ElizaF

From now on I am going to write more ....

2009-03-09T00:31:00.003Z

I am out of shape

There is a slight pong where the train of writing has become the stagnnacy of nothing

but I am back and I intend to write...

Perhaps not to read until I am ready to yell "loook at meeee, I is writing, (innit)!!" but I do intend to write....

If you don't laugh at this, you're dead

2008-08-06T20:01:00.000Z

It's a flesh wound!

Blackheath Race for life 2008

2008-07-13T13:17:00.018Z


Messages of remembrance	Jogging along nicely

Are we there yet??	5K - pah! No tassel!

First KM over with	Lots and lots of people

Is that an emu in your pocket or ......?	You put your left leg in

Personal messages of dedication	Stand by yer hat

Bobbing along	Don't mess with our tutu

Tu-tu'ing along nicely	Pink Ladies

Tu-tu intend to walk or run?	Ear, look at this

Barbie Curly lives	Hut -two-tea-foooooorrrr

An ideal husband

2008-04-19T10:08:00.011Z

My birthday was in December, I was 33.

When asked by my husband what I wanted for my birthday, I eagerly nominated a newly released anthology of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories which I had been eyeing up as we drank coffee in one of our haunts the week before. To this date, that book is still sitting on the shelf in Waterstones in Greenwich where I first saw it and not on my bedside table where I imagined it.

I just remembered this (again) today as he talked about getting someone else a birthday present Someone he has not seen in months.

Then I remembered about the Hitchcock films DVD collection I asked him for on my birthday the year before. We currently don't have the Hitchcock films on DVD in the house if anyone is wondering.

Hypothetically, If I did have the time and energy to complain to him and tell him how I was feeling, he would properly tell me that it is this person's 40th birthday and therefore "special". Then I would remember how I asked him to organise a party for my 30th, a bit over three years ago. The result was a suprise party. As in, "you know that party? Surprise! there ain't one!"

You might like to notice (as I just have) that the responses to his question "what do you want for your birthday" have got darker in nature as the years have passed. Next year I expect I shall ask for "The Dummies guide to burying your husband under the patio and getting away with it"

The thing I don't mind, not really. You cannot force someone to consider you and remember every promise they made to you. I mean, that would look like a loving, devoted, considerate, romantic husband, wouldn't it? And when we grow up, we realise that sort of husband only exists in Hollywood films of the 1950s.

When I was little my ideal husbands in no particular order were; Cary Grant, Burt Lancaster and Spenser Tracey. Demon lovers and raging romantics in every film they were in. To me, that was the sign of a real man. Now, I realise those sort of husbands are only provided by screen-writers and not real life.

There will be no services for the little piece of me that died over the past three years. It is probably best unmourned anyway.

Oh he did get me something for my 29th, when he asked me what I wanted, I said a decent draughts board we could use together. So he got me a cardboard one with the price still on from a toy shop.

Men, eh?

Vacancies open

2008-04-08T00:02:00.005Z

News on the BBC News-site that Crocodile blood may be the source of powerful antibiotics to use in the fight against human infections.

Australian Adam Britton and US expert Mark Merchant spent the last fortnight combing the Northern Territory for salt and freshwater crocs.

It has been known for some time that these animals heal serious injuries rapidly and almost without infection.

Recent tests have shown alligator blood has strong antibacterial powers.

Ok, so just one issue - who is going to run the donor station to collect the blood? Anyone seen this man lately?

Man's inhumanity to man

2008-03-28T16:29:00.005Z

When we first looked around the current Fiennes' towers, it smelled very strongly of damp. There was even a slimy black plant growing on a wet patch above one of the kitchen cupboards. "Nothing to worry about" said the Estate Agent "the last couple who wanted to buy this house had a survey done and everything came back fine, there is nothing to worry about, this house is ready to move into"

So four months and several tens of thousands of pounds later, the builders moved out. They had removed the mould, the damp, the rotting floorboards, the damp joists, the cracked damp plaster, the dangerous electrics, the near-dead boiler, the leaking bath, the inadequate plumbing, and the broken windows leaving behind a house that was fit for humans to move into rather than ducks.

Unfortunately, I never got the little weasel's statement about the house being "in perfect order" in writing. Silly me that I didn't. We did get our own survey done by an expert in old houses but even he only identified half the problems "it is impossible to know what you will find until you take up floorboards" is a quote that will haunt me for life.

I had thought such bare-faced and expensive lies were as bad as estate agents/letting agents got.
HAH!

This appeared on the BBC News today:
Dead girl's rent 'must be paid'

A County Armagh couple whose daughter died while at university in Liverpool have been told they must pay for her accommodation for the rest of the year.

The letting agent involved is claiming that because the girl's parents acted as guarantors on the lease, they are liable for the debt.

Sinn Féin's Mickey Brady said the agent's demand was "very unfair".

Mr Brady said the Bessbrook family had received demands for rent owed since her death and threats of legal action.

"The agent is quite clearly arguing that the young girl, because of her sudden death in January, has breached the lease agreement and is demanding that the rent be paid in full," he said.

How fucking low and despicable is that? Even the IRA, sorry Sinn Fein, think it is a shit thing to do and there goes a group who are not aiming for the Nobel peace prize.

That Letting agent is someone's son or daughter and I tell you something, if they were mine, I would disown them out of pure shame. They say what goes around comes around and if that is true, there is something awful coming around for that little toad and that whole letting company and the sooner the better.

Oh and if my Mum reads this, sorry for swearing.

Conversations of note

2008-03-24T23:22:00.007Z

Some conversations motivate us, some scare us, some force us to look into ourselves in ways that make us feel uncomfortable, some challenge us and some make us deeply happy or sad.

Here is an example of a conversation I have just had:

Me: "Are you loading the dishwasher before bed?"
(What I really mean: "It is your damm job and I have washed and folded all your previously stinky jocks and socks this weekend")

Him: "If you want"
(What he really means: "Eughhhh, buuuuuuttttt, I am watching a Bond film that I have ONLY seen four times before")

Me: "Ok" (Exit front room stage left)
(What I really mean: "Aaaaaaaaghhhh, I do the clothes washing without being reminded, I cook the dinner without being reminded, so why do you turn me into your Mother and make me ask you so load the damm dishwasher? The blooming dishwasher wouldn't work either unless I had called the engineer out to fix it but was I thanked? - oh no!")

Me: (Returning to front room a few seconds later) "No of course, I don't want you to do it. I want you to sit in front of James Bond all night. Feel absolutely free to leave the washing up there for me to do in the morning as well as dressing and feeding the kids"
(What I really mean: "Do it or I will dump the whole mess of dishes and the washing up bowl on your head in the morning")

Right now, I can hear the dishwasher being loaded. I guess that was a motivating conversation then. To think some men think they don't understand what a woman is saying. Tsk.

Hypocrisy

2008-03-11T00:25:00.009Z

In 1969, a Roman Catholic priest called Eamon Casey was ordained Bishop of Kerry. He was known as a good man who championed charities helping Irish emigrants in

Britain

, he loudly supported the supermarket workers who refused to handle produce from apartheid South Africa in the 1980s. He was also a ferociously loud critic of US foreign policy in Nicaragua and as a result refused to meet Ronald Reagan when he came to visited Ireland. He, working alongside Des Wilson, founded the homeless charity Shelter.

I said 'was known'.

Unnnnnnnnfortunately, as well as a publicly moral persona, the Bishop also had a private sexual persona. This private self had a relationship with an American woman. This relationship produced a son, Peter, born the same year as me.

As the Irish joke went at the time, at least he didn't sin twice and use a condom. That would have been hypocritical.

In a completely unrelated story with Catholicism at its centre, the Vatican has updated the traditional seven deadly sins by adding a further seven modern mortal sins it claims are becoming commonplace in what it calls an era of "unstoppable globalisation".

Those newly risking eternal punishment include:

Drug trafficking and consumption (So I guess there is no room here for the difference between the drugs produced by AAPharmacuticalsLtd for pain relief and the little old lady growing a bit of something for pain relief

Scientists who manipulate human genes (I think this is a subject which should be open to educated debate without the hysteria of religion)

Violation of fundamental rights of human nature (Hmmmm, WHO gets to define what the fundamental rights are?)

Those who commit environmental pollution (According to the standards of China, America or the UK? Again, who decides what constitutes environmental pollution? I once took a poo behind a hedge a few hours after eating instant noodles, would it have been less of a sin had I eaten organic vegetables for my preceding meal?)

Inflicting poverty (Can't disagree with this one)

and now my own personal favorite; Accumulating excessive wealth.
So I am guessing, the Vatican will be quickly shedding the estimated $10-$15 BILLION dollars of assets that it pays no income tax on then.

After all, who wants to be accused of hypocrisy?

The Catechism of the Catholic Church states that "immediately after death the souls of those who die in a state of mortal sin descend into Hell". So either, there will be the sale of the century in Rome soon or a rush to the confessional that will make Roger Bannister's four minute mile look like the effort of a toddler who has just learned to walk or hell is going to be the party destination for those who like to party in pointy hats.

Somedays

2008-03-04T00:08:00.009Z

Ours

2008-03-02T00:45:00.003Z

Happy Mother's day :)

Is there a phone call you have to make?

Why Mother knows best

2008-03-02T00:29:00.005Z

David invited his mother over for dinner. During the course of the meal, David's mother couldn't help but keep noticing how beautiful David's roommate, Helen, was.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two react, she started to wonder if there was more between David and Helen than met the eye. Reading his Mum's thoughts, David volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you Helen and I are just roommates."

About a week later, Helen came to David saying, "Ever since your mother came to dinner, I've been unable to find the beautiful silver gravy ladle. You don't suppose she took it, do you?" David said, "Well, I doubt it, but I'll send her an e-mail just to be sure.

So he sat down and wrote:
Dear Mum: I'm not saying that you "did" take the gravy ladle from the house, I'm not saying that you "did not" take the gravy ladle. But the fact remains that one has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Love,
David

Several days later, David received an email back from his mother that read:
Dear Son: I'm not saying that you "do" sleep with Helen, I'm not saying that you "do not" sleep with Helen. But the fact remains that if Helen was sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the gravy ladle by now.
Love,
Mum

French military victories

2008-02-24T14:56:00.002Z

Enter French military victories into Google

Hit 'I'm feeling lucky'

Snigger.....

Now look at the address of the page you have opened

It is not Google

It is the web-page of someone who will never get laid in France .... ever!

Ireland really wants to win the Eurovision this year

2008-02-24T13:29:00.006Z

and I write that with all the sincerity of Mark Anthony's insistence that Brutus was an honourable man ...

"But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man… "

Ireland has won the annual glitter and sequins fest seven times since it was started in 1956 and it was rumoured at once point that the national television station was pulling its hair out wondering how to afford to stage yet another lavish spectacle.

Yes Ireland is this year putting forward a turkey as its entrant and I am sure Ireland really wants to win.

Most of the world will be blissfully unaware of who Dustin is. Even I, who grew up watching him on Irish children's television, sometimes feel the need for an on-screen translation for his thick Dublin accent.

Yes Ireland is this year putting forward a turkey as its entrant and I am sure Ireland really wants to win.

In Ireland, Dustin has a distinguished pop career and has already released 14 singles and 6 albums but it in politics that he has made his strongest impact.

There is a strange rule in Ireland that you can only be a turkey in human form in order to enter politics. Turkey birds and turkey puppets are not allowed although this has not stopped the irrepressible beaky Dubliner. He has run mock campaigns to become the next president of Ireland and now a custom has built up of people, unimpressed with the candidates on offer to enter 'Dustin' or 'Dustin the Turkey' on the ballot paper.

Yes Ireland is this year putting forward a turkey as its entrant and I am sure Ireland really wants to win.

You may think spoiling your vote in this way is an immature way of giving the fingers to the political parties but when you heard that Dustin once promised (if elected) to make sure every young boy in Ireland got to go on a date with the Spice Girl of their choice, you can kind of see the logic.

Yes Ireland is this year putting forward a turkey as its entrant and I am sure Ireland really wants to win.

It is just that I am not sure that other countries will get the joke (or the accent) and I think that is what the thinking behind Dustin "winning" (cough) the public (choke) vote (ahem....) was. I think it is someone stealing a plotline from a comedy, namely the Father Ted episode 'Song for Europe'. Let's rig the vote, pick the biggest turkey (literally) and let some other country (suckers!) worry about putting the sacred mess together. Ok, I'm joking. I have to say that or I might be sued for libellously suggesting that the organisers of the vote were corrupt.

Be funny if I was right though, wouldn't it?

But as I have said many times before: Yes Ireland is this year putting forward a turkey as its entrant and I am sure Ireland really wants to win.

If I am right (and I am sure I am not if there are any solicitors who specialise in libel reading this) in fairness, it is a slightly less transparent plan than the ruse to lose they employed last year when they chose a stinker as opposed to a fowl to represent Ireland.

Can you imagine what Terry Wogan ,who once said of a particuliar pair of Eurovision presenters, "Thank God we've all had a few drinks - if anyone can kill a crowd these two can", is going to say about this one?

Mood board

2008-02-23T07:45:00.000Z

Did anyone see the total lunar eclipse this morning?

2008-02-21T17:00:00.009Z

A full lunar eclipse only happens when the earth passes directly between the sun and moon -- a spectacular sight that won't happen again until December of 2010.

I got all excited when I read it was on Feb.21st then I read time it was due to happen at and realised, dammit! I missed it too :(

So courtsey of the NY Times, here is what we all missed:

It doesn't really look like it is made of cheese, does it?

Business is slow

2008-02-19T16:26:00.007Z

I knew it!

See this post I wrote a few days ago giving out about companies replacing technology and standards in electronics almost as soon as they are in the shops. Then guess what has happened today? Toshiba has announced their decision to no longer develop, make or market high-definition HD DVD players and recorders. See here for Wired article.

I love the way it is presented as all being in the interest of the consumer. The article says:

"In making the announcement, Toshiba Corp. President Atsutoshi Nishida said
he wanted to avoid confusion among consumers. The decision was relatively
quick, coming just several years after the competing technologies arrived."

Yes, "relatively quick" is now redefined as "just several years" in corpospeakedness so that is all right then.

All right for everyone who bought blu-ray as their choice of film player. Not so all right for those 1 million North Americans who went with HD-DVD players.

So under the circumstances, the decent thing would be for Toshiba to recall all HD DVD players on the shelves of major retailers at the moment as in time, there will be no newly released DVDs released on compatible media to play in the players. It would also be gosh-darned-super-duper-ickle-fairy-darn-tooting-moral of them to take back the HD DVD players already sold to soon-to-be-disgruntled customers.

Well neither of those is going to happen.

"Toshiba said shipments of HD DVD machines to retailers will be reduced and
will stop by the end of March."

I suppose it is some sort of improvement on the Betamax/VHS battle where it took Sony 10 years to stop making the players.

Like I said. Business is slow ... to be fair to the consumer. Not so slow on charging a premium for emerging technologies though. Nor not so slow to keep money for recently redundant technology. No sireee.

A tale of pot-bellied pigs, a night in a pub, ploughed fields and friendship.

2008-02-18T13:35:00.012Z

I lost a very good friend Sybil to cancer a few years ago. She was German and survived growing up as a small child in post-war Berlin.

In her mid-40's she moved to the Cork countryside where she was the terror of every local Romeo who came into the flower shop she worked in. "You are buying ROSES for your girlfriend? Wat hav you done - had ze affair or lost ze imagination??"

My favourite memory of her is seeing her standing on Middleton High Street, surveying the chaos of a typical Saturday around her and yelling out in a very loud voice "these DAMM Irish, zey do not park ze cars, zey ABANDON dem!"

For all her exterior toughness, she had a heart of gold, a wicked sense of humour and was one of the best dog-handlers I have ever seen.

She was not so hot however with pot-bellied pigs. Hers escaped and had to be chased across several muddy fields by torchlight.

How could you not love a woman who greeted you on the walk home from the pub with the words "get your torches, the pigs are out!”? A few Friday night pints of Guinness only carries your good mood across so many ploughed fields and ditches. Typical of Sybil though, she had whiskey indoors that night which was distributed with Irish generosity to the pig-chasing posse once the bandits had been recaptured.

I am still wondering who was the tall handsome middle-aged man was who came to see her in hospital when she was there in her last days. I thought from the look of him he was a farmer. I even went as far as to speculate he was someone who she was very intimate with. I only got as far as looking him up and down before I was shoo-ed out of the room for his visit. When I came back, I never asked and she never told but she had a very naughty glint in her eye.

Everywoman is allowed to keep her secrets but I would give my eye teeth to know what the story was there.

So in memory of my friend, the well-loved one-woman German scourge of a small Irish community, I am going to do a sponsored race to raise funds for cancer research. I am just grateful there are no pigs or coverts involved. Unless the Blackheath race for life organisers have some very perverse ideas for race routes!

Anyone wanting to give a £1 can use the link above and it would be very much appreciated.

;)

E

Futureproofing

2008-02-11T13:02:00.000Z

My Aunt's radio from the 1940s needs a small piece of bell-shaped china to work which is no longer manufactured.

My first laptop bought in 1998 is not of a high enough spec to run the Windows operating systems for sale today.

If I bought an analogue television in the 1990s, it would not work with the new digital standard which everyone will have to use come 2012.

The mobile phone I was upgraded to 2 years ago will not work with the mobile phone charger that I had three years before that even though the company that made them is the same one.

The Video tapes of the last 30 years will not play in DVD players of the last 10.

In a united assault on the consumer pocket, the big boys of the consumer world Apple, Dell, Hitachi, HP, JVC, LG, Mitsubishi, Panasonic, Pioneer, Philips, Samsung, Sharp, Sony, TDK and Thomson have come up with the new Blu-ray technology. Naturally, DVDs will not play in the Blu-ray players unless you install a "DVD compatible optical pickup unit" (price as yet unknown). Blu-ray disks will not play in playstations or Wii players.

Sod.the.lot.of.them. I'm sticking with lego.

Did you know that the first batch of lego was produced over 50 years ago and pieces made in that year will still interlock with pieces made yesterday? Now, that is futureproofing.

I am also keeping the DVD player until it falls to bits. The video player still works and I bought that as a first year in college (14 years ago)

Facebooking the awful truth

2008-02-07T15:14:00.000Z

Dailymail article on facebook in which they blab on about the site being addictive, time-wasting, playing to people’s insecurities, yah yah yah.

1) If a person has an addictive nature, they will find their fix in something, be it a TV show, gambling or facebook. You cannot stop all the horseracing events in the world because ‘Micky’ spends all his wages betting on them nor should you shut down social networking because GROWN-UPS haven’t got self-control or a sense of proportion.

2) It is time wasting. NO. It is something which passes the time, as is TV, going on holiday, having a drink, running a race. All things we do in order to facilitate the inevitable march of time until we are buried or cremated. Getting sanctimonious because someone isn’t spending all his or her time chanting or saving the world must be a very boring exercise. If people want to wile away the hours between now and death on facebook, good luck to them.

3) If you are so bloody insecure that seeing a photo of your partner on facebook beside someone else is going to send you into jealousy orbit; Stop looking at facebook, ask your partner to deny having any past relationships and don’t open any of their old (on or offline) photo albums. Now, you will be happy. You are also an idiot but some things are beyond my advice.

4) Boy/girl friend tracing your every move on facebook? Close your facebook account and open a Bebo or myspace account. Better still, do the former and not the latter. Take a train to somewhere miles away from home and go on a cycle from there. Smile as you imagine them twisting their tail trying to ‘track’ you. Enjoy the feeling of not being tracked and give up on social networking. If it bothers you that someone can trace you, then don't do it in the first place.

After all, we could use IM to send messages to each other until 2 in the morning wasting hours of our lives but we don't ... because we have facebook inboxes and walls to post messages on.

We could use profile sites like MSN and Yahoo to check out the stats of boys or girls we like, but we don't because we have facebook profiles to browse.

