Gossipy Stuff

It's that time of year again folks. You know the one I mean - no not autumn, although it is autumn. I mean when it's the time of year to think about.... Christmas. Yes, I know it's only September but hey, I used to work in retail!

Yep, I've already got my Christmas cards! How impressive is that! Alright, I'll let you into a secret...I never got around to sending last year's cards. I know, I know, what a slob I am using last year's Chrissy cards..how low can a woman stoop!

In my case; pretty low.

But thank goodness for email! One letter, a photo attachment and hey presto the deed is done! Brilliant! Saves paper, money, resources....

Hmm..now I've got myself thinking "green" I'm not sure if I'll actually use last year's cards. Maybe I'll cut them up and make them into gift tags...... Oh come on! Don't be churlish - there's a recession going on! A woman with with 3 kids like me has to make cutbacks! In fact, I did think of amputating the boy's legs to save on the vast amount of shoes I have to buy but then I thought that actually maybe the tyres on the wheelchairs would be costly too..... and then I have do a lot of pushing.......

Pushing. That makes me think of childbirth. And screaming. Or in my case- verbal abuse. Yep, after 3 nightmare experiences I pray that I will never be one of those women who miraculously conceives at the age of 50. I can't imagine anything worse than going to the Doctors believing you're suffering from a bloated, menopausal stomach to be told..."I'm afraid  MrsTurley...you're pregnant."

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.........

Not that I should be worried really. A shock like that would probably kill me anyway. Knowing my luck though, when they did the post mortem it would turn out to be a medical cock up and I really did just have a bloated stomach.......

Anyway, there's no chance of my getting preggers. Cos Mr T has had the snip. Now I believe there's about a 1:100,000,000 chance that the tubes where those ghastly little tadpole things come from can spontaneously rejoin. However, since Mr T's "snip" was more like a "carvery" I can rest easy in my bed knowing there's as much chance of his tubes performing some miraculous reunion as there is as me becoming a prima ballerina. ie - None.

Not that I'm not light on my feet Readers - but those tutus are really silly aren't they? They must have been designed by a man. Apparently bras were designed by a man. And I can believe that - some poor sod probably with the misfortune of being called Mr I.M Braless and who couldn't get a girlfriend thought he'd design some undies for women just so he could legitimately looks at breasts all day long.......

I tell you what though Readers. Even if I was a spinster or a nun and called Miss Jockey nothing would entice me to look at those dangly bits that men have all day long. Not without wanting to get out my Paxo anyway. Am I right Ladies? What is about those swinging appendages that just don't inspire you? (Unless you've had half a bottle of red) Yep, I'm afraid to say it but men look a whole lot better in their undies. Gives them a bit of shape......

Well since I'm on the subject of men let's talk about foreplay. Now you know that game you play with your partner where the lady has a head start (not that "head" start - get your minds out the gutter please!) but the head start as in a running race and then the man chases you around the house and then things get fruity (so long as he's still got his undies on) ........ well.... I've finally discovered why Mr T has never been able to catch me! Yes, all the years I thought Mr T wasn't interested and then in tums out the reason the couldn't catch me was because he has one leg shorter than the other!

Yep, all summer Mr T has been suffering with back and leg problems and last week we finally got to the bottom of the problem. How do I put this? Um...basically he's a cripple. Okay, okay so I've been making a few jokes at his expense.... but let me tell you I've suffered for it Ladies. If you think my jokes are bad, you ought to hear his! And the same ones for 24 years! Anyway, now I finally know why when once he was trying to chase me ("trying" being the operative word) and he got his trouser cuff caught on some loose piping  he was just spinning around and around in a circle.....

So anyway Mr T has now got orthotics fitted (these are platforms which fit inside your shoe). So that's him and Tom Cruise then........

Hmmm..... kind of ironic that I've given Tom such a lot of stick and now Mr T has orthotics too. Although to be fair to Mr T he is a pretty tall guy already and well Tom is just well.......... short. Sorry, not many other ways of saying it really. Well not without mentioning Fantasy Island anyway......



Anyway, gotta go - time to get those kids on the bus and Mr T in his wheelchair!

Back in Business!

Bad luck folks - I'm still alive!

I know you've all been popping over here hoping to see Mr T post my obituary ("She was an appalliing housewife but she grew on me. No, wait a minute..she just grew...widthways") but I am still in the land of living. Just. Although, if I keep sniffing the kids' glue sticks that may soon change. Hey, it's not my fault my eyesight is failing and I keep mistaking them for my Chapstick. In fact, if it wasn't that my lips keep sticking together I'd never have noticed the difference.

