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.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
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!
Monday, 10 May 2010
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.
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!
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!
Sunday, 9 May 2010
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.”
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.”
Thursday, 6 May 2010
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.
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.”
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.”
Sunday, 2 May 2010
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.
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.
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