Monday 30 April 2012

Get Back Bitch!

I like to think my bitchy side is rather under developed.

Bitching to me is too closely akin to bullying and there is nothing that I hate more than bullying!

That's why, when 6 weeks ago or so, I received a message on FB from a so called 'friend' of ex lax (my ex husband) entitled WTF I ignored it.

It's not the first message I've received from this person over the last couple of years and I'm not sure what their motivation is.

I don't actually know them and they are not on my friends list. 

BUT, every now and then they see fit to send me snippets of information about him that they seem to think I will be interested in.

I don't, and I will continue not to respond but I can't quite bring myself to block them because:

Yep, they make my inner bitch itch!

Who would have thought that under that pensive gaze the inner bitch was at work?  ;)

The latest one was regarding his new Girlfriend - now, I really don't have a problem with him having a girlfriend, I honestly don't and I wish them well.

Ok, slight exaggeration, I wish HER well, I don't know her and have no reason to do otherwise.

Him?  Meh, whatever ...

But I think that's probably pretty normal and fairly well adjusted of me.

So I resisted that urge to respond, to post a scathing (but slightly ambiguous status update),to  text him (and say what ffs?) or even to mention it to my closest friends who I know would have happily helped me slate the pair of them if it made me happy.

Well, it wouldn't have, it would have made me feel a little tainted and a complete bitch so I didn't.

Even the follow up news that they are now engaged I kept to myself.

(Is it me, or is it slightly bad form to get engaged not just once, but twice whilst still refusing to acknowledge divorce papers sent 3 times by your wife .... )


The only person I did mention it to was Surfer Dude.

Now he is the worlds worst person to try and have a bitch fest with (I said my inner bitch was under developed not dead you know ;).

I don't think he has a bitchy bone in his body so it was a bit on a non starter.

Sigh ...  possibly just as well.

This weekend my inner bitch has been out in full force and, as SD had made the mistake of offering to come round and help me do some stuff around the house he was unable to avoid her.

Actually, he got the full force of it because ...  well, because he was there!

It was totally unrelated to the ex lax/gf situation.

I was just having an off day.  It was pissing down with rain (I need sunshine to make me truly happy). The hamster needed cleaning out and Miss Mac has extended that rotastack so many times it's like one of those impossible to do jigsaw puzzles to get it back together, it makes my brain hurt!

In additon, whilst SD is great at helping me do little odd jobs (this weekend he has put up new blinds in my bedroom for me and filled the hole in the garden wall where I blasted off the render with the jet wash) he is a thinker and a planner.

Completely alien to me!

I am more of a go, go, GO kind of person.

Lets, just get the job done and cover up the cracks with a bit of glitter afterwards.

He actually measures things and uses a spirit level which, ok, gets it done properly but it wastes SO much time!

I think he was a little bemused, it's a side of me he hasn't ever really seen before and he was totally clueless about how to handle it.

He made the classic male mistake of asking if I had my period.


If I were under the influence of raging hormones you think trying to be empathetic isn't going to make me want to rip your head off?

'Note to any male readers - don't GO there ok?'

Eventually he gave up.

'You want to show me that message and photos?'

Hmm, well ... that MIGHT help a little ...

He is an absolute STAR!

I may not have mentioned that SD is a bit of a technophobe.

He has to use a computer for part of his work but he's a one fingered typist (I do keep offering to teach him).

He refuses to own his own computer but he has a slight addiction to ebay and so often pops over to borrow mine.

He hates my keyboard with a passion because at least 6 of the letters have worn off with use but I like it's action and anyway, I touch type so it doesn't bother me and I refuse to change it.

'Where's the fucking E' he asks me shaking his head and jabbing randomly at the keyboard.

'Next to the R' I reply.

There IS no effing R or N or T' he replies in complete frustration.

He even went out and bought a new keyboard which I refuse to use because it just doesn't feel right and anyway, watching him type pains me so much I'd rather just do it for him.

He also refuses to have a mobile phone despite having been bought at least 2 by frustrated friends as presents, they languish unloved in their boxes.

Now I kind of admire that.

There have been many occasions when I've had the urge to flush mine down the loo but I just can't bring myself to.

He is a free spirit unshackled by technology.

I've forgotten how that feels.

And so, I showed him the message and the photos and his response was very gratifying.

Is that ex lax he said (in all seriousness!!).

Umm, nooo ....

'Oh', he replied faintly shocked.

'Is that her REAL name?'

I guess so I said, lets' face it, you wouldn't make that one up would you?


And then, the Pièce de résistance:

'Click on auto correct - it might knock a few pounds off.'

I SHIT you not!!!

This was said with a perfectly straight face working on the assumption that the photo might not be giving an accurate picture and that, like red eye or colour definition, auto correct was somehow magically going to totally transform her.

Suddenly all my inner bitch exploded in hysteria.

I laughed until I cried.

Not at the photo, not at the message.

Like I said, I don't know her, I have no reason to judge her.

