Don't go masticating me Marigolds!

Twice a month my day starts with the realisation that another child free day stretches ahead of me

I am in the fortunate position of being separated which means that once a fortnight I have almost two whole days to be just me (I'll leave you to decide which bit of that is the fortunate bit!).

I'm not Mum, I'm not cook, I'm not teacher, I'm not referee, agony aunt or best friend.

I'm just me.

For several months I had no idea who 'just me' was. I wandered around in a daze counting the hours until my house was once again filled with noise and arguments the omnipresent TV in the background.

I didn't know what I was supposed to do!

I carried on setting the breakfast table for 3 and shouting up the stairs that they were missing the best part of the day by still being in bed only to be met with silence and a feeling of emptiness.

Then slowly, the old me started to make it's presence felt, like little bubbles of indigestion or the first flutterings of a tiny foetus deep inside, barely noticeable and so easily ignored or missed, but never the less STILL alive!

I thought I'd swallowed that person whole and digested her many years ago.

So, on these child free days, I follow my daily ritual of taking a cup of tea out into the garden if it's fine. I sit on the arbour in the early morning haze with the promise of yet another beautiful day ahead of me.

I drink in the early morning sounds of my immediate world waking up and, nearby, something MUNCHING my plants! I don't know what or who this muncher is, I can hear them but despite crawling around on all fours trying to follow the sounds I cant FIND them.

my beach hut shed

I'm pretty sure it's not slugs, they don't have teeth do they?

Well, I'm a live and let live kind of person and the marigolds, although apparent irresistible to something were given to me by a friend who had some spare and they aren't really my plant of choice.

IF however, it starts on my lavender we may well have all out chemical warfare!

morning dew

My garden is tiny but I love it.   I fill it full of pots in the summer, a riot of different colours and smells.

 I am not and never will be what you might call a wallpaper and co-coordinating border kind of person. I'm more a shabby chic with the emphasis on shabby. I yearn for stripped oak floors, unbleached muslin curtains, sofas covered in striped ticking.

I yearn for you



Kirsty clone? I think NOT!

For a while for Christ sakes I longed to be Kirsty Allsopp!!! (sans the big arse, dreadful fashion sense and annoying manner of course).

And so I spend these child free days 'creating' things.

other peoples rubbish is my treasure



obviously I just thought it was an interesting piece of driftwood!

I paint my garden chairs a variety of colours to suit my mood. I scour the local charity shops for hidden treasures. I go to the beach and pick up driftwood and shells.



You should be!

I decorate my children's bedrooms (without their knowledge or consent). I LOVE the sky blue and fluffy clouds in Master Macs room. A love he sadly doesn't share at the age of 13 and has mostly covered it with posters of wrestlers and parental advisory notices.



Glitter Arty

I also loved the hot pink of my daughters bedroom, (no, it's not womb like and claustrophobic, it's cosy!) It's soon to be turquoise (this time at her suggestion).

I may never have the house of my dreams as my dreams are always changing but equally, I'll never drown in beige.

There Should Have Been Two

Tomorrow my daughter will be 12 years old.

Tomorrow is a day of joy and celebration. There will be presents and cake, fun and laughter, hugs and kissed.

Today is about remembrance. Today is about reflection, wishes, hidden tears and sadness.

Because today, like most days I remember there should be two.

My daughter was a happy surprise. My son was only 4 months old when I became pregnant again. According to the midwife it shouldn't have been possible, all the odds were stacked against it but it happened and I couldn't find it in my heart to be sorry.

I didn't know I was carrying twins, I didn't even know I was pregnant but when I woke up in the middle of the night bleeding heavily I knew immediately what was happening.

When I was sent for a scan the following day it was really to check that my health wasn't at risk so when the sonographer turned to me with a smile and told me she could see a baby I was confused. I thought she had made a mistake. Without going into too much detail, I had SEEN my baby so how could it be possible?

It wasn't until she turned the screen and showed me my perfectly formed 13 week old baby that I began to believe it could be true.

I went home in a daze, I was a real mixture of overwhelming sadness and and joy, I didn't know what to think or how to feel. I sat holding my son, breathing in the baby scent of him alternating between tears and wonder that there really was new life inside me.