Anyway, it's been the school holidays which accounts for my silence. Fortunately, the Reign of Terror is now over and the the little ones are back at school and Young Sam goes off to university at the end of the month. (Hoist the banners, ring the bells!) Yep, I've finally got rid of one - only 2 more to go!

Nah, I don't really mean that. Of course I'll miss Young Sam - every time I pass Help The Aged and catch a whiff of unwashed fetid clothes I will think of him with affection. What mother wouldn't?

Of course, the really exciting thing about Young Sam going to university is that we will have a spare bed. Oh yes.. and I have plans for that spare bed! I'm thinking... a new, soft (and most importantly) clean mattress, a nice feather duvet, satin linen, plump cushions, maybe an extra throw for those really chilly nights......

Yes, after 24 years, I will finally have a spare bed to escape to which doesn't contain a small puking child or, more significantly, a large comatosed person omitting a noise comparable to a jumbo jet taking off. Now, if you haven't worked it out - I mean Mr T. Not that he has a snoring problem - but the last time he got drunk and went into high decibel mode there was a national security alert. Apparently, David Cameron was woken by the earth tremors and took refuge in his bunker. It didn't wake me up though - mainly because I find the best treatment is actually to stay awake and sniff those glue sticks.

Anyway - no more taking refuge on the sofa! Young Sam is going to be a bit surprised when he comes home at Christmas and finds his bedroom looking like Cleopatra's boudoir. Mind you, with all the potential sexual encounters one might have at university he might come home and decides he likes it. Hmmm...... on second thoughts I don't think there's much chance of that. Ever since I caught him watching Catherine Zeta Jones having her blouse removed by Antonio Banderas in Zorro (in slow motion replay) I've been pretty sure he's been on the straight and narrow....

On the other hand, he might have just been eyeing up her blouse.....

Nope! Stop thinking Mrs T! Your mind is working overtime!

Hmm.....maybe I should just put a clean sheet and duvet cover on.......perhaps vacuum under the bed.....I want to be able to breathe.......

Anyway, I'm back. More gibberish coming soon (and details of my new linen purchases obviously.)

School Holiday Anecdotes

Yep, it's that time of year again when I'm tearing my hair out with the kids at home for 6 weeks. However, occasionally they do make me smile......

Mrs T is driving back home after meeting up with old college friends. Master Jacob and Master Ben are sitting in the back seat......

Master Ben; Mummy?

Mrs T; Yes?

Master Ben; How come your friends look much older than you do?

Mrs T screeches to a halt, flings open door, jumps out of car and raises fist in air in manner akin to Andy Murray beating Roger Federer....

Mrs T; YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

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Mrs T is driving back from a tennis tournament. Master Jacob and Master Ben are sitting in back seat...

Master Jacob; Mummy, is it true that Blondes are dumb?

Mrs T; (A very short pause) Yes. However, they do say men prefer to have "fun" with Blondes - although they always marry Brunettes.

Master Benedict; What's a Brunette?

Mrs T; A Brunette is a woman with dark brown or black hair.

Master Jacob; You've got black hair Mummy.

Mrs T; Well it's dark brown really. With a little grey now.

Master Jacob; Oh, that just looks like light reflecting off your head.

Mrs T screeches to a halt, flings open door, jumps out of car and raises fist in air in manner akin to Andy Murray beating Rafal Nadal.....

Mrs T; YESSSSSSSSSSSS!!

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Blimey, I love those kids; I've taught 'em well.

Ho hum.

One Last Time

This afternoon at approximately 4 pm, when I open my front door, it will be over.

14 years, 3 children, several prams, a lot of footsteps, even more car miles and one worn out mother.

There's been times when I've gone out with my slippers on, driven into cars at the foot of my driveway, felt sick, and wanted to weep with the death of my parents. Sometimes I did weep.

There's been times when I've had to turn around because I'd forgotten lunches, swimming costumes, medicines and PE kits.

There's been acquaintances made and lost and friendships that have stood the test of time. Together we've experienced disappointments and frustrations, births and deaths, tears and laughter.

There's been wet days, rainy days and windy days. Days when I've skidded on ice, got stuck in the snow and days where I was so tired with my insomnia I pumped myself with caffeine and sugar just to get the kids there on time.

