Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Where’s the toilets please?

My first day in my new job was easy. Too easy. I’m hoping it will become more challenging because my brain needs more stimulus. And the annoying part of not having enough stimulus is then I am thinking I could be at home writing a novel instead of having to work ridiculously long hours in retail.

A job in publishing would do. I don’t have any formal publishing qualications but I’ve edited several books for other authors now and project managed my own three to completion. But, as always, age is big barrier even if you have transferable skills. 

In the meantime, I’ll have to keep persuading folks out of their cash for luxury goods they don’t really need! Or directing them to the toilets which seems to come with the territory. I think I did about ten requests for the loos yesterday, as well as one for vacuum cleaners, one for headphones, one for incense stickers, one for Christening presents, one for watches, one for sweets, several for cafes and god knows how many else. The best one was from a lovely lady from New York and her daughter who asked for somewhere to eat when I directed to them to the nearby cafes the answer came back “Oh I mean a British pub. We want to have the British Pub Experience!”  This necessatated the use of Trip Advisor, Google maps and so on. And then to finish off our conversation, directions to the loo. And for my own amusement I ran through all the different terminologies for going to loo in the UK including “spending a penny” which they thought highly amusing.

Of course the best part of working retail is you get to meet some lovely people. Of course you do get meet a few who should be shot on sight but, for the main part, most people are just lovely.

So I have to keep my brain active so today I have set myself a challenge:I want to turn at least one of the loo requests into a sale from my counter. I figure it’s a tough challenge as, talking from my own experience, if I want to go to the loo, nothing will stop me. Not even a six-foot wall and barbed wire.

I think I’ll focus on the middle aged men today. My theory behind this is - they haven’t had kids so they won’t have the weak bladders and bowels that us ladies do but they won’t be too old so they’ve encountered prostate problems. Secondly, if they’re mature they might have more cash to burn. Thirdly, flirting is a proven sales technique and this is something I am uncommonly good at.

Just call me a sales slut.

I’ll let you know how I get on.

Monday, February 19, 2018


On Friday I was offered a temporary job until May 31st in London. The £522 trainfare per month is going to eat into my salary but it’s a job and gives me breathing space.

The last few weeks have been hell. Some days I have felt physically sick knowing that in a few weeks time I would not be able to pay the bills. £72.00 a week job seekers allowance doesn’t go far. There were even a couple of days I had to force myself to get out of bed. The best I could manage was to scroll through the job sites and submit my CV and, at times, that took all my willpower. I had 18 days out of work but, for the main part, was unable to do anything but the barest of essentials.

These are classic symptoms of anxiety and depression. Fortunately, I have enough self-awareness and am well-read enough to be proactive in preventing myself slip any further. Chiefly, I contacted my friends, told them how I was feeling and asked them to come round and give me some support. Luckily, I have many kind and wonderful friends who I have been open with about the problems I am facing. They have been awesome.

How awful it must be to be depressed and anxious and have no friends to confide in. To feel isolated.

So I have made it through yet another crisis. Just. It has not been easy. Tomorrow I start my new job and hope it creates some other opportunities before the end of May.

And when I get home I am going to start building my new blog. And begin a new novel.

I don’t give up easily.

Saturday, February 17, 2018

Silence is not always Golden and the #Metoo campaign

Abuse comes in many forms.

I've always been extremely discreet about my private life on this blog. However, with the #metoo campaign still gathering momentum I am reviewing whether I should stay silent much longer.

Being discreet, protecting my children, hasn't made my husband more cooperative or communicative. If anything staying silent allows him to keep viewing me as a doormat. If I didn't have children there is no way I would put up with the crap I have done. I would have been gone like the wind.

Over the last few days, there are been more revelations about abuse by Oxfam workers. It seems some workers were dismissed for their abusive and exploitative behaviour and others were given the chance to jump ship.

The sexual abuse of women and children has been rife in the news for a good few years now. How disheartening to find out that it exists even amongst the charity sector. However, perhaps it is not surprising given that no profession where a man holds power, whether it as a priest, politician, TV presenter, film producer, football coach, in the office or in the home, abuse of women and children is everywhere.


I'm fortunate I know some good, kind and responsible men. Otherwise, it would be easy to become disillusioned entirely with the male species.  But centuries of male entitlement and privilege doesn't disappear overnight. It is important that women speak out. We are half the world's population and yet frankly the vast majority of us are still getting a shit deal.