We could use sites like photobucket or flickr to check out the photos of the lives of our friends but we don’t because we have Facebook photos to peruse.

We could waste time in work by going to talk to our colleagues about something work related which descends into a one hour chat about our families but why do this in person when we can do it through facebook?

We could waste time on the sofa expanding my arse in front of the telly but instead we do in front of the computer on my desk chair logged into facebook.

I could sit beside my husband on his laptop all evening not saying a word except the occasional acknowledging grunt to something I have said which he didn’t really hear anyway because Xanan67 (Los Ang) was typing something crucial into his real-time IM at the time but I don’t as I now have facebook.

Facebook – just like real life except no-one ignores you. It is just that some of those wanting to pay attention to you are twits.

You can restrict your profile you know. It is so funny that so many of us have caller screening on our mobile phones and landlines but we allow any idiot to see deeply and intimately into our lives on social networking sites but we do not take advantage of the ability to do the same online.

Why I love my kids - reason no. 344567892

2008-01-20T02:45:00.001Z

So, this is a jigsaw of 2200 pieces which Jack's G'pa (Grandad F.) was doing with the help (and hindrance) of many family members over Christmas. It lived in the drawing room of their house.

Jack (5) was in the room when the jigsaw was in about 1987 pieces.

He managed to put two pieces correctly together. Then he tried to add a third piece which clearly couldn't fit into the slot he was attempting to enter it into.

"Bollox" he said.

I thought to myself in my Egyptian river way "there is no way he said what I thought he said" I continued to think this until he repeated it again ... 10 seconds later.

"Bollox!" he said in a high 5-year-old voice as clear as the Midday bells from Wells Cathedral.

His Grandfather looked up from the jigsaw as I ushered Jack out of the room 'for a chat'. (I have a policy of not ticking the children off in front of anyone who doesn't live in our house)

So we sat in the television room. "Jack" I said. "Where did you hear that word?"

" 'Schoolfriend' says it all the time" was the reply. 'Schoolfriend' has an older brother and two older sisters so all sorts of things get carried from their bedrooms to the schoolyard Jack runs around in. I accept this as it is the way of the world.

"You can't say that word" I said. "It is a very rude word. Do you know what it means?"

"Nooooooo..." came the big blue-eyed reply.

So I told him about the body part that b-ox referred to, about how people hated children saying bad words as it made them think they were naughty children and how talking like that would make G'Pa sad as he would not want to have a rude grandson.

Yes, trowel, it was laid on, with a.

I ended it by saying "You have to go back in there and say 'Sorry' to G'Pa for being rude Jack'

He pouted but marched back in to where his Grandfather was sat over the jigsaw. I followed him and watched as he stood for a moment, drew his shoulders back and sucked in his breath.

"Sorry for saying bollox G'Pa" he announced.

I stopped dead, backed out of the room and dropped to my knees giggling helplessly in the hallway.

There is nothing as guileless or beguiling as a child.

Walking to work in London

2007-12-10T15:02:00.002Z

Jam and spoon please

2007-12-10T12:48:00.001Z

This is a real recording of schoolchildren who are presumably Catholic but I don't really know, primary (infant) pupils in an inner city Dublin school telling new testament stories in their own words.

Give it a minute to download and then listen to the wonderful innocence of it all.

You realise that we adults have religion and our attitude to living backwards. We should learn about religion until we are teenagers and then get kicked OUT of the church as adults not confirmed in.

Kids have their relationship with God sorted, it is grownups who pervert it for their own ends which very rarely have anything to do with peace on Earth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

40 years ago Stuart Hample asked just one question to a Nun.

In 1961 Hample was an author talking to students at St. Augustine's School in Larchmont, N.Y., about his book called 'The Silly Book' which had just been published. As he was leaving, he said to one of the Sisters "What do you think would happen if I asked them to write to God?" She didn't have a ready answer for him.

A couple of weeks later and his first set of letters complete with the Children's answers arrived from that same Nun. Hample went to the town's synagogue to ask for more. He went on asking in other schools, churches and houses.

"Maybe it was the hand of God. I don't know," said Hample, looking back on the start of what was to become an amazing journey. The questions--and comments--of small voices became Children's Letters to God, with editions published in 1967, 1968 and 1991 and sales of about 1.5 million copies.

"I wanted them to confront God as only a child can do," he said. "They're very open and truthful."

His publisher, Simon & Schuster, was dubious, refusing to give an advance, just royalties. The last laugh is on them as Hemple is still receiving royalties from that first 1967 edition.

"The first quote here is his personal favorite:

"Dear GOD,Instead of letting people die and having to make new ones,why don't you just keep the ones you have?--Amy"

"That went right to my sense of mortality and life," Hample says. "We would never say that. We would be afraid to, but we would think it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was one of the tragedies of my adult life to realise I no longer had the clarity and logic which are the thought processes of a child. "I eat jam because I like jam" suddenly develops
into "I don't eat jam because jam means toast which means carbs which mean getting fat which means I have to get bigger jeans which means I have to find the money for that. You know sometimes, I should just eat the damm jam with a spoon and forget about everything else.

What does it say of a mindset that pollutes pleasures with consequences?

The Irish poets WB Yeats and Patrick Kavanagh may have been at odds with their description of the Irish countryside of the early 20th century. Yeats described it as romantic and metaphysical. Kavanagh (who grew up working the land) described it as earthy and harsh.

.... but they both agreed the loss of innocence is something worth mourning.

Yeats wrote of his open jealousy of a small child dancing carelessly on a beach in 'To a Child dancing in the Wind ';

"O you will take whatever’s offered
And dream that all the world’s a friend....

.....But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue"

Kavanagh wrote of how bitter the loss of the innocence by sheer fact of over-living reduced the novelty of all new experiences in life in 'Advent';

"We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder."

Today I am just going to eat the jam .... as soon as I can find a clean spoon but then I should really do all the washing up and not just one spoon. If I am going to wash, I should do the drying too and if I am going to do all that, I should clean the crockery presses, I've only been putting it off for six months.

Perhaps I'll take the jam to the park and eat it off my fingers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Below follow a section of of my personal favorite "Dear God..." quotes

Dear GOD,Maybe Cain and Abel would not kill each other so much if they had their own rooms. It works with my brother.--Larry

Dear GOD,I bet it is very hard for You to love all of everybody in the whole world. There are only 4 people in our family and I can never do it.--Nan

Dear GOD,In school they told us what You do. Who does it when You are on vacation?--Jane

Dear GOD,I read the Bible. What does "begat" mean? Nobody will tell me.--Alison

Dear GOD,Are You really invisible or is it just a trick?--Lucy

Dear GOD,Is it true my father won't get in Heaven if he uses his bowling words in the house?--Anita

Dear GOD,Did You mean for the giraffe to look like that or was it an accident?--Norma

Dear GOD,I went to this wedding and they kissed right in Church. Is that okay?--Neal

Dear GOD,Did You really mean "do unto others as they do unto you?" because if You did, then I'm going to fix my brother.--Darla

Dear GOD,Thank you for the baby brother, but what I prayed for was a puppy.--Joyce

Dear GOD,It rained for our whole vacation and is my father mad! He said some things about You that people are not supposed to say, but I hope you will not hurt him anyway. --Your friend,(I am not going to tell You who I am.)

Dear GOD,Why is Sunday school on Sunday? I thought it was supposed to be our day of rest.--Tom L.

Dear GOD,If You give me a genie like Aladdin, I will give You anything You want, except my money or my chess set.--Raphael

Dear GOD,My brother is a rat! You should give him a tail. Ha ha!--Danny

Dear GOD,I want to be just like my Daddy when I get big but not with so much hair all over.--Tom

Dear GOD,Of all the people who work for You I like Noah and David the best.--Rob

Dear GOD,My brother told me about being born but it doesn't sound right. He's just kidding, isn't he?--Marsha

Dear GOD,I would like to live 900 years like the guy in the Bible.-- Love Chris

Dear GOD,We read Thomas Edison made light! But in Sunday school they said You did it. So I bet he stole your idea.--Sincerely, Donna

Dear GOD,The bad people laughed at Noah-, "You made an ark on dry land you fool." But he was smart, he stuck with You. That's what I would do.--Eddie

Dear GOD,I didn't think orange went with purple until I saw the sunset You made on Tuesday. That was cool.--Eugene

Ex-squeeze me?

2007-10-21T21:18:00.000Z

So a woman in the US goes to the dentist. He looks in her mouth. Say "Aahh ah ah ah ahahahaaaa" he says. He fondles her breasts UNDER HER SHIRT having diagnosed TMJ - temporo-mandibular joint disorder - a common enough jaw problem. He maintains 'copping a feel', sorry breast massage, will bring pain relief for the condition.

I've wiki'ed TMJ. Funny enough:
there is no mention of under-blouse breast massage as pain relief for this condition on there, there is no mention of over-blouse breast massage as pain relief for this condition on there,
in fact there is no mention of massage at all as a recommended method of pain-relief.

One woman went back six times wearing tighter and tighter jumpers so he would find it harder to get his hands up 'there'. Ignoring the simple-mindedness of such a presumption or the mercenary afterthought (if there was one) SIX FLIPPING TIMES?????? How desperate do you have to be to have someone look after your teeth that you put up with being molested for the privilege?

The accused (allegedly, as he is currently on trial) managed to do this to 27 women before he was reported and charged.

Here in the UK, the Guardian reported "Large numbers of people are going without dental treatment and some even report extracting their own teeth because they cannot find an NHS dentist in their area, a survey reveals today"

The report went on: "..... 6% of the respondents said they were self-treating, which often included pulling out their own troublesome teeth. "Fourteen teeth have had to be removed by myself using pliers," said one Lancashire respondent. "Have pulled teeth out before, easier than finding a dentist," said one in Hull. "Because I could not afford the treatment cost, I had to extract my own tooth on one occasion," said one in Harrow. "I took most of my teeth out in the shed with pliers. I have one to go," said another in Wiltshire.
Some of the respondents show considerable ingenuity. "Filled own teeth - clove oil and Polyfilla," said one in Essex. Another fixed a crown with Superglue and a third used a screwdriver to scrape off plaque..."

This has to be all backwards. Surely it is the women patients of the good (sic) dentist in the US who should have be applying the pliers and the people of the UK should be returning again and again to their MPs to demand the dental care they are entitled to?

Because (yes, I know not to start a sentence with 'because' but this is my blog. So, if you want to go somewhere there are no sentences starting with 'because' then read /start yer own) if a dentist did that to me EVEN ONCE, I would go back.

Oh yes, I would, my Mother did not raise a coward (a work-shy shirker occasionally and a terrible grammartician more often than not) but never a coward. I would go back and I would bring a pliers and I would teach that sob a thing or two about being molested

Fortunately I am in the position of having a dentist who trained to be a vet and then decided to become a dentist looking after the ElizaF nashers. If I did have a complaint about the methodology of scraping / cleaning / filling (which I do not) of the excellent Dr. O'Conner, I am sure I would keep it to myself. She may have a pair of those things for filing the teeth of horse lying around somewhere.

Un-uniform behaviour

2007-09-19T23:11:00.000Z

I have no objection to a woman having a wild night out. In fact with society being so hard on a girl, that is to say not knowing to adore us as a Madonna or whore (or both), then who can blame a woman for being someone who wants to run a house by day and let their hair down a few times a month?

If you are Lindsey Lohan (childless) or Amy Winehouse (childless) there is a certain media "ooh, look what the naughty girl has done now" attitude ......

If you are Kate Moss (1 child) or Britney Spears (2 children) there are media cries of "unfit Mother" ...

I deplore this double standard. Mothers are allowed to let their hair down too you know. They just can't be as spontaneous about it as their childless (brainless) counterparts. Until this week, I has been a sympathiser of Kate Moss too. No-one can do everything she is supposed to get up to and still be alive.... right?

Yes, I said, until this week.

However, Kate Moss wearing a priceless vintage Dior silk gown does come in for a slapped wrist...

What a terrible thing to happen to such a beautiful dress.

The planning and the work that go into couture gowns make them works of art.

It is shameful that this woman, who knows the work that goes into the garment allows this to happen. Perhaps she should stick to shellsuits in future.

It is hard to imagine Isabella Blow treating a Philiph Treacy hat or Amanda Harlech treating a Chanel suit in this awful manner.

What is she going to do next, pee in the fountains of the Taj Mahal, stub out a cigarette on the Mona Lisa or flush a virgin mobile phone down a public loo?

'Cos there is nothing like biting the hand that feeds you AND ruining a work of art (mobile phones excepted) in the progress.

Ruin one, ruin all eh?

Bloody breeders ....

2007-08-30T08:54:00.001Z

Last evening, the kids went with the crumblies to the countryside.

It was all very busy, emotional and kissy-wissy seeing them off. Husband-person and I held hands and waved after them with misty eyes and forlorn faces.

Then the car disappeared around the corner.

"Pub?" said husband shaped person. He was talking to empty air as I sprinted inside to grab my purse.

So we went to Blackheath and entered a den of ill-repute licenced to sell alcoholic beverages etc. Then in a fit of alcohol-inspired bravado, we went to town on the train. Yes, town, out where the single and child-less people go to socialise. We went to Charing Cross blinking in the strange and glamorous street lights and glowing neon signs and trying not too look too surprised when the doorman of a salubrious looking gay underground drinking den actually let us in.

My open-eyed childlike wonder of this alien world soon evaporated when I realised that the reason for the locked door in the loos was related to the fact that couple inside were busily involved in doing the wild thing.

So I put on my best Mummy voice (which is a mixture of Ann Widdicombe and Lauren Bacall) and yelled:
"Get out, you can do that anywhere, I need the toilet NOW!"

..... and tried not to look too amazed when it worked. Out walked a sheepish looking man and woman.

hah, result.

"Disgusting" said a tall Queen behind me. "Where do they think they are?"
"Breeders, eh?" I replied betraying my orientation before I nipped into the cubicle and relieved my immediate need.

So now I am in work thinking unkind things about that last bottle of beer that I just had to have (it was the rotten one of the night) and longing for my bed. Not my bed with a husband-shaped lump in it. What do you think I am? A breeder?

Unrecognised artforms

2007-08-28T19:43:00.001Z

A study claims that between the ages of 20 and 40 people lose about one friend every year.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6958227.stm

Theodore Zeldin, who has spent a lifetime studying friendships, wants to celebrate his 74th birthday with everyone - but only if you promise to have a proper conversation with a stranger.

Professor Zeldin, the president of the Oxford Muse foundation, is a philosopher, historian and public speaker says the idea of friendship has, over the centuries, changed radically and has created a new pressing issue for humanity - the need for real conversation. It is not new lands we need to be discovering but other people's thoughts. "I think we have less and less time for conversation," he says.

I'm amazed by the number of women...who come to me and say 'I just can't find men who are able to talk' . What have we rebelled against? When have we felt isolated? What have been our most difficult conversations?

Hmmmmmm......

Now I am sure that the good professor is a very learned man. I am sure he applies experience, studying, reading and thought into all his conclusions.

However the simple fact is; I disagree with him.

I am not a woman who wants men who are able to spew forth on their rebellions, their isolation, their difficult conversations. If I had someone in front of me carrying on like that, I would baulk, walk away and leave them talking to themselves. Therefore, yes I know, creating a new example for their witterings.

The art of smalltalk or "talking shite" (pron. s(w)hite, where the w is silent) is an artform in itself. The willingness to engage in seemingly trivial chatter in person, on the phone or even on IM is something of a gift. One person's ability to pick their subject, add to it and to listen for a reply is worth ten thousand people holding forth meaningfully.

There are two men in a room. You know neither, one talks to you about his lonely years between Maya who left him to run an international hotel chain and Gabrielle who "was lovely, but wasn't Maya". One talks to you about something that was on the telly last night. You go for a drink. Which one do you come back and talk to?

Why, the funnier and better looking one of course.

Professor Zeldin has got it wrong, is it not quality of subject matter than is important to most women. It is the method of presentation and most women do not want heavy subjects delivered to them with a jackhammer. Einstein was clever but the pose that makes the poster was him sticking out his tongue.

He may have concluded and proven that E = mc2 but people remember him more readily for: "If A is a success in life, then A equals x plus y plus z. Work is x; y is play; and z is keeping your mouth shut" or my own personal favorite: "You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in New York and his head is meowing in Los Angeles. Do you understand this? And radio operates exactly the same way: you send signals here, they receive them there. The only difference is that there is no cat"

These are deep notions presented trivially, the very essence of talking shite. Contrast Einstein to Freud: "Every normal person, in fact, is only normal on the average. His ego approximates to that of the psychotic in some part or other and to a greater or lesser extent"

Now who would you rather go for a pint with?

Ooooohhhhhh

2007-08-06T15:16:00.001Z

When I was 19, I had long hair, a tiny waist and absolutely no usable braincells what so ever.

One year myself and my housemates decided to go to the Castlebar music festival. Now in Ireland, prior to Oxygen and The Eclectic Picnic, there was the aforementioned CMF and the Fleadh, and that was our lot as regards music festivals. One as much as the other "featured" just as many dodgy folk acts who learned to play the fiddle (badly) only last week as they featured decent musicians worth listening to.

The thing was, outside of the capital, there was no need to go to these big festivals to hear the big acts as they all played in local pubs which charged £0 on the door locally and £3 for the pricier venues.The £3'ers HAD to be good. FFS, money had been paid to hear them and Corkmen (and women) do not part with money easily.

Anyhow, Paul Brogan (who is incapable of using email) and Claire "Lovelyperson" (cos I can't remember her real name) Manu Nadal and Barbie Curly (don't ask), Paul's brother and I took the green seated rural train to Castlebar to the Fleadh one Summers afternoon in 1997.

And it rained...And we went to a pub...And it kept raining.....And we had a drink... And it kept raining .... And we kept drinking .... And we kept drinking with occasional wanderings into the land of talking shite....

Then we went to the concert where the only acts I remember are The Saw Doctors (excellent) and The Divine Comedy (sublime)

Later on in the evening, I met some Italians, I had previously worked with in Pizza Stop, who were caravanning locally while attending the festival. I sat with them and talked shite for a bit.

Suddleny remembered warnings about last trains to Cork (where I lived), searched for housemates in vain. No housemates to be found anywhere. Realised it was 3am and last train went an hour ago. Went back to look for Italians but no sign of them.

Did a mental juggle:I knew where the train station was. I knew there would be no train until the
milk train (5.30am). The Italians had asked to to stay but I had no idea where they or caravan park were. This was LONG before mobiles and t'internet were commonplace people. Decided to walk to train station. Once there, the kindly signalman took pity on obviously DEMENTED albeit quite sweet female and gave her his coat to sleep under in the signalbox while he slept in the passengers waiting room. The same signalman woke me with the second nicest cup of tea I have ever had in my life 10 mins before the milk train to Cork came the next morning. I think that was the moment that started my love affair with all things trains.

I went to work that day as well. As it was a Sunday, I worked 10 hours in a photocopying shop and 5 hours behind a bar that night. It is shocking how much energy we have to waste when we are young. If only we had the brains to know how to apply it as well

So rush ahead 131 years in my life.

Rup's cousin arranges tickets to a music festival but as we do not have "overnighter babysitters", I committed some emotional blackmail and went there without the husband or small people. Bad Mother. However, I do not pretend to be going for any MOTY awards and as Rups reminded me, it was way back in last September that I last had a night off from Mothering duties. Thanks for that, love.

Once at the festival, I wandered around in the sunshine and I drank this: (a lot)

and some of this afterwards:

Now, despite a jolly good (veggie) one of these at 7.20am:

I still feel a bit (a LOT) like this:

The lesson for the day is that I am no longer young enough to go to music festivals, drink a
bit (or a lot) listen to the Saw Doctors under the sun and go to work like nothing had happened. Now even with the comfort of a Holiday Inn to pour my bones into at the end of an evening's entertainment, I am still completely knackered afterwards.

