Zdravstvuj

Like the wonderful mother I am, I took Baby Babs to the park yesterday afternoon. It was basically a bribe, we went to the library first and I said if he behaved I'd take him on the way home. I've never seen a quieter child! We had the whole play area to ourselves for a while which BB loved, then another lady and her son turned up. And suddenly the play area turned into Eastern Europe. She was Polish and couldn't speak a word of English which made it very difficult to try and converse. The boys got on like a house on fire, chasing each other round and shouting "whee!!" and whatever it is in Polish, for ages. But it made it very awkward, all we could do was smile at each other. We went to another park last week and the other woman in there was Russian, and she was shouting at her kids in that scary "I will kneecap you if you don't get off that slide" Russian way of speaking. How am I supposed to make new friends if Essex has turned into the new Poland/Russia?! I might have to start learning the lingo, at least "how old is your little cherub?" and "do you come here often?". I might get back "he's 3 and we're just waiting for our flight home from that airport we heard Romford had".

A different perspective

I've been reading Rumpelstiltskin to Baby Babs recently, and I don't quite remember the dark undertones running through the story. If the girl can't spin straw into gold she must DIE and if she succeeds she gets to marry the king. How gracious of him! And then Rumpelstiltskin wants to take away her first child to do what with I couldn't figure out. Probably eat. Luckily Baby Babs doesn't really understand, he just likes listening. I'm going to have to vet all the books in future, perhaps our library only stocks the dark versions of stories, like the one where the Three Little Pigs are spit-roasted by the wicked wolf, and Little Red Riding Hood is sold into white slavery by her Grandma who is secretly involved with Mr Wolf, and who moves to Tenerife with the profits after being helped to find a villa with A Place in the Sun.

I bet these versions exist somewhere...

Reasons to live in Romford

I am always a bit scathing of living in Essex, not being born and bred. But our local paper this week listed "100 reasons to live in Havering" and there are some gems. I am quite proud now. The highlights?

1) Five Star come from Romford.
2) Seal lived in Romford for a bit.
3) Jilly Cooper was born in Hornchurch (posh bit).
4) Steve Davis the legendary snooker player was discovered playing in Romford Snooker Hall.
5) Ian Dury came from Upminster (posher bit).
6) The Prodigy filmed the video for Voodoo People in Romford Market.
7) John Motson bought his sheepskin coat from a man in Hornchurch.
8) Frank Lampard was born in Romford (can't have it all) and Tony Cottee lived in Collier Row (rough bit).
9) The Beatles played in Romford twice in 1963.

And the piece de resistence?
10) Richard Madeley comes from Romford!!

And the most bizarre fact:
11) There used to be a regular air service between Romford and Paris in the 1930s. I wonder if they were only one way fares? Who would want to come back?

Conversations...

Conversation with a new mother who turned up to a baby group one week:

New mother: "Eeer! This is me latest, Jade-Britney, she's only 8 days old!"
Me: "Ooh, lovely. Isn't she small?"
NM: "Yeah! Me other kids are over there, there's Justin on the tractor and Christina is asleep in the buggy. Oh an' Madonna-Mariah is at school."
Me: "You're brave coming out so soon after the birth."
NM: "No problem, she just popped out, innit, like the others, I told the doctors she would just pop out and they didn't believe me but she did. Just popped out. Hit her bleedin' head on the floor."
Me: "?!?!?"
NM: "See my finger! I cut it right open making a stew. Look at it!"
Me: "Cooking already? You are good!"
NM: "Yeah well with all me kids someone has to feed 'em! Me other 'alf ain't bovvered, he's down the pub usually, but look at me finger!"
Me: "Ooohhh!" (in head: "someone please help me!")
NM: "Do you wanna hold her a minute while I sort me shit out?"
Me: "Umm, of course!"
NM: "Righto. Ta very much. JUSTIN!! Get yer coat on, we're leavin'!!!"
Me: (Thank god!) "Umm, bye then!"

Dead letters

Talking of our resident ghost, this christmas we had a cheery card addressed to the couple who lived here from "Sue and Jim" who "hoped they were still going strong!". And left a return address. So I felt obliged to write and tell them they were dead. It was a very difficult letter to write. Never mind the fact that we have lived here for the past 4 years and this is the first year "Sue and Jim" thought to inquire into their friends' wellbeing, I didn't know how close they were and how they would take the news. So I politely informed them that their friends had passed away several years ago, and then made some half-hearted comments about them obviously being lovely people and I hoped they weren't too upset by my news. I have heard nothing back, I wish they would at least acknowledge my letter so I don't spent years torn up with guilt at being the evil person who told them their friends had carked it. Though I did use a second class stamp so it probably hasn't got there yet...

Ghost teacher?!

Baby Babs is coming along in leaps and bounds. He can talk for England now, despite only just turning two. We went to yet another birthday party today with lots of other two year olds, and it struck me just how far advanced he seemed all of a sudden. None of the other kids are talking, he can have full blown conversations now, and most of them had dummies and refused to leave their parents' side. Baby Babs was everywhere, he loved it, I hated chasing him round, but I do applaud his independent spirit. He doesn't give a monkeys if he can't see me and runs off blithely oblivious to the horrors that could await him.

But what is getting me is the words he comes out with. I know I teach him ridiculous words like "coconut". But I don't remember "tortoise" and teaching him the difference between "dark and light", "up and down" and "cold and hot". I think our ghost is back, obviously a primary school teacher back in the day, and Baby Babs is having lessons I know nothing about.

Yesterday I asked him what we should plant in our newly created veg patch, and he thought very carefully and said "daddy's beers". Now if he could just invent a Fosters plant we would be made for life. And I wouldn't put it past him...

Eggs in yer face

I opened the curtains this morning to find that some kindly soul had come round in the middle of the night and thrown eggs at my newly cleaned windows. Bastards. Not only does our window cleaner only come once in a blue moon, but it was sufficiently cold last night to make the egg freeze like super glue to my windows, I had to resort to a scouring pad to get it off, praying it didn't scratch the glass. It has unsettled me somewhat, I switch between thinking they were stupid kids and it was a random attack to "oh my god! we have somehow really upset someone so much that they sneak round in the dark to egg us!!". I won't sleep tonight.

And how expensive are eggs these days?! And who goes round late at night with eggs in their pockets?! Bloody essex teenagers that's who. Bastards.

On supermarkets

Recently I have noticed a trend in supermarkets. Those staff who do the shopping for the online orders are taking over the shops and leaving no room for normal customers. Last week I was trying to get to the butter only to find the entire aisle blockaded by staff restocking the cheese on one side and a woman with a massive trolley of online orders on the other. And I politely stood there till they moved!! Idiot. When did the normal in-store shoppers become mere irritations to the running of the shop? I thought they did most of the online orders when the shop itself was closed, but apparently not. And the days of restocking shelves at 3am seem to be long gone. It makes me so mad but it isn't limited to just one supermarket so I find it wherever I go. Next time I get blockaded I'm going to shove their massive trolleys out of the way or demand to see the manager. It's time for action people.

Cocktails

Speaking of cocktails, Justin Hawkins has a new album out with his band Hot Leg. I listened to a bit of it online and it's bleedin' brilliant!! Not quite the dizzy heights of the Darkness but not far off. The highlight was a song called Cocktail. The chorus goes "cock cock cock cock cocktail".

Absolute genius.

Mutant fruit

Baby Babs vocabulary is expanding massively and the other day we were going through one of his picture books for the nth time and I tried him on "coconut". He said it really well and I was so proud. Then I tried "pineapple". After frowning for a bit and really concentrating he came up with "applenutnut". That is the best word I have heard for years, and if only I could mix a pineapple and a coconut I would be famous! It would save so much time making cocktails :-)

The best pop video ever?!

I recently saw Coldplay's video for Life in technicolour ii and it is bloody brilliant! With no Top of the Pops (RIP) anymore most new videos pass me by, but you can watch videos on our cable for free and after I got tired of Bob the Builder doing "Big Fish Little Fish" (cardboard box!) I looked at a few cooler ones. If you haven't seen it, you are missing a brilliant puppet show extravaganza! And it's totally changed my opinion of Coldplay, I used to think "oh god it's Coldplay" whenever they turned up on the radio or tv, but now the video has messed my head up! I am quite sure Coldplay themselves didn't come up with the idea or execute any of it (apart from the song which is also not bad surprisingly) but hey. They put their name to it! Nobody puts any effort into videos anymore, so top marks from me!

I am not being paid by Coldplay for this btw! I can also highly recommend Morrissey's new one, ooh I love Mozza. Oh and that beardy bloke from Elbow...

The Christmas comedown

I've got the January blues already. It seems like I spent SO long preparing for Christmas, this year I made cards, decorations, mince pies, sorted all the presents, food etc etc and it's all over so quickly. I even managed to squeeze in making a blanket for Miss S's imminent arrival. Christmas Eve was possibly the excitedest I've ever been since childhood. Baby Babs is old enough now to get it (kind of) and one of our neighbours dressed up as Father Christmas and brought him a present, and we got the egg nog out and watched the Polar Express and Toy Story and it was honestly one of the days that I will remember for years. Christmas Day was nice, but a bit of a come down. Baby Babs liked ripping paper off presents more than what was actually in them, and we had a moment trying to put together a train track with Baby Babs ripping bits off as they were constructed until he had to be removed from the room. Kids toys eh? I now know what my parents went through and they had 3 kids to keep happy.

And now I sit here wondering why the Christmas tree is still up and should I take it down tomorrow or leave it till the weekend? And everything is a bit flat. I need a new project! Luckily Baby Babs handily has his 2nd birthday at the end of January so that will take January up! More card making, present buying, why it's almost like Christmas!

Out of the mouths of babes...

