Monday, 26 September 2016

The things people say

Generally members of the public are fairly polite. They don't pass comment on personal things and tend to err on the side of pleasant when they do comment. Also, they don't usually speak to total strangers just because they can.

Unless you're pregnant or have just had a baby on which case it is deemed entirely appropriate for strangers to comment on your age/size/bump/number of children and subsequently comment on your baby as to whether they think they are big/small/the right or wrong gender. My daughter was a month early and so it was obligatory to comment on her smallness. More than one person asked me on all seriousness if she was in fact a doll.

Medical conditions are apparently a free for all generally. Nothing seems to be quite as hilarious as an eye patch. Tee her, eye injuries are such a laugh. Pirate jokes are always welcome. How about a stookie, or crutches, or other visible malady? Clearly anyone would want to discuss their medical history with total strangers.

We have a dog; he is a greyhound, a large greyhound at that, and yes, he's a big dog. He comes on the school run occasionally and almost every child who claps eyes on him comments on his size. Which is fine. What is weird is adults saying to me in a slightly disapproving manner that he's so big. Or they say to him "aren't you a big boy?" to which he responds with a hopeful sniff for a treat and not much else, being, as he is, a dog.

I'm not sure how people in the public eye cope with open questions being asked by everyone of them.   It's appalling the way people cast assumptions about people and why they are single, or childless, or why they dared to go to the post office without wearing full makeup.

Having said all that, I do worry about that which I don't say, but which may be written all over my face due to what I am thinking.  You don't actually know exactly what your face is giving away. What shows on your face when someone is wearing way too much perfume and you're breathing it in?  When you see someone and are racking your brain to remember who you know that wears glasses just like them? Or your desperately trying to remember their name or even how you know them? When someone says or does something pretty innocuous but that happens to be a pet peeve (like bad grammar, for example)? When it is really important you don't offend someone but they say something actually awful?

I think this may be another ex smoker thing. When you are smoking your face has something to do. When left to its own devices, your face can get you into a whole heap of trouble.

Of course for some people, they just blurt out what occurs to them. I suppose they don't have to worry  about such trivialities as being misunderstood or inadvertently doing anything.

Friday, 23 September 2016

It's that time again

Woo. Autumn has officially started, yesterday in fact.

This makes me happy. It makes me happy every year as we rid ourselves of  the insect-fest that is late summer and the utterly insane declaration of "it's an Indian Summer" every time the sun shines for more than ten minutes on any day after the official Last Barbeque of the Year has taken place. And of course that is coupled with the perpetual moan of having to put the heating on due to the half a degree drop of the ambient internal temperature.

On that topic, I do embrace the onset of winter slightly more favourably in our nice brand new double  glazed, un-drafty house. The last three winters were spent in a drafty, cold, damp, untouched-for-a-full-century Victorian upper flat, which really tested my love of the cold. It turns out I don't actually love being properly cold. I have a lower room temperature tolerance of 19 degrees, it seems, and while it is nice to be able to wear smashing jumpers, it isn't nice to have to wear several at once, at all times.  This is a house so cold you have to take a few layers off when you go outside.

But still, here we are.

Turns out the first day of Autumn, which I'd never heard being considered before yesterday, is the autumnal equinox. Which in turn transpires to be, not a crazy and arbitrary Pagan thing, but in fact the time when the equator is bang in line with the sun. So everywhere has the same length of day. Just at different times according to when they are on the planet. There's another day, very very soon, I think it's September 25th, where the hours of daylight and night are equal, and that is called the equilux in a very satisfying instance of nomenclature.

This is a GREAT time of year. Halloween is coming, I have new boots that I'm able to wear without my feet melting, and it's almost time to forget about brushing my hair altogether as I can wear a hat without looking totally mad.

(That last bit does depend rather on the choice of hat)

I have agreed with Little Miss Christmas that we won't start the Christmas countdown until Halloween is over. Luckily she loves Halloween. We're all set. We're pretty much having a party. It's
Very Exciting and nobody will expect a barbecue. Woohoo.

Of course, Strictly has started, and that's the official start of the countdown to counting down to Christmas...

Sunday, 11 September 2016


So, I've watched the first 51 minutes of Superman vs Batman and given up due to the super slow internet and its inability to keep streaming.
Gah. I seriously never, ever imagined I'd miss Virgin.

Anyway. Thoughts. I should probably call it Dawn of Justice, but I can remember when Star Wars was just called Star Wars. That's not all that relevant. (harsh, imaginary reader, harsh)

Turns out Superman is better than Batman. Who'd have thought it? I always argued that Batman was superior due to his being just a man instead of relying on superpowers, but when held up against Superman, his lack of superpowers just make him seem a bit dweeby.