But today, at last, the school run is finally over.

They'll still be plenty more trips to school and elsewhere of course. This is just a stage in life - as a parent you never stop caring for your children. I know in the future they'll be trips to pick the boys up when they're ill, for sports days, parent's evenings and after-school activities. And then they'll be the trips to universities to hand over cash, rescue them from crisis and maybe deliver a wholesome(?!) meal. One day, there may even be trips to see the grandchildren.

But for now, I'm happy. A little bit more time for me - but always a lot of love for my children, wherever that journey takes me.

This Book is Brillant by Jane Turley

What are the universally hated professions? These days it appears it is bankers, (sorry Mr Intrepid!) closely followed by builders (Sorry Gary!) and naturally - the estate agent. (Anybody an estate agent out there? No?  Phew, I can at least rant about them without feeling too guilty...)

Oh, in my experience, solicitors are a bit of a pain in the arse as well. Have you ever known a solicitor to actually contact you and say they've done something on time? NO! They always wait for you to ring them and ask what's happening and invariably the work has never been done. They're always missing a mysterious piece of paper or waiting for the other person's solicitor to send them another piece of mysterious paper..... I tell you, if I ever move house again I will be standing outside my solicitors with a red hot poker. You know, theoretically, you can actually conduct a house sale in about 2 weeks - not in the UK you can't though - not with your solicitor picking his nose all the time and filing his paperwork in the bin. Still, it's a small consolation that so many young people apparently want the prestige (ha, ha!) of being a solicitor they will actually be too many of them in a few years time and they'll end up with less pay than your average plumber!

Oh plumbers. I forgot about them. Hmm. They're not so great either are they? The one who springs to mind is the one who dropped his blowtorch is Mrs Midwife's sister-in law's attic and legged it. As a result her house burnt down. Think I'm kidding? I'm not. In fact, there's been two fires in our small village in the last few years - Mrs Midwife's and another one a couple of weeks back. In fact, I glanced out the window as I was pulling Master Ben's blind down  and I saw a huge, black plume of smoke. Wow, I thought, maybe that nutter with the helicopter pad (yes there is one) has crashed!  I was all for getting out Ben's Matchbox helicopter and leaving it on his doorstep as a replacement - I'm so thoughtful. Actually, it turned one of the retirement bungalows across the other side of the village had blown up in a gas explosion. See, I always say old folks eat too many Brussel sprouts and no one believes me......

Anyway, I'm kinda worried that I might have joined the ranks of the most hated professions myself - as a book reviewer. Now I know you, Dear Readers, are familiar enough with me to know that I'm a kind, sweet and good natured soul but I fear with my naughty book reviews I may get a reputation as bad as Cruella deVil. Oh woe, woe is me! I like to be liked! I don't want to be a baddie! But the problem is I just have to speak the truth as I find it - Yes, I am the woman who tells her friends if they have visible facial hair. What good friend wouldn't? But reviews, like any valuation, are just one person's opinion at a given time aren't they? People really shouldn't take them too seriously.....should they? Oh dear, poor Mrs T is all  upset that maybe will she soon be universally hated.......

Cripes, and what happens if I get my own novel published? Will all the authors I've reviewed come out of the woodwork and call it a pile of poo even if it is the work of genius that it obviously is? Oh dear, dear, dear.....they do say all publicity is good publicity but I'm not so sure.....

Hmm..... maybe I should be cunning. Perhaps I should change the name of  my book from Capital Crusader to This Book is Brilliant. Yeah, that's a good idea; it's pretty hard to review a book without the title and that one sort has a ring of success about it.? Kinda memorable eh? What d'you reckon Readers? Shall I do it?!

Anyway, on another matter (noticed how I've avoided the subject of bankers and builders!) this morning I had to take back a pair of trousers which were supposed to be "high waisted" but turned out to sit well below the waist. If there's any fashion designers out there please take note that people over 40 or who have had children DO NOT WANT THEIR BOTTOM ON PUBLIC DISPLAY and neither do we want to be hitching our jeans up every 30 seconds or look like we're about to break dance outside the school gates. Right have you got it? Well make some darn trousers that fit real women will you? And whilst I'm at it, I don't want skinny leg trousers or ones like masts that I could sail round the world with. Just normal stuff PLEASE. Oh yes, and also make some tee shirts with proper sleeves as well and not those ones that cut off at the shoulder with a silly tight elastic fitting that makes you look like mutton dressed up as lamb. Let's leave that to Priscilla Presley shall we?

