Artful dodger

Babyboy is an aspie type, somewhere on the autism spectrum that my particular health authority refuse to quantify because it would cost money in the education sector. It's ok, middy; I'm not drunk enough to go all ranty and political tonight, this is just a scene setting paragraph to explain why this is so special to me.

Aspies/autistics don't deal with personal contact in the way most of us do so, when babyboy establishes a new routine that involves snuggling with me I take it as a major blessing. We used to sit and watch casualty on the sofa together but that's died out as he's got older. He'll be a teen in a few weeks, I'd resigned myself to losing that last physical link we had and researched other ways to keep close to him without freaking him out.

My inner child stamps her foot and screams at me that loving, non-sexualised physical contact was sorely missing for her and is absolutely neccessary for shedloads of reasons. I hug and kiss No 1 Son and babygirl every day to make inner child feel better but I sense that babyboy is not comfortable with it even though he needs it so I rein in the touchy-feely parent I've become and wait for him to come to me.

I came back from a - very rare - whole night away from my children and slipped back into normal, albeit hungover, mode. As dinner comes to an end I feel my hand being led to the sofa and sit where I'm directed as babyboy takes a place beside me. I tuck my legs under myself as is my wont, he settles into a place very close to me. I stroke his face the way I know he can cope with and, not that he'd admit it, enjoys. I feel something soft and stroky on my ankle and think "Yes!' This is progress, this is him trying to return physical contact to make someone else feel good. Finally, he's showing that he can empathise!"


Er, no. He was being artistic with a permanent marker. Comme ci.



It's still there right now. Slightly faded from exfoliator scrubbing and many applications of waterproof mascara remover but there, all the same.

Blah Blogblast

I'm so dehydrated that I haven't peed all day despite litres of water and green tea. I think my liver has fallen out. Random memories before I crash and get some much needed kip. Not in order.

Princess telling Vi when I pulled up in the car 'I thought the A Team had turned up!'

Kitchen sink confessions. Beer.

The Angie and Princess mutual appreciation society (don't forget to mail me about your mate)

Geminis are fabulous. All four of us.

Brandy and coke.

Me calling that poor bloke 'simple' all night.

And singing 'Daniel my brother, you are older than me' to another. At least three times.

The stripy jumper shop.

Large vodka's with red bull.

The woman in the loos throwing her arms about telling me and Princess that our conversation was sooo exciting.

Putting coke in the brandy bottle and drinking straight from that cos I couldn't be arsed looking for a glass.

Crip's intense eyes when I did his reading. And really wishing I wasn't so pissed so I could have done a better job for him.

Builders bum (Middy, you're naughty!)

Straddling Princess while I was talking at Joie.

Pineapple lumps - ewww!

Throwing a chair at a 'boy'. That one was early on!

Doing politics with Middy before realising that Vi wasn't coming back and the sun was up.

Texting fwengey then having no signal for ages.

Flowers in my cleavage, then hair. Then Princess's, then pretty much everyone's. Hair, I mean.

Comparing tattoos with, er, some bloke (I've forgotten his name again, Vi!)

Making simple give me 50p for the ciggie machine.

Princess getting a hairband given to her from behind the bar. By a bloke.

Singing. Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby! Ride on time. And others. Loud and badly.

Leaving my boots in the bath.

Giggling at 6' Middy trying to climb into the top bunk.

Waking up with my lenses stuck to my eyes and still feeling very, very drunk.

Scaring a small boy then calling him the wrong name.

One drunk photo and two drunk videos helped me to recover some memories but I still have large chunks missing! Will try and post the vids tomorrow.

24 hours only... Too late!




Vi, Blah didn't dissappoint, baby!

Jober as a sudge

And that's all I have to say on the matter.

Oh, wait. You really are my beshtest friend.

Yeah, you.

Whatever your name is.



Shit, come to think of it, what's my name?

Gardening ghosts

Both gardens are a mess, untouched for nigh on two years; since Joseph, in fact. I've tried before. The flymo fell to bits when I tried to use it, the strimmer needed it's strim manually resetting every ten-twenty seconds. Really. I timed it to distract myself from wanting to cry.

I don't cry, I do. Tears are of no practical use so they can fuck right fucking off cos, me? I'm busy dealing with things, get outta my way.

Symmetrical pots and baskets of colour now frame the new front door, the borders weeded so the bluebells can thrive, babygirl's sunflower seedlings can grow and absolute order can be displayed to anyone that passes a glance on their way to somewhere more important.

Just don't look round the back. You really don't want to see what's hidden behind the locked gate. Sorry. I'm trying.

Round the back, amongst other things, the window fitters left the old glazing units blocking the path. I moved them to somewhere less troublesome. Still inconvenient but not so glaringly obvious. They were incredibly heavy, it took an age, I was aching and bruised but satisfied. I don't have to leave shit where other people dump it, I can shift it to where it doesn't bother me as much. I love my independent streak. It's what I do.

Such a strong need to be strong. Weakness is a luxury for people with no-one else to look after.

That was the start of six (as yet, this is far from over) days of hard labour, punctuated only by my need for green tea and my children's need for me. I figure why the mo won't fly, realise a new mower isn't much more than the cost of getting it fixed. No waiting time either and I really do need it right now, while the time is right, while I'm right. Purchase it and some new strim, I'll freecycle the old one, ease my landfill conscience if not my overdraft.

I fucking hate when I can define problems but not fix them. I spit my most evil, venomous bile at the false hope, kill it stone dead for it's nasty tormenting. It stops me wanting to cry at it. I don't want to rely on anyone else to fix my breakdowns. I can't trust 'other people' for fucks sake! They say things like '3 weeks wait' and 'sentencing adjourned' and 'minimum charge' and they don't even look at you properly while they say it. Cunts. They can all just piss the piss off, pissily. I'll RTFM and DIY, so pissing there.

Finally, strim. Mow. A high cut so as not to leave it weakened and overexposed.

My emotions want to rip everything out, violently, mercilessly. Instant gratification? Shit, yeah! Bring it on! My intelligence and knowledge restrain me yet again. Remind me that's not the way to long term, low maintenance growth, whisper to me of babies and bathwater. Pull me back into line, push me back onto my knees.

I get to the borders, crawl into the darkness to clear out the undergrowth. Rotting leaves, shells of (now homeless?) snails, weeds, dead wood, all kinds of ick painstakingly cut, pulled or dug out. Nettles that sting my arms and legs growing through brambles with thorns that make my hands bleed even with protective gloves on, the crap fights for its place, it won't come quietly into the rubbish bag.

I'm being so careful and going so slowly but it fucking hurts and stings at every turn and I've started so I can't just leave it. No going back, just an aching back and inching, no, millimetreing forward.

Dig out the dandelion roots from the grass, tidy the edges. Not that it makes the bare patch in the centre look any better, sitting there like a fucking great huge scar where the children's pool was left too long. I've still not decided whether to reseed it or just cover it up with something else. A trampoline, maybe? The kids would like that.

But you can only cover up for so long and even when you do the scar is still there, it's just hidden from those who don't know where to look. And you know how you secretly resent those blinkered, shallow people that can only see surfaces.

I find hidden treasure. The white climbing rose I planted has survived, beyond the love affair I was in at the time. I tie it back, train it up the fence it's now big enough to reach, wanting it to show it's true beauty. Get pricked by thorns again. I sigh, resigned, continue to do what's best for it despite the constant sharp pains and blood.

So beautiful yet so vicious, all I'm trying to do is give you boundaries that will help you grow. I shall call you by my sister's name.

There is honeysuckle everywhere, I gently untangle it from the dead stalks before banishing them, discover the ends are over the fence, in the neighbours garden.

Of course it's made its way out. Why would anything so pretty want to stay in this place of loveless neglect given a growing tip and a choice? The roots may be forced to stay but the head isn't.

That thought stays with me as I rein in the jasmine that waterfalls over the opposite fence and fix it back where I want it, where it can lift me with it's fragrance.

