Lovely Bones

I am still reeling from the film last night.  Was far better than I had imagined and really captured the book incredibly well.  This is definitely NOT a feel good film though so don't go see it if you're feeling at all low or depressed.  Will send you right over the edge.  Personally I am now seriously considering becoming a vigilante.  Death Wish VI - with a twist.

The topic raised by The Lovely Bones is the issue of Paedophiles.  This is one thing I feel utterly strongly about.  And justifiably so.  It is my belief that anyone with an inkling for this perversion should be executed.   Not motivated by hatred, simply it is more merciful (in my opinion) to dispose of them and the problem they pose before it occurs.  If I had those tendencies I would happily wish for someone to come and put me out of my misery before I harmed anyone - inevitably then hating myself for the rest of my life and beyond.  There is no way, in my mind, that people who abuse children in a serious sexual manner can possibly ever feel good inside - that goes against the laws of conscience.  Therefore it is better to put them down, so to speak, allowing them to move on to a life elsewhere, free from the burden of their desires .   I don't feel the death penalty is deserved in many instances but in this one absolutely so.

And just incase any of you are contemplating the converse argument of "what if an innocent person is executed".  A few statistics for you.  1in 3 girls, and 1 in 6 boys in the UK will be sexually abused before the age of 18.  Every year in the United Kingdom between 5 and 9 children are abducted and killed, in America that figure is more like 40.   Over the past 30 years in America there have only be 17 wrongful convictions associated with the death penalty and 240 less serious wrongful convictions.  It doesn't specify what percentage of these were child sex related crimes.   Of these convictions half the suspects have a prior criminal history forming  the basis of their conviction.  With advances in forensic studies being so precise it is a rare thing indeed to be convicted of a crime you have had no involvement with.  The idea that a completely innocent person would fall foul of the justice system (as it stands now) is practically impossible.   In any case I would far sooner live in a world where every few years an innocent man or woman hangs, than a world where every week an innocent child's life is taken or destroyed.

Ok off my soap box now.

Can't really recover from that subject very well. Doesn't feel appropriate to start clowning around with my usual attempts at witty banter.  No, I think I shall have to leave you on that entirely depressing topic.  Would be really good though to get some feedback from you all, even if it is to tell me I'm wrong!

Happy Sunday Everyone x x

Rainy Days and Mondays.......

Well someone is smiling down upon me.  Tonight, Matthew, I am going to be........let out of the house again!  Wow, twice in two days, just like the buses.

The band last night were, I have to say, absolutely fantastic.  Can't quite understand why it was their final gig though as they are far too good to be jacking it in.  I have been to many a live performance and these were easily one of the best I've ever heard.  I assume the reason they haven't hit the major league is simply because, although listening to them was a massive pleasure, looking at them; well not so much so.  Imagine the Sterephonics, fat suits and really bad perms combined - very talented, but unfortuntately not enough to make them attractive.  Oh what a cruel critical wench I sound right now - perhaps I should be more careful.  As I've mentioned before every time I critisise any aspect of anyone I seem to end up in the same predicament.  Tomorrow I shall wake up short fat and male with Kevin Keegan curls.   Realistically though, nowadays celebrity status is nigh on unachievable unless you have everything in the right place, phsyically.  Artists like Bob Dylan and Barry Manilow would never get past first base, metaphorically speaking (unmetaphorically speaking - they'd never even get that far with me, I may be desperate but even I have my limits, kind of).

Tonight it's another cinema visit, this time to see The Lovely Bones.  I read the book a couple of years ago and thought it was fab so really looking forward to the film.  Invariably films never live up to the book however so bound to be a little disappointed.  Usual Saturday night then.

What is not disappointing, and in fact is pretty darn amazing for this lump of a woman, is the fact Corrinna and I did 9k today.  WOW.  Admittedly we did have a couple of walk stops but overall it was mighty good.  The last mile was run in the hacking rain and was in fact one of the best parts.  It is so unbelievably liberating getting your hair, clothes and body drenched, and feeling like you just don't care.  No mascara to worry about or hair style to protect.  It's the closest thing I'll ever get to dancing naked in it anyway (or at least till I get those new boobs).

A little disturbing was passing a group of lads, no more than twelve, tinny's in hand getting bevvied at four 'o' clock in the afternoon.  We obviously tickled their fancy so they started running along with us, until Corrinna came up with some comment to get rid, thankfully.  I actually felt like I wanted to stop there and then, sit down and give them some good hard Bambi style lecture/therapy.  What in their lives was so bad it drove them to drinking on a Sat afternoon?  and why did they feel the need to flirt with women old enough to be their grandma?  Guess that's St George's for you.

Anyway the bath is calling.  Got back three hours ago, sweaty and soaked and have just sat on the computer ever since (not literally of course - water and electricals really do not mix).  So now I am going to have a long hot soak, try using my "youthful essence" facial micro dermobrasion kit (and hope that by the time I am finished I look like Angelina Jolie) and shave the wilderness which is my leg hair.  And with that delicious image of me in your minds I shall say goodnight.

Goodnight x x

Surprisingly early

Yes well if I don't write something now I shan't manage it atall today as I'm about to depart for a night of hedonistic pleasure down at the Barleymow.  Living the high life me.  Actually going to listen to a band (called The Words) as I do enjoy a bit of live music....... really hoping they cut it though as going with a friend who is an avid follower and not sure she'll appreciate me telling her they're utter crap.

Today, so far, has been surprisingly pleasant.  Usually I spend most days wishing my life away, eagerly anticipating a time when I shall be svelt, rich, employed, beautiful and content.   Today was different in that I spent it with one of my bestest friends who always manages to make everything seem much better than it is.....which is the key to true friendship in my eyes.   Laughter genuinely is the most amazing antidote to our miserable time here on the planet.  And make me laugh she does.

Unfortunately when I got home I found Danny, my second child, swollen faced with slitty eyes and looking rather unwell.  I asked him if he was sick,  to which he just replied that he'd had a very bad day, but didn't wish to talk about it.  After a certain amount of prising however I managed to access the route of his unhappiness.  It goes a bit like this.....

There is a boy in his class who is, shall we say, rather rotund.  He is, and always has been, the butt of everyone's cruel jibes and is pretty much friendless.  Danny, who himself has always been rather popular albeit slightly off the wall, has of late befriended this boy and they have become inseperable.  Every morning, every evening, every weekend Dan is on the X-box Live chatting with him.  Whenever I have listened in on these conversations (as all good nosy mothers must) I have detected a real tenderness and affection in his tone and can tell that Danny genuinely thinks very highly of this kid. 

Anyway, turns out that because Danny has become so tight with this boy, he is now on the receiving end of all the cruelty also.  He says the entire class, bar his cousin and her friend, have turned against him.  The boys are calling him names such as "Gay Boy", "Baby" and tripping him over in the cloakroom, pushing on the playground etc & generally making his life a misery.  Things that they have always done to the other boy for years.   But the sweet part is this.  Danny said to me at first, "Mum I can't talk to you about it as every time I do it makes me cry and I don't want to get upset".    After I pursuaded him to open up you know which point he cried at?  Not the bit where he talked of  being bullied himself.  He only sobbed when he described to me the things that the other boys were doing to his friend (making fun of his weight, calling him fat boy, asking him if he has been to Mcdonalds lately etc - all typical unoriginal stuff). 

Although I am gutted that his class seem to have decided to re-enact Lord of the Flies,  and Danny is playing the part of Piggy, I am also so incredibly proud.  Because I can see that whatever other issues my son may have, and however frustrating I find him at times, he has a quality within him which is priceless; something which compensates for many a failing.  I looked at him as he was regaling me with tales of his traumatic day tonight and I think I have never loved him so much in all my life. 

Perhaps you needed to be there to appreciate how beautiful it was!  Although not beautiful enough to stop me from then telling Euan that tomorrow he is to visit the home of the ringleader and give him the kick-in of his life. 

Joking of course.  But I am going to be down at the school on Monday morning shotgun in hand ready to take on the lot of them.

Meanwhile I have a date with a hot band.

Adios Amigos

My other love

You know sometimes when I write this blog it makes me feel a sense of guilt like I'm having an illicit relationship of some kind.  I know Chris disapproves of the fact I commit so much time to it  and refuse to let the night pass without writing (although it really is only about 30 minutes daily)......obviously there is something else he would rather I were doing and maybe it's simply that he wonders why I can't be as commited to that.