It would be completely wrong of me to offer any opinion based on a photo and a selection of snippets from her FB page (so what if she says things like, 'chillaxin with ma man - SO WHAT?? ;).


SD - you chased away that inner bitch with your innocence, your lack of guile and your sweet desire to step out of your comfort zone in order to cheer me up.

And, it worked ...

Well, almost ...

I have to admit that at this point I DID insert one of the photos I was sent but I've removed it again because I refuse to scrach that bitch itch.

 (this time ....  ;)

Thursday 26 April 2012

You Left Footprints ...

"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints on your heart." - Eleanor Roosevelt

A close friend of mine posted this quote on Face Book today.

It's a quote I've heard many times before and it's true.

I know I'm lucky in my friends.

I know that I probably have more than my quota of people that I can absolutely rely on to be there  day or night, whatever the circumstances.

Who will, without question, be, do, say whatever it is that I need.

A few weeks ago I was having a really rough day.

I had a call from my favourite Mr O who picked up that I was in a pretty low place.

After we spoke I got a text from him simply saying, 'pack for the beach, I'll be with you in about an hour and a half'.

It was mid week.  The children were at school. He had taken the day off because HE had things to do and yet ...

He got on his bike (a Kawasaki VN1500 Classic FL Tourer - lots of lovely rumbles and bangs ;) rode for an hour and a half - took me to the beach and then, later, when the children were home and sorted we went for a ride across the top of the Blackdown hills and sat in a beautiful pub garden overlooking a valley and watched the sunset.

He leaves a footprint ...

Surfer Dude has been a constant in my life lately.  We have been friends for oh, sooo long.  These last few months I really have struggled to make sense of anything much and he's been there.  He's held my hand, he's wiped away my tears.  He's run me a bath and sat (with his back turned) while I soak trying to get some warmth back into my body.

He leaves a footprint ...

Other friends, call me, text me, meet up with me whenever they are able.  They tell me they care in so many ways.

They leave footprints ...

I don't want this to become an emo post, it's a positive post to remind me that I'm blessed with the very best of friends.  Friends who would do anything for me as I would for them.

But in every heart there are those empty foot prints, an indelible imprint impervious to the ebb and flow of the tide.

Sometimes, whilst someone may walk out of your life their footprint remains.

You left footprints ...

Saturday 21 April 2012

Just Shoot Me Now


I am not a morning person.

Now that might seem a little at odds with the fact that I'm an early riser.

The truth is that until I've had my two cups of tea I don't want to see, speak or share the same air with anyone so I like getting up early to avoid having to resist the urge to rip peoples heads off.

This morning was no exception.  I woke up just after 6 and so far I've baked a cake for a friends Birthday.

Hung 2 loads of washing on the line.

Have a monster chicken cooking in the oven as the Birthday friend and others are over for dinner.

And decided it was about time I dyed my hair (it says iced chestnut - I'm guessing it'll be red again ;).

All a little before 8:30.

So, why am I telling you this?

Do I wish to hear gasps of awe at my productivity my get up and go?

(It is after all Saturday morning, I could still be in bed doncha know.)

Well, ok go on then, if you insist ;)

But, nope, that's not the reason.

I am inside now, curled up in a corner, rocking backwards and forwards with complete humiliation when I should be sitting in the sun drinking coffee and admiring my washing blowing in the breeze.

So, what happened?

My bloody neighbours that's what!

Don't get me wrong, I like my neighbours.  In fact, on one side my neighbours are bloody gorgeous!

3 young, extremely fit (in every respect) guys who are much too young for me to be having impure thoughts about which is why I don't tend to blog about them, you don't need know that on occasion (one in particular has a weights bench in the garden and by climbing over Miss Macs bed with one foot on the window sill and hanging on to the wardrobe door) I can accidentally observe him working out.

Anyway, chicken in oven, cake cooling ready to ice, hair full of dye and wearing the funky monkey dressing gown (which does get the occasional mention here but which until now you have never seen) I went out to hang the second load of washing on the line.

yes, it's short!

My garden is in tiers.  The top level which is where the washing line is looks down into next doors garden consequently, they can see me.

I was busy pegging out sheet when, horror of horrors I heard one of the neighbours unlocking their back door.

There was one sheet left in the basket and I estimated that I probably had time to peg it out and leg it down the the garden before anyone saw me in a dressing gown designed for a 12 year old, no make up and hair that looked like a walnut whip like piled up on top of my head full of dye (no, you dont get a photo of that!).

Of course I fumbled, I dropped the sheet, the walnut whip collapsed over my face and I got dye in my eye which really bloody hurts!

As I picked up the sheet I somehow managed to gather up the bottom of funky monkey with it and, as my neighbour appeared, cup of tea in hand, I lifted the whole bloody lot revealing that fuck!!!.

I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

He looked at me, I squinted back at him, he carefully placed his cup of tea on the garden table, turned, walked back into the house and locked the door!

I am putting the house on the market!