So as my mind goes over and over the problems I face, I have decided I am going to add my voice to the #metoo campaign.

I am ever mindful of my children’s well-being so it is going to be an anonymous blog. It is unfortunate as I would rather be me, but I will be better able to articulate my experiences this way.

Writing is my therapy. I am now at a stage where I face so many problems, both short term and long term, if I do not do something proactive to help myself reduce the stress then I will probably implode.

So writing therapy it is. I will still be writing here of course. This is my writing home. Hopefully, if I can get rid of my anxiety elsewhere this blog will be a much happier place!

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Mission Impossible

The last few years have definitely felt like a mission impossible for me. And it's not looking like its going to get much easier soon. However, at least I've got something to look forward to.

Tom's new movie!

Awesome. He may well be nuts but most us are in our own way ( I think I qualify) and he makes a darn good movie.

Sadly, I've still got to wait until July. Bah humbug.

Thursday, February 8, 2018

A Student Dilemma

I am currently in the social area of a large British university as Master Ben is on a day course. It is filled with chairs and tables and lots of plug sockets. It is a kind of social work place for the students with lots of nooks and crannies and even some private booths with large computer screens.

I don’t recall anything like this in my day at Uni. There was a bar of course and a library but not really a social workplace.

It’s a kind of relaxed place where you can meet your fellow students or lecturers for informal sessions or to work.

There is also a cafe. So I set myself up to apply for jobs all day in a suitable spot. However, to my huge disappointment I discovered I’d forgotten the lead to my PC (my battery only lasts an hour at most) which would mean using my iPad which is very difficult for anything remotely complex like form-filling. Writing this blog is also very difficult as the IPad screen won’t scroll down in tandem with the Blogger screen.

So I decided to soothe my frustration with a hot drink from the cafe.

My medium latte cost £2.10.

That is only slightly less than the cost in London or in my former place of work which was the
second most popular tourist destination in the UK which was obviously doing it’s best to rip off the customers.

Now I understand about making profit. But come on - £2.10 to students! It’s no wonder they all leaving college with huge debts. What a rip off.

Looking around me here, the only person drinking a non- purchased coffee is a woman about my age who has brought her’s in a flask. She’s either a mature student or a lecturer. But obviously has some common sense because if you add up a few £2.10 coffees every week, maybe lunch and a cookie or two that ends up a lot of cash over a month for your social gathering/chat about your last lecture.

There was none of this in my day. Work was in the library or in your room. I never worked with
others unless it was in an official tutorial and then we didn’t stop for coffee and biscuits. We just got on with it. And if you wanted to socialise in the day you did it in your room with an instant coffee made from a cheap jar of Tesco’s home brand coffee. And cheap biscuits not luxurious cookies.

Okay, so I am kinda furious the students are being ripped off but I’m kinda furious with them too. It’s all too cushy and easy with their comfy working areas, coffees, computers and vast array of technology to do their research. Kindles and Ipads to download books and cut and paste their notes in a minute or two.

I’d like to see some of them try writing a ten-page essay long-hand and then rewrite it three more times because there’s too many typos. And go the bloody library and read a book without needing an endless supply of £2.10 coffees.

In fact, if I was a student here I would be boycotting the cafe with the other students and driving the prices down to an acceptable level.

Students are always moaning about their lot in the UK. Well I say get off your butts and your iPhones and put down your expensive coffees and maybe you’d leave uni with a lot less debt and a better work ethic.

Rant over. Coming up next - a scientific pie chart on the male species.

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Practical Advice

Since I have some time on my hands I've come up with some practical advice to anyone struggling in a relationship. I've put a lot of thought into it as you will see. Here it is:

As soon as your partner starts treating you like shit, dump them. It will not get better. 

Boy, I think I could have a career in this counselling business! I've managed to sum up in two lines what it takes most self-help authors an entire book!

Maybe I could write a book entitled Fifty Ways to Leave Your Spouse.

This would consist of 48 repeated lines of:

As soon as your partner starts treating you like shit, dump them. It will not get better.

Followed by:

Take all their credit cards. And slash their trousers discreetly in the crotch area so they don't realise until they're on The Tube and being arrested for indecent exposure.

