The end is nigh?

Today's weather is a sure sign don't you think?; snow, sleet, hail, sun, rain, wind.  All it lacked was a spot of thunder and lightning and we'd have experienced the entire spectrum.  I honestly thought back in the 80's that scientists were being a tad melodramatic about this ozone malarky.  It seemed to me that global warming could only be a good thing, and would save me a great deal of money on fake tan.  Little did I realise that all those CFC's being pumped on to my Toyah-esque mullet would eventually result in the eight seasons a day phenomenon we seem to be having.   Darn it.

Totally sidetracking now, did I tell you I was on the radio again the other day?   Got stopped in Birmingham by a lady from BBC something or other.  Can't say I listened properly to who she was, I was too busy panicking the second she mentioned Politics.  I'd assumed she was a market researcher stopping me to ask something trivial like my preferred toothpaste or toilet paper or such like.  But no, she was an intellectual wanting my opinion with regard to the speech Tony Blair is proposing to make on behalf of the Labour Party, and whether I felt it would benefit them in the next election or not.  Crap.  I had about ten seconds to pull some semblance of a coherent response from the cobwebbed recesses of my politically disinterested brain.  I should have just been honest and told her the truth which was a) I didn't know b) I didn't care and c)how can I possibly concentrate when you're asking me these questions stood outside a cake shop??.  For some reason though I felt obliged to reward her faith in me, after all she had obviously chosen moi thinking I was a woman capable of giving a decent answer.  So I reeled off a most scathing response, expressing my entire dissatisfaction with Mr Blair and suggesting that in truth Labour desperately needed a new leader or a miracle. 

Do they?  I don't know but it sounded good and she went away pleased.   I went away with an elightened comprehension of my natural ability to deceive and considering a career in politics myself. 

Tomorrow is another Kaplan study day, which I can already predict will be challenging because I am whacked and not yet making any effort to get to bed.  In addition to that I have the horror of hosting a sleepover for Danny and his friends in the evening.   I am absolutely dreading it.   He's already prepped me by saying "Mum, Brandon can be really naughty and he swears a lot but he doesn't mean to so you won't tell him off will you?!".  Nah Dan.  Also one of the mums called me to say "I'm a bit worried about letting Josh come to the sleepover as we never really let him go anywhere.... because of his problems".  Great. 

Something tells me several weeks' material for the Blog may well be coming up.

No fear

The smear is over.  Thank the Lord.   In the end it wasn't as bad as expected which could be the miracle of prayer, or perhaps the effect of a massive dose of painkillers taken five minutes before, knocked back with a glass of vin blanc. 

When I came out of the surgery I composed a text to my mum, informing her that the smear had gone well, I was still alive and intact and inviting her for a Sunday roast this week.   Embarrassingly the number of a former work colleague (Mr Andrew Maundrell) features right next to my mum's within the phone list and I sent the message to him instead.  Classic.   He is no doubt delighted to hear about the health and welfare of my cervix.

Before the dreaded invasion, Corrinna and I did our first spot of exercise for a good few weeks (first bit together that is) and went for a walk up the Wrekin.  Nearly killed me so I must definitely get right back on that.  For now though I am shattered having just been out with a lovely lady friend for a good old natter and to put the world to rights.  If only women ruled the planet, what a happy place it would be.....filled with shoes and chocolate and firemen.  

Food for dreams I think.

x x x

Heatwave

No I am not about to make a prediction for the forthcoming weather and promise you that eagerly anticipated B-B-Q summer we've been awaiting these past two decades.  But if you are seeking a getaway location which is incredibly hot, close by and relatively cheap (£7.70 return from Shifnal) then Kaplan Financial Birmingham is your best bet.  This morning I have been in again to do a few more sessions and quite frankly I think I now have heat stroke.

The room we were in, although supposedly air conditioned, was literally a degree away from sauna status.  And with the heat came that insuppresible urge to nod off.  Now it's one thing to fall asleep during a lesson where you are just one of many students, but catching 40 winks at the front of the class during an exam you're supposed to be invigilating enters a whole new league of unprofessionalism. 

Apparently there was a blockage in the duct system, naturally only affecting Room 12, the computer room and the room I was to be in.  As Travis would sing "why does it always rain on me?" or rather in this case "why when, for a change, I actually wish it would rain on me, does it not".  And yes it probably is because I lied when I was seventeen, and eighteen, and nineteen, and thirty six.

Of course I probably should have felt more sympathy for the poor examinees busy trying to focus their minds whislt slowly being cooked in this room scale version of a crock pot.  But then it is Accountants we're talking about, and not just any old Accountants either.  These were the M&S of the accounting world so to speak, the Special Forces of number crunchers, the ICAEW's.  A breed so staid, dour and emotionally repressed they are practically adding machines.  Beyond all point of feeling, humour and social grace.  So no I didn't feel too badly for them at all.  Why is it that you so frequently find great intelligence walks hand in hand with social ineptitude.

And talking of such matters, I am once again astounded at the results of my poll, so far.  How can it be that you are all so unified in your desires and wants for a companion?  Until this morning 100% of voters felt that Kindness and Good Humour are the best combination of personality traits to have.  I'm not sure I agree.  Dogs can be amusing and kind/loving but you wouldn't want to be in a relationship with one now would you?   To me the phrase "Good Humoured and Kind" conjurs up the image of the type of man who when you talk about him you end each sentence with "ahhhh bless".  The pre-historic  genetic perfection seeker in me reckons this is not the kind of man you want in times of crisis.  Still on the other hand you wouldn't want some clever hunk either if he beats you up on a daily basis, or someone rich and kind but totally wet.

No, two qualities simply aren't enough.  My perfect other half would be intelligent, wise, patient, gritty, comical, charitable, strong, always heavier than me and endowed with wads of cash.  Looks barely come in to it.  In my dreams perhaps.

Anyway I suppose I'd better be off and do some real work, chores, living.  It's now less than 18 hours until D-day and I am beginning to weaken with worry.  Usually I am rock solid when it comes to pain but this really is my Achilles Heel - I only wish it was my foot being prodded.  But yes I agree with anonymous that a smear is better than the alternative, Cervical Cancer, which no doubt would involve far more unpleasant invasions.

Definitely should have been born a bear.  Never see them in the Doctors with their legs in the air now do you?

A little of what you fancy

or a lot even.  I have to confess that my 'one' bar of chocolate yesterday has evolved in to another (bigger) one today plus an entire Easter Egg.  Yes I have lost it.  I am back in binge mode and quite honestly could stuff another seven down my throat, but thankfully my dignity (what last few scraps I have remaining) has pulled me back.   Moderation never was my strong point.

Easter always brings back memories of childhood and more specifically eating myself to the point of reflux vomiting.  As children we probably got six or seven different eggs and you could almost guarantee that by Sunday Lunchtime I had eaten the majority of mine.  Corrinna on the other hand would slowly savour hers, eating a gram at a time for the next six months, which was often more temptation than I could bear.    I also remember my Dad coming over one Christmas around midday and me greeting him with something along the lines of "I feel si............." by which time I had covered the carpet in regurgitated Quality Street.  What a little piglet.  In hinesight this weight issue of mine was pretty inevitable.  I have always been a comfort eater.

Which probably explains my need for chocolate just now.  Obviously things haven't been going so well relationship wise and to add to that pressure I also have the looming dread of an appointment with the GP's surgery for possibly the nastiest procedure known to woman.   During my life I have had many painful and traumatic experiences; breaks, sprains, infections, endoscopies, barium enemas, major surgery, labours and a few fist fights in between but nothing compares to the disgusting, degrading and highly uncomfortable invasion which is the smear test.  I could cry just thinking about it.

To make it worse this is a call back.  Usually you only have it every three years but in some evil twist of fate I am having it repeated because the results last time were dubious.  Quite frankly the whole blinking experience is dubious in my mind.   Being asked to undress to the waist, lay down with legs spread, RELAX (yeah like that's ever going to happen), and willingly allow a ferocious looking pair of cold metal prongs in is simply gross.  Then comes the spatula to swipe at your cervix and rip a few cells off, all the time with the nurse telling you that it shouldn't hurt.  Well shouldn't means nothing if it actually does.  Seriously I was sliding so far up the bed last time I nearly reached the ceiling.  I can't explain what a nasty, intrusive, abnormal pain it is.  Surely if God had wanted my cervix to be looked at he'd have left it hanging out.