It isn't just aesthetics. 
No, it isn't.
Henry Cavill being so very very very attractive versus Ben Affleck being kind of meh is utterly not the point.
I'm sure there's a story there? We've just discovered that the second thinnest woman on earth is Diana Prince. (Well, her name popped up on the phone screen when I was trying to convince it to keep streaming, I don't think we should know that yet). But still, Wonder Woman. That's awesome. She's awesome. Where does she fit in? Why don't I remember anything about any of them? Should I have been watching all the Marvel/Avengers/whatever films and keeping up? 

And then we got a little spinning circle, and so the viewing ended and has now been replaced by Match of the Day.

I am a little concerned that my long lived devotion to Batman is waning (or Wayning perhaps). Since Batman, the Tim Burton one, came out and I watched it at the cinema three times, my adoration of Batman has been pure and complete. But now there's a few things that I Don't Like.

Well, Ben Affleck would be one. But there's a few things that go along with utterly irrational fears (no, I don't know what will happen if my feet are exposed in bed but I'm not risking it) that have turned up in this film so far. Two things actually.

The first was the branding. No no no. That's creepy. That's one of the things that make me inexplicably and bizarrely frightened of Zorro. (Yes, really). And the second is the utterly terrifying face on the new bat suit,

Image result for bruce wayne looking at bat suit

(picture taken from Cinema Blend but I believe it was first tweeted by Zack Snyder)

How menacing is the face on that? Very Anonymous and very scary.

So, tomorrow will hopefully see the viewing of the remaining 100 minutes (no, even the lure of Henry Cavill's torso isn't enough to try and watch it at silly o' clock). I do hope to emerge without an actual fear of Batman. I was shattered to discover that Jason Donovan is actually hideously awful, despite harbouring a major crush on him for 22 years. It will be a little galling to discover that all my devotions of 1989 were errors of judgement.

For the record, I have to hate Amy Adams. She got to be an actual Disney Princess. She got to act with the Muppets. And she gets to a) be Lois Lane and b) kiss Henry Cavill. Too much for one girl, sorry,

***disclaimer*** I don't know what the man thing is. I appear to be on heat. Obviously I usually hardly notice them. La la la,

Hey. Zorro wasn't ever anything to do with Marvel was he...?

Wednesday, 7 September 2016


I've been a mother for nearly 11 years. I still have this worry at the back of my mind that somebody sometime will show up and say that they are terribly sorry, there's been an awful mistake and that there is no way someone as incompetent as me should be in charge of small humans.

Of course, that doesn't stop me considering myself a world expert on all aspects of parenting, Obviously.

Anyways. That's not the point, and yes, I do occasionally have one.

(you know, you are extremely cheeky for someone that doesn't exist)

Motherhood isn't quite how I envisaged it.

Yes, I do go into the bathroom, being the only room with a lock, lock the door and sit and surf the net on my phone.

I have been known to sit and utterly ignore screams of agony and obvious battering of one child by another. In my defence, it is usually very obvious when they are being total drama queens and when there is actually a need for intervention. I have rather surprised my hypochondriac self how un-panicky I am about the children. No, sorry, there are no parts of you falling off, nor do you have a temperature, you are fine to go to school. Do not tell a living soul that you've been sick, or they'll invoke the 48 hour punishment for parents who don't keep their children in full health.

One of my finer moments was telling my daughter in no uncertain terms that she would not be getting fed at all that evening, or indeed the rest of the week, due to her inability to behave in Marks and Spencer, While in Marks and Spencer. In full earshot of her nursery teacher and deputy head of the primary school.

There is no end to what can be made out of a cardboard box and/or paper plates. I've made dishwashers, cookers, fridges, cars, dragons, castles, pizzas, volcanoes, shops, signs, football goals, houses, dolls furniture, rockets, and many other things. Sellotape is a parent's best friend.

I can lie so easily to my children. It helps before they can read, because you can inform them that they are too young for anything you don't want them to do, or similar. When they learn to read, and worse, access Google, then they can verify things and lies become harder.

Sometimes I look at my children and feel utter contentment. The love I have for them washes over me and I just gaze at them, marvelling on the good fortune of having them. Only ever when they are asleep however.. Be it holding a sleeping newborn, or gazing from the doorway upon a snoozing ten year old, there's nothing so appealing as your beautiful babies fast asleep. Having said that, I think that I've had similar thoughts about their father. People are so nice when they are asleep, it's no wonder that I'm a night owl.

