The Secret Diary of Bambi Ford aged 13 and 3/4.

Bet half of you reading are too young or conversely too decrepid to remember those Adrian Mole books but they were truly pioneers of their time.  Touched on all kinds of taboo subjects (taboo because our parents were too embarrassed to talk about them rather than because there was anything perverse or shameful involved).  They were the best sex education ever.  Unlike my Catholic school Sex Ed class which involved discussions on the evolution of amoeba in to various fish and then to monkeys, a truly absurd concept in my opinion and even more absurd that we were taught it in a Catholic School.  Whatever happened to good old Adam and Eve and original sin?   That really is one confused religion.

Back to the diaries and their relevance. 

When I was sixteen or seventeen, I can't quite recall, I remember having a huge fall out with my mum because she had challenged me about something I'd done (probably illegal) which she could only have known about from reading my diary.   Back then I was an avid journal keeper and would write practically every day.  Anyway, suitably enraged and understandably feeling completely violated I decided that no-one would ever read them again and promptly got every last scrap I had written and lobbed it in the bin. 

Two days ago I received a message from my mum via facebook.   It went a little like this:-

"Bambi, many years ago I found all of your diaries and lots of other personal stuff, thrown out in the dustbin.  I decided to rescue them so that one day I could give it all back to you......then a few days ago I was clearing the loft and found the bag with them in......shall I bring it when I'm next over?"

So twenty years after throwing my memories away (and probably the twenty years it took my mum to read them all!!) I have my diaries back in my possession (big thanks ma) -  a carrier bag stuffed to the brim of papers scrawled with teenage Bambi babble.  For those of you who think my blog is a laugh, I can assure you in comedic value this pales in comparison.   Think Vicky Pollard crossed with Catherine Tate's Lauren Cooper mixed with a spot of Harry Enfield's Kevin and you have something of a clue as to what I sound like.  A strange cross breed of suicidal lovestruck chav-lette.  Or Brossette if I remember correctly the contemporary name for us then.

It is ironic is that I so frequently spend my time mocking Euan for dropping his H's, making statements like "Eeeem gooooing up tarrrrn" and "ain it" yet my writings at a similar age are nothing but.   There are hints of an intelligence somewhere hidden deep beneath the "inits" and "whatevers" but it is very well buried.   And so it gives me hope.  Whilst Euan may appear to be a towny chav-u-like right now, with a bit of luck and fair weather he too could end up like me.  A fat manic depressive who's main form of socialising is via Facebook.  Brilliant.

Hopefully Euan will be far more than that.  We have just returned from the County Cup Final where his team won convincingly (5 - 1) and he had a cracking game.  I am now keeping my fingers, toes, legs, eyes and anything else that will do it crossed in the hope that he can be my meal ticket to waggamammadom.    I joke of course, but watching him I did feel a great sense of his ability, not just at football, but as a person....he is a wonderful boy and should have an amazing, happy, fulfilled life ahead of him.  Which is exactly what I wish for all of my children. 

And which is exactly why I will most definitely be doing what my I suspect my mother did and having a good nose where I shouldn't be every now and again just to make sure they are behaving!

Sometimes I feel....

like throwing my hands up in the air......  one of my all time favourite songs alongside "Everybody Hurts" - the REM version that is, together they pretty much form the anthem of my life......"when you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on....no, no, no, you're not alone". 

And on that depressing note.

My writings are becoming more and more sporadic which is in part due to my increasingly hectic lifestyle combined with the recent departure of my sense of humour, or GSOH as the single ads might say.   I just do not feel like being funny anymore and rather think that I now belong to the group of women referred to as grumpy and old.    It has finally come to my realisation that nomatter what I may embark upon in life, it will never quite be as I wish it,  and therefore there is in fact very little to laugh about. 

Yesterday I visited Leicester, more specifically Chris's parents, for a BBQ.  My first of the year and in true British fashion one necessitating the introduction of several umbrellas part way through.  At this point I must remind my darling friend Mezza (who emigrated to Oz two years ago and is now feeling a little homesick) that there is truly very little here to miss.  Just crappy weather and even crappier politics.  Of course I'm guessing it is the people she is actually missing as opposed to the location, but quite frankly the people are probably highly overated too.  As the proverbial saying goes "absence makes the heart grow fonder" a statement which could be further endorced with the words "because you forget how bugging people are".  So cynical I know, yet true.