Oh my gosh I think I may be sick just thinking about it.

Time for another egg perhaps. x

Downhill all the way.

This morning was a disaster.  There is definitely some bad karma clinging on to us just lately.  Either that or those nearly-married's (from last week's episode of how not to host a stag do) are genuinely cursed and bring it upon everyone else in the process. 

This morning it was their actual wedding.  I awoke ridiculously early, dropped Euan off at Telford AFC (he was playing a County game in Coventry), got everyone bathed, duly titivated and in the car by nine fifteen and was actually feeling like today had the potential to be great.   First mistake.  The second was letting Chris drive the car.  I had considered my decision deeply though, and determined that the alternative would be far worse....me driving and him slating my every move for the next two hours - never good for any relationship. 

All continued to move along nicely until we reached Junction 7 of the M6.   The M6 which in my opinion really does need to be renamed - to something providing an insight in to the traumatic experience travelling its path may cause.  The M Shitx perhaps. 

Anyhow we reached Junction 7 or just before and found everywhere was gridlock.  Not the usual congestion type gridlock, this was a Police-supervised-complete-standstill-accompanied-by-sounds-of-the-air-ambulance kind of gridlock which never bodes well.   Luckily though we had plugged our destination in to Tom Tom which then provided us with an alternative route.  We exited the M6 at J7 and drove thirty minutes across central Birmingham to join back at J6.  Quite frustrating as we now knew we would be late but these things happen don't they.  

So we're driving towards the slip road to re-enter the M6 and 200 metres ahead of us is a fork.  At this fork you can choose to go left (M6 North) or right (M6 South).   We want to go south so I make sure Chris is in the correct lane and then for some bizarre reason, known only to my husband and the little Alien creature that talks to him in his head, he decided to swerve from the south slip road to the north slip.  By then it is too late for us to change and we are stuck heading back towards the crash junction.

Now tell me what you would have done.  Honestly.

I shouted at him.  He shouted at me (and said it was my fault for taking my eyes off the road), I shouted back and so it went on, and on, and on until we reached J7 saw the backed up traffic and decided we may aswell just go home.  And I was fuming - in a rage so deep I could feel it right down in my gut which in hinesight was completely disproportionate.  I then turned in to a superbitch and ranted and raved continually until we reached Telford.  Quite frankly I don't know who I hated the most; him, or me for allowing myself to behave this way.  It finally dawned on me that I have changed.  I am not a nice person anymore (and I am not writing this to seek your assurance to the contrary).  I would have said a few years ago I was a kind, loving natured soul but that side of me is almost gone.  Lately I am moody, depressed, annoyed, irritable and downright rude.  It has been such a horrid two years in so many ways, ways which only someone in my position could really understand, that it has taken an expensive toll.

So now I'm left wondering what the answer is.  Quite clearly (to me) Chris and I are wearing each other down.  I know he can't help a lot of his behaviour but that doesn't make it easy to live with.  Just as I may have justification for being angry and frustrated at times but that doesn't cancel out the negative effects which result.  I am struggling to find a solution.  If I could be sure we'd be happier apart I would do it but when I look at all the second marriages I see around me, involving children that is, it's never a pretty picture. 

Anyway,  I went through all the possible options, Chris moving out, me moving out, where we could live, who would have the kids and when,  how we could split the finances etc but in the end came to the conclusion it was all too difficult so I have stuffed my face with a bar of Cadburys instead.  It's amazing how much better I feel.

So maybe Mr Cadbury isn't Satan after all.  Maybe rather he was one of those rare men who understand what women truly want and need.  

Right now I'm damned if I know myself.

Slow and steady

Definitely not referring to my gut last night, but I'm assuming it would be far too uncouth to supply the minute details?

Today I have reached the conclusion that I was born in the wrong era and more rightfully belong in the 1920's, when slapstick was at it's peak.  Although the dress styles wouldn't have suited...flapper fashion being an absolute nightmare with my elephantitis legs.  No in that respect I well and truly belong in the 17th Century when it was all corsets and cleavage - I have plenty of that.  

I am referring to the fact I am a walking disaster....my lack of co-ordination and inability to think things through astounds even me.  Last week you'll remember I whacked my head on the train, this afternoon I actually fell over in the aisle.    I was sitting on one of the pull down seats near the doors when I decided to empty my bag of any rubbish.  I stood up and reached across to put said rubbish in bin opposite and completely forgot that the seat automatically flips up when not weighted with anything.  Went to sit back down again and fell flat on my big fat bottom in a heap on the floor.   It wouldn't have felt half as bad if any of my fellow passengers had actually laughed, but instead they did (once again) that hideously British thing of plain ignoring it.   Thus laying on the floor in a fit of raucous laughter shared only by myself, I felt ever so slightly ridiculous.  I hate the Britishness of Britons sometimes.  Well all the time actually.  Chillax folks.

Still it was an improvement on yesterday's train back from Brum for which I travelled  the entire journey on the loo.  I had gone straight in there on boarding as I was feeling unwell, then later when I tried to get out, the door was blocked by bodies.  Not dead ones thankfully, just thousands of passengers rammed one after another unable to move.   Several were looking at me entirely mortified when I produced my head from inside the cublicle, then I heard an anonymous "oh for God's sake this just takes the rip" obviously someone disgusted that I was considering adding to their crampedness.  And so I decided to lock myself back in for as long as I could stand the smell, train toilets being amongst some of the most disgusting you're likely to encounter this side of the globe. 

When I finally emerged from the toilet the stench of sweaty bodies in the corridor was as bad if not worse than the stink of the sanibins. I am beginning to understand why so many commuters are continually up in arms about the train service - non deodorised arms may I add.  Perhaps a law banning people with B.O. from travelling might be a step in the right direction.

Today was actually my first taste of working for Kaplan, doing a spot of invigilation, to cover the cost of the studies I've been doing with them.  And no invigilation is not a fancy word for cleaning.  I am actually supervising examinations which is a brilliant job requiring absolutely zero effort.  Just had to sit in a room full of Accountants completing online exams and ensure that no-one cheated.  Simples.  The only nasty part was telling those with poor results that they had failed.   I think I may have mentioned before that I have a major problem with nervous laughter, one which would most definitely prevent me entering in to any caring profession.   I will never forget at age 11 seeing my best friend get run over and standing at the side of the road in a fit of laughter.  I also remember the (guilty) driver telling me I should be disgusted with myself because of my insensitivity.  Shame I hadn't been bold enough to state the obvious, that running a child over is something worthy of self-disgust not giggly style shock.   I simply can't help myself.  So yes, I told one chap he had failed and then proceeded to laugh because telling him was making me anxious.   Fingers crossed he's not a manic depressive.

The slow and steady reference was to the final finisher.  I waited ages for her to complete the test and was beginning to feel rather apprehensive because she looked to me like she may be struggling.  Most of the group had finished within an hour but forty five minutes later she was still there going over and over her answers.  Now I appreciate that in a physical sense "slow and steady wins the race" is probably not a literal occurance but in this case it was more than true.  To my surprise she received the highest mark of the group by quite a significant margin which made me think I really need to learn to slow down and focus on the detail, in all aspects of my life.  Perhaps that is the key to success.

Anyway the diet is finally paying off.  I am at the lowest I have been for a year which is brill.  Still a lump, but a lump which is reducing and shall look super hot by the summer (well to someone who is partially sighted anyway).  I actually bought myself a new dress this afternoon, in a smaller size than usual, although I haven't yet tried it on.  I am scared that when I do it won't get past my head.  A rather large snood then.

Oh well, here goes.

x x

Coming up...

and out!!

No time to chat today as feeling rather unwell and have a very dicky tummy.

Enough said I think.  x x

Beautiful things...........

Sometimes, when I genuinely look at my life from an objective point of view I realise just how very blessed I am.  I live in a lovely home, have four beautiful children, we have food, warmth, clothing (just not in the size I would like) and wonderful family and friends all around us.  I have nothing worthy of complaining about, and this must become my new mantra.  Who cares if I am a strong and capable duck.......first things first I need to become a happy quacker.

