Spin me right round

Ho hum. So it's that time of year. For birthdays in this house, but for "oh crap I spent too much money and I've got a million things to think about and it's too cold and I really ought to be studying" as well. And the lingering nuisances from the previous year.

But not negative things. No. No. No. I've thought myself some positive thoughts tonight.

Worrying doesn't change anything, and I don't believe being prepared makes it easier in the event of disaster. Worrying about people isn't going to help them or change their actions.

Success at something requires actually having a shot at doing it. And in the event of failure then there is always the reassurance of having tried.

It doesn't really matter what people think. Asking them isn't going to change their mind. If people don't like the way I am, well I'll talk to the people that do.

The harder something is going to be to do, the better I'm going to feel when it's done. Nothing is unsurmountable and I look forward to feeling proud instead of helpless.

Everytime something bad happens, I'm going to banish the negative thoughts and concentrate on the positives.

Noone will want to strangle me and I'll still be like this next week. Oh yes.

Three today

My babies are three. That makes me sort of middle aged or something, it's weird. They're not babies, they're quite grown up really. Three years!

The living room: 8.30 am:

My youngest child and his favourite present:







My eldest child and his

Exciting new scooters from godmothers:







And skates from a favourite aunt





I have an issue or twenty with drinking. As such, I didn't buy wine for a party I wasn't having for three year olds. So when the inevitable party started, someone inevitably wanted wine. I had one bottle of wine: a bottle of rosé received for Christmas. Not cold. And due to deciding that I neither had the dishes nor the willingness to wash up, I was using disposable cups and plates.

Ahem. That's a good quality rosé you know...

...classy chick that I am.

And a spectacular cake, with spectacular sparklers, ruined by a daft cow taking photos and blocking everyone else's view:












Much gratitude to people for caring enough to visit and for being generous enough to buy lovely gifts.

Happy 2009!

Happy New Year!

This is going to be the year things happen. This is going to be the year where it all comes together. This is going to be the beginning. You're going to look back on 2009 as the year where everything started to make sense.

Have a good one. Make a wish, and make it happen.




This does not apply to people born in 1976. Sorry, you'll be 33.

2008

So it's Hogmanay. Given that I've never really got the hang of New Year, despite insisting that everyone else should have a jolly good time, it is so not worth trying to land a babysitter tonight. So, nothing happening.

It's difficult to look back on this year and not feel kind of depressed. I've done several unspeakably stupid things, I've been incredibly slothful, I've achieved very very little and I've lost some friends. I'm in pretty much the exact same position I was in this time last year, still with all the same complaints, but with a considerably heavier conscience. And I've been blimmin' 33 for all bar the very start of 2008.

But that's the way of sadness.

For the parents of Emily, Freya and Liam, 2008 saw the arrival of precious little bundles.

For Grania and Andrew, and Isla and James, 2008 was the year in which they got married.

For me, 2008 was the year in which my children grew into talking, opinionated, wise, competent and funny little people. It was the year that I discovered various fantastic things that were written/made before but which I encountered for the first time. It was the year I got to *know* wonderful people. It was the year I passed exams and coursework and found my brain to be in full working order after years of stagnation. It was the year I turned vegetarian, which is surely a good thing.

And so, 2008 shall not be dismissed as all bad, all those things will be looked back on fondly.

2009 is anticipated eagerly, with my 34th birthday imminent, and I have a conviction that this is going to be the year of achievement.

Stuff is all around me

Quelle surprise. I've not decluttered.
In fact I've made things much worse and not done the day to day things that always need done. Ohappihogmanay.

I have a squilion shoes. Not because of any shoe fetish, I just never throw them out. Either because they're perfectly good shoes, they just don't fit/suit, or because they are much loved and I can't bring myself to bin them. As a result I have every pair of shoes I've bought in the last 15 years or so. The time has come to say goodbye...