Looking round, exhausted, I note the last few things to be cleared out and allow myself to feel proud of the work I've done. Then wonder what the fuck to do with all this clear space now I've created it. So much work still to do.

I thought it would be over by now. Exorcism is a slow process. I appear to be getting there, I'm just not sure where 'there' is.

Sun says scribbler's scuppered!

Song of songs

One line from each of my overall top twenty et voila! A whole new song!

Well it's been more than a year
Turn a new page, tear the old one out
Life takes some fighting
That's just the fear

But that's not the only lie I told you
And it's too late to change
You've got a chance to put things right
I keep on pushing for some way through

Sometimes I wish, I could cry on demand
that I would be loved even when I numb myself
They tell me to fight it
Can't expect the world to be your Raggedy And-y

I've never wanted something rational
I don't want to be your idol
And every star above you
A fragment of the girl, soft and sentimental

And wondering what's meant to be
An older version of me
And though it seems absurd
All I wanted was some evidence
that you really like me


I did have each line link to it's song but lost it when I formatted the text to look uniform. Bollocks and buggeration.

My cockliments to the chef

What a dick

Dreams and dishcloths

I'm in a dentists waiting room, it's packed. He's running three hours late.

I go to the reception and ask to make an appointment for another, quieter day. Explain that there's standing room only in the ante room, three people on a sofa in the surgery and two going through the relaxation process before they join them there.

"No! He only agreed to see you at this time!"

I leave, ride my bike away from the Canning Town high street of my youth and into the pub. It's a birthday celebration, everyone is doing a turn on stage. I drink and watch songs, speeches, mimes, photo displays, dances made up by children. The birthday couple I'm sitting with tell me it's my turn but I don't know them so I go to the toilet to look for my bike. It's not there so I search the park that the pub is in. It's been stolen.

I go home to get another bike so I can go back to the dentist. The bikes are kept in the front room, a proper front room that should only be used for visitors so I tidy the chains and locks and bags full of puncture repair kits before cycling off to the receptionist that speaks like acid. I go via the shopping centre where I try without success to find something to spend a gift voucher on.

The reception is now in the park, near the pub that I don't want to return to because I don't know what to perform. It's dark, I get past the pub unnoticed, find my bike in the now circular room and sit on it waiting for the woman behind the counter to tell me the dentist will see me now, even though I'm not in pain anymore. She doesn't, she just glares at me.

Waking up from that dream I find myself in a shaky state. Gently I potter round the house doing mindless tasks until I catch myself fixating on why I bought pink designer dishcloths with pretty flowers on when essentially all they do is wipe up grease and dirt.

I think this is why I drink. My mind scares me when I'm sober.

The oldest child

I need a top to do garden work in, something that will allow me to catch the sun without the neighbours catching a flash. The one I choose is a canary islands souvenir, it suddenly hits me that I bought it on honeymoon. 17 years ago.

Tournament day. I don't compete, I cheerlead. Wildly, to make sure my students know how proud I am of them and my mates get the lift they need mid bout. One mate asked babygirl if I was this daft all the time and was graced with a sigh and rolling eyes. "She drives us all mad, we're more mature than her most of the time"

I go out for takeaway, notice a face I vaguely recognise. Chat and catch up, as you do. It's been 25 years since we saw each other.

I think my kids might be right. Maybe it is time I grew up.

Love calls you by your name

Sis tells me it's grass is greener syndrome. Tactfully, she reminds me that if you were here I'd not be doing karate. How I felt more suffocated than cared for. How I'd crave space after a week or so, just as you were settling in. How, far from my current fantasy of you helping me work through my thoughts and feelings, you would expect me to do so on your timetable. How I'd put my emotional shutters down and you'd keep me up all night trying to shout them back up. How you used the very intelligence and articulateness I fell in love with to keep me in my place.

Sure, those are some of the reasons I finished things after five years. That doesn't mean I don't wish things could have been different. You gave me so much, I was able to give you so much and we discovered so much together. I'll always love you for that, darling. And I really, really miss you.


I hope you find your manger, Joseph.

Sitting on my shoulders

Something interesting I found on Mike's site about how you see yourself and how others see you. I've done something similar with real life people when I studied psychology (I got bored with the stats work and threw it in in the second year. So much for my degree!) but I'm interested to see if there's any difference between my awareness of myself and my online personality.

Feel free to be anonymous, I'd much prefer honesty to names! There's one for nice traits and one for not so nice, all you have to do is go and click six words of each that you think apply to me. And then get your own, of course...

Angel words

Devil words

Procrastinating prat

I have lovely lessons planned for tonight's students.

I have discovered my new kitchen blind is too narrow so

I have tidied up all my tools and separated my nails and screws according to size.

I have the cleanest oven in the land.

I have the neatest pile of bath towels in any airing cupboard, ever.



I have still not completed my impact statement.

If you see me start to go through and attach labels to my posts, please find me and strap me to the keyboard till the fucking thing is finally done.

Making the grade

Today has been quite weird. I drove the kids to my mothers and saw her for the first time in months but I'll blog/process that another time, this is about recognition, celebration, feeling visible and valid and actually liking myself for a change.

Getting back and having the house to myself was blissful. It was, of course, a shitpit due to kids being on holidays but after a couple of loud, therapeutic hours with Rufus and Henry , both my abode and my mind were much clearer.

Sitting down with lunch I click lazily onto one of my favourite brainfood places and discover that Lyle has nominated me for POTW. As a regular reader I know the high standard of nominations so I'm immensely flattered that someone thought a post of mine good enough to include in the longlist. Thank you again, Lyle. For a lurker you ain't half had an affect!


Off to karate with a smile on my face, collecting my friend on the way. I really like her but I'm jealous of her skill in kumite and finding certain things so easy so, when she raves about certain moves of mine that I do as a matter of course my grin gets that bit bigger. I realise that my mindset needs changing, I am improving and I need to acknowledge it.

Get to the dojo, flirt through warm up, sigh when Sensei announces a stamina session. Pace breathing, keep going, be faster than that up his own arse bloke, breathe, spar, kata, spar, kata, legs screaming, feel no pain, think helium, spar Sensei, try not to die, push through, dig deep, I hit him!, cop a few, I kicked him!, keep breathing, don't vomit, kata, spar, kata, spar, is it over yet?, it's only meant to be 1.5 hours, breathe, dig, deep, don't, die, done. It's done. Line up to bow out and hear some names called to accept their grades, clap, whoop pitifully at one I'm closer to, hear my name. My name. MY NAME!

2nd kyu. One more grading then it's black belt.

That was a good day.

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My bum hurts

An hour and a half of cycling will do that to you, assuming you're not used to sitting on a razor blade. And don't believe all that crap those gel saddle cover selling people tell you cos they don't work either.

Still, babygirl and I had fun and there's something very liberating about cycling, even if I do feel like a bloody great blimp and have to be taught cyclecraft by my daughter. She found it incredible that the bike I was on was the first one I'd ever owned in my life and I loved that she did cos that means she thinks it's normal for all kids to have a bike of their own. It fucking is! I just never had normal, or a bike, so I love the times when she makes those incredulous faces cos it means I've done good atsomefuckingthing as a mum. My own mind may be fubar'd but my kids? They're fit to live life fantastically and therefore easily pay for my choice of care home.

We also had a major giggle at the top of the hill where we stopped for a water break. A group of teens were messing about near the stream/river thingy at the bottom (I'm not good at knowing what these things are but it's wet and runs in a wavy line through the country park, ok?), you know pushing each other in and filming it for youtube, that sort of thing.

The group of teens that joined us at the hilltop were picking out the ones they knew at the bottom and, me being me, I joined in the conversation and made jokes about washing wet, smelly clothes - just prior to one of the lads deciding that if he was going in he'd at least save his mum a mucky job and strip off.

Completely. Stark, bollock, naked.

Which, obviously, meant that his mates picked up his discarded clothes and ran off with them.