It was a difficult pregnancy. I suffered kidney infection after kidney infection and struggled with looking after my son and the sleepless nights, feeling so ill most of the time. To make matters worse I developed Symphysis pubic dysfunction, or SPD, this is a condition where the ligaments that normally keep your pelvic bone aligned during pregnancy become too relaxed and stretchy. It's incredibly painful, almost as though your legs are going to fall off. At times walking was impossible.

I think my lowest point in that pregnancy was when I was sent to the hospital to see the consultant as the midwife was concerned about my baby's growth. I wasn't too concerned, Id had the same thing in both my previous pregnancies and there hadn't been a problem.

Before even talking to me the consultant started reading aloud from my notes. When he got to the part about the miscarriage, he said (and I remember his words so well), 'twins, lost one, oh well, doesn't matter'. I felt like Id been punched! I couldn't speak. Id seen my baby, Id taken my baby to the hospital with me at my doctors suggestion. Id sat in the churchyard on my way to the hospital saying goodbye to my baby. Id handed my baby over to Histology who promptly 'lost it'! My doctor spent weeks trying to find out what had happened to my baby but no one could tell him, I had to accept that I would never know.

When my daughter was born, an easy birth after the difficult pregnancy and born right on time, on her due date she seemed to me to have an aura of glitter. The air around her shimmered and sparkled. If Id had any drugs during the birth that might have explained it but I hadn't so I cant.

I don't think about the baby I lost every day any more but she (I don't know if it was a boy or a girl but I always imagine it was a girl) is always there in the back of my mind and in April when she should have been born and October when she died I still feel that loss and emptiness,I still cry for the baby she should have been, the little girl with the sparkle that her sister still has.

A Right Royal Affair

All this talk of weddings, I guess it makes us all think of our own special day, I know it has me.

Obviously in my case it turned out to be slightly farcical in many ways but then, had everything gone smoothly no doubt many of the guests would have thought that they were either at the wrong wedding or felt slightly cheated.

Id chosen the end of May for several reasons. One because it was in May that we first met, two because hopefully the weather would be kind to us and three, because it was a Bank Holiday and so would hopefully take some of the pressure off those having to travel knowing that they had an extra day to recover.

Other than not getting married in Church (this was Mr Mac 2^nd time round) I had exactly the day that I had chosen.

A small wedding, just 40 odd guests, those people closest to me with a few exceptions of people living abroad that couldn't make it.

My day started at 4:15 am with my very elderly cat Billy crapping all over the brand new, pale honey coloured carpet Id had laid in the front room! Billy bless him was nearly 21 at the time but although his eyesight wasn't what it used to be and his teeth made a funny kind of grinding sound as he ate, there was nothing wrong with his aim!

Liquid shit from one end of the (loop piled) carpet to the other and a generous splash up the skirting and wall for good measure.



if only!



Suddenly the breakfast I'd planned lost some of it's appeal.

The wedding was set for 11:30, the registry office just a few minutes away so the car was due at 11:15.

11:15 came and went but I was calm, the brides supposed to be a little late isn't she?

Apparently NOT at a registry office! By 25 past frantic phone calls were being made, if I didn't get there within the next 10 minutes the wedding was OFF!!!

WHERE THE BLOODY HELL WAS MY CAR????

The car had been booked the previous night by a hen party, not only had the 'hen' chucked up all over the back seat but the driver, not a happy bunny, had decided he couldn't face cleaning puke up at 2:30 in the morning and had left it there for someone to find the next day!

I had a choice, arrive in a slightly damp car smelling of regurgitated WKD and kebabs or, take the alternative they would provide free of charge.

JUST SEND ME A BLOODY CAR!!! Was my considered response. So they did!

I arrived, in style, in a Minibus!

The guest, all still gathered outside were treated to the edifying spectacle of me, dress hitched up to my knees, shoes in hand, belting down the path, holding desperately onto one of my stockings because the suspender had come undone!

But I was there, all was well.

Mr Mac is a big Bon Jovie fan (Oh, how I love to share THAT with you all!) and had chosen the music that I was to walk down the' aisle' to, a slow ballad called 'You had me from Hello'. Unfortunately, rather than burn the track on to a separate disk he had brought the CD in and forgotten to specify which track!