Boo getting old.

Hooray to having a few more usable brain cells though.

Boo horrid Mummy waistline.

Hooray to wonderful husband and fabulous kids.

ElizaF, picture of a loving caring Mother .... drinking
mineral water as previously stated (ahem...)

What brings you here today?

2007-08-03T14:21:00.000Z

Here are a few of the latest Search Engine searches which bring the unsuspecting to my blog...

Thanks to the "That Vegan B*S*" blog for the idea.

The most popular search is:
Definition of a good parent by a mile. Why not, as it is something all parents worry about. Am I doing enough, should I be doing more, am I doing the (obviously insignifigent) amount I am doing the right way?

tall thin girls hardcore (eughhhhh!!) Yeah as if you are going to find that here. I draw the line somewhere and bags of bones are not sexy. If you had not guessed, I am not a bag of bones. More like a bag of fillet steak :)

dirty photos Natasha kaplinsky (I know your ISP buster!)

Thomson local girl in catsuit, Model in blue catsuit, Thomson local catsuit. Is anyone seeing a theme here), Thomson local directory cat, Blue catsuit Thomson local. Enough with the damm cat searches!!!! - Go to the Thomson website if you want to perv at the model in the tight blue lycra. Jeesch!

Richard Hammond, Did Richard Hammond make it to the Pole? The answer is yes, I think.

Sweet transsexuals, Is Rene Russo transsexual? (Eh?)

John Barrowman, Gay Dr. Who, Is John Barrowman gay? (Like YESSSSS!!!), Barrowman Torchwood gay

So there you go, from parenthood to hardcore skinnies, pervy looking lycra wearing cats, transsexual actresses to the camp Tardis passenger, this blog is your one stop commentary shop.

Cos I is a gowne up .....

2007-08-02T13:33:00.001Z

...... I really like this cartoon .....

Am I suitable for children?

2007-07-10T00:14:00.000Z

Courtsey of Chip Dale, the unrespectable member for blogging, I came accross a link for a site caled Mingle. Oh all right, then, a little vanity mingling was called for so I entered elizaf... etc. into the blog rating calculator.

Based on my habit of talking about homosexuals, blow-jobs, hand-jobs, willies, poo, snot, weird solo sex acts, promises to get my racks out for all to see , transsexuals, matching underwear and the woman in the catsuit for the Thomson ads, I thought my ratings would be quadruple X's.

And what do I get? Does the mere asking of the question stress out the server so much that it explodes at the sheer dirtyness of my blog?

Erm... no.

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

suck (1x)

The mind boggles.

Perserving our pontifications

2007-06-29T13:47:00.000Z

I've been spending a few hours reading (and being intimidated) by the content of "dshr's blog" belonging to one David Rosenthal. He uses the blog to discuss the work he is doing in Digital Preservation.

As far as I can see it, the process of how to save a blog for our coming generations to gasp at in wonder of the simplicity of it all is an area fraught with difficulties:

How do you decide what to save?
Who makes the decision?

What media do you record the bogs to?
Do you keep updating the media every time digital recording media changes or try to preserve the hardware the blogs are readable by?

Do you make the records publicly available?
How long after publication for?

I am not a professional nor someone with a vested interest in the field of in which the Author writes but it does strike me that as honourable as the intention of preserving e-journals is, what is just as important is preserving the media the journals are saved to and ensuring it is constantly transferred as technology changes to ensure the journals can be accessed and referenced.

There are a lot of big decisions to be made and I am glad that I do not have responsibility for making them.

It almost makes me long for the writing on cave walls method of recording representations of day to day life. At least the technology there was never in danger of becoming obsolete. There has not been a lot of changes in the eye - to- wall user compatibility in the last few thousands of years.

Technology simplifies life? I think not but it does keep me in a job and for that I am grateful.

Houses get smaller

2007-06-25T22:17:00.000Z

So Microsoft develop a big feck off computer too big for anyone to fit in their living room (except for Bill Gates)

It's a computer Jim.....

It's a house Scottie ......

Social secretarial duties call

2007-06-25T21:17:00.000Z

How come my children have a better social life than I do?

I mean it, I really need to know.

I am sitting in the cellar / office / laundry room / general dumping room area in our house with a pile of paperwork up to my knees genuinely trying to figure out why my invites for the Summer total one BBQ and a birthday party that I have to get on a plane to Ireland for, yet my children have 12...yes.....12 birthday parties to attend. Once Mummy has taken care of the business of answering the invites of course. After all the Mummies of South East London expect a considered reply rather than the "just turn up with a bottle" attitude of my partying contemporaries.

That is not the only thing bugging me.

I was known in our school circle for having a bit of a rant on the subject of children's parties. The exact phrase I used was "present reaping exercise" This 'who can be seen to be buying what for whom' trend is ridiculous.

Last Summer I dug my heels in, I banned presents and told anyone turning up they could bring a contribution towards the party if they liked but if they brought anything in the way of toys, I would throw them, the guests, out. So we blew up the pool, turned on the hose-pipes, distributed a few cheepie water pistols, warmed up the BBQ, cooked the ton of salmon that was contributed and guzzled some vino under the heat of a lovely London Summer day. Result: cheap party, wet kids, wet daddies, everyone stuffed to the guilds with good food, Mummy well oiled on white wines and there was a burnt pizza somewhere along the line. (Hey, I didn't say it was a perfect party)

As the Grand-daughter of two farming families, this is as fancy as I get but tends not to be quite good enough for the Mummy brigade around here, not that I really care. Getting into a "mine is bigger than yours" competition with the skinny dyed blond Jeep drivers of SE3 is not my thing and I refuse to change my stance on that even if I am working this year.

Chateau d'cardboard and paddling pools are open for visiting mid-July. If you bring any toys, I will feed them to you.

Now where was I? Oh yes, "Dear Simone de Monsterrate the 3rd, we would love to come to your party being held in the large dining hall of the Royal buildings in Greenwich park...."

London 2012 Logo - fairy story

2007-06-06T19:50:00.000Z

Once upon a time there was a lovely logo for the London 2012 Olympics of the Olympic colours in the shape of the Thames ribboning its way through the numbers 2012.

Very striking, very simple. Told the story.

Then some ad executives watched a lot bad 80's pop videos, drank a lot of Moosehead beer and when they woke up the next morning and realised why the Canadian beer is so-called, they decided to take their hungover tempers out on the people of London by stiffing them to the tune of £40-500,000 (depending on which paper you read) for a new logo.

These naughty execs also thought it would be a jolly wheeze to make the colours flash and change therefore alienating the epileptics from looking at it. Although in retrospect, this may be an unintended kindness.

Then the people of London said: "this logo sucks" in a chorus of MANY voices. Although one person (me) realised it was more of a hand job than a blow ....

So the executives said "well you'll learn to like it" and "get used to it".

As time passes people just hate it more and more.

The end. Really.

Cure for aids announced

2007-02-20T21:54:00.000Z

Best of all it is herbal and not a sick-educing cocktail of drugs like so many chemical cures for other complaints nowadays.

This sounds the best thing ever, a miracle, a blessing, the answer to the prayers of so many sufferers and their families and much more than my humble oratory can ever express.

wowowowowowo wooooow woooow and other such expressions of delight.

Unfortunately this non-cure is none of those things. Neither a cure nor a miracle. Although I sincerely wish it was.

In Ireland, there is a tradition of the Faith Healer. The men or women who travel around with their ministries curing people of their ailments with 'the touch' and prayers over those affected. The cruellest part of their act was to tell those who dared to say the cure did not work that the reason it did not work was because their faith in God was not strong enough and this was their punishment.

These healers rely on the age-old trick of psychological manipulation. All they do is convince people that they have cured others and suddenly the latest believer is cured. It is a great show but Bobo the part-time elephant trainer in the big top is more likely to cure you than these clowns.

At least Bobo and the other circus folk set out to swap you entertainment for money in an open way. The Faith Healer and his entourage offer you a show disguised as your ailments cured. Not even Jerry Springer goes as far as to claim to cure the minds of the truly mad.

There is a reason penicillin is called the wonder drug of the 20th century, it works, it does it. If you have an ailment it can cure, you take it, you are cured. Job done. There is scientific and personal verification of the effectiveness of the treatment. That is the definition of a cure.

How sick in your own head do you have to be to announce that you have cured aids? How would you sleep at night knowing that there are 42million people whose hopes you have raised and now are about to dash? How could you live with yourself? Could be the thought of all the rich people with bulging wallets and aids rushing to your door for the cure which really keeps you sitting upright in your chamber?

Mr. President Alhaji Dr. Yahya Abdul-Azziz Jemus Junkung Jammeh, can I just say how funny (strange) it is that your wife's section of your govenment's website makes no mention of your claims eithear. Also unendorsingly silent on your fabulous discovery is Chery Gregory Faye, UNICEF representative in The Gambia.

Do you think perhaps, you are mad and/or a liar? Just a thought. I merely throw it out there for debate.

We bought the children a piano ....

2007-01-21T16:46:00.000Z

It is currently installed in the new house because we have no room for it here at current house.

We cannot leave current house because the roofers, damp proofers, carpenters, builders, gas specialists, plumbers, decorator and electricians have a little bit of work to do in restoring the damp riddled heap we bought back into something that resembles a house rather than an open fungal gathering place on the side of a mountain.

That is why the children are visiting the piano in their outdoor clothes. It was colder inside than out.

The winds also took out part of the ancient wooden side fence and revealed a ton of estate agents signs chucked down the side passage, LOADS of them. Was our new house some sort of albatross on the South East London Estate Agents lists I wonder?

We didn't say a word about the piano being there, we just lifted the lid and the children ran to it like cats to catnip. Loud notes and lots of giggling ensued.

Not a bad purchase for £36.01 then (god bless ebay) I love a bargain, me

Now all we have to go is spend 40K in getting a house fit for the kids and the piano to live in.

Let's hope the house comes in at estimate or that won't be such a bargain.

Our neighbour's garages get attacked

2007-01-20T23:42:00.000Z

I was complaining about the garage chez Fiennes being attacked last week.

This week it was the turn of our neighbours, who, instead of having the brain-dead drug-addled modern day pale immitation of Raffles come to visit, had the 80mph London winds.

Like the drunken uncle and his loud-mouthed short-skirted girlfriend at Christmas, it also brought an unwelcome visitor in the shape of a large crashing tree with it

All that green stuff is the one collapsed tree. One tree.

There is a shed under there ... somewhere.

Ah there it is, on its side, as flat as a recently flattened by a tree spurned on by an 80mph wind pancake

Our garden and garage .... a couple of viciously placed twigs deposited here and there. We were scarred too I tell you. Scarred!

Raffles comes to visit

2007-01-14T22:47:00.000Z

I have certain impressions of the type of person who commits burglaries in England. This is mainly founded on the account of such characters given in books like the Raffles series created in the 1890s by E. W. Hornung or Bill Rumm, the reformed burglar in the Lord Peter books by Dorothy L. Sayers. This impression stops in time with the character of Fletch in the television series Porridge.

You could say there is a certain romance colouring my view of the English burglar and as I have never met one, that impression was likely to continue on unsullied.

Until this morning.

I looked out at the frosted glass window of our garage door and wondered why the condensation was so heavy. "That is not condensation" said Rups (he who knows all) "someone has put a sheet over the door"

The rest was all a bit of a cliche, dash to the shed, discovery of the place in tatters, things taken and a general spirited rant or two (me).

They didn't take much, all that is in the garage are things which are either on the way to eBay, the bin or the charity shop. I think the total was a box of books, some old jeans (I mean 12 years old) a broken wireless router and a broken buggy. The problem is that they slashed, threw about and generally tore the shed up. What REALLY bugs me is that I spent two hours out there before Christmas tidying the place up so we could put the desk out there to make more space for our annual Christmas party. Had we been done over then (as I believe the parlance is) their pickings would have included the home office - printers, a working wireless router, PC etc. So I suppose that is quite lucky.

I am worried that they are going to sell the buggy to some unsuspecting family. The brakes are broken (it has a complicated bike brake arrangement) and we had tried to get them fixed prior to selling the thing but it can't be done. Hopefully they will discover this and dump it rather than putting a baby at risk.

Somehow the image of Raffles reclining in his velvet smoking jacket after relieving some obnoxious Duchess of his diamonds does not quite tie in with the type of person who takes a buggy. They were not to know it was broken. We could have been reliant on it for a baby. I mean a router and all that is fair game but a child's buggy. Pretty damm low.

Ach well, they'll get theirs, karma and all that.

I'm off to read Wodehouse. There is one account of Bertie Wooster's failure to steal a cow creamer that never fails to make me smile. Now, if you want respect as a burglar, there is a target to go for.

What sort of an inbred descendant of a Muppet and a numpty plank steals a decade old musty smelling box of jeans???

Am the worst Mother in the world

2007-01-08T20:31:00.000Z

The children are not happy with me.

I took down the decorations and put out the tree last night.

According to Jack (4), I have broken Christmas. Lucy (20 months) keeps pointing at the places where balloons were hung from and going "aaaaloooon" with a pout on her face.

So I am the devil, the Grinch, Jack Skellington, Herod and the pied piper of Hamilton combined. I even feel guilty but I am vaguely aware there is nothing to feel guilty about. At least I don't think there is.....

Fabulous.

You know, I never even wanted kids. Prior to having them, I never even liked them. Now, of course I am completely converted. To the point where I put my foot in it with one of my husband's distant cousins last night by making some sort of statement like "when you have kids". This was to someone who has chosen not to have them. Och, I can feel my toes curling up under my feet.

When did I go from someone who was allergic to the little beasts to someone who presumes that everyone wants them?

I guess the answer is the first time I held Jack in my arms. He might have been a "want none, get one free" offer but he, his sister and his Father are the best things to ever happen to me.

Have kids and become a cliche for free. The thing is, I am actually happy about it. I mean, wouldn't it be more weird if I still could not understand people having kids even after having them myself.

On a related note, the ticket-getting process for Glastonbury has just got more complicated. Another obstacle between me and my former childless self.

I guess next year, I am going to find another approach to this decommissioning of Christmas business.

Following complaints I am always hiding behind babies

2007-01-06T22:04:00.000Z

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

2007-01-06T20:02:00.000Z

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

OK, John Barrowman, I GET the hint

2007-01-04T23:42:00.000Z

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.

What THEY gonna do when they come for you?

2006-10-22T22:49:00.000Z

According to the BBC website today, the UK is becoming a country that is fearful of its teenagers.

The gist of the story follows:
Is Britain too fearful of its young?
Britain is in danger of becoming a nation fearful of its young, a report has claimed.
British adults are less likely than those in European countries to intervene to prevent teenagers committing anti-social behaviour, according to the Institute of Public Policy Research.
Nearly 1.7m people admitted they avoided going out after dark as a direct result of youths gathering. The report blamed changes in family, communities and the economy for the "increased risk in youth crime."

Now I have a solution, albeit radical, but hear me out. To go into it further, we have to have a bit of background.

The mists of time peel back to reveal a 5 year old girl sitting at the kitchen table chatting with her Mother. The walls are custard coloured and the girl is wearing an orange polo neck with a brown checked pinafore and plain brown tights. Raggedy Annie, her favourite doll is sitting on the chair beside her. The television in the corner is showing the news. The newsreader reads out something about prisons.

Young girl: "What is a prison Mummy?"

Mother: "A prison is a place you go to when you do VERY BAD THINGS, you are fed nothing else but hard bread and tepid water three times a day and have to do homework twice a day"

Young girl: "Well I am never going there, it sounds horrible!"

And 25 years later, funnily enough, I never has the hankering to do anything which would result in me exploring the truth of these statements. My Mother is an exceptionally clever woman.

So here is my idea, make prisons really horrible places. Not glamorous satellite TV watching hot lesbian sex pleasure breaks as portrayed on Bad Girls but really nasty places where you have to work your tush off (but no harder than the average Mother with a young child because that would be cruel!)

Here is how I see a typical day going:

6:30 - Bell goes for get up (in line with most of the land so no unnecessary cruelty there)
7.00 - Breakfast - Stewed fruit and grains OR Porridge OR Muesli and Coffee OR Tea. As much water as the prisoners would like (tap of course) and a mountain of brown bread and margarine, 1 slice for everyone in the house (to encourage latecomers not to be so late)
7.45 - Report for work with a choice of tasks for the mornings:
1) Washing the terry nappies of the nations babies
2) Putting together Ikea furniture
3) Reviewing the Channel5 schedule for women's magazines
4) Repairing clothes sent in by people who cannot afford new ones
5) *I'll fill these and proceeding ones in as they occur to me*
11.00 - Humanitarian Break
11.15 - Back to work
12.30 - Lunch - Fish, potatoes and veg. OR Veg. Lasagna and salad OR Minced beef in tomato sauce with rice and veg. with as much milk and tap water as the inmates want to drink. A piece of fruit to follow.
1.30 - Back to work on a different task from the morning ones
3.45 - Comfort break
4.00 - Back to work
5.30 - Finish work for the day
6.00 - Dinner - Veg. casserole OR Fish and potato pie OR lamp chops with potato and veg. Fruit salad to follow. As much milk and tap water as the inmates want to drink.
7.00 - Evening classes: Understanding Shakespeare OR how to assemble Ikea furniture OR advanced laundry classes OR manging personal finance OR basic reading and writing OR basis maths. Classes are optional.
For people who do not do classes, their options will be cleaning their cells or reading from the internal library which will not stock any books written before 1900. Of course books will be sourced in any language a prisoner reads best in as long as they are pre-1900.
No book written by a dictator, mad person, which was the subject of a court trial or is in any way controversial will be allowed. This is to protect the prisoners.
8.00 - Classes over and time for communal chatter, the general theme of which will revolve around how horrible porridge made with water is.
9.00 - Clean cells for an hour with tepid soapy water and a scrubbing brush. Rubber gloves will be handed out for good behaviour.
10.00 - Locked in cells and lights out.

You see (hypothetically) I would like a break from my family and a new expensive coat. So let me weight it up, if I steal the coat and don't get caught, I am one coat up. If I am caught, I get a warm dry cell, three nice meals a day under the human rights act, no working day, free trade classes which I could not afford on the outside and satellite TV. Mmmmmm.... what to do.....

But what if the option was porridge, unpleasant manual work and no TV. I reckon, I might just stay at home and perhaps get a job but I am odd like that.

Ideas I wish I had come up with...

2006-10-21T20:56:00.000Z

Lego

Brio train sets

The Garbage pail kids (not their wussy Cabbage patch counterparts)

.... and all basic good simple worthwhile popular ideas of that ilk.

Ideas I am so glad that I do NOT have the mind to come up with:

Putting microchips in wheelie bins

Thinking the Beatles were not worth signing

Test tube aliens

I kid you not, some marketing executive has decided that selling developing beings in a test tube is an excellent idea. Was this a cousin of the genius who marketed the ingredients for a bomb in a pre-pubescent chemistry kit? It is not the morality of the thing I object to, as always I bestraddle the fence with a slightly pained expression on my face but say the words out loud "test tube toys for children" and refrain from grimacing, I challenge you.

"There are 6 Test Tube Aliens to collect - 3 'good' & 3 'evil' . The 3 good aliens are called 'Kurion, Yagoni and Tatsuni'. Then you have the 3 evil aliens, and their names are 'Dodec, Takon and Shako'. Each comes as a chrysalis which hatches when submerged in water in the accompanying test tube. As you bring life to your unborn alien it will detect light and its electronic heart will start to beat. Add the special growing portion provided (a nutrient rich slime) and over a 14 day period the Alien will grow to around 8 times its birth size."

So 25 years after all the furore, objections and screaming about the immorality of test tube babies, we are giving their alien counterparts to children to play with.

So that's ok then.

