Saturday, January 06, 2007

Following complaints I am always hiding behind babies

If you are going to have a baby, there is a good-bad balance to keep in mind.

Bad - you're gonna get big. Your former cottage figure is now going to turn into a stately home of an establishment complete with stables and greenhouses.

Good - In that "losing weight slowly" (or not at all) period after giving birth, you now have a handy bit of camouflage.

Result!

Never a big fan of being photographed anyway, as I tend to look dopey, horse-faced, uncomfortable, fat or all four at once, I usually hid behind the camera. Whilst reviewing the ravages of nine months of curry, toasted cheese sandwiches and ice-cream on my body and thinking "oh fuddit, I have my gorgeous baby, I don't care" I realised that Mr. (and later on Ms.) small people were the perfect foil to the camera recording said ravages.


ElizaF hiding behind a baby in Somerset

Hiding behind a baby and glasses - double bubble in Sydney

Hidden behind hair and a baby in Hong Kong


Change of tactics in Melbourne - hiding behind a hand, which is practically naked for me

Am professional widow again

Aaaaaargh.

No, the title does not refer to some sort of exotic self-preformed sex act. It just means the Lord and Master of the house is in foreign climes in the name of his job (again)

Among the fleshpots of Milan no less.

I miss him when he goes away especially when the kids do or say something funny. I turn for him to say "look....." and it is crap when he is not there.

Of course, I really miss the warm husband shaped lump in the bed beside me at night. I have this complicated routine of wearing his t-shirt, making a hot water bottle and trying to sleep with a pillow alongside me. It doesn't really work but it the best I can come up with.

Not that he does not have competition. There is this really cute local blonde guy who is very keen to occupy my husband's space in the bed. There are nightly enquiries about the likelihood of his being allowed to take the hallowed position and nightly he takes the rebuff with very good grace. However, my resistance is weakening. Hubby has been away for most of the last two weeks out of three and I'm only a woman after all.

Rups, come home soon or your four year old son will be in your space and you'll be in the bunk beds!

Your loving wife

Thursday, January 04, 2007

OK, John Barrowman, I GET the hint

My husband and I have had the free pass chat.

You know the one: So if I bump into *name certain celebrity* in the street and they are not put off by mottled hair, grey skin, saggy Mummy tummy handles and the pockets full of (used) baby snot rags I pocess, I can have a free pass to shag them should they show an interest.

Well Yippee.

So hubbie picked Alicia Witt. You know the slender (scawney bone flashing) tall (gangly torture stretch rack victim lookalike) pale (pasty faced) gorgous (plain) American actress with the spots on her arse*.
*Ok, I MAY have made certain parts of that up.

Old spotty arse herself

So I have picked John Barrowman, the lead actor of BBC 3s spin off to the new Dr. Who called Torchwood.

He is a fine thing and no mistake.

The only thing is that he keeps up this silly pretence of being gay. Not ANOTHER one. Someone should tell him that the days of having to deny your sexuality to get ahead in British theatre are soooo over. While they are at it, they should also tell him that I have a free pass.

Hang on, has someone done that already?

OMG, I see the light. He HAS heard about the free pass. From all available evidence, he has also heard about the drooping flesh coloured Mummy balloons and the glamerous snot rags as well.

Oh pooh.

"He's so happy, so happy and so gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay"

Mr. Barrowman, in an attempt to continue with his gay facade went and got married this week to some bloke he claims to have been in a 16 year relationship with. Yeah right. You know John, it's ok to say you just don't fancy me. The lenghts you are going to with the gay thing are a little extreme.

Dammit.