And finally...

And, most importantly, reverse into their precious car as you back out of the driveway. (At high speed.)

Hey, I'm really good at this practical advice! It's kinda flowing naturally despite the fact I did none of these things myself! They say people learn from experience. And I've had a lot of that. Maybe I could also be an agony aunt? I think a top spot on the Guardian would suit me. God knows that paper could do with a little humour. Maybe when I back on form I'll send in a trial marital advice column.

On a more serious note, over the weekend I watched Suffragette with Meryl Streep as Emily Pankhurst. It stirred up a lot of emotions. My overriding thought was that whilst women may have the vote now, we still have a very long way to go towards true equality in the workplace, in the home, in marriage, in politics and in opportunities. Only for a few lucky women is equality the real deal. And as for sexual liberation - well I strongly doubt that too. But it suits some men to let us think we are sexually liberated as then it so much easier to abuse us.

I thank those early suffragettes for paving the way. It has given us women voices. And when I am finally in control of my life, I will unleash my voice again.

The sequel to The Changing Room has been on hold for a long time but soon it will back in progress.I have more essential things to do whilst I am unemployed but when those are done, it will time for some serious writing to commence. It will be some time yet before it is finished but when it is, get ready for more a lot more laughter and a lot more tears.

This voice is only just breaking out.

Ps. If anyone wants to send me some questions for a trial marital advice column please do!

Thursday, February 1, 2018

Looking forwards

Since I have more time on my hands I have decided I shall write a little.

Today has been a really tough day. I didn’t sleep last night as I am feeling anxious and was bitterly disappointed at not getting the job I interviewed for yesterday. Had I got the role it would be a huge game-changer for me and my boys.

But there’s no point thinking it over too much - that’s easier said than done of course so today has been a very tough day as I’ve tried to kick myself out of a negative mindset.

So I’ve spent numerous hours wading through job sites looking for jobs that might fit. I’m trying to find one on an equivalent pay or more as taking a hit on the salary scale would be a major setback. I’ve bookmarked some recruitment consultants to pursue in the next few days.

What else? I spent 40 minutes on the phone with a prearranged interview for a role in London. I believe it went very well but, at the end of the day, you never know who else you’re up against. I’ve already taken one test for this position and if I get to the next stage there will be two more face to face interviews and two more tests including a 4 hour on the job trial. It’s a great job so I don’t mind how many hoops I have to jump through, I just hope my jumping is high enough.

I texted the recruitment specialist at a National retailer that I have already had a conversation with about ten days ago and who are interested in me. At that point they didn’t have a suitable vacancy for
me as I’m after a managerial role within an hour’s commute and a reasonable salary. I reminded her
that I’m still looking and I can take up an appointment with immediate effect due to the redundancy.

I made application for a deputy manager’s position for a store in London. It was a job I could most
defintely do. I was rejected in the afternoon. Disappointing but at least I got a response and a timely one at that.

I followed up an application on the Internet I made on the 12th January for a job in the locality with a personal email as I’d not had any response. I’ve still not had any response although I see the firm is still advertising.....

I’ve started a new job application on the web for a library role. It’s not enough pay but I might be in with a chance so I’ve decided to go for it anyway as at least I’d enjoy it. The unfortunate thing is my CV is now geared to a retail management role so I need to tweak it to add back in some of my publishing endeavours which, theoretically, should be relevant.

So I made a few steps forwards but not enough. It’s been a tough day. I am frankly used to rejection now and my skin is getting thicker all the time. I’ve had two meetings with shop managers in the last few weeks and we seemed to get on very well - one even wanted me to come back later in the day to
see his area manager who was in the locality and said he’d text me a time after he’d spoken to him. I
spent the afternoon researching the company ready for an interrogation and then... radio silence. Nothing.

This is what it is like being a fifty-plus woman trying to get a job. It is bloody gruelling.

Tomorrow morning I’m going to meet a friend for a coffee as I need some friend therapy. Hopefully she won’t want to throttle me when I relate my recent experiences and moan for England.

Maybe we’ll chat about Tom Cruise instead. I haven’t told a Tom joke in a while. Not even a small one. Hmm. I think that needs rectifying.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

When your best is not good enough

Sadly, positive thinking wasn’t enough. I did the best I could up against two internal much younger  male candidates.