Yes I have to admit that my intention to "sex him" (as Euan once called it) on a daily basis has diminished somewhat in recent weeks.  It really is quite a burdensome task to perform on schedule like that.  Essentially this is the fundamental problem within marriage, I believe.  When you are 'courting' and can't have each other at will, it is practically your every waking thought, but once the hum drum routine and contentment of living together 24/7 kicks in, everything changes.  Am I alone in this?  Please tell me you aren't all raging sex machines procreating hourly.  I wouldn't believe you anyway. I watched a programme once in which the subject of marital sex, and more significantly the frequency of it, was examined.  Turns out 40% of the married population in Britain are supposedly CELEBATE.  Yes that's right, not doing it at all (or at least not with each other), and on average couples who are doing it twice weekly are pretty darn lucky.  So taking that all in to account I don't feel Chris has has such a raw deal over the years.  

And just in case you're wondering why Euan has a phrase for our sexual habits.......that came about when I was going in to hospital to have Maisey (by c-section) and told him I would be getting sterilised at the same time.  I explained what the process involved and why I needed to do it - to ensure we didn't have any unexpected arrivals etc etc.  His response was "I don't get it.....if you don't want any more children why don't you just stop sexing Dad?".    Great idea son, why didn't I think of that myself?  I shall remember to pass that pearl of wisdom on to his own wife in about twenty years time.

So how is the diet and fitness regime going?  Well quite frankly it's not.  Chris has been online today looking for a nutritionist for me, thinking that perhaps I need a more personalised approach.  I am loath to spend money paying someone to tell me what I think I already know however.  Perhaps she may have some miraculous body specific plan that would enable me to shed the pounds quicker than ever before, but the cynic in me feels it would just be pounds of the round golden type that I'll be losing and nothing else.  No, I think I shall save my pennies for the forehead fillers.  I also haven't done any exercise today, mainly because I have been dashing around like the proverbial blue bottomed insect and haven't had a moment to pee let alone run.    I did however buy a new set of scales this afternoon.   I am hoping that these ones may make me lighter.

I have very high hopes for tomorrow you'll be pleased to hear.  Five miles of hard core waddling on the agenda.  Meanwhile keep reading friends, and keep commenting.  Your witty remarks are what I live for.

x x

My Camera - the liar.

Another midnight finish but this time not due to work, been out socialising instead.  Well if you can call watching a film at the cinema socialising.....in reality it's probably the least sociable activity there is.   Not really the best place to have a full blown chat about life, loves and missing tampons.  Not unless you fancy getting a carton of popcorn thrown at your head anyhow.

Went to see "Valentine's Day" which on a scale of one to ten, ten being top notch and one being anything featuring or produced by Woody Allen, I would rate it about four and a half.  Totally middle of the road, lacklustre and predictable but nevertheless very feel good.  Oh and unrealistic.   Out of the nine couples featured (it being a film about Valentines Day - surprisingly - and the ins and outs of various relationships) there was not an ugly, fat, spotty, unemployed, financially challenged or disabled person amongst them - just a bunch of super-hot, super-rich high flyers.  A true representation of society then.  I thought it could at least feature one down to earth story line, say about a couple who've been married for fifteen years, have four children, he's unemployed (and brain damaged), she's fat, moody and borderline manic depressive - on Valentines they wake up, exchange the obligatory cards & gifts then spend the rest of the day squabbling, wondering why the hell they married each other in the first place.  But no.  Apparently that's not what people want to see.

All these late nights are taking their toll I feel.  I took some photos of myself today and couldn't believe the amount of wrinkles I have - especially across my forehead.  I have decided to undergo surgery as soon as I can afford it but meanwhile I'll have to make do with trying to sleep more, or even just enough, and see if that helps.   I also couldn't believe that out of the fourty six pictures I took, not one of them looked like me -  just some chubby, big chinned, piggy eyed woman staring out from the camera screen - where she came from I do not know.

Thank you to those who have submitted a vote on my poll by the way.  This one has been really interesting I feel....why does it not surprise me that 60% of you associate the greatest mistake of your lives with a man, and the other 40% with money......proving my theory that it's men who are the root of all evil, not money which is merely the soil that evil grows in.  I am however very surprised that none of you have been involved in any criminal activities, and on the basis that you are all therefore really rather boring I am going to have to ask you to go out and commit some (crime) to make yourselves more interesting to me.

Not mass murder though, preferably.

Matchsticks required

If I were a candle I would simply be a burnt out wick with a small amount of wax remaining in the middle.  

It is half past midnight and I am sat here absolutely perished having just finished several hours of accounts work, flight hunting and trying to balance our own personal finances (more chance of balancing on stilts I might add).  I have a train to catch in eight hours time and am desperate for some sleep so can't be long. 

Was pretty chuffed with my aerobic efforts today.  Went to Sister's house to use her spangly new rowing machine, did a bit of a jog on the way home (for about a mile and a half) then jumped on my bike and was out on that for fourty minutes or so.   Have to say doing a variety of exercise was much more preferable to straight out jogging, although I did have the ipod on, listening to a spot of Queen, which always helps.  I absolutely love Freddy Mercury and even though he is Gay and probably highly decomposed by now I would still happily have his babies.  Definitely one of the sexiest men to walk this planet (him and Eddie Izzard, and yes I do have a slight fetish about butch cross-dressers which I am sure Freud could have a field day with).  It is I feel a slight progression from my childhood crush which was Chewbacca - what was wrong with Hans Solo or Luke I shall never understand.

So I shall love you and leave you and hope that I can find time tomorrow to have a decent chat.

Nighty night.  x

Keeping it Real.

Fear not friends, loved ones and others.  The case of the missing article has been solved, or so I think.  Thank you to all those who got in touch with words of encouragement and suggestions of help.... especially to Emma who claims to be proficient in the area of 'pulling strings' (and clearly a true friend for offering).   Fortunately unnecessary as it happens (thank the Lord) - turned out it was simply one of those forgetting-to-put-your-pants-on moments and what I suspected to have gone A.W.O.L. was actually never there.  Phew.  

I think perhaps I have simply reached a point where I subconciously block out all below waist level activity.

Must confess that I nearly deleted the entire blog for yesterday.  Chris read it, and couldn't believe I was being so bold as to discuss these intimate (physical) issues.   Blimey I thought, if Chris the social equivalent to Attila the Hun feels I have overstepped the mark then I really must be losing touch.  For the first time I re-read my waffle and began to feel anxious.  In the end though I decided to retrace my roots and remember the purpose of writing.....to sound off about all the things that I am; the good the bad and the ugly (a lot of that one).  What's the point in writing an account of your life if all the grim and dismal moments are left out.  Just paints yet another picture of something that isn't real, and personally I feel there is too much of that around as it is.

Only yesterday I was ruminating over the practice of arguing in front of the children.  Is it good to expose them to the reality of parental disagreement?  Is it healthy for them to see you becoming increasingly irrate, owing to the fact one of you forgot to turn the cooker on, and eventually trying to strangle one another....well no, obviously you don't want them to see that part, but the raising of voices, does that do any harm?  Apparently one school of thought is that children become emotionally disturbed when exposed to their parents' squabbles because they only see the down side of it and rarely the making up at the end.  Something tells me if they were to see that last bit, they'd need a hell of a lot more therapy.

No, in my opinion, or at least for today anyway, a dose of reality salts is what's required.  Children need to appreciate that life is tough, that hard work is essential, that disappointment and failure come to us all and that just because you've managed to slay the Dragon Fable Master in Runescape doesn't mean you've got it made.

Oh what a grumpy old woman I am.  My moods are all over the place again lately and I can't even blame the caffeine unless it has a half life of 84 hours or more.  Maybe it does.  In fact taking in to account the amount of diet cola I consumed over the last two years my body's fluid composition is probably 15% water and 55% Pepsi Max.   That's a lot of peeing before I return to normal.

Not even going to mention diet and exercise today.  It's that bad.  Think I need a good night's sleep and then everything will look rosy again. x x

M.I.A (Certificate 18)

Don't suppose any of you saw the article in the news a few days ago about a woman in Columbia who, on admittance of her body to the morgue, was found to be alive?  Turns out she had Lazarus Syndrome, where the patient's heart rate and breathing drop below measurable levels.  Hence the ability to be pronounced.  Got me wondering whether it's possible for the reverse to happen; folk walking around the planet with a pulse and the appearance of having a life but in fact being socially, emotionally and mentally dead.  Would explain a lot of people to me.

Today has been both wonderful and devastating.  Wonderful in that my friends came over for dinner, which went swimmingly, was delicious and provided a fantastic opportunity to catch up. 