Whenever Mr Babs lets off a not so sneaky fart, Baby Babs very proudly announces "Daddy - poo poo!". He also now announces when he does them. "Baby - poo poo!". It's funny indoors, but imagine if we were out at a restaurant...

End of an era

This week two of my childhood institutions have gone down in flames. First the demise of Woollies, which was great for pick and mix and random things when you were young. Now Sir Terry (though I would think about rescinding the Sir, maam) has quit the Eurovision!! Terry! No!!! How could he? And leave us with Graham Norton?! Though to be fair, Graham did do the Eurovision Dance Contest and wasn't too bad, so he will definitely be better than John Barrowman who is presenting everything else that is slightly camp. But does this signal the end of the Eurovision too? And what do we do if it is?!

Random anonymous annoying people

Recently I had a comment on an old post from someone called "Robert". He doesn't have a blog by the looks of it, or he doesn't want to share. I think he must be american as he doesn't seem to understand irony and decided to be quite rude and patronising to me. (Sorry if I have offended the nice americans I know! This doesn't apply to you!) I have no idea why he decided to comment, but he has really pissed me off. I deleted his "opinions" as I don't need that kind of shit on my blog, but tell me why do people feel the need to do that?! I bet he isn't even called "Robert".

Sigh

Q: How does the moon cut his hair?
A: Eclipse it

Child genius or child exploitation?!

Baby Babs can now do brilliant impressions of a rabbit, a chicken and a lion. They really make me laugh and he learned them straightaway, it wasn't a case of "you WILL be a chicken!". But part of me thinks I shouldn't be encouraging it, is it child exploitation or have I got a young impressionist on my hands?! And what should I teach him next?!

Daytime tv

I've got to the point where I can't watch daytime tv anymore. Recently itv got fined for showing violent episodes of Taggart and other shows at 3 in the afternoon. Midsomer Murders as well, and man that's violent and has lots of rumpy pumpy too!

This week I caught an episode of Doctors, a daytime soap about a health centre. Haven't seen it for a while, but one of the doctors was paralysed in a car crash by a colleague last year sometime. Queue lots of angst ridden episodes, Rocky style exercise routines trying to get his legs back, him trying to date ladies and then when they knocked him back going "is it coz I'm disabled?" [No, it's coz you are bleedin' annoying]. This week he was clearly much better, he was walking, had a lovely girlfriend, they were talking about going scuba diving and everything! Then he was flattened by a lorry. Dead as a dodo. Poor sod. What was it all for?

I think it is a cunning plan to get me to do something other than veg on the sofa! Damn those tv schedulers.

Yours Mary Whitehouse jr :-)

Gladiator

Since we married, Mr Babs has let his personal appearance go a bit. He doesn't shave as much as he used to, really only when we have somewhere to go, which isn't often. I don't mind a bit of stubble, but it's gone a bit beyond that now and he looks like a man whose wife has left him or who has lost all his money on the horses. I had a plan to make him shave at the weekend, but then a bloody woman at his work came up to him and said "I like your beard, you look like a gladiator!" Thanks love. A gladiator! If he did indeed look like Russell Crowe then I wouldn't mind at all. He refuses to shave now and his head is twice the size. Cow. And why was she commenting on my husband's appearance? Do I need to go and sort her out?

Sigh

I am currently doing a proofreading correspondence course, I am extremely nitpicky and hate finding mistakes in books so I am probably perfect for it. Anyway, I've got to do an assessment and post it back to them, and have to get at least a B to pass the whole course. I have spent the last week agonising about a part of it, the text is all jumbled up and in real life you would query it so they can check it against the manuscript. But I decided this was too easy and they really wanted you to correct it to demonstrate your understanding of the symbols you need to use. But did they?! After days of going backwards and forwards, in desperation I just rang them to ask and the girl said "oh yeah, you just query it" and that was that! No "oh it's an assessment, an important part of the course, I can't help you I'm afraid", just "oh we'll tell you the answer, don't worry!". On the one hand I am grateful that my instincts were right in the first place, but on the other, does everybody pass this course as they just tell you what to do?!

Pirate jokes

I thought I would share my current collection of pirate jokes after the whinging in the last post. Nothing is ever so bad that a pirate joke can't cheer you up :-)

Q: What music do pirates listen to?
A: Arrrr and B

Q: What did it cost the pirate for a new peg leg and hook?
A: An arm and a leg

Q: What do you get if you cross a pirate and a vampire?
A: Draculaarrrrrr

[Hee hee, I particularly like the last one, and for Miss S and Lady L, my favourite ever joke: Q: What do you get if you cross a badger and a seagull? A: A bagel!!]

Desperate housewives

I am full of rage at my other half today. Why? Well, let me see. These are my jobs:

Cleaning
Cooking (and deciding what to cook)
Shopping (including beer buying)
Gardening
Car maintenance and cleaning
Paying bills
Arranging medical, dental and optician appointments as necessary
Collecting prescriptions and medication as and when required by husband
Washing
Ironing
Buying clothes for husband and son
Arranging birthday cards/presents/xmas cards/presents for entire family
Bringing up baby

These are his jobs:

Go to work
Wash up after tea

Now do you understand? I have over at least the last 6 months asked him to fix the kitchen tap and the shower screen, both things I can't do myself. Are they fixed? He is also supposed to mow the lawn. He does it grudgingly about twice a year.

Oh dear, this list hasn't helped at all. I'm more mad now. Damn. And if I brought this up? "I go to work to pay for it all." But I know if I do go back to work I'll be doing it on top of everything else! I am oh so full of rage. But I must also be an idiot to do it all. Crap.

Depressed road safety campaigners?

In Lincolnshire it appears that the road safety people are either very depressed or have a very black sense of humour. On all the roads there were anti-speeding signs, not your usual "drive safely" or "keep your speed down". Oh no. The two most prevalent ones were very dark.

"ARRIVE ALIVE!!!" screamed the first poster as we sped past it. "How could you arrive otherwise?" was my first thought.

"TO DIE FOR???!!!" asked the second with a picture of a motorbike next to the cheery slogan.

My, they must really need to be shocked out of bad driving in Lincolnshire.

Fishermen

We were staying in a fishing cottage so my father-in-law could spend the week failing to catch anything of note. One day a fisherman round the corner from us caught quite a big fish. Someone else had stopped to look, so I took Baby Babs to have his first look at a fish. The man didn't say anything but quite clearly didn't want us to look so we left. He was a rude man. Then it turned out he was an editor of some regional fishing magazine and thought he was the bees knees. He obviously thought I knew who he was and was trying to get an autograph or a photo or something ridiculous. "This is me with Syd, the local editor of Fishing World, do you know him?". Honestly. He swanned round the place like he owned it, shouting out to anyone in range how many fish he had caught recently. He ate for free in the cafe and had loads of free gear, obviously through his job, but he didn't half show it off. Horrible man. Most of the fishermen were a bit odd really, they really think they are it, but frankly they are all a bit sad and I am glad I am only a football widow, they don't usually have much to brag about, well not in my house anyway :-)

Strange places I have been

On a recent week away we found the Strangest Pub in Britain. In a desperate bid to find a pub that was showing the two Tottenham matches on that week (Mr Babs and holidays do not mean he will not insist on watching them playing badly) we ended up in one called the Red Lion. Every other pub was showing better matches. The first night, there was us and probably 8 other people, including the bar staff. This made the notice on the door stating that the pub had a maximum capacity and people would be turned away when reached most intriguing. Is that maximum number 15? 20? I cannot imagine it getting so full they had a one in one out policy.

The other night we were in there it was slightly busier, but there was still room for about fifty more people. It must have been sports night. There were two intensely competitive dominoes games going on in opposite corners, a closely fought darts match in another, two different football games on opposing screens, and a queue for the slot machines. It made my head hurt. We were given the evil eye all night by an odd guy called Nige, I can only think we were stood in his spot or he really hated Tottenham fans. I thought he was going to follow us home and kill us, especially as we staying in a cottage up a dark lane in the middle of nowhere. He didn't though.

The town itself was also very odd. It was all pubs, food shops, and indian takeaways. That was about it. Nowhere to buy clothes, apart from one charity shop, nowhere to buy holiday gifts. Oh and the biggest vets I have ever seen. And in the only pub we ate in, it turned out the manager used to live round the corner from my in-laws in London. How bizarre. And the amount of people on those oldie scooter haring round the lanes was nothing short of dangerous. They all think they are on motorbikes and reliving their youth. Wait till someone gets runover, that's all I'm saying Evil Knievel grandad.

Things Baby Babs finds amusing

1) Pretending to make his teddy bears smell his feet and then drop down dead.
2) Crashing things into each other.
3) Falling over.
4) Other people falling over.
5) Dancing.
6) Taking pens out of pots and putting them back in again.
7) Taking calls on his pretend mobile.
8) The theme tune to Hollyoaks.

I've either got a child genius or a slightly twisted future madman on my hands.

Why I hate London

Last week me and Baby Babs were on a bus. Unfortunately it was one of the new fangled bendy buses so we were miles away from the driver. When the bus stopped at our stop, instead of letting us off first, an awful awful woman barged her way onto the bus and shoved the buggy, leaving Baby Babs face down on the pavement and me on my ass on the bus. If I hadn't been so worried about the doors closing and me being carried off and Baby Babs being left on the pavement I would have either a) called the police or b) smashed her or c) both. She was a terrible woman and all she said was "sorry but you should have moved". If I hadn't been in shock I would have dragged her off the bus and taught her that you are supposed to let people off before forcing your way on. I am still SO mad about it and I hope that the people on the bus smashed her instead. And I hope she learnt her lesson but I doubt it very much.

And another thing...