I actually thought when I came out of the room I might have got it. Apparently, it was a close run thing.

Possibly. But I’m a 52 year old woman. I guess the odds were stacked against me no matter how well I performed.

Now I have one month to find a job or the boys and I are in deep trouble. I’d like to think my husband would help out but he blatantly doesn’t give a shit. I’ve only just had a £200 contribution to my son’s £800 airfare that I paid back in November. Since then I’ve had his car insurance and breakdown cover and he’s not contributed to those at all.

I feel sorry for my boys. I’m trying my very best and it’s just not good enough.

I wonder if my husband ever, even for one moment, thought about the ramifications of quitting his executive job without having a job to go to or making any financial plans. Or the consequences of sitting on his arse for months waiting for someone to gift him a job.

No. He didn’t.  One day a spontaneous apology would be welcome but I won’t hold my breath.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Positive Thinking Please

I am a great believer in positive thinking. Even when the crap keeps coming your way.

Okay, so I am being made redundant on Wednesday. It was moved a month forward (too long to explain) which has given me less time to find a job. Luckily, (or unluckily as it turns out) I was offered a job fairly quickly with the added bonus of a nice pay rise just before Christmas. But after having picked up the contract a few days ago I can only describe it as a “third world” contract. After discussions and alterations, I am still not happy.  I am not happy to the extent I have withdrawn my interest in the job as it has the potential to put me in an extremely vulnerable position. Frankly, I am shocked that such a contract even exists in the UK.

So I have got another job interview on Wednesday for a role I really want and need or life is going to get even tougher for me and my boys.  It’s a job I’ve never done before but I believe within my capabilities. I need all you folks out there to send me positive vibes on Wednesday morning.

Positive vibes, prayers, telepathy, however you generate your positive thinking. Wednesday morning folks.

Let’s do it.

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

New Year Update

I have had a number of requests from different sources to update my blog so, finally, here I am.

Firstly, I want to thank all those of you who have continued to pop over here over the course of the last year. It has been heartening to see that my blog has not been entirely abandoned and that people still want to read my musings or check on my wellbeing. Thank you all very much.

So, the last year has not been easy. There have been many times I've wanted to let off steam on my blog. However, I decided that for the moment, at least, I will not directly write about the traumas I
have been going through. I am not yet divorced, primarily because my life has been so chaotic with endless problems arising that I have not yet completed all the paperwork. But I shall be granted a divorce of that there is no doubt. The terms will either be settled in mediation or, if need be, in court.

And I will not be signing my husband's small print clauses to silence my voice. That might mean going to court and stripping away my last few assets. But so be it. I had a very frugal upbringing and can do without and I am a lot tougher than people think. I'm not going to be sticking my head in the oven or blowing my brains over a divorce or being broke - a world shortage of chocolate maybe. But a divorce? No.

So the good news is that I still I have a sense of humour and this is what has kept me going alongside the support of my many friends. I have some awesome friends. I still find time to laugh daily and slowly I am healing.

What's more, I even got asked on a date last week! I declined though. I have enough crap going on
without dealing with date dilemmas and men who think with their penises rather than their brains. (I might have to revisit this subject in length at some point.)

I would be lying though if I denied the fact that I have shed a lot of tears over the last year but these
are not tears over the end of my relationship they are tears of frustration, anger and sadness at the problems I have been left to deal with and the fallout that has directly my children's future and wellbeing. The tears intensify every time my husband's family try to manoeuvre my children away from me. However, this manoeuvring hasn't worked so far and it won't because I am my children's rock and they know I would lay down my life for them.

On the work front, I have three jobs, lost one through the company going into receivership and am shortly to lose the third through redundancy. I have had a tonne of other crap to deal with which I shan’t even bother to write about for fear of this blog becoming an essay.

However, here I am. I am alive, facing my struggles head-on and doing the best I can in very trying circumstances. I am sad to be leaving my current job as it has been a source of great pleasure and friendship in a difficult time but life goes on and hopefully a new adventure awaits me.

On a different note, as you can see my blog appareance has started to change as I am thinking about
writing again. I think it will be sporadic at first but expect to see me back here more regularly in the coming months.

And we shall have some fun! Laughter is always the best medicine. Finding humour in the small things around me is probably what’s saved me in the last few years.