Devastating because I have lost something.....something quite serious.

Serious, yet disgusting.  Too disgusting to talk about in detail, but suffice to say it's recovery may well involve stirrups, nudity and a lot of poking and prodding.  I am most distressed.   Naturally Chris has offered to help me find it, hard hat and head torch at the ready.   This apparently (according to Google - the source of all modern knowledge) is a common problem amngst the menstruating population - I'm guessing most of you probably have an idea to what I am referring by now.    I'm fretting about the consequences if it travels to a major organ (is that even possible??)......and what might the death certificate say?   Death by cotton wool.

It's a shocker I know.  But you will remember that I said this would be a warts and all truth baring blog and actually there are far worse things I could tell you.  Consider yourselves spared.

Body wise my legs are stiff as, well I  don't know, a very stiff thing.  Could say board but I think depending on what the board is made of they could be stiffer than that.  When I try to sit my knees tremor making me appear as though performing some kind of funky tribal dance.  It's rather unpleasant.  But like I say not as unpleasant as the missing thing which over-rides all other unpleasantness for the last few months.  And yes, I am obsessed with it.  I can't get it out of my head and feel a panic coming on.

So I think maybe I should go take a long hot bath and see if I can't get nature to run it's course.  Meanwhile Ma please don't get on the phone telling me to call 999 and report the missing ****** because personally I'd rather die of Toxic Shock than have to admit what's happened.  To be honest I am more concerned about the long term ramifications.....like why the hell has it managed to travel at all.  Are my insides that messed up that there's some kind of new passageway formed?  And if so where will it come out?

Sometimes being female is such a drag. 

One waddle too far

Ouch.. That is all I have to say about today's 'jog'.  Accompanied by the Special Forces sister, whom I am now beginning to suspect is a closet Nazi, I can safely say I have never experienced such prolonged agony in all my life.  Okay so perhaps I am exaggerating slightly, having had four children I appreciate there have been other more painful moments, but only marginally so!  Her motto for our jaunt this morning was "if it doesn't make you puke, you're not trying hard enough", so there would be no relent  until either the contents of my stomach were splattered over the pavement or I suffered a fatal collapse.  I had aimed to complete the four miles in 45 minutes.  We actually finished in 48 minutes, which taking in to account the fact I did walk a short distance, wasn't half bad.  None of this would have been at all achievable without the horse-whipper of course.  Joking aside I am really very grateful that one of us was born without the lazy wimp gene - my sister is amazing and one of the most beautiful and talented women  I know.

The downside to the experience is (aside from the searing pain and inability to breathe) I am now only capable of the most feeble hobble when trying to move.  Initially upon my return I felt great, utterly tripping on endorphins, and launched straight in to a mega cleaning frenzy.  Gradually over the last three hours or so though my muscles have progressively seized and I am now at the point where a Stannah Stair Lift would be most welcome.

Additionally, due to my inability to stand straight and the fact I have been so busy with housework, I am now Mrs Un-popular for suggesting my children eat cereal for tea.  Perhaps if they hadn't already had it for breakfast and lunch it would be less of a big ask, although personally I feel they should be grateful to even have three meals a day.   After all when we were young we'd be lucky to eat that in a week.  Euan is currently walking around chuntering and grunting obscenities, occasionally managing to pronounce words like "starving" and "Childline".   Danny on the other hand is delighted at the prospect of avoiding the dinner table, and time away from his beloved X-box, proving that rearing a console-obsessed slob does have it's advantages.

I often look at the kids and wonder what it is I am raising.  On a good day Euan is intelligent, witty, caring, hard working and considerate; Danny is imaginitive, tender, sensitive and funny; Charlotte is studious, good-humoured, generous, loving and helpful and Maisey is cute as cute can be.  On a bad day though, Oh My Gosh.   Euan is a self centred, aggravating, neanderthalic Chav; Danny is an unwashed, irritating zombie-clone from Planet Zod; Charlotte is a screeching, wailing, pants-obsessed banshee and Maisey is, thankfully, still cute as a button.   And a lot of their bad behaviour I feel stems from my own personal lack; of discipline, of time, of order, of meals.  It does scare me that when they grow up they will look back and resent me for the mistakes I am making.  Sadly we all do it, no matter how perfect we try to be (and if I'm honest I really don't actually even try to be perfect - it's too hard!).  What's even sadder is that my children won't realise why I failed until they have their own, by which point it may be too late.

Anyway, no time to dwell on that right now.  I have two Church lessons to prepare for tomorrow and a large Sunday Dinner to get ready as I've friends coming over.  One of whom I haven't seen for ten years so naturally I'm wanting to create the impression of a perfect family and home life.  Hence why I have chosen to spend so much of today cleaning the house instead of feeding anyone.  Ironic isn't it!  All I need to figure out now is how much to bribe the kids with for their best behaviour, and how to make it look like Chris and I are happily married.  Hmmmmm.  This could be a hard one.

x x

Tears before bedtime

I'm sitting here with tear stained cheeks, but thankfully no it's not because of Chris this time!!  I have just  watched the most devastatingly emotional film (My Sister's Keeper) so you'll have to excuse me if I am a little pensive.    

The film addresses the issue of 'donor' babies; children who are conceived using IVF, specifically for the purpose of providing some form of donation/transplant for siblings.  Coincidentally, someone asked me just the other day whether I would consider the very same thing.  Not because I have a sick child, just in a hypothetical sense.   And without a moment's hesitation I said Yes.   How could it be a bad thing?  I'd be having another child which in itself is good, and that child could save the other child, also good....isn't it?  After seeing the film tonight I am massively undecided.  Certainly made me reconsider my stance and realise that to each and every moral argument there are usually two equally legitimate cases to be heard.

Why must everything be so complicated ?  Like I've said before, I need a rule book.  A dictionary of what is right; clearly defined and unquestionable.  Rather than ambiguous ethics and moralistic riddles left right and centre.  Life was so much simpler when we were all monkeys.

What is very simple, apart from my brain, is the very obvious fact, to me anyway, that I shall not be ready for the race in two weeks.  I did have an exercise session today, walking up the Wrekin and jogging back down (which incidentally is a great way to impress passers by who generally assume you have jogged up also!), but I am feeling it is nigh on impossible to manage 6.3 miles in only fourteen days.  Sorry I should qualify that a little, I can complete the distance, no problem, it's getting it done in a respectable time and not finishing on a stretcher that I'm afraid of.

So, tomorrow I am going to give myself a target of four miles in fourty five minutes, which will be a real test of my fitness.  HA.  And when it all goes horribly wrong I shall just sit in the gutter and cry!!

Report back tomorrow folks.

And if you happen to want a night of blubbering, bawling and general hysteria, My Sister's Keeper is available in all good Blockbusters.

x x

Totally trollied

I need to rant. About shopping trolleys. I HATE them. In fact I more than hate them, I detest them, I loathe them, I abhor them, I spit on their mass grave. I’m going rather O.T.T. here I know but seriously, I really, really dislike those four wheeled little freaks. Shopping in Tesco today and, as usual, I get the trolley which won’t go straight. In fact worse than that. Trolley’s that won’t go straight are what you get in every other supermarket. In Tesco’s, thanks to those stupid anti-cattle grid mechanisms attached to the wheels, most of the trolleys won’t even go at all. (Incidentally not sure if Tesco's deploy this tactic nationally or whether trolley-jacking is a Telford only activity?).  Most cunning is the fact that the trolley DOES work for the first twenty minutes. Just long enough for you to fill it with several hundred small fiddly items before it breaks. Leaving you with a choice – either fetch a replacement and transfer your goods over only to find the new one malfunctions within the hour too, or continue to push the existing grocery holder from hell. Another reason to shop at Sainsburys, where the trolleys usually go straight (which is more than can be said for the majority of their single male customers!!).

Ok, feel relieved now.

My head you will be pleased to know is getting progressively better. Now I only have pain down the left side, which hopefully indicates the worst is over and not that I am about to have a stress-induced-stroke. Pain aside, so far the whole giving up Coke task has been really easy. And because of the mega-caffeine withdrawal I have decided to add energy drinks to the list of banned fluids - unfortunately though I am now developing an addiction to Syndol and Aspirin.

Because I was feeling so bad yesterday I didn't fill you in on my little trip to the Chiropractor. I've been seeing him on and off for several years now, for varying reasons, initially my back, then my arm, then my back, then my shoulder, then my knee, then my back and so on. It would be reasonable to ask at this point why I continue to visit him when he's obviously unable to fix anything, permanently in any case. I would tell you it's because he's supersonically fit and too hard to resist, in truth though Rick Moranis has more sex appeal, probably. His failure to succeed actually lies with me I'm afraid - because every time the troublesome part of my body starts to feels better I stop going, in an effort to save money, then end up in more pain than before. The secret to success with chiropractic treatment is continuity. And lots of cash.