Hicky Nude Gear

It's the thought that counts

Well, a life was practically had this evening. We were to go and see The Complete Stone Roses, playing at a club round the corner, but as evening approached we decided we couldn't actually be bothered. Mostly based on the fact that the tickets were expensive(ish) as they included the after party, something that would have excited me 15 years ago and which doesn't exactly appeal in my dotage. So nothing was done, but surely the opportunity and the turning down thereof counts as having a life?

And then, the plan to watch one of the two "best films of the year", except, the means with which to watch them is currently in several pieces being upgraded. I can't even remember what they were, something about old men and something else I completely forget the name of.

Hmm. Too woolly.

There we go: There will be Blood and (I've forgotten again, hud on...) No Country for Old Men. One of those. Not being watched tonight. It seemed important to watch them during 2008, there's always tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Hogmanay. I am a big believer in doing on New Year's Day what you want to be doing most of the coming year, but tend to view it more as NOT doing the things I don't want to do much. I am particularly expecting great things of 2009, for everyone, and so I'd like to start it off in a shiny manner. Shiny house, shiny soul. Something like that. So I intend to have the grand decluttering tomorrow. Get rid of all those things I've been meaning to get rid of forever. In a day. Ha ha ha ha. Nothing like a spot of optimism. I have too much stuff. I like stuff. I don't have room for stuff. I don't need stuff. I can't really be bothered. I'm going to do it. I am. Think positive. Sleep well and prosper.

I fully expect this to go the way of all other plans made today. But tomorrow is another day and maybe, just maybe, I'll achieve something miraculous.

Unconnected thought 1: Alive. Good.
Unconnected thought 2: Very pedantic. Good.

Prettiness, pettiness and pitiful preferences

A practically perfect day, aside from the grumpiness of certain people that might well have been me.

The boys have only been on a train twice, once for the sake of it: we got the train from Kirkcaldy to Burntisland and back; and once on the Bo'ness Steam Railway. So today we thought we'd take them on an adventure and we got the train through to Edinburgh. It is a beautiful journey, and one which I have been doing on and off for 20 years. I miss it a bit, there's all the sights along the way, many of which have changed recently. But how nice to have two new pairs of eyes to point it all out to, and eyes belonging to people that don't think you're bonkers for caring like fellow commuters often do.

And then we arrived in Edinburgh and took ourselves off to Princes Street Gardens to travel on the Big Wheel.

Marvellous, and I was most pleased to note that the only tears were of frustration at not being able to get on till we got to the front of the queue. I took lots of photos and played around with the camera settings a bit (not enough, I have more learning to do).

Edinburgh Castle on automatic

Edinburgh Castle with a little tweaking

And then the children insisted we ride on the horses on the carousel, which pleased me immensely having never succeeded in getting anyone else to go on them. Waiting for the previous turn to end, I decided which horse was to be mine, as you do. Debating whether it was in fact the done thing to pull a small child off a horse because I wanted that one, imagine my joy when that horse just happened to be the next one and I got it.

This is he:

and this is why:

I was almost as happy as my son.

This, plus lunch, plus trying to understand the new system at Waverley took most of the afternoon and then we got the train home again as the sun set. I took some immensely rubbish pictures from the Forth Rail Bridge (the pillars don't half get in the way).

Sleeping... or not

Sleep. Not my strong point. Unless I'm watching a film, it is 3pm or I am on a train, then I am quite gifted, but sleeping at the right time eludes me. This used to be fine as I could sleep till lunchtime or later at the weekend. Indeed, times of unemployment when I was in fact able to do that old "sleep when you're tired, get up when you wake" thing revealed that I am ready for sleep at about 5am and can get a glorious 8 hours in, waking at 1pm. That isn't all that compatible with a normal functioning life unfortunately. So having to go to work and what not meant being permanently tired all week and then catching up at the weekend. Sorted. Then I had children.

No more lie ins. I get up at roughly the same time every day and it is never 1pm, it's usually about 8am. This is not good. "Go to bed when you're tired" they say. Ok. This is usually 3pm. That's not practical.