I'm pleased to report that this lad had no self-confidence issues whatsoever judging by his waving at his audience at the top of the hill before running, Benny Hill style, after the lads that had his boxers then doing star jumps and hip thrusts when he realised he wasn't going to retrieve them.

I only stopped laughing when a real grown up ascended the hill from the other side and gave us all a sideways glance and a tut. The very second he'd passed us I collapsed into giggles again, babygirl voiced her shame of me to the group of giggling teens and the naked lad recovered his socks so it was all over.

It was fun while it lasted but blimey, my bum don't half hurt now!



I've had a major Alanis day today, ripping all her cd's to the hdd and replaying them as mp3's and suchlike. That was the last of the cd's to add to the downloaded stuff - so why do I still not feel like I have the right music to fit my mood? 15 fucking gigs of music and nothing touches me?

That's just wrong.

And now, the end is near...

and I don't know where to start.

I'm trying to do an impact statement. No, that's not it. I'm trying to get together a mere list of notes to take to the appointment to do the victim impact statement.

An appointment which will also involve me hearing of episodes of abuse that I had forgotten, tucked away in the dark recesses of my mind, locked in a sturdy old box with phone directories and bricks and anvils stacked on top so they can't fall out unexpectedly. Denied, avoided, dismissed. Much like myself, really.

Until now. Because these are episodes, incidents, occurrences that he remembers, that he told of during his questioning and that form part of his statement. Not my statement, because I buried them somewhere inaccessible and couldn't find them to tell when, 30 years later, I eventually got brave enough to tell anything.

Because of the guilty plea I don't have to hear them, but I'm choosing to anyway. This may sound weird, sick even, but those moments, well they're mine and I lived them and deserve to remember them. I've lost so many years to blackout and I want my years back.

I figure there must have been good times in there somewhere so maybe if I get the bad memories acknowledged, let them out of the box, I may find some good ones that got shoved in with them by accident. Or is that my inner silver lining girl talking? Could be. God, that bitch never shuts up, she's always there with the 'at least' this and 'lesson learned' that.

Fuck off, Pollyanna; just, please. Fuck. A. Long. Way. Off.

I have a list to make.

I don't know where to start.

Alanis does Fergie's humps

And it's absolutely hysterical... regarde vous!

You couldn't make it up

My mother, in her standard victim-y fashion, has been using my brother as a go between to take items belonging to step-dad and hand them over in various lay-bys. The most recent meeting they had was a few days before last tuesdays plea and directions hearing. Brother isn't a big talker anyway and finds these occassions particularly awkward, but found himself more lost for words than ever when stepdad said

"If the case gets thrown out due to a technicality, do you think your mother would let me move back in? I mean, nothing would have been proven, right?"

What a tit

I'm a music girly but last night, for some completely unknown reason, I had the telly on in the background. BBC3 were showing a prog called 'My big breasts and me' and I, being all modern and techy and suchlike, nipped off to the website to get some info as soon as I heard something that caught my interest.

The site tells me it's a "Documentary following three women who are naturally well endowed and exploring how they feel about having big breasts"

And that "Jodie is terrified of having breast reduction surgery but with her breasts causing her chronic back pain she knows it may be her only option. Vicky hopes that alternative therapies and an exercise regime will downsize her chest, and Maddie, a fashion student, struggles to be taken seriously in a world where she feels only women with small boobs can look attractive"

The bit that originally got my interest was Vicky being measured at the gym. Vicky is a promoter of gay nights in Brighton and, in photo shoots, chooses to let the fellas glam up and takes the part of Ugly Betty for herself. The man in charge of the tape at the gym looked like these were the first real set of funbags he'd ever had to deal with, on or off duty. Prior to the exercise program her bust was 39.25 inches at the fullest point.

Mine's 45.

Stop fucking whinging, faghag!

Fwengebola - obvious when you know it!

The man with the name that made me slap my own head has tagged me with this completely merkin meme. So blame him...

A - Available or Single? Single, not always available.
B - Best Friends? No, loads of mates though.
C - Cake or Pie? Cake. Naughty but nice!
D - Drink of Choice? Brandy, diet coke, no ice.
E - Essential Item? My pc.
F - Favourite Colour? Pink.
G - Gummi Bears or Worms? Both gross.
H - Hometown? London.
I - Indulgence? Chocolate.
K - Kids and Names? Three, one of each. They all have names.
L - Life is incomplete without? Death. It rounds things out.
M - Marriage Date? Inconsequential. The divorce finalised on Valentines day though.
N - Number of Siblings? 2 full, 2 half, one adopted.
O - Oranges or Apples? Broccoli.
P - Phobias/Fears? Crawly things (men included)
Q - Favourite Quote? I ask for so little, just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.
R - Reasons to smile? Dirty jokes.
S - Season? Summer.
T - Tag 3 People? No.
U - Unknown Fact About Me? I detest badly written questions.
V - Vegetable You Hate? Beetroot.
W - Worst Habit? Comfort eating.
X - X-rays You've Had? None.
Y - Your Favourite Foods? Chocolate.
Z - Zodiac? Gemini.

Cheers for that, fuckface.

Guilty!

Step dad has pleaded/pled (I can't think of the right word and right now I don't give a rubbery yellow fuck!) guilty! I don't have to go to a full trial in the summer! One of the charges has been negotiated down a step in exchange for him pleading guilty to everything but basically he's admitted about 15 charges!

About last night...

Ok, so everyone is gorgeous and lovely and all that so take that as read. I know what you really want is the juicy bits, the gossip, the debauchery. Which I'd tell you in minute detail, if I could remember any.

The snippets I do recall are...

Before leaving the house - Me, midnight, my kids.

No 1 Son confirming that he really does come out with some cracking lines by saying (about his not supporting West Ham despite being born on the manor) "If you're born in a bin you don't eat garbage all your life, you get out"

In the pub - Me, Midnight, Lady, Innocent, Vi, Goro and Homme

Everyone going crazy when I got a call and gave directions over the phone to where we were. No-one realised it was my nephew on the line and not Fwengey till I told them after. They visibly deflated.

Me not realising the topic of David Cameron had come to an end during a round of Kings and, when everyone looked at me for my go, shouting 'lying bastards!' instead of taking a card like I was meant to.

Me grabbing hold of middy under the table to alert him to a thumb round. Him kicking the hell out of my leg to return the favour!

Untold amounts of hugging, kissing and flirting. We're an extremely touchy feely crowd. Goro is completely eatable even if she does think that 24 is a multiple of 7 (and have the ability to convince everyone but me that it is, too!)

Yeehaa, turn around, shaking that ass, blowing kisses, swearing allegiance, little green men, 'your finger didn't get wet!', strange looks from other punters, pointing (always with the pointing!), me getting the blame for being the last out of the bar, wanting to rub the bar guys head but not.

In the club - me, goro, vi and middy

Goro grabbing a handbag thinking it was Vi's. We then noticed Vi's was on her shoulder and had to sneak it back quick!

Us girls doing that silly scream thing that drunk girls do when I saw that fwengey had texted.

Me trying to get some ciggies from the machine in the very dark corner, only to find later that I'd pressed the button for menthols. (Worry not, I've discovered I can be just a social (read: pissed) smoker, woohoo!)

Me and Vi going to the loo, me coming out and finding her gone, only to be found wandering drunkenly, ten minutes later by middy.

Plenty flirting, singing and dancing, Vi with her hand on the ceiling a lot of the time. Goro and I not really getting why, Middy getting a lot of 'Man, you're with three women? That's just greedy!' type looks.

After the club

Deciding that Vi was in no condition to travel alone and bringing her back with me and Middy after seeing Goro into a cab.

Driving a hard bargain with the cab driver, stating (ok, slurring) that I'd ring my ex husband and check the price if I thought he was fleecing us and telling him he was lucky to have such a long job. Singing snow patrol in the cab, loudly. Adding insult to injury by arguing that he definitely had to turn right and don't tell me it's illegal, I lived round here and knew what I was doing. I was wrong, we had to turn round.