This morning Tracey, my welsh angel of FcMurry fame, paid me a visit offering to help me clean up a little.  Don't imagine for a second this is because I am such a dirty tramp my friends find it necessary to offer such services.  Anyone who knows me well enough knows that the way to my heart, or rather  the way to sooth my soul is either by cleaning or spending vast amounts of cash.  So cleaning is generally the cheaper option.  That's true friendship now don't you think.  As it happens I had just purchased a piece of furniture which needed assembling so we spent the entire morning constructing that.  True to our female form we managed to screw the shelves on upside down and the wrong way round, but it all got sorted eventually, further evidence that men are becoming rapidly obsolete.

Talking of men, last night during our girly shenanigans we got on to the subject of tapeworms.  Why the connection to men you may ask?  Surely I'm not trying to suggest that man is in any way comparable to those parasitic creatures who initially try and enter your body then proceed over time to cause you pain, ruin your sleep and make you sick.  Not atall.   Somehow the conversation went from tapeworm to a fish which inhabits the waters of Southern American and is supposedly so small it can swim up a man's uretha (that's the bit you pee out of fellas).   Whoever was telling the story couldn't quite remember the name of it (the fish that is) but was fairly certain that the victim's only method of treatment was amputation!  Never.  Gave us some comedy material anyway.  Turns out when I googled it today there really is such thing.  It's called the Candiru  - "Once in the passage, it erects the short spines on its gill covers and may thereby cause inflammation, hemorrhage, and even death to the victim".  Now just answer me this, why would God make such a thing?   I remember once being told that the only creation with no purpose was a wasp.  Well just exactly what is a willy-loving fish for?

Still, now I know where to send Chris on his next holiday.

The big news for today is my new car.  Not just a new car as in new to me but a brand spanking sparkling shining gleaming glossy new new car.  It is beautiful.  We decided to replace the Cougar as the MOT was going to cost us in excess of £1000 making Sunday's breakdown fiasco the cherry on the cake so to speak.  After all the money our two old nails have cost over the past year I worked out that there is practically nil difference between having a cheap old car plus repairs than a brand new car with warranty.  So we have done it, and I am now the proud owner of a little Peugeot 207 Diesel.   My only anxiety is that owning a new car may appear somewhat pretentious.....they depreciate so rapidly in the first few years it seems insane to have one, like you have money to burn.  On the contrary though, it's because we have no spare cash that I feel a guaranteed expenditure is absolutely necessary.  No more nasty surprises.  Not car-related anyway.  (And if I'm honest, the materialistic shallow side of me is loving it!).

Right off to get those children of mine to bed.  Chris has gone out tonight, which is only fair seeings as I had a night out yesterday.

And only fair that I send him a series of complaints via text.

VEXTing if you like.

x  x

Mcflurry anyone?

Ahhhh just had a fantastic night out, with superb company and laughs aplenty.  Sometimes that's all you really need.  I absolutely love it when I'm made to giggle, a great sense of humour being the quality I find most attractive in any person, and truly the most effective medicine.  Perhaps the Beatles "all you need is love" should actually be re-worded to "all you need is love but failing that a damn good belly laugh will suffice".

I'm not sure Chris was entirely happy about me leaving the house, despite the fact he has just had a weekend away himself, albeit at the Stag-do from Hell.  All night I have been receiving texts from him, "What am I supposed to feed the children" errrmm food perhaps.  "When are you coming home? I am so hungry!" well there's an answer to that one too....begins with F ends with D and also has OO in the middle, and finally "why did we have four kids?".  Rather than why did we have four kids, the question is why did I have them with you.   Sometimes I feel I would welcome a short spell in prison or hospital (for something very minor of course) just to escape the constant hassle of family life.  Infact only last week I was daydreaming about being abducted -  by an extremist political faction  based in the Bahamas who leave me locked up on my own private island for several weeks with just a shed load of books, chocolate and a hunky guard. 

Never going to happen is it.  And even if it did I couldn't eat the chocolate because of this silly Atkins Diet.  Just like when everyone bought a McFlurry on the way home tonight, I of course declined.  Not that anyone asked me if I wanted one..............rather my friend accidentally said "do you want a FcMurray". 

Well to be honest Tracey, that would rather depend on what this Murray looks like and how much he's prepared to pay!

x x

As a man thinketh

Do you think it is honestly true, the whole 'you are what you think' scenario?  Right now I am hoping not.  My thoughts are generally unwriteable and if they equate to the real me then I have well and truly earned a one way bus pass to hell.  And even more so if dreams are taken in to consideration.

I don't know what is wrong with me lately.  Actually I am saying that but in truth this is probably the way I have always been.   It's just that writing a report each day is enabling me to see myself more clearly.  A mardy manic depressive with a severe lack of tolerance.  Quite frankly if I was married to me I'd be appalled.  Not least of all with the bedroom action.

And I am also sick and tired of telling you all this.   Because really who wants to know?  Initially it can be mildly interesting hearing about friends trials and tribulations but if we're completely and utterly honest, one can only bear to listen for so long.  Like when your best friend get's dumped.  It's okay the first time she tells you the tale, sharing the nitty gritty details of he said, she said, they said etc but after eight renditions of the same story any empathy you may have felt well and truly dies a death.  I think that's probably human nature.  We can only take so much negativity before we become completely desensitised.  And this, no doubt, is why most of us don't divulge our innermost complaints very often.  And why when asked "how are you" it's only polite, socially acceptable and utterly British to reply "fine thanks" even if you've just been diagnosed with a terminal illness, your child's a heroin addict and your husband has joined the Taliban.

Ahhhhh life.  I think there is a song by that name, life oh life oh li-y-i-ife, oh life, doo it do do, which if ever you read the lyrics is a complete load of old cack but catchy none the less.

I still don't have any takers on the bike ride.   Come on folks, have I not entertained you sufficiently with my misery?  Isn't it time you gave something back!  Lightweights.

Talking of weight, that is really getting to me too.  I am a stone lighter but feel worse than ever which is ridiculous but something which I knew was inevitable.  I can guarantee that the thinner I get the more negative I feel about myself.  Simply because I end up obsessed.  It's easier to live with enforced oblivion than a genuine consciousness of self.  Ooooh that's deep.

I think I need to develop a serious drug habit.   Time for a sleep I think. x

Return of the living dead

It's six thirty on a Sunday afternoon and finally the dirty wanderer returns.  Literally filthy.

Chris has been away on a stag do.  From the moment I heard the itinery I knew it would be a disaster, after all a 60 mile bike ride from London to Brighton is no-one's idea of a laugh, surely.  So whilst I was busy blitzing this house and dealing with a quad of marauding children he was developing a severe case of saddle ass.  Sounds like everything that could go wrong did.  Firstly the bike ride that was scheduled to take six hours ended up taking nine, which in the wet drizzling rain is practically torture; on returning to their accommodation (the Stag's flat) the key wouldn't work so they had to wait outside for two hours until the locksmith arrived to let them back in.  By this time they had been out in the cold, wet, miserable London air for over twelve hours, could barely walk and hadn't eaten all day so decided to cancel the night's activities.  Leaving a bunch of friends and colleagues out for a Stag night in the smoke without the stag or his best man.

Then this morning crisis struck a second time when Chris went to fetch his car.  He had parked around the corner from the flat and somehow between the car and the flat he managed to fit in a prolonged detour of London.  I was receiving manic phone calls from his comrades who after half an hour realised he was missing, and realised too that he had left his phone behind.  Schoolboy error.  In the end, after several phone calls to the Police they located him in a street nearby.   Apparently he had tried to ask a lady pedestrian for help, pulling along side her saying (and I quote) "excuse me I am in a real pickle" to which she replied "and since when is that my problem?".  Don't you just love those kind charity loving London folk.   I can perhaps understand her reticence considering the fact that in an attempt to prevent the car mats from getting muddy he'd tied two carrier bags around his feet, reminiscent of a scene from American Psycho. 

And finally on the way home, the engine blew up.  So for three hours Chris and his brother were stranded at Roddington Services awaiting a tow.  And you thought you were having a bad day!  Our car is a piece of crap which is why we are trading it in on Wednesday.  It just needs to be able to travel the two and a half miles to the Peugeout garage and thankfully it's mostly downhill.