And I don’t intend to stop laughing until I stop breathing.

Friday, September 15, 2017

Ideas, Please.

Okay, folks. Time to come out of the woodwork. I need ideas and themes to write about. Anything you fancy. Next week needs to be Humour Week on this blog so hit me with your ideas and I'll see what I can come up with.

Update: So I never got to write a Humour week. Unfortunately, life is just a little too complicated at the moment. However, feel free to list any ideas below so when my nightmare marriage is over I can get back to writing. I am hoping this will be before the end of the year.

Please God let that be the case so I can start the year afresh!

Friday, September 8, 2017

Still Alive and Kicking

Well the good news is I am still alive. I am also hideously bored at the moment at work so I am doing the inconceivable and writing a post. Unfortunately, my work hours are not the best and sometimes I have to work until 10.30pm. Not ideal as a now single parent. And whilst Master Ben is 16 he is not always the best at cooking himself tea.

Sadly, this is the legacy of a marriage breakdown.

Ah, well. I tried my best. And paid a heavy price.

Anyway, on lighter matters my lovely son, Jacob, left to go the US on Wednesday on a tennis scholarship. It's been an emotional few days as I am very close to my boys and whilst I was excited for Jacob that his new adventure was beginning, I was also very sad at his departure. Here's a picture of Jacob (on the left) and his friend James who were travelling together to Kansas. I've now been writing this blog for 10 years so if you remember Jacob as a small boy you'll probably be surprised at how he looks now!

On other matters, I am wondering if I should sign up to a dating site and amuse myself between customers. Thoughts anyone? However, if any of you ladies out there know any eligible single men who'd appreciate an overweight but, hopefully, entertaining humourist do send them my way. I'm not overly fussy - so long as they're taller than Tom Cruise and have a sense of humour I'm interested. (At my age I can't afford to be fussy. However, ending up with a fella shorter than Tiny Tom after years of ridiculing him would be the ultimate humiliation.)

Any other qualities I'm looking for? Hmm...

Must like frozen pizza.
Must appreciate the arts.
Knows how to balance a cheque book but doesn't have to be loaded.
Preferably looks good in Speedos and tinned spaghetti but if he can make me laugh I can make an exception.

So girls get looking for me. And any blokes dropping by drop me a comment in you're on the market. ( Keep it clean though -  I have a sensitive nature.)

Applications from senile multi-millionaires also welcome. Preferably with a heart condition.

Monday, June 26, 2017

I am a humour writer

I am a humour writer
I am a humour writer
I am a humour writer

I am thinking folks that if I keep telling myself I am a humour writer eventually my humour will return. Not that it ever really left but these days other priorities have to take place over indulging myself with cavorting around on the net or writing mentally challenging fiction. (I'll let you decided in which way my fiction is mentally challenging.)

The good news is I've had some awesome ideas and inspiration for some new novels. It may be some time before I get them down on paper but I predict new heights of stupidity on the comedy front and drama on the thriller front from me in the years to come.

And we have a female PM to follow. And Brexit. And Jeremy Corbyn. And Diane Abbot. And Boris Johnson.

And Donald Trump!

Oh dear God. Could a humour writer ask for anything better? Not really. It's so unfortunate I have to go to work and not find time to be creative when there is so much going on in the world at the moment that needs analyzing on my blog.

Oh well maybe I could do a little something...

Watch this space.

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Midnight thoughts

It's nearly 12 pm. My hands are covered with paint as I prepare my home for viewing by the estate agents. I'm tired and emotional.

Earlier in the day, I watched my youngest son, the no 1 seed in a tennis tournament (which is based on his past record) crash out in the second round to an opponent with not even half his talent. It's tough watching your child be defeated but when only three years ago they won a national tennis title at Wimbledon it's a lot harder.

And I wonder why I wasted so much of my life with someone who has created so much havoc in our lives and who, even now,  refuses to rise above his narcissistic self-esteem issues to salvage anything for his children.

There is such a burning anger in me. I know I should let it go or it may destroy me. But right now, when he has taken so much from me, destroyed every aspect of our marriage, stripped me of my family inheritance and the ability to secure the future for my children through his foolish actions, there is no forgiveness in me.

Nor will there ever be.

I have now cast aside all my trust, patience, forgiveness and my love.

And I will use my anger to drive me forward.