Getting back to mine to find No 1 Son still up. Middy pouring drinks as Vi hugged No 1 Son hello and I sorted out playing a track that seemed really very important at the time.

Having the absolute best drunken conversation which veered from being screamingly funny to incredibly intense with me doing my wise old woman of perception and intuition thing (I still say I'm right too so piss off, middy!)

Running out of booze and realising it was around 5.30am.

All going to bed. Together.

Bloody brilliant night which I had to sleep off till about 3pm today. Can't wait to do it all again!

Sssshhh!

I'm feeling extremely delicate.

Back later. Just wanted to say I'm alive. (Vi wasn't wearing a belt, that helped)

Everybody squirts, sometimes

This week, and I'm only telling you cos I know you care, I've been mostly busy doing feck all.

I've been driving round the place like a maniac dropping people off and picking people up and still haven't put the much needed water and oil into my car, although I did put air in the tyres and diesel in the tank so it really ought to be grateful. And stop encouraging birds to shit on it. You'd think three layers of muck and bird shit would be enough for any car but no, mine wants more, the tart.

I'm not getting a great amount of time alone so I'm having a bit of a manic. Can't see this abating anytime soon cos tonight is my nephews 18th birthday party, tomorrow morning is a karate seminar (hangover dependent), tomorrow afternoon is a meal out for babygirl's birthday then tomorrow evening is the blogblast. All these things will be fun but I'm very aware that I'll be in public persona for all events and it's bloody tiring sometimes. Especially when I'm this fucking fat!

Still, Sunday afternoon will be just me. And the 2 litres of water. And the painkillers. Cold as ice cream but still as sweet, that'll be me. Ding dang doo.




The title came from my silly head as I was chopping salad for lunch and a tomato spat juice all up my white tiles which made me think initially of the money shot and then start singing sad songs replacing the word hurt/s with squirt/s which made them much less sad.

Blah-dy hell!

Just had word from Vi to say she's spilt wine on her laptop and, understandably, it's not best pleased!

So if she doesn't manage to blog from the library don't panic, she's fine. It's the laptop that's pissed...

Bloody hell

Mary Whitehouse may be long gone but there's always someone getting their knickers in a twist...

Don't get me wrong, there are some things I don't want to see plastered all over adverts but this really does seem ridiculously over the top.

Whinging poms, indeed.

ps. I am a dippy bint

Saturday morning, babygirl and I are chatting as I tidy up and she totters after me wearing my shoes

Mum, did your feet hurt yesterday?

Yes, babe. Good job I didn't go dancing in them, eh?

Was it really bad at the front?

Yes, I think it was worst there. Honey, take them off if they're painful, you'll do yourself a damage.

I think they'd be better without this in...

*holds up piece of cardboard retrieved from toe of right shoe with look of resignation at daft mother she's landed with*

Tickling my feet

So, after all the whining and bouncing of plans me and my fabby pink shoes finally got onto a train and made the date/meeting thingy on Friday. Which was lovely. Yay. Nice bottle of wine, some gentle flirting, all very civilised apart from my getting slightly squiffy due to not eating anything.

He's sweet and interesting and nice looking and, as I discovered when we popped into his apartment to sort out some work stuff, absolutely fucking loaded. Like, millionaire minted.

And there's me, all bargain shoes and designer copy handbag. Eep. Something tells me this isn't going to be a long term thing.


But all is good cos we have nice chemistry and I've agreed to do some work for him and it's always good to have a boss that fancies you when it comes to bonus time.

Discovering I was, literally, up the road from where Miss Tickle was I stuck up two mental fingers and walked to the pub. This was very good for my psyche but not for my feet cos those shoes were meant for mens shoulders not mean streets.

Being too late for the first performance gave me a chance to sit on another lovely sofa and drink the pain away. Which I did till I heard lots of applause (the audience obviously liked my word) and found myself surrounded by the arms and smiles of lovely tickleness. I should hate her cos she's so young and gorgeous but you just can't cos she's so joyful and lovely and sweet you could eat her all up.

By the power of blog she knew who I was and we had a lovely chat before she tickled off and did important directorial things. The second play was great and I forgot that my feet hurt while I gazed at the rather handsome in a surfer dude way blonde actor. And then remembered they were killing me the instant I walked outside afterward so I flagged a cab down.

Cabbie laughs when I moan about my aching feet and mentions the impracticality of the shoes then tries to get me to use the cab all the way home stating a fare of £75. I'm stunned and say 'do I look like I have £75 to spend on a cab?!', his reply was 'Come on, how much were them daft shoes? And that bag must have cost twice that'

Maybe it's a better copy than I thought...

Bum, bum

...and ten bums in a row.

Mice, men, meh. Babygirl has tonsilitis but I've called in the backup, i.e. her father, to take over nursing. She's chuffed to little mint balls cos she'll be spoilt rotten and I'm chuffed to little bint balls cos I get to my date/meeting thingy, albeit later than planned.

Dunno about seeing the plays either now. Ex hubby sucked his teeth and gave one of those 'you don't wanna be walking round there on yer own, love' looks when I mentioned where it was. Part of me doesn't actually feel like seeing it on my own but the rebel in me wants to go just to stick two fingers up to the ex and his acting like an overprotective father. Nnnggg. It's south of the river not south of fucking Gaza!

On the other hand he is correct in that I'll probably get lost and if I don't have people there that I know to call and direct me to the pub I'm more than likely to spend hours wandering away and getting nowhere rather than pondering a play and getting sloshed.

Again I say, bum.

Whine and cheese

Why is it when I plan to go out something always happens to make things difficult? Nngggg!

I thought it was all too convenient when a sort of date/sort of work meeting turned out to be not too far from the play I wanted to see in the evening. I thought it was too good to be true when the meeting was arranged for the very same day.

Today, instead of finalising my outfit and painting my nails in a well planned timetable of getting ready, I'm nursing a sick babygirl who may or may not be better tomorrow.


Bum.

Bum.

And ten bums in a row.


(But thank you to a certain blogger for the silly giggles that brightened the day)

For lover, read mother

May I have my inch back please? It's right there, see? At the beginning of that mile...



I am a cold, heartless, evil bitch. I've learned to love it.

Court out

*insert your own big long run-on swearword here cos I really can't be arsed*

Once again the case went to court for a plea and directions hearing. Once again the lawyers fudged paperwork and got a two week adjournment so I still don't know if I have to testify or not later this year.

When they (you know, them what say all the sayings!) say the 'long arm of the law' in future I'm going to hear the 'long, drawn out, stupid fucking non lawyer-proof process of the law'

Only 4 inches but I'm in love!

Sometimes 4 inches is enough. Any more than that and calf muscles can shorten which is no good for me and karate. Aren't they beautiful?



I don't want to take them off! Luckily they even go with my pj bottoms.

From vaginas to visions

This is my Visual DNA, as seen on a blog I have since forgotten the name of because I've been random surfing for an hour or so. Oops. Thanks to whoever I nicked it from anyway, good blog-karma points to you.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Go on, go do your own and see how interesting you are, you know you want to!

Conversational cunts

I can't write reviews so I'll just say this; if you have a vagina or even if you don't have one but like to play with them, go and see this! Absolutely brilliant acting by three fabulous women really brought the funny, poignant, heartbreaking truth of the words to life. The women (and the handful of men) in the audience cried so many tears of laughter and rage and empathy and more laughter I thought the flood featured in one performance might be recreated right there.

Sitting next to my sister sharing knowing smiles and loudly shouting 'Cunt!' in order to reclaim the word seemed massively appropriate and very emotional what with the court case and everything. Sitting on my right was a lady in her eighties, separated from her group of friends due to booking issues but connected to a stranger by my quick, impetuous squeeze of her hand and our shared, sad smiles as we listened to the story of one of her peers.