Anyway if you, like me, are a tad superstitious, you may consider the weekend as an omen of impending doom upon the forthcoming nuptuals.  I am definitely predicting a divorce before the year is out.  And the chances for their marriage aren't looking great either.  The good news is with all that pain in his derrier, access to conjugal rights is unlikely to be required tonight, proving the silver-lined clouds theory.

Amid all this commotion it has occured to me that my eleven weeks are now officially up.  You'll remember that my original goal, right at the start, was to drop two dress sizes and run a half marathon within that time.  Hmph.  I haven't achieved either.   Well actually I have run several marathons - just not all in the same day.  Unlike Eddie Izzard whose documentary I watched the other night (42 marathons in a row) and since then cannot think of anyone else.  Is it wrong to covet a man you've never met??.  I truly want his babies.  

I have however dropped almost a dress size (don't ask me to quantify how I measured that) and I can run five miles without a break, albeit only when Corrinna is chasing me, but still a noteworthy feat though I do say so myself.   Therefore I am going to try to find a half marathon in June/July time and set myself a new more achievable target. 

Meanwhile if anyone is up for it I am planning a 25 mile bike ride on the 8th May around Leicestershire.  It's an organised event via the British Heart Foundation, and if you're feeling really energetic they are including a 40 and 60 mile distance also. 

You know you want to.

x x

Confuscious says....

a number of things but perhaps he should have added in a few more, like 'too many children spoil the broth, the house, your social/sex life and your sanity', or 'don't send your kid to the Co-op to buy eggs if his method of transportation is a bike'.  Saying that, sending your child to buy eggs under any circumstances is probably rather naive.  Danny returned from the shop asking "do you want the good news or the bad news?".  Understanding Dan as I do I knew what the bad news would be....he had smashed the eggs against his front wheel.  "What's the good news Dan?".... well simply that he remembered everything on the list - all three items.  I love that boy and his ability to make me giggle, when I'm not wishing to slap him senseless that is.

Talking of wishing to slap people.  This morning via the post I received an anonymous letter.  I would love to say it was from an admirer containing promises of illicit rendezvous and wondrous gifts should the feeling be reciprocal but no such luck.  Instead it was a request for us to cut our overgrown hedge which borders the 'sidewalk'.   Apparently it's becoming rather a nuiscance.  Firstly, who uses the term "sidewalk".....unless some dirty yank come over here just to yap on at me about my bush.  Secondly why the anonymity, after all if they feel the courage of their conviction why not be bold enough to come round and have the grace to acually ask in person.  And thirdly, well there isn't a third thing.  I appreciate that the request is fair and reasonable and no doubt we should be making more of an effort to maintain our property now that we live in snobsville but I particularly take umbrage at the sentence "your neighbours on each side keep their hedges cut".  So, your point is?  If only I had a return address I would perhaps point out that our neighbour is also a closet Morris Dancer, but I'm not about to don a pair of clogs and pansy around jiggling bells over my head.

Can you tell the Sun has gone today?!!

Anyway I have another lesson to prepare for Church tomorrow so best get off and do it.  And the topic???  Love thy neighbour of course.

x

Sunny side up please

I am utterly convinced I suffer from SAD.  As well as the other million things I have wrong with me that is.  In absolute honesty I'm probably part hypochondriac diluted with some actual medical problems, which is perhaps a good description of most of us.  SAD though, or seasonal affective disorder, is a genuine condition, with scientific foundations and everything.   I guess we all need a bit of hot stuff.

Sunshine is such an all round boost.  Suddenly with the sun out my life feels more rewarding, I feel healthier, I feel fitter, I feel more positive and able to contend with the many obstacles which keep rolling through here like tumble weed during a tornado.   I think what I actually need then in my quest for contentment is to move to a hot country.  Which if I could transport my entire family, i.e. sister, mum, dad, in-laws and closest friends, I would do in a flash but it's just not possible.  Or rather it's never logistically going to happen.  Quite a few people we know have done it, including Chris's absolute best friend ever who now lives in Oz, and occasionally I think perhaps we could,  but realistically, whilst I could manage without most people in my life, my sister is a must.  Who else could motivate my wobbly backside of a morning.

You may have noticed incidentally that I didn't blog yesterday.  Were you worried?  Thought me abducted?  Not quite.  I just decided that on my child's birthday I should really pay some attention to him.  I can get away with ignoring them most of the year but even I draw the line somewhere.  I had spent the entire day at College which meant I really had to put the hours in when I got home.

College. 

Either I'm getting stupider or the challenge is ramping up a little.  Yesterday I actually started to feel like my head would explode.  I love the tutor, who is usually extremely funny with a larger than life personality that makes me seem like a mouse in comparison.   Everything she says though is bellowed which most of the time I can handle but by 3pm, after five or so hours of it,  I couldn't take much more.   The combination of complex equations and that booming racket reverberating around my brain sent me in to a mind altered state and it was all I could do not to scream at her to shut her big fat cake hole.   I think perhaps I am hormonal again.  

Confirmed by the fact that on the train home the lady sitting at my side was also irritating the pants off me.   For some reason she found it necessary to read the newspaper aloud to her work colleague (and thus the entire carriage) intermittently providing a commentary on each article.  One particular story, about a cat who got stuck in a tree, really rocked her boat and she must have waffled on about it for twenty minutes or more.  She kept saying things like "ooooh it says the poor little thing was stuck in the tree for two days, two days, can you imagine??, you'd think it would come down by itself wouldn't you?  wouldn't you?, oh my, and then it says they got a ladder to get it down, one of those loft ladders, oh could you imagine that??, how funny,  oh my,  ooh and look the fire brigade were called and everyone came out to watch, oh my, and ooooooh how funny".  Funny?  Shut the *!&X up woman.

But today that grumpy old cow (me) is gone, because the sun is beaming down and I intend now to get out in it and enjoy.  Apparently it is set to reach 16 degrees.

I wonder if Telford is ready for Bambi dans le Bikini??

Many moons ago......

There's not many days from the last decade which I can recall in miniscule detail but eleven years ago this very hour I can tell you precisely what I was doing and where.  Tomorrow is Danny's birthday and I'm sure I am not alone in being able to remember the horendous experience which is childbirth like it was only yesterday.

Danny, surprisingly enough, was the easiest of all four.  Surprising because he has been the most trouble ever since.  Maybe this is some poetic irony of Mother Nature?  Although when I say he was the easiest, it was by no means easy.  Is it ever?  Well sometimes perhaps for a minority of women I think it is.  You hear these outrageous stories of heavily pregnant ladies visiting the loo in the night with an urge to pass wind and hey presto a baby falls out.  Even worse are the stories of women who actually give birth without even realising they were pregnant in the first place.  I have to say I was always highly skeptical of such tales until I experienced it for myself.  Not personally of course, but I know someone it happened to. 

A lady at Euan's school whom I used to chat to periodically, visited her doctor one Friday complaining of stomach pains only to be informed that she was pregnant.  Not one month, not two, not three or four.  She was NINE months pregnant and the pains were labour.  Monday morning she walks in to school with a newborn and we other mums nearly pass out.      Her shape really hadn't ever changed.  She had/has rather an adrogynous figure - no waist, no hips, just barrel-like but not particularly overweight.  I think she had perhaps gained a couple of pounds that's all.   How she didn't feel anything kicking from within though I do not understand.  All very strange. 

I wonder if she was as oblivious during the making part.

Getting back to me now.   Euan (number one) was a hideous experience.  Before the birth  I was certain women generally over dramatised the event.  Surely, I thought, if it were so so bad no-one would have a second.  How wrong I was.  Perhaps I deserved to suffer with that cocky attitude, and suffer I did.  After thirty six hours in the delivery room and two sleepless nights later I looked and felt like a character from night of the living dead.  But it was worth it and I soon forgot the trauma afterwards (my suspision is that this is attributable to some kind of conspiratorial government sponsored drug administered at the scene which is the real reason women continue to procreate). 

Maisey was fairly easy.  Born by caesarian so just straight in and out.  The only pain there was afterwards you go on a drip which induces labour (yes its all rather backwards) in order for your womb to contract and return to its normal size.  For about five hours afterwards that really hurt.  I can still remember Chris suggesting that the midwifes turn the power up to get it over with quicker.....I shan't tell you what my response was.