40 years ago this week

2006-10-21T03:30:00.000Z

40 years ago in a Welsh town called Aberfan a coal waste tip slid down a mountain engulfing the Pantglas Junior School and surrounding houses which stood in its path.

144 people were killed. 116 of these were children.

It happened just after pupils had arrived for classes at the school on the last day before half-term that year. If it had happened the next day, the school would have been empty of children.

The picture above is of the mass funeral that was held for the victims.

A tribunal found the National Coal Board was responsible for the disaster, but nobody was sacked or prosecuted.

When it was revealed the remaining tips were still in danger of slipping, the villagers asked the government to remove them. After a while, when the government finally agreed, they asked the village for £150,000 towards the work from the disaster fund which had accumulated donations of £1.75m.

Hold your own children a little closer to you today and thank whatever deity you believe in for the. If you can, give a thought for the people of Aberfan who lost their children and were let down by God, man, government and industry.

What a girl wants, what a girl needs...

2006-10-15T20:01:00.001Z

What I want: World peace, for us all just to fucking get along, for the unicorn to become un- extinct, for my daughter to grow up not giving a shite about the way she looks (rather like me) whilst being absolutely gorgeous (rather unlike me) for my son to be so big and strong that he scares the bullies whilst never indulging in their sort of behaviour, for my husband to forgive me my imperfections (like wheat beer and and I NOT mixing) and a guarantee that my collection of priceless PG Wodehouse books to remain intact.

What I need: Love, a warm waterproof roof over my family's head, a regular pay-packet, the sort of job that allows me a home-life, the right to express myself, entertainment, a good laugh, a nice smelly cheese, a decent glass of wine, the company of my old friends, some time to myself occasionally, good coffee, decent pre-prepared low-calorie meals and intimacy.

See? It is not rocket science and among women in general, our wants and needs do not vary that much.

So Jack Straw, a British politician, a father of a convicted (soft) drug dealer, a brother to a man who has committed sexual assault and a husband to an inside trader has decided to tell Niqab-wearing women this week how he would like them to dress for an audience with him.

Hell, is this open week? Can I tell Mr. Straw how I would like him to dress for an audience with me?

He would like women dictated to by their culture and religion to listen to his white liberal tall skinny western ass tell them how to dress? Well that works for me!*

So if he can tell a woman who is covered facially by the Niqab (see pic) Can he (should he) tell me, in my jeans and top to come back and talk to him in my bikini and grass skirt? Seriously, can he?

(Pic as promised)

Because you see, I had really bloody odd conservative parents. They installed this flippin' odd belief in me that to march into a politician's office wearing short hemmed gear would be a bad idea. Do you reckon that the average woman that likes the familiarity and comfort of her traditional dress (what way, shape or form the hemlines may take) takes joy in being told to dress the way that makes a male politician comfortable????

Fuck off all males dictating to women how to dress tonight. May you all stub your toes on something as big as your own stupidity!

As for Mr. Straw who would like women to wear less to allow better communication; the two fingered "you're crap" salute does not need a revelation of nose and mouth. An angry woman wanting something changed is an angry woman, you do not need to see her mouth and nose exposed to tell she is angry. Most women have the gift of getting the message accross.

If this society is really interested in what women want and what women need, they will start by fucking asking them, not presuming for them, after all, that is what democracies do, NOT dictators. We do live in a democracy, don't we?!

I could be a thousandaire!

2006-10-12T20:56:00.000Z

As a lot of you (all 5) who tune in regularly know I work full time, (mostly to pay a nanny) clean the house, do the laundry, cook most of the meals and have a husband who occasionally cooks and frequently (by obligation and threats) washes up. That is our arrangement and it works (for the most part) very well. I like doing most of the house work as it means that things get done my way. I am not saying this is the right way or the best way but it is the way that I prefer. It also means I get time off for good(-ish) behaviour to go to the gym.

However, tonight I saw a respite, a way to live in a £500,000 house, be given £86,000 annually by the government, take exotic holidays, drive a big car, send the kids to private school AND stay at home. Our local free paper The Mercury delivered us a front page story about a local scrounger (their words) operating under those very circumsdances. I asked Rups (he who knows all) how it was possible to claim £86,000 a year. His reply was "have lots and lots of kids and claim for all of them"

Sod that, I'm staying working. It is far easier.

What price a life?

2006-10-10T21:34:00.001Z

Who knows? I would say it is priceless times priceless but that is just me.

However the British government have just put a price on asking their troops to put their life in jeopardy. A £2,240 tax-free bonus.

This is not a post on the rights and wrongs of the war. This is a post about the men and women who make up the British services abroad.

Let's do the black and white of this:
Chap(ette) A: I am a member of the British forces in a desk jockey or a trainer role paid X (minus the usual tax, National Insurance and Health/Wealth contributions) by the British army to sit (march) somewhere in the UK doing my job. The biggest dangers to my well-being are a bee-sting, being charged by an angry bull (should I be daft enough to wander into a field containing such a beast)or contracting the common cold.
Chap(ette) B: I am somewhere miles away from home, be it Iraq, Afghanistan The Congo, The Lebanon, Northern Ireland or other such desirable tourist destinations There is proven and presidented danger to my life and limb. I am to be paid X (minus the usual tax, National Insurance and Health/Wealth contributions) plus £2,240 Oh whoppee-*bleeping*-doo.

People who are sent abroad on active duty are expected to pay tax on their earnings? Talk about being f***** right over for your dedication. The Irish army get more annual extra earnings for accompanying Securicor vans to and from the banks.

It is a good job that the services are a vocation for the majority of people who join them because no-one would do it for the money.

Troops, try not to spend all your new-found wealth on wine, (wo)men and song.

Where have all the vocations gone?

2006-10-09T22:27:00.000Z

What is your occupation?
What do you do for a living?
What is your job?
Do you have a career?

Do you know what a vocation is?

When I was growing up, people talked about certain occupations as being more than jobs, they were vocations. That is to say that the people did them felt a calling to that job which went beyond wages, beyond glamour, beyond any other entrapment or lure of modern employment. It was simply something that they were compelled to do.

The roles in society filled by these people with the calling were the priesthood, being a doctor, being a surgeon, nursing, teaching and careers in that permanent pensionable respectable vein. I never felt like I had a vocation, I was much too scatty for that. My educational and employment history lurch from one pivot to another (as much as one can lurch from a pivot)

I left school at 16
I worked waitressing and bar-tending
I went back at 18 and completed 2 years of school in one year despite being dyslexic. I wanted to work really hard more than I wanted to go back to wearing a uniform in state school and I could only afford one year of private sixth form college so it was complete my studies on one year or not at all. I also worked in a bar part-time to pay rent.
I took a year off and worked full-time as a receptionist in a hairdressers and a waitress to replenish my savings
I didn't know what to do in college so I did a year long diploma in media studies. I had my first term dalliance with computers. I also worked as a 'copy operator' in a photocopying shop. That was some job.
I decided to do degree in classical studies. It was a three year degree and I really got into Homer and all his creations in sixth form college so I thought "why not"
I also did a part-time evening diploma in gender studies at the same time and worked part-time as a chamber maid, door(wo)man and barmaid.
After college, I was at a bit of a loss so I did a diploma in computer studies and worked on the helpdesk in a call-centre in the evenings...
The computer studies lead to my first job in 'puter with Compaq and now I am at the giddy heights I have reached today. (ahem....)

But you know something, I still don't know what I want to do. I still find myself thinking over this notion of a vocation and wondering if I have missed the cues for mine.

Then I read of teachers seducing their young pupils, doctors murdering their patients and helping themselves to their valuables and the unspeakable acts of abuse committed by some members of the clergy against those in their care.

I have to wonder did those people feel a call to their profession at one time? Is what they did the symptom of what happens when people take up a job without it being a vocation for them?

What does/did the notion of vocation actually mean and is it still a relevant concept nowadays?

I don't know. There are just times when I cannot shake the notion that I am supposed to do more. I just don't know what.

E.
(Who is having one of those horrible introspective nights - I shall try to shake this off and get back to being frivolous as soon as I can)

As the French would say, "Oui Oui"

2006-09-25T22:35:00.001Z

There are some television ads which are mundane, there are some that make you want to turn the TV off, there are some so bad they make you want to chew your own eyes out just so you can stop looking at them but tonight I have seen one that I wanted to come straight back on again so I could make sure I had seen what I thought I heard.

Picture it if you will:
A plastic pregnancy test stick, low lighting, the stick suspended in space being turned slowly so it looks all arty and modern.
The voice over booms: The clearblue pregnancy test stick, the most advanced piece of technology you will ever pee on"

It took me about two minutes to re-gain my composure. Hell I really have to get myself one of those as I am one of those girls who can only pee on really technological objects. I am so fed up weeing on my iPod, it just doesn't feel that advanced anymore!

*snigger*

Between that and the roller-skating tampon wearing women of the 90s, it really just shows some advertising agencies really do not have a notion, do they, bless 'em.

Richard Hammond eating cornflakes....

2006-09-24T21:34:00.000Z

.... chatting and walking off to the chap's room on his own.

He is now in the general ward of Leeds hospital.

Fair dues to whoever designed the bodysuit he was wearing when he crashed and also to the air-ambulance crew who lifted him to the head trauma unit where he was treated. If they had not got him there in 12 minuites, the alternative was a 40-minuite ambulance trip.

Also fair dues to the Top Gear viewers who donated £4000 within 24 hours to that same air-ambulance unit, £65,000 within 48 hours and £156,279.70 to date. What a decent set of fans the man inspires.

To everyone whittering on about health and safety, go an boil your heads .... in tepid oil of course. What is your problem? He was not driving a car along the motorway with his baby daughters unstrapped in the back seats, he was driving a jet powered car along a deserted airfield. He was responsible for his own actions. Let adults make up their own minds as long as they seem relatively sane enough to do so. Although some feats of human achievement probably would not have possible without some men and women skirting very close to the lunacy line. Anyone care to walk to the South Pole or climb Mt. Everest without polartec underwear?

To all the 'we told you it would happen sooner or later' finger wagglers; go out today and take a fucking risk. What's wrong? Are you afraid of denting your china-cup holding pinkie? Are you jealous that you won't inspire people to donate money in your name if something goes wrong? Risks make us feel alive and a life without frisson is not worth living. Is there a point in getting out of bed to face a day without possibilities?

Anyhow enough of all that soppy babbling and onto a much more importaint consideration: Where will they put the Vampire Jet on the cool wall?

Good read. An article by Jeremy Clarkson on the last few days. It is well worth reading and a lovely tribute to his friend. Warning though, it is printed in the Sun :)

It's enough to drive you to drink...

2006-09-24T20:59:00.000Z

Top anglers drug tested at fishing competition

Yes, a fishing competition. I guess it must be tranquilizers that they have been taking in order to put up with the bum-numbing self-discipline that it takes in order to sit there hour after hour imaging the crap.. sorry carp they are going to catch in English rivers.

Perhaps the officials are afraid of sabotage and these are anti-doping measures? Hullo? Have you ever looked at the 'high on contentment' expression of anglers on their weekly escape from the rest of their lives? In order to win over these seventy other dwarfs all called Dopey, you need to soup yourself up on amphetamines (the kind that allow you to sit very still and talk in whispers) and not drug the other water-watchers.

What next, the staid members of the Women's Institute stripping naked in calendars for sale all over the country?

Muriel wondered if Stanley's new found energy bursts were from sunflower seeds after all?

Waiting to live ….

2006-09-22T20:59:00.001Z

Why are you here, why are you reading this. Are you, like me and occasionally feeling like you are waiting to live.

Are you waiting to live seriously? "we'll get married once some complication is removed"
Are you waiting to live trivially? "I'll win the fairtrade raw coffee bean eating competition once I kick my psychologically imagined aversion to caffeine"
Are you waiting to live? "fill in the spaces here yourself"

We all do it. Do the words “I’ll do it, once this computer game, project, this week’s work, this developmental phrase or whatever is over” ring familiar to you?

Recently have you declared:
“Once my partner comes back from abroad, we will stop staying up late watching the crap on cable and go to bed early every night and have sex” or
“Once my period is over, I will stop being grumpy all the time”or“Once my Mother has gone back home, I will stop consoling myself with a pot of ice-cream every night and lose weight” or
”Once I settle in at work, I will embark on a series of training courses to give my brain an outing and some exercise”
or
“Once this (latest) holiday is over, we will start trying for kids”

If so dear reader, you too have been waiting to live. Eithear seriously or trivially, you decide.

Why do we put off curing bad habits until some seminal event in our lives is completed? The thing is, it is really hard to cure unless you realise it is a problem.

Procrastination only came into being as a word because motivation had not yet been invented.

What if I was killed tomorrow? What if a London no.386 bus knocked me over (not a 54 because they go to Woolwich and who the hell wants to be snuffed out by a Woolwich bus??!)If I was killed tomorrow, I would be well pissed off at the fact I had been waiting to do so much trivial stuff.

Of course, I (we) work very hard for the important things. We work at our marriage; we try to make each other happy. We try to make each other laugh. We work at raising happy children, we work at raising healthy children, we work at raising mannerly children. We work to bring up the children so they do not want for anything, we work to put a warm dry roof over the children’s (and our) heads. For all this work we are rewarded with a rich love life, a comfortable (very messy) home, lovable children, a great wine cellar (hic) and the ability to sleep like the dead at night.

That is not to say that everyone who works at this and does not attain it is unworthy, we are aware that luck (a lot of it) comes into our lives as well.

However there is another side to me that occasionally looks out at the horizon a tad restless and wanting something less rather than more. There is space (if not time) for triviality in my life. All I have to do is slot it into my weekly schedule between 38 hours working, six hours walking to work, 6 hours in the gym, 5 hours housework, 4 hours cooking, 7 hours playing with and reading to the children, 16 minutes making love (showing off, I know) 1 hours shopping, an hour in the coffee shop and the rest of the time conked out …. usually snoring …with my mouth open …and dribble pouring out ……(I’m pure class, me)

Of course there are important things I want to do like instil in the children a love of literature and a sense of independence. I want to progress in my job, being known as a techie female rather than a woman who works in IT. (Some days I am there, some I am not) Travel with my husband to far-flung exotic places where they do not serve rancid fish and mozzie body parts (one of our honeymoon highlights –don’t ask!)I want to take part in a competitive sporting team, drive my children to their sports training over the weekends and keep a smile on my husband’s face.

Catering to my frivolous side, here is a list of trivial completely unimportant things I have not done yet that I would really like to do (in no particular order)
* Climb all the way up to the cab of a skyline crane and look at the view below. I would really like to go in one of the cranes in Docklands I pass them everyday and I am bursting to ‘have a go’
* Lose another 21lbs (36lbs gone to date –yay me!)
* Walk on to a trading room floor to see if it is really as bad as I have been told it is
* Walk into church with my tall handsome son on my arm
* Write a book
* Re-read all the works of Shakespeare
* Run my own pub as a retirement project with wines sourced from our travels and copious amount of good simple foods. Have you ever had butter, onion and chive mashed potatoes with champagne? You don’t know what you are missing. I also recommend bread and butter pudding with a tawny port. Oooooh.
* Run the London marathon
* Walk into church glaring so hard at the tall handsome man my daughter has on her arm that I make his neck go red
* Do a bungee jump
* Have my hair cut as short as a boys
* Walk into B&Q and ask them for their wooden knobs without collapsing laughing
* Go on the window cleaning rigs on one of the Canary Wharf towers
* Learn Spanish just because it is there
* Re-read all the works of PG Wodehouse in sequence of events (rather than random and cronological order which I have already done)
* Get to the point where I can no longer relate to Dorothy Parker but I can write as well as she did. That is never going to happen as phrases like "brevity is the soul of lingerie" are never going to occour to me but I can dream.
* I would like to take up fencing again, I was deadly at it in college and I would love to take it up again. There is something very appealing about masked aggression posing as a discipline.

There are more but these are the main ones. Some to take me out of my comfortable walk to work existence and some to bring me even further back into my past and my comfort zone. I’ll make this pledge now, I know several people who work around London’s Docklands (Hi Peter) and read this blog, so if any of them offer me the opportunity to do anything I’ve said I want to do, then I will do it.

In the meantime, as soon as the kids are a bit older, I’m doing a bungee jump (promise)

Oh and as a consolatory note to those who fear otherwise, I am never going to behave myself!

Richard Hammond critical

2006-09-20T22:05:00.001Z

Apologies to all readers who do not know who Richard Hammond is but I was quite shocked tonight to come in from the gym and learn he was critical in hospital after a car stunt for the BBC Top Gear car show went wrong. In the neurological unit to be exact.

TV presenter critical after crash

I love Top Gear. It is hard to decide if it is the cars, the mad stunts the presenters do, the 'experiments' like converting three normal land-lubber vehicles to ocean-going (well lake-going) disasters or the celebrity interviews like asking Christopher Eccleston what was wrong with him because he was 30 before he learned to drive.

Profile: Richard Hammond

Definitely the presenters are the biggest factor in making the show. Ok, a lot of people can put across madcap ideas and some can even bring them to fruition. Care to convert an Estate car to a typical old-fashioned English living room with a wood burning stove and bring it for a run on the motorway anyone? However, on Top Gear, it is the way the presenters come across as three schoolboys who could not believe they are effectively being paid to play with the most expensive toys in the world makes the show very appealing. Start a conversation about Top Gear in any room in the UK and I will guarantee you that most of the people in that room will say that presenting that show would be their ideal job.

Look at that face, almosts moves me to want to pay for the pints!

Hammond is my own favourite. James (May) is ok but you get the feeling that if you ventured into conversation with him and went beyond the subjects of cars, his job, beer and not very many other things, his eyes would start to glaze over. Jeremy (Clarkson) is ok too, funny obnoxious if you like that kind of humour but, oh my lord, does his voice grate. I seriously could not like to wake up to those sardonic tones on the pillow beside me every morning, I would end up hurting him.... An hour in my living room a week is fine, any more would not be. Now we come to RH, the pocket rocket, as I have heard *female friends* refer to him (ahem....) You get the feeling he would be a great man to go for a pint with and there are not many people who move me to say that about them. He is funny, warm, able to take a slagging, daft, a little bit brave, perserverant and he gets the giggles, which is a very endearing feature in a cute man.

My heart goes out to his wife and daughters tonight. Daft bugger. I hope he recovers fully soon.

The vampire jet, the one RH was driving is now in postcard sized pieces according to witnesses

This is the car Hammond was driving when he crashed. It is called the Vampire Jet. It weighs 2,200 lbs, is 30 feet long and uses 7-10 gallons of fuel per mile. It can go from 0 to 272 mph in 6 seconds and is powered by the Rolls Royce Orpheus jet engine which is theoretically capable of 370mph. The car holds the "Outright British Land Speed Record" which he was trying to beat when he crashed.

23:14: Sky News have just reported that Hammond's condition has been downgraded from critical to stable.

See, prayers do work after all.

In the last few hours 1600 people have mentioned Hammond in their English-speaking blogs, I imagine very few had a bad word to say about him. That is a lot of good wishes going through t'internet.

He has to come back to Top Gear once he recovers (positive thinking people!) Can you imagine the slagging he is going to get? Jeremy will feign amazement that "the teeth" are still in one piece and James will insist on strapping him into a child's safety seat before he drives anything. I imagine the producers may also try to introduce a new motorised shopping trolley review section, guess who that segment will go to?

Imagine the fun he will have filling in the question on official forms that reads: "Have you had any accidents in the last 12 months, if so please describe in detail in the blank box below"

Rack out for all to see ....

2006-09-19T19:32:00.000Z

Here they are ....

in all their glory....

(I am a bit nervous so bear with me)

for all the world to see and judge ....

(be kind now, this was not easy to do)

are my quite gi-normous ....

womanly racks!!!!

(gulp!)

Front view

Side view

Full bodied eh?

Here is some of my designer kit ...

Look at the casing on that!!

Here is my desk (quite tidy for me) with its luxuriant view of the river flowing through E14 below.