So. I cope. I drink too much coffee. I (very) occasionally go to bed at 7pm and have a bit of a catch up. They say that lack of sleep reduces life expectancy. This worries me. So I thought I'd investigate firstly, who "they" are and secondly, HOW.

Firstly: "they" are scientists. I find this unreassuring: theoretically, I am a scientist. Onward.

Being sleep deprived can make you more likely to have an accident. Makes sense, I did kill my Volvo for that very reason. Mostly avoidable though.

Being sleep deprived can make you more irritable and emotional, potentially leading to stress related illnesses. So does a lot of things.

Good quality sleep allows the production of white blood cells and so it is possible that lack of quality sleep could hamper the production of white blood cells and so hinder the immune system. Except, my understanding is that the body is very good at getting the good quality sleep and if you continually don't get "enough" sleep, you cut out the unnecessary stuff and get the essential part of sleep. The brain adjusts. If it didn't, you'd presumably develop narcolepsy.

Right. So I'm not too worried so far. But there's correlations between reduced nightly sleep (from 7 to 5 hours seems to be the figures mostly used) and increased levels of cardiac disease, obesity, colon cancer and other things that are quite definitely worrying. Causes? Well, apparently lack of sleep affects the ability to correctly interpret appetite. And, erm, well there's a correlation is there not? It must be relevant. Lifestyle anyone? Lifestyle? Lack of sleep is usually a symptom of something else, and the something else most likely causes other things that in themselves can lead to things that might or might not be potentially harmful. A bit like, well, anything.
It's difficult to find decent information about sleep deprivation without getting references to complete sleep deprivation, or lack of sleep due to conditions like sleep apnoea. Not the same as just not sleeping enough, but the information on general lack of sleep is a bit on the woolly side. Hence the wooliness. Or, I'm a sheep. Something. Count me if you can't sleep.
One. One. One. Maybe there needs to be more of me for that to work. This is a bit of a tangent. Back we go.

I'm still not worried. There's nothing there that doesn't seem to have a lot more to do with lifestyle than amount of sleep. We're all sleeping less, yet life expectancy continues to rise. Nobody knows anything. I should probably stop drinking coffee. This is not likely.



The above is a picture entitled "Sleep and his half brother death" by John William Waterhouse. The title conjures up that eternal fear and the frisson of creepiness that accompanies such fears, that if you sleep, you may never wake.

Positivity

I'm feeling a little warm and fuzzy. Or fizzy, as I seem to find the locating of the correct keys in the correct order a little challenging tonight.

So, the fizzy fuzziness is a result of that Christmas thing. Christmas itself was a little tiring due to ill people not sleeping between Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, and stupid people not going to bed when they can. But the whole time around is just lovely. A little impetus to catch up with people and suddenly you remember that perhaps you're not as crap as you thought you were and that people aren't necessarily pissed off with you. It's easy to spend time with people after all. And it's always nice to get stuff. I like stuff. I got lots of lovely stuff.

Going to a splendid wedding on the 20th helped set the mood, but it's nice. I refuse to accept that it's not nice. Yes, I spent most of Christmas Day in the kitchen. Yes, I have had to see virtually all of my relatives. Yes, it's been hectic. Yes, I'm knackered and yes, I couldn't afford it. But it's all been nice and sort of life affirming. Spending Christmas Day with two children who have no memories of previous Christmases is simply magical, the discovery of Santa's visit was one of my best parenting moments yet. And I got to write my first letter from Santa! All nice. Nice nice nice and I have nice people.
(And crap ones, but they're crap and thus aren't entering my psyche at the moment because they don't deserve to, and because they are insignificant and diminished by the sheer existence of all the nice people).

However, Christmas is over, it doesn't really go on for 12 days and enough already, thank you.

People seem to be feeling a bit bla at the moment. Noone seems to have had a good year. Some have had less good, some have had ok years, but noone seems to have said "yes, this was a good year". Everything seems to be petering out, ending, getting too much to cope with; people are putting their heads down and surviving, licking their wounds, trying to get to the end. It's saddening, but it does seem to be universal.

