfast, lunch and dinner for a whole Victoria sponge. We three agreed to go again next year , mum agreed in a perfectly optimistic Irish way “but for the grace of god, if we don’t die first.”

General Election

Today I candidly asked my man who he would be voting for, he replied “BNP,” OK I thought he is entitled to his opinion even when it is completely WRONG. I continue to talk in a calm and candid fashion “really?” I say... he replies “Yeh, they are not racist you know.” At this point I could have totally blown a blood vessel but I astounded myself by accepting his decision and remained calm, WEIRD ... Have I grown up ? Have I overcome/outgrown my Irish Temper? What ever has happened -- I like it .
Gav and I proceeded to take the boys and Noodle to Hayes Village hall to cast our votes.Teia was totally confused by the experience. He couldn’t understand why we were walking the streets after sunset “isn’t it dark mummy, is it bedtime mummy, where are we going mummy?” Poor kid he lives a sheltered life.
On arrival ...the queue was long and trailed out of hall. When casting my vote I had a nasty flash back , to a sports hall somewhere in Streatham, where I sat my GCSEs.
On the way home I asked Gav “who did you vote for?” with a wry smile he answered “Liberal democrats.”
Phew , he is still the liberal minded man I fell in love with and he has a playful sense of humour to boot.
And look at me all grown up and able to contain my disdain , maybe I should be a politician.

Loosing me mojo

Every month a strange phenomenon occurs. I change from a tolerant , energetic and sane human being into lethargic, cake eating , misery guts with the fuse that can lit at a glance.I would call it pre menstrual tension but it isn’t necessarily pre it can also be post menstrual. Wat be going on wid me hormones, man??? I even get spots . It is totally like being a teenager but without the luxury of being able to navel gaze in bedroom whilst listening to OK Computer. This monthly loss of zeal and exuberance is crippling. The normal me can run a marathon, clean Buckingham palace and solve Zimababwe’s hyper inflation all in one afternoon. Come evening and I will attend the opening of an envelope and will be queen of the ball, high fiving myself , musing “looking good giirl... Still got it.”
The period me is at polar opposites with the above description...instead I am a weak and pathetic human being who can’t even cook a fishfinger without burning it.Going out would be like pulling teeth and I would rather pour hot oil into my eyeballs than dress up and socialize. Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin all I see is a stroppy Miss Piggy .
I call this drama “loosing me mojo.”

Swimming with the whole clan

My eldest son Teia has decided in his infinite wisdom that Sundays should be a family day. In the spirit of this idea we all went swimming today .Swimming is the enjoyable part. Getting changed is chaos and enough to send me over the edge. No wonder I haven’t done it in ages. Having enjoyed a lovely swim including novelties such as slides, waves and fountains, it was time to run the gauntlet of the changing rooms. I found myself in a family changing room which was 1 meter square. Not sure what size family are supposed to fit inside but it was a squeeze for my little family of 4. So imagine this, I was in a tiny changing room with both boys and Gav. We were cheek by jowl. Luca was screaming and tried to escape by crawling under the door. Whilst Teia kept opening and shutting it, guillotine fashion. Gavin and I bickered and tried to get dressed, using wet towels and cross words we just about did it .It was hideous!

However the middle bit justified the end. The boys had a lovely time and luckily I don't have much dignity left. So when I stood up in the pool and my padded swimming costume was half down my body, I simply pulled the padded bits up to where they were supposed to be. Unfortunately the pulling action turned the costume into a thigh-high- number and exposed more than a few short and curlies. At this point I did not recoil in a humiliated fashion. No far from it... instead I glanced around to see if anyone was watching, satisfied myself that although the gaff was heaving no one was staring at me and proceeded to tuck the offending fleece back from whence it came. I think I need a bigger costume but I just don't want to admit I am getting fatter when I am not even pregnant.