C'mon, you didn't really think I was going to post photos of my body, did you? FFS, two of the people who read this blog are son's of my parent's friends!

Yes I am out of my funk and back to full form again. Dunno what got into me. Sometimes the stupidity of the world really does get to me. However tonight, if you are so silly as to listen to designers who want you to be ridiculously thin so you make their overpriced rags look good or to an insecure partner who wants to feed you up to put other people off you, then good luck to you, you need it. It is much easier being happy, take my word for it.

Dirty pictures warning

2006-09-18T22:11:00.000Z

Following my mild wanderings down the path of body facism and those who conspire to make women hidiously fat or thin (see last post) , I have decided to reveal my rack in the name of a social experiment.

All five of my regular readers can take a look at my new frame and declare it wiry or a cellulite covered mass of wobbley love bits.

The photos go up tomorrow. Me and my kit and then my racks exposed for all to see.

So there!

Hardcore bone

2006-09-17T21:32:00.000Z

I am not in love with myself tonight so I am going to have a rant against everything I perceive as making me feel this way. Now would be a really good time to leave if you are not used to gobby females.

Look at those pictures, no, really look. Which one do you find the more attractive? If someone held a gun to you head, who would you take to bed with you?

You see I do not feel I have to choose. I do not feel it is a case of being one or the other.

How dare someone try to dictate to me what the perfect body size for me should be.

What a ridiculous world we live in. If you are not slim, you are fat and vice versa. Pffttt I really really do object to that nonsense.

Yes I, who am on a diet, am giving out about body fascism. No, neither of these portraits represents how I look right now. Neither represents how I think I look nor how I would wish to look. They both just look ill. I hope they both get the help they need before they die.

How awful, a world where some are starving due to circumstances beyond their control, some choose to starve themselves into sickness and some choose to eat themselves to death.

Make it better, hug a size 12 today. Hug a size 14 tomorrow and go to bed with a real woman the day after. Don't buy the clothes from the fashion houses which enforce the fascism of the size 0. Don't watch the programmes with the size 0 actresses. Have a cream cake, try running a mile and would someone give that bag of bones Misha Baron a sandwich for fuck's sake.

Balance is everything. Self-control helps. Most fashion designers are plump gay men and most 'feeders' (those who love and nurture obsese women) are small men with a severe lack of self-esteem.

If you have to, be a bitch and take control of your body.

There is hope though. Spain has started by banning skinny minnies from their fashion shows.

I hope other countries follow and this results in a dramatic decrease in the numbers of women screwed up by negative body image.

Skinniest models are banned from catwalk. By Fran Yeoman, Carolyn Asome and Graham Keeley, in Barcelona

REAL women will rejoice at the news: waif-like models are being pushed off the catwalk.

The organisers of Madrid Fashion Week have announced that they are banning skinny women to develop a more healthy image for the event this month. If any very skinny models do turn up, they will be classed as unhealthy and in need of medical help.

Madrid city council, which sponsors the fashion week, has ordered that every model on show must have a body mass index (BMI) of at least 18. Models who are 5ft 9in (1.75m) tall must weigh a minimum of 8st 11oz (56 kg).

Esther Cañadas, Spain’s best-known model, does not qualify under the new rules as she is said to have a BMI of only 14. Almost a third of the women lined up appear to have been barred. The council promised that a nutritional expert would be on hand to check every model taking part in the shows, and that any woman found to have a BMI of below 16 would receive medical treatment.

Read more here

And in the UK, where the average size is 14 (the size of Marilyn Monroe) any chance they might follow this sensible lead?

The organisers of London Fashion Week, which begins on September 18, said that they would not be introducing a similar rule. According to the leading agency Models 1, the models with the biggest pulling power are likely to be those with the smallest waistlines. “We have changed a lot in that there have been many more requests for bigger models, but on the catwalk long dresses do look lovely on tall, thin girls,” the agency said. “Girls who model at 15 or 16 tend to be thin girls, whose mums are thin, it’s part of their genetics, and obviously they look great in clothes.”

Here is more bullshit from the British body facist brigade:

Sarah Doukas, Kate Moss’s agent, said that her agency, Storm, did not employ unhealthily thin women (but then she would!) “It’s useless to talk about body mass indexes. (erm, actually, no it is not) Who knows what that means apart from your doctor? (anyone with half a brain who eats enough to do the maths you tool!) It depends on different body types. Some people have different muscle density. I believe that girls should just eat healthily, exercise and just be normal. We just wouldn’t use someone who was really underweight or too thin.” (Would you let this woman manage the career of your daughter. Such willful ignorance is nothing short of criminal!)

For anyone intersted, here is the BMI breakdown, do you eat enough to have a brain functioning well enough to understand it?
UNDERWEIGHT, NORMAL OR OBESE?
The Body Mass Index (BMI) indicates whether or not you are overweight for your height
To calculate your BMI:

1. Measure your height in metres and multiply the figure by itself, giving your height squared

2. Measure your weight in kilograms

3. Divide the weight by the height squared

For a woman measuring 1.6m (5ft 3in) and weighing 65kg (10st), the calculation would then be: 1.6 x 1.6 = 2.56. BMI would be 65 divided by 2.56 = 25.39

According to the World Health Organisation if your BMI is between 18.5 and 24.9 you are an ideal weight

BMIs can be inaccurate for people over the age of 60

Show us your willy!

2006-09-12T12:05:00.000Z

I am married..

One day I saw an ad in a newspaper by a chap looking for uncomplicated fun.

So I answered and indicated I was interested in that sort of fun as well.

Turns out there wasn’t a man, there would be no fun, there would be just very complicated explanations to be made to my husband when my reply, naked photo, personal details and mobile phone number were published on a public website.

The website turned into a public phenomenon when the details of 100's of other women besides myself and all their details appeared on the site as well. My Mother, my father-in-law, my sister-in-law, my son and my employer all saw my details on that site. None of them were happy about it.

Now here is the crux of the matter; If I had not replied none of the above would have happened. I do not allow that fact to get in the way of a good lawsuit, I am suing the person who posted the fake classified ad which I replied to. I maintain if he had not tempted me, I would not have given in to temptation. So my proposed immorality is going to lead to his poverty.

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Of course you realise the above scenario did not really happen for me. It happened to several other hundred men, the respondents to the ad posted by a horny woman on the "casual encounters" part of the personal ads section of Craigslist.

There was no horny woman, there was not even a warty woman, there was merely a prankster with an agenda. Jason Fortuny, an IT employee, posted the ad. He also took the replies and posted them online in the manner described above.

His posting, due to the accessible nature of the internet was seen by a hell of a lot of people. The condemnations began. Not of the men who had been willing to forget the spouses stashed away in the backburner of their minds, not of the men who had stupidly sent all their contact details and intimate photos to a complete stranger. The condemnations were of Fortune for using the net to expose these men’s immorality and stupidity.

Excuse me? How should have he have done it? Published a book?

All of a sudden, have parents forgotten to tell tales of the bogeymen and warn their offspring about strangers!!???

The point here is not that the Internet was used to catch some people being stupid or immoral. The point here is not the funny /distasteful thing that was done in publishing the site (depending on your point of view) The point is that there would have been no site to publish had these men not been so keen to get their trouser snake out for some r’n’r.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Never has the expression "caught with his trousers down" (and his todger out) been so apt.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Having said that if I disappear all of a sudden, you can presume all my past indiscretions have come back to haunt me - boo!

It has all been said before and better ....

2006-09-11T21:14:00.000Z

So I am not going to add to it. I hope the only effect that date had on you was to make you resolve to be a better person to those around you. I hope you have found the strenght to keep to that resolve. If your families, your friendships or your colleagues, were hurt on that date, my heart goes out to you.

E.

I'm just a sweet transsexual…

2006-09-09T23:55:00.001Z

Reeeeelax dear readership, all four and a half of you of you. This is not Trisha nor Jerry, I have nothing to admit worthy of the daytime confessional and if I do, that is between my Priest and I. Hey, I’ve been at home during the day breastfeeding therefore needing to sit still so I know these people exist and what their "your mother's brother's boyfriend had sex with our underage cross-dressing truck under the porch and now it won't run on unleaded cos it is pregnant" shows are all about. Lowest common denominator entertainment, that is what but more of that later.

Tonight I am a professional widow. No that is not some sort of weird solo sex act, it just means hubbie has gone to work and I am here channel surfing or cursing freeview, whichever you prefer.

Bit of dilemma, what would you choose to watch?

One channel is showing ‘The Thomas Crown Affair’ (the modern one) with Rene Russo (who I want to look like when I grow up) and Pierce Brosnan in a skirt with bigger love handles with than me (good for him!)

Another channel is showing Mel Brookes skit 'Silent Movie' which is the only film to make me laugh so hard I gurgled drink up through my nose. The man is a genius, true, but he should have left ‘The Producers’ the HELL alone or at least put Lee Evans in the new film version. However, I guess once you have directed Madeline Kahn, who is after Lucille Ball, the best American comedy actress ever, everything else is just, well, a remake. I have to admit if I ever met Mel Brookes, my first question would be; What was it like working with Ms. Kahn? Watching her on the screen is a very humbling thing in that she has the most perfect comic timing ever. This is something you cannot learn, you have to be born with.

Another channel is showing ‘Far from Heaven'. It is hard to decide with that film if the colours, the costumes, the acting, the photography or the leading lady (Julianne Moore) are the most beautiful things about it. At least I stand a sporting chance of looking like Rene Russo (if I diet and exercise like a mad thing and then have plastic surgery for years and years on top of that or rather on bottom of me) but Julianne Moore is just the most perfect looking woman. It would be depessing if it she were not so inspiring.

Another channel is showing ‘The Scorpion King’. As a former classical studies student (hey, I can finish the London Times AND Metro crossword, can you!? - BTW, this is not boasting, if I were boasting, I would mention attaining a first despite being dyslexic but I don't want to boast so I won't :) I love any interpretation of ancient times. After all it was the old studio films like Jason and the Argonauts and Ben Hur which got me interested in the subject, I was thrilled when the whole The Mummy epics started. It was 'Bring ‘em back alive' crossed with 'Jason' crossed with 'Indiana Jones' crossed with Oded Fehr, who is proof that God loves women and wants them to be happy.

So with all that classic comedy, brilliant modern cinema and epic classical tale to watch, what do I end up leaving on? Tim Curry in a dress and killer lipstick, that's what!

‘The Rocky Horror Show’. What can I say? I have a thing for men in dresses :) Although I have to say if I was a chap, the sight of tiny tits, as you have to refer to Susan Sarandon as she was then, singing “touch me” in that squeaky voice would be enough to turn me gay in a very male on male way.

In Dublin for years and years, 21 in total if you really want to know, the Stella cinema in Rathmines ran a Rocky Horror Show screening at midnight on Fridays. Audiences came knowing all the words and wearing all the costumes (and less!) If you are the woman who wore the topless red velvet basque week after week all through the winter of 2002, fair dues to you Missus!

So which film would you have chosen to watch anyway and am I the only one to see a startling resemblance between Tim Curry and Francis de la Tour of Rising Damp?

What a way to make a living ....

2006-09-06T11:21:00.003Z

Today I am mostly listening to Franz Ferdinand at very loud volumes here in corporate towers. I tend to do this on days when I am writing documentation to stop me from going demented at the utter corpospeakedness of phrases like “The sequence of events has been clearly defined in the accompanying documentation”

Fourteen, yes FOURTEEN pages of shite just to say, “probably safe to let the production team install it in our live environment as long as you can find the one of them that can read in order to do it”

I am having a "professional" issue with someone from Production at the moment but I think I am hiding it rather well. Do you agree? It is one of those fundamental arguments that happen every day in corpo-land. I think they are a total tool (as in about as much use as a headless hammer) and they disagree. Hey-ho.

Coming back to the documentation, I wonder will anyone spot the part in the conclusion where I say “yes it blooming works, now take the damm thing as far away from me as you can physically get it before I throw it in the river below”

Sometimes I wonder if I am really cut out for life in corporate towers.

I love the work, I love playing with software, operating systems, networks and wires and servers. I occasionally get brave enough occasionally to play with the switches (albeit with one eye closed and the fingers of one hand crossed behind my back) I even get on well with pointy headed people. I just hate all the other rubbish that is a symptom of working in the IT industry in most major cities.

I liked working in IT in Ireland where things were more simple. This was a place where the sound of birds song could be heard in the open office windows all the time, the sun always shone and the smell of barley in the fields came wafting through on gentle breezes.

Well, ok, all that might be a bit of sepia induced nostalgia but communications always went something like this:
Boss: “Well?” (meaning does the darn thing work and any chance we can release it next Tuesday)
Me: “More chance of me passing a tractor through me arse” (meaning no, the sheer volume of bugs as well as the limited range of the actual functionality compared to the broad spectrum of the desired functionality means that it is not a suitable piece of software to set loose on the unsuspecting general public)
Boss: “Fuck” (meaning, ah this is not the reply I desired. I shall have to have a word with engineering to see if I can persuade them into a beer and pizza fuelled overtime frenzy in order to get the majority of the defects fixed)

Houseowner requires cheap tarts for quick passionate exchange ...

2006-08-31T21:54:00.001Z

We saw a house ....

We demurred through batting eyelids saying a faint 'no' because we though the garden was too small to satisfy our needs.

We went on a second date.

We made a cheap nasty cheeky offer knowing the heart of the house owner had been bruised before because of the infidelity of others.

The owner liked the look of our gib (and our money)

Exchange in six weeks. We like short engagements in our houses.

YAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!

(vaguely and quite perceivably happy)

Who do I have to kill in order to get a house around here?

2006-08-29T21:12:00.001Z

I left this a few weeks to write about in order to avoid words which would have me kicked off blogspot.

After a while, the words I feel like now using are: the f word, the excretions word, the empowered woman word (cos hey, we own it after all!), the damnation word, the testes word and the 'there just ain't a pejorative term bad enough to use here' word

We are in the process of buying a house. At least we were. Now we are looking again.

I've come to the conclusion houses are like men. You see one, you do a bit of an explore or two. You click (or at least mentally position your king size in its master bedroom) and you fall. You dream about the damm house. You (who NEVER buys magazines as a point of pride) invests £18 in a pile of interior design magazines. You move walls (again in your mind) and etch out a long term plan for "improvement". Hell there are humans you have invested less time and planning into.

So you make a tentative offer. Like a woman wearing a polo-neck and glasses on a first date (just in case he turns out to be an 'ugg' in looks or personality) you keep it as low-key as possible in order to test the water.

Funnily enough, your test gets a response. Your proposal for a second "date" is given a lukewarm responsee. The message is clear; "up the ante and interest will be increased". So you get out your best Betty Jackson wrap dress, your high-heeled strapped shoes and your 40 denier tights ..... oh sorry wrong story. Anyhow, back to the house, you up the offer 10K because that is what the worm-breathed estate agent told you they would accept and you sit back. The mental wall-knocking continues, you even go as far as a colour scheme for the master bedroom. Oh, and the bathroom is so getting a six foot metal bath.

And the Fatherless owners turn around and reject your offer even though the puppy-buggering estate agent told you would accept it. The message back is that they would accept 10K on top of your latest offer.

So the paranoia begins (all 4 mins of it)
Did they really give the estate agent the initial acceptable figure?
If so, what the hell happened in the meantime?
Is this a figure the estate agent made up because he thought he could talk the house owners into it?
*Something else*

Ah let them go to blazes.

So like a tentative elderly female scorned divorcee with the power of "f-em" and fury behind them, we are back on the dating (house-hunting) scene again.

We saw somewhere today. We clicked. We are going on a second date. Thursday 10.30am. Wish us luck. Only more more thing to add ... a king sized bed would fit easily into the master bedroom. I think we have started having plans for that room already ....

We are such tarts!

Definition of a good parent ....

2006-08-27T22:04:00.001Z

A friend of ours and her husband decided to join in with the rest of the raving lunatics in the non-too exclusive club of parenthood. Things went well once the difficulties of the birth had been attended to. For the curious, this was a quick onslaught of the second stage, this meant an unattended birth holding onto the en-suite sink taps screaming ones head off in-between cursing the mid-wife who was stuck in traffic.

This was all survived and there was the usual feeding, puking, smiling, pooing, gurgling, crying and giggling.

However one day Mummy DARED (dared I tell you!) to leave baby alone with Daddy. Furthermore she ordered Father and offspring out of the house so she could attend to the small things like finding and applying her hairbrush to the "designer knot" look which had taken hold of her hair.

Father left the house, fearful at first and then thinking "hey this is easy". Confidence grew, Father smiled, buggy-bound baby smiled back and returned to the task of inserting his big toe in his mouth. God was in heaven and the angels were smiling until .... SOMETHING TRUELY GASTLY HAPPENED (dum, dum, doooooom)

A huge, malignant, deeply green and HIGHLY NOTICABLE snail shaped bogey crept down the under-nose portion of 'beloveds' face. Daddy had no hanky about him. What to do? Women with buggies of their own were already pointing from 20ft away!! So he gritted his teeth and pulled it out between thumb and forefinger. Snail turned into snake but Daddy held on for dear life. The end had to be in sight and soon it was. Daddy flicked his dubious trophy away and now, feeling brave and accomplished actually checked the other nostril for more nasties ... "Hah", he thought "I can cope without Mummy AND hankies, I am iron John, superman, supernanny and THE DADDY all rolled into one. Hear ME roar!!"

Not only did he accomplish a victory over a sticky snot when the odds were stacked against him but he also told people about it, lots of them. The man who had never changed a nappy changed them all. Anyone (within the constraints of biology or the whims of the adoption system) can become parents -it is the little things that make us GOOD parents.

One six(th) of a pack

2006-08-24T12:06:00.001Z

I am almost afraid to say this out but after an exercise regime which has consisted of:

June:
Week 1 - 3 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym
Week 2 - 3.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym
Week 3 - 4 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym
Week 3 - 4 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym

July
Week 1 - 5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily
Week 2 - 5.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily
Week 3 - 6 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily
Week 4 - 6.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily

August
Week 1 - 6.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily + walked all the way to work - (1hour) twice
Week 2 - 4.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily + walked all the way to work - (1hour) three times. Two extra hours on my home exercise machine.
Week 3 - 6.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily + walked all the way to work - (1hour) four times
Week 4 - 6.5 x hours in the gym + 20 mins walk to Greenwich twice a day + 10 mins walk and back to the gym + 10 mins on my home exercise machine daily + walked all the way to work - (1hour) four times

September
"God knows what"

I have one sixth of a six pack.

During my ritual (sadistic) examination of my body for evidence that the salads, berries, fruits, nuts, seeds, vegtables and (near) total extermination of junk foods from my diet, I noticed a bar of muscle on the top of my stomach. I thought it was a trick of the light, but no, it is actually there. Pity about everything else that is also "there" and in other assorted places but hey, slowly but surely it is going and I am getting pretty fit in the process. I have also lost 12lbs. So my my reckoning, another six months and I should have a 3 pack and be almost two stone lighter if I can keep the current pace up.

The question is, can I?

I did not marry you to yell at your kids

2006-08-20T21:43:00.001Z

When we marry we have all these starry eyed ideas about how we are going to present ourselves to the other person after the wedding.

We might have let them hold our hair as we puked after too much alcohol, we may have had them apply cream to intimate rashes, we may have spilled something very staining on their expensive rug but after the wedding "all that was going to change"

We are always going to wear matching underwear (some of it even less than six months old!) we are going to wash (regularly) with sweet smelling scents and generally be sexier, more energetic, perfect, organised, hard-working, inspirational, clever and generally more brilliant so spouse-person will look at us and think "good choice"

Mmmmmmm....... How can I put this?

Oh yes, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

After two years and a bit researching this theory, I can report back from the frontlines that this is a great theory but it bears about as much relation to the truth as the statement that the Grand Canyon is a bit of a pothole.