But look! There is an end! An end to this year. A new year starts in just a few days, and marks a new beginning. For everything that has ended, so there must be a new beginning for something else. 2008 was to be the year of new beginnings, but it forgot and instead stamped a big final full stop to all those things. 2009 will be the rebirth year. 2009 will be the year that all those things that should have happened already actually happen. 9's a good number.

Trust me.

This year in ponders

At some point earlier this evening I had a momentary panic about the date, for I was quite sure it was next year. Wishful thinking perhaps, but I can only assume that the whole thing about time slowing down when you're busy is true, for this week is incredibly long and I've done more this week than I've done in the last 6 months!

I do believe time does literally slow down but that's something my brain doesn't understand.

So I got to thinking back over this year and what it's been. According to the bible, the year 2008, or 8 to make things simpler, is a year of new beginnings and rebirth. 8 being the number after 7, which is how long everything's supposed to take to complete a cycle, based on the 7 days in a week thing and an awful lot of excitement about the number 7. So, 2007 saw the end of the cycle begun in 2000 and 2008 was the beginning of the next cycle.

Brilliant.

So we can look forward to another 6 years of economic downturn and the media being idiotic. Myself, I think I'd like to opt out of life until 2015 and live in a commune somewhere, eating carrots and seeing if I suit dreadlocks.

The economy:

not that great, really. I don't fully understand it all because it's imaginary money. Somebody somewhere said "actually, I'm not going to give you any more "money" because you might not pay it back" and the whole world ground to a halt. Prior to this, everyone just lent pretend money happily in the belief that it would be virtually returned to them later and all was happy, then suddenly they didn't. And everything collapsed. Why they couldn't say "only joking, of course I'll transfer some not-there money to you and look, we'll say you owe me it and they owe you that and we'll all get some new cars".

Now everything's shutting down. Except it's not. It's not the good stuff. It's the kind of rubbish companies that have been winging along on the happy economy. It's not stuff we want or need. It's the dregs. It's the shops that exist purely because they always have. Nostalgia is not a reason to keep something. This here blog post says some of what I want to say, I shall link it instead of badly paraphrasing.

And banks, I don't care. We don't need a million of them. They're all greedy and provide a non-service. Even Nationwide want all their cash back. Standard Life aren't passing on much of the interest rate cut, because hey, the customer can subsidise them.

The loss of jobs is indeed sad, and terrible for those it is happening to, but, erm, that's what happens in a recession. Never mind, only 6 more years!

The Media:

Well, the biggest story of the year has to be the Russell Brand/Jonathan Ross/Andrew Sachs debacle. Whataloadofnonsense. Yes, it was cruel and I don't consider what they did to be funny, but Andrew Sachs had agreed the broadcast could go ahead. So he wasn't that offended. Who are the Daily Mail to be offended on his behalf? Utter nonsense.

The other piece of utter stupidity was the fraca about the turning on of the LHC. Not that many people understood it but the media focussed on the whole idea that this was the end of the world and ignored the actual science. Noone got excited about the implications, apart from that guy from D:Ream who everyone fancied for a day (Brian Cox, remember? no?). It was really important. It could have answered the fundamental questions about life. But it got turned on, we didn't die, it got broken and everyone thought it was quite amusing. It's still exciting and will still be mega when it gets turned on again next year? the year after? sometime? And we still won't die.

People have died, they always do. I'm not even going to try to suggest which deaths were significant, every death is important to someone. Other people were born: 2 little girls and 1 little boy arrived in my little circle, all perfect, all gorgeous and all most welcome.

Myself:

My own year hasn't been all that eventful although I have mostly been a rather rubbish friend. 2009 is going to be the year I stop saying sorry: no more apologising for things I haven't done, and no more doing things I have to apologise for.
The nicest thing that I do appreciate this year knows it.

The other stuff that mattered this year: I proudly and exhaustedly watched my two little guys grow from toddling babies into competent little boys, I turned vegetarian, and I got an iPhone. And I've been 33.