It's a well documented fact that going to the supermarket alone is something special when you are a parent. What people fail to mention is that going to the dentist, or a smear test, or anything else you can't take children to, is also a rare treat. Oh, you're running half an hour late? That's just fine. No, really it is. Look at me, sitting quietly, reading a book. Nobody is speaking to me at all. Nobody wants to know what flavour February is, nor does anyone require me to referee a boxing match, It is bliss.

There is no denying that it is wonderful. But it isn't quite how you imagine it.

Thursday, 1 September 2016

Hello there

So you found me. Say hello please, I've been waiting for you.

Sunday, 28 August 2016

Freakishly normal

So it seems that September is the month for two mighty endeavours to be undertaken by us ordinary people. Should we manage to achieve these wonderful feats, we can raise money for our chosen charities.

Firstly we have to try and remain sober for the whole of September. No alcohol at all, and so the sponsor money should roll in.

Secondly, we should try and walk 10,000 steps. I assume this is per day and not during September as I'm pretty sure that most people would manage the latter without leaving the house ever. I also assume it's every day and not just the once.

My mind is boggling. Not drinking for a month is something that needs encouragement? Really? It's that hard?
And how many people don't walk 10,000 steps?

Naturally, as someone that barely drinks and who now has an epic school run (a 40 minute round trip and I'm not not not taking the car), I can be smug. No, I will be smug, I'm not entirely sure anyone will appreciate the smugness so some internal smuggery is required. Can I give myself consent to be smug? Well, I shall. Just between you and me, dear imaginary reader. I so should have been sponsored not to smoke. Too late now.

I'd suggest giving up coffee for a month, but I'm not sure anyone in the vicinity would survive that. I may just donate to charity.

Saturday, 27 August 2016

De-stress (as opposed to distress)

For most of my adult (and latter teen) life, I was a smoker. In times of duress, whether sad or stressed, or even just bored, I would smoke a cigarette. It was my crutch.

For obvious reasons, I stopped smoking eventually. It has now been more than a year since I had a cigarette. I don't need to quit or manage cravings, I've done all that. But I haven't found anything to replace the cigarettes. Something to go and do when I'm in a stressy mood.

Vaping has crossed my mind, except I think it looks ridiculous and in my experience having a fake cigarette kind of makes you pang for a real one. If I had seriously considered it, the flavours would make me drop that idea. Strawberry jam? Apple crumble? Cereal flavour???? What??

If I did want to go down that route I think I'd want them to taste, well, like cigarettes.

Chewing gum isn't an option because I despise it. It's just gross, in so many ways.

I've tried asking. I asked Google and the suggestions there were non helpful. Useful tips on now to quit, but I've done that.  The suggestions on things to do instead are utterly unhelpful.

Exercise. Nope. This might work for some people but I'm not an exercise-for-the-endorphins kind of girl. I'm more of an is-it-over-yet kind of exerciser. Unless it's swimming, but that's not hugely practical in light of my non-ownership of a pool.

Read a book. I do that anyway, unless it's a remarkable book it doesn't make me less stressed. My current penchant for psychological thrillers mostly makes me paranoid.

Spend time with your family. Whoever thought of this must be lacking in family if they ever think that's a way to relax. I'm very sorry that they are so lonesome, but I see no reason for them to take it out on innocent people. That's where most of the stress comes from to be honest.

Have a herbal tea. Because you must actually hate yourself. There's a time and a place for herbal teas and this isn't it. Nobody has ever found deep and lasting peace over a cup of matcha. If you must, a coffee, but these things never suggest a coffee. Coffee is a pretty good substitute, except for its sleep altering properties. But no. Coffee is one of the enemies. Love coffee...

Have a snack. If being stressed isn't enough, add being overweight to your worries. Having food as your emotional crutch is generally not that healthy for the old mind either.

There's many similar suggestions, ranging from gardening to crossword puzzles. Dullness, in other words.

There's an argument that one needs to learn to do without a crutch and the perpetuation of need etc, but that argument needs to be a lot less sanctimonious and realise that there were reasons for smoking in the first place.

The only suggestion I've got from other people is to have a drink. And they don't mean coffee. I don't really drink at all, so starting to drink when stressed just seems like a slippery slope to debauchery if you ask me.

I need inspiration. There must be a way to deal with stress that neither threatens my health nor my sanity.

Thursday, 25 August 2016

No, it was much worse for me

Competitive parenting combined with competitive sob stories is something else.