It is and always will be my belief that death is the only dignified exit from any relationship (not just the romantic kind) and the only one wherein a person's memory is left untarnished.  I have every confidence that were I to find myself beneath a big red Birmingham bus this afternoon my faults and failings would be completely overlooked, my talents in this life grossly exaggerated and my obituary several hemispheres removed from the truth.  If I live to collect my state pension however (assuming of course that such a thing will even exist then) I shall no doubt eventually be on the receiving end of the mandatory naming, shaming and blaming process which befalls all parents when their children finally mature in to adulthood.   We all much prefer to believe that our flaws were a creation of poor nurturing rather than face the fact that just maybe we are naturally quite horrid.

Getting back to my original point though.  My visit to leicester.  During which we managed a conversation on the pros and cons of cosmetic enhancement.  Without naming names, all the females at the table were inherently dissatisfied with some aspect of themselves, be it flat-chestedness, gargantuan thighs, acne scars or facial wrinkling.   The males naturally could find no fault with their looks although I could definitely have named a few.   Its tiresome isn't it that there exists no resolution to the beauty burden we women carry....we are simply bred to feel like poop.

Saying that we have only oursleves to blame for getting sucked in by it all.

Only a few days ago I was wandering through the town centre desperately trying to find some high street fashion to feel good in.  As there has not yet been an outfit invented which can make you look three sizes smaller, five inches taller and ten years younger all at the same time, the venture was doomed to failure from the outset.  A fundamental component of the clothes buying process is appraising yourself in the mirror.  So after trying on copious amounts of lambs clothing which barely even fit and looked utterly ridiculous, this piece of mutton ended the session in a fit of self loathing.  I have mentioned before how I often feel surprised when catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror.....in my head I'm totally J-lo, whereas in the mirror I'm more Jo Brand.  I therefore feel clothes shopping should be reserved for those who either absolutely love themselves, or those who are partially sighted.

So the shopping spree was a total flop which, based on my bank balance, was actually a positive outcome.  Also positive was the somewhat Scrooge-esque moment I had whilst in Marks and Spencer.  Just at the point where I was bewailing my physical misfortune when compared to the likes of Beyonce and particularly grieving over my vertical challenges, a lady dwarf walked past.  My first pang of shame hit.  Within two more minutes I encountered a very physically disabled gentleman in a wheelchair and  felt the same shame increasing, then just moments later I saw a woman who had clearly lost her hair through some kind of cancer treatment and thus my shaming process was complete.  How can I be so self absorbed?

That feeling of provoked gratitude lasted for a couple of hours.  Pathetic I know.  I sometimes wonder though had we been privy to Ebenezer's lifestyle ten years after his ethereal visitors had left, would he be continuing in his newly found benevolence?  Probably not.  No, I think if we are lucky we retain a portion of the "lessons" we learn, gradually changing one fragment at a time.  So it's  a long slow process and as another saying goes "a leopard never changes it's spots" but I am certain that with age those spots do begin to fade.

One day it is my ambition to work overseas amongst communities where disease and poverty are a way of life.  I would love to attribute this to my deep rooted Christian beliefs and a desire to do good to all men, but in truth I feel I need it for me as much as anyone else.  I want to live somewhere I can forget all materialism, my pathetic quest for physical perfection and my selfish desires and find out who I am beneath it all. 

For now though it's a case of another well known phrase......" When in Rome..."

xx

Election Fever

Just to set the mood for the impending financial collapse and doom of the British Empire I thought I'd deck my site out in the colours of the day (May 6th that is).  I am absolutely intrigued to know whether my little mini-poll (twelve votes to date so absolutely miniscule) is representative of the voting population.  In which case Mr Cameron will be leading us on to destitution, which is a shame as Nick Clegg is by far the better looking candidate, although that's not really saying much when you consider the competition.  No, in my opinion we should all vote 'other', that other being Brad Pitt (very satisfactory eye-candy) or my Eddie (Izzard) who may well run the Country to ruin but would at least provide much laughter along the way. 

I was in Birmingham today and once again greeted by the sight of various news broadcasts being filmed around the City Centre.  As I passed one team I heard the television presenter say to the poor bystander he'd nobbled to be on tv "so....just face the camera and say 'if I were primeminister I would ....blahdyblahdyblah'"  meaning the interviewee had to insert some phrase in to the blank and say what he would do.  As I was walking high speed in a frantic attempt to reduce my lateness (thanks to London Midland Rail's inadequate rail service) I didn't have time to listen further.  I did walk on however considering what I would have said. 