I stood there, in my beautiful dress, holding my bouquet of roses and lilly of the valley, drinking in the joy of the occasion and proceeded to boogied down the aisle to the crashing cords of Undivided!!!

Just one more thing I though then that's my three, I'll be home and dry (cat shit doesn't count when you have an elderly cat it's a way of life).

Id assumed that when I dropped my flowers outside to the shocked gasps of the guests (VERY unlucky apparently!) that we were done, everything would now be plain sailing.

Well, sailing wasn't too far from the truth to be honest.

We had possible the most extraordinary combination of weather events I've EVER known in on day!

It alternated between brilliant sunshine, wasn't it lucky said Mr Mac when we looked through the photos later, all the photos make it look like a beautiful day. Ummm, not so LUCKY really, every time the sun appeared we rallied the troops and rushed outside for a few snaps (I don't care if you're food goes cold, get your arse out there was my mantra that day!)

The wedding breakfast was eaten mainly to the accompanying sound of hailstones the size of golf balls drumming on the roof.

The speeches were all but drowned out by the most spectacular thunder and lightening I've EVER witnessed and we all arrived at the evening reception like drowned rats due to the monsoon that hit Somerset like the end of the world was nigh!

It was indeed, the most perfect of days.

Tight Squeeze (Part 2, an early outing)

This is part 3 of my drab to fab.  If you'd like to know the full story you could take a look part 1 Womens best kept secret and part 2 Tight Squeeze part one.  And remember:

Drab to Fab is all about making the choice to treat ourselves well, so that we feel good.

If we aim to treat ourselves well, to nurture ourselves, to treat ourselves kindly, we can feel fab, instead of drab.
Simple as that really.

I suspect I may have been the butt of a very cruel joke! (Well, to be more precise, my butt was the butt of a cruel joke).


All in the name of research, and so that I wasn't entirely talking though my arse, (and believe me, THAT was effectively bound AND gagged for the duration!), I shelled out the best part of thirty quid, (and yes, that may well become a recurring theme given that for the same money I could have bought myself something sexy from the Victoria's Secrets Juliet range) on something that looked remarkable similar to that prescribed as suitable wear for for gentlemen in the Bath Corporation official bathing dress code of 1737!!

“It is Ordered Established and Decreed by this Corporation that no Male person above the age of ten years shall at any time hereafter go into any Bath or Baths within this City by day or by night without a Pair of Drawers and a Waistcoat on their bodies”

Well, I drew the line at a waistcoat but there was no doubt about it, I was wearing a pair of DRAWERS!

I'd decided to give the pants a trial run before wearing them on an actual date and I do have to admit they did shave a couple of inches off my waist and hips. What I didn't realise (until I caught sight of myself in the pub mirror) was that they had apparently transferred it all to my backside!

I now had a bottom your could park a bike in and balance a pint on!

Control pants I discovered are great for the posture. The sort that I had on started above my waist and finished mid thigh. Any attempt to bend and they roll slowly down providing me with my very own built in gastric band!

First of all I tried to sit (without bending) on a low squashy sofa in the aptly named Cosy Club, nothing doing! I bobbed up and down for a while like a demented bird in the mating season, desperately trying to get the damn things to bend with me. In the end I opted to perch (equally birdlike) on a bar stool, legs straight, body erect, hands clutching the sides of the stood so I didn't slip off and land in a heap on the floor. Obviously this made drinking a little difficult and as sucking Merlot through a straw isn't really the sophisticated look I was going for I decided to spend the remainder of the evening upright.

not actually me ;)

As the evening drew on inevitably nature called. Id been aware for the last hour or so that my foot had been swelling up. Now I've had a bit of a problem with this foot for a few weeks. So far my doctor has eliminated gout (or, as I insist he calls it, inflamed arthritis) and a problem with my circulation. Basically, he doesn't know what's wrong with it, so we now just refer to it as 'my fat foot'!

meet fatty

I made my way to the ladies at the first inkling my constricted bladder required emptying. Fortunately the disabled cubicle was free as in order to get the pants off I first has to remove my dress.