Charlotte, number 3, was the absolute pits.  She is the one I could never repeat.  Hour after hour they kept telling me it would all be over very soon, rotten liars.  I was induced, had my waters broken, was blasted with the drip on it's very highest level and still nothing.  All the way through I could hear Chris informing anyone and everyone who would listen "she's not very good at this you know".   Like it's some kind of talent you can develop.  An Olympic sport perhaps. Well one day I am going to ram something large up his derrier and see how good he is at pushing it back out. 

But Danny, he was simple.  Went in at 10.00pm with a few pains (10 days overdue) they monitored me, realised that something was wrong, rushed me in to surgery and by 2.00am had whipped the little sucker out.  Turns out he had pooped in his water and swallowed some.  That's my boy.  I can still see them pulling him out and lifting him up and me thinking "holy mother of plod, he's hideous".  Honestly he did look awful.  All purple and fat and crinkly.   Chris wasn't there but my Mum was with me.....she was watching the entire operation and giving me a running commentary.  Said my insides looked like a load of pasta shells in tomato sauce.  I think it was at this point I threw up, and being anaesthatised from the neck down it just ran across my face and trickled down the back of my head. 

Anyway that's my reminiscing over, but I do love thinking about the days each of them joined me here in this world.  Nomatter how unbelievably painful it was, they were definitely the best four days of my entire life.  Nothing can top that feeling you have when you hold a newborn in your arms.  It's better than any other love I've ever known.  And I must remind myself of that the next time I feel wound up or like motherhood is just one big fat drudgery to be endured.  It is infact a wonderful privilege. 

I don't think I told you what Euan said in his Mothers Day Card "Mum, you are the best, always calm and caring.....at least when you've taken your pills".

Keep on popping them girl.  Keep on popping.
x x

Bambi in Wonderland.

I'm not sure what it was I ingested yesterday evening but I'm 99% certain some contaminant entered my brain.  As soon as I'd finished blogging I went up to my bedroom feeling fairly whacked yet rather than falling in to a deep luxurious sleep I spent the next two hours ruminating over every depressing topic possible.  Can't quite remember how it all began.  Probably snuggling in to the pillow feeling, as I usually do, highly grateful to have a warm cosy bed and a roof over my head.  This then lead on to thoughts of poverty, disease, war, hunger, abuse, contemplation on whether a human can be born evil or is made that way, anxiety over my own parenting, frustration at life and it's uncertainty and eventually the conclusion that in the end it's possibly all pointless.   Next time I really must stick to counting sheep.

I would love to have access to someone else's mind for the day.   It has often occured to me that my perception and experience of life may be completely unique (as could everyone's) but I will never know if it's different to the norm because I only know my inner self and no-one elses.  Assuming that a 'norm' even exists.  For example; If you picture the colour blue in your mind, how do you know that what you are seeing is actually blue?  Could it be that you are infact seeing the colour which I know as red but you have learnt to call it blue?  Unless I can get inside you and see what you see I will never quite know. Not that it really matters.   If when I see purple you see turquoise I'm guessing it won't impact on the future of the world all that much.

Good news is that I have some new tennants.  Really good news is that they are friends of ours so I can ditch the letting agency and hopefully it will be a mutually beneficial arrangement.  I am aware that I shall no longer be able to sell the property but in all honesty I don't think it was going anywhere any time soon.  So we shall sit on it for a few more years and hope the economy takes a turn for the better.  Failing that there's always arson. 

Right then off now to go have my tetanus jab.  I'm fairly certain I have none of the symptoms but may aswell go get it anyway and innoculate myself for the next ten years.   Who knows when the next attack could occur -  Violet may be gone but I still live with a bunch of savage animals.

x x

Oh yes....

It's funny how the minute I mention the word sex it has you voting in droves.....this has been the most popular poll by far.  I am confused though.  Yesterday eight of you said you were up to it twice weekly or more, yet today that figure has gone down to seven.  I'm thinking then that someone had a particularly unsatisfactory Mother's Day. 

Incidentally 'Emma' made a very valid comment that I really should be questioning how often you are actually 'enjoying' sex rather than just doing it.  This could be far more revealing.  Quality girls, not quantity.

and yes I am still trying to make myself feel better, and less inept.

Saying that,  today I received possibly one of the most startling compliments of my entire life.  Infact I am smiling now just thinking about it.  A friend of mine said a few days ago she was thinking to herself that were she a man, or indeed just inclined with a preference for the female anatomy, she believes I would be her perfect woman.  A truly flattering comment, and one which made me momentarilty wish I could turn to the dark side.  But alas, I am many things, but gay is not one of them.  And nor is she I hasten to add. 

This emphasises the point I made yesterday, that women are generally more flattered by the approval of other women rather than from the opposite sex.  If a man had told me I was, in his opinion, the perfect female I would instantly suspect he was crazy-mad, drunk or trying to get something from me.  Perhaps my own paranoia at work but I would inevitably distrust his motive.  Coming from a woman it felt safe, reassuring and sincere.  Somewhere deep down inside I guess I must be a closet misandrist  (don't try and tell me you know what that means....go look it up like I had to!!).

Note how this blog attempts to reward you with literary enlightenment.  I'm not just a pretty (albeit spot ravaged and chubby) face you know.

Today I went for my first 'run' since the race.  I have been trying to take it easy and enable my injured knee to correct itself so basically been following the gently does it plan.  Did a spot of swimming on Saturday which was highly beneficial for the joints.  Also highly beneficial for my self esteem.  It's rare for me to enter a pool and feel attractive, however swimming at our local municipal pool on "Free Swim" session I felt like a Goddess.  The men all resembled beer swilling cage fighters, and the women weren't far behind.  Just to be this side of twenty stones with all my own teeth and a belly button located somewhere close to the place it's supposed to be made me feel almost celebrity level glamorous.   I know you shouldn't judge, but I did and must confess to scrubbing myself extra hard in the showers afterwards.      Thankfully I am still alive and well which is amazing considering that Chris, Mr-I-couldn't-be-tactful-if-my-genitals-were-in-a-guillotene-and-their-safety-depended-upon-it Ford found it highly amusing to sing rounds of "who ate all the pies" whilst swimming up and down the pool.   What next I wonder,  Selling hot dogs outside the local mosque perhaps.

So the run was fine although only very very very short.  I shall get on to it again tomorrow and try to build up some mileage.  I am still hovering around the same weight as I have been for the last two weeks or more and need to do something radical to remedy that.  Not keen on the idea of fingers down throat or gallons of andrews salts though so need to come up with a more reasonable idea.  All this eating sensibly and moving more malarky is getting me nowhere.

Answers on a postcard please.

x x

Whistlestop.

Haven't got time to write a great deal but just wanted to check in and shout out a huge big massive

 HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!

to all the many deserving creatures currently serving under that status.  And of course to any potential mothers or pseudo-mums out there, this goes for you too.

I know some people dislike the concept of having a specified day set aside to celebrate Mothers, perhaps feeling that in truth if you love someone you should hold them in high regard each and every day, but I actually like the idea.  It's wonderful that once a year you can take stock of your relationship with your own mum, and afford her the praise she has merited, alongside receiving a few thankyou's of your own.  Today has been wonderful.  The kids have been their usual bickering selves but the sentiments displayed in their home-made notes was priceless. 

I am sure this can be a painful day for some.  Maybe those whose own mother's are absent, estranged or deceased and additionally for those who have either not been blessed with or have lost children of their own.  My heart goes out to you if this is the case.  I like to think though that Mother's day is a celebration of womanhood as much as motherhood, and all those qualities which women possess to make them such selfless giving creatures.  I often feel saddened that there is not more solidarity between us female folk.  After all, if I'm honest, the people who have the greatest power to make me feel useless are my own female kind, but also the greatest happiness in my life usually comes from the females who are part of it.

Thank you so much if you are one of them.

x x

Liar Liar, big fat bottom's on fire!

Come on now folks.  This poll cannot be correct.  Are you seriously trying to tell me that my readers defy statistics, with over 50% having intimate moments more than twice a week?  I simply do not believe it.  Personally I think Chris has been voting repeatedly in an attempt to guilt me in to thinking I'm abnormal.  Waste of time really as I knew that years ago.  Anyhow if it isn't Chris, then I am truly gobsmacked and intimidated.