"If I were primeminister I would........   well I'll be honest, the first thing that sprang to mind was "shoot myself".  I could not stand to be in the public eye on that kind of level.  I find it terrifying the way the media tear a strip out of everyone who's anyone and really couldn't withstand that kind of scrutiny.  Think about Mo Mowlam, the poor woman was dying and they still ripped her to shreds.   My jelly belly and acne scars would be prime material for the crew of spitting image.

On reflection however I decided that if I had gotten as far as Primeminister shooting myself would be rather pointless without at least making some major policy changes first.  After all why not wait for the abuse to actually begin before pulling the trigger, and so I decided what my manifesto would be.

Firstly, and not at all unexpected if you've read my previous ramblings, the return of capital punishment, to include harsher sentencing, public flogging, the stocks, and a resurgence of diabolical prison conditions.  Reoffending would be minimilised because criminals would either be dead by lethal injection or so severely traumatised from their stay in the 'Gulag' style facilities they would rather die than go back.

Secondly it's sister policy, capital punishment.  It's amazing how quickly children will learn to concentrate when their knuckles are at stake - a board rubber to the head never did anyone any harm, our parents are evidence of that.

Thirdly, enforced labour for all physically able bodied benefit claimants.  This incidentally is not designed as a punishment merely a way of satisfying mankinds fundamental need to work in order to feel valued.   During Chris's recovery period, the three months when he was able to do voluntary work were the most positive three months I can remember, because I believe he felt useful again.  And what did the benefits office have to say about it?  "Computer says no".  Can't work for free because this is exploitation (unless you're working for a Charity that is).  The fact Cap Gemini were doing us a favour and assisting Chris's recovery was irrelevant apparently. 

Fourth, educational credits/exemptions for stay at home parents.  This could be in the form of an aptitude test (minimal study required) to demonstrate your ability to work at a certain academic level without needing to invest the three years it takes to gain a degree (not to mention the massive debts).  In other words accreditation for doing one of the most essential jobs in society.  Raising children well effectively  means you have developed/contributed useful members of society to the population.   Why should it be then that women/men who choose to do this important work are penalised when it comes to returning to work, simply because of their lack of academic study?   Obviously there are some careers where you need to have the foundation knowledge which a degree qualification provides, but generally speaking a degree is just a passport in to training. 

And Fifthly......actually I didn't get that far.  Point four had me ranting so much in my own head, preparing my election speech and my supporting statements for the proposal that I didn't have time to create any further points to my manifesto.

Definitely free chocolate though for everyone.  Oh and diet pills. 

Sound good?? x x

The toughest job in the world.

Parenthood.  I know it's been said a zillion times before and sounds like a seemingly trite statement but it really is so true.  Or it feels that way.  In reality I'm sure that working in the Delhi Sewers, Chinese sweat shops or Thai sex industry is probably slightly more challenging but allow me to moan anyway.

Firstly the arguments. Charlotte feels that Danny hates her. Danny feels that Charlotte is a brat. Danny feels that Euan hates him. Euan feels that Danny is a space cadet. Charlotte screams in Danny's face. Danny threatens to throw her doll out of the window. Euan tells Danny he is gay. Danny calls Euan a spaz (a banned word in our house). Finally I scream in all their faces, threaten to throw each one of them out of the window, and so it continues for most of the weekend.

Yesterday evening I sat for three hours with various children completing pieces of homework.  Charlotte had an entire wildlife project to construct.  It cited specific requirements of research, introduction, sub-headings, paragraphs and use of diagrams with captions .....for a six year old!! is it just me or has homework ascended a few notches on the complexity ladder?   Euan had a children's book to write, then realised he had an activity at Church to attend so I ended up writing it for him.   "The hungry little chick-a-lick".....not at all plagiarised from a certain Eric Carle Story.   And finally Danny, for whom pulling his teeth out with plyers would have seemed a more preferable option.  The boy is so talented and bright yet cannot sit still and concentrate for five minutes unless it involves an Xbox.   