The underwear is still M&S "whatever happens to be clean on the day" and worn until it falls apart. Showers I have done without I am not afraid to admit.

So let's go through the above one by one:

Sexier? You should see the state of my stomach. On the other hand perhaps not. It sort of resembles a burst flesh coloures balloon overhanging a flesh colored cliff. Not pretty.

Energetic? I have slept on the sofa some nights because I am too tired to walk upstairs.

Perfect? Perfectly bleeding awful more like it (see moody incidents ad naseum as recorded in this blog)

Organised? I haven't seen my housekeys in a week. I have also given up finding the things other people have lost. I am not the British Rail lost property office or perhaps I am as they never have what you lost either.

Hard-working? Please! I would spend all day in my PJs watching old films with Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant if I could get away with it but I can't so I don't.

Inspirational? I nearly inspired two grown engineers to cry last week. Does this count?

Clever? I wish.

Generally more brilliant? Erm.... no

Instead of all of the positives above, I am the same as I ever was except I now yell at kids on a regular basis. Therefore people that is the only change to you after you do the marriage and kids thing - you yell at the kids, frequently. I wonder who childless people yell at? Probably each other but as parents you cannot show any such indulgent weakness. Small people smell cracks in the armor and drive large tanks through them.

In conclusion, thinking that marriage will change you is akin to all those walking wrinkle collections on the more extreme Channel5 documentaries who think that a plastic surgeon pulling their fanny up about their ears will make them look youthful again.

So why do it? Is it because you want to spend more time with a person? Forever and ever. No it is not. We all know how frail a human life is, how easily it is ended and if you don't believe me, get off the fucking internet now and read a newspaper. If we thought that a marriage was going to last until the end of our days, we would be grossly indifferent to the other person . After all what is to stop us taking them for granted as they will be there forever anyway?

We marry because we want to spend more time with a person. We also want to intergrate ourselves so far into their personal, family and private life that our lives together look like a plate of tangled spaghetti thus making it harder for them to get rid of us.

The thing to ask before a marriage is not "do I want to be with this person forever". It is "what do I want from our lives together?" When you know your answer, let me know and I can compare it to mine.

My answer is that I want someone to love who really loves me and I am the luckiest woman in the world because that is what I have.

Mummy is a muppet

2006-08-19T22:19:00.000Z

According to several people who should really know better than to generalise on such a spectacular scale, there is a thin line between insanity and genius.

Oh yeah?

I am either raising smartarses or genius'. I reckon that is where the real divide lies.

I am a Mother. I am too tired from the gym, emotionally involved with the latest developmental stage, fed up with being so permanently tired or intellectually committed to work to even dreeeeeeeeem of making things up or say them for the sake of sounding clever. You can trust me, if I say it, it must be true. I do not have the energy for imagination.

Conversation with blue eyed, blonde haired epitome of innocence 18 month old daughter went as follows:
(Me) "ooh Lucy - goosey - where's your feet? Mummy is going to tickle your feet. Lovely-ovly feeties"

(Lucy) "Toes"!

I have now officially being corrected by someone one twentieth of my age. It can only be all downhill from here.

On the other hand, I have earned a *mild* amount of kudos by introducing the small people to The Muppets. Season one box set £24.99 impulse buy at a supermarket checkout.

It has to be said however there are consequences to thibehaviorur however:
In the office: This has become our "shall we start the day" tune:
Mahnamahna video
Warning: HIGHLY ADDICTIVE TOON ALERT!!!!

The kids: are crying because I loaned the disk this is on to someone to copy. My son wants to be animal when he grows up. The problem is, so does my daughter. Point of pride is that when daughter was restless at the table I sang "Mahnamahna" and she went "do do do do do". This is obviously out time, tempo and synch but at least it is a small indication that that the £40-odd quid for caterpillar music was well spent.

Kids now have a drum, symbols, piano, keyboard, wooden keyboard, mouth organ and maracas to shake, blow, beat and generally throw at each other. If there is any music in them, we'll find it. If not, well there is always eBay. (For the kids not the toys!)

More rambling .....

2006-08-16T12:53:00.000Z

Continued from the last post:

The next relationship was a brief and somewhat unenjoyable return to D. Fitzsimons. The same as before it was a big romantic start and a swift fizzle out. Shouldn’t have bothered but it was a nice rush while that part lasted.

Then I went back to school and took a vow of abstinence (from alcohol) and chaps for a year. I managed to honour both of them and did pretty damm good in my exams as a result.

The next few years were all brief relationships with men whose names I cannot remember. There was a barman with blonde curly hair and another barman with really broad shoulders but that is all that comes to mind.

Then I met T. I am glad I did. We were together for 5 years. In the beginning I loved him passionately but always had the feeling he was tolerating me in the same way as someone is amused by a kitten playing with string. I was desperately immature when I met him and he taught me a lot. However by the time he fell in love with me, I had started to move on from him and wanted the relationship to be over. This resulted in a parting which caused a lot of hurt to him. I am truly sorry about that.

While on one of our ritual break-ups (which happened just before term-time and T. returning to college in England) there was B.o’R. My beautiful B. Possibly the most handsome man I have ever gone out with and the last beautiful boy.

We worked together behind the bar in a Cork hotel and basically jumped oneanother one night after a function upstairs which we worked together. There had always been a bit of flirty-flirty between us and this was the first time we worked together closely and it was electric.

I was sweaty, decorated with splashes of beer, fuzzy haired and the usual mess that a Saturday night behind a bar produced. He made me feel like …. well something quite amazing really.
We were together for a few months. There were no real dates just meeting up before work and going home to my house in Sundays Well afterwards

I remember lots of lovely things about that time. Kissing on the shaky bridge at six in the morning when it was covered in ice and the air freezing cold around us. We were still tipsy on the two quick pints of Guinness had after work and I remember where you put your hands to keep them warm! I remember all the old mans pubs we both loved to go to having a mutual dislike of the new flash glass and chrome bars. I remember you trying to teach me Chess. I remember lying in bed watching the trees outside blowing in the wind while we were in that lovely wooden floored bedroom I had at the time. I remember feeling you pulling the covers over my shoulders as I fell asleep. I remember waking up and looking at you lying asleep on the pillow next to me and thinking you were the loveliest thing I had ever seen. You were so gentle and so beautiful. After that I promised myself that I would never be with a man who could not be as tender as you. You know something, B? I kept that promise to myself.

Thank you for giving me permission to publish this.

The next relationship bit was removed at the request of the person I wrote it about. There was more to be gained in writing it than publishing it so I am happy to do as he asks.

Well that has been a therapeutic exercise.

It is all going too good...

2006-08-15T21:30:00.000Z

Kids healthy and happy:

Well little Princess did let a roar tonight but show her the trees and the stars and she goes from yelling her heart out quiet and happy
No.1 son just about dry at night (1 accident in two weeks of going commando, well he wears camouflage pants)

Hubbie perhaps changing professional circumstances in a way which will make him more happy so way-hey-hay (more of the old then? :)

Job (yes I took it) going very well. Recent comment by boss:
"Your great gift is that you are painfully clever. However as fast as your brain is, your mouth is almost as fast and you think as you talk without realising not everyone can keep up with you ... and you type almost as fast as you talk"
I think this is good.

Nanny is working out great (the sainted Lisa)

Money from old house turning into more money in the bank

Found a great new house to buy

Found a very honest, talented (and gorgeous) interiors designer with very talented team to do up said house (he's also gay - more bonus)

Doing four one and a half hour sessions in the gym a week
Walking to work twice a week (1 hour)
Walking to Greenwich and balk 10 times a week (15 mins)
Doing the home cardio machine in the evenings twice a week (20 mins)
Doing the home cardio machine in the mornings five times a week (10 mins)

Fit as a "something very fit"

...... oh hell, when this all goes wrong, it is going to hurt.

I wonder if I will sabotage it (I have a history of doing this) or if circumstances will conspire against me.

In the Tales of the City Series by Armistead Maupin, there is a character called Mona who has one rule of life:
You cannot have the great job, great guy and great place to live all at once.

In a way before I even saw this rule articulated, I subscribed to it. Then I realised I was always doing something to sabotage things to make it true so I stopped. Then circumstances sabotaged things, just for the variety I suppose.

The first grown up bf was A. K. (may he trip and swamp his head in a cold vat of old MacDonalds chip-fat) Not that I am still angry with him, I would just like something as deeply unpleasant as the experience of going with him to happen to him. When things ended (not on an amicable note) I took my anger out on the pipes and wires of his South Circular Road house (there was not one I left in one piece)

Note to all chaps: If you are going to fall out with a girl who will not give in to you being a bully and use this as an excuse to do the dirt on her, then for goodness' sake make sure that you change the locks on your house (especially if she has the keys) Otherwise, whatever happens is your fault.
Note to all girls: I do recommend cutting things as therapy to the offended heart.

**************************************************

The next was "G". Great kisser. Great job. Not a great place I was living in.

**************************************************

Next chap was P. Lamb. Lamb by name and lamb by nature. Such a lovely bloke, one of those you regret breaking up with, why the hell did I? (I only ask this because I cannot remember) Living in very great place. Had a good-ish job. (Self-sabotage here)

**************************************************

The next was the sod D. F. Had 2 great jobs at that point, a great place to live but he was a git. Had the most fabulous thighs as well (Me, not him) as I just got into cycling and my 18 year old self could go for miles (and did) Pfffffhhhh. I "stole" him off the girlfriend he was with at time. Karma sent him back to her. First time I considered karma, found myself a believer. Vowed not to do the stealing-another-girl's-chap thing again. Remember this promise, we will come back to it later. Guilt enduced self-sabotage here.

**************************************************

The next chap is one of my epics K.Kelly. The most charming man I have ever met. Despite his utter being-a-bollox-ism I still think of him with enormous affection. I started dating K. when we worked together, he made remarks that made me tingle so I acted like Maria Callais having an ice bath but I was burning inside. We got together (at last someone with the same energy level as me) and I found out about the woman he was living with when she rang the pub where we worked and I picked up the phone to her. Her name was/is Caroline. I told him he was a *unrepeatable* and dumped him. My strong woman got a knock that night.

Years (about 3) I bumped into K. again. Manager of a temple bar pub and as charming as ever. (I was supposed to meet someone else who was running late and anyhow it did not matter as I had a BF in Cork < <> >) We chatted. He told me that himself and Caroline were still friends and he babysat her son when she and her husband went out. We giggled. I got the "I'm late" call. We had a drink together. I got the "I'm not going to make it" call. We went for food. I got a speel; it was the best I have ever had about how amazing I was, how he had never forgotten my eyes or my breasts or my voice (!?) and all that guffle. I told him I had a boyfriend and I hoped that this caused him him frustration. He laughed and said he would want to be around me if I was a vow-of-silence-nun.

So we went out a lot as friends. I never wanted to be intimate with him, I genuinely liked his company. I told him this at least twice a night on our nights out. (When I say 'our' I mean as a part of the HUGE social group we had) He always laughed and told me to let him know the minute I changed my mind. I have never had a man walk me home so often for so little (no) reward. He always tried gently to kiss me. I always said no. He always walked away singing "we're getting married in the morning"

Then about eight months after the start of our socialising together I met him by chance at the multiplex cinema at the top of O'Connell St. He had this amazing looking woman with him. She was truly one of the most striking people I have ever seen. You know those women who are so good-looking they are mesmerising? That is what she looked like.

Anyhow I saw them together and went to say 'hello'. His mesmerising companion was as lovely as she looked and said "oh you're a friend of K.'s? You MUST come to our party on Saturday, we're celebrating a year of living together"

........ The bollox had not changed a bit.

Yes I still think of him with affection. He babysits for his ex-girlfriend, tells his other ex-girlfriend she is the most fascinating thing going and looks after his Father who suffers from alcoholism and associated mental difficulties. The fact he has a 'small' problem with fidelity does not really take away from him as a whole. He is a hard act to follow and I could never judge him. I am just glad that I was never in love with him. That probably helps.

I never saw him after that day. For the sake of his girlfriend, I blocked his calls and moved to another flat, the address of which he was never told.

I do think of him very fondly though and the memory of him always make me smile.

**************************************************

Next a super job, fabulous place I was living in. J. Lovely bloke. First foreigner I ever went out with as he was a fully qualified resident of FANTASY LAND. Sigh. Foreign leigon me arse.

**************************************************

I had an amazingly bueatiful man in D., the artist (let me pause while I think of him) but a horrid place to live in but as I spent most of my time in his house, in his .. company, that didn't matter. Not a great job at that point.

Then I got a great place and D. changed. Frustrated at a lack of commissions, he went to work as a community artist painting murals in schools etc. My job changed to a great job. D. was very frustrated at this point. Low point when he phoned me to bring him beer and sandwiches as he was painting a team spirit mural on a gym wall and was wee'ed off. It was 2am and when I got there he wanted me to stay lying on the cold tiled floor while he worked. I refused, he puffed himself up wanting a row. I was too tired so I walked out. When he broke up with me over the answerphone, his last sentence was something like "call me to let me know you got this so I KNOW you KNOW it is OVER". I never did call him back.

That experience taught me that beautiful men are more trouble than they are worth. Did I learn from it? That is a question I shall consider in my next nail-biting installment of my 3 rules analysis.

Tune in next time for more demented ramblings......

Bad morning

2006-08-04T05:28:00.000Z

It is 6.25

I've been awake for an hour

Am tempted to have a hangover but not quite there yet.

Mum told me on the phone last night that a boy / man I grew up with was killed a few days ago.

When I say killed I mean in the "he had pocession of a load of drugs, the gardi (Irish police) were chasing him in their squad car, he swallowed the drugs, he died" type of being killed.

Don't worry, this is not a self-pitying 'poor me, my mate has died' post.

Some may think the druggie scumbag got his come-uppance. Except I think of a red-headed freckled country box who was mad about animals. I've seen him stop a stampeding racehorse with a few words (long before Robert Redford made it into a huge budget film) I've seen him cry over a pidgeon with a broken wing, I've seen him cuddle kittens. I can't see him as a druggie.
What the hell happened?

There is nothing in the papers about his death. I guess they are still doing the post-mortem or somesuch.

This may be his first online refrence so I should make it a good one.
Mark Phipps, you fucking TOOL!!

Podge and Rodge

2006-05-15T21:55:00.000Z

For all you Podge and Rodge fans or those in need of an education, some choice quotes:

You're as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit....

He thinks manual labour is a Spanish musician....

As funny as a burning orphanage...

He's so camp, he shites tent pegs....

She had a face on her that would drive rats from a barn ...

Sweatin' like a pedophile in a Barney suit ....

I'd crawl a million miles across broken glass to kiss the exhaust of the van that took her dirty knickers to the laundry. .... (a personal favorite)

mickey the size of a double-value can of Right Guard....

Jaysus, she could breastfeed a creche ....

Mother Teresa wouldn't kiss her cheek ....

A sniper wouldn't take her out ....

Jaysus, ya wouldn't ride her into battle ....

If I'd a bag of bruised willies I wouldn't give her one ....

She has a face on her like a bulldog that's just licked piss off a nettle .....

She wouldn't get a kick in a stampede ....

If I'd a garden full of Mickeys I wouldn't let her look over the wall ....

She grabs that pole like Brian Kennedy in a mickey factory ...

My kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiids

2006-05-01T14:51:00.000Z

Not fair.

Just as I decide to be mature and do the work / home balance thing and actually go back to paid employment (sneekily deciding on a criteria that will never be met)

Job will have to be in Docklands
Wages will have to be v. high
Will have to be non-senior role with regular hours
Will have to provide chaildcare vouchers

Damm me if I do not have an interview for such a job on Wednesday.

Add to this Little Master is ill with a sore throat and fever and Little Miss is more charming than ever if that was possible. So I have guilt and oppertunity. It's so flippin' Catholic feeling guilty when you have not committed the "crime" yet.

We can't stay here in rental house for much longer without 2nd income (damm 1st house still not sold and cause of epic and much bad language)

I can't go back to work unless I have wages to justify hiring a nanny

Have interview for fairly well-paid job

Don't know if my heart is really into going back to work

Plans to make regular income off eBay proving a little irregular

Head wreaked

On the bright side, the wonderful Helen and Ollie are now back in residence in Blackheath. We all (mostly) have our health, Little Miss is on the point of walking, we do have a warm dry roof over our heads (actually we have one more than we need) and I do have a cunning plan about how to get ourselves out of present jam but more on that later as it may all come to nothing and my fabulous brain still works despite application of two bottles of wine to it so far this week.

I remember when one large glass of wine had me drunk for the evening - thank goodness the age related hangovers have not kicked in yet but I suppose four hours in the gym have something to do with that. I can't stop fitness training - ever! I'll probably get four months of hangovers if I do. Aaaaaaargh......

Have to go now as Little Miss (1) is beating up her brother (nearly 4) She has also filled her nappy from the smell of things. Great, more shit.

A squash and a squeeze and a kiss and a cuddle .....

2006-02-22T19:44:00.000Z

..... and a pat and a stroke and a poke and a snuggle.

Yes I know it is brutal English grammar but it doesn't matter because I am Irish so that is okay then.

The above is what my son asks me for every night. That is the sum of my beautiful sons demands on my time and affection.

When their Father is away Little Master is the one who misses out the most. Normally he is left to finish his breakfast alone while I wake, change and dress Lucy. I know he does not like it. He used to complain and ask me to "stay Mummy". Now he just nods when I gulp down the last of my coffee and toast and tell him I am off to get Lucy up. I don't know which is worse leaving him when he is imploring me to stay or his quiet acceptance of me abandoning him.

At night Little Miss sometimes get tired early so I leave Little Master to watch the end of Ceebeebies while I wash, dress, feed and put Lucy to bed. He is so good he even put (most of) his toys away after the goodnight music without me prompting him. Then he trotted upstairs and got himself undressed for his bath just as I put Little Miss into bed.

He is three years and seven months old. He also recognises, as of yesterday, all 26 letters of the alphabet. I could quite frankly burst with pride. I also not got a single notion how someone like me has turned out such a super, energetic, well-mannered well-behaved intelligent son (who eats like a horse, responds to logic and adores his sister)

I blame the Father myself and frequently (hourly) thank God for him.

Note to all readers

2006-02-16T22:21:00.000Z

Since my dear hubbie is under the impression that the calender that I installed in the kitchen to list all appointments and days away on is merely decorative

..... and since I installed it in order to avoid clashing appointments

..... please, please could someone, anyone, (I don't care who as long as he listens to them cos he sure as Aida doesn't listen to me) tell him to MARK HIS EFFING APPOINTMENTS ON THE GOSHDARNITCALENDER COS I AM NOT A MINDREADER!

and breathe

and snort

and glare

*Bloomin' Men*

Don't get me wrong. In the systems we have implemented things work like clockwork. In the space between paragraph 3 and 4, we have heard our son do one of his award winning coughs, been upstairs, given him tixylix (cough medicine), turned on the steam machine and given him a blast on the inhaler as well as several kisses and a squash.

This is a system which has been long practiced since initial implimentation. There have been variations but in the end this is the one which works and we spring on to it on autopilot almost. (Albeit an emotive autopilot)

So my question is this .... If you prove to a man how well female iniciated (jointly implimented) systems work, then how come they regard all new systems (the calender being a case in point) with such indiffrence?

Answers on a comment please ....

Happy Valentines Day

2006-02-15T00:10:00.000Z

all.....

Now that all the excitement is over. 12.09am

The grinch does a blog

2006-02-09T23:33:00.000Z

I am not writing (much) tonight.