Monday, May 1, 2017

A Worrying Start to the Month

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself earlier this morning as I'd made it through the April A to Z Challenge when, truthfully, at the outset I didn't think I'd last the distance. So, as I am on the late shift today and have a 12.30pm start at work I thought I'd take a few cheeky minutes in bed before I tackled the housework. So I jumped into bed, leant over the side and picked up my iPad, popped on my glasses and set about spellchecking my last A to Z.

Only, horror upon horrors, since writing my last A to Z in the middle of night, my eyesight had drastically deteriorated! The page was all fuzzy when normally my typos are jumping out at me and slapping me around the face like a wet mackerel to remind me of my gross grammar incompetencies. Immediately, I cursed the menopause, the wear and tear of getting old, and rued the fact that with such rapid eyesight deterioration I was definitely not going to be able to avoid an optician's appointment and new prescription glasses.

That's when I sensed something else was wrong.

That's when I realised I was wearing two pairs of glasses.

Oh God, please don't let me do that at work. Please. It's bad enough being the eldest in the shop, don't let it look like I've got dementia as well.

Thank you, Lord.

Z is for Zealot

In previous years on the A to Z, I finished off with some spectacularly bad poems: Zachary the Inventor and Ziggy the Zoologist. This was mainly because I couldn't think of any other word other than "zoo" which is not very impressive for someone who purports to be a writer. However, this year I have actually thought of a Z word which needs discussing!

And that word is "zealot".

Be afraid, be very afraid!

So a dictionary explanation of zealot is as follows:

A person who is fanatical or uncompromising in their religious, political, or other ideals.

Now as you probably know by now I am quite plain-speaking so my simplistic definition of a zealot is someone who is...a complete nutter fruitcake. Sadly, there seems to be a lot of nutt.. fruitcakes in the world at present. I think most ordinary folks were hoping that the kind of zealots we are seeing active today had died along with Nazis Germany. Not so. In fact, the world seems to be bursting with nutters at the moment. Here, in the UK, as we approach an impromptu general election the nutters are out in force. In addition, almost anyone who is remotely famous seems to have an opinion on the political scene and especially the issue of Brexit which, undoubtedly, is the key election issue.

Unfortunately, a number of my Facebook friends appear to be nutter mode too. Some of them have
been banging on and off about the injustice of Brexit in various ways for months. There's no other way to say this - but their ranting is like being boxed in the ears indefinitely. Now, contrary to what you folks might think, I am actually pretty discreet about my political opinions on FB because, unlike this blog which is very much my own personal space, I don't see Facebook as a forum for sounding off about my political opinions and hacking off the majority of my friends who just want to see nice pics and be generally supportive of each other.

Yeah so since this is my space, I can come straight out and say it - the Facebook zealots are mainly (okay they were ALL) opposers to Brexit or to the present government. Somehow, they all suddenly seem to be experts on European politics and economics! Huh? How can this be?  In fact, I've noticed it seems a common trait in Remoaners generally to have a ridiculous level of self-righteousness that couldn't get any bigger without shoving a large poker up their asses. Several times over.

Now I enjoy a good political argument but it's impossible to have a reasoned argument of any sort with a zealot. It's a complete waste of time attempting to discuss anything which might otherwise prove interesting or enlightening with someone with opposing views but who is less zealous. You might as well go and do something more constructive like clean the loo or put the bins out. Generally, I just let out a large groan when I see another one of their moaning posts. I suspect most of their other friends do too, even those on the same political wavelength.

Anyway, it's not really their political opinions which irk me. There's nothing wrong with having passionate ideals and without people who are highly motivated by injustice some of the biggest political and social changes in history would never have happened. But, let's face it, European politics and economics is not such a clear cut issue as, for example, the abolition of slavery or the Suffragette movement. So what really annoys me about these new pro-European zealots is the way in which their opinions are written - mostly in a condescending, "holier than thou" manner which is extremely
offensive to anyone who might hold the opposing view. Some of the insinuations, in particular against those who have might have supported Brexit, have suggested that those who support it are bigoted, dim, uneducated, xenophobic etc etc etc.

Oh really? All of them? Huh?

Now I can't proclaim to be a saint when it comes to throwing insults (obviously) as I do it regularly on my blog but, in my defence, I only do it to people who I consider fair game and who, in the very unlikely event they ever stumble across this blog, would be unlikely to be concerned about a few jokes by an insignificant blogger.