Today's drama is Euan "Ronaldinio" Ford and his would be football career.  Up until the age of ten Euan didn't actually play football for any team as most played on Sunday.  This was a real conflict of interest with our Church attendance.  We always felt strongly that it was right to observe the Sabbath, and Chris particularly felt that ball games were inappropriate.  (Funny how sex was always allowed though - nothing reverent about that).  Anyway Euan had offers of joining several clubs; Shrewsbury, Wolves, Stoke, but all of them he turned down due to the Sunday playing element.  Eventually though when Chris got ill and forgot his entire belief system Euan and I decided to monopolise upon the opportunity. I am joking of course, even I wouldn't be that twisted.   But I did allow Euan to make his own decision and he chose to play for a local team who offered to accommodate his beliefs by playing on Sunday afternoons, thus enabling him to attend his Church meetings.  One thing led to another and he got invited to play for Telford which was Saturdays, this then got him into Thomas Telford School and in to one of the bettert school football teams in the UK. 

Now however the Wolves are back at our door - literally, as the Academy scout has been calling the house again asking Euan to reconsider joining them.  On Friday when they called we were left under the impression that they had changed their main days of play to Saturday.  Having now spoken to the man in charge though it turns out that they train on Saturdays but the games are still Sundays. 

And so now what am I supposed to do? 

Apparently he is ultra talented and they desperately want him, but to allow him to play each week will mean our family are unable to be together and often whoever is with Euan will miss Church also.   No doubt all firm believers will consider this a trial of faith.  If I was really committed I would simply say no.  But firstly I am not completely committed and secondly it's not just my life.  Euan is a person in his own right and I do not want my opinions to be the thing which prevent him from following his own desires.   And then again isn't that my role in his life, to ensure he makes wise choices???  And then again how the heck can I help him to make sensible decisions when I can't even make them for myself. 

I wonder if I had realised how intense it can get whether I would still have wanted offspring.

Of course I would, but on the other hand, maybe the world ending isn't such a bad option after all.

I feel an ice cream coming on.
x

Mrs Sheen.

I once had a colleague who kept this quote in his office "a tidy desk is a sign of a sick mind".  He himself was an utter slob who tried avidly to convince me that my obsessive need for stationery cleanliness was an indication of deep emotional issues.  I wonder what he would make of the fact I am practically ecstatic today all because of a newly scrubbed house and freshly mowed lawns.  It can't be healthy to feel this good about the smell of flash multipurpose I admit, but no doubt there are others out there who can relate to this pleasure.

This morning when I woke a tidal wave of to-do lists hit my mind before I even had chance to wipe away the sleep and last night's mascara.  I contemplated just laying there for the entire day, pretending to be sick thus avoiding the problem of where the hell to start.  I still have my five thousand word project to write, have a lesson to prepare for tomorrow, have a talk to prepare for Dan for tomorrow (both Church related), had a pig sty of a home, two baskets full of washing, an unmowed lawn and a serious lack of groceries.   None of them life threatening issues, just tedious mundane domestic tasks but which nonetheless demand addressing.

Thankfully I do have fantastic children who help me and together we set about getting the work done.  And apart from the fact that Danny got rather strimmer-happy killing several healthy plants in the process of edging the lawns, it wasn't half bad.  Still have my project to write and lesson to prepare but at ten thirty p.m. I feel enough is enough.

I realised today that it has now been five weeks since the 10k race and I have barely done any exercising at all.  No wonder I feel so rough and depressed.  I need those endorphins back.    And so tomorrow I am planning to plan, to reevaluate and come up with a schedule for the next couple of months and a new objective to help me reach my goal.   It's definitely true that without a clear destination and a specific route there is little chance of success and so I must turn my mind back to my desired outcome and figure out what steps need taking.

For now though I need to go rest my weary head and moisturise my cilit bang soaked hands.

Sweet dreams.

x

Back by popular demand..

Well if a "what's happened to the blog??" from your mum counts that is.   I 'm sure the rest of you have missed me also but are way too polite to complain.

Today was another Kaplan day and it would be remiss of me not to mention the hideous Jerry Springer like train conversation I was subjected to.  Not a conversation with myself I might add, just a woman on her mobile telephone who appeared oblivious to the fact that, in a relatively quiet environment, her revolting yakk was reverberating around the ears of every other passenger in the carriage.  And the subject, mortifyingly, was her twelve year old daughters new-found menstruating experience.  What the heck was she thinking??  Whining on at the top of her voice about the terrible week she had been subjected to - apparently her child has suffered prolonged extensive bleeding combined with a resulting psychological trauma resulting in a visit to the doctors and a prescription of the contraceptive pill, covertly referred to as " the medicine" by Madam-Crap-Mother-of-the-Year.    What kind of a subject is that for a filled to brimming train, and all at the top of her nasty wolverhampton accented voice?   I am inclined to think that the child's mental anguish was more likely unrelated to her period but rather to the mortifying knowledge that her mum was such a blabbermouth. 