It was then I caught sight of my foot!!! It had almost doubled it's size and was turning blue, the damn pants had restricted my blood flow so much my foot was in danger of EXPLODING!!

Now I've done many things in a bar.

Fallen flat on my face, set fire to my hair, had my hair set on fire by someone else, perched on a bar stool in Amsterdam with my leg behind my head and  laid on a bar in Salisbury having cocktail syrup poured into my mouth to name just a few but I was buggered if I was going to splatter everyone with my exploding digets!

Experiment over! I rolled the bloody things off and stuffed them in my bag, I was going COMMANDO!

I was just heaving a sigh of relief when there was a thunderous banging on the cubicle door and desperate pleas for me to open up. As I did I was almost knocked sideways by a fraught looking woman who appeared to be in some considerable pain. Not wanting to leave a fellow damsel in distress (and being a nosy kind of person) I hung around to see if I could help.

Much cussing and swearing was audible from the cubicle (a few words Id not heard before too!). Bastard! Fucker!!! I HATE you!! I heard her say in a voice so filled with venom I was almost too scared to ask.

Men? I enquired sympathetically when she emerged a few minutes later. Sodding control pants she sobbed flinging the offending article on the floor (and, for good measure, stamping on it!).

The poor woman had only opted for the fully boned, super duper, burlesque style (with added flappy bits to reduce VPL). She had also made the mistake of drinking a glass or two of fizz!

Now that's just downright DANGEROUS!!

She had gradually felt herself inflating like a bouncy castle at a children's party and, was terrified that at some point the trapped gasses would find a weakness in the material and propel her across the room like a bullet from a gun. Either that or the pressure on the ridged boning would pierce her ribcage like an involuntary act of Hari Kari in front of the date she'd been trying to impress with her hourglass figure.

Sadly now time was up on the hour glass and all the sand had trickled to the bottom.

We silently contemplated our depleted and deflated figures side by side in the mirror for a few minutes and, (with one of those unspoken agreements you sometimes get with complete strangers), gathered our bags, stuffed the pants in the bin and headed arm in arm for the nearest Pizza Express.

A Tight Squeeze (part one)

This week it's all about power at The Lounge, I was a bit stuck to know what to write about really but I haven't linked up for a while so I wanted to find something.

I did a search on my posts to see what would come up if I typed in power and I was surprised just how many posts it found.

I guess this post is about seizing back the power so here it is:

you  CANNOT make these sexy!

After my post 'Women's Best Kept Secret' I had several comments extolling the benefits of control pants.

As I was writing from the perspective of someone who had never actually worn the things but had gained all her knowledge from Bridget Jones, I decided that maybe it was time I actually put my money where my muffin top is and gave them a go!




Ouch!

First of all I discovered how wrong I was in my assumption that control pants were simply control pants. I whizzed into Marks and Sparks expecting to grab a pair, my only choice being whether to choose black or natural tan. I was slightly nonplussed however to be confronted with a veritable plethora of styles, shapes and sizes.

Aargh!!!

There's the thong (I thought we were holding it in, not letting it all hang out!), a hideous looking thing, like cheese wire attached to a huge stretchy cummerbund. I'm not letting THAT anywhere near my nether regions, Id be scared of being sawn in half!

The high waisted pants, a bit like ordinary 'big' pants with an oversized waistband.


The ones that look a little like tights that have been sawn off at the knees and come right up to your boobs.


Then there were the added extras. Did I want powermesh? For some reason this just reminded me of the pressure washer and my enthusiasm last year in blasting anything and everything in the garden including half the rendering off the garden wall.


I could have a bodysuit with padding, boneing,  under-wire, detachable straps and suspenders, well, quite frankly, I have something very similar already in black silk and lace which I'm pretty sure (in the moment of passion) would detract from any errant rolls of flesh anyway.


Some of them solved the question of 'how the bloody hell do you go to the loo' by being CROTCHLESS!! Is it only me that thinks that just renders the whole point of knickers well ........  pointless?


Other have either hooks and eyes or popper fastenings at the crotch to allow easy access and flow.


You wont catch me out with THAT one!!!


I remember my clubbing days when the 'body' was in fashion. Yes it gave you a sleek outline and no, you didn't have to worry about it becoming untucked. But try going to the loo in one when you're pissed ? Forget it!!