...Mr Babs has to have an eye check up every year for his diabetes. I rang up to make an appointment for his annual check to our usual place to be told the next appointment was "18th December". December? When I queried this I was given a snotty "well there is a big demand for them" from some schoolgirl trainee. So I rang the much smaller local independent opticians and got an appointment for 23rd September. Ah ha. A 4 month wait for these eye tests can have really bad consequences, they can pick up all sorts of problems with them. How is this shop, a massive chain, so shit?! Last year it was fine. Of course I have complained :-)

Is it me?!

Recently I have had cause to contact a bank and an online shop to ask questions. Not complaints for once! But in both cases it appeared that my query had not been listened to AT ALL and they just had a standard response based on one word in my query. The shop one was yesterday, I received a watch as a gift but it needs altering. So as it came from an online shop and was a gift I wasn't sure how to go about sending it for alteration and I thought "ooh I'll just email them and ask". So I get a response telling me how to return it. I replied saying "if you actually read my message, I don't want to return it I just want it altered!". It drives me mad. The bank one was hilarious, our local branch was closed with some electrical problem and I needed to see if it was open so I thought "ooh I'll just phone them and see". But I couldn't find the local branch number and the woman on the generic number apparently didn't hear a word I said and told me I could pay my money in whenever the branch was open. I did complain about her and when I got a response from the manager saying "I believe you had a query about the opening hours of your local branch..." I gave up! Is it me or are all customer service people really rubbish these days?! Or are they tied to strict responses that are on a piece of paper and told to find the one that fits best and they aren't allowed to ad lib?!

Are the fish inside or outside?

Today we are meeting up with Miss S to go to the London Aquarium for our birthdays. It is a little more sedate than previous years, but with Baby Babs in tow and Miss S carrying one herself (currently called Clive until we know one way or the other), serious drinking and dancing and high heels are out for the moment. But they will return. Oh yes. It has been relatively nice weather up until today, but as I sit here now it is teeming down and it seems a little weird to venture out into torrential rain and then pay to go indoors and look at more water. But who doesn't love looking at fish and the promise of cake afterwards?!

What a relief...

The new series of In the Night Garden started yesterday and it hasn't changed. Goodo, Baby Babs likes continuity. My main concern was that Derek Jacobi would be sick of narrating with all the funny narrative and oohs and aahs, and would be replaced by someone like Sean Bean, but he's still there. He either has grandkids who love it or he's being paid shedloads. He sounds like he's narrating Shakespeare so it makes me feel better about littl'un watching it constantly!

But I suspect Iggle Piggle has a bigger blanket than before...

Neighbours

Our bleedin' neighbours are doing my nut in. They have put their house up for sale and although at first I was worried about who would replace them, now I'm wishing for a nice old couple who want to grow veg and sit in their garden with a pet dog. There is no interest at all in their house and I so wish there was. They were away recently and it was only when they came back that I realised how much NOISE they make! They have 2 kids which is fair enough, but if my kid spent hours in the garden just shrieking randomly I would tell him to bloody shut up, never mind if it was bothering other people! Then the bloke has a voice that could peel paint off the walls and it carries for miles and miles. We can't sit in our garden really as they are always there talking LOUDLY and there is no peace. I feel like they conned me by promising to move and then not doing! (Though when they have eventually moved and we've got worse people in don't remind me!)

I do wonder if it is me. They are by no means the worst neighbours we've ever had, that would probably be the awful couple who lived above me once in Croydon, but that's a whole other story. I just wish we could have a nice detached house in the middle of a park and be able to live in peace, and even possibly sit outside and read a book once in a while. I might just start playing music on a big boom box instead, it probably wouldn't be as noisy!

When you are tired of tv...

...are you tired of life?! Being at home and not having to enter the rat race means that over the months since Baby Babs arrived I have watched an inordinate amount of rubbish television. But now something strange has happened. Instead of leaving daytime tv on in the background, only now and then tutting at the utter banality of it all, now I can't bear to leave it on. Which in a way is a Good Thing. But now what do I do?! Even in the evenings tv is SOOO depressing, Mr Babs and I have finally broken our Hollyoaks addiction, we can't have watched it for at least a month now which is bloody brilliant and my mind feels more wholesome already. I think it was the sheer depression of everything that was happening in it, if watching a program makes you feel like crap, why watch it?! Everyone is miserable, dying, faking death, cheating somebody or something blah blah blah. I inadvertently caught an episode of Eastenders on Friday night. Some character's fiance was murdered on the night before the wedding, and his son (not hers) said that he hated her and that he would rather go into care than stay with her. She recently survived her house being blown up and a stalker and now this! Welcome to the weekend!

The only thing we watch is mind enlarging quiz shows or topical news comedy shows in the hope of at least learning something. We might have to take up ballroom dancing or something ridiculous. I can see my life ebbing away and all I'll have to show for it is an impressive knowledge of CJ's many hair styles on Eggheads.

The other half...

I was invited for coffee to the house of a mum I know. She is part of a group that are always doing expensive day out type things and I always cry off for lack of funds, but I thought I could manage going to her house for once. For one thing, Baby Babs loved playing with the other kids, and for another we all got to moan about our other halves. Anyway, I knew this lady had a lovely big house having been there once before, but when I got there this time she said all matter of factly; "Oh I'd get you a cup of tea but my cleaner's in at the moment, I'll have to wait until she's finished". I was half expecting her then to say; "and my butler doesn't start till 10" but she didn't. Then she confided that the cleaner was her husband's ex-wife, and she had employed her for 6 months before he found out!! What a ploy!! And she does her ironing. I am going so wrong somewhere...

Awkward situations...

...getting stuck at a party with a skanky married woman who your husband had a fling with years ago when he was too young to know any better and hadn't met you yet. You know about it, she doesn't know you know. She is super super friendly and confides all kinds of shit to you, then hits on the bright idea of having you over for coffee. Great. Thankfully she is so drunk she hopefully won't remember...and all your brain can do is think "I really don't like you, please leave me alone" and also "why is your face so hairy??!!". Mixed with "I know you are only talking to me to try to get to my husband but that ain't happening hairy lady!".

And where was my guilty husband? Hiding at the back of the party and not making any attempt to rescue me. Any other woman would have said something or made vague excuses and legged it. Not me, oh no, I took her phone number and promised to call. I am SO weak and pathetic, I had no intention of phoning but I didn't want to upset her. She's probably waiting by the phone as we speak...

Call the AA

We have family down this week, just in the evenings as they are doing other stuff in the day. And it seems I am funding one person's alcohol problem. Back in the day, one bottle of wine between two would certainly not be enough, but these days I can make a bottle last for three evenings at the weekend! Anyway, last night we had a bottle and a half of wine in the fridge, I was on my first glass and watched my drinking companion neck three glasses within half an hour, then polish off most of the rest of it leaving me a paltry second glass. Then as there was no booze left, they went home. I wouldn't mind if they had actually brought some wine round to drink! And I have a conundrum this evening. Am I tight and just buy one more bottle to last the evening knowing that I won't see much of it or buy two?! Damnit, they have blown my weekly budget to shreds as it is, I'm buying one of those mini bottles you can get and see how they like that!

Children's television

A strange phenomenon has taken over children's television. It seems to have been taken over by scottish people. Not that that is a bad thing, there just seems to be an abundance of cheery scots trying to amuse Baby Babs at the moment. Why is this?

a) it's cheaper to film and produce kiddie tv oop north?
b) the scots are all super lovely, cheery and funny and love nothing more than acting up for a camera?
c) all the plummy accented brits are flouncing about trying to get into "serious" acting and find children's tv beneath them?
d) all the up and coming northern actors are in Hollyoaks? (Saying that, a girl who was in Barnaby the Bear has now made the transition into "moody goth" in Hollyoaks, what a career move!)
e) kiddie shrinks have discovered that babies respond better to accents? And they are currently producing a new version of Noddy set in Birmingham?
f) I have uncovered a sinister attempt to take over the world by firstly dominating kiddie's tv to make us all speak scottish? It makes sense since Scotland made their bid for independence, it's a stealth invasion, bring on the whiskey!

Hmm, answers on a postcard please...

(PS Before any scots or indeed brums get the hump, I'm from oop north too and not slagging you off!)

Nails

I painted my nails the other day, I haven't done it for months and it was a small step to taking my life back from constantly looking after other people and neglecting myself. But in the end it caused more trouble than it was worth. All the family commented on it with "ooh, where are you going?" and "are you really bored at home?" type remarks. I just smiled and said nothing while inside I was raging "OF COURSE I AM NOT GOING OUT AND I AM CERTAINLY NOT BORED, I NEVER GET A MINUTE TO MYSELF! I JUST WANTED TO PAINT MY NAILS AND FEEL A BIT GIRLY!!!!"

And it was chipped within the hour.

Sigh...

Peace at last...

When you have spent the last 4 hours wrestling 3 young children who seem to want to fight constantly, the ones that weren't yours have gone home, yours is asleep, and you have a BIG glass of wine. Then you appreciate peace.