And so I began the day sufficiently traumatised yet piously realising I was not such a failure of a parent after all.  A failure of an accountant though I am certain I shall become.  My head is still aching from the eight thousand accountancy framework statutes and verbatim memorisations of financial terms I am supposed to be learning in order to pass the exam.  I may as well take to the streets now and accept that my career lies more in the flesh type figure than the paper based ones, and £20 an hour may be slightly more achievable this way.

Truly the work has surpassed my brain capacity and is on a whole other level of difficulty rating.  As I cast my eyes about the classroom it did occur to me that in likelihood none of the other students will have had fifteen children in their home for the afternoon yesterday and eight overnight and therefore it was hardly surprising that my ability to concentrate was at a minimum.  I doubt the examiners will much care however about my inability to use the family planning clinic.

And so it is that I am very much thinking along the lines of c'est la vie.  There is only so much one can do after all.  And, according to the ladies from church who visited me this evening, the world is on its's way to a hideous and miserable end anyway so I question the advantage in studying atall.  If in five years time I shall find myself holed up in the utility room with four kids and only a months supply of sugar puffs, do I really need an accountancy qualification?  And is it a sensible objective to try and shed my weight??  Strikes me my time would be better used gorging on baked goods for the next six months, thus increasing my odds of survival.

So I return to the place from whence I started and to where I always arrive, which is WHAT ACTUALLY IS THE POINT?  I am starting to question this on a daily basis.  What is it that I am seeking, where is it that I am hoping to get to, and ultimately WHY?? 

And when you think along such deep lines as this, it makes the election face off tonight seem completely immaterial. 

The end is nigh my friends.

x x

Size matters.

"Are you disgusted with your weight?"....that was the question being posed to Martin via my inbox this morning.  What is with this poor unfortunate man?  Overweight, in debt, out of work, possessor of small penis, wants breast enlargements and within the last three years had a serious accident for which he needs to claim, apparently.  Still on the bright side 'Heidi' has been sending a lot of messages recently informing him "I'm hot" and "I've been watching you" so perhaps his luck is about to improve, unless of course she is an axe-wielding stalker.

Please tell me that I am not the only recipient of this trash.  And yes I do have a spam filter but it's useless.

Size wise, I am not a happy bunny.  To be perfectly honest I am not sure what I really expected considering the amount of utter filth I have eaten this last week.  I fully deserve the three and  a half pound gain, but as is typical of my thought pattern I was kind of hoping I could revert to my nasty habits only this time with a different outcome, which apparently is only a step short of insanity.   And so it is time to call a halt and get back on that fat busting band wagon. 

I was looking through my diary today, whilst in Church supposedly listening to a lovely lady extolling the power of prayer over the RAC, and found my 'weight goal chart' - a strict schedule I had set myself at the start of my endeavours.   Rather depressingly I am supposed to be 7 stone 13 this Wednesday!  I joke of course....I haven't aspired to be that weight since the last time I was (aged 20 and dating a hideous man by the name of Colin Knight and yes I am happy to name and shame the beast) and my work colleagues kindly told me I looked like a walking skeleton.  But I was hoping to be around the 11 stone mark and I am now back to 12 because of my little blip. 

The good news is I can fit back in to my size fourteens.  Actually that also is a slight untruth.  I can fit back in to some of them.  On Saturday I went in search of a few items whilst at Cheshire Oaks and tried on several pairs of black trousers in size fourteen.  Only one pair actually fitted, so naturally they were the ones I bought regardless of whether they even looked any good.  So much of my happiness is dependent upon those two little numbers on the clothing label.

I also found a beautiful purple silk dress which was reduced from £85 to a tenner (purchase justification number 1).  Sadly it was a choice between a size 16 (too large) and a size 10 (way too small).  So I bought the small one in the vain hope that I can lose a bit of bustage and get in to it eventually.  The bottom part fits because it's a loose design,  but the top is ridiculous and squishes my boobs so badly I look like I have a third stomach. 