Scrabbling round trying to undo poppers when I could barely stand unaided. Giggling like a maniac while I peered at my crotch trying to focus on itsy, bitsy hooks and eyes and eventually grabbing the material with both hands an ripping the damn thing off in desperation with an accompanying TA DA, the sound of little bits of metal ricocheting off the cubical walls before my poor over loaded bladder gave up the unequal struggle and I pee'd myself.


Many's the time I've chuckled to myself as some poor girl (having failed to lock the door properly) has come head first at a gallop out of a cubicle, jeans round her ankles, clutching her dignity and landed face down on the floor.

I did eventually narrow my choices down and so, £26.99 lighter I left clutching my carrier bag and scuttled home before I could either bumped into someone I knew who could enquire about my purchase or (horror of horrors) give in to my latent tenancy to Coprolalia and stand in the middle of the store waving my big knicks over my head shouting fuck, fuck, SHAAAAG leaving everyone in no doubt that I thought I might just be on to a winner wearing these.

Why Me?

I always seem to attract the 'undesirables'. I can be minding my own business,not bothering anybody when suddenly, out of nowhere, an undesirable just APPEARS!

Thursday for instance, it was another beautiful day in Somerset so, wearing a perfectly respectable tee shirt and shorts I went for a stroll into town ending up in the Post Office.

I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in the Post Office usually to find after a 25 minute wait that the computer systems have shut down and business grinds to a halt!

Anyway, that day I had a package to post so I joined the queue only realising when it was too late to change my mind that an 'undesirable' was right in front of me!!!

Ok,head down,pretend to text or something, ANYTHING, he hasn't spotted me, please god, DONT let him see me!!

My prayers were unanswered ....  I was within 5 people of escaping unnoticed when HE TURNED AROUND!!

All was lost, first of all he peered at my chest, then he started sniggering, then pointing and the all three together!!

'Har har', wassit say?' he said leaning in for a closer look (my attempted to edge back thwarted by the scary looking woman behind me with a double buggy).

Then he started trying to get other people to look too 'Oi, look at 'er' 'wassit say?' I tried ignoring him, I tried looking round as though to say 'I wonder who on earth he could be talking about!'

All to no avail, I was the centre of attention by now (or rather, my CHEST was the centre of attention!) I had nowhere to hide and starting to get just a little pee'd off!!

'Fine, FINE, if you really want to know I said in a loud voice deciding the only way was to brazen it out. (come to think of it, it is possible I shouted it), it says 100% ORGANIC!!!



NOT me, my chest has been stared at quite enough for one week thank you



I've had a few undesirable 'fans' in the past. The road sweeper who used to mutter as I passed 'still married then?' (I did and still DO, say yes).

I got 'orses y'know he says with a fetching wink (as though that might be a deciding factor in my throwing caution to the wind and running away with him).

There was the tramp who lived in the church porch who used to follow me round town lifting up his shirt to show me his latest rash.

And the young chap from the Indian restaurant, he smiled and waved everyday as I walked past on my way to work for at least 6 months.

One day he popped out and smiling he said, 'I think you are very attractive!'. 'Thanks' I said beaming back (its always nice to receive an unexpected compliment) 'yes, he went on, and I like your breasts too'!!!!!

One more from the Album

Alvin Starfish, who later, (as he was a bit stinky and needed a wash) became known as, Alvin Starfish (he's a bit of a bleach bum).

I Name These Flip Flops Chicken Shit!

I tend to deal with quite a lot of shit on a day to day basis.

Dog shit, cat shit, hamster shit, bullshit all kinds of shit really ….... But now it coming round to that time of year again.

IT'S CHICKEN SHIT TIME!



total cuteness



I quite like chickens and Alpacas, (purely because they both make this really cute chuckling sound).

But chicken SHIT, well, it really is just 'fowl'! (sorry, didn't resist, should have!)

I love the idea of chickens and I love my neighbour Janet for keeping chickens in her garden which is roughly 3 times the size of mine and should BE mine!



Janets Garden



Should be mine!



I also love that Janet has a VW camper van and spends most of the weekends in the Summer visiting the VW shows leaving me chicken sitting (or chicken shitting as it's become known as in my house).