So today has been bliss.  One child : two parent ratio and life is absolutely simple.   Peaceful, relaxed, controlled - everything that it normally isn't.  Which is grand as it's made me realise that the problem lies not with my parenting skills but rather my poor contraception.  All I have to figure out now is how to decide which children to sell on Ebay.

I wonder what would actually happen if you did try that.  I heard a story once about a girl who'd attempted to sell her Nanna online, but Ebay had to withdraw the sale as it was an infringement of their selling policy.  Apparently  Nans, Grandads and Class A substances are all strictly prohibited.   Which when you think about it is probably rather unnecessary.  Ebay doesn't provide the best anonymity now does it.

Looking forward to settling down in a moment with Chris, who I actually like today, and watching a film.  Fortunately for our relationship he has the memory of a fish and I have a complete inability to hold a grudge.  Thankfully.  I remember as a child occasionally planning to send my sister to Coventry for some perceived offence or other only to give up within the hour as my need to chat by far outweighed my annoyance.  I am one of those very odd people who flare up in a flash but calm down equally quickly and so you can pretty much ignore most of what I say.   Every now and then though I do actually mean something but its impossible to know the difference....even I can't be sure.

Impulsive is what I think most would call it.  I am entirely spontaneous, often irresponsible and generally a spur of the moment kind of girl.....not the most positive attribute I admit.  If ever you need a companion to run away with or rob a bank though,  I am definitely the person to ask first.  This is probably why no diet regime works as generally speaking my long term planning is pathetic.  I attempt to carry out an objective, get bored, decide to go off at a completely different tangent and essentially bob things up.  Thus why I am particularly proud that I finished my race, haven't had a drink of Coke and am still married.  Perhaps leopards do change their spots with age.

Anyway can't wait for tomorrow and all the millions of lovely things which shall surely come my way.  This is the one day where having multiple children has its benefits and I intend to milk it to the last drop. 

Bring it on.

Is it Easter yet?

Cause right now all I can think about is stuffing my face full of Cadburys Mini Eggs washed down with an ice cold pint of Diet Coke.  Bliss.  Will have to wait a while I suppose - 23 days and counting.

This morning I called by the "walk in" surgery to enquire whether they felt a Tetanus injection was indeed necessary.  A few people had recommended I get one and I was beginning to feel paranoid that any moment my jaw would seize and I'd begin to spasm uncontrollably.  Could you imagine - just the not being able to talk part would certainly prove fatal.  Although the great thing about Tetanus, if you get it bad enough apparently, is your body consumes approximately 4000 calories a day during the recovery period.  And recovery takes up to six weeks.  We're talking some serious weight loss there. 

Anyway the triage Nurse  agreed that yes I did need to get a booster injection but said this would have to be done at the clinic where I am registered.  I then called my Doctor's surgery and explained the situation to his receptionist.  I asked her whether I could come in and have a jab and she said "yes, but not until late next week".  "That's fine" I said "so long as you can just confirm tetanus doesn't need to be treated any quicker than that.....I mean if the symptoms are likely to have developed and killed me by Monday, there seems little point booking an appointment for Weds really does there?".  She didn't like this.  "I am just the receptionist" she squeaked "I don't know anything about Tetanus, now do you want the appointment or not?".  "Yes I do.  But if by any chance I don't turn up for it  you can assume I am dead. Okay?".   (Note to Mother....if this is the case, you have my permission to sue them for all they are  worth, which considering they are based in Hollinswood probably isn't very much).

I have since checked online and found that Tetanus, if present, is quite slow to develop so I needn't worry.  What does concern me more is why it seems a pre-requisite for all Medical Receptionists to be as rude and unhelpful as possible!  Sadists.

The great part of today is it's the weekend.  Not that weekends hold the same awe as they used to now I work from home......not quite the same as leaving the office on Friday knowing you don't have to see it's ugly face again for a whole sixty hours or so.  But the notion of the weekend still gives me that midly excited feeling, full of hope and potential.  Potential for what though!!  Charlotte and I are actually planning on having a bit of a girlie day tomorrow.  Maisey is with my Mum, Danny is going to a friends and Euan is way too cool to hang with us on a Saturday.  So it's just me and the Bobster hitting the town. 

Happy Days.  OOOh that's another man I used to have a crush on as a child.....The Fonz. 

I really had very low standards.

Heartbroken

This morning I tried to access my blog from College as I had a bit of time to spare, but for some reason it would not allow me in.  Shame as what I could have written then would have been far more upbeat than what I shall be writing now.  So much happens in a day.

Just as I had thought, all that was needed last night was a decent amount of sleep and as if by magic I awoke a changed and much improved woman (albeit only temporary).  Before the days of our own parenthood Chris and I used to scoff at the concept of children misbehaving due to tiredness.  We would go to social gatherings and very piously take note of all the ill tempered brats beating hell out of their parents or each other, quietly mocking when Mum or Dad tried to offer the justification that 'little Jonny' was simply overtired.  Overtired my buttocks.  Oh how we would laugh at their poor parenting skills and lack of discipline.  Ironic then that nowadays not only are all of our children complete rat bags whenever sleep has eluded them but Chris and I regularly 'play up' too.  Without a proper rest we are the family from hell. 

College today started with a bang, quite literally.  Got on the train only to find it absolutely rammed so decided to kind of sit/squat on the floor.  After about ten minutes or so this proved rather uncomfortable so I stood back up not realising there was a metal shelf above my head.  The rest is history so to speak.  Thunk went my skull on the metal, speedily followed by a chorus of "oooh are you okay????s" from the surrounding passengers.  Physically yes I am fine but emotionally, no, humiliated and still very disturbed.  It did however initiate a journey long conversation with a nearby male passenger, which would have been the highlight of my day had he not been old enough to father my grandad.

College was utter cack.  All just more of the same and felt a right waste of time being there.  So at lunch  I figured I would skip off home and go watch Danny in his first school football game this season.  I think the team itself has already played several matches but this was the first time Dan had been picked for the squad, so genuinely a significant moment in his footballing career.  Saying that, after watching him this afternoon I don't actually think he has any chance of a career, not in football or anything else for that matter!!  He was the only player looking in the wrong direction most of the game and talking to himself.  Not a good sign.  Perhaps he was tired.

Anyway, it's funny how one event leads to another and suddenly fate has taken you in a completely different direction to where you thought you were headed.  My choosing to leave college early and go to the match with Dan then led to me deciding to visit the pet shop (with Danny) which then led to me purchasing a new rabbit companion for Violet which then led to me and Chris having a major bust up and telling him to move out.  This was all because I had purchased an incy wincy rabbit which he didn't want.  His argument is that if there is a decision to be made and we both disagree, his view must always be the one we follow because he thinks he is God.  Or something like that.  I believe in a democracy and allowing all members of the family to have a vote.  Chris is a born dictator.  The only thing more upsetting, frustrating and down right infuriating than a blatant dictator is a dictator with half a brain.  I  feel sure we are destined for eventual failure and think perhaps we may aswell give up now rather than keep flogging this dead and virtually decomposed horse.

The worst part of tonight though is that my plan to provide Violet with a companion completely backfired.  She hated the new addition, went wild, attacked the rabbit and when I intervened she attacked me.  Sunk her teeth deep in to my wrist and ripped through as hard as she could.  So gripped was she that as I raised my arm to retreive it she was actually dangling in mid air held on only by her nashers.  And that my friends is the definition of pain.  Searing, sharp, shooting, throbbing pain from my wrist to my shoulder.  Nothing though compared to the pain of now having to give her away.  My mum and sister have both assured me that you cannot keep such a pet in the house around young children.  Even if her attack was provoked who's to say what could provoke her again in the future.  She is far too aggresive and could seriously disfigure a little person.  So off she has gone, back to the pet shop where they will attempt to rehouse her with someone who likes a spot of violence.

And so what should have been a happy event has become a miserable mess and I have spent the remainder of the evening weeping at my own stupidity.  Tomorrow I am going to start anew though.  I am tired of feeling so miserable.  Admittedly I checked my dates and it is time for the mandatory  installment of PMS so that could be part of it.  On the other hand maybe I am just a mardy whinebag.  All I want is to be happy......how hard can it be?