And talking of boobs.  Have any of you ever been measured for a bra?  I try to do this regularly as my body is a constantly changing entitity.  On Saturday I went to the Wonderbra shop and had a resize.  Last time I got measured I was a 36E (January).  A stone lost and now I am a 32FF.  This is nonsense.  I am hoping their bras are just small (although she measured me with a tape measure and I'm fairly certain they are pretty standard?) because at this rate I shall get to ten stone and be a double G.  Great fun for Chris, but not good for the purple dress issue. 

Anyway now you know my weight, my bust measurements, my monthly menstrual cycle  and mental health issues I feel extremely beholden to you in many respects.  Perhaps you can repay me by voting in the poll and influencing my decision as to where to place my actual fought for by the suffragettes and shouldn't be wasted vote.  Although I rather like my mum's idea of attending the polling station simply to register my distaste and disatisfaction with each party by spoiling the ballot??

Comments please x x

Public Enemies..

This time I am not referring to Politicians or indeed anything to do with parliament....I am bored of that already. 

No, this is far worse and something which I feel completely embodies the problems facing the human race.  Once again it's a feature of those dark and miserable places known as supermarkets, but this time I'm talking Self Service Checkouts.

My first concern is this...where have all the till girls gone????  It can never be a good thing when human beings are replaced by the lady from Tom Tom and a multitude of touch screens.  Kind of reminiscent of the Matrix.   Although I think there is probably a million or so years of evolution required for the technology to get  from "unexpected item in the baggage area" to world domination.  When they first appeared in the shops I must confess to being ever so slightly impressed, and when I say slightly I mean massively and overwhelmingly -  having finally glimpsed the reality of "Tomorrow's World".  So yes I will admit that I loved the concept.    A few months in to it and a million "assistance required" messages later and I am much less enamoured.  And, just as when a relationship turns sour we seek to highlight every weakness our ex-lover had, I feel I can finally see these machines for what they really are.  Job stealers.  We are being replaced by computers and deceived in to thinking they are for our benefit.  Supposedly they save time.....debatable, especially when anyone over sixty-five is trying to use one in front of you.  Technology + the elderly is not a pretty picture. 

Apart from the ethical dilemma they present, consideration should be given to the utter lack of humanity and concern for feelings.  Yesterday I visited Sainsburys in Chester, grabbing just a few items so decided to use an 'S.S.C'.  All went well until payment was required. My Tesco Mastercard has a facility on it where I am only allowed to make ten transactions in any one day before my card will be placed on hold.  And no ,before you go thinking how bad my shopaholicism must have gotten for them to resort to this, I must mention it is a standard feature.   Anyway I had been at Cheshire Oaks with the boys and spent numerous amounts in various places, all of which had been fine.  Sainsburys however must have been transaction number eleven.  So just after I had entered my pin the uncaring witch bellows out, for all and sundry to hear, that my card has been declined, and just to twist the knife in she repeats this message twice.  And therein lies the problem with machine over man......no emotions, no tact and a complete inability to think independently.  Actually correction, therein lies the difference between machine and woman.  

Which brings me nicely on to the poll results.  I am with the majority of you on this that a touch of care is the best approach even if it may involve a tad of diplomatic dishonesty.  And perhaps this is why marriage is the challenge which it inevitably is, because men have yet to learn that women neither want or need a metaphoric mirror held constantly in front of their face.  We know what we are and just need to feel loved despite it!  Of course I don't throw all men in to this category of emotional incompetence....just most of you.

I mentioned earlier that yesterday I went shopping with the boys.  Firstly I took them to the cinema to see "Clash of the Titans" which was good although, in my humble opinion, not as good as the original.  Then we did three hours solid of hunting down school shoes, football boots, clothing, stationery etc.  The difference between those two boys and their approach was startling.  Euan; mellow, happy to wander, browse and gently pass the time.....Danny; hyper, anxious, stressing, whining and eventually informing me in a queue full of people that he thought he had a temperature, felt dizzy and was about to have a nervous breakdown because I had made him walk around shops for nine hours.  The upside being his melodramatic fuss provided both me and the rest of the queuing customers light entertainment and laughter, much to Danny's disgust of course. 

I am eternally grateful for their differences though.  Danny is such hilarous company, often unwitttingly, but nevertheless a bundle of fun.  And Euan is a rock.  And I love them both deeply.