Christmas lights

This was this year's most "impressive" display of Christmas lights...

The picture doesn't really do justice to just how visible for miles around these are. They are in the heart of a council estate (as are all the "impressive" displays, oh how my poor suspension suffers from the speed humps) and there's a steady stream of tourists taking a look.

NB: I got a lovely new camera from Santa (which took the first of the above pictures, not by me, I am not responsible for wobble). I will be posting my life in tedious shots for a while. Soz.

good tidings I bring

It's Chriiiiiiiistmaaas!

A very merry Christmas to everyone who's been nice, funny, sweet, thought provoking or otherwise brightening.

x's all round, have a huge virtual drambuie on me

X

tis the season to be a wally

Oh dear. 'Twas the night before Christmas eve and not a soul was stirring.
Or similar words. I'm not so good with words today. I'm not sure if the people I'm talking to are hard of understanding or if I'm an oaf but I'm not doing so well.

Number of people spoken to today (excluding the poorly): 6
Number of people now pissed off at me: 4 (there's still time for the other two)

Grumpy I am.

The rest of my family are sick. Nicely sleepily sick between vomiting but it's the 23rd of December! We've got stuff to do, people to see. Or now, I have people to see and run the risk of offending them as that seems to be the order of the day.

I ran out of sellotape. Of course I ran out of sellotape. It's one of those days.

Ah well. I shall listen to Terry and Aled and go play Santa to people that aren't actually expecting gifts. I think I've got something confused somewhere.

TV based itinerary

Plan for Christmas Day (terrestial telly only, and based on the Scotland times, so it might be out for regular viewers):

Actively avoid TV until 15.00. At 15.00, disconnect the eletricity just in case the TV turns itself on. Possibly sneakily watch Channel 4 just in case it's another Ali G.

15.10:
Watch: A Shark Tale on BBC1. Maybe read a book as well.
or, if you must, watch Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askakabanana on ITV1.

16.30:
Watch: Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were Rabbit on BBC1. Reminisce about the shorts.

(possibly record The Truth about Carols at 17.00 on BBC2. It might be interesting)

18.00:
Watch: Dr Who on BBC1. You have to. It's not Christmas otherwise and it's always got vital plotlines.

19.00: Now this is a tricky one. You have a 5 channel choice:
Watch: Blackadder's Christmas Carol on BBC2.
Avoid: Strictly Come Dancing on BBC1.
Avoid: Coronation Street on ITV1
Avoid: Channel 4 nicely sidestepping Christmas altogether, although if you have a particular aversion to Blackadder (for which you probably need medical attention), The Nativity Decoded at 19.30 might be interesting.
Avoid: Memoirs of a Geisha on Five. Yawn. Remove Five from your channel list in case you return to it at all that evening.

20.00: Probably a good time to eat. Disconnect electricity (candlelight is nice) and block up ears in case of hearing someone else's TV.
Avoid: Eastenders on BBC1. Christmas doesn't have to be spoilt.
Avoid: Dad's Army.
Avoid: Dancing on Ice at Christmas on ITV1. Each of those words makes the others worse. Dancing: not great. On ice: marvellous, even less skill. At Christmas: with added tinsel.
Watch: Shrek the Halls on BBC3 if you missed it on Christmas Eve.

20.30:
Watch: Wallace and Gromit: A Matter of Loaf and Death on BBC1. A new short! Hurrah for Christmas!
Avoid: anything else. Come on! Wallace and Gromit!

21.00: disconnect electricity again. Have pudding.
Avoid: Eastenders on BBC1. You won't care, having had the sense to avoid the first one.

21.30:
Watch: The Royle Family on BBC1. Oh yeah! A new one! Hurrah!

22.30:
Watch: Blackadder Rides Again on BBC1. It's Blackadder! Nothing else matters.

After that, read a book. Eat mince pies. Get an early night.