Losing the will to waffle.

I have spent such a large portion of my day writing utter cack on paper that the thought of sitting churning out a bit more here now is quite mortifying.  Today's assignment for college (which I did start last night but barely) was to create a project plan.  Not only do I have to write a four thousand word essay on the subject of utter nonsense but that nonsense has to be planned carefully.  Brilliant.  I can't help but feel this is an entirely useless unit of the course but then all of it seems fairly useless -  I am only doing it to secure some gainful employment.   Knowing my fortunes, or lack of them, I shall end up the only MAAT qualified checkout girl at Somerfield. 

Today I think we became officially tenantless.  Not to be confused with talentless which I have pretty much always been.  Oh yes, I am on a real downer today.  Hopefully it's just a spot of post-race day blues (is there such a thing?) wherein I am temporarily indulging in deep and meaningful contemplation on the purpose of life, having achieved my ambitions.  Okay so I haven't actually achieved my ambitions, just a teeny weeny one of them.  But really is the purpose of life to get thin and run a half marathon?  That surely can't be it.  Some days it seems to be all I can think of, assuring myself that life and all it's troubles will be remedied once my fat arse can fit in a pair of skinny jeans without creating a muffin top.  It won't be the end though will it.

Just like Chris has spent the last year and a half assuring me that once he gets a job he will be happy.  And hey presto, is he happy??  Is the Pope a muslim fundamentalist?  Probably not, no.  He's as miserable as he ever was.  So much so I have assured him that unless he brightens up and changes his miserable attitude very soon I shall be putting a bullet in his brain and finishing the job properly.  Of course I know what part of the trouble is.  No hanky panky.  And the reason there's no hanky panky is because he is a miserable swine.  Catch 22.  I find it so very ironic that after 2000 years (or more) of existence man still hasn't figured how to get what they want from woman, willingly that is.   Feigning interest in your lady love and what she wishes to talk about, praising the many wondrous things she accomplishes each day and acting midly indifferent to sex will inevitably lead to passion in the bedroom.  Nagging, whining, sulking, berating and complaining will invariably lead to a night on the sofa.  As will suggesting that when your wife bends over the sun is eclipsed.  Fools.

I'm thinking a good nights sleep is once again what I need to remedy this melancholy.  That or a gin and tonic, or twelve.

Speak tomorrow. x x

Still here.

Well I almost made the decision to give it up but then realised I'd have a huge void in my life.  What else am I going to do during my college revision time?  Writing this blog has provided me with an opportunity to share my burdens and lessen life's loneliness, not to mention learning a few grammatical tips (from my commenters) and I'm just not ready to say adios, not yet.

I thought this morning I would finally be able to announce the wonderous stone breaking event but no, the scales are now creeping down in infinitesemal amounts rendering me just .02 of a pound above target!!    Optimistically speaking I should feel a portion of gratitude that my scales are so precise as to measure in ounces as aswell as pounds.  In the bad old days of mechanical scales this weight loss would be far too insignificant to register and therefore even more disheartening.  Like I said before, it is going in the right direction, just not at the right speed, which truly is the story of my life.  Should I die tomorrow I wish for this to be my epitaph.   "She was capable of anything....only not very quickly" - unless of course we're talking about loss of temper, now that I can do with lightning efficiency, like a ninja on amphetamine, especially where my children are concerned.

Exercise wise not done anything since Sunday.  Can't tell you how painful my knee was yesterday.  Totally stiffened up and swollen, which is a great state for some parts of the anatomy but generally not knees.  I actually had an appointment at a hospital physiotherapist yesterday.  Ironically had to hobble in to see her and explain that contrary to how it looked the problem was in my shoulder.  The Chiropractor I use had tentatively diagnosed tendinitis about twelve weeks ago when I really was in some serious agony with it.  Since starting this new diet and exercise regime though I must confess it has eased incredibly.  Anyway I digress.  The physio took a look at me, had me bend over backwards, quite literally, and forwards then twist about a bit and informed me that the problem lies in the fact I am hypermobile.  For a second I confused this with hypochondria and almost responded with an equally cutting remark but then realised my mistake.  Hypermobile means I am super-flexible, super-bendy and now with being super-fat it's becoming highly problematic.  Hypermobility can only be controlled by strengthening the surrounding joint muscles hence why all my troubles arrived at about the same time as the children.  The good news is, should I ever lose both my arms in a freak shark attack I shall be able to feed myself using only my feet.

In seriousness she did say this will also account for the knee pain and has advised me that continuing on my current course of weight loss and increased activity is essential to combat future complaints.  So another reason why I can't just give up.  Not that I was even considering it of course......  In fact only this morning I have arranged with CCW (Commando Cocaine Wade) to meet up for another session.   She is superwoman and I really think she should consider hiring herself out, not to me of course as I am brassic, but to others who are less deserving.

Incidentally in the gap (the one between the last paragraph and this one) I have just made a complete arse of myself answering the door to the Ocado delivery man.  I had become so entranced with my writings that I had forgotten about such menial concerns as grocery deliveries.  Thus when he introduced himself by saying "Hi Love, Sorry I'm a bit early" (and was not wearing any form of identifiable supermarket clothing) I merely said "Early for what.....who are you?????" in a most paranoid manner.   This was certainly not the Gigolo I had been contemplating hiring on the internet last night.  Anyway he made himself known, I realised my error and laughed it off.  But he still thinks I am a nutter I can tell.

Right then I really should get gone and do this project.  Four thousand words of utter drivel coming up.

x x

and the first shall be last...

I live in hope. 

Well it's finally over folks.  We completed it in record time, no stops, no tears (well not quite anyway) and aside from the fact I now have a blister the size of a clementine on my toe and a knee that will probably never support my weight again, it was fine.

Sadly, as closely predicted, I came in third to last.  Didn't actually have to trip Corrinna though as she very chivalrously allowed me to finish in front of her.  In the end there were almost five hundred participants and of those only about thirty were in our age and sex category so overall not a terrible result.  Additionally we arrived at the start line 5 minutes after the gun had been fired...yes that's correct I did say five minutes after, not before, which is just typical of everything we do.  We Silvers struggle to conform in any respect and are always looking for ways to stand out from the crowd.  And stand out, albeit as a pair of losers, we did.  Frustratingly by the time we started many of the spectators were walking the route, meaning we had to chicane jog through a million and one bodies -  clearly slowing us no end.

Along the way we passed a few competitors walking back in the opposite direction, presumably who had to duck out due to injury.  I shouldn't have felt any pleasure at this sight but confess I did.  At least I would be finishing the race, I told myself.  No wimping out for me.  In reality the only reason I did finish was because Corrinna donned her commando persona again and would not let me give up.  I am 100% grateful to her now of course and feel she is wasted in her role as cycle proficiency instructor - I'm thinking she could probably steer Britain straight if she were given the opportunity and should rightfully stand as Primeminister.

Annoyingly because we were late and so very slow it seemed to generate some rather disheartening reactions.  Firstly from the group of marshals stood at the two mile marker who at the sight of us began tittering away to themselves.  I appreciate I may not be the most athletic of creatures but still, that was uncalled for.  Secondly another pair of marshals at about mile four,  pulled alongside us in their car and said "excuse me are you taking part in the race?".  The massive piece of paper stuck to my cleavage with the number 42 on obviously not being answer enough.  I can't tell you what I wanted to say back.  No I just do this every **!!!****?? Sunday for fun you idiot.  Anyway they were stopping to tell us they were sick of waiting so had  packed up their stand; and to let us know we needed to turn left at the next crossroads.  How encouraging.

It was at this point that I very much wanted to cry.  My foot was burning, my knee was throbbing, my chest was exploding and my desire to finish, just like the crappy marshals, was gone..  Thankfully Corrinna talked me round...military style.

The final mile however was relatively enjoyable.  A lovely chappie called Seb, who had completed the race in a startling 36 minutes (and he wasn't even the winner) cycled up to us to offer a spot of encouragement.   He was praising our efforts and reassuring us we were doing so well and I can't tell you how fantastic it felt, to have someone recognise what a challenge you're facing.  In addition to Seb were the wonderful Alan and Suzanne, residents of our other house (but only until Tuesday!!) who true to their word came down and supported us.  Standing on the finish line cheering away and, shockingly, taking video footage of our final few hundred metres.  Thank you both for being such good pals!  It was great to see a couple of smiling faces waiting for us instead of just the remaining marshals who by this time were checking their watches and mumbling comments like "about bloody time!".

