Poetry Time

IF

If is a crazy word

Or an unhealthy turd

If only I had done this

Or that

Thrown away the key

And just been me

If only I had said no

And fought my foe

If only I had done this

Or that

Instead I stuck it out

And now I want to shout

If only I could be free

Sing from the tops of trees

If only I could do this

Or that

But the vice is still tight

And I'm prepared for a fight

If only women were not subjugated

Or flagellated

If only they could do this

Or that

If only women had one voice

Then we would rejoice

If is a crazy word

As fragile as a baby bird

If only I could do this

Or that

If may define my past

But I refuse to be typecast

If is a word of possibilities

Freedom from responsibilities

If only I could do this

Or that

And I will

Because I shall not standstill

If only I could stick to New Year Resolutions...

One of my strange idiosyncrasies is that I'm very good at doing things for other people but absolutely rubbish at doing things for myself. Thus when I agree to do something for someone else I will invariably do it any cost but when it comes to doing something such as losing like weight, or actually having a beauty routine (I don’t) or keeping fit which would all be of great benefit to my health and decaying looks, I find it very difficult to maintain the impetus for much longer than 24 hours. I suspect I am not alone in this; the truth is many mothers are so wrapped up in the welfare of their children, their jobs and 101 other tasks that they often find themselves at the bottom of the pile. Then one day you realise you look weather-beaten and washed up and those last few years when you could have looked half decent have been lost in a multitude of nappies and dirty dishes. (That day is a bit of a bummer I can tell you so get your bottle of sherry in now and stash it at the back of the pantry in preparation.)

Ok, so better make some resolutions for this year. Yawn, yawn...

1. Remember to take my cactus appetite suppressants. (Which seem to be helping although I'm a bit distressed by the increase in spiky body hair.)

2. Remember to remove the spiky body hair. (But not with Immac/Veet as last time I managed to get it on my head and was very disconcerted when even more of my hair starting falling out the following day.)

3. To stop burning the oven chips. (Pretty unlikely.)

4. Give Mr Turley something other than cheddar cheese in his sandwiches which he has had every day for the last 20 years. (Spam or Ham or maybe… Edam?)

5. Stop eating chocolate. (Damn. Damn. Damn… if I don’t have a regular fix I turn into a raging lunatic.)

6. Exercise more frequently. (Slightly hampered by a dodgy knee which fortuitously manages to play up every time Mr Turley wants to do a long distance walk.)

7. Remember to wash, comb my hair and change my knickers before I do the school run. (Well maybe I’d better just start with remembering to change out of my slippers.)

8. Join the WI and invest in a large case of over ripened tomatoes. Yippee! Oh, let me explain as you won't understand if you're not British; ladies of a certain age in the UK join The Women's Institute, a group which discusses the noble arts of flower arranging and cake baking. Occasionally, they slow hand-clap the prime minster if he's been particularly naughty. I'm planning something a little more entertaining because, frankly, I'm not keen on kilts. Well, not on men that look half dead anyway.

9. Send the Education Secretary a bill for all the private tuition I've had to fork out for my kids. (Inside a dubious looking package postmarked “Holland” - with any luck he’ll be fired.)

10. Stop looking at men’s arses. (No chance… I'm pre menopausal and I'm having a surge of hormones.)

I’ll let you know how I get on...

What Is It About Men And Balls?

Having returned from nearly 2 hours standing in the cold watching two of my boys play football in a Christmas kick around with some of the dads from the football club I am posing the question...

WHAT IS IT ABOUT MEN AND BALLS?

Yes, I know men do possess balls.(Although I'm not sure about Gordon Brown now that he's ratified that treaty without asking the consent of the electorate.) Maybe that's why men have an affinity with anything relatively circular in shape: footballs, snooker balls, beer glasses, women's bottoms (regrettably, this doesn't include mine as it's round shape has become somewhat elongated over the past decade) and of course... breasts.

Women know men are particularly stupid about round things and even the thickest women know that if they stuff their breasts with large amounts of silicone so their breasts have a taut and bulging roundness they will become instantly more desirable to the opposite sex. Personally, I think cotton wool is so much easier: it's a hell of a lot cheaper, softer, easily removable and won't knock your partner out if you accidentally squash him during a passionate love making session.

Yep, men like round things.They can't stop playing with them either. Have you noticed they're always fiddling with them? On the cricket field those boxes always seem to require adjusting, on their desk at work they have a little squidgy ball that they can fiddle with every time they remember they can't multi-task and they particularly love those round soaps on a rope as a Christmas gift. (I think this is just so they can drop it in the bath and have lots of fun finding it.)

Men spend hours and hours kicking balls, throwing balls and, of course, watching balls. Yes, I'm sure I'm not the first woman who has been mightily displeased during the throws of ecstasy to find herself listening to the football scores.Men take note - if you want your woman to be satisfied turn the telly off. (Unless Alan Hanson is commentating which may in fact increase her libido. You know what? There's just something about that guy and it not jus just his wallet...)

Why men haven't developed a game called "Handball" instead of "Football", I don't know. Then they'd have the perfect excuse to feel their balls all the time, rather than making a sorry excuse by pretending they don't care by kicking them, heading them, bouncing them off their chests and feebly crying "handball!" should one accidentally touch them.

I'm not saying women don't like round things too because I particularly like a number of round things which include:

Pound coins. (They have a certain feel about them which is pretty good and if they just happen to be in Alan Hanson's pocket I'd be even more pleased.)

Chocolate Footballs. ( The only kind of footballs that require my undivided attention.)

Chocolate chip muffins. ( Even more satisfying than chocolate footballs.)

Round tins. ( Containing Quality Street, Roses or perhaps Celebrations.)

Men's arses. ( Yes, a pert round bottom is very attractive but, alas, even though we women spend hours watching football we don't even get to look at any nice ones as they're all hidden underneath those truly horrendous baggy football shorts. I say bring back those tight seventies shorts and let us have some pleasure whilst we stand in the cold.)

Good. Now I've got that off my not very round chest, I'm going to have my lunch; a banana, I think. A much more interesting proposition......

Decisions, decisions.

Yes, it can be very tough when your husband works long hours knowing when to make a decision and deciding whether or not if you've made the right one. Now when you've had your first baby this usually revolves around "Shall I call the doctor or not?" or "Shall I give one spoon of Calpol or two?" Fortunately, when you get to my advanced age and the three kids are out of their nappies (Thank God) it usually revolves around whether or not to have one glass of wine or two. (Sometimes more - depending on just how annoying those kids have been.)

Of course, an even more tantalising decision is whether or not to have chocolate with fruit and nuts in it or just stick to plain Galaxy. Personally, I'm not too fussed either way because, as all us gals know, chocolate can be a lot more satisfying than sex - and you get to roll it around your mouth without choking.

So as an insomniac of the highest degree I took the decision in the early hours this morning to create my own blog as I rolled some Maltesers around my mouth and gave 'em a good suck. (Yep - it was very satisfying.) Well, why not Blog? Publishing to the web could be a New Years Resolution alongside decreasing the size of my arse by 50%, remembering to pluck those stubbly facial hairs and to feed the kids so Social Services don't get called out. So Hello and Welcome to the Diary of a Mad Housewife.....

Maltesers. A satisfying suck.