I came away feeling angry at the fact that gender is still used as a weapon in war, sad that it is illegal to sell vibrators in some US states (where you can openly buy guns, of course), uplifted by the wonderful way women have of becoming sisters, given the right environment, and humbled by the women who went before me and struggled through shitty, hard lives without so much as an orgasm. Oh, and wanting a Bob of my very own!

See it. You'll love it.




In other news, Harley is fabulous in bed but an old-fashioned bastard of a man. After the 80 year old lady I mentioned patted my hand back and said "you enjoy, love!" I decided that as long as my eyes were open so could my legs be. Because it's 2007 and I can.

See my big red one

The book was made on time (with 45 mins to spare, actually!). I didn't make the selection but buy it anyway cos that alone must mean it's really quite very funny.

Much funnier than this daft picture of me.



Happy red nose day, everyone!

Invisible

It's not the safe option anymore

I'm not hiding now so

don't act like I am

don't brush past my thoughts

don't forget my feelings

don't talk over me

don't make me have to scream for basic attention

or remove myself

so you feel my absence

rather than not feel my presence

hear me when I speak in normal tones

see me when I wear normal colours

how can I ever show the depth

my tones and colours can be

if you never acknowledge

the normality?



It's not the safe option anymore

I'm not hiding now so

stop

fucking

ignoring

me

Ah, that's better.

Real mums piss themselves laughing

And sneezing. And coughing. And running. And all the exercises in the world are useless if the sneeze or cough hits you before your clench reaction kicks in. Ladies, you simply have to keep practicing these things (try this to make it less of a chore!). It needs to become a reflex.

Which is not all bad what with the clench being so good for your sex life, especially when you're too knackered for a full on session with the man who actually caused your pelvic floor to need a damp-proof membrane. If you can clench it hard and rhythmically enough you need not move your arse at all to bring him off, roll him off then get some sleep before the baby takes his place pawing at your boobs.

If you never quite got into the 'riding the elevator' at traffic lights habit then fear not. There are now an array of female incontinence aids that you can just pop in with your weekly groceries without embarrassment. Seriously, this is the one that Tena call 'discreet'...


So discreet that no-one in the supermarket will ever notice that you need a whole extra trolley for a weeks supply!

With thanks to Emma, my mucky minded martini loving mummy mate for the tag (bitch!)

I'm tagging OG, Vi, and LiR (I know I'm meant to tag five but I can't think of any other mums on my blogroll!) Basically you write a blog post on a deep dark truth about mums. Start with Real Moms [insert the deep dark truth here] and add a picture.

IdonotobsessIdonotobsessIdonotobsess!

This morning I downloaded ten remixes of The Killers Read My Mind and I'm currently playing them all, on repeat.

Poke her face

It's grading day so there are lots of nerves for me to soothe. Not just my students but A's too, being I took his latest class. I'm going through some last minute talks when I notice Julie out of the corner of my eye. This will be the first time I've seen her since, you know, and I find myself talking really fast to the very students I'm trying to calm as she gets closer to where we are.

"Hi guys, you're looking good! Angela, Sensei would like your help with the admin desk. I'll walk over with you"

"Oh right. Ok you lot, you know I've put my faith in you so dig deep, show what you can do and if you feel like falling over let me know quick so I can kick your arse!"

Pep talk over, I leave my students with a smile on their faces and fix my own expression to 'polite interest' as I hear Julie say,

"You'll never guess what Pete told me last night! There was me thinking I'd knock his socks off with my threesome fantasy and he's only bloody topped me! Been there for real - with four of 'em!"

I'm actually a little bit ashamed at just how convincingly I stopped in my tracks and stared at her with my mouth open.

I really need to learn how to play poker.


ps

All my students graded. And all of A's students that I made sure to support as soon as I was off of admin duties.

I have fabulous students.

Think you're funny, do ya?

Be funny for a good cause then. Mike at Troubled Diva is co-ordinating a collaboration of bloggers and it's all fer charidee, mate!

Have a look, buy the book!

Two couples and a camera...

"Hi, is that Angela?"

"Yep, who's calling?"

"It's Paul, Julie R gave me your number. I've got a bit of a computer problem and need it sorting quick cos I can't get to my work stuff, to use her words she said you were shit hot at this crap! *laughs*"

"Well then, hello. Can you specify your problem to me? Has it been nicked? Cos, you know, that's a computer problem but not one I can do anything about"

"Yeah, she said you was a funny cow an' all. Basically it takes forever to turn on, some things won't work at all and the ones that do are slow. A bit like Julie! Ha ha!"

"Hmm. Can't think why she never told me that you were funny... Look, gimme your address and I can give you a couple of hours later today"



Julie is mad sweet on this bloke. Julie is a mad sweet girl all round, actually. Julie deserves to be happy, she's done her share of shit. I love Julie. Oh, and...

I FOUND PICTURES OF HER BOYFRIEND INVOLVED IN A FOURSOME ON HIS HARD DRIVE AND I DON'T KNOW WHETHER SHE KNOWS OR NOT!

Don't get me wrong, she's neither virgin nor nun herself but the thing is I don't know whether he's told her about his prior shenanigans so that she can make sure to protect herself in whichever way she feels necessary (there's not a condom to be seen in the pictures I found) or whether she'd truly thank me for telling her the reality of where he's been (and obviously enjoyed!).

For a start it's not the stuff of carefully lit and edited porn, it's real and involves non-surgically enhanced people over the age of 35. Part of me wants to tell her this so she stops worrying that she's not sexy/slim/young enough for him (nice as he may be, he's no Adonis!) and another part wants to hide my brain in a cupboard and never again have to think of him as a sexual being.

The other thing is, I honestly don't go looking for this stuff when I sort out peoples computers but how the fuck do I make that sound like the truth to Julie now? I know full well she has some juicy pics on her hdd but didn't begin to think of searching for them when I dealt with her infestations of virii and spyware. How the fuck can I expect her to believe that I respected her privacy when I've come across these not very well hidden, numerically named files?

Ok, it's become clear to me as I type: I simply can't tell her. Not ever. Not if I want to retain her friendship, which I do.

Surely, getting pissed and dancing in the street singing a very old song word for word but out of tune can never be the same once you've seen your mate's boyfriend with a raging hard on? Even if that hard on is obscured by some random female's arse cheeks or a middle aged husband and wife tongue duo (she had more tattoos than he did which I found, er, interesting...)

No news is...

A pile of steaming shit, as it happens.

Thanks for all your thoughts and good wishes, it really does warm my cockles.

Non case specific advice from a policeman friend of mine says that he'll plead not guilty simply to buy time but I still don't know the result of the court appearance for certain and these tenterhooks are making my feet bleed.

The good news is not once have I felt like having a cigarette.

I'll update properly later, with luck. I did do some comments over the last couple of days but that's all my goldfish sttention span could manage.

But thanks again, you're all so lovely.

*group snog*

Hear me moan, baby

What a bloody week, between babyboy being off school for two days and having the windows and doors replaced, I don't feel like I've had a second to myself. I don't do well when I'm denied personal space so I've had a few manic, hand-flappy episodes. The kids find these laughable, as do I when it dawns on me that I'm talking nineteen to the dozen about something that really isn't as important as my extremely urgent and excited tone would imply.

It's not just that I've not had 'alone time', I know I won't calm down properly till I hear on tuesday whether we have to testify at a crown court trial or not. It doesn't help that I wanted to get to the gym every day this week to work my nervous energy off but have been surrounded by people asking stuff of me all day every day instead. Oh, then I looked up the website today to check class times and one that I was interested in is run by a guy with the same name as step-dad ffs. Coincidence is a cunt.

Not getting to the gym doesn't help with my crappy body image since quitting smoking/gaining weight again either. I've been a total yo-yo for the last five months now and it's killing me being back in size 16 jeans. Nnnggggg! I'd deliberately not eaten a load of crap since quitting but still gained loads (I know it's a metabolism drop thing - it still equals a bigger arse!) so this week I've eaten anything around, anytime I fancied. Cos that's such a sensible thing for me to do when my mood is so up and down, mess around with my blood sugar too. Go, me! I remain the thickest intelligent person I know. Not to mention the most stubborn. I spent two days and nights metaphorically giving Harley the finger and not texting him cos he'd not texted me one morning, he spent 48 hours thinking I was no longer interested. Doh.