Now it feels like Christmas

HMV came good, I love them again. 4 little parcels of Christmas. Muppet Christmas Carol for me, hurrah! hurrah! I finally own it! And The Snowman/Father Christmas for the boys, they are glued to The Snowman just now. Peace and tranquility for a while.

Which reminds me:



that's ace.

The trouble is...

Her
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you

Him
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Cant make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

Listening to Christmas music today, I noticed that little bit of Fairytale of New York. Them's nice words.

It's a song. Like all the nice words. I wonder if Harry Nilsson ever reckoned he couldn't live without his lover? Did Anna Kournikova need Enrique to be her hero? And did the singer from Air Supply ever actually lie with his head on the phone? It's all very nice the whole idea that songs are actually written to someone, but they're not, they're written to sell singles. The two that spring to mind that are written for someone, the Lady in Drag, sorry, Red, and Wonderful Tonight are both "neh neh, she's mine, look at me publicly telling her she's braw" which isn't all that romantic. Romantic is "you" not "she".

See, with the exception of Enrique there, those songs are rather old. Back in that time when I was forming tastes and what not. Specifically, it would seem, my taste in men.

And that's when I was bombarded with images. Bond. Bond. Bond. Milk Tray Man. The Saint. Hello girls, this what a real man does. What do you mean he can't ski down hillsides? How's he going to deliver your rather boring chocolates? Other stuff I can't remember has left me with the lasting impression that real men can ski down any incline, can waterski, can jump from one moving vehicle to another, have a pun for all occasions and always get the last word. Oh yes. Charming, naturally. Devastatingly handsome. And complete shits. Each and every one of them. Not a decent bone in their body. Which forms the lasting opinion: bad men are attractive.

No they're not! They're rubbish! The real ones can't even ski! Or own a Jaguar!

Take Daniel Craig. Not particularly attractive, he's been in a few films and nothing registered. Then he was Bond. Hello! Why Mr Craig, you are suddenly the most attractive man on the planet. And look, he really fell in love, it's possible, you Can Change the Man. There is hope for all of us. Oh, that's a bit mushy now, that's not so attractive, no, maybe not... oh look, Angry Bond's back. Mmmmm.

Watching Survivors, which is rather good, the character played by Max Beesley is immensely fanciable. He's not very nice. He's a bit unhinged and ever so angry. Yummy.

Why? Why do they do this to us? Little girls should see only Disney, where the men are complete saps, but goodly and nice. Then we'd all fancy sappy men with strong jaws and propensity to burst into song, perish the thought. Because you see, girlies really want to be princesses. To be cherished. To have a pedestal to perch prettily on.

Anyone disagreeing with that princess thing by the way, I give you: weddings. The bride. The frock. The tiara. The bridesmaids, the carriage, the wank and circumstance: princess envy.

But it's impossible* to fancy someone nice and goodly and all that. It's just not attractive. Bad boys don't cherish; nice boys don't ski. Or something like that.

Damn you Mr Bond, damn you.

Luckily for me, bad men don't even realise I exist, so I got a grumpy one instead. It's near enough.

*surmountable in presence of other factors, which are a secret.

And to make amends

I've done my cards, I've made mince pies, and so a bloggy greeting:

Gloomy tidings I bring

And so enter the giant bad mood. Obtusely. It's exactly one week till Christmas, which should be nice and glittery. Glittery in a virtual manner, naturally. Except it's not. It's not working. Why? Because there's other people.

How other people ruin Christmas every year:

1) Shopping
The shops are shut for one day, maybe two. A rough guess would put half the population out visitating, so they don't need food for either of those days anyway. Stockpiling would seem unnecessary. So why are there people buying huge, overflowing trolleys every moment of every day? What are they going to do with all that food? Do they really consume significantly more over a period of two days than they have over a normal weekend? Can one family actually use up an entirely trolleyload every single day? Given the the Royal Mail are struggling to deal with the sheer volume of things bought online, why are the shops still heaving? Where's my order from HMV?