So goal one has been successfuly achieved.  I understand my limits however and know that the half marathon in two weeks simply aint happening.  I am going to enter myself for another 10k in ten weeks or so to ensure that I don't drop my training regime and to see if I can't improve on my speed, or lack of it.  Not sure what to do about the blog.  I have enjoyed writing but feel you must all be getting a little tired of my ramblings and maybe need to shake things up a bit.  I'll think about that one tomorrow, as Miss O Hara would say.

For now though it's bed time, with a hot water bottle and a sweet feeling inside of unabashed contentment.  But to finish I must just mention the other two companions Corrinna and I had for a brief moment on our journey....at approx mile five what should come out of the hedge in front of us but a pair of waddling ducks!!.  Just happily going along their way and looking mighty content.  And tonight this duck is a happy one too. x

Dead duck walking

I am a strong, capable, duck who can and will win the race, I am a strong, capable duck who can and will win the race, I am a strong capable duck who can and will win the race..................

Sorry I'm just practising my new Mantra for tomorrow.  So far it is having no effect other than making me laugh each time I say it, a kind of nervous semi-hysterical laugh like the kind you do when you see someone get run over.  Or is that just me? 

I should warn you that I'm not allowing myself to indulge in any form of negative banter tonight.  I need to be at my absolute mental best tomorrow lunchtime and feel certain this can only be achieved through developing a firm PMA (postitive mental attitude - not refering to my butt) and perhaps a few performance enhancing drugs....anyone know where I could get some at such short notice?  May treat myself to a red bull just before the race, which I appreciate is cheating slightly on the whole lent thing but you'll remember I only actually officially gave up coke.  The fact that one red bull is the equivalent of drinking six cans of cola is irrelevant.

For now though I think it is time for me to go to bed and attempt a decent nights sleep.  That's surely got to be a key ingredient for any top athlete wishing to achieve their personal best!!  oh and any little chubby chops hoping to hobble 10k tomorrow.  Please Lord let there be a few grieving grandmas or pregnant wives completing it in honour of their loved ones out on active duty, and not just a shed load of pro's.    Maybe that's the guise I should use.... say I'm only there in honour of my darling husband who is currently serving in the midst of a battlefield.  Wouldn't actually be lying as our home is probably the closest thing you can get to an all out war zone.  I often wonder if Iraq wouldn't be a tad more peaceful.

Anyway I am entering the realms of whining now and as I have banned myself from any form of complaint or demoralising comment I must take myself off, go try and sleep and see what tomorrow surprises me with. 

Fingers crossed it's not incontinence.

What's it all about???

Alfie.............Been for the most enjoyable walk this morning with a wonderful friend and covered between us every topic from the inheritance do's and don't's within the Asian community,  the futility of work Christmas parties, and the shocking greetings used by our mothers.   Was really nice to know that I am not the only child whose mum greets her with comments such as "have you been picking your face again" or "do you WANT your kids to get diabetes??" rather than hello!  My friend's mother answers the telephone with "have you lost weight yet?" which is always fantastic for boosting your daughter's self esteem!   I think for some parents who grew up in the era of non-tactile behaviour and a decided lack of affection it is their way of saying I love you and care about the things that get you down.  Bless em.  Note to self.... do not open conversations in this way.

I do admit to picking at my face far too much however.  Currently it looks like I have been splattered with ketchup, due to all the scabs I've created.  So much so that on my way in to work today I caught a glimpse of myself, figured I looked like I had a contagious rash and decided to pop into Boots and pinch a bit of foundation.  I say pinch....wasn't like I was actually stealing it as I just used the tester.  It did make me wonder why I ever bother buying the stuff though (at £15 a bottle not cheap) when I could quite easily just nip in each day for my freebie makeover.

Another topic we covered was work parties.  My friend, who shall remain anonymous, made a rather valid observation questioning why you would want to attend a party with the people you spend 35 hours a week with every week of the year.   Considering you probably spend less time each day with the person you said "I do" to, surely most people would rather use their freetime for family or friend based activities.  I am guessing employers feel it is a way of encouraging staff morale and bonding.  It is my experience however that they're welcome for one reason and one reason only - if you have a crush on one of your colleagues - in which case a party, plenty of booze and a weakened moral code is exactly what you need.

So yes we did a nice easy walk today and it was tres pleasant.....why do I bother jogging when walking is far more enjoyable?  I'll tell you why, just so that I can call myself a runner and feel like I am one of the fitness elite.  Something tells me when I turn up on Sunday and see all the other race entrants I will realise with an almighty earth bound crash that I am simply never going to be part of that gang.  Once a waddler, always a waddler.  I'm a duck and no amount of time will ever make me a swan.

I actually called the chappie who is hosting the event today......wanted to know how long I'd have before the cut off point.  I was so very anxious that I'd get there do the race and cross the finish line only to find that everyone had packed up and gone on home.  His words to me, in a rather sarcastic tone, were "can I ask, how long are you planning to take?" . "Three days" I replied.  There are approximately three hundred and fifty registered participants and the race is open for entries on the day,  so potentially there could be a mighty turnout.  My predicted placement is second from last.....I am planning on tripping Corrinna over just before she beats me. 

And so only 48 hours to go.  I am cacking my pants and it's not a pretty sight.  Wish me luck or pray for me (depending on where your beliefs lie).....I know it's not that significant in the grand scheme of things but for this little lump it is a mighty challenge and failure is not an option.

Thanks for reading. I really appreciate all the support and positive comments I have been receiving.  Can't believe I have had nearly 2000 hits......and hopefully not all from my mum.

Speak tomorrow x x

Every mother's worst fear....

Some may feel that discovering their child has joined a radical religious cult, is a wanted criminal or are planning to change from Kevin to Karen to be the worst fear they have.  Mine is Parents Evening and tonight was the night.  Holy moly mother of misery, does it get any worse than this.  Well yes probably.  Charlotte of course has no worries.  She is the model student; conscientious, polite, hard working, bright, able, thoughtful, the list goes on and on.  At the other end of the spectrum is Danny.  In fact he is probably off the end and on a completely different spectrum altogether. 

His teachers (one for English, one for Maths) genuinely looked like they wanted to rip their hair out from the roots.  "We've tried everything" they said, but instead of making progress he is the only child actually going backwards.  He is a conundrum.  In lessons he is vacant, distracted, unengaged, confused and sometimes borderline catatonic.  He answers questions which are complicated yet can't solve the simple ones and every now and then he transitions in to a kind of hyper-mode personality  and  can't shut up.  There must be medication for this kind of thing.......(yeah anti-depressants....for me!).  He has actually been referred now to an outside body who hopefully will assess what the problem is.  My genes perhaps.

Today Corrinna and I tried to do a 10k practice run.  Well she tried, I just merely tagged along complaining that every inch of my body had some kind of ache or pain and eventually persuading her to settle for 7.5k instead.  What a light weight.   A light weight heavy weight that is.  I think on the day I am going to ask her to run a few steps in front of me with a cream bun dangled behind her back as an incentive for me to keep going - if only Mr Izzard could be pursuaded to run with me, naked but for a pair of red stiletoes.  Ewwww actually that wouldn't be such a great picture - all those bits wobbling everywhere.  Gone right of my cream bun now.

I take comfort from the thought however that in 72 hours time it will all be well and truly over.  It is I imagine ever so slightly like being on Death Row, only harder because I actually have a choice.  Okay so perhaps I am being melodramatic now.  Just indulge me. 

The good news is that when I weighed myself today I was the lightest so far.  Not so far in my life of course, just since I have been trying to follow this plan.  I was so close to breaking the stone barrier that I got back off the scales, took off my underwear, forced out a pee, blew my nose and even contemplated a home made enema but decided that was going too far.  Got back on and guess what, exactly the blinkin same.  Apparently pee, snot and padded bras are all weightless.  And yes I am scale obsessed, but as I'm aware of the problem it doesn't count.  That's the new rule and it applies to all addictions; alcohol, sex, drugs, gambling and strawberry chewits included.

x x x