A wopper from Esmerelda



Janet chickens are ex battery hens and are kept as pets with the eggs being an added bonus.

They live in the relative freedom of a very large Aviary at the bottom of her garden where they can wander around, peck at the ground and feel the sun on their mostly bare backsides.

They aren't pretty chickens but they are HAPPY chickens. They also produce enough guano to fertilize a small farm!

Janet, like me, likes to give things names, thus the chicken are called Esmerelda, Clarissa, Hortence and Prudence.

We don't just draw the line at naming animals in my family though.

My daughter once had a blister called Phil and a plaster named Jeff.

Meet Jeff

A friend of mine has great names for all her neighbours, something Im working on at the moment with mine. Chloe, I totally ADORE Van Slag!!!

I wonder, do other people name 'things' ? Do you?

Inspiration

I have had the inspired idea of setting up a file, I have called it 'inspiration'.  The plan is, that instead of compulsively writing anything and everything down as soon as I can after it happens (which is why many of my postings are in the early hours!) I shall keep snippets, snapshots and reminders that I can dip in and out of.

There is no cohesion to my blog, what you get is whatevers in my head at any given moment.

Given that many things dont stay in my head for long and Im often left grasping at things that shimmer and disappear this seems to be the answer.

Before I discovered the 'Wonderful World of Blogging' most of my rambles appeared in the form of FB status updates and then later, (the expanded version) was inflicted on the innocent victims of the dating website.

NOW, I have YOU!!!

I decided the best place to start was with the aforementioned Face Book so, bearing in mind that I do tend to post quantites of rubbish I thought I just trawl back as far as the begining of this year, see if I'd said/done anything vaguely amusing, interesting or illegal.

My first status update for 2011 posted at 2:08am on Jan 1st read:

"woke up with a bang (sadly fireworks related)"

Such is my life ...................

Mistaken Identity

I think I might suffer from a form of people dyslexia.

of course you know me!

If you take people I know out of the environment I'm used to seeing them in then, although I may know them really quite well I sometimes haven't got a clue who they are. I know I KNOW them but I don't know why and I don't know how. Long (and on my part) often disturbing conversations can enchew only for me to bump into them in the tea room at work the next day.

I know the world doesn't revolve around me and people don't live in the little bubbles I put them in but life would be so much simpler if the did!

This does also works in reverse. I've often stopped to chat to some very confused people only to find that they work on the checkout in Sainsburys (although I do obviously count some of them as my dearest friends these days) or that they just happen to have a passing resemblance to a character on TV.

I sometimes wish other people suffered in a similar way. It seems that whenever I get myself into a situation that has embarrassment potential (quite often!)l there's a hoard of people who know me just popping out of the woodwork!

I discovered a couple of years ago that I had a much underused social conscience so joined a local action group that fund raises and actively promotes our local park.

The average age of the action group is about 65 so I frequently get roped in to help with things like painting the park benches ect. Now I quite like painting things (as I may have mentioned) and we spent a happy couple of days painting the 18 benches a multitude of colours A job well done .

A couple of days later I discovered a rumour was going around that Id was doing Community Service!!

One of the things the action group does to fund raise is host a bingo evening once a month.

I'm not really a 'dabber' but I usually go along, help make the teas ect and, as treasurer, sort the money. I don't tend to advertise the fact as I'm not sure how good it would be for my 'street cred' :-)

So I really do have to thank Mandy for posting a comment on a totally unrelated post on my Face Book (rather than sending me a private message, texting or even calling me) asking if the school could borrow MY Bingo machine. Hmmmm, now EVERYONE knows!

What's In A Name?

The mention of Matt the Gnat in an earlier post got me to thinking about names.

The importance we place on them, the assumptions we make about them and the influence they have on our lives.

I was born Roberts, a name I wasn't to use for long as my parents divorced when I was very young.

My sister (I have 3) was called Julia, she reverted to the name Roberts only a couple of years before the advent of Pretty Woman. That's a hell of a name to try and live up to and frankly, she didn't waste too much time trying.

My Mother remarried fairly swiftly and my surname became Shears.

It was the BANE of my life!!! Not only did it seem impossible for many to spell (I've been called Smears, Steers and even on one memorable occasion ARREARS!!!) but, it was also ammunition!