It is a necessary evil that at each appointment, I have to strip down to my undies (or so he says). This poses a real challenge. Not because I am anxious about being seen semi-naked. Surprisingly, although I am overweight, I'm not really shy in that respect - partly because of that delusional element to my personality which allows me to believe my body still looks like it did fifteen years ago. I find it easy to convince myself that what I cannot see does not exist, even if I can feel it sitting around my waist like a rubber ring. No, the real conundrum is deciding which underwear sends the right message. If I choose the slinky expensive matching stuff it could be misconstrued as a sign of interest, whereas adorning myself in my once-was-white-but-got-mixed-up-with-the-darks bra and great granny knickers is pretty much admitting that I am an over-weight middle-aged mother of four who no longer tries or cares or tries to care. Which is possibly true but not the message I want to give out? Initially I took to buying new, demure underwear to attend each appointment; not wishing him to see me in the same stuff twice (thus thinking I had poor personal hygiene) I bought a couple of plain bra’s and pants from the respectable brand of M&S and alternated them. As the years have passed however, my body has changed shape, my boobs have grown (as have my arms, bum, thighs and stomache), and my purse has shrunk, so I now take to wearing whatever comes to hand. Yesterday it was the set I got Chris for Valentines Day – fortunately I had opted for “romance” as my theme when choosing his gift, rather than the black crotch less PVC.

Anyway he took a look at my calves and ankles, or in the words of a former colleague, cankles (owing to the lack of distinction between the two) and diagnosed the source of my toe-pain. I was relieved to find that it is nothing permanent, just simply a result of poor stretching and mild obesity. A few needles later, some deep tissue massage and a couple of days off the jogging and I should be right as rain. Embarrassingly also involved was a bit of buttock rubbing, to release any tension in the muscles there.......considering the fact that I absolutely know 100% there are NO muscles in my bottom, I am beginning to question his professionalism. Still if I will go wearing such frivolous undergarments he can hardly be blamed for trying.

And so I have done absolutely nothing for two days and it feels quite wonderful. Guilt free laziness; it’s the best. All ends tomorrow though as I’ve been instructed to try a long fast walk and then return to the jogging on Saturday.

Right now I am off to watch "Penelope" with the kids......a film about a girl born with the nose of a pig who needs true love to transform her in to something beautiful. Don't we all girls.......don't we all. x x

Cold turkey - the sufferings of an addict

Woke up this morning racked with head pain and highly concerned that my brain was about to implode.  My nose canal, my eye sockets and my jaw line each felt like I had encountered a baseball bat during the night, and my neck was stiff as a board.  Surely caffeine withdrawal isn't supposed to be as uncomfortable as this?  I never actually got round to visiting the Co-op yesterday so my body has been Coke free for almost fourty eight hours now - and this is the good it is doing me.  I've got the world's worst hangover and didn't even have the pleasure of getting annihilated first.

On the other hand it could be I am just catching whatever it is that has been plagueing Chris for the last few days.  I hope not though, mainly because I have been mocking his "Man-Flu" as I felt he was being such a  complete wuss about it.   I would hate to have to eat my words.  Chris has always been so melodramatic when it comes to illness, forever acting like he has some terminal condition at the first sign of snot - typical male behaviour I know.  I, on the other hand, have given birth in a morning and been hoovering the house by teatime.   A woman who is truly made of rock - hey perhaps that's why I weigh so much.   This is also why I laughed back in November 2007 (I remember it clearly because I laugh so infrequently) at the news Chris had collapsed  and been rushed to hospital - I didn't take it at all seriously....him being the quintessential boy who cried wolf.  Naturally I felt really guilty afterwards, or as guilty as a woman can feel whilst hypothetically spending all of her husband's life insurance payout.

Anyway I really haven't got much energy and even lifting my fingers to hammer these keys is sending me in to a state of lightheadedness.  So I will love you and leave you and try to think of something amazing to chat about tomorrow.

x x

Farewell to the fizzy stuff

Today is the official start of lent....or rather the preceding day to the official start of lent (so not the official start to lent then but you get what I mean). Each year I invariably spend these 24 hours trying to decide what it is that I will choose to sacrifice for the next 40 days, only to conclude by bedtime that it's all a bit too Catholic and I shall instead come out in rebellion and give up absolutely nothing. Not that I have an issue with Catholicism but I have never yet forgiven my RE teacher, Sister Anna, for the one detention I got whilst at school. The hag. And you know what for???? Not smoking or skiving or coming to school with spiky red hair and no blazer, no no no. I simply asked her if God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost were one person how come they appear separately at Jesus’ baptism. She told me it was one of the mysteries of Godliness and I shouldn't expect answers to everything......when I pressed her on it she chastised me severely. Admittedly I vaguely remember at this point whispering something like "ahh shut it you old cow", hence the detention. But still. Looking back to events like that, perhaps I wasn't as innocent at school as I once said.

Anyway back to Lent. So I am thinking this year of all the things I could choose to do without, like the children perhaps or taking baths. Should I consider giving up housework, paying the mortgage, washing the laundry or speaking to people I don't like. All of these things don’t seem so much sacrifices as pleasures however. Perhaps far more radical options are required. A 40 day abstinence from Facebook maybe, banning myself from checking all emails or an embargo on picking my spots?  these possibilities are just way off the manageability table I think. We're talking hard core habits here which if missed for a day have been known to cause mass convulsions. No, it can't be anything that is going to lead to inevitable failure.

Another Anonymous contributor suggested the following:- "Don't pick something too radical, just achieving something for whole of lent will be radical and impressive enough... So don't give up all chocolate - maybe just 'Reisens', or drink 2 litres of water a day, all at bedtime if you have to, 20 push ups before you go to the loo in a morning (which could be tricky if you did drink 2 litres before you got into bed) an apple a day for 40 days, some dried apricots instead of lunch 2/3 times a week, eat everything off Maisey sized plates and don't have 2nds, don't eat after 6/7pm but allow yourself a night off a week, once a week don't eat after 1pm, chew 4/5 pieces of gum every day (not all at the same time) to help prevent snacking, don't have butter on your bread except on a Sunday, only have porridge or shredded wheat for breakfast...." and so she continues. I need to give up my life I think if I am to try and fit all that in!! Sounds like some complicated math’s equation "if Bambi eats only toast on Wednesdays, dances for seven hours on Friday and on Sunday drinks nineteen gallons of water and apricot juice, how many pints of porridge will she need to swallow on Monday to do a hearty poop on Tuesday?” Actually I'm teasing now as he/she did say just pick one. I am guessing by the reference to "Reisens" that it's my Commando sister - I think only she knows about my lust for those gorgeous little toffees. Another evil product of Germany I might add. (I really hope there are no German Catholics reading this blog today).

And so I have decided to strike a balance. Something that is both achievable AND a genuine sacrifice. I am going to give up Diet Coke, and I include in that Pepsi Cola as well. It's going to be tough, there's no denying it, but manageable too I hope. I'd love to commit at the same time to drinking only water but I feel this could be the straw that breaks this already half done for camel's back. And so I will agree to drink only fluids containing water, (Fruit Juice, Milk, Dr Pepper, Beer, Malibu, Red Bull, Vodka, Tonic, Lucozade, Gin and Vin Blanc to name but a few! I joke of course - Gin is disgusting.).

I would also like to give up all forms of sexual activity, but I'm guessing that unless I am prepared to give up my expectation of marriage fidelity in to the bargain, then it's pretty much a non starter. As far as Chris goes, I would like to find him something to sacrifice too though. He is always telling me how easy he feels dieting must be, hypothetically speaking of course. He has never had to watch what he puts in his mouth and I'm guessing he never will have to, yet he honestly believes that he could and very easily! Just like when I watch 'the Apprentice' I always think I'd nail the challenges with my eyes closed. We all do it I'm sure. So what can I ask him to give up??? Breathing perhaps?

Meanwhile I had better get my wibbly backside down to the local shop and purchase as many cans of coke as I can physically load bear then pump them intravenously in to my body before midnight. My final goodbye to the special stuff.