Maturing with style

Now that I am officially in my mid 30’s with less than 5 years till I am 40, I feel as though my style needs to adjust to my growing wisdom, waist line and neighbourhood status. This transition isn’t a seamless one. No it is actually very bumpy . Let’s begin at the top .Aware of phrases like FFFA (fit from far away) and 1660 (16 from the back and 60 from the front) I decided to cut off my long hair.I wanted to have the same hair as Leigh Lezark, a fashion muse I had become obsessed with. Maybe if I looked at her for long enough, some of her gnat like beauty would rub off on me. Most of the time I look like Helen Bonham Carter when she appeared as a monkey in "Planet of the apes." Right now, I have a great cut but I feel it makes me look too serious and what’s all this about , having to style it. I have had such problems drying my coiffure with a specially designed metal- cylinder -pronged brush that I actually burnt the back of my neck, OUCH!

What to wear with my new coiffure? I want to look cool, edgy, smart and groomed. When out shopping I am strangely drawn to Top Shop and all the 80’s revisited stuff. Try it on and I look like a “tart with a heart” from Coronation Street. So it is back to the drawing board and the only thing I can get away with are Breton stripes and converse, de riguer for every self respecting South London Stepford Wife . More recently I have slightly deviated from the stripe and bought a quilted Barbour jacket. Maybe I should forget Lezark and turn to Parker-Bowels for inspiration.

Caught out

How many times have you been caught out? I am caught out at least once a week. Whether it be saying I hate a particular name and insisting it is the name of a scum bag oik, only to find out it’s the name of my new acquaintance’s daughter or son .

Or what about when I am having an off day and feel like the devil in human form and the kids are mummy'n me to death. I slip round a corner , for a sneaky expletive , thinking I am out of ear shot...I mutter a beautifully gratifying “shut up “ or maybe even a “f**k off.” Only to hear my eldest son say “I heard that ." Funny how he hears that but doesn't hear my requests to "put your uniform on, don't squirt that water pistol, please don't garrote your little brother."

It is on this basis that I totally empathize with Mr Brown. He is running for Prime Minister . He is not claiming to be a saint. He is human.I understand his off the cuff remark. Poor bloke was caught out by the idiot , genius , devilish prankster who left the microphone on. Where is that dude anyway, has he been sacked or promoted!

Idiot

Bloody "cleaner's " what the hell. Sodding typical , I start a blog, excitedly post my first thingy- bobby and I make a grammatical error. Now I look like an idiot. Damn , Damn it to hell. I blame the kids . I never get enough sleep and they are always mummying me.

No it's not their fault ,they are good kids. It is my own illiterate self that is the problem.

Off to self flagellate. Hope to recovery my dignity someday and post another thingy bobby.

Cleaner's Rock

The highlight of my week was my first visit from Lena the cleaner.
After which I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.The house was the cleanest and tidiest that it had ever been. As I put stuff away , so that the cleaner had a blank yet dirty canvas, I realized I didn’t remember the last time I thoroughly went through all the juvenile detritus that clogs up the arteries of this house.The help allowed me to get on with important stuff like accounts , changing energy supplier and booking an app to have my handle bar (Freddy Mercury) moustache removed. Still cultivating the leg and underarm hair. Will have to wait for Lena's next visit in 2 weeks, to book more beauty appointments . By then I shall have some shockingly hairy legs.

Back to the cleaner experience....I loved hearing the familiar sound of my hoover , yet I was not manning it... the idea is enough to send me into a nirvana state of mind ... I am sure I levitated for a few seconds.It is official , having a cleaner is a legal high and I want mine to come back!

It made me realise how much time I waste to do a half job of the cleaning.When Lena left I had a cheesy grin on my face. didn’t feel exhausted and my hands weren’t sore and dry from harsh cleaning products . I felt energized. My eldest son Teia, came home and was like “OMG what has happened to my room , I hate it, where is my stuff...etc etc”

Ah well you can’t make everyone happy.

P. S Is this how Gav (the man in my life) has been feeling ,every night when I have scrubbed the house. Damn him, Damn him to hell for keeping it a secret. Highs like this need to shared.