Birthdays, Bras and a whole load of stuff about me.

Do you want the good news or the bad news first folks?

Okay, lets get the bad news over with first;

On Saturday I am 45 years old. Bugger. I could elaborate on that statement but as you know this is a "clean" site. About as "clean" as my bathroom. Ho hum.

Yep, I can feel the Grim Reaper moving closer, rattling his bones, waving his scythe. And I still haven't done any of the things I dreamt about doing when I was the child. Mind you, having designs to pilot the first spacecraft to Venus probably was a little ambitious. As was becoming Miss World. What can I say? As a child my parents didn't believe in having mirrors.

Well I guess I've done the family bit anyway. Although I originally thought I'd have five children, then I gave birth and took a different view on matters. It sort of went like this;

ARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!

So it was only 3 children in the end. All boys. Unfortunately, no girl to pluck the facial hair when I'm old and senile. I guess I'll be lucky if one of the boys goes over my chin with a lawnmower.

You know in my mind I still feel like I was 16. The unfortunate thing is I still act like I'm 16 which means instead of acting with a dignified grace I have these funny moments where I make a total prat of myself. You know those moments were meant to get less as I got older but well I'm not sure things are working quite as they should.

Well the bladder isn't anyway. And the eyesight. And nobody mention the bowels.

Anyway, lets move onto the uplifting stuff.

Support bras.

Wow, are they good. One minute you've saggy boobs and the next minute you look like you're gonna take off into space. Perhaps there's a chance I will get to Venus one day. Who knows what you could do with one of those bras filled with helium. Personally, I reckon with one of those bras and a couple boulders and you easily could take out an entire army.

Did you know one of the world's best selling bras is called "Doreen"? That conjures up an image of crimpolene trousers, curled hair and v neck sweaters doesn't it? Not the sort of marketing that appeals to me. Something like "Nymph,""Slinky," or "Bad Girl" is more up my street. Still, there must be lots of ladies who do need that kind of support. I'm only jealous; the last time I went out with a support bra on it was very hot day, my cotton wool inserts ignited and I had to be doused down by the Fire Brigade.

Anyway, here's even more uplifting news; the other day I realised I've actually been writing this blog for over two years and written over 200 posts. And not once have I written a post without the aid of paracetamol or alcohol. That has got to be achievement. Okay, let's not forget the Jaffa Cakes, chocolate biccys, sandwiches and a various assortment of condiments.....

Now, this writing lark has been great fun and some of you may remember that ages ago I posted a picture of my "working" desk. Here it is just in case you've forgotten;

Umm... not very impressive I know. Now the piccy was in contrast to my idealised desk below which in a (rare) moment of blatant fibbing I actually posted on my blog in the hope that all you folks would believe I was actually super efficient and incredibly charming.

Wow, I even put soft focus on it! I really was up to no good!

Okay so a long time has passed since I posted those piccys. All sorts of things have happened to me yet somehow I've still managed to keep on writing this blog. Have I improved as a writer? Have my organizational skills improved on my quest for publication? Let's take a look at my desk as it stand today;

Uh. Nope. My organisational skills have not improved at all. In fact, I've probably got worse! Now the observant folks amongst you may have noticed that I've actually relocated my desk in front of the window; it gives more light although I can't actually see anything but the tops of a few trees. However, what it has given me is more expansion room for my desk! Can you see how I'm taking over the window sill? And there's now a table to the left and there's even more stuff on that!

I think I should point out that I have lots of my tissues on my desk at the moment as I have a horrendous cold...it has nothing to do with my cat. (As mentioned in my last post.) And that big mess to the left ...well I keep a porcelain tray there now in which I keep business cards, scraps of paper with telephone numbers on etc etc. You know stuff which you're supposed to file away. Which I don't. Anyway it looks kinda messy there because sometimes I get a little frustrated when I can't find things and then things get.....even messier. It's a problem I know, and so is the language. But hey, during the day I'm by myself so there's no need to worry about the occasional verbal faux-pas...

Anyway, moving on from my desk, I thought it would be nice at this moment in time, so close to my b-day, to celebrate by accepting a lovely award from Usha at Agelessbonding. I am now officially a Creative Blogger! My thanks to Usha for her kind words and for her continued support of My Witty Ways.

Now a condition of this award is to tell you 7 facts about me. Now that's pretty difficult as I think I told you a lot of intimate stuff here and well pretty much everywhere else in this blog. Cos well, I'm just a ego manic and if I hadn't been born to sweet lovely parents I'd probably would have taken over the world by now -Hitler only had a teeney weeny moustache and I have a whole beard.

You know, having big dreams can be a bit of a problem sometimes. In fact, I'm always dreaming about those big Toblerone bars but Mr T is so mean he never lets me get one. Although I was kinda sneaky last year when the manufacturers made a limited edition one for Father's Day; I bought one and gave it to Master Sam to give it to Mr T as a gift! And if you think that's sneaky you should know that Mr T doesn't actually like Toblerone. Hey, how was the kid supposed to know? He was just trying to be a good son. (Well that's what I told Mr T anyway.)

So 7 things about me. That you don't already know. Hmm.

1. I love nuts. Brazil nuts, peanuts, walnuts, hazelnuts, the lot. As I child I used to pick hazelnuts of a tree in my grandparent's garden. They were still green and inedible then but I was still fascinated by the concept of something hidden inside. These days I rarely have nuts in the house as Master Jacob is allergic to peanuts. This is in spite of my following all the advice when pregnant about not eating nuts, not using creams with nut based oils etc, etc. I even gave up Crunchy Nut Cornflakes! Huh. I miss having nuts at Christmas, sitting by the fire, cracking them open and flicking the shells over the floor.

Or leaving them inside Mr T's pyjamas.