Lessons in being a bad mother

This week I have mainly been having lessons in being a bad mother. From confiscating cars that were flying round the room, to not letting Baby Babs sit on my knee after he smacked me in the face, to feeding him chicken nuggets instead of healthy nutritious fare. But the biggest lesson was a trip to a kids indoor play area thingymybob that Baby Babs' cousins go to quite a lot. We haven't been before but agreed to go along. It's all enclosed and they can't get lost or wander off so it was quite good really. And Baby Babs LOVED it, he ran round screaming and laughing and playing with the other kids. It was only some tunnels and padded play areas, but it was baby heaven to him. As I sat there watching him I thought "it's no surprise he's been throwing cars at the tv and hitting me, he's been bored out of his mind for the last 18 months". 18 months and never taken to a kiddie play place. BAD MOTHER! But saying that, it cost us £8 (!) for the 2 hour session so we won't be going lots! But I must make more of an effort to take him to the park or other places. He must be fed up of watching Homes under the Hammer and Cash in the Attic by now I suppose :-)

Library babies

So yesterday out of desperation for something to entertain Baby Babs we finally turned up to the library's "read and rhyme" session. I have been meaning to go for ages, it's only 1/2 an hour and free and I was curious to see what type of mum turns up to these gigs. And it was SO different to the baby group with the chav mothers we go to. There was a pretty inept children's librarian alternately reading stories and playing nursery rhymes on a tape deck. She sang so quietly you couldn't hear her and didn't really grab the kids' attention. The session is geared for kids from 0-5, which is a pretty big range to cover, so it was a weird mismatch of books she chose. Baby Babs had had enough by half way through and proceeded to run round the library in circles, he was entertained anyway! The mums were pretty much all chinese which was a bit strange, and one asked me how old my "little girl" was. This would be an easy mistake to make if Baby Babs wasn't the most boyish looking little boy ever, you could never mistake him for a girl!! So turning up for library events does not guarantee brains or common sense it seems. I'm not sure if we'll go again, the only plus is that if we turn up for 5 sessions we get a certificate! If it was a badge we would definitely be there with bells on.

Mmm, bread...

In my quest to become a better cook (there wasn't much to start with, trust me) I decided to make my own bread. Partly due to the RIDICULOUS prices at the moment, it is cheaper to make your own. Anyway, my grandma gave me a fancy food mixer at the weekend and it had a dough hook, so off we went! And it was bloody lovely! Obviously it doesn't last as long as shop bread with all the horrible preservatives and all, but it won't last long anyway! Though this new hobby (muffins last week, bread this week) is at loggerheads with my attempt to lose weight, dammit. Why are all celebrity chefs thin anyway? I don't trust a thin chef, they can't really eat their own food can they?!

Oh the shame...

...yesterday I was in the library looking at cookery books. There was a bright pink book called "how to be the perfect housewife" in the section which looked very inviting being big and pink and shiny and I thought it would be a laugh to see where I was going wrong. So I get to the issue desk and hand over my ticket. The librarian gets to the pink book and VERY loudly goes "Ooh the latest by Anthea Turner!! Are you a perfect housewife then?!" (while looking me up and down, I was wearing my "rock star t-shirt" and cut off trousers, no slacks and shirts for me Anthea). She might as well have put the tannoy on and gone "this lady thinks she is a perfect housewife AND she borrows books by Anthea Turner!" At this point I couldn't admit my mistake and go "ooh I don't really want to borrow it thankyou!" and instead pretended I had chosen it especially. I took it back today, I couldn't have it in the house when I flicked open a page telling me how to make my own beeswax and also to clean the fridge at least once a fortnight...something tells me I am not the perfect housewife. But I do make mean muffins.

Bye Carol!

Ooh the scandal. Carol Vorderman outrageously shunted from her role as maths expert/letter putter upper on Countdown. I knew it had to come sooner or later. Someone in power finally realised that being good at maths (but rubbish at sticking letters on a board) isn't the same as being God. Carol was way too smug these days, trying to outguess the contestants, making flirty jokes with Des, trying to get as much camera time as possible. In those outfits?! She must have been mad. If she was being paid shedloads then she wasn't spending it on clothes, most probably on vodka. Nobody is bigger than the show they work on, despite how long they've stuck it out. And yes I am sure there are loads of sad old men writing love letters or sending maths porn to lovely Carol, and the highlight of their day is watching her reach up to put letters on a board, but her time is up.

What would she do now? Mmm, it's a tricky one. Making the most of her skills (maths) and failings (dress sense) the obvious answer would be a quirky maths teacher in a girls' school. Watch out public schools of Surrey...

No! ( I mean yes, or probably...)

Baby Babs' latest word is "NO!". He knows lots of other words now but has started using "NO!" in response to every question. He obviously doesn't know what it means yet though as cunning questions reveal:

Mum: "would you like some chocolate?"
Baby Babs: "NO!"
Mum: "you are proving yourself wrong by stuffing it in your mouth there dear, perhaps you meant "yes"?"
Baby Babs: "NO!"

Nanny: "Do you want to go to the park?"
Baby Babs: "NO!"
Nanny: "So the fact that you are waving your shoes at me and standing by the door is a coincidence then?"
Baby Babs: "NO!"

Also every vehicle he sees is a "car". And every man is "Daddy" which can prove rather embarassing when we are walking down the street and he shouts "Daddy!" at every man we pass, like I've asked him to pick out a new Daddy.

...on food prices

Yesterday a bog standard supermarket own brand loaf was 65p. Today it is 72p. How?!? It actually makes more sense to buy a proper lovely tasting loaf now as they only cost 80p. I'm happy that I no longer feel forced to buy the cheap nasty bread and can revel in wheaty loveliness, but my poor shopping budget is screwed. And don't get me started on milk and cheese, I'm looking at getting a cow, that's all I'm saying on the matter...

Cop-out endings...

Bleeding authors. It takes me a lot longer to read a book nowadays (it used to be about a week if that, now it's into months) so I am very picky about what I decide to read. I like Barbara Erskine and when I saw her latest in the library I was very excited. 2 months later I finished it and it was SUCH a letdown!! I wasted all that time. She writes historical novels where characters in the present day are taken over by the spirits of long dead angry people who want to avenge something or other. The main characters secretly love each other but the spirits make them fight, then at the end they are freed and go "ooh I love you" and it's all happy! This one wasn't so bad, the suspense was built up really well, all the characters were suitably possessed and taken to some important place where it all happened originally, and then it got to the climax. The possessed characters are all together trying to kill each other or escape. But then a local priesty bloke turns up, shouts "evil spirits begone!" or some such rubbish and poof! they were gone and everyone is back to normal. HOW could it be so easy to beat them? The whole book was going on about their powers and the characters couldn't possibly fight them etc etc and all it took was a priest in a bad mood shouting at them. Pft! That was a cop-out if you ask me, Ms Erskine couldn't think how to finish it so just gave up. I might write to her and complain...

I have no idea what to read next, it's ruined me for other books.

Judge John Deed

I'm in court tomorrow as the star witness in the thieving bastards case. It would be lovely if Judge John Deed was in charge, he'd make me feel less scared and probably take me for a drink afterwards. I'm torn between excitement at the whole process (my life is all dirty nappies and Big Cook Little Cook at the moment) and terror. It's not a massive criminal case and it's against a 12 year old, but I have visions of the lawyers shouting at me like they do on the tv and convincing me I didn't see what I saw. It is all clear cut to me in my head, but what if they start throwing questions at me and being mean? I might handle it confidently and say what I saw, then again I might just cry at the nasty man being mean to me. Then again, I might recognise the lawyer as I was a law librarian once upon a time, and remember he couldn't even work a photocopier, then I won't be so scared!

Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours...

Our neighbours are moving. This fills me with dread. They were ok as neighbours go, they have 2 kids who Baby Babs likes to shout at through the fence. And annoying relatives who turned up every bleedin' weekend and scowled at us in our own garden, I won't miss them. But who will we get instead? Going on past history one of these:

a) A young couple who don't give two monkeys about their neighbours and play loud loud music at all hours and have screaming rows in the street.
b) Proper Essex family with scary daughters who wear not very much, smoke out of the bedroom window and have screaming rows in the kitchen.
c) Someone who likes cars and spends all weekend tinkering with a knackered old Ford stuck in the garden.
d) A family with loud barking dogs, probably rottweilers, who scare the beejeezus out of Baby Babs.
e) Weird Russians who shout loudly and threateningly in Russian. Oh hang on, been there done that...

Oh joy. Luckily I am friends with the noise police, and these days I don't hesitate to get on their case. I just don't want the hassle. At least if you were renting you knew you could move relatively easily.

Sweet old ladies...

Conversation at the till in a Savers shop in Essex...

Boy behind till: "That's £3.69 love"
Old lady: "WHAT?"
Boy behind till: "That's £3.69"
Old lady: "HOW MUCH WERE THOSE TISSUES?"
BBT: "Er, £1.49 love"
Old lady: "I DON'T WANT THEM! I CAN GET THEM IN THE 99P SHOP!!!"
BBT: "Oh, ok, I'll take them off. That's £2.20 then love"
Old lady: "WHAT?!"
BBT (clearly getting annoyed now): "That's £2.20"
Old lady: "HERE YOU GO THEN"
BBT (looking relieved it's nearly over): "Here's 80p change, thanks love"
Old lady: "HERE! WHERE ARE MY TISSUES?! I HAD TISSUES IN MY BASKET!!"
BBT: "You didn't want them love, you put them back"
Old lady: "OH FORGET IT, I'LL GET THEM SOMEWHERE ELSE"

Old lady starts shuffling off, whole queue behind her starts shouting at her, she's only gone and left her shopping on the counter and is too deaf to hear them. Intrepid Bookish Barbara, despite the obvious risk to herself, taps the lady on the shoulder and gives her the shopping.

Everyone sighs with relief. She has left the premises. Boy behind till has a "I don't get paid enough to deal with this shit" expression on his face. but he wins the prize for patience!

Essex mothers

A conversation at a mother and baby group:

Mum A: "Eeeeer, what did you get up to at the weekend then?"
Mum B: "We went to a paaartay, yeah, and after a few smirnoff ices we all got our boobs out yeah, it was WICKED!!"
Me: "????!!!!???"
Mum A: "Wicked yeah! I love my boobs, they are really firm, yeah, even since I had Jordan, I wore a bra constantly for 6 months after I had 'er"
Mum B: "Ooh, yeah, they are lovely, mine are saggy, I can't do nothing with 'em"
Mum C: "I've started my diet today, haven't I? I only had 2 packets of crisps today. I'm only a size 16 so I haven't got that much to lose"
Me (in head): "A size 16?!?! I don't bleeding well think so love!" and "?!?!?!?!"
Mum A: "Ooh yer are doin' well, I'm doin' aerobics at the church hall"
Mum B: "Ooh I hate aerobics, I get all sweaty and bored. I like dancin'"
Mum A: "Well I like it. Did I tell you we just bought a new kitchen?"
Mum B: "No"
Mum A: "Yeah, AND we are going to America next month, I'm going to buy SO much stuff, we're so rich! Did I tell you Jordan's outfit is from America? We had it sent over special like"
Me (in head:) "Kill me now. Please."