Anyway, what it boils down to is I'm fed up with these know-it-alls. I'm at the point where I might actually rise to the bait or just delete them from Facebook. I like seeing pictures of fluffy cats on my timeline, reading personal success stories and seeing what daily stuff folks are getting up to!  If I want to read political discussions I can hang out at The Guardian or The Telegraph and if I just want some pictures of giant arses (political or otherwise) I can hang out at The Mail.

So that wraps up the A to Z. I didn't think I do it this year with all that's going on in my life. But I did.

Onwards and upwards as they say.

 If you've call into my blog during the A to Z and I've not dropped by your's yet I'll be playing catch up over the next week or so. In the meantime, keep blogging!

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Y is for Yellow Belly

I just read my post from yesterday. And I've decided alcohol obviously enables me to get the creative juices flowing as when I started that post I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write.

Sadly, I don't think green tea with lemon has the same effect on me. *Looks forlornly at cup by side*

So only Y and Z to go on the A to Z! I didn't actually think I'd make it through the month so I guess somewhere I still must have a bit of stamina left.

Hmm. I still have no idea to what to write about so I'll just keep going until my brain fires up.

Oh yes. I'll write about an experience I had today at work. So I shall call this post Y for Yellow Belly which in the UK is a colloquial expression for cowardice.

Yep, so today I met a young lady, aged around 30, who was out shopping with her mother. I sold her a £1600 pair of diamond earrings to cheer herself up as she had just been dumped by text.

Now I concluded that because of her age, the amount of money she spent, and the fact that she was upset enough to divulge her news to a stranger it was probably a relationship that had been a lengthy one as well as a meaningful one (to her at least.) I felt very sorry for her - dumping someone by text - what kind of person does that? In my opinion, a "yellow belly" and, frankly, I thought if he didn't have enough courage to end it with her face-to-face then she was better off without him. (Of course, I didn't say that as it was not my prerogative to do so.)

So, I've observed in the course of my life that some people are really not good at communicating and that can severely impact their relationships and that quality of their life. When the going gets tough and they can't communicate on a deeper level about the stuff that really matters the relationship is basically shafted. A relationship can continue with problems unresolved especially if there are other considerations like children and housing etc but it's never the same for the communicator who never gets resolution. In essence, silencing one partner because of the other's inability to talk (whether intentionally or otherwise) becomes a form of manipulation and emotional abuse.

I think that young lady had a lucky escape. Being dumped by text signifies to me a lack of empathy and the ability to confront emotional situations. She could have ended up marrying him and finding that out only when the going got tough. Better to find out now and have a chance to find someone else who doesn't rely on texts or social media to do his dirty work.

Well rant over. Hopefully, that lovely young lady enjoys her earrings and finds an honorable young man to sweep her off her feet.

And when I am ready to move forward with my own life, I shall have "good communicator" at the top of my list. Along with about thirty other requirements. At least thirty. Probably more. A lot more. In fact, it could be a very long list indeed.

One, of course, will be the necessity to have a very good sense of humour indeed.


Friday, April 28, 2017

X is for people I'd like to x-ray.

Firstly, let's get something out of the way. When I developed my hiatus hernia a couple of years ago I effectively gave up alcohol. However, in order to face a huge mound of ironing earlier this evening that seems to have the capability to reproduce, I have decided to indulge.

Therefore, as I write this post I am verging on the tipsy. By the time I finish it, I could be pressing my keyboard from underneath my desk. Luckily, I have plenty of fat to absorb the alcohol but any minute now I expect my lips to do a Mick Jagger. Luckily, alcohol doesn't appear to affect other parts of my body (except my brain) otherwise my arse might turn into some hideous monstrosity like the one which is attached to Kim Kardashian's arse.

You know whenever I see a picture of Kim Kardashian's butt I imagine that scene from Alien where the Alien bursts forth John Hurt's stomach. I keep seeing it over and over in my mind - Kimmy lying on the beach when her butt suddenly explodes and this small lethal creature that has been living off globules of her fat bursts forth and latches hold of Kanye West's face.