Thursday 19 April 2012

Now Here's The Thing ..

Having found myself wanting to say that with increased regularity I have come to the conclusion that It's possible I have been watching too much Big Bang Theory!

I have had (to put it mildly) a really shitty few months and Surfer Dude, in his infinite wisdom, decided that what I needed was a few days R&R so he took me to his mecca, his spiritual home.

He took me to Newquay in Cornwall.

Surfers paradise.

In preparation I watched Point Break (ok, so maybe I'm just a bit of a secret Patrick Swayze fan really ;).

While the rest of the UK apparently experienced rain, wind, hail and even snow I believe in some places, WE basked in sunshine.

Watched seals playing in the wake of the fishing boats.

Ate Cornish pasties and drank Doom Bar beer.

watched the sun set over Fistral beach

Drank coffee outside (and inside) Irie, the hippy cafe where the scent of joss sticks lingers in the air mixing with the smell of fresh ground coffee.

so true :)

a piano to play

teapots painted on our table

And we walked (bloody hell, did we WALK!!).

Across beaches, over cliffs, down (and up) steep winding roads and paths.

Filling our lungs with sea air and emptying our minds of detritus.

And I learned something that in more then 20 years of friendship I didn't know about Surfer Dude.

He is NOT a morning person!

I found myself, Sheldon like, knocking on the door.

Knock, knock, SD.

Knock, knock, SD.
Knock, knock, SD ...

'The sun is shining, it's a beautiful day, lets go to the beach ...'

Now I've heard SD use the odd expletive from time to time but, on discovering it was 7:15am and I was washed, dressed and ready for action well, lets just say he didn't employ his usual cool, considered approach and I'm pretty sure he told me to fuck off!

Obviously I did the decent thing (this was HIS holiday too after all).

I took my cup of tea outside.

I sat in the sunshine soaking up the rays.

I breathed in great lungfulls of sea air.

And I threw stones at his window until he got his lazy arse out of bed!

The other thing that took me by surprise was SD's apparent love for tat shops. 

I don't mean charity shops (which I LOVE!) or the little independent, wildly over priced, crafty type shops.

But real crap and tat (btw, wouldn't that make a GREAT name for a shop???), wall to wall coasters, key rings, postcards ...

Naff, naff, N A F F!

Newquay abounds with these shops and I hate each and every one of them.

Actually, maybe there IS just the one, they are so interchangeable that I may have been to the same shop 20 times without even knowing it.

But I grumbled, complained and whinged gamely entered into the spirit of things and we developed a system whereby for every tat shop we went into I got to chose 2 others for us to visit (I am nothing if not fair!).
My favourite by far was an art shop where I could (if I had any money) have bought almost everything in the shop.

Being a pauper I settled for a card.
I love Hannah Coles work :)

I came home refreshed, rested (and quite possibly still a little drunk) and with the sure and certain knowledge that while it may be perfectly possible to lead a Surfer Dude to water, if you try to do so before 10am when he's on holiday you do at at your peril!

ps I plan on going back in the summer to try my hand at coasteering if any early risers fancy joining me ... (tat and crap lovers need not apply ;)

Sunday 15 April 2012


This is the story of a man I never met.

A man who's death touched something deep inside me, transporting me back many, many years to a place where there was a sense of rightness, of natural order.

An unspoken code of respect.

I had what many would consider a privileged childhood.

My father was in the Navy and we travelled the world in my younger years, seeing and doing things that many of my friends couldn't begin to comprehend.

At it's heart was a small village by the sea in South Devon.

A place that we returned to time and time again.

Our base, my Grandparents.

Stalwarts of the community.

Grandad, a bellringer, a quiet man, a man of the land who spent his days turning the soil, nurturing his garden and providing for his family.

Nanny, who for many years ran their low rambling bungalow with views across the valley down to the sea as a bed and breakfast in the Summer.  A member of the WI and the Mothers Union.  Who wore a blue housecoat over her clothes and a hat to church on Sundays.

We had ponies, dogs, cats, my sister even had a ferret called pepper once.

But most of all we had a sense of belonging.

I stood in the tiny church in the middle of Exmoor and was reminded of those days as the service was relayed across the churchyard to those standing outside who had come to pay their respects. 

The sound of voices raised in remembrance echoed across the moorland.

This man, the 5th son of 6 brothers.

A man I'd never met but who's story was told by one of his 4 sons.

A beautiful tribute telling of his struggles, his love for his family, his humour, his quirks and the legacy that his life has left continuing on into future generations.

And it reminded me.

I haven't blogged for a while.

As ever there are many unwritten posts in my head.

A jumble of good, bad, happy and so painful that right now I can't even begin to find the words.

This step back has made me want to reevaluate so many things.

As one of my favourite quotes says:

"Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need. A homely home and simple pleasures, someone to love and someone to love you. Enough to eat and to wear and a little more than enough to drink, for thirst is a dangerous thing"

I'm not there right now but who knows, maybe one day ...