There is lots more I could chat about but for now I have a project to complete and a million chores to get finished.  You'll have noticed of course that I have been making sporadic entries this week......with the children off school I am busier than ever and it really hasn't been possible to fit in blog time as well.   Thank you though for all the listening you do.  Can't believe we've nearly hit 3000 on the counter....and also can't tell you how good this has been for me, having you to chat with.

Until tomorrow then x

Generally speaking....

How could I let today pass without making some comment on the impending Election which has now been announced.  One month today in fact.  It's amazing what controversy this is already generating....check out facebook and the amount of status updates involving the topic.  A friend of mine commented on it and has received in excess of 50 comments within just a few hours.  Started off reasonably pleasant but by the end it has been reduced to insult hurling and put downs.   What is is about Politics that get's everyone so animated? 

Personally I believe two things.

Firstly that no party will ever satisfy us fully because there are too many of us to please.  Charlotte's 6th Birthday Party is a clear illustration of the fact.  A room full of little girls with an abundance of food, dressup, party games and dancing yet still there were complaints.  The food wasn't what one or two liked, someone else was wearing the dress they wanted, they didn't win the prize for best dancing and so on.  I know I am simplifying somewhat but in truth we never change from being those disatisfied 6 year olds.  What pleases one will not please another and so the Government is fighting a losing battle from the start. 

Secondly there is too much corruption and seeking for personal gain within ALL of the parties.  It would be naive to suggest that it exists in one party only.  Each will be similarly made up.....there will be the genuine want to make the world a better place members, the unwittingly think they are there for the good of others but secretly enjoying the prestige types, the couldn't care a less about principles just want to earn loadsamoney candidates, and the downright dishonest and evil ones.   And so in the end does it even matter who is in power?

Following on from the poll we did about problems we wish we could be rid of....most of you selected Crime.  Therefore it strikes me that the main thing we need from a party is common sense when it comes to dealing with criminals.  Harsher punishments, more severe conditions within the prisons, sensible sentencing and death to the real hard core nutters.

There is an element to Politics which seems to be overlooked continually.....and that is the accountability of self.  Folks blame Government for each and every problem, and I'm not saying they are entirely wrong, but how many times do we look to our own lives and consider whether we are contributing to the issue?.   And naturally, I include myself very much in this.

We have an overstretched, under-resourced NHS apparently.    Do you smoke?  Do you drink heavily?  Do you look after your body?   Do you exercise?  Do you overeat?  Do you always wear a seatbelt in the car?  Do you drive carefully?  Do you observe the speed limit ALWAYS?  If everyone were doing their part and taking ownership just in these areas how much less of a drain we would be.

How many of you know people who have defrauded the benefits system?  Claimed for things they are unentitled to, pretended to be single when actually not or failed to declare an income of some sort?  I'm not suggesting everyone does it but apparently the fraudulaent benefits claims in Britain cost the Government in excess of 12 million.  Not a figure to be scoffed at.

I could go on.  But I don't want you to think I am on my high horse suddenly deciding to preach to all and sundry.  That's not the case.  I do not have the answers but I just wonder sometimes whether we are not too keen to blame the powers that be without really understanding the issues they face.  I know I could not run the country or make the decisions they make.

And so I don't rightly care who gets in to power next.  There is no free ride and what they give with one hand they must take with another.....that's just simple mathematics.  And everything has its price.

The price for eating lots of chocolate over the weekend is a big fat weight gain of two pounds and a very miserable Bambi!!  Never fear though, I am about to go walk it all off up the Wrekin and hopefully get right back on track.

Meanwhile do let me know your thoughts on the Election......I really do not know who to vote for and would very much appreciate some input x x x

Over the tip of the hill......

I was absolutely determined that today would be an absolute binge fest of chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate.  How depressing then that after just one egg I feel utterly sick and can't tolerate a second.  This is a sure sign that I am getting old and becoming ridiculously moderate.  In some things anyway.  I should have realised this fact when on Friday, at Alton Towers, I backed out of riding the Oblivion.  I have never ever refused a thrill seeking ride before but something whispered to me that my death drop days were over, and instead I stood and minded the bags.  I guess that's when you know fun is a thing of the past.

Surprisingly our day out was less eventful than I had anticipated.  Absolutely exhausting (walking non-stop for nine hours) and bone chillingly damp but as bad experiences go, not one of my worst - assisted by the fact that Alton Towers are very understanding about breakages.  The idea to have a sleep over the night before must have been inspired as it rendered the partygoers pretty much knackered the next morning and therefore very subdued.  Apart from Danny that is, who I'm sure will struggle to remain still in his own coffin - the boy is like a whippet on speed.   And so my little merry band of misfits did pretty good despite themselves.