Still, the sun is shining, babyboy is back at school, my window boys are finishing off today and Harley and I are communicating again. I will actually get an hour or two to myself before I have to run around doing lots of pick up/drop off things later on today - huzzah! Ooh, the excitement of choosing whether to wash up or tidy the garden might just blow my fragile little mind!

Domestic Goddess

My new windows look so nice I decided I couldn't possibly put my voiles back up without ironing them.

I've just ironed net fucking curtains. I am my mother.

Shoot. Me. Now.

Rat pack, Robbie, ranting and Riding Harleys...

Well, wasn't that a busy Saturday. I didn't even watch Casualty! (To put that into context, Casualty is the one time a week I get to sit on the sofa snuggling with Babyboy. He has a touch of autism/aspergers (I can't say for sure cos my local health bods refuse to officially diagnose this stuff being that it costs the education bods more money in school assistance and all the local authority bods are in bed together blah bastards blah) so Casualty is the one time he will actually enjoy me touching/cuddling him, albeit conditional upon my tracing my fingers along his arm or face or wherever he currently chooses to be reminded of the way I used to put him to sleep as a baby. Plus, we compete to diagnose the diseases people are admitted with and I always win and then we laugh and say 'I should be a bloody doctor, me'.

Anyway, daytime was spent with two gorgeous young men in my bedroom. Of course, once they'd replaced the window in there they moved on to the other rooms upstairs but damn, it was good while it lasted! T and A (bwahaha! I just realised T and A are their actual initials, I'm so going to rib them about that!) are lovely, mid-twenties guys who work for my landlord and I know them from having my kitchen refitted so it was good to have them back doing my new windows. If I went for younger guys I'd flirt like mad but as it is we just have a giggle together playing 'name that tune' and the nicest hugs as they come and go. Babygirl was put in charge of making tea for the workers as I ran in and out of the house doing errands and stuff between oohing and ahhing at the new windows and praising the skills involved in fitting them. Harley had called a few times too, he was working and calling between jobs then texting from the pub when he'd finished to tell me how gutted he was that I was busy that evening.

Earlier in the week when he was texting and calling all the time, Harley had mentioned that his laptop was falling over a lot and I'd said I could fix that easy cos that's the sort of thing I do for my mates. Somehow, I wound up saying that I'd pick it up after I'd been out with sis for her birthday celebration so I could sort it out on Sunday while he was driving halfway up the country to see his daughter and have it dealt with by the time he got back. We exchanged a few texts, mostly him lamenting that I couldn't join him in the pub during the early evening or before I left for my night out and left it that I'd call him if I got lost.

Went off to the school thing and got moderately pissed off once more at sis telling me the event started much earlier than it actually did so that I didn't turn up late. Now, I freely admit that I was guilty of being late for a while but actually, her sis-in-laws are the ones most likely to keep everyone waiting nowadays and have been for at least three fucking years but no-one treats them like unreliable imbeciles and lies to them about starting times, do they? It really fucking winds me up, even more so on the evenings when I'm the cunt doing the driving cos I have the seven seater or I'm too broke to piss it up. Nnnggg! Fuckshitbollockywankers!

Anyway, guy on stage does a reasonable show with an hour of singlalongaratpack numbers then a change of clothes while the PTA bod drew the raffle so he could come out singing Robbie Williams sings and pretend the pissed up mums were lusting after him rather than his carefully aped moves and outfit. It was a bring your own drinks and nibbles type night so there were a lot of 'Oh look, I've had two plastic wine glasses of fizz and I'm sooooo drunk!' Essex mums about to fuel his fantasies.

That done, I leave to collect Harley's laptop. I even manage not to get lost on the way and only have to call him when I'm in his road but can't find his door. I'm not as dim as that made me sound, his door is on the side of his house! We laugh cos he can see me but I can't see him then he tells me he's feeling nervous now so may not be brave enough to answer the door. I remind him we've been talking all week and I'm here to collect a sick laptop with no intention of jumping him and we're still giggling as he opens the door and I put my phone in my bag. I have my boots on but he's still head and shoulders above me so I stand on the first step and we kiss hello.

He points out some things he'd told me about during the week then goes to get some drinks as I assess what crap he has on his hdd and start running some anti-lurgy stuff. He sits next to me, we're bantering and I playfully tell him off for the problems I'm already finding so he kisses me to shut me up, his massive hands start wandering and... well, I still have the bruises, let's put it that way. God, I love the experience that older men have! And he was a talker too, a lovely mix of filth and compliments at just the right moments. Pretty damn perfect for me.

I didn't take the laptop home, he said he wanted me to keep making home visits and string it out as long as possible. Thinking about it now he'd have to be a bit dim to let a strange woman go off with a £1500 piece of kit considering he doesn't even know for sure where I live!

Contact has been decidedly less frequent since he texted me on Sunday evening, not sure if that's cos I told him Monday and Tuesday are my manic teaching/training days or he's done that aquarian thing of just not talking anymore. I'm not chasing him, either way. At the moment I know he's finding his laptop worse cos one of the progs I put on keeps giving him pop up warnings that he doesn't understand so I guess if he wants me to complete sorting it I'll hear from him, other than that it was certainly an experience!

100

I can't get my head together enough to do a song (or should that be I can't let it go enough, being sober!) so have a pic of my tattoo instead. I don't post many pictures so it's a bit different.

A (currently unknown) prize to whoever can correctly guess where on my body it is located...



Terms and conditions apply. Calls may be monitored for security and training purposes. Your home may be at risk if you hit it with a bulldozer.

Nuts

A turned up early to help me and bought me a box of mixed nuts on Monday which was unusually thoughtful of him (even though I suspect they were left over from christmas). REturning the favour I stayed and taught the late class with him and had a good laugh. At one point somone said nuts and we both launched into singing 'oh hazlenuts, ooh! Cadburys take 'em and they cover them in chocolate!' from the very old advert. It's weird spending time with him and that kind of chemistry still being there even though we both know things wouldn't work between us. If he was gay it would make perfect sense, we're the Will and Grace of martial arts.

Tuesday I finally had some time to myself as the last of the kids schools re-opened. I really do love my kids but 12 days of having them around me all the time was not helping my mental state. Training on tues evening was knackering in a whole new way. I can breathe easier which is great for stamina but means extra work for the muscles as I'm going for longer. The extra weight is really playing havoc with my balance and stuff too which completely dischuffs me. Not to mention the brain fuzz which makes me forget patterns in kata or, worse, the most basic move - getting out of the bloody way when a fist comes towards your face! Very ouchy moment.

Got home to find a dating site message from a bloke I'd chatted to by mail but put off cos I was backing off of dating and he was going away for a while anyway. He was just back from Canada and wanted to see if I was still available, we got chatting and before I knew it it was 4am and we were still laughing (on the phone by now). He's very different from my usual type - works with his hands, stands 6'4" and looks like he rides a Harley (which he does, I can't wait to have a go on the back of that!) but I've never been one to say never. One thing I find strange is that he's another aquarian! A is aquarian, as is P and so was J (five year part time, long distance man) I'm a magnet for water carrying blokes.

Weds was quite good even though I felt dead from lack of sleep cos I didn't have the black eye I was expecting and my upgraded mobile phone turned up (that's going straight away - I need the cash!) Harley texted me early to say hi* and let me know he'd got up late and carried on texting and calling all day till I had to admit that I'd double booked myself for Saturday night so couldn't do our date. Told you I was being ditzy lately. It's wait and see at the moment whether we meet up on Friday or Sunday, he's not stopped texting/calling me in the meantime and we're getting on great so let's just hope it works as well in meatspace.