I was brought up in a small village near the sea, not much going on and we took our fun where we could find it. One particular woman (we called HER Smelly Nelly) used to think it oh, soooo amusing, when she saw my sister and I together to refer to us as a 'pair of shears'.

Another sister was in a serious relationship for a while, all seemed to be jogging along quite nicely when suddenly, after a proposal of marriage, she broke it off.

The reason? 'Well 'she said, 'I gave it some serious thought and decided, there was no way I was spending the rest of my life being called Claire Dwyer'!!

You have to wonder at some parents though, do they not think before deciding on a name? Or do they have an evil chuckle to themselves as they sign away their offspring's future happiness in a stroke of a pen?

My ex worked with a man called Christopher, shortened as it often is to Chris. In itself, that wasn't a problem but when it was linked to the surname Peacock, well, that's just plain mean!

hey Chris

I worked for a while with a girl called Carrie. A lovely girl, very unassuming and pleasant.

One day Carrie came into the office and announced that she had decided to double barrel her first name with her middle name and so she became Carrie-Ann.

Nobody really gave it a great deal of thought at first but, all became clear when she got married a few months later.

Her husband to be had the surname HISCOCK!!! (now that's not included in the marriage vows!)

I haven't saddled my offspring with strange, weird or embarrassing names but at the same time, I didn't really give much thought to their initials.

Thus Master Macs initials are JAM and Miss Mac is LGM! They don't seem to hate me for it at the moment but we are reaching the teen years so no doubt I have provided them with some fodder for the future.

Possibly my favourite Name of all belongs to ex lax's (my ex husband) ex who, when she married decided to double barrel her name as many do and so she went from being Miss D White to Mrs D White-Cummings -

For REALZ!!

As Chaka Khan would say – I Feel For You

This weeks rewind is a post from January 2011.

Well, I didn't start my blog until April BUT, it did start life as a diary on a dating website and extracts of this are from messages I had in January so I hope I'm not bending the rules too much by rewinding this one.

...........................................................................................

I would like to take credit for the title of this post but, it was in fact the heading on a message sent to me by my GBF (gay best friend).

Not everyone is as lucky as me to have an S in their lives but personally, I don't know what Id do without him.

He's funny, clever, thoughtful (and gives wicked parties). I was incredibly sad when he and his partner B of 32 years decided a few years ago to retire to the coast. Thank god for modern technology, we talk ALL the time. S is a fellow insomniac and we often chat into the wee hours (mostly about food for which we both have a passion).

Anyway, the point of mentioning S wasn't to boast about the fact that I have GBF or even that I seem to manage on very little sleep at times. The point is to say how lucky I am in my friends. Some women have shoes that fit every occasion, I have friends. I think I've got the best deal.

Friends may become a little worn and scuffed around the edges over time but they never go out of fashion and they're always a perfect fit.

I read about so many bad experiences on the dating websites in peoples diaries and thanks to S I managed to mostly avoid them myself. His advice was invaluable ranging from:

'bit hippy/dippy /Mills and Boon for me' to 'check the occupation, too fab by half' and also 'quite a sweetheart'.

I did have to question the latter as that was in response to my telling him that Id let somebody down gently and had the following message in return:

“thanks i quite appreciate your frankness and wish you well too,but in case you have a friend that might be interested in me let me know i don't mind coming to see the fellow”

I didn't run everything past S though, some people I could be quite sure of without a second opinion. The following are a couple of examples:

“'could you be my soil mate”

“'do you scuba dive and keep bees? If so, you are an enigma and possibly my ideal woman”.

'sudece my boby if you like whot you see...

heve you dan 3 same be 4 id couple?

While I may have laughed to myself at the content sometimes, Id never laugh at the person, life's hard enough without random strangers making fun of you, hell, I should know that! See 'Things'

Slightly Singed (part two)

You get all sorts of people at the beach and I DO love to people watch. From time to time yesterday I laid my book aside and drank in the rich and varied life forms sharing the sands with me.

There were the two little Brummie boys intent on something that required close inspection.