Am bloody tired

Someone left me a comment yesterday to say ER was no longer on at the 'Georging' hour so will be really fed up if Little Miss wakes up

Am fed up doing housework

Am fed up re-washing clothes to try to get the smell of sick out of
clothes

Am fed up of clingy whinging baby who only moves from my sholder to my lap and screams if put anywhere else

Am fed up with hubby who bought be ice-cream and then appeared with 2 spoons

I have my period, I do not want to share unless you want some f'ing period cramping!! I do want you to have the bloody snip (which you have been promising for nearly a YEAR now) so I can get rid of this bloody crappy coil which gives me these bloody cramps!!!!

Hey, look I'm sharing! Yay for me.

Am really most of all fed up that my closest friend Helen is moving to Berkshire for months. Fuddit!

Am going to bed now so I can be fed up with the pillows. Have thrown some of them downstairs for hubby to use on the sofa. Share ice-cream when I have a preiod. Bog off!

E. (Grumpy)

What a day, what a day, what a day...

2006-02-07T21:59:00.001Z

What a day, what a day, what a day...

Thank you for coming to read me. Let me moan at you.

Started out like any other. Jack appears in my room (husband in Dublin for work so it has reverted to 'my' room) at 7.20am.

"Can I have a cuddle?"

I remember having a thought at this point that this was a perfect start to any day. Hold that thought.

Kids dressed,
Kids fed
Terrible trio get to school actually on time (!)
Kisses and cuddles
Jack trots off to the classroom
Mummy trots off to the shop (milk, min. water, cola, stock cubes and stain remover ...... ) Remember the latter, it is significant!

Go to health food shop for stock cubes and the Ecover stain remover (goodee-goodeee brand, the features of which are; "No chemical residue. *Optimum level of biodegradability
- far exceeds legal requirements. *Minimum impact on aquatic life.
*Against animal testing. *Safe for septic tanks" - so there!)

So you have the picture, there I am in HEALTH food shop. I have the STAIN REMOVER for clothes in my hand, I am walking along the aisles perusing as you do. Suddenly there was a gulping noise, followed by a huge cough and then a choke/squeak sound. The sort of combination of noises which set off alarm bells like the bow bells and sirens like a lighthouse alarm in a
parent's mind. Were these bells and siren justified? OH YES! The sheer volume of puke would have been admirable and awesome in anyone else's baby, in mine it was intimidating and terrifying. We are talking COVERAGE! I have seen adults produce less upheaval after a three course Chinese and a bottle of Southern Comfort than this child (all 21lbs of her) managed on a pot of children's yogurt and 12 ounces of porridge.

Has the irony of the health food shop, the bottle of stain remover and puke hit home yet?

The upheaval came continued all day. She decorated her bed, my bed (while I was changing her bed) the sitting-room floor, Helen, Me (three times) and the bath.

Speaking of the sainted Helen, she came this evening to look after Jack while I brought Lucy to the hospital. The woman is amazing, she just rolled up her sleeves and ran the house in my absence as good as I do, if not better. Thank god for friends like this.

When hubby read my last entry, he remarked that I should write a book. GOOD LORD MAN!! What next? You ask for a blog entry and I give you one, you read the blog entry and want a book, if I write a book, what next? a film? a series? a 13-part run of novels?

Whilst writing this, Hubbie's mother was on the phone to me for 56 minutes. I missed the O.C. I wonder if she noticed that most of my remarks were 'Yes' 'No' or 'Ooooh tell me' and the classic "Reeeeally?"

Happiness E4&1 showing 'The O.C.' It's fun watching people the same age as me pretending to be 12 years younger.

Going to bed soon as I think we may be 'Georging' tonight. What is 'Georging' I hear you ask? Well for the uninitiated (and those who are normally asleep at that time) E4 normally shows 'ER' at 2am. This corresponds with when Lucy (and her teething) wake me up. So we come downstairs, have a cuddle and she gets sleepy leaning into my chest. (It has that effect on people :) Anyhow the present cast is the Dr. Green, Dr. Ross, Nurse Hathaway etc. collection. So we call it 'Georging' as it is the (real) gorgeous George who is playing Dr. Ross. He's that good looking and he fixes sick children. Except for the hours, he is the perfect man.

Night all.
George, see you in a few hours.
Hubby, see you tomorrow.

:)

2006 Day Something or other

2006-02-01T21:36:00.000Z

Husband came home last night after a week away working. "You haven't updated your blog" he remarks "I was looking forward to reading it"

Oh yeah, well here is a run down of my typical day.

7.20am Woken by the dulcet tones of little Master yelling "Mummy, I'm done" (pooing) "come and help me" (wipe my bot) Get up wiping sleepy dust out of my eye. Try to muster myself to enough wakefulness not to confuse paper and hands.

Dress young master.

Make young master's breakfast of cereal, yogurt, fruit and milk

Abandon young master at the table to feed himself (bad mummy!)

Dress self, re-organise hair into a different shaped mess and fire deodorant in general direction of arm-pits.

Rouse young miss, change (how does someone so small make SO much!!??) and dress her. Take her downstairs for breakfast.

Feed her and eat something quickly myself. If I had time to think about it, I would wonder if I were in danger of turning into a piece of toast from the volume I eat in the mornings but I haven't got the time so I don't.

Scrape the uneaten Ready Brek and yogurt from my hair. Call to son to find shoes. Call to son to put on shoes, call to son to put shoes on right feet. Call to son .... Give up calling to son and re-organise shoes myself. Retrieve the leaking water beaker from the floor and leave the house at 8.40 on the dot.

Drop little master at school. Avoid eye contact with the mad Mothers, the bad Mothers and the ones who want to spend all morning in the coffee shop.

Do a dash to the supermarket to grab *whatever* we are low on. Mostly that is bread, milk, yogurt, sanity and sleep.

Run home as little miss is starting to get restless and wants to be out of the buggy. Once home make a large cup of tea, wash up the breakfast chaos dishes and sit down with little miss for a play.

About 10.30am, begin the epic which is bottle feeding with l. miss. She has to have something to bang against her bottle whilst feeding. This week it is the phone handset.

Then the ear-pulling and eye-rubbing will start. Nap time it is. Apply grobag and soggy and away she goes.

Now my fun begins, make beds, open windows to air out the rooms. Hoover downstairs, clean downstairs loo which has began to smell of coffee lately -v. odd. Clean kitchen counters and check the state of the microwave/oven. Re-organise sofa and disinfect high chair. Then I sit down with a Check eBay for emails and sales.

About an hour and a half after going to sleep and miraculously just as I am ready to collapse in a telly-watching heap except there is nothing worth watching during the daytime, I know this because I checked once, about 3 years ago, Madame awakes. This is made obvious by the vigorous rattling of the cot bars and the calls of "Da Da Da Da DAAAAAAAAAH" She's a Daddy's girl, is it obvious?

Play with madame for 15 mins to allow her tummy to wake up and then feed her lunch. (Two courses) Clear up mess from leave for a walk

This is when I may go to a coffee shop for the sole purposes of perpetuating the myth that Mothers do nothing all day except lunch. Little miss may chew on a bread crust or piece of French bread for the sole purposes of perpetuating the myth that lunching Mothers feed their off-spring on scraps.

Then it is time to collect little master from school. The trick is to try to get another Mother to keep an eye on little miss (who is fast asleep at this stage) while I sprint down the stairs, get Jack, prevent him from running away, put his gilet on, retrieve him from the wrestling match he has got into, attempt to put his coat on, threaten to take his train set away unless he stands still and apply hat. Then rush back outside to little miss (still fast asleep) and begin the walk home.

If you are ever walking along a road and hear the following being yelled (in a firm, commanding and *barely in control* voice) it is probably me

"Little Master stop! ...... now"

"LM, do not run around that corner ..... COME BACK"

"LM, get up off the ground .... I mean it"

"LM's friend, get up off LM .... oh I can't threaten you, you're not mine"

"LM, stop at the edge ..... STOOOOOOPPPPPPPP!"

"Hold hands to cross the road .... no, my hand, not your friend's hand"

"Come out of that garden"

"Don't step in that dog-poo .... stepping in dog poo is NOT funny"

and of course; "I am going to take away your train set"

I swear to God, I am sane. I just don't sound it on the walk home from school but then nobody else does either.

We get home and the servants prepare the young master a snack of dried fruit and a cup of milk. Oh, you caught me out, all right then, I do it.

Young miss finishes off her nap in her buggy which we callously abandon in the hallway.

Play with young master which usually involves very complex re-organisation of his brio railway lines and discussions about signals, detonators, stations, towers, bridges and quarries. He does vary the theme though into musings about Thomas, Emily, diesel engines, the whereabouts of the missing Henry and troublesome trucks.

Now come downstairs, wake Lucy and offer her a bottle (epic....) Do homework with Jack. Try to convince him that I am not trying to pull a fast one when I tell him that H is H and not J. Resist the temptation to go upstairs and bang my head on the side of the bath whilst engaging Jack in front of Blue Peter (BBC1 5.00pm) so I can start the dinner for both of them.

Sit Jack at the table and Lucy in the highchair. Feed one and offer the other one the following dialogue:

"Sit up straight"
"Would you mind facing the table"
"Yes you do like vegetables, who told you you don't like vegetables?"
"Eat your vegetables or you will shrink"
"Shrink means to get smaller"
"You'll get smaller cos that's what happens to people who don't eat their veg."
"Cos it does"
"Yes you will"
"Oh for goodness' sakes just eat it"

Finish dinner, clear away dinner crockery (as much as children's plastic bowls can be considered crockery)

Run upstairs and lay out the children's pyjamas

Sit on floor and sing the theme songs to the programmes which feature in the last half hour of ceebeebies. Then the real work begins .....

As the 'goodnight' song plays, do tidy up time. This is where we transfer the pile of toys on the floor to a pile against the wall.

Run upstairs and run a bath

Then I carry one child upstairs and coerce (threaten) the other into following. Undress the small one and realise the big one has abandoned undressing himself and is now playing brio. One threat later (you guessed it) and he is in the bath looking very pleased with himself.

Wash both, coo over nud-cuds (nude bathtime cuddles), try to stop the master from drowning the miss, try to stop the miss from scrabbling out her brother's eye. Scoop the wee one out and keep the big one singing so I know he is ok as I put on her jammies and grobag.

Place the wee one in the playpen to stop her from doing a base crawl down the stairs. Scoop the big one out of the bath and into his PJs. Once this is completed, he starts bouncing on my bed to the throaty giggles of his baby sister.

Run downstairs and make up the bedtime bottles. Moo-milk for him and formula for her. Run upstairs and hope the children are where I left them, or at least in the rough vicinity of ....

Plonk children on my bed, bottles in hand and read Lucy's story. Finish story and plonk Lucy in the arms (paws) of Soggy and hopefully Morpheus.

Encourage Jack to go to the toilet, nail his foot to the floor, tie his hands behind his back, clamp his mouth open with a medieval instrument of torture and brush his teeth. Well, I don't but only because I haven't got a medieval instrument of torture although no-one could blame me if that is what I did. He HATES having his teeth brushed.

Get Jack into bed, read him a story and begin our bedtime hugging ritual of "a squash and a squeeze, a kiss and a cuddle, a pat and a stroke, a snuggle and a poke" I normally sneak in an extra kiss.

Come downstairs, load the clothes washing machine. Pointedly ignore the crockery washing up pile. Watch Eastenders and drink tea.

Do washing up,
fold clothes out of the dryer
load up dryer again
load up washing machine again
empty bins
load recyclables into recycle bin

Check eBay for sales and emails.
Respond to emails and get parcels ready for posting

Collapse into bed about 11.00, complete Saduko puzzle to help get me sleepy.

Think something rude about husband who wonders why I have not the time to update blog.

Fall asleep.

2006 Day 13 Ever wanted to?

2006-01-16T00:01:00.000Z

Thomson local directory are featuring a woman in a catsuit in a very Mrs. Peel-ish pose except they have got it completely wrong. Their heroine is wearing a powder blue catsuit instead of wearing a black cat-suit and driving a powder blue 1960s Lotus Elan. Mind you, if you could, (either) wouldn't you?

After 2 weeks have lost ....drumroll ... taaaa-naaaah.... boom .... 7lbs. A nice safe healthy constant weight loss. Am v. happy with that. Jean lose. Not dropped a full size but definitely need a belt with a tighter loop. Yay me.

Still f'ing hate vegetable juice.

Am celebrating with a glass of white wine. Oh dear, my blood sugar is v. low (inane giggle)

Have decided to amend the diet slightly and add a daily cup of skimmed milk coffee. I am not a caffeine fiend or addict. I genuinely enjoy my one cup of coffee a day. I slow down, take it easy and savour it. Somehow a stinky green drink that I gag slightly as I drink is not a real substitute so I am back now to a morning cup of latte.

Also have decided to ditch the veggie juice. I have stuck it for 14 days now and enough is enough. If I don't like it now, after the period when most people reckon something should be likable through sheer force of 'habit', then I will never like it. My alternative is to cook all the veg in a spoonful of olive oil with a few cups of vegetable stock made with miso and then puree all that into a soup in the blender and thickened with a spoonful of Greek yogurt (low fat of course) Much nicer and actually quite palatable.

Watched the Eddie Izzard DVD 'Dressed to kill' this weekend.

We had a big dinner party with Helen (nicest, kindest, most decent woman on Earth) Rob (soon off to foreign parts in service of Queen and country and lucky b'stard to be married be Helen, but it's ok, cos he knows it) and the handsome Ollie (12 months). Brilliant, brilliant night.

We are so lucky to have such lovely decent easygoing easy company as friends. You know there are some people that you invite to dinner and the thought of them makes your shoulders ascend to oooohhh... about your ears? Well Helen and Rob make your shoulders melt to your waist. Perhaps if I had been as chilled out with Little Master, the same way Helen is with Ollie, as a 1st time mum, then Jack would be less fracious now. Ach well, who knows?

Got to go, I might be on a promise tonight. Failing that, there is a BBC3 documentary on Pulp focusing on the 'Common People' album. You know, that Jarvis Cocker is attractive for a skinny bloke but I think he smokes .... so he'll have to do a bit of work before he can have me.

Just realised JC are the initials of yer man mentioned above and he was the one causing a stink at the Brits cos he reckoned Michael Jackson (an American singer) was attempting to be 'The Christ' in his posturing. Ta-na-na-na-na-na-na-na (Tales of the unexpected music here)

Oh feck it, Jarvis, I'm yours!

Anyhow all this musing on Jarvis and his class pondering is distracting me from the initial point of some paragraph way above, namely Eddie and his scary lipstick, sorry eyeshadow, I mean comedy. He's brilliant. I shall muse on this again. For now, I'm orf, or on... ahhhhhaaaaaaa (Alan partridge moment there!)

2006 Day 12 ER - blub sob

2006-01-12T22:49:00.000Z

Have period .... am grumpy ...... and emotional ......... and sobbing.

I intended to write and instead here I am sitting blubbing at ER. Brain damaged baby scenario.

This is something you never think of until you are six months pregnant and you are watching ER / Holby or somesuch, the scenario is about a brain-damaged, handicapped, physically impaired foetus and you turn to oneanother with *that look* and nothing is said but a silent wish passes between you and the resolve "we'll deal with it when we are faced with it" is born.
Ugaaaaaahhhhh......

One cup of tea and a HUGE noseblow later.

Shouldn't have switched to TMF, it's Eminem's "When I'm gone".

You know what's coming, give me 5 minutes.
Hurrrrrmphhhhhhh............

Oh good, there is an Arnie film on Channel5. T1. "Skynet had to wipe out his entire existence ....." Ooh no, the scalpel in the eye bit. Writing time. Funny how you can look at your own placenta shivering on the floor like a piece of liver coloured jelly but the sight of a prosthetic with a bit of red paint and it's the heebee jeebies.

Feel totally cheated at the end to season one of Lost last night. The big end was all of them staring into a flipping hole? WTF!? The 'others' (who quite frankly looked like rejects from the Deliverance set) kidnapping of the kid was a bit of a shocker though and yes, I did laugh when the guy lecturing the others on the dangers of sweating dynamite ... boom boom ... got blown up by the very dyno he was waving about.

Haven't been so cross since the fabulous Point Pleasant ended five weeks ago. I stayed up until 1am to see the 'season finale'. They promised war, annihilation, bodies piled up and total destruction. What happened? Teenager has row with Mother, teenager gets stroppy, throws
stuff about, chap gets blinded in the process, yelling, shouting, girl's chap lies to her, oh someone gets shot and teenager storms off in a huff arrogantly vowing "I'll show everyone" and "I'll tell my Daddy about you lot"

GAWD! I wish someone would give me a job writing season finales, I would put the perfect crust on their sandwiches. I could do better than the stroppy striding teenager or the three lawdy-help-us's staring into a flipping hole and a bit of backlighting and dramatic music. Come back
Dallas with JR getting shot or old Bobby reappearing in the shower - now THERE was the way to end a season!

Season one of Desperate Housewives ended on a bit of a cliffhanger so am looking forward to the return to Channel4 next Wednesday. I can see what the surprise is going to be in episode
one. Here is my prediction given in such a way as hopefully not be a spoiler but I bet the loopy Dana will find out who his real Father is.
There you go.

Is it just me or is anyone else annoyed by those cars ads trading on the concept of "bigsmall"? I had to google it to find out the brand as the concept stuck more than the product. It is for the new Toyota Yaris. I hate to tell you this oh Mr. and Mrs. Mighty Car Manufactures and equally overpaid ad agency peeps but something which is bigsmall is MEDIUM you mumpty dumpty muppets! Gah! I despair sometimes, I really do. To think, someone was probably paid
the balance of our mortgage to come up with that piffle. I could come up better, except I can't post it here cos it would be stolen. Send cash thought the post with a stamped addressed envelope and I'll send you my best one.

That is if Ford do not get to me first :)

2006 Day 11 PANTS PANTS PAAANTS

2006-01-11T18:12:00.000Z

Three steps forwards and one back. Ended up on a ventilator today.

My lung infection decided I couldn't live without it so it came back for a visit and it brought a guest - vengeance, as in back with a ...

Was up most of the night coughing and then finally nodded off sitting up head in hands about 5am. Then it felt like I was breathing through glass when I got up, the cracked kind.

So hubbie left the Little Master to school and then came back and brought me to the docs. The lady doc I saw was fresh meat who didn't bother reading my history, namely the 2 types of antibiotics thrown at this in the last 3 weeks and the fact it had been hitting me on and off for the last six months ("wee" facts it had taken Dr. Patel who I saw just over a week ago seconds to read through) So she proposed the first mild cure-all that the Somerset doctor put me on and when I objected told me that I was lucky to be put on a-bs at all! Oh, so the fact that my lungs are now making a crackling noise when I breathe doesn't justify them then doc? Grrrrrrr ...

I was put on a ventilator with oxygen for about 10 mins. Whew-whew-wee, I can see why people in the army are partial to a few 'hits' to cure hangovers. It doesn't half start your heart. Little Miss was NOT impressed with the proceedings and divided her time between screaming
with tiredness (we hit her nap time while there) and trying to pull the mask off my face.

The moral of the story is stand up for yourself in NHS surgeries and don't forget your babies soggy when you go there. If you are wondering why Soggy is so called, well it is because he is just as his name suggests.

Bedtime and naptime involves the application of a grobag and a soggy. When handed Soggy, thumb goes in mouth, eyes start drooping and she goes to sleep. My darling little girl ......

Now before all you parents who have kids with sleeping issues start to tune out in disgust, let me assure it was not always like this. Lucy was born with gastroesophageal reflux . This is an awful condition where 'lid' at the top of her tummy was not closing all the way so stomach acid was coming up her esophagus and burning her. This lid is something we all have which keeps foods and stomach acid where they belong in our tummies but some children are born with them underformed or non-existant.

She was arching her back and screaming because it hurt. She was not eating because it hurt. She was screaming because she was hungry. She was screaming because she was too busy screaming instead of sleeping and was exhausted. I was at my wits end. We tried treating her for colic (no joy obviously) and just met blank stares from the local doctor's surgery when their treatments did not work. I am not proud admitting it but there were a couple of nights where we were into the 5th or 6th hour of screaming where I put her in her moses basket in the bathroom, at the back of the house and shut the door so we could not hear her. She was warm and safe just inconsolable with pain. That night both of us cried ourselves to sleep. Like I said, it wasn't the only one.