Well enjoy your pancakes you lovely lot. And if there are any other lent followers out there, leave me a comment to let me know what you are planning to go without. x x

To Wag or not to Wag

The wonderful thing about keeping this blog, if nothing else, is that it enables me to closely monitor my hormonal cycle.  I could have sworn it was only last week that I had my major I-want-to-kill-you-all day, but actually on checking my posts I see it was in fact on the 20th Feb, making it right on schedule now.  So yes, once again, I am having my "time" when even the innocents need fear.

I'm not certain how much research is being carried out with regard to PMS.  I know there are a million zillion jokes written about it, but in seriousness why haven't they found the cure yet?  ('they' being those clever men in white coats).  Surely we women, and humanity as a whole, deserve it.   I dare say menstrual psychosis could one day become as big a killer in the civilised world as the other major contenders.  Isn't it time then that the "prevent cruelty to humans - stop PMT" campaign began?  Why don't we start one?   Beginning perhaps with a national awareness day -  we could make our own little pin badges out of lil-lets and some double sided sticky tape.  Do leave the cellophane wrapper on though.

If I hadn't been feeling so jolly well doom and gloomy today then I may have actually enjoyed myself. I had my first taste of 'Waggadom' in the most unlikely of places - a slight dalliance with a premiership football player in a local primary school.    Oh yes.   Though when I say dalliance what I actually mean is a five minute conversation, but grant me some poetic licence here; after all if I don't grossly exaggerate my life it will just sound as unimpressive as it is!

He (Joe Hart) is friends with the chap (Gavin Cowan) who runs the football course Euan is attending during this half term; they having played for Shrewsbury Town together a few years back (Gavin and Joe that is, not Euan and Joe or Euan and Gavin for that matter.  Common sense tells you that if Euan had been playing for Shrewsbury Town  three years ago aged just nine he would by now be some kind of child prodigy.  Child prodigy equals mega bucks, mega bucks equals liposuction, thigh lift, bum lift, breast enhancement and tummy tuck and all that equals why would I be sitting here writing the sad woman's guide to weight loss?)  Anyway to cut to the chase Joe had agreed to come down to the venue today, chat with the lads, sign a few autographs and generally look important.  So I went and checked him out, sorry I mean chatted to him myself at the end of the session.  Of course he wanted to take things further, asked for my number, told me I was the sexiest baby momma he had ever encountered and offered to whisk me away from the drudgery of Telford life to the bright lights of Brum, but naturally I turned him down.  What could I possibly want with a six foot three, blonde, handsome, rich, fit, young fella like that?

No, that Wag-gy life is not for me.  The Colleens and the Poshes of this world being the very last people I would want to have to stand next to.   I can't honestly think of anything I would hate more than living in the public eye and constantly being scrutinised. Ten weeks and I'd be a permanent guest at Hotel a la Betty Ford.

Talking of which, anonymous the third has commented that my big reveal ("Hi my name's Bambi and I am twelve stone fat") was the first step to accepting the problem at hand.  I must admit I really do feel liberated  knowing that you all know and I don't have to skirt around the issue or lie about it.  So yes I can see that potentially confessing all is a measure of progress.   Not sure that I'm ready yet to confess to all of my other 'addictions' however.  I just don't think we are able to advance to that level of intimacy right now....not until you buy me a ring anyway.  

And so ends another day. 

Night Night Rat Fans  x x

If music be the food of love.....

then the congregation in chapel today have well and truly starved it to death.  This morning the hymn singing hit an all time low, sounding more like we were  holding a service for the audiologically impaired.  Initially I worried that the organist was infact deceased....his playing being so impossibly slow it seemed his spirit had departed - the remaining movement in his hands being simply some reflex motion.  It got slower and slower and slower until I was sure any second I'd see his head flop forward on to the keys with an almighty Les Dawson clang.  But no such drama (thankfully of course).  I personally nearly died however, of utter embarassment listening to the sorry drone reverberating around the room, and thinking any visitors to our meeting would now have firm confirmation we are all part of a zombified cult.   

Earlier on I had awoken to the sweet aroma of, well nothing actually....Chris had disappeared out of the bed BEFORE the alarm went off and the usual waft of manly morning breath was nowhere to be smelt.  Surely this was another of those strange dreams I've been having lately.  Not once in the last two years have I opened my eyes that early to find his side of the bed empty.....or at least not when he was in the bed the night before.  (In actual fact over the last however many weeks he has spent eight in hospital, seven in Australia, two in the Swiss Alps and several odd days sleeping over at 'friends' or family's homes.  All without me of course.  So finding his side of the bed empty is not that rare).  But this??? THIS was a miracle.  Chris was up and out of bed.  And then I remembered it was Valentines.  I lay there expecting any moment he would come thundering through the door dressed  in dicky bow and thong...after all what else would he get up for?.  I half considered hiding in the bathroom and feigning a dose of the runs but decided instead to grin and bear it.  As it happens what I got surprised me no end.  A bowl of Kelloggs Optima topped with greek yoghurt, accompanied by a glass of ruby red gratefruit and the information that the sausage and trimmings was on it's way. 

And so we had a big family breakfast with all the kids partaking of the full english together with a bag of cherry kisses each that I'd bought to show them how much I care.  Yeah care so much that I'm happy to give them tooth rot and sugar induced diabetes.

And what did I get for him?  Let's just say it was a very little something from a shop which I wouldn't want to be caught dead in.  Although I did get caught coming out unfortunately at which point I wished I'd had a bag to put over my head, though not one of the shop's own of course.  The entire experience both inside and out was quite mortifying, even for a seasoned old crone like me.  Especially when I tried to explain that I was only in there to get something to 'dress up' in, to which the assistant said ""Oh you're dressing up!!... what for?".   What for indeed.  Sadly though it's getting later and later in the night and I am beginning to think that my Gypsy Rose Lee impression may have to wait another day.  I'm knackered!

Only other thing I really wanted to say tonight is that I feel the purpose of this blog is now getting a little lost beneath all the diatribe of wit I attempt to create.  Originally it was my intention to report on exercise and weight loss in my quest to get it down.  Lately I've spent so much time complaining I haven't reported anything.  So as punishment I have decided to confess ALL right now.  Starting with sharing what I weighed when I began the blog (even now as  I type a wave of nausea is passing over me).  I hate the thought that you will all know this dark and deadly secret, but I trust you not to shun me for it.  TWELVE STONES THIRTEEN.  Absolutely disgusting but true.   I'm not quite sure how I let it get sooooo bad but you know how it is, one minute you're opening a tin of Roses the next thing you're looking at a mass of wrappers.    Right now I am still over 12 stone but only just, thankfully.  I keep hoping each morning may bring me below that stone barrier, but as yet I'm just stuck yo-yoing up and down, up and down, which is really rather tedious.

Part of me wants to accept being a chubby ass for the rest of my life and give up on the shrinking cause.   Is it so bad to be a size 16 with love handles and bingo wings that could almost enable me to fly unaided?  No it isn't.  But you know I will NEVER be happy until I master myself, which is why I have to keep at it.  I am going to shake up the exercise a bit however.  My feet, I feel, are trying to send me a message. It started with a few hints and whispers but now they're practically screeching at me to ease up.  So I'm going to increase the low impact activity like walking, swimming, cycling etc and set the jogging at a mimimum.

And I am going to give myself a weight target.  I want to be eleven stone seven by March 31st.  And I want you to hold me to it.  It's the only way I stand a chance of getting to  a weight I'll be happy with before the year is out. 

You need to be my stick and carrot.  Reward me or beat me, I don't mind which just keep motivating me please!!

Truth is

Subjective at best.

Just got home from a Valentine's meal, which was lovely (thanks to Esther if you're reading) not least of all because it was a free night out!  During the evening we were asked to write a few words about our better half, listing something kind, thoughtful, generous or admirable about them, which would then be read out at the end.  It was very thought provoking listening to the words of others and their view of their loved one.  Especially encouraging was the fact that no-one was inebriated and therefore, presumably, it was all genuine sentiment.  It did make me feel ever so slightly inadequate though.

Some were gushing about their soul mate, whom they knew was the 'one' from the moment they met; some told of coming home to fully prepared dinners, receiving a bathtime backscrub (without asking) and generally being treated like royalty.  Others told of their partner's unending support, encouragement and devotion, declaring their undying, unchanging love.

Damn it then. What is wrong with me?  The other day I was in Hallmark trying to find a Valentine's Card for Chris and spent a good hour trying to find one which i felt told the truth.   I kept picking up cards, reading the verse and wishing that it summarised the way I felt, but knew it didn't.  Verses like "you make me feel so special and always show you care, you know just how to cheer my day by simply being there" honestly didn't cut it.  Why doesn't anyone tell the truth in cards.  Or is my truth so different to the masses? 