Amongst all this I've been teaching myself html and I'm looking to learn css once I'm more confident. Thanks for the metaphorical arse kick, lc; you were absolutely right and it's not as difficult as my mental block had me believing all those years! I've not learnt anything proper since I chucked my psychology course in last year and I'd forgotten how buzzy I get when I have new information to play with.

Next post is the 100th, watch this space for something totally, er, unspectacular.


* As lovely as it is to be thought of, why do they do that? I don't open my eyes of a morning and immediately think Oooh I know, I'll text someone! I think Give. Me. Coffee! Having said that I don't wake up with a hard on so maybe I've just answered my own question...)

Turn of the century

Mostly live but not from Norwich. Oops, wrong century reference.

Anyway. My 100th post is very close and I am bored feel I should do something other than blather. What d'ya want then? A recipe? A song?

Suggest away, commenters and lurkers alike (aka validate me you bastards I'm having a wobbly!) cos I can only have ideas by the half of late.

Ten queue mush lee.

Time marches

Well, sometimes it does anyway. Sometimes it races, usually when an appointment is fast approaching and the traffic jam just isn't moving. On occasion it pootles along at just the right pace. Each minute lasting a perfect sixty seconds, sixty of those making up the comfortable passing of an hour, weeks being a good 7 days worth of time.

And then there are the times that it drags. No, not drags, creeps. Creeps, wheezing with the effort of moving at all, hauling it's bloated arse slower than a geriatric snail with a mogadon habit and stopping every now and then to flip you the finger.

Last July we had our first contact with the police. In a fortnights time we find out whether we have to testify at a full trial or not.

These are going to be 14 very non-marching days till that day in March.

Remind meme

To explain this

I was hungry when I found you
but I'm alright now.

Doin' the big 'uns

One of the side effects of having a shorter than usual attention span is that I lost my ability to read the blogs of people that have a lot to say. Anything more than short, pithy entries that don't ask too much of my left brainicle just haven't had a look in but I've made myself catch up on some today and I'm a happier bitch for doing so. Today I did some thinking as well as some feeling.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the real challenge: I'm off to catch up on joie's life.

I may be some time...

Curiouser and curiouser

What a strange place I'm in, said Angie.

I went to Sainsburys, they're having a bloody raid! Lots of orange-clad minions running out of the store as I toddle in and a really annoying alarm going off, er, alarmingly. In the midst of all those people careering the other way I suddenly felt very, very short. Still, cadburys was on special offer so I didn't just scratch and sniff, I purchased (along with a bag of salad. Well, I felt bad after making such a stupid face at it).

And then, as I sit with eight squares of chocolate and a coffee, mentally preparing to read a whole blog post in one go without getting distracted, what happens?

A white horse goes past my car (er, the car that's parked outside my window). Without a rider. And it takes ages of me staring with my gob open for the carriage type thing that was attached to it to make an appearance so for thirty very long seconds I really did think I'd lost it and gone totally and utterly not right in the nut.

No fag, all hag.

Apparently I've been smober (what kind of shitty made-up word is that!?) for
One month, 4 hours, 35 minutes and 44 seconds

With
935 cigarettes not smoked, saving £193.23

Oh, and
Life saved: 3 days, 5 hours, 55 minutes

Go me, yeah? Er, no. Right now I would kill for a fag.

Eh? Who would I kill?

Oh. Not thought about that bit.

Anyway, fuck off. What I mean is I feel a bit strongly which is quite absolutely silly cos it's been fairly okay, for the month up to now, as cravings go. (Don't talk to me about the weight gain though, I've eaten so much green veg and salad it's a wonder I'm not shitting rabbit pellets but have I lost weight? Have I arseholes, I've gained so much I now have my own postcode.)

My various, previously patch assisted quits gave me much more day-to-day trouble than this one has and never felt as permanent (which they weren't, obviously and hence, piss off, etc.) I remember without the least fondness the hours upon hours I spent crying out from some deep, dark place of angst and longing; reaching out with desperate fingers that were just short of the length needed to scratch the itch I felt in the depths of my very soul. Even the phrase 'scratch the itch' doesn't quite express the pain; this really was athletes foot of the psyche. Something like 'mercilessly rip the scab away, exposing the layers under the dermis and setting the blood flowing freely' might come close, I guess. Babies crawling across ceilings would have been a welcome respite from the mad, freaky dreams I had so even sleep didn't help when it came.

This has been nothing like that, on the whole. I am now that fabled person you hear of that smoked thirty a day for 24 years then just woke up one day and never smoked again. I'm an urban legend come to fat, whingey life, I tell you.

Oh for fucks fucking sake. I have some music I really like and felt like playing at the moment, sent to me by ML who can only communicate, musically, in iPod language. I'm obviously the last person in the world that speaks mpfucking3 and I can't find the thingy to convert it. That's the other thing, I've gone all ditzy and brainless since I quit. Or that may be cos the kids have been off school for a week. Or both. Either way I can't focus on a task to completion, repeat myself a lot, can't write a shopping list let alone fiction or a blog, forget things even more than usual and repeat... yeah ok, shit joke and I won't go there.

Ick. Right, time for an Angieplan.

1 - Get dressed (Noooooooo! It's sunday!)
2 - Stop moaning and get dressed.
3 - Find some cash, remember how to drive.
4 - Stop in salad section of Sainsburys to blow loud raspberries and stick fingers up at anything green.
5 - Go to chocolate aisle. Inhale.
6 - Return home. Blow nose on size 12 jeans.
7 - Make gym plan for next week when kids are back at school.

Lambent, if you say 'have a fag' I'll hunt you down and fuck you to death. Oh, and I've lost the url of that Mr P bloke, mail me it please you sexy beast? Mwah. Good lad, you know I love you really.

Real romance

...is reading the words 'you sort the dates out and I'll finance it' and knowing they are as true at that moment as they have been every other time you've read them over the past eight years.

Knowing that when this person says 'I'd fuck you no matter what, we're more than just that', he absolutely means it and, as a bonus, is so sexily confident in his knowledge that you feel the same way.

Knowing that it takes something special to still feel this way eight years and various lovers (each) after the one and only night you ever spent together. A night that involved an inflatable rucksack, a couple of rushed drinks, a four poster bed and a McDonalds milkshake.

Now that's romantic.

I have the dates. This time I won't just think about it, I'll book the flight.

Valentines hard

I loved you so hard.

Yes I still have all the lilac cards but please don't think it's because I can't bring myself to throw them away. It's practical. I've not changed the colour scheme in the bedroom so they still blend as well you knew they would each time you bought one, wrote a line or a word in, posted them halfway down the country. I only keep them until I find something else that will fill the gap, meet my aesthetic standards. You may have been right, it may be that it's all about my standards. Just, may. I haven't stopped fighting yet. I'm not fucking dead yet. Not outside.

I did love you but it was so hard.

And you've done it again. You're nowhere near but I'm only nerves and emotions and words tripping over one another to be expressed, no, exorcised and my mind is screaming, screaming to be heard but my voice is that of a smothered little girl and my fingers can hardly find the letters I need on the keyboard but it's important they do because I know you'll read even if you never actually hear the desperate typing.

I wanted so hard to love you.

Opposites attract. (Poles apart)
Age doesn't matter. (A man that 13yrs my senior shouldn't drain me like another young child)
Deeply sensitive. (A weak dropout that has financially enabling parents to angst over)
The best lover I ever had. (When did it become all about your acceptance/rejection/extreme submissive tendencies?)
You are a beautifully diverse woman. (Hang on while I name which of your multiple bonkers personalities I'm dealing with right now)
I love watching your intelligence at work. (Scoring as highly as that you're too good to study, jack it in)
Dump your whole family, you only need me. (We have to show willing with my lot, they send large cheques)
Leonard Cohen. (Elizabethan Lute playing girlie?!)