It is awful to say but the few hours sleep I snatched that way were probably what stopped me from strangling her during those first 10 weeks. Sleep deprivation, frustration at the doctors, impatience with your own uselessness, the helplessness of knowing your child is in pain all played out to the soundtrack of a screaming baby can do strange things to your mental process. I collapsed in tears telling all this to a middle-aged midwife who roared laughing at me. She told me that when her own daughter was born, for weeks afterwards this woman wished she would die just so she could get a night's sleep.

I have now come to the conclusion it is probably better to vent i.e. give voice to these awful things rather than actually carry them out. It might shock or even reassure the person listening to you but it is a wholr lot better than actually doing something you will regret.

Anyhow thanks to the Internet and the chance sentence on a website saying how reflux is often mistaken for colic, I had my diagnosis. I went straight to the doctors and asked for a referral to a specialist.

They gave me gaviscon as a part of going through the GP motions. It is no joke trying to gaviscon into a breast-fed baby, in fact it would have been easier (and more preferable) to pass a camel through my arse ... daily! So after 2 days I threw that muck away and said to the doctors unless I got an emergency referral, I would leave the baby there for them to deal with. Luckily (!) Little Miss did not disappoint that day and was in full voice. I got my referral. Would I have gone through with my threat? Absolutely not. However there is something about a sleep-deprived woman with wild shower hair and mad eyes that must have made them think that I was serious. Bless me.

Anyhow for anyone interested here are the symptoms to look out for. The ones underlined are the real tell-tale ones.

vomiting especially projectile
prolonged crying and screaming as if in pain
back arching (very important this one as colic causes a baby to double over)

refusal to eat which may be accompanied by lethargy and/or significant weight loss

never seeming satisfied and fussing at the breast / bottle

frequent violent hiccuping
gagging and choking when feeding
belching and/or farting

frequently coughing
wheezing
frequent upper respiratory infections (colds)
rattling in the chest

Anyhow the pediatrician, put Little Miss on 2 medicines. One to help her digest her food faster and another to act as a sort of plug to sit on top of her tummy and stop the acid from rising. From the second day of using it, we had a different child.

The only trouble was had was 6weeks later (due to weight gain) the crying started again but a minor adjustment to the dosage fixed that.Funny now how it all feels like a bit of a dream as she is off the medicines about 2 months, weighs a respectable 19lbs and is wearing clothes for an 18 month old. Not bad for a reflux baby who is 'not supposed' to gain weight.

I am incredibly proud of my daughter and my son. Ah fuddit, a few breathing difficulties is nothing compared to everything else I have to be grateful for in my life.

2006 Day 10 Diet rebel hires a nanny

2006-01-09T23:07:00.000Z

Ughhhh, I am sick of vegetable gloopy soupy yackie ucky muck
that passes under the name of veggie juice, a "delightful" invention of
Dr. McKeith which consists of mix of 2 celery sticks, 1 cucumber and 2
carrots. So I rebelled today and had half a tuna sandwich. It did have
cucumber on it however so it was only half a misdemeanor.

I also had a coffee, a fabulous creamy coffee and you know
what? I half suspect the milk was full fat as James the delightful
proprietor of our local Italian caff goes in for making things
properly. It's stunning, located in the expensive SE3 postcode, he
manages to provide a hot chocolate, a latte, a banana sandwich (made to
order) a tuna sandwich and 2 cups of milk for £6.50. A mile
up the road you get no change from £5 for a sandwich and a
coffee from Costa. My "other" favorite coffee haunt.

I will quickly clarify that it was not me who had all of the above but Little Master, Little Master's mate and Little Master's mate's nanny.

Anyhow perhaps it was the rush of coffee to the head after several days
break, perhaps it was the news that Little Master's mate's (super)
nanny Jo only had one afternoon free and was looking for work for that
day, but I offered a one day a week job to Jo (who is the
nanny of Little Master's friend) So I now have six hours on a
Monday to devote to the gym, doing some work on eBay, eventually taking
driving lessons and perhaps sneaking in a few hours studying for my
Solaris exam. It's a lot in a little time, I know but I've got to take
the breaks where I can find them and I am delighted to have found this
one.

I also have an appointment on Friday to get a referral to see the ENT
(ear, nose, throat) specialist which hopefully will do something
towards clearing up this cycle of throat / lung / bronchi infections.
So it looks like its 'all change' (WHOOPEE!!)

You know I said Little Miss was off her food? Well she was back on with
a vengeance today. Six scoops of porridge for breakfast, potato and
parsnip soup for lunch and pureed chickpea and quinoa chowder for
dinner (2 helpings!!!) This was washed down with three bottles of
formula and half a pot of banana yogurt.

The chowder was a huge success with Master and Miss. Hubbie was not so
keen, he is not a huge quinoa fan. He did manage to bulk himself up
with smoked fish and cheese salad though.

I have agreed to console him with macaroni cheese tomorrow. Sigh.... Ah
well, if I use wholewheat pasta and use more veg. (especially onion-
based ones because they are amazing with cheese) perhaps that will
defer the 'badness' of the dish.

Have discovered an amazing Lush
product for children called 'Ickle Baby Baff'. See pic. It is not so much a bath ball as a bath face but it fizzes like a fine thing and the demand has been put in for more by minor management.

It has all sorts of yummy stuff like chamomile and lavender
which knocks out all the little loves. Little Master nearly exploded
with excitement himself watching it fizz in the bottom of the bath.
After we bought it, all he could talk about was his 'stinky bath'

Having an early night tonight so I have the energy and the willpower to
stay on diet tomorrow. See below for the treats I am allowed.

7:15am: Cup warm water followed by a cup of Dandelion tea. (In the
real world, are dendelions still weeds?)

7:30pm: GO OUT FOR A BRISK 30 MINUTE WALK
8:15am: FRESH FRUIT LOTS OF IT.
FOLLOW with a bowl of Quinoa flake Porridge. (Think I'll cheat here and have
real oat poridge, I'll just die of pleasure if I have too much quinoa and we can't have that)

10:15am: SNACK
1 SMALLER VEGGIE JUICE so to take in the Spirulina. (More
veggie juice, ooooh feckin' yippee!)

PUMPKIN SEEDS AND ONE OR MORE WHOLE CUCUMBERS WITH THE SKIN LEFT ON.

12 NOON: Get outside for a fast 20 minute walk.

12:30pm: LUNCH
One or two whole soft, ripe avocados sliced up on a bed of the left
over quinoa from the morning. Decorate with sprinkled pumpkin seeds
throughout and 1 tablespoon of Flax Seeds.
Heaping handful or more of Raw or lightly steamed green beans.

MID AFTERNOON SNACK
1 VEGGIE JUICE (Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!)
2 cucumbers
1 carrot
3 celery

6:00pm: Dance for 20 minutes and just go crazy. (Crazy? I
must be barmy to follow this dammed diet in the 1st place!)

6:30pm: DINNER
Aduki Bean casserole with squash and yams
Loads of Alfalfa sprouts weaved throughout.
Make a big pot as it will serve as lunch the next day.

9:00pm: SNACK
Handful Raw Hazelnuts. Steam for 2 minutes or not if you
can’t be bothered.
Steaming gives a nice feel and texture and aids digestion. (If you
say so ..... groan.....)

cheezy cheeky

2006-01-08T16:40:00.000Z

cheezy cheeky

2006 Day 8 Site driving me mad

2006-01-08T00:21:00.001Z

Site was busted last night so I could not post. Kept logging me in and
out so I lost patience and devoted some quality time to
(yelling at) husband (joke.....ish)

I feel busted tonight so will not be much of a post. Still
on diet and sticking to it quite well although I did have a few slurps
of wine last night. Just to quality test a reserve you understand.....

Kids both well.

Little Master and I had the Mother of all cushion fights tonight - well
we have 14 cushions knocking about the sitting room so it seems strange
not to put them to good use. Besides, it beats the dust out of them and
keeps them 'plumped up' :)

Little Miss is still off her food although perversely enough she is
sleeping longer while eating less. Don't understand that one.

When she started on solids at 5 and a half months, she used to demolish all in
front of her. Month one, she had a jar of babyfood for lunch for dinner
followed by a jar of dessert and very rarely left a crumb (or more
accurately a drip) Month two and we moved on to having dinner, also two
pots, also demolished. Month three we added breakfast (porridge and a
yogurt) Then for a few weeks, we were a three meals a day happy happy
girl. Come December and the onslaught of teeth (and I choose that word
deliberately) and we were spitting out food (that is when we were not
puking it up or screaming at the sight of it)

If all that were not enough fun, we also weaned ourselves. I breastfed
Little Master for 15 months and I pretty much intended to do the same
for the Little Miss. I had not foreseen her refusing to feed, squirming
at the breast, screaming when I tried to feed her and in a last
dramatic gesture of refusal actually strain to get away. Happy was not what I was. Have just
about reconciled myself to it now although every time she sniffles now
I am tempted to start using a breast pump and get the errr...... juices flowing again.

Watched a few episodes of 'Ripping Yarns' tonight which is so
funny it makes me choke laughing. If you like the humor of Monty Python
and/or Michael Palin in general, it is perfect for you albeit just a
little hard to get hold of on DVD. Bought it off eBay for
hubbie for a Christmas present and he lurrrrrrrrrves me for it.

That is all. Sunday tomorrow and we have all the joys and terrors of Toddler World in Greenwich. I need my sleep!

2006 Day 6 Round of applause please

2006-01-05T23:56:00.000Z

Well I managed to follow today's regime. Although I did crack and substitute veg. miso soup for the second veggie juice which is just so yack it is not funny. I guess, like my husband's farts, I will just have to get used to it.

Kids were determined to sabotage my first day of dieting as little Miss who is 9 months old surfaced at 4.15am determined to socialise. This is where she gets up full of the joys of Spring and roars when put back to bed. Down - roars, up - silence, down -roars, up -silence and so it continued for half an hour. We (hubbie and I) just got her settled when young Man who is three and a half years appeared sleepwalking

"I wanna bath"
"No, you don't Jack, it's nighttime so back to bed"
(sobs) "I wanna bath, Daddy give me a baaaaaath"
"Jack, come on bedtime now"
"Will you give me a cuddle?"

So I got into bed with him to give him a cuddle which lasted longer than I intended because I fell asleep and woke up perched on the edge of his single bed on the brink of falling out and very stiff.

All I wanted today was a copious amount of strong take away coffees, huge cheese sandwiches and a pint of cola to keep me going but I didn't give in. So I am grouchily going to bed to dream of dandelion tea as this is my morning treat. Lucky me!!

I do love my kids and I hate complaining about them. When they are sick, I want to take on what they have so they know no pain or discomfort, I would stand between them and an angry tiger, I would give up my limbs or my senses to preserve theirs but OOOOOOOHHH GOOOOOOD sometimes I would like a break or even the option of a break just for a while.

Lately it seems like the only chance I get for a break is when I am sick and that means my husband has to stay home from work which pisses his bosses off (I am sure) and it also means the house is left in a state which I must tidy as soon as I am on my feet. So we have these cycles of me getting run down, a bit depressed, catching a lung-related infection, going to bed sick, hubbie stays at home, house gets in a mess, get up from sickbed as cannot bear state of house any longer, don't recover properly and am sick again a few weeks later. AAAARGHHHH!!!!! Well hopefully this healthy eating thing will help build a stronger immune system so I will stop being sick and I will break this cycle because it is getting me nowhere .... at all.

Going to bed now as have moaned enough for today. Did I tell you I stuck to my diet? :)

7:15am: Cup warm water followed by a cup of Dandelion tea.

7:30pm: GO OUT FOR A BRISK 30 MINUTE WALK

8:15am: FRESH FRUIT LOTS OF IT.
FOLLOW with a bowl of Quinoa flake Porridge.

10:15am: SNACK
1 SMALLER VEGGIE JUICE so to take in the Spirulina.
PUMPKIN SEEDS AND ONE OR MORE WHOLE CUCUMBERS WITH THE SKIN LEFT ON.

12 NOON: Get outside for a fast 20 minute walk.

12:30pm: LUNCH
One or two whole soft, ripe avocados sliced up on a bed of the left over quinoa from the morning. Decorate with sprinkled pumpkin seeds throughout and 1 tablespoon of Flax Seeds.
Heaping handful or more of Raw or lightly steamed green beans.

MID AFTERNOON SNACK
1 VEGGIE JUICE
2 cucumbers
1 carrot
3 celery

6:00pm: Dance for 20 minutes and just go crazy.

6:30pm: DINNER
Aduki Bean casserole with squash and yams
Loads of Alfalfa sprouts weaved throughout.
Make a big pot as it will serve as lunch the next day.

8:15pm: MEDITATION RELAXATION

9:00pm: SNACK
Handful Raw Hazelnuts. Steam for 2 minutes or not if you can’t be bothered.
Steaming gives a nice feel and texture and aids digestion.

2006 Day 5 The Diet

2006-01-05T00:18:00.000Z

Here is the outline of tomorrow's eating plan. Anyone wanna take bets on when I'll crack?

7:15am FIRST THING IN THE MORNING Cup Warm Water with a squeeze of lemon (oh yummy, yum, yum!!) and 1 Cup of Nettle tea (oh is there no end to the joys on this diet)

7:30am GO OUT FOR A FAST BRISK 30 MINUTE WALKWork up a sweat. (How glam!)

8:15am BREAKFAST Large Punnet of Blueberries (If you want a second punnet, then go for it).
(whopee doo)

10:15am MID MORNING SNACKONE VEGGIE JUICE 2 celery sticks, 1 cucumber, 2 carrots ADD SPIRULINA (If you say so)

12 Noon: GO OUT FOR A FAST 30 MINUTE WALK (can I run from this diet?)

12:30pm: LUNCH Tuna fish on a salad bed of Spinach. If you wish, steam spinach for one minute. HOLD THE MAYO and 6 Cherry tomatoes Heap Spinach leaves Handful of Dill herb sprinkled throughout. Squeeze raw lemon and or a dash of orange. (ooooh, a WHOLE dash of orange, how naughty!)

MID AFTERNOON SNACK 1 VEGGIE JUICE 2 celery sticks, 2 cucumbers

6:00pm: Dance to loud music for 20 minutes before dinner. Go wild!! (Ok, but only cos you said so)

6:30pm: DINNER Small veggie juice 1 cucumber and 1 celery stalk. Miso soup with tofu pieces and scallions. You can buy Miso in packets. Just add hot water. Chop up a few scallions. Organic Turkey or Organic Chicken with steamed carrots and broccoli and a tablespoon of Miso soup to moisten your white meat. Big handful Mung Bean sprouts and herbal leaves.

9:00pm: EVENING SNACK 1 or 2 fresh RAW peaches (Are you sure I won't explode after eating all that?)

2006 Day 4 A more resolute me

2006-01-04T23:27:00.000Z

RESOLUTIONS FOR THIS NEW YEAR IN ORDER OF PRIORITY

Get our damm Blackheath house sold - oh what an epic this one is! When I am
calmer, I will recite it in full. I don't want my first post on
blogspot to be x-rated by virtue of the language used.

Build up successful business on eBay - this starts with attending the NEC Spring Fair in Birmingham between Feb. 5th and 9th to find new lines to sell. I am really looking forward to this as it looks like Daddy will be staying home with the sprogs. So I will be running wild (among the stalls) and free (to bed at the end of long days) but hey, I'll take what I can get.

Lose 2 stone (yes 28lbs!) I am sick hauling around a bum that I suspect is knocking people off the pavement behind me as I pass them. Adios! I am going to follow the Gillian McKeith diet.

Ok, ok, I know she has been denounced as a quack for the dubiousness of her qualifications and some of the thinking behind her methodology. However having read her diet and thought about it. I think that her actual recommendations are sound and I need a diet set out in black and
white and that is what I have from her book (£6.99 secondhand from eBay) I reckon her recommendation of smoothies, fruit shakes, variety of cereals, four helpings of fruit and veg., a bit of fish and probably more beans than the human body possibly needs on a daily basis is not going to do me any harm. I will also be taking a multi-vitiman and calcium supplement the whole while though - just in case.

Get health problems sorted. I always seem to be starting, finishing or be suffering from a lung infection of one degree or another. NO MORE. I have demanded a referral to a ENT specialist and this time next week, I should have something sorted, courtesy of BUPA.

Get driving licence - I had a provisional one in Ireland but it lapsed and I preferred my bike anyway. Since kids, being short of time and plain bone idleness set in I am 2 stone heavier than I want to be. I always procrastinated on getting another licence as I was afraid that I would
get (quote me) 'lazy and fat'. So I figure as I now tick both those boxes WITHOUT a licence, I might as well get one.

Get Solaris administration exam - I've picked up a lot of Solaris skills over the last few years and true to form with anything I gain any knowledge of I like a piece of paper to represent that fact. Sad but true.

Sell everything in this house which has not been used/needed in the last 2 years on eBay. I could cry, I really could, I had managed to de-junk about a quarter of the garage, we have another load courtesy of the excesses of Christmas. I go to great pains to stress 'no books' this year (please) and what do we get? boxes of dammed BOOKS! that's what.

end of resolutions

Ok, I know the last one makes me sound like an ungrateful moaning cow and how lucky we are to have people want to represent the fond feelings they have for us this time of year in the shape and form of books but I am a woman drowning in a sea of clutter who every time she makes a small bit of headway in the battle against the tumbling mass of stuff has another deluge hit her.

Wish me luck, the diet starts tomorrow!

ElizaF

From now on I am going to write more ....

If you don't laugh at this, you're dead

Blackheath Race for life 2008

An ideal husband

Vacancies open

Man's inhumanity to man

Conversations of note

Hypocrisy

Somedays

Ours

Why Mother knows best

French military victories

Ireland really wants to win the Eurovision this year

Mood board

Did anyone see the total lunar eclipse this morning?

Business is slow

A tale of pot-bellied pigs, a night in a pub, ploughed fields and friendship.

Futureproofing

Facebooking the awful truth

Why I love my kids - reason no. 344567892

Walking to work in London

Jam and spoon please

Ex-squeeze me?

Un-uniform behaviour

Bloody breeders ....

Unrecognised artforms

Ooooohhhhhh

What brings you here today?

Cos I is a gowne up .....

Am I suitable for children?

Perserving our pontifications

Houses get smaller

Social secretarial duties call

London 2012 Logo - fairy story

Cure for aids announced

We bought the children a piano ....

Our neighbour's garages get attacked

Raffles comes to visit

Am the worst Mother in the world

Following complaints I am always hiding behind babies

Am professional widow again

OK, John Barrowman, I GET the hint

What THEY gonna do when they come for you?

Ideas I wish I had come up with...

40 years ago this week

What a girl wants, what a girl needs...

I could be a thousandaire!

What price a life?

Where have all the vocations gone?

As the French would say, "Oui Oui"

Richard Hammond eating cornflakes....

It's enough to drive you to drink...

Waiting to live ….

Richard Hammond critical

Rack out for all to see ....

Dirty pictures warning

Hardcore bone

Show us your willy!

It has all been said before and better ....

I'm just a sweet transsexual…

What a way to make a living ....

Houseowner requires cheap tarts for quick passionate exchange ...

Who do I have to kill in order to get a house around here?

Definition of a good parent ....

One six(th) of a pack

I did not marry you to yell at your kids

Mummy is a muppet

More rambling .....

It is all going too good...

Bad morning

Podge and Rodge

My kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiids

A squash and a squeeze and a kiss and a cuddle .....

Note to all readers

Happy Valentines Day

The grinch does a blog

What a day, what a day, what a day...

2006 Day *Something or other*

2006 Day 13 Ever wanted to?

2006 Day Something or other