Gradually their conversation filtered through to me and it was intriguing. Clever Trevor's going to win I heard one say. No, Drop Dead Gary's going to get there first said the other. All the time watching and waiting for something I couldn't see!

After a couple of minutes, YAY, told you, Clever Trevor got there first! The little sods had buried two ladybirds in the sand and were waiting to see which one dug itself out first!

There was the Dad, totally immersed in building a sandcastle with his small son, both gaining so much pleasure in adding turrets and a moat ect. The little boy was wearing a hat that proclaimed he was a 'dude' and I have to say, his dad was a bit of a dude too.

Sometimes I just gazed out to sea, well, in the general direction of the sea anyway. You don't so much get a low tide at Weston as a tsunami in reverse.

The water is just sucked away leaving behind a vast expanse of sticky brown mud. One things for sure, people of all shapes, sizes and colours might arrive in Weston but they all leave the same colour and it's a uniform brown.

Apparently there's a nudist beach somewhere nearby, one day I must seek it out, possibly on a day I DONT have the children with me.

I did come across an article on a tourist information site about Weston and a nudist visit to Flat Holm (one of the two small islands just off Weston, the other being Steepholm) with the comment the, 'The visitors, while enjoying the freedom of wandering the island unclothed did however wear hard hats to protect them from dive-bombing seagulls”!!

Slightly Singed (part one)

Rewinding with Multiple Mum

We're back, we're fed, we are tired!! ( and I am slightly singed down one side).

The day started pretty well, I managed to get three girls and one boy (who had spent half the night on his xbox) up and out of the door by 10:30. I even fed a couple of them.

I briefly consider using the 'quick buy' ticket machine at the train station then, laughing softly to myself, took my place in the queue.

Once on the train we settled ourselves. 'Why don't you put your arm rest down Mum?' said Master Mac.

Well I TRIED!! Expecting it just to slide down into place with the gentlest of touches, it DIDNT. So I gave it a tug, not moving …..... I used BOTH hands, noting doing!

I''ll do it Mum' said Master Mac. 'You cant, its stuck or broken' I replied.

'Don't worry he said, I can do it, ILL USE MY GENITALS'!!!!

Now Id say I was pretty open minded, fairly unshockable really but I have to admit even I was a LITTLE taken aback at the thought of my son having a) the equipment that would enable him to do that and b) being unselfconscious enough to happily whip it out on a train and use it as a pulley.

My look of horror, and it has to be said slightly smug amazement (not EVERY Mother has a son with those capabilities you know!) were swiftly quashes when it transpired what he had ACTUALLY said was, 'Ill use my Jedi forces'!

We arrived at Weston Super Mare to blazing sunshine and the realisation that I didn't actually know the way from the train station to the beach.

'No problem, follow that 4 year old with the bucket and spade' I said, he looks like he knows where he's going, so …...................... we went to Tesco!

Actually I was quite pleased, Id forgotten to pack a book and I'm not really a sitting on the beach kind of person.

I thought Id better pad out the picnic a little too while we were there so we had a wander around.

'Can we have some doughnuts Mum' said Miss Mac. 'I don't see why not I replied'. Sooo Tesco are doing packs of 5 doughnuts £1.60 for 5 or 2 packs for £2, 'might as well get 2 pack's I said. What Id failed to realise was there were several different sorts of doughnuts! Master Mac wanted Chocolate, Miss Mac wanted custard, friend A wanted jam.

5 people 20 doughnuts later …....

Once the children had parked me at the beach with the bags (right next to the toilets and behind a giant ice cream cone) they vanished to explore the pier ect.

Almost immediately my 2 square inches of beach was invaded by the dour and dismal family. Don't get me wrong, the kids were ok but the mother!!!! One of those 'Im not happy until I've sucked ever last bit of pleasure out of an outing for my children'.

Sun cream slapped on every exposed body part along with accompanying grumbles when the child got sand in it (hello, we ARE at the beach).

Instructions on where to play (within 2 feet), what to play (nothing that involved nasty, dirty sand) and constant changing of children's clothes, like a conjurer pulling ribbon out his mouth she had a seemingly endless supply of clean clothes in a tardis like bag.

No wonder the poor kids had to be ordered to SMILE when it was time for the 'happy day with the grumps at the beach' photo.