There's a thing doing the rounds, and it may not be new but I have never claimed that my rounds are the up to date ones. This thing is in defence of the caesarean section and arguing why it isn't the easy way out. Because an emergency section is scary and horrible, unlike an elective section.


What's that little throwaway? An elective caesarean is a breeze now is it? Is that not a very similar attitude to the natural-or-die birth mothers' despised attitude towards caesarean births?

In comes the "I've had a baby, so I'm the world authority" disdain. With no knowledge whatsoever of ansituation, so every mum gets judged on what they have achieved on the mighty good mother checklist:

1) having an equal distribution of male/female children
2) having an all natural birth, preferably without any medical intervention whatsoever and certainly no drugs
3) breastfeeding until high school
4) working full time and homeschooling at the same time

Actually, no. The individual judgement list generally runs along to "what I did". So where one mother does something, that's the way it should be done. By everyone. And if you don't manage it, well you're not trying hard enough.

My baby sleeps. Yours doesn't? Goodness. Have you tried doing anything at all? I expect you haven't tried anything so I'll offer you advice that I gleaned from a book. Oh you tried that already because you've read everything on the subject in desperation? Maybe you didn't try it properly.

Now, there's no need to get snappy.

Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Who cares?

Humph. So Jeremy Corbyn sat on a train floor and the world has gone mad about it.

Does it matter?

Oh, probably it does. Apparently having someone liberal minded who says things that sound human is just Not On and it is terribly important to discredit him at any point.

And that's just in the Labour party...

I think I probably need some pills or something but I'm finding I don't like people. I like some people, but Mr and Mrs General Public and family are not very nice at all.

Generally being a nice person isn't the done thing. No. It's apparently ok again to make wild judgements about people based on random stereotypes.

We don't use the N word. No, that's offensive and we occasionally actually care about the elderly and infirm. It is the 21st Century and we are very PC.

However it is FINE to be rude and bigoted about Poles, Muslims, Syrians, people on benefits and basically anyone that isn't rude and bigoted themselves. One must either toe the rude and bigoted line, or you're a tree hugging leftie. Ha ha ha. Poor little leftie. They think being NICE  is a good idea. Tee hee.

Anyway. I think the most important thing about the whole Corbyn #traingate nonsense is to ask the most important question: why was he on a passenger train at all? Was there no Jag available?

Pointless existence

No, this isn't a nihilistic depressive piece.

Every year at this time I am perplexed as to why daddy long legs exist. They are probably the most stupid creature on earth. They are not grateful, nor ferocious, nor do they appear to have any function. They lumber across the room laboriously and fly into the same wall over and over and over and over and over.

This latter point is why I both hate them, because it's really annoying, and spend a substantial amount of each autumn pondering why. I've probably blogged right here about it before. It's something I think about a lot.

Right now there is one hanging ominously above me. The one that was doing the wall jig has settled. Obviously they are both waiting for me to turn the light out so they can go for the most glowing thing in the room, which is going to be either my white nightie or my clock radio.

Oh. The mad one has disappeared again. That's bad. I don't like that. Ominously hanging above my head one is still hanging ominously.

Oh wait no. It's got some wall flying into to do in absence of its pal. Maybe it thought I was sitting ominously under it and was worried I'd spring up while it slept.

I don't see the point of them. I assume they are a valuable source of food for something important. Or maybe they are the most successful species on earth and they mock us for our ridiculous notions of normality.

Whatever. I eagerly await that time when one realises that even the spiders have gone for the winter. Hateful, idiotic mini beasts be gone.

Sunday, 21 August 2016

Yeah yeah, it's been a while

Crikey, I was still on the young side of very old last time I wrote this. Still, it's easier than starting over. Does anyone still use/read Blogger any more? I don't think I do. Do I?

My imaginary reader is reading bloglovin? Really?

So, here, why?

Well, the postman/fellow dog walker/person in the shop/random passer by doesn't necessarily want to know my every thought or to be ranted at.

Facebook has issues, namely it has people on it and pretty much everything I would say would offend someone.

"Good morning"

1) Good? What's good about it? I am so offended that you think this awful day could be good.
2) I am offended because I am in a different time zone and it isn't morning here and so you are being exclusive
3) I am offended because you wrote a rather meaningless status update instead of responding to my attention seeking elsewhere

Twitter has the limitation of being only in possession of 140 characters which is virtually impossible for me.

So, this stuff in my head has to go somewhere. Here is as good as anywhere.

And who knows, next time I might have something to say.