Now that's what I call a summer movie. Not that girlie Disney princess stuff. They'd be queues right around the block for a sci-fi movie like that. Especially if Piers Morgan got mutilated in it too. They couldn't call it Alien Butts or  Butt Feeders or even Arse Armageddon

Now, what was I supposed to be writing about? 

Oh yes. A word beginning with X.

X-ray? Blimey, I'd love to x-ray Kim's butt and see what's inside. I could probably get a thesis out of it. Maybe even a Nobel prize for science. That would be super cool.

Whilst I'm at it - if I had to a chance to x-ray Gerard Butler I would. Any part of him. I'm not fussy. 

I'd also like to x-ray Daniel Craig's gun. I've heard it's pretty big. Apparently, it also never fires blanks. I think that's the sort of rumour that needs proper scientific investigation.

Who else? I'd like to x-ray Donald Trump's head. Just to see if there's anything inside it or if it's just an empty vacuum. Now I know he gets a lot of stick but I reckon there is something there. However, I'm not sure a packet of Jelly Babies is really that impressive.

I'd also like to x-ray Rupert Murdoch's wallet. And then perhaps his colostomy bag. Just for fun.

Anyone else? Oh yes. Tom Cruise. How could I forget my arch nemesis? Perhaps it goes without saying I'd have to x-ray his brain just to see what the hell is going on inside it. Perhaps it's full of tiny spaceships whizzing around? Hmm could be.

Anyway, it's gone 11pm here and I need to be up before 7 as I need to be at work by 8 am. So I must love you and leave you with this question - who would you like to x-ray and why?

W is for Why and Writing

When my children were small "why" was a word which cropped all the time at the beginning of sentences. "Why" would often proceed moments of amusement and laughter when I was forced to explain all sorts of weird and wonderful topics.

When I was a teenager, and I wondered how the world worked and was searching for those answers I often ask myself "why" questions. More often than not, I couldn't come up with answers about religion or existence or even about algebra but, eventually, I developed my own thoughts on life and accepted this life for what it is. I learnt that when it comes to philosophy, you don't always have to have the answer but sometimes contemplating issues give you a better perspective and appreciation of life.

Now, as I move through middle-age towards inevitable death, I wonder "Why" my life is turning out as it is.

I have some answers to some of my questions and for others, I don't. Those unanswered questions are difficult to lay to rest.

But somehow I must let them go. Hopefully, writing will be my cure.

V is for Vanity

So I am running behind on the A to Z again. Unfortunately, due to the complicated life I lead at the moment, I simply having no energy most days to write. I know some writers seem to thrive on stress and trauma but that's not me - my best work is when I'm relaxed and happy and when I can let my mind roam free.

So V is for Vanity. I was really going to let rip on this subject as I find the increasing emphasis on looks and body image, particularly in the media, very unwholesome and perhaps very damaging to many young men and women who aspire to look like photoshopped celebs. But of course, vanity is not always just about looks and when it is wrapped up in narcissism it can have so many more destructive traits.

So where I work at the moment, I see many women (mainly young but also older women too) absolutely caked in make-up and teetering around in high heels which in a few years will have their feet covered in bunions and deformed. I find it rather sad, that when these young women are at an age when the majority of them have healthy, fresh-looking skin they feel it necessary to plaster it with a cement about three shades darker than their natural skin tone. Top that with pencilled eyebrows and false eyelashes some of them just look like replica Barbie dolls. For old bags like myself, I kinda understand the need to cling onto to some looks and feel your best for as long as possible but, nevertheless, sometimes when I see faces with caked with makeup I seriously wonder if I would recognize the person underneath if I were to see them without makeup.

So, as I was saying, I was really going to let rip on this subject (I was just warming up there) but then last night Master Benedict and I were messing around with a mobile phone and he took a picture of me.

And there's no other way to say this...

But I looked like I'd been hit by a bus. A double decker bus. Probably travelling at 60mph.

And then after I'd been hit by a bus some bastard had inflated me with a bicycle pump.

So in other words, I looked shite. (And that's putting it mildy.)

So life hasn't been too good for me for the last two years or so and seeing that picture really brought it home to me that I need to look after myself more. In every way.

I guess there's a balance to be had in all things. At the moment I haven't found it. Hopefully, I'll find it soon but I am guessing it's not likely to happen for three or four years. In the meantime, I'm going out to buy some makeup and some bubble bath.