Did I miss something?!

I may be getting old, but exactly which part of Amy Winehouse's Glastonbury "performance" was a "triumph" exactly?! Me and Lady L and our other halves watched it on the tv (too poor for Glasto tickets) and she was shocking. She mumbled the words, staggered around the stage, and talked incoherently for an hour. The only bit where she made sense was when she punched the fan who tried to pull her hairpiece off (though we were willing it to happen). She was on the Nelson Mandela gig the day before and was just as bad. But people are describing it as amazing and brilliant. She needs help, not people letting her go on stage in that state for everyone to gawp at.

None of the bits of Glasto I have seen have made me wish I was there. Mark Ronson was ok, but Lily Allen turned up to do her song and hadn't bothered to learn the lyrics. She said she "hadn't sung it for a while", but surely she must have been asked to do it a while ago. She could have spent 5 minutes swotting up before swaggering on stage and saying to the people who paid £200 a pop "oh I couldn't be arsed to learn them, and I can't be arsed to read them off this sheet either so why don't you all sing it instead?". Pop stars. Pah.

When me and Lady L went to Reading it was so different. Rock stars threw poo at the audience, bands were brilliant, people rolled around the site in bins. Dave Grohl licked the camera. Ah those were the days...

Skater grannies

A news story today really made me laugh! It appears that since OAPs got free travel on buses, they are really taking advantage of it and there isn't room for other (paying) passengers to get on the buses. And the coach firms that like to do OAP trips to Bognor Regis or wherever are losing business. I can just imagine people standing at the bus stop waiting for the number 102 which flies by full to the brim with oldies mooning out of the back window and dressed like skater boys and girls! Old age is the new teenage it seems, teenagers are too busy stabbing each other to get the bus anywhere fun.

Crime doesn't pay

So to update on my criminal involvement, the thieving Dad is in jail having pleaded guilty to the theft (and lots more besides I shouldn't wonder) and the 12 year old boy is in court next month. The only problem is that I have to go too as a witness. I really don't want to be involved, who knew just writing a number plate down would cause all this hoo haa? If people knew they probably wouldn't bother, which is a shame. And I now have my relatives scaring me with "they will find out where you live and get revenge" comments. I don't know how true that is but I am a bit worried. When they describe what happened it wouldn't take a genius to remember where it was, as the gear was so specific, and hang around looking for me. But what choice do I have now?! The thieving gits aren't getting away with it. My only hopes are that the boy is so thick he really wouldn't remember where it was, and my fake moustache disguise...

The onset of immediate depression...

...comes when someone who has just used your bathroom chirps up "ooh those bathroom scales are brilliant, they are about 1/2 a stone out!"

Crap.

Eurovision and pirates!!

This year's Eurovision was bloody brilliant! I so wish we'd had a party and that Lady L and I hadn't had to resort to a breakdown of the acts by text message! I was torn between the Latvian pirates and the Finnish rockers. Rock! I so want to move to Finland! They weren't quite Lordi, but they were quite Iron Maiden which was cool. And as for Latvia. Anyone who is prepared to go on tele in front of millions dressed as a pirate and singing "hii hii hey" while dancing round a wheel gets my vote. There were loads of acts I could have voted for this year which makes a change.

But it was all marred at the end by the stupid political voting that meant Russia won when clearly they were pants. I never understand it. Are the voting public in countries like Serbia and Latvia forced at gunpoint to dial the number for Russia when they wanted to vote for Iceland, or is there no public vote at all and it's all lies?! And if so, when did the Eurovision get so important that whole countries resort to skulduggery and secret meetings ("if you vote for us this year, we'll give you free tickets to the do next year") to sort out who is voting for who this year? It was most upsetting that they upset poor Terry, who was totally disenchanted with it all and threatened us that he might not do it next year. Terry!! How could you? But the countries that put most money towards it, us, France, Germany, Spain, will probably think about not paying for it in the future as our chances are so low, and that will mean we will lose our automatic places and never again qualify for the Eurovision. Then nobody will bother watching it except for all the Eastern Europeans who have hijacked it. It's a sad old time for the Eurovision. I've just depressed myself writing this. And I was so high on Euro excitement! Damn those ice skating weird tight white pants wearing Russians and their political ambitions.

Shopping nirvana

So the other week I realised that a) we had £80 of John Lewis vouchers from our wedding (in 2005) and b) we didn't have much money. So this led to c) ordering the weekly shopping from Ocado. Marvellous! I hadn't used them before mainly as they seem v. posh and expensive. Now I have and can't possibly use them again until we're rich again and it's awful. It's like having candy taken away when you're a small child. I kind of wish I hadn't experienced it. They definitely win the customer service award for online shopping, and quirkyness.

The morning of my delivery I got a text message. This reminded me it was coming, that no items were missing, the name of my delivery man, the make and model and numberplate of his van. I was surprised they didn't tell me his blood type or favourite sandwich filling.

I got a call a good 45 minutes before my slot from Kevin the driver. He said he was "running behind" to which I immediately though "uh-oh". But no! He actually meant he was running ahead, and could he come round now? Of course you can Kevin!

Then when he turned up he gave me a whole welcome speech, a breakdown of how all the food is packed and arranged, and what the colour coded bags meant. He looked very upset when I said he could just leave the bags in the porch and I'd take them through to the kitchen. I wasn't being rude, I'm just used to Tescos.

And I got a free packet of something I ordered by mistake! Though when he'd left I guiltily wondered if it was a test of my suitability to be an Ocado customer. If I tried to order again I'd probably be told I wasn't honest enough and to go elsewhere!

This is not a paid advertisement for Ocado by the way! I'm just a sucker for expensive food delivery and lovely food! It was so upsetting when we ate it all and had to go back to "basics" bread.

The fuzz are getting so much younger...

Yesterday I had a knock at the door, and looking out of the window I saw 3 young men dressed in denim with tattoos. On opening the door, I expected to be asked if I wanted my windows cleaned, or my roof replaced. Only to get a shock when one (who looked about 15 I swear!) flashed his badge and said he was the police following up the thieving bastards from last week. Bless! They were so young! I didn't take them seriously at all, preferring to regale them in how funny the boy running to the car was. They did laugh but then said "we'll come and take a proper statement soon". But now I'm worrying I can't remember exactly what happened, or what the man looked like really. What if they make me do a line-up?! Why did I get involved?!

Or does their youth mean I am getting old?

A rude awakening...

...being given a live beetle while you are lounging in bed.

Thanks Baby Babs. You wanted me to get up then?

The thieving bastards!!

I just looked out of my window, like you do, and thought "why is that fat boy walking up and down the road so many times?". Why? Because his dad was coolly loading his boot with stuff from the builders' van parked on our neighbour's drive, that's why!! I managed to get his number plate so hopefully they will catch him. But what a nerve!! In broad daylight too! A couple of our other neighbours walked past him while he was at it and he was calm as you like, and a man was cleaning some windows right next to him. The boy wasn't in school 'cause of the voting, you can just imagine the scene at breakfast time. "Son, what would you like to do on your day off? Go to the park or come robbing with your old pa?". The funniest bit was when the old bloke gave the boy the nod - he was the lookout - and shouted at him to get in the car. He was so fat he couldn't run very fast, I think he will prove to be the weak link in that thieving partnership...

Let's all live in a cave

So, mortgages are sky high (if you can get one), food is getting ever more expensive, bills are increasing every month. It's so depressing. I am going to start my vegetable patch so we at least have something to eat! Potato and carrot soup every night for the indefinite future it is then. I did want to lose weight...

But apparently clothes are getting cheaper. Don't eat or use your electric, go shopping instead! It's warmer and you might get a nice jumper for when you go home.

Librarian in court shocker!

So it turns out that the person who has upset JK Rowling so much she dragged him to court was a school librarian. Typical! I can totally imagine the scenario, by the sounds of it he ran a bit of a geeky website all about HP, and some canny (or wily if you prefer) publisher saw it and thought "marvellous, easy money!" and suggested he publish it. Would you turn down the chance of publication if you had it? Apparently he said the publisher assured him that it was all fine and dandy and he'd be a billionaire within the year. But instead he's been dragged to court to be made to cry in public and his heroine now hates his guts. Poor sod. I am quite sure it was all innocent and he was just a super enthusiastic fan and now he's been made to look really evil to all the HP fans. Where would you hide? But I mean. He was a school librarian. How calculating could he have been really? I ask you.

Nice one Harry!

Harry Hill has picked up on the travesty that is the new series of Delia. I haven't seen last night's episode yet but I am reliably informed that her newest "recipe" is grilled pitta bread. Uh huh. How is that a recipe exactly? Anyway in TV Burp, Harry also takes the piss out of the "cooking". Apparently, we are informed, Delia's husband types up her recipes for her books - "he just copies them off the packets" chortled Harry. And I think he might be right! Surely someone will be suing old Delia soon for passing things off as her own work. It might just be me!

Who you gonna call?

Uh oh. I think we've disturbed the ghosts again. They have been very quiet since we had Baby Babs, I thought bringing a baby into the house had made them happy enough to leave the tv alone. But on Friday we started decorating our bedroom. It is the last room in the house that we haven't done, and I think we've really pissed off the lady whose bedroom it was. What makes me think this?