I think I'm done, I think I've exorcised all the words now. Not that you'll read them cos this is somewhere you don't know, my place, not mail or text to your places but that's okay, this was about me, not you. You'll laugh at that, feel hard done by. Not to worry. For all the clever words you hurt me with, for all the people I love and you used to get to me at various 5am's, for all the long, tormenting nights, this is my answer.

I'd rather be a) utterly, desolately lonely, than b) be with you.

But I'd really like a c) choice.

If today is your birthday...

You're one of two rather delicious blokes I know of...


The energies on the day of your birth will lift you high and give you a strong desire for material acquisition. There is certain success for you particularly if you conduct yourself with integrity and high ethical standards. Though there may be some disappointments and setbacks try to take the advice of people more experienced, older members of your society and family as usually the advice they have to offer you can be taken and used to your advantage.

The number 13 has always been considered a mysterious number, a number of upheaval and transformation and it is said that if you can understand the vibration you are given great power and dominion over other people.

Seeing as one of the blokes I mentioned is tied up somewhere fighting demons, I must mean you, Midnight Meandering! Happy birthday, babe!

Snot fucking fair - the sequel

If I ever had the inclination to do a Victor Meldrew impression, now would be the best time for it because I don't believe this, I'm ill again!

Nnnggg! I never usually get ill once, let alone twice! I've not long got shot of the last cold and I'm laid low by another one already! Aarrgghh! I hate being ill, it's just too fucking weak and I simply don't do weak, ever!! Sorry, I'll try and leave off the exclamation marks now but I really am quite very fucking damn well pissed off about this!!! (oops)

This particular episode of germ invasion appears to be confined to my upper respiratory tract so ok, maybe it isn't quite as bad as the chest infection but I still can't breathe through my nose and my brain is completely dead. (Insert major apologies *here* to all those that I've mailed, texted or im'd in error over the last 24 hours or so. I know you are legion and I'm really very sorry for listening to my blonde, snotty brain so please, stop. Fucking. Laughing. Now.)

Forget the skinny, happy women you see riding motorbikes in the nrt ads, since I packed up smoking I've just got fat and sick. Twice! Not to mention that getting laid is something that only happened when I was a heavy smoker but weighed lighter. Draw your own conclusions, beloved reader...

4 calls and an eavesdropper

It's not that I'm loud, it's just sometimes you can't help overhearing things. I was mid call when I joined the queue, as if hearing one side of a conversation isn't confusing enough the poor woman in front of me only heard the last knockings of that...

"No, you'll be fine as long as you really get the blood pumping and stretch the thighs and hips out first"

"Seriously babe, even I was nervous my first time. You'll feel great once you're into it, I promise.
You're plenty good enough, just let your personality out and no-one can fail to love you!"

"You won't! I tell you what; if things go badly then call me and I'll talk you through. It's more likely that you'll ring me after and tell me what fun you all had though. Ok now? Good - go get 'em! Bye, darlin' "


No sooner have I snapped the phone closed, it's ringing again. Our House by Madness tells me it's someone calling from home and I answer with

"Mummy has run off with the milkman. This is a recording"

'You never believe me! Try re-booting the box'

'Sweetheart, think about it. Why would Tony Blair block your MSN?'

"Tell him I said he's a poopoohead. I'll be home soon, stick the kettle on, eh? Love ya"


Two more people get served and the queue moves up as this plays to warn me that the ex husband wants to talk to me. My eyes roll but this one is short and sweet.

"Hi"

"Duke of Edinburgh"

"Sunday. As usual. Bye"


Two more people then it's my turn. I put the phone back in my bag and fiddle about retrieving the stuff I need when it starts singing at me again. A song that makes me smile even before I pick up this time

"Hello, you!"

"Mmm. Missing you but fine, you know me. Anyway sod all that, how's Hong Kong?"

"Er, yeah. I got confused looking at the time differences, I did email though"

"How much?! Who spends that much on champagne for Gods sake?! *laughing* Oh hell, it wasn't one of those bars that make you buy bottles -" (I was cut off fairly quickly by protestations of innocence at that point before continuing at my end)

"Well I have no sympathy but bloody well done for getting to work after all that. Chicago won't be as, er, social, will it? How long are you back for in between?"

"Damn, is that all? Never mind, we'll sort something out"

"Sainsburys. Yeah I know, it's just too glamorous being me! Bye, darling - thinking of you too"

The woman in front of me was called to a counter at last. She'd done well at being subtle up to that point but couldn't resist turning to get a proper look at me as she was served. When I thought about it afterI reckon I'd want to know who the hell talked such randomness in the Post Office at 4 in the afternoon too.

Mystical fuck

Yesterday I bought a fuck from a most lovely lady.

It was only a quid.

I appear to be too dim to put the picture in my sidebar and make that link to her so I shall do it here. Go spend a quid and buy her wares, she's utterly faberlicious.

Antiflora

Seems to me that more people are looking forward to Pancake day than St Valentines this month and this made me think... crikey, don't I know a lot of greedy old loners?!

Sad mates aside, it planted the seed of a business opportuity in my head, one to run alongside Fartsmelt Cards and further build my evil empire, muhaha etc.

It would be called Antiflora and the main business would consist of beautifully wrapped bunches of Japanese Knotweed and stinging nettles, prettily boxed helium balloons that, when released, burst and throw itching powder everywhere (because I'm having trouble sourcing balloons that can hold drawing pins and survive during transit) and fabulously packaged chocolates made entirely from laxative and sprinkled with crack for that 'more-ish' touch.

However, the most exciting aspect is looking for a delivery company for my extra special idea of T-hugs. These would look similar to the cute little teddies and rabbits you see but, rather than having words like 'hug' on their tummies, they'd be personally delivered with a smack in the gob and a card saying you'd been sent a T-hug on account of being a total fucktard!

This time next year I'll be a millionaire!


Anyone that would like to prove my personal cynicism wrong with gifts of flowers, chocolates or alcohol need only email for my address, obviously.

Lazy bitch

C&P from a mail I just sent

Just a quickie cos I'm exhausted tonight and plan to get to bed before
midnight. And I have nothing exciting to say, also :-) Roof man came
to fix my roof (from last weeks gales) just as I was about to get into
the shower, teaching tonight was tiring but fun, my tits ache like
hell cos I've not been taking my vitamins properly this month and I'm
having a haircut tomorrow but not sure what so I may well have a
drastic, spur of the moment change of image.

*deleted personal bit at the end*

I hope to resume normal service shortly.

Karma killer

You've been naughty. Very, very naughty.

I believe in karma insomuch as I try to 'do unto others as I would be done by' whilst not believing the source of that particular quote. I'm a basically nice person that doesn't do organised religion, I guess. I do have a sense of universal justice though, a deep seated feeling that everything balances out in the end; that things are, ultimately, fair. At least I do until I'm faced with scenarios such as this...

Innocent child born nearly three months prematurely and suffering traumatic physical effects including hip dislocation, brain bleeding and fitting which the med staff can't rule out being a life long condition. Parents, having 9 previous children between them and already estranged, unable to accept the responsibility and abandon said child in hospital at 6 weeks old, weighing 2lbs. Child farmed out to foster parents who then adopt her but find it hard to handle her learning disabilities/mental health issues as she grows into a young woman whose biological father insists on making himself and her, by now, 11 various flavours of sibling known to her.

Young woman becomes pregnant and has termination. Goes on to become pregnant again and has son who is then removed from her due to her inability to care for him. Goes on to marry and has a daughter who she's allowed to keep with extensive help from husband/in-laws. Husband leaves but returns for access to daughter and sex with young woman. Young woman becomes pregnant again. At 27 weeks, young woman is told her baby has died inside her and she'll have to go through labour and delivery. Appointment is made as soon as hospital can arrange it. The same day as her first sons birthday.

Some things just don't make sense.

ML, I owe you one

Two weeks,

424 cigarettes not smoked,

saving £87.60.

but eating way too many carbs.

424 thank you muchlies, my darling. If I've got the time difference right you ought to be reading this after dinner with the ex-pats so, bwahaha! Rather you than me! xx