As far as I am aware there wasn't a single fall out between them.   Which I can absolutely guarantee will not be the case when Charlotte has her sleep over in a couple of weeks.  That I truly am dreading.  Four little girls + junk food + no sleep = Uber Brats.  Do you think it would be wrong of me to lace their pop with Fennigan and Night Nurse??   Why is it that I feel the need to lay on such activities?  In my day (apart from the job down't mines and sharing a bed with eighteen others) birthday parties were simple affairs with jelly, icecream, pass the parcel a spot of musical chairs and then hometime.  Two hours tops.  Why then am I allowing my children to have these protracted events which consume half of my week?  Probably because I am trying to overcompensate for the lack of time I spend with them and the cereal dinners they have five nights out of seven. 

Anyway I really wanted to report to you on my efforts to date with regard to the body weight.  As at yesterday I had lost a total of 17lbs, which isn't the target I had set for myself (remember I said I wanted to be 11 stone 7 by 31st March?) but I am happy with it nevertheless.  My clothes are all fitting much better and I'm beginning to feel more human, less blamange.   Yesterday I was prancing around the bedroom naked in an endeavour to get Chris to notice the changes.   He did actually say something, along the lines of "yeah I can really tell you're getting thinner" which was nice until he followed it up with "but you have got to do something about the backs of your legs".  I think he was referring to the off road terrain look of my cellulite, which I admit is hideous, but a bit of a dumb statement from a man who is desperate for conjugal rights.

If he thinks my legs are lumpy, veiny and unattractive he should perhaps take a look down at himself sometime.  And I don't mean his feet either.

CLOSED for the Bank Holiday

Yes, that's me.  Yesterday I was just too worn out to even think let alone write anything.  One day at Alton Towers walking around for nine hours in the lashing rain with four little boys who could be very effective advertisements for a pro-contraception campaign was nearly enough to finish me off.  By the time I got home all I wanted was a hot bath and a chat with the Samaritans.

I am also feeling very unwell;  nauseous and tired.  Much like morning sickness only it's lasted the whole day and was definitely not caused by sex, unless Chris has been using rohipnol.  Even if he did I am unable to bear children any more having had my tubes well and truly clipped.  Chris actually watched that operation (I had it done at the same time as the caesarian) and he informs me my ovaries are extremely similar in appearance to mini eggs.  Now with that image in your mind I hope you enjoy your chocolate tomorrow.

Right now though I am going to have a lay down as I've got a date tonight with two hot ladies and a big fat steak.  

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE  

x x  

Food for thought.

Had to include the F word in my title as it's all I can currently think about.  I missed my breakfast, barely ate any lunch and am now waiting on my tea and it's already ten thirty at night.  No wonder my body is a mess.

This morning I had an epiphany.  Was sitting on the train minus my mobile phone which I had accidentally left at home (actually a blessing as usually I am completely busy peeing around with it) so managed to find the time to think for a change, meditate if you like, and ponder my current status.  Aided by the sounds of two young Mormon missionaries in the next row busy preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ to surprisingly willing participants, and two other young chaps, who boarded at RAF Cosford, discussing their forthcoming tours of duty.  It suddenly dawned on me that in the not too distant future I will have young men in my house and that I have a wonderful opportunity to mould these boys into people of character and substance.  Following on from this was the consideration that I spend far too much time focusing on my inner personal turmoil rather than tuning in to the blessing of having such wonderful offspring and the amazing opportunity to raise them well. 

And so I hereby promise myself that from now on I shall try and allow the pleasure and privelidge of my situation to sink in.  I appreciate that I am forever setting myself new and unattainable heights of happiness but I hope this train of thought is something I can maintain, for a while at least.

So much of what we are as an adult is shaped by the input from our childhood.  Its almost like our default settings are those we learn in our formative years.  Sadly no parent is perfect and undoubtedly we carry the scars of their mistakes, but as each generation passes we have the gift of hindsight and understanding where they went wrong and avoiding those pitfalls.  Probably only to create a whole set of new ones, but still.

So rather than zooming in on my own inadequacy and failings I am going to try for a while to concentrate my efforts in to positively influencing my children and helping them to be what I could not.  Starting with attending school!

x x