1) On Good Friday the boiler breaks.
2) On Good Friday the toaster breaks.

3) On the Saturday morning I come downstairs at 6am courtesy of Baby Babs to find the clock on the fireplace saying 8am. Now this is very weird. We went to bed at 10.30 (rock n roll people!) and I looked at the clock and it was working. So how do you explain it saying 8am the next day at 6am?! It hadn't stopped and there hadn't been an 8am in between me going to bed and getting up. It can only have gone super fast...or gone BACKWARDS...the ghosts are messing with me and I'm getting tired of it. It's not their house anymore damnit!! We're only painting the walls!!

If any exorcists in the Essex area are available that would be lovely. Thankyou.

Things you don't want to go wrong...

...on a long Easter weekend.

1) The boiler breaks on Good Friday. It is predicted to be the coldest weekend this year with snow a very big possibility. Marvellous. Normally I would get super excited about snow. Now I am digging out my thick socks and leg warmers to wear in the lounge.
2) The only way to get the boiler to work is to stick your hand into the deepest dustiest parts of the boiler with one of those pens you use to light the gas on the cooker. It then comes on but only for 10 minutes. Then it clicks off and you have to do it again.
3) You blackmail a very sick plumber to come round on Saturday by using the "I have a baby" line and he still can't fix it until Tuesday.

It is now snowing. Brrr. It's Easter! I have daffodils in the garden! How can it be snowing?!?!

It's how you describe it...

In the latest Currys adverts, they are selling these great new things - "frost free food centres" - didn't they used to be called "fridges" back in the day?!

Oi Smith! Noooo!!

So the second episode of Delia has got even worse. She made everything out of tins, told the buyers at Sainsburys that tinned meat was the new "thing" and it was bloody awful! But basically, her recipes (a bit like Nigella's) are cooking for posh people, who let's face it, have a cook or buy it already made. The secret of all these recipes is "good quality ingredients" - for which read "from Waitrose". Delia had a pantry (not as nice as Nigella's) full of posh tinned and bottled things, which admittedly are probably very nice - pesto actually from Italy, bottles of fancy red peppers. But who can actually afford to buy them?! What is the point of showing rich people how to cook badly? M&S and Waitrose do convenience food so well, she might as well have just gone round the freezer section saying "well you put the oven on to gas mark 6 and then cook for 45 minutes and then serve with a prepared salad and a bottle of very posh red wine. I can't cook very well, but even I try harder than old Delia!

Delia!! Nooooo!!!!

I watched the first episode of the new Delia "how to cheat" series and I am so upset! Even Nigella doesn't sink so low as to use frozen mashed potato and mince out of a can. It was shocking. Surely even the most nervous cook can boil a potato, and you can even buy mince you can cook from frozen these days so why go so so lazy? Delia is failing budding cooks, she said that nobody could cook anymore, and they certainly won't after watching your program Delia. You are teaching people how to put things in a dish and then in the oven. She even used frozen potato wedges for god's sake. People she is aiming to get cooking will go even easier and just buy the fish pie or cottage pie straight from the freezer section and put it in the microwave. The program is a travesty. She even explained how to take the skin off a piece of already cooked salmon. Pft!!!

A song for Europe?

Oh. My. God. The farce that was our attempt to pick a song to represent us at the Eurovision hit a new low on Saturday night. There were 6 contenders, who were split into 2s and then for some unknown reason John Barrowman and that Carrie with the bright red hair were deemed responsible enough to decide which of the 2 acts in each category went through to the public vote. They raved about Michelle Gayle. For the record she was not "Eurovision Eurovision Eurovision" (thanks John) - she was truly shocking, and REALLY embarassing. Her "song" involved lots of over-excitable shimmering and the song was really screechy and appalling frankly. She was up against Andy Abrahams who, while not exactly Lordi, was the best of a terrible bunch. He was professional and could have been performing on Top of the Pops (RIP) while the others were shameful karaoke wannabees. Baby Babs liked him and he chose Scooch last year too so he knows what he's talking about. Thankfully Terry had a wild card to put one of the failed groups through to the public vote and he sensibly chose Andy. And of course the public voted for him and he won. I would love to have seen Terry gloating to the idiot "professional, know what they are talking about" judges. They could so easily have made us the laughing stock of Europe. I know Andy won't win, but he'll not be too bad. Well done to the Great British Public!

Oh Lordi...

...is it really that time of year again? Can it really be two years since Lordi triumphed at the Eurovision and we all had hopes of a resurgence of Eurovision excellence? Sadly it hasn't happened. They should have just stopped the Eurovision after Lordi, nobody could beat that. This weekend is the UK's pick our entry thingymebob on the tv. I have seen 2 of the "acts" and yet again they are complete rubbish. I had hopes for Scooch last year but they did pants too. This year we have to choose from a bunch of X Factor rejects - Andy Abrahams, Michelle Gayle, and 2 girls who are as nondescript as every girl band on the tv talent shows. The songs are all shit too. Sorry, the UK's poor attempts to win the Eurovision reduce me to cussing. I am beginning to think they don't want to win. Who doesn't want to go and watch the Eurovision at the NEC?! I do. I'd have flags.

Party bags

Another thing that causes much competition amongst mums is party bags. BB has been to 2 parties this year, he has a better social life than me. Anyway, the first party, the party bag was really nice, I was impressed. It had the usual, bubbles, cake, a little toy and it also had a Mr Man book and a little car. I thought that was over the top. But oh no. Last week BB went to another party, a joint party for 2 little girls he knows. The bags this time were out of this world. First of all, the bags were professionally printed with his name and "thanks for coming" on the front. Then a big helium balloon was tied to the handles. And inside he had bubbles (but coloured ones), cake, a big Enid Blyton pop up book, a rubber duck, another balloon, some biscuits...and a t-shirt from Marks and Spencers!!! Marks and Spencers!!! We tried to work out how much all this must have cost, and there were 19 kids there. At least £20 each. Madness. And all for a one year old's birthday. Hiring the hall was £80, then they provided food and drink. The babies have no idea, it's all for the parents benefit. BB has another party there (same group of mums) in April, she must be terrified of what she has to do to top this one. And what on earth are they going to do for their 2nd birthdays? BB had a small party at home and I invited the mums over for tea. I'm not bankrupting myself to be labelled "mum of the year" by everyone I know! It's all crazy. I never knew having a baby would open up this world of super competitive parents. I'm not playing I tell you (where's the gold bibs for our next party?) ...

Baby groups

Now I know I keep harping on about baby groups, but honestly, they are a minefield people. Veritable minefields. Worse than an office environment really. Why is this? Let me expand: Baby Babs goes to two different baby groups, henceforth known as (a) The Baby Group with the Oddbods and (b) the Toddler Group of Peril. I've already talked about the Toddler Group of Peril and the many accidents that are awaiting unprepared children. The Baby Group with the Oddbods was the first group we started going to, for 50p and a cup of tea you can't go wrong really. Not many mums go, most of the mums I know go to fancy groups with waiting lists of 20 and planned activities for the whole time they are there like artwork and music and crazy things. The babies are only 1, can't they just have fun? These groups also cost about £3.50 a session. Baby Babs can colour in at home and play drums on the tupperware. He doesn't need "planned activities" thrust upon him. He probably wouldn't want to draw with his feet when they told him he had to anyway!

But I digress. The Baby Group with the Oddbods usually has 6 or 7 mums and their kids, but the one week I didn't go as I was sick the Oddbods turned up. We know them from the local school - man and wife, matching shellsuits, on the social but have a car, sky tv, smoke heavily. You know the type. They turned up one week with their son. He proceeded to bash the skull out of my friends little girl with a skittle. Did the Oddbods say anything? Or even remove the weapon? No. They just sat there. My friend had to say to the little boy that they "didn't do things like that" and in the end the lady running the group had to intervene. But I have thought long and hard about this. If it happened to Baby Babs, what would I do? First of all I'd want to slap the kid hard, and then the parents. But I probably wouldn't say anything to them either. The politics of baby groups is very complicated. It's all polite conversation and "ooh how old is your little cherub?" but nothing of substance. Where we really should be saying "excuse me, could you tell your son (little b*stard) to stop hitting my child?". But then there would be an argument, and bad feelings, and then I'd end up banned from the group for being argumentative! Because there isn't any vetting policy on who can turn up, and there are no rules for behaviour established, the kids (and parents) can do whatever they like. Luckily the Oddbods didn't turn up this week. But the worst thing is that I know they label us "normal" mums as rude and untalkative and I can just see the day when they complain to a teacher or someone official about their treatment and it all goes up the swanny and they are on the front of the local paper saying they have been treated unjustly. Oh it's all fun and games having kids.

Health and safety? Nah let's not bother...

So Baby Babs survived his next trip to the Toddler Group of Peril (see below) but only just. He didn't bang his head this time mainly as every time he set off I had to shadow him just in case. But the minute he decided to sit down and play and I thought it would be ok to take my eyes off him, he picks up a car and the wheel comes off. Obviously. Luckily his aunt spotted it and took it out of his mouth just in time. I know these things happen, but at official baby groups I would have expected they were forced to take health and safety seriously. At least check the toys regularly. In these days of suing the council for tripping over a leaf, or your employer for hurt feelings because your boss said you looked a little tired, I suppose we've all grown used to the nanny state. I mean, they banned some pancake day race last week as all the health and safety forms to "protect" the children were too much for the officials. But it seems this hasn't quite reached the group we go to. Which is fair enough now I know! What on earth will happen next week?! Crack cocaine in the playhouse? Razor blades on the wheels of the prams?! We will see...