H for the headaches you've caused me to fake
A for the advice I've sought from RELATE
P is what happens whenever I cough (because of all the children I've given you)
P is also the word I like to say "OFF"
Y for whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy did I ever say Yes
V for the fingers I wave at your mess
A is for aaarrrgggghhh I just want to scream
L living nightmare not wedding day dream
E for emotions; good, bad, high and low
N for I need you, though I don't let it show
T for the good times -  there have been a lot
I will admit that I love you, you grot
N nothing as precious or harder for sure
E each day different and never a bore
S for the sex, yes I had to get rude
D for the masses of debt we've accrued
A for the always, all ways and all weathers
Y is the Yaaay that we're still together (for now anyway).

Or something like that.  I'm sure if I had longer I could create a much more colourful version.  An honest to goodness been married for fifteen years type valentine message.

Meanwhile I will just have to tell myself that other's exaggerate the greatness of their relationships so that I can actually sleep tonight.  Please, if I am wrong, don't bother to enlighten me.

It's a shame I have shared all my negativity once again; when I woke this morning I really felt that I needed to concentrate my efforts on writing more uplifting material.  No-one really wants to listen to Bambi complaining for the eightieth time about the lack of marital bliss going down in her home.  And  tonight's blog may well have been uplifting if I hadn't just had to sit through twenty couples' comments on why their partner is the best 'wife, mother, husband, lover, boyfriend, father, dog-owner, nappy-changer or cook in existence'.    Perhaps I should have stood up and said "well my husband isn't any of those things, but he's a great shag so hey ho".

Or maybe I will save that comment for our April Fools Dinner.

Little Monsters

Okay, so you're all voting on my poll and I am beginning to feel concerned.  Five of you think Chris should have a concubine for Valentines.  Do you even know what a concubine is?  Not some exotic form of cigar I can tell you.  I appreciate I am always complaining about how demanding he is in one particular area, but really.   The remainder of voters feel I should get him "something else" yet even though I have asked you to give me suggestions I have received precisely none.   Thus I conclude that my audience may be ever so slightly dumb, and not in the non-speaking sense of the word.  Come on now, I have about thirty hours left to think of something entertaining and original, help me out please.

Perhaps I should combine all four options.  Have a one legged prozzer jump out of a ginormous box of chocolates, shotgun in hand and blow his head off.  I'm kidding of course.  As if I would pay someone else to do a job I am quite capable of myself.  

Chris provides me with hours of entertainment, daily, and I wouldn't wish to be without him.  Today I heard him on the telephone trying to negotiate a better salary from his new Employer, only to be told that the figure he was requesting was the one they had already offered.  He then ended the conversation by saying "See you Dan" to a man named Matt.  I am seriously worried about him and how he is going to cope, but it was funny nonetheless!  

What also worries me incredibly, aside from world poverty, my families' future and whether or not the Glee Club will in fact win at Nationals, is the child formerly known as Euan.  I am beginning to not recognise him.  Every day he seems to sink further and further in to the quagmire of bad attitude known as puberty and it scares me.  I went to work today and was interrupted by about seventeen texts from him and his dad relaying to me an argument they were having.  Euan had been really very rude so Chris was refusing to pick him up from school.  Usually he gets the bus home but he had forgotten his pass and had no cash on him.  (Incidentally this is because his 'Sweets R Us' enterprise has been shut down.  The Student Support Officer nobbled him and supposedly threatened him with expulsion.  In the words of his teacher "think yourself lucky son....if it had been chewing gum you were selling you'd be out of here".  Chewing gum being on the list of banned substances at Thomas Telford.  Personally I think they are all being a little melodramatic and told them as much when they rang to say "Mrs Ford, we have today CAUGHT Euan selling........................sweets".  Oh that's alright I said, I thought for a moment you were going to tell me he was trying to sell  my methamphetamine.  Personally I believe it is highly enterprising and entrepeneurial of him so they'll not be seeing any fury from me).  Anyway getting back to the argument, I was quite beginning to fear for Euan's safety and well being.  And I know that this is merely the appetiser. 

Why did God make teenagers?

Right then better be off as we have our Tenants over for dinner tonight and I am cooking. Quite why I am not sure.  Nothing I make is ever that edible.

Did manage a good work out today of which I was rather proud.  Was fully saturated at the end and apparently had burnt off a whopping 313 calories.

Deep fried Camembert in Breadcrumbs, here I come.

Working Man

It's official, I am disgusting. 

Last night after acknowledging my body was in need of a good scrub, I somehow managed to slink in to bed without one.  It was more Channel 4's fault than my own as Desperate Housewives was due to start at nine and, being a programme I hate to miss, I planned to watch it then wash afterwards.  But the bed monster got me well and truly into his clutches (the real bed monster that is, not Chris) and I couldn't extract myself until today. 

The good news is that waking up smelly prompted me to do my exercise first thing so that I only had to bathe once.  As I am writing this I realise quite how revolting and dirty it all sounds.  Maybe I should go change my sheets.

Even more good news is that Chris has been offered a job.  I can't tell you how amazed I am.  For those of you who know us well, you'll understand how incredible this is in terms of progress.  Chris has journeyed from being almost certainly dead, to certainly in a permanent vegetative state, to certainly seriously impaired, to certainly won't be able to work again to certainly has got a job so there!  I can't fault the Doctors for getting it wrong....they themselves admit where the brain is concerned there really are no absolutes, and Chris always did have one of the most complex brains I've ever had the pleasure of loving.  He is a little bit disheartened because his salary is less now than when he first graduated twelve years ago, but personally, for me, it is not about the money.  We may not be any better off financially but mentally and emotionally this could be the boost he needs to get back in the game.  Or on the game if it doesn't work out.

Further good news is I passed my exam.  Got an email today informing me, which was rather a quick turnaround I thought.  Not as good a result as the last one, but I knew that already as I had proffered some rather vague responses to a question or two - but it's all done and dusted and can now fade in to the outskirts of my memory somewhat like a bad dream.

Talking of which I had the worst dream ever last night.  So twisted I wouldn't even dare to tell you the detail.  I am hoping again that I am not alone in having such nightmares - the kind of dreams where you have done something absolutely awful, not just distasteful, dishonest or a little mean,  I'm talking super-illegal, super-immoral, super-going-to-rot-in-hell-for-eternity type bad.   I was so so relieved to wake up I nearly cried.  I often have traumatic dreams I must say, usually though it is I who am the victim, but in this it was me being evil and that was so much worse.  Am I freaking you all out??.  I promise I shan't harm you, honestly. 

Anyway I am meant to be keeping this entry light and cheery today.  My sister in law, who shall remain nameless, called me earlier to say that my blog bothers her because it's rarely happy.  What really bothers her of course is that it's usually her brother I am whining about!!  So I promised her a Pollyanna type episode where everything comes out smelling of roses.   It's not that easy though seeing only the positive things in your life; infact just the other day Corrinna was telling me that humans are fundamentally programmed to store and retrieve negative events above all else.  It's a primary source of our survival mechanism.  For instance:- we get bitten by a dog, we remember dogs can bite, we take care around dogs;  we get hit by a car, we learn that cars are dangerous, we take care around cars (unless of course we are dead) etc etc.  I would however question this ability in women......how else can you explain why we continue to have more babies, trust in men, and wear high heels to work?  I think the only negatives we females are programmed to remember are those relating to misdeeds performed by our other half,  this is so that we can recall them at opportune moments, i.e. when we are after something.

So what else can I be upbeat about???   Oooh Valentines is nearly here.  That's always a nice day.  I remember when I was young and at School (before i stopped going) Valentine's was a major event.  One year I got seven cards.....SEVEN cards....and none of them from my mum.  Either I was popular back then or I had a serious stalker.  That was such a good feeling, and boosted my confidence no end, at least for that day anyway.  Which is why I have bought both my boys a card and told them if they don't actually want to give it to anyone because they 'fancy' them, they should think of a nice girl they can give it to who may need a little boost.  Someone who is shy or less popular perhaps.  (Suddenly I wonder whether my seven valentines had mother's just like me).    Euan went through all the girls in his tutor group, describing them in fine detail, and all I can say is he either exaggerates profoundly or his class are the cast from 'cirque du freak'.   Danny said he would send his to Eva his cousin, to which I said "ok, but isn't there anyone else you like?" ......and he replied "Brandon".   At what point should I begin to panic??