Anyway, the good news is there is a trial underway at Addenbrookes Hospital which has had enormous success in desensitising children to peanuts. In a few years time, should the trial continue to be successful, I'm optimistic we will be able to live without the threat of anaphylactic shock hanging over us all. It will be an enormous relief to be free of the worry and I intend to celebrate by dressing up as a large packet of KP Salted Peanuts and indulging myself in a nut feast of stupendous proportions.

2. I don't know why but for some inexplicable reason I don't want to make love to Andrew Lloyld Webber.

3. Master Benedict makes me laugh so much I find it difficult to discipline him at times. For example he came home a while back and said he was cross with one of the boys in his class who keeps calling him Benadick. So a few days later we're driving home and very casually he says to me "Furkan still keeps calling me Benadick. So I said to him, if you want to call me Benadick I'm going to call you Fuckan."

4. Yesterday I broke my prescription reading glasses. So I'm in Tescos with Master Benadick and see some cheap black reading glasses. Great, I think. They'll do as a replacement for a while. However, I can't see a mirror so I stick them on anyway and ask Master Benadick what he thinks. He looks at me contemplatively, nods affrimatively and says "They're fine." So I get home, pop them on and look in the mirror; I look like a cross between Joe 90 and Nana Mouskouri. Let's just say - making love with Andrew Lloyld Webber is looking more of an option.

5. I am consistently... inconsistent. Yep, you can totally rely on me to never met a deadline, get a letter back to school on time or to fill out a form and return it promptly. I am always messing up things. In fact I once turned up with the entire family for a dental appointment a week early and then followed up the replacement appointment by turning up a week late! If it wasn't for the likes of good old Mrs B at school who constantly reminds me about school letters I would be, to put it simply, up shit creek.

6. I prefer baths to showers. Showers are great for a quick refreshing cleanse but you just can't wallow. I love to wallow! Preferably for a whole hour although that's usually impossible as one of the cats usually will want to have a dump. And then things just don't smell the same. Instead of the delicate essences of pine, lavender or honey soothing my senses it's the not so delicate fragrance of Eau de la Pussy Botty. Still, I enjoy myself when I'm in the bath and if I'm not reading, talking to my rubber duck or doing whale-like manoeveres, I just simply lie there and daydream. Bliss.

7. I write this blog for my own silly pleasure. I even laugh at my own jokes, which I'm sure many of you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about at times! So thank you all who comment and also to the many of you who don't for coming back here time and time again - You've made an old girl very happy!

I'm not saying I was worried but.......

Okay, I'm not saying I was worried but for a moment this morning I thought someone was going to drive into me!

Well I was waiting to pull out at a rather tricky junction. The oncoming traffic on my right is usually moving at about 40/50mph and slowing rapidly down into a 30mph zone just before traffic lights and the traffic from left is speeding up to move into 50 mph zone. In the middle of the road is the turning lane where the traffic can turn into the road where I am waiting to pull out. The situation is very dangerous for me because I can never see the traffic coming from my left because of there is always a long queue at the traffic lights for the cars on my right.

Hmm... comprehendez? Not sure if I do......

Anyway, the only way to get out unless you want to sit there all day is to edge out slowly craning your neck and hope that no one wants to turn right that you haven't spotted over the roof tops of the queuing cars. (If you're very lucky some kind soul in the traffic queue waves you out.)

Frankly, that road is absolute nightmare and a disaster waiting to happen but anyway back to the story - I'm sitting there waiting for my window of opportunity (In my car obviously not on my bottom in the road) when I look in my rear mirror and notice the car behind is up my backside. ( Okay - perhaps I should explain that "up my backside" an English expression for being dangerously near to the car in front..........)

Well that's a worry in itself, but then I notice that the driver is about 100 and at the wheel of a banger so ancient it clearly should be exhibited at a Museum for Old Relics and Other Clapped Out Cars. It's kinda obvious since he looks like the living dead and is almost bumper to bumper with me that HE SHOULD BE WEARING GLASSES. I mean folks, how many elderly gentlemen do you know of that age that don't need specs? Let's face it most 'em need specs just to locate their flies which they've been fumbling with for God know how many years so of course they should need specs for driving..... it goes without saying......

Okay, I guess you think Mrs T is exaggerating huh? Okay as evidence to you of the gentleman's age I offer to you this evidence;

1. His hat. This gentlemen obviously peaked physically during the Cold War @1955 as he's wearing one of those Russian fur hats on which I suppose were kinda trendy back then along with sheepskin jackets and paisley scarves.

2. His teeth. i.e - He doesn't appear to have any. He's sort of making that munchy "Where have my teeth gone, they should be here somewhere" movement that old folks do -like he's trying to locate them and slip them back into place without anyone but the nurse seeing.

3. His sheepskin jacket.

Right, so I'm sitting there thinking do I risk possible death by pulling out in the road or do I wait for matey boy to ram me up the backside?? Anyway whilst I was deliberating this matter another thought entered my head......

Tom Clancy.

The Cardinal of The Kremlin.

Yeah, you know the book. If not, check it out or maybe Gorky Park by Martin Cruz Smith and then you'll get my drift.

Uh huh. Now I'm thinking what if this geezer was a secret agent sent over by The Kremlin to follow Mrs T (aka Natasha) and hunt me down and steal my secret Fish Pie Recipe so that they could develop a new and highly toxic chemical weapon which they would then use to hold the world to ransom in exchange for control of the world's supply of Gossard Bras? Yes, I was sure that the evil, toothless Ivanoich Dostovesknyich was part of a huge plan to make sure Russian women no longer had saggy boobs but pert, wholesome breasts like Western women........

And do you know what?

Suddenly, I found myself at home.........

Without my bra on........