Accident prone

Now BB is almost walking, well he is, he just isn't too steady, life is getting dangerous. He's fine at home with a carpet but a baby group we go to has a very sensible solid concrete floor. He got away from me today and of course fell backwards. The crack when his head hit the floor still makes me feel sick. And of course he cried (the shock I think more than anything) and I bawled like a big girl! The other mums were like "how soppy is she?" and it doesn't help BB to have me bawling and making him think something really bad has happened! What would I do if it did?! I must start to toughen myself up, I'll have to watch really sad tv and train myself not to cry. Moulin Rouge and Gladiator always do it for me. After a few intensive sessions I should be hard enough only to cry if BB hurts himself so badly he actually needs an ambulance and not if he merely grazes his thumb...

Birthday boy!

Baby Babs is now a whole year old, it's mad! He threw a little party on Saturday and lapped up all the attention. He got so many presents and ate SO much party food it is a wonder he wasn't sick as a dog. Lady L's favourite part of the day was Baby Babs crawling towards her at full pelt with a sausage roll hanging out of his mouth. He sometimes thinks he is a dog. The family all behaved themselves mainly, and I failed to get roaring drunk but I was quite merry. I think all the party food soaked the wine up. And I baked a cake for the first time in years and it was bloody lovely!! I gave most of it away and then wished I hadn't. Still there's always an excuse to make a cake. Mmm, cake...

...on children's birthday parties...

Oh go on then! Baby Babs was invited to a party yesterday and I am still mad about it. It was for an older child we know, but he still had his own invite, as did 2 other babies. We wouldn't have gone otherwise. We were told there would be food for the kids and hot drinks for the mums, which is fine. But when it was food time and all the kids sat down, it soon became apparent that there wasn't any food for the babies. Baby Babs was fine, he ate before he left home, but another older toddler was sat down at the table all expectantly, and everyone else got a bag full of goodies, and he got nada. They served all the food in separate bags so they couldn't even stretch it out between everyone who turned up. The poor little sod. And then the party bags were given out with exciting hats and balloons (which Baby Babs hearts lots) - but nothing for the babies. Honestly. I wouldn't have minded but for the personal invite, and the babies only needed a token present for turning up. The poor toddler watched his brother get fed and gifted, and I felt so bad for him.

Children's parties are a minefield! Luckily when Baby Babs turns 1 (not long now!!) we're having a few people over to ours and I'm mainly serving vodka. Don't tell the social...

Men and weekends vs women and weekends

I was so mad with old Mr Babs this weekend I couldn't speak for fear of ending up D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D. He is still on "single" mode and spends most of the weekends sleeping in, then waking up, putting the football on and cracking open a beer. That's it. Me and Baby Babs have to creep around downstairs from whatever godawful hour he wakes me up, then carry on with housework/meals etc while Mr B sits on the sofa. Ooh it drives me to distraction but I can't take it up with him without crying and starting every sentence "you never do..." which is guaranteed to start a fight. But he has a family now and we should be doing things together, you know, the old "making memories" thing. I don't want Baby Babs's first memory to be his mum with a face like thunder and daddy always sitting on the sofa with a beer in one hand and his psp in the other (that's a computer console thank you very much, we haven't quite sunk to that level yet...). How can I get him to stop thinking weekends are "his" time after working all week? Like I don't do anything Monday to Friday. Pah. Answers very welcome. Thankyou. Rant over.

2008

Bleedin' hell, what happened to 2007? It was mainly taken up by looking after Baby Babs when he turned up and then turning into a housewife. My main resolution for this year is to take my life back! It's not all changing nappies and ironing you know. I used to be fun once upon a time...

Baby boogie

The other day the Nolans singing "I'm in the mood for dancing" (romancing, ooh I'm giving it all tonight...) came on the tv out of nowhere. Baby Babs went MENTAL! He was boogieing around in his high chair like no ones business, nobody could say he ain't my son! I have yet to play him any Barry Manilow, now that's an idea! (...at the copa, copacabana...)

Christmas

Today is the anniversary of me giving up work! Yey! And you know what, I haven't missed it at all. Not that I've had time to really. But I miss the money sometimes! Hubby is on his drunken way home from the Christmas drinks they have at the end of "term" and I feel guilty that he felt he had to come home! But I can count on my hands the number of times I have been out with my friends this year, it's all changing next year! Motherhood does not equal death of social life! Goddamit. But most of my friends have moved miles away too, it's not good.

I'm super excited about Christmas. It's Baby Babs' first and he's old enough to kind of know what's going on. I bought him so much stuff, I was going to save some of it for his 1st birthday in January but I couldn't do it! I need a bigger house.

But Happy Christmas to everyone! I have no idea what 2008 will bring but hopefully less tears, more drinking and lots of fun!

Stairlift to heaven

I've been watching the news showing footage from the Led Zeppelin gig at the O2 arena last night. Instead of being an exciting ROCK experience, sadly it just looked like a load of dads getting over-excited about their old guitars being unearthed from the loft. I am sure the Zep did rock last night and were just as good as the old days, but the fans sadly have aged considerably. I am sure all the middle aged men who were "rocking out" to the embarrassment of their kids were cool when the Zep were big last time round. Now they really aren't. It's quite touching though, old blokes trying to be young again. Bless.

Rock of love

The most hilarious program I have seen for YEARS is currently showing on VH1. I happened upon it by chance one bored Friday night - there really is nothing on tv anymore. Basically Bret Michaels from Poison has a load of women vying for his "love" and each week some get voted off. It is total trash television, these women have no shame. Bret isn't all that anymore (not that he ever was), but he's got these women doing phone sex competitions, writing him love songs to perform in front of a panel of judges, and all kinds of humiliating stuff. They all think they are "the one" and Bret just hasn't seen it yet. Trust me girls, he ain't in it for a relationship! Not after the threesome last night...

One who got voted off last night was a maturer lady who thought she would win it. My favourite bit was when two other girls won one of the competitions and got to go horse riding with Bret. She started howling, screaming "that was MY dream - I wanted to go horse riding with Bret!!" and she took it very personally that he'd taken some other blonde girls. She also kept saying she wanted Bret to meet her kids. Shortly after she was sent "home" (read for "rehab"). One other not very smart girl said "oh she's always crying that she misses her son. I can totally dig it, like, I really miss my cat, but do you see me crying?".

Oh roll on next Friday!!

The Beeb respond...

...finally! I had 2 letters within a week after writing directly to the BBC Complaints department. I also mentioned that I was a librarian and quite shocked (yes shocked!) at their enquiry "service" which might have just swung it! Basically they apologised but said it wasn't their fault, it was a company they contract queries out to. Apparently the Commissioning Editor doesn't exist anymore. Funnily enough, the company they blame just happens to be at the same address that the Commissioning Editor was this time last year! Honestly. But at least hubby has a letter now and is kind of happy.

Now who can I email stalk now?!

Ho ho ho

The one thing I have noticed more than anything this Christmas is the total monopoly the supermarkets have. Now I'm a stay at home mum, I have to really watch the pennies and get the best bargains I can. I can totally lecture you on the pros and cons of Asda vs Sainsburys vs Tescos vs Iceland. And the differences between the 99p shop and Poundland, and how sometimes you are still better off going elsewhere for your loo roll! Recently, Sainsburys halved the price on all their toys for a week. I happened to be in there on the first day and had no clue until I saw the fighting in the toy aisle. Honestly. Mums were going crazy to get their cheap toys, it was scary. But I don't see how much longer the independent shops can keep going, one toy my nephew wanted was £15 cheaper in Sainsburys than the other shops, even if you weren't watching the pennies, you'd be mad to go anywhere else wouldn't you?! I don't know how the supermarkets do it. The only trouble is, in a year or two, you will be buying everything you need there and there will be no other shops, just wasteland. And my sister-in-law just got a bike for her boy, she dutifully did all the independent bike shops first, but found the bike she wanted was £150 cheaper in Halfords!! £150!! That's mad.

I bet Father Christmas does all his shopping in Asda. That's all I'm saying.

Fireworks or full scale warzone?

Ooh fireworks, don't you just love 'em? I do actually, I get so excited about bonfire night and my family just mock me. I wore legwarmers, hat, gloves, extra socks, jumper and a coat - and it wasn't even that cold. We had fireworks at my sister-in-laws house last night, her hubby is obsessed and spent LOADS of wonga on them, it went on for hours! But the neighbour next door also had some and he is an idiot. He let them off on his patio and they wooshed everywhere, nearly taking his shed out. Some people a few doors down were letting them off with abandon too, it was quite scary. It sounded like we were in the middle of a war zone. Just crossing the road to my house to get an extra hat was an experience - it looked like dense fog but this was just from all the bonfires/fireworks and I had to scurry across with my head down just in case of rogue fireworks. Any idiot can buy them, and they do! Maybe the people who buy them should be forced to do lessons in health and safety and which way up to light the firework. It's just a thought. Or would that ruin the fun?!

Nigella Smug Lady

Against my better judgment I watched another episode of the latest Nigella Lawson cookery programs this week where she tries to create lovely meals in about 5 minutes. My god she is smug. She is so smug she has created a whole new level of smugness. She has the perfect kitchen, perfectly stocked pantry, a freezer full of lovely things and can clearly afford to buy all the food that saves her so much time when she is cooking. Her kids have smug friends, she has smug friends. Everyone and everything is smug smug smug! Even the cutlery.

Smug doesn't even cut it with Nigella. She needs a whole new word.

How about Smugella?!

Budding librarian

Baby Babs joined the library this week. I was so proud! I have been putting it off for months, but when we finally got there I realised how much I have missed my local library. It was great! When I was rich (before Baby Babs) I used to just buy books with abandon, but nothing can beat the atmosphere and smell of the public library (not wee from tramps, more musty books!). He got his own card with a crocodile on it, and he borrowed 10 books and got a free dvd for a week! He chose Finding Nemo and was very happy with his choice. He really likes a pop up picture book of a farm, and I get to moo and baa and pretend to be farm animals so we're both quite happy really. It's just like being a law librarian in some ways...