Going to try and have a jog again tomorrow.  Did a spot of cross training today but even that had my foot hurting, so I decided to go in to the living room and just dance.  Had the ipod shuffle on full blast and went wild.  It was so liberating and I worked up a sweat without even feeling like I was trying.  Am very relieved that I live in the end of a Close though.  Our neighbours are all rather elderly and the sight of me hurling myself around the living room like an over-inflated member of Flashdance may have finished them off.

Talking of off...best be going that way myself.

x x x x

Piece of cake

No this isn't a confession to a binge-athon today.  Referring simply to the exam this morning.   Even though the revision did get left until the train (which I knew it would do) I think I breezed it, yet again, proving that either I am seriously gifted or highly delusional.  Eventually this cavalier attitude will come and bite me on the bum, in the meantime however I am making the most of it.  In my defence I am well and truly oversubscribed in the to-do department, which I think God Himself appreciates thus answering my help-me please pleas.  So it's He who is gifted, not me.

After the exam I decided to treat myself....hell why not; my ethos is if you're already in debt a little bit more won't matter much.  Possibly why Accountancy is a debatable career choice for me.  Anyway in Birmingham there is a specialist running shop, (something which Telford lacks along side character, charm and a Nandos) and so I decided to pay a visit and purchase some new trainers.  This was as much a landmark event to me as completing my first race will be.  Visiting an actual running shop and saying those words "I am a runner" without having to cross my fingers behind my back, gave me a huge sense of pride.  Very quickly eradicated though when the Manager asked me to roll up my jeans and get on the running machine, in order that he could assess my gait.   I'm wearing jeans for heck's sake, and no sports bra, I think my gait is the last thing you'll notice if I get on that thing.  "What pace do you usually go at?" he asks whilst programming the machine.  Now should I lie to impress him, pump up my speed and risk being catapulted through the shop window when it all goes badly wrong?  No, probably that isn't so impressive.  So I confess...slow, slow, very slow, and then I come out with the biggest whopper I have told in a long time "yeah I've not long had my fourth child and I'm carrying a bit of extra weight right now".  Not long being three years ago.....what a sad little creature I am. 

Must have liked something about me however as when I got off he told me I had an eyelash on my face, said "shall I get it for you" then put forth his finger to remove it.  Next he asked me to make a wish (apparently connected to the eyelash thing though I have never heard it before) and then at the till  threw in a discount without me asking for any.  Either he fancied me or was ever so slightly mental, or both.   Maybe he was simply attracted by the idea of my mass fertility.  Still it's nice to know a girl has options.

I then couldn't wait to get home and try my new trainers out which I really hoped would help with my toe pain which has been getting progressively worse.  The man in the shop suggested that perhaps I am running on tip toes and need to learn to lengthen my stride a little.  Damn it I'm finding it hard enough just to make my body move in a forward direction let alone adding technicalities like that. 

Later on Corrinna and I did an on off jog  of about 3 miles and it was a disaster, or felt that way.  I didn't even make it to a mile and a half before the pain was excruciating and felt like someone was ramming hot pokers in to my toe joints....are they called knuckles too??  Well whatever they are, they hurt.  I think I need to get on the internet and do some research about the possible causes. 

If I am totally honest with myself I think I already know the answer.  I should have lost a significant amount of weight first before trying to inflict such pressure on my feet.  It's a bit of a chicken and egg like scenario (although if you are religious like me you already know the answer to that one).  But  I have set my sights on this race and I am absolutely loathe to quit.  So I shan't.  I'd be lying if I said it wasn't concerning me though.

In addition to the foot pain, my left knee is sore and cracks repeatedly and my right arm has a constant pain too.  The arm is nothing to do with running as I had it before (I mean the pain not the arm) and have  been referred to a specialist as the GP believes it to be tendinitis, unfortunately due to the waiting lists my appointment isn't until 2017.  Personally I feel like I am just falling to pieces.  At age thirty six my body seems to have decided to give up.  During the middle ages this would have been acceptable, in fact I would be considered exceedingly ripe right now and the chances of lasting another five years minimal.   As it stands in this era of modern medicine I am expected to live for another fourty years or more.  By which time I shall probably be limbless, obese and insane.  Just a rolling ranting torso.

And on the subject of ripeness, I stink.  Still haven't had a wash since my failed run, which even though unsuccessful rendered me rather sweaty and out of breath.  The one thing that still does.  Bathroom is calling to me.

Adios.

Stalling

Tomorrow is the second of my five exams and once again I sit before you completely unprepared.  All today I have been acutely aware of the need to revise yet have stalled and stalled procrastinating my efforts without really  understanding why.  I appreciate that I hate audit principles, which to me are literally the language of Satan, but why I cannot seem to knuckle down and do some work is beyond me.   Anyone else suffer from this inability-to-face-the-inevitable syndrome?  A kind of masochistic tendency which causes me to delay and therefore prolong the agony.  Like putting of going to the loo.

First thing this morning I decided that, rather than studying, a jaunt up the Wrekin would be more productive.  Called on my trusted friend to accompany me along with her mutt Penny (I am sure she is infact a pedigree but to me all dogs are inbreds who should be humanely destroyed).  Anyway we reached the top in a reasonable amount of time, then I in my widsom and continual search for new experiences, suggested we take an alternative route back.   Yes I am sure you can see the potential disaster looming already.  We spoke to a gentleman who was resting at the monument (for those non-shropshire-ites this stands at the 'mountains' summit) enquiring of him directions for our escapade.  He informed us that if we continued straight ahead we would eventually come to the "Yew Tree" at which point there was a crossroads where left would take you approximately two miles along to reach 'Halfway House'  and right would take you to 'the Range Road' either one leading back to the foot of the hill.  "What exactly is the 'Range Road" I asked, "just a name I like to call the road by and incidentally the route you are taking is really steep and you need to be careful because my aunt's uncle's boyfriend's sister fell down the blah blah blah blah" by this point I had lost interest and was struggling to make sense of his information,  but in true British, and may I also add slightly male, style I pretended I got it, said thanks and off we went.  Joanne, my companion, assuming full confidence in me.

So we walked.

And walked.

And walked.

An hour later we had passed a thousand and one trees, none of which I could identify as a Yew, but then the only tree I can confidently name is "christmas tree".  Science and Geography  being one of the subjects at school which I avoided at all costs, not least of all because the teacher was a perv.  That's a bit harsh actually.  Doesn't every school aged child think each of their teachers has some depraved habit or other, if it's not pervert, it's sadist, child beater, transexual or drug user (not that I am categorising any of the aforementioned as depraved habits, don't sue me!)  .  Teachers's get a rough deal generally.  Only yesterday my eldest was telling me about one at his school who 'apparently' is a former cage-fighter turned obese, with a mechanical larynx.   Hmmm.

Getting back to our walk.  Eventually we hit a road and had a coin tossing moment deciding which direction to go in.  I have always been taught that in the event of becoming lost, right is usually right (as in correct).  Under scrutiny this formula does not hold up, especially if the place you are trying to get to is on your left.  Which in this instance it was.  Luckily we made the right, I mean correct decision.  Two miles or so later we reached a farm and managed to ask the occupants for further directions and guidance.  Left to the village of Little Wenlock then left back to the Wrekin he told us, once again validating my point that right is only ever really going to be right fifty percent of the time.

Finally three hours after we set off, and about eight miles later, we arrived at our destination.  At times like this I can understand the merit of having mobiles with built in GPS.  Although a basic sense of direction may have sufficed.  If Corrinna had been with us it would never have happened....I sometimes wonder if she isn't an undercover member of the Elite Forces just disguised as a Cycle Proficiency Instructor.  Unlike Joanne and I who  wouldn't even qualify as toilet cleaners for the T.A's.

I should add at this point that throughout the majority of our 'missing in action' period Chris and I were conducting a text argument, resulting in, yet again, divorce.  He was furious that I had gotten myself lost and therefore wouldn't have the car back in time to take it to the garage.  Nothing urgent of course but still, I had inconvenienced him which is an absolute no no.  When I informed him we were lost his response was "lost where?".  Funnily enough my darling I don't know - the clue is in the word LOST.  Did he offer to come find me?  My knight in shining, albeit smashed up, Cougar???  No.  Just whined at me about how inconsiderate I was.