Oh and whilst I'm in self pitying, ranting mode..have you seen the Kylie Minogue video for her latest release All The Lovers? Ghastly, ghastly, ghastly. I like the song and I even like Kylie's boots but all those folks cavorting in their underwear? No, no, no, no. It looks like some sort of Roman orgy but with no grapes. Not what I want to see when I'm eating my tea. Anyway, here's Kylie with All The Lovers but without that awful video;



Oh, there's also another naughty book review coming up from me next week on The View so stay tuned!

Fairytale Kisses

Having been somewhat busy lately, I haven't got around to writing many of my Music Monday posts. However, I thought I'd pop in briefly to play a couple of songs from the group Ben's Brother  of whom I'm growing increasingly fond. I'm currently listening to their album Beta Male Fairytales. I'm not good at putting music into categories but I suppose it's what I would call a heavy pop sound whilst being a little more melodic than the norm. (Correct me if I wrong!)

The lead singer, Jamie Hartman, named the group after his brother in whose shadow he lived as a teenager; his brother was a top notch student and sportsman and went on to work successfully in advertising. Jamie is quoted as saying;

"I suppose I did live in his shadow....but I never hated him, which was fortunate because I could have ended up very bitter indeed. Our family has always been really close and also big on gallows humour." 

Jamie has a very interesting and pleasing voice. It has that feminine edge to it that quite appeals to my senses but at the same time has a raw huskiness reminiscent of Rod Stewart and Joe Cocker; a perfect voice for the passionate ballad. He also writes great lyrics! Have a listen to the two songs below for a taster. Firstly, there's Let Me Out which was nominated for an Ivor Novello award back in 2008 and then Stuttering (Kiss Me Again). The latter video caused me some amusement as it has been set to clips of famous screen kisses and I enjoyed trying to put film titles to some of those classic moments. It also made me feel that perhaps we don't do enough kissing as we get older! What a pity to miss out on one life's greatest pleasures; I'm gonna get my poster of Mick Jagger out and do some practice! In the meantime, I suggest you all turn to your nearest and dearest and give them a big smacker or even one of those long lingering kisses or even a sloppy French kiss....

Hmm, I think gonna stop there before my imagination goes a little haywire!

You know I'm not so sure about that Mick Jagger poster......maybe someone a little younger.........Hmm........let me see.........(rifles through magazines) Oh yes.......... that's better.......yummy..... yummy.......XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!

No Returns

I’d never stolen anything before. Honest. It was the first time.

I guess there’s a first time for everything.

A first time for living, and a first time for dying.

It slipped silently into my pocket. No one saw, no one ever does. Least of all him. I don’t exist as me. Just a useful puppet. A puppet with broken strings.

It’s lavender fragrance. “Calming” it says on the bottle. It swirls, blends with the steaming water. The deep purple essence dilutes to shades of lilac bindweed, warm, inviting.

My fleshy thighs fade to shapeless shadows. My breasts lie flat. No more womanly curves. Just an amorphous being who cooks, cleans, and draws clouds in the dust.

Water trickles down the overflow. I don’t suppose many people have a waterfall for a requiem.

The bottle sits on the shelf, carton discarded. The scent spirals upwards, weaving its way to freedom. If only I could escape my box so easily. Climb free, run wild. But I’m sealed with sellotape and tied with string.

The water creeps into my ear, my head lolls. I feel relaxed, sleepy.

Sometimes it can be quite cosy in my box.

I hear small muffled voices. Crying, laughing. It’s just a trick. But it makes me wonder. Wonder whether I should sleep or not.

Bubbles in my nostrils. Only a moment longer now. I could hook my leg over the edge...or welcome the embrace.

But whatever I choose, they’ll be no return.

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No Returns is a piece of flash fiction that I wrote for Gary Davison's writing competition. The challenge was to write a story in less than 250 words which included a given title and first sentence. Gary (my blog buddy) assures me my winning story wasn't a fix as he had 4 judges, including the author Ray Robinson who wrote this about No Returns. I put together this piece in a very short amount of time and submitted it exactly on the hour of the closing date (promptness is not a speciality as you know!) - with hindsight I'd probably change a couple of words.

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Oh, and before anyone thinks I have plans to kill myself let me just say I am of completely sound mind; this is a work of fiction. Although I admit, I did once try drowning myself in a bath of liquid chocolate. Strangely enough, it didn't work.