2) Socialising
So everyone has to offload their endless supply of food/drink/canapes. Understandable. So commence the endless squabble over who goes where, when. It's not that complicated, but the simplest of arrangements becomes a military exercise of precision as soon as Christmas approaches. Not all that difficult, but hey, don't commit, there may be a better offer. No, there won't be. Just agree to something mutually easy. No? Make it more of a hassle? Go on then.

3) Moaning
(Which I am getting increasingly good at)
It's a holiday. It's a holiday when people eat too much food and exchange gifts. That's not a bad thing. All blokes have to start off about now going round with a po face and complaining about how much they hate it all. All women have to get into a flap, are you all ready for the big day? Well, no, it's a week away, I think cooking now would be a little premature. Yes, I do believe that Sainsburys will still have a turkey next week. No, it probably won't snow. Does it really matter? Noone's going to go and play in the park on Christmas Day, it just looks pretty when you look out, stick a nice snowy picture up. Look, there's snow all over the Christmas cards, look at them for a bit. No, it never snows, yes, it's all because I drive a car, indeed it was always perfect when you were a child, of course you're not confusing real life with films.

And this week, my own special contribution: being a nightmare. I'm stressing about things, I'm hurting and I'm being thoroughly unpleasant either by being snippit or whiny or generally going on. So, er, sorry.

More joys

Mothers what have sore backs need to lie down.
Mothers what have small children should not just rest their eyes for a moment when lying down...

Hello? Something's not quite right here...where are the children that were playing right there in their boxes?
presence of majorly bizarro thoughts indicates sleep has just been had
child number 2 has mastered the special shove sequence to get into the bathroom and is yelling about washing his hands
child number 1 is nowhere to be seen
children have been doing something that makes them dirty
children probably in my room
children have been at some of my stuff
what have they got?
can I get off the sofa?
can I deal with it later?
dammit I need to go and turn that tap off

Execute inelegant manouever required to alight from sofa, hobble through to bathroom (back really not working very well) to turn tap off and eject tap obsessed child. Enter bedroom to see which of the lotions/potions/pens/general stuff they've got hold of...

Oh.
Shit.

The bed has been painted beautifully with a combination of Clinique mascara and Yves St Laurent bronzer. The Per Una highlighter adds a shimmer to proceedings, added to the 17 eyeshadow that's been crumbled over the top. Detail has been drawn in using Clinique lipstick and Elizabeth Arden brow pencil. All added to the not so violated other things in a big pile of messy, gooey, powdery mess. One gloss wand all mascarad, and no sign of the gloss itself. Missing, presumed ruined. One child cunningly washed the evidence off, the other seems to have been made up. All over make up.

Don't cry. It's only make up.

(it's the good stuff!)

you never wear make up

(I like it though! I'm wearing it at the weekend! I wore mascara the other day!)

Calmly rescuing what was rescuable, muttering about hatred and swapping children for lipsticks, the discovery was made that new stuff was needed to be purchased. (any excuse)

Explained what we were going out for, semi echo doesn't quite repeat that we were going to get some new bake up because Mummy had lost her dipstick. And when new dipstick was purchased, further explanation was needed to explain that we weren't buying boots, we were just in Boots.

It's a rite of passage, all mothers at some point have to have their make up ruined. And I have just been bitten. Do you get boarding nurseries?

When you say nothing at all

Ow
Ouch
Ow
Ouch
Ow
Ouch

I've jiggered my back. One of those bending pop ouch things that really hurts.

No, that's not entirely true. It only hurts if I walk, bend, sit or lie down. Standing completely still is fine.

Dammit.

How to lose friends: the email method.
So, I'm not at my finest of a morning. A little tetchy at best. I tend to avoid people at this time as it tends to end in tears usually.
Mine, through contrition, but still. Not so today, no, I systematically sent a snippit reply to the emails in my inbox today. The personal ones, I doubt Amazon et al would care. I didn't mean it, it just happened. And then I'll moan that no one ever emails.

Sigh.

Ow.
Ouch.
Feel sorry for me, even though I'm horrid.