And this is my life.  Perhaps I live in fantasy land but wouldn't it be wonderful to have a husband (or wife, like I've said before in this new age of the noughties I am open to ideas) who loves you simply for who you are, the body you live in, how you see the world and the way you live within it.   I feel as though the last fifteen years of my existence have been handed over to the 'other half' of me, working in a dead end job whilst he studied for a degree, bearing his four children to the real detriment of my body and soul,  raising those kids whilst he worked through long hours and weekends to gain promotion after promotion, carrying the family when he took a job abroad leaving me single for most of each week, then finally collapsing and dying (almost) on us, resulting in me having to bear now almost every burden that we face.  All of that I could handle if I felt appreciated and respected.  But I don't.  Of course I know he has carried me at times also.  There have been phases of our marriage when I was literally mental and wreking havoc but unfortunately that doesn't make today feel any better.

I'm sure we all have the same issues.  Marriage is the refiners fire after all, and I do firmly believe that the only way to achieve perfection is to live through it!  Some days though it just burns too hot.

Finally I should probably mention why I am not at work.  Turns out on the Wednesday just before I left for DLP the University pulled the plug on the hospitality budget allotted to fund my contract.  Consequently we are now officially broke.  In addition our tennants have served notice meaning that as of mid March I've got another £500 quid a month to find.   I am seriously tempted to suggest to Chris that he enters the male porn industry.  Thus killing two birds with one stone.

Right then ladies, and any gentlemen if you're reading, I really must crack on and study some for this exam.  I've just managed to stall another fourty five minutes doing this and the temptation to leave it until the train journey tomorrow morning is becoming more and more compelling.  I need to go and give myself a good talking to.

Again, fingers crossed for me please.

x x

Sitting Ducks

Have you missed our daily chats?  I certainly have, but what an adventure I have had!!!

We set out on our journey to Disney just after teatime on Weds.  Our flight wasn't until the following morning but as it was a really early departure we decided to stay close to the airport the night before.  Not wishing to shell out too much we chose the Luton Travelodge.   In hindsight It would have been more cost effective and less miserable to purchase a couple of  cardboard boxes and sleep in the airport foyer.   For those of you who have ever stayed at this venue, I no doubt do not need to qualify that statement any further.  For those of you who haven't, and I pray never shall, think public toilet meets ageing caravan and you'll have a rough idea of the standard.   It was so manky I daren't even use the loo for fear of catching some nasty STD.  Not that there are any nice ones, of course.

Still.  We were going to Disneyland so there was no place for negativity amidst our number.  Corrinna nobly offered to sleep in the bed nearest to the broken window (I joke not), and so we settled down for the night, me in a reasonably comfy bed but her with the wind whistling down her neck, what a stalwart.  In the morning we awoke at 4.30am, bundled the girls in to some clothes and headed over to the airport.  

Again, being incredibly tight, we had decided that rather than leave the car in a designated car park, and pay for it, we would instead dump it on a nearby housing estate and walk to the terminal.  And so it was that two grown women dragged two small children, five suitcases and two teddies through the drizzling rain and a pavementless industrial estate, in order to save 4 quid.  

We entered the terminal at approximately ten past six and immediately sought out the flight information board instructing us which desk to approach for check-in.  Our flight was scheduled to depart at 8.10am.  There was a flight listed for 7.55am departing to Barcelona, 8.00am to Dublin, 8.05am to Madrid then 8.20am to Marrakesh.  No 8.10am flight though leaving for Charles De Gaulle.  For an instant I doubted myself - you know the feeling, wondering if you've mixed up your days, or are infact just dreaming, but no, it was Thursday 4th Feb 2010 and I was most definitely awake.  The rain had made sure of that.  And so came that sinking sensation which is your guts' way of telling you that sod and his law have struck again.

We then made our way to the "EasyJet" booking desk and enquired of our flight only to be informed that it had been cancelled.....two months earlier!.   "Okay, but you have made some kind of arrangement for us though haven't you because we are booked on that flight and now can't get to Disneyland".  "Errr No.  But what we are willing to do is transfer you FREE OF CHARGE on to the next available flight which  leaves in another nine hours".  "Oh well that's okay then, we'll just fork out for a Motel in Hellsville, wake up at ridiculous 'o'clock, pay for a day in Disney with all meals included and not mind one bit that it's all now wasted because you've so generoulsy given us a FOC transfer to compensate".  Perhaps you could just FOC off in the process too.  Needless to say not one bit of our protest or upset mattered a jot to them.  The manager's final words were "This is EasyJet, what do you expect??".

Now, if there is one thing you should understand about us Silvers (Silver being our pre-marital name) it's that we have been taught well by our Mother in areas such as this.  No Silver girl takes anything lying down - with a few exceptions perhaps.  What do we expect????  JUSTICE of course, and nothing less.

So now our minds are working in overdrive.  What can we do to make them pay??  Chris texted to suggest we purchase a pair of handcuffs and chain ourselves to the seats of the plane until the airline agree compensation.  This scheme I felt was slightly flawed.  Firstly where to buy handcuffs? To date I have never yet seen an airport concession selling kidnap and hostage accessories.  Secondly, if I am chained to a seat for several hours won't that make me even later getting to Disneyland and thirdly if, which is highly probable, I get arrested under the anti-terrorism act it may have a rather adverse effect on my C.V.- at a time when I am trying to launch a career this is quite simply unwise.

It did get us thinking along the right lines though  - and we decided upon a sit-in protest.  We dressed the girls up in their Disney Princess outfits complete with Minnie Mouse ears and tear-streaked mascara, made a few slanderous posters defaming the character of EasyJet and, with the help of Chris, called in the local media.   Admittedly I felt it would probably accomplish nothing more than revealing us as a pair of nutters, but it was an outlet through which to vent and a much needed one at that.  However the response it generated was amazing.  Many of the airport customers stopped to offer us words of support and encouragement, the Police came and chatted to us (initially perhaps just wanting to know what we were up to) - they listened to our story and thought it was wonderful to see someone standing up for themselves (legally that is);  but most importantly the newspapers got involved.  The Luton News came down to photograph the scene and ran a feature on our 'plight'.  They also passed the story on to BBC Three Counties Radio who tackled the problem live on air, managing to get hold of EasyJet's Press Office who, presumably concerned at the prospect of such bad publicity, agreed to make monetary reparation.  Turned out an email sent by them advising of the cancellation had been rejected by my Yahoo spam filter.  The real error had occured though when a glitch in their system  meant a flight confirmation was sent to us just a few days before the day of departure.

Of course the story was far more long-winded than I am able to portray here on the blog, without boring you to pieces.   If I am completely honest, although the compensation covered the cost of the entire trip, it wasn't, I don't feel,  worth the emotional upset and physical stress.   By the time we arrived in France at 7.00pm that night the park was closed and the girls were utterly inconsolable.  But it did teach me an invaluable lesson, which is that sometimes standing up for what you believe in does make a difference.  The fact is they had been negligent and in the end justice prevailed.

From therein onwards it was wonderful.  I had been to Disney once before with the boys but I thought it was quite wasted on them.  They did enjoy it but would have enjoyed Alton Towers just as much.  All they wanted was fast rides.  The girls however soaked up every magical detail of the experience which was a delight to behold.  From the Disney parades to the dancing shows, meeting the characters, and the fairytale rides., every last element of the park is finely tuned to satisfy girls of all ages.  I almost cried when we left as it filled me with an excitement rare to find at my age.  Sadly.

The only negative is that Disney routinely pump out an airborne chemical which stimulates your child's spoilt gland causing them to become fully blown uber-brats during their stay, Miley Cyrus style.   Everywhere you look girls are wailing at their parents over some toy, dress or teddy that they just have to have.   I was in a store around teatime on Friday when a little girl aged about six started screaming in her Dad's face "you don't love me, if you did you would buy me that Pooh Bear...I hate you".  To which he responded by simply sitting her on his knee and trying to offer some comfort.  I am wondering if Walt is also pumping out a sedative gas which affects only parents.  Clearly I am immune to it though, as Charlotte and her black eyes can attest to.   I have said before that she can be a real madam but even I was surprised at the new heights to which her diva-esque qualities could rise.   I must confess that 50% of the time I neither liked nor recognised the child I was with.  Which really was a shame, and something which absolutely did not happen with the boys.  Bless em.

As far as eating and exercise goes.  Well I did a lot of one and not much of the other.  I won't tell you which way round that goes, but based on the fact it was an all inclusive package I think you can probably guess.  Happily though, although the scales have not gone down they haven't gone up either.  It is now only 27 days until the big race and I really do need to get my skates on so to speak.   This little blip in the middle of it all hasn't helped, although I planned Disney well before the notion of blogging/jogging came up so cannot be held responsible!  Send me some encouragement folks as I really do need it.

Hoping today finds you happy and well. 

x x x