Is it me?

I am so mad and am starting to feel like a stalker which is really pissing me off. Get this. In December 2006 Mr Babs asked me to find out if a series he remembered watching on the bbc was out on dvd. I emailed the bbc shop and they replied saying as far as they were aware it wasn't, but that I could write to the Commissioning Editor (they don't do emails) for further details. So I did. In January. Then in April with an sae as they hadn't replied. They still haven't. So after a while I emailed the lady who replied to my initial enquiry to see if she could help, or even tell me if it was usual for a response to take so long. No reply. So after a few more months I got peeved again and emailed again - this time to a generic bbc shop address, just in case the lady had left. And yet again today I found myself emailing AGAIN and being quite rude this time.

How can a public service have such shoddy enquiry services?! I expected an initial letter thanking me for my enquiry and saying they would get back to me as soon as possible, then a response. Hah! I have got nada. As a proud librarian, I think leaving 24 hours without responding to someone I am helping is poor customer service. And I never just don't bother to reply. I know for a fact that this program isn't about to come out on dvd, but I want it in writing. I have wasted 3 stamps, 3 envelopes, and Mr Babs asks me almost every day (now in a very wistful voice) if we've had a letter. I could fake one just to keep him happy but it's the principle now. I suspect the person who checks the emails at the beeb chuckles and tells all their colleagues "ooh we've got another email from the crazy lady" and they all fall about laughing. But I won't give up. Any advice for how to get a response though?! Why they couldn't just write a little letter "thanking me for my interest but saying that there aren't any plans to release the program in the near future", I'll never know.

And Jessops haven't got back to me either. Customer services has gone downhill since I gave up work, that's for sure.

Yours, serial letter of complaint writer. Essex.

Patronising, sexist and rude all in one go...

I just met the World's Most Patronising Man. He knocked at the door and when I answered (against my better judgment) said "I'm doing some building work up the road, here's my leaflet, if you could pass it on to your husband dear" and walked off! I was so shocked I laughed out loud. Sexist git. As Lady Librarian said, I should have said "but I'm gay, shall I pass it on to my partner?". I thought the days of assumptions like that were long gone. What if I was recently widowed, or divorced, or had no man but had used my best friend's sperm to get my baby?! I put his leaflet straight in the bin. Horrible man.

Bigger willy?

If I get one more email in my spam box asking if I want a bigger penis I might scream! Can these stupid spammers not tell I am a lady?! Or maybe they think I want to be a man? Bloody viagra adverts get me too. Why can't I get spam saying "would you like more chocolate in your life?" or "how to make your man do household chores".

It's all so sexist.

!! Peril !!

One of the highlights from the Isle of Wight that I clean forgot was the entertaining road signs. "Entertaining road signs?" I hear you cry. Why yes! They were bloody brilliant. As the island is mainly made up of windy country roads with lots of woods and fields on either side we (well me really, Mr Babs didn't quite see it the way I did) were treated to road signs saying:

! Badgers !

! Red Squirrels !

! Elderly people !

I totally read these as meaning we could be in peril from ravenous badgers leaping onto the bonnet of the car and ripping the windscreen wipers off, or red squirrels dropping onto the roof and tearing off the aerial. I dread to think what the elderly people would have done. Poor Mr Babs regularly heard me chortling away in the back seat with Baby Babs, going "Badgers! Squirrels!" but sadly we never saw any animal life, never mind rabid ones.

Holiday!

We've just got back from a week on the Isle of Wight, which wasn't exactly Las Vegas but perfect for Baby Babs' first holiday. It was a lovely week, we did lots and as you do on holidays bought lots of tat to bring home - fridge magnets, novelty souvenirs etc. I hadn't been to the island before and it was an eye-opener. My main memories?

1) Sunday drivers. As the island has no motorways and only one or two "main" roads, driving around isn't quite the London experience. They are great roads for rally drivers, all bends and hills, but more often than not you get stuck behind someone tootling along with no idea of the other traffic on the roads. My favourite one was an old chap who was clearly showing some friends the sights as they went along. Sadly this involved braking randomly to slow down enough to give a guided commentary on something we were passing. But not slow enough so we could overtake him. This carried on for a good half hour with Mr Babs getting more and more irate (he's a London driver through and through, I was surprised he didn't try and force him off the road) until we got to a big enough town for us to pass him. Mr Tour Guide was merrily pointing at the harbour and looked quite upset when the 20 cars that he had held up for so long sped past him giving him their not so polite opinions on his tour of the Isle of Wight.

2) Shops. Again, as someone used to London and 24 hour shopping facilities, we were quite thrown by the lack of shops. On our first day we managed to find a small supermarket so we could stock up on the essentials (beer, wine, crisps - I brought my own tea bags naturally). But it was 3 times more expensive than probably anywhere else in the world (Britain is an island too - what's with the import tax?!) and everyone in the shop knew each other and knew we were strangers. It was a bit like the League of Gentlemen - "you're not from round these 'ere parts are you?". The main town, Newport, was about the only place on the island where you could find what you wanted. Not that that is a bad thing, who needs Starbucks and Tesco Express?!

3) Local hostelries. We went out for dinner at the local pub and afterwards had a drink in the bar. I was looking after Baby Babs who was causing chaos and his dad had gone to feed his gambling addiction on the slot machines (you could hear his brain thinking "pretend it's Vegas, pretend it's Vegas") and of course I attracted the local nutters. It's quite heartening to know I haven't lost my attraction to weirdos despite being an old married (but obviously so young looking that they wouldn't think that). One was a fisherman, I gathered that, the other could have been a fisherman. Or he could have been just out of prison. Who could tell? They used Baby Babs as an excuse to keep chatting and smirking while I sent desperate looks at the slot machines to no avail. I almost asked if they didn't have to be in bed as they'd have to be up for the fishing soon. But we escaped unharmed. And everytime we drove past they were there, smoking outside, as they're not allowed to do it inside anymore. So we couldn't go to that pub again. Typical.

4) Oh so friendly shop assistants. At the main tourist attractions, the staffing policy seemed to be "employ students". And that was that. They were all to a man extremely sullen, bored looking, and completely apathetic. I know they've spent a whole summer doing the same thing for hundreds of tourists, but really. They could have at least pretended to look enthusiastic! At the Needles, the sullen staff were managed by a student barely older than they were, but who had attempted to grow a moustache to demonstrate his seniority. He was very amusing. He looked like a Chuckle Brother and his misguided attempts to enforce jollity to his staff were the stuff of stand up gold.

5) The Zoo. Main memory? Don't go to the zoo when it's raining. The animals will be indoors.

Birthday girls

A bit late I know, but I thought I should report back about the night out. It was brilliant, I haven't laughed so much for ages. I was so excited I thought I might be sick, and on the train there I was SUPER SUPER excited. Lady L was there first, then Miss S not long after me. Amusingly, after we'd all agreed to wear heels, Lady L didn't bother as she really wasn't very well, and me & Miss S put ours on just outside the pub. Classy! We drank 3 pitchers of cocktails which were lovely and I even attracted a freak called Brian so I knew I hadn't lost it. And Baby Babs went straight to sleep for his dad so my plan is to have lots more girls' nights out. Oh yeah!!

Old or young?!

It's coming up to me and Miss S's birthdays again and we're going out on Saturday night with Lady L. I haven't been out in so long I am nearly wetting myself with excitement. But nearing the mid 30s brings weird feelings. My immediate thought when deciding where to meet was a) would there be somewhere to sit and talk and b) would we have to wait ages to be served at the bar. That signals the onset of old age. But then I also wanted a) lots of cocktails and b) somewhere I could stagger home from in my heels which really means I am still in the prime of my youth. This was reinforced last week when I was ID'd in the supermarket. ID?! I said to the lady "I am 32" and thankfully she believed me. The days of carrying around picture ID with my birthday on it are long behind me. But I was buying wine at 10am so she might have thought I was an irresponsible yoof who was off to the park to drink and smoke pot. Then later that day a woman doing a phone survey asked my age and I said the 30-34 bracket, and she said "that can't be right, you sound far too young". Bless!! Asked for ID at 32 years of age, it made my week! Now should we go dancing after the pub? Hell yeah!

Waiting waiting waiting...

Today I am waiting in for our tv to be returned for the second time. The first time they returned it, after an hour it went funny again. They've had it for well over a month now - how hard can it be to fix a tv?! They didn't offer us a temporary set or anything so it is a good job we had a spare one, or I would have gone crazy by now stuck at home all day. Or we'd have been bankrupt as I would have had to go shopping every day instead. I'm not looking forward to it, as the old man who is bringing it back is very patronising to me - like I wouldn't know anything about electrical equipment. When I asked last time what was wrong with it, he took a big breath, and told me that it was surprising as in the summer (summer?! what's that then?) most people are out and about and not watching their televisions ALL THE TIME. Git!! I don't, it's mostly background noise to keep me company. And what business is it of his? And how is that related to what is wrong with the tv?! What, they don't like to work in the summer and it got the hump? Please.

Song "lyrics"

On a recent long motorway trip, my ears were beaten black and blue by the most godawful song lyrics I have heard in a long time. Fergie (this one not that one) has a new song out "Big girls don't cry" or some such rubbish. It is about dumping some bloke and is all "it's not you it's me", "I need some time to find me" crap (sorry it makes me mad) - and the offending line? "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses its blanket". What?! And there are too many words for the line so she gabbles it and everytime I hear it I want to stick something in my ears so I can't hear it anymore. She might as well have said "I'm going to replace you with chocolate and red wine as you are purely a comfort thing" and had done with it. Or possibly stop writing rubbish songs.