Sunday, 31 July 2011

You shall go to the ball

Its been a very interesting weekend so far readers, starting with the hospital ball last night. It was truly fab with all kinds of people there in their finery.

It was held at The Boat House  in St. Aubin. The very place where Bergerac was filmed. It was the perfect setting over looking the harbour, very continental.

I have lived here in Jersey for one year now. Its a small community where I have got to know people reasonably well, but when you are slamming tequila you get to know people better. I love balls (I giggled childishly then), just the old fashioned glamour, you can't beat it. 

For those that know me well, they will be aware I gave up television approximately 4 years ago. It became boring (well excluding come dine with me, but god bless 4OD). Each evening just returning from work and switching the goggle box on, why just watch rubbish when you can discover the magic of reading? I am serious !! Not having a television meant making more of an effort with time, investing in conversation and just getting out and doing things.

For me its idyllic but its not without its limitations. I engaged in a conversation last night for a reasonable amount of time with someone who had been earlier introduced to me as a newscaster here in jersey. I didn't know who he was, everyone else did. I just had to stand there and say "errr I don't have a tele". The shock of people's reactions was as though I had said I can't read or write. He was very charming though.
I am a fan of newscasters, its not that I am not but I am just not up to date. Also to be honest Trevor MacDonald is the man for me. Some of you will recall when I bid a ridiculous amount for his poetry books. Trevor remained framed on my coffee table for a very long time until my Columbo fetish reared its head again.

Its not the first time I have made a celebrity faux pas. I had to tend to a chaps head.. The charge nurse kept going passed the cubicle and coughing something under his breath. I wasn't getting it. The patient exclaimed did I not know who he was. it came to me " ahh yes that guy from Monty Python and the Holy Grail". Errr it was in fact R2 D2, and that's what the charge nurse had been coughing. I was slightly mortified.

Anyway I digress the pictures of the ball will be in Jersey Weekly, the equivalent to Lancashire Life. I will post when I get them.

This morning I woke up to my usual "pings" on the Internet dating site. Just the run of the mill men not wearing their anoraks whilst sat at there PC's. However I have news readers I went on a date and I have to say he was normal, and exceptionally funny. It was an original date too. we went for an ice cream and sat over looking Bonne Nuit bay. Of course I didn't have an ice cream I opted for a can of pop as I apply the same principle that you shouldn't have spaghetti bolognese on a first date, who knows where the flake from my 99 would of ended up! I liked it, it was unassuming and you just cant argue with that view.
We will have to see what happens, but I will keep you posted but so far so good. The best part was he was fully clothed and didn't look like shrek. Maybe baby Jesus is answering my prayers and he has been sent to disband my David Attenborogh fan club.

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Would like to date a Pygmy

Haven't blogged last couple of days, as I am knackered work has been like reinventing the wheel, one where I appear to be a flagging hamster on. However that's not what this blog is about .

In her  wisdom a friend thought it would be good to shove me on a dating website for 3 months; after 10 minutes of ranting I thought oh well in for a penny and all that. So yes I have now been pimped and my smiley face is selling myself. Its proving a disaster and like a genetic cleansing exercise.

When I was 27 I did something like this before. I placed an advert in the guardian as I thought it might be fun. Indeed it was. If you exclude Clint the chap that didn't realise I had a head or he had a wonky eye that seemed to hover at breast level. Actually there was also Dan who informed me that if he liked a girl and dated her for at least 3 months his intention was to get her pregnant. I kept my legs firmly close together and said I had a dying aunt at home that needed her catheter bag changing. I swear I saw Dan delete my number as I waddled out like a penguin.

As previously stated in an earlier blog dating is fun. Then.,it was just about an ad where ridiculous acronyms like GSOH and WLTM were used then people would ring and leave you a message. I deleted all the ones that started  "oooh nurse", it was too much Kenneth Williams for me. I knew I had placed a good ad when one of the voices I recognised as a friend  was saying, "you know you actually sound interesting I would date you".

That's the thing I am ruddy interesting but to get that across on a website that I am sure reinforces genetic cleansing well its somewhat difficult. To be quite frank I am quite shocked, and you know me readers when does anything shock me?
The average male and this is without any exaggeration would like to meet a girl who is 25-35, 5ft whatever, 6st 4lbs-8st whatever (isn't that a pygmy?) one particular colour of hair in one particular length, she has to exercise 3 times a week (yes they are that prescriptive).
I really hope when the dream date shows up prior to sitting he says " pop on them scales love, just checking the goods", as at least he will seem to of stuck to his principles and of course I would never knock those (coughs).

Isn't life about taking chances? To be so prescriptive you could be over looking a hidden gem. Of course I think you need to require more from your date than breathing, but seriously 6st 4 lbs!

One chap asked would I be the type of girl to stand in a burning fire and shout how much I loved him and do anything for love.? Because I don't fancy playing the part of Guy Fawkes doesn't mean there is no romance in me.

It would also appear that everyone is a professional skier, snow boarder, speed boat racer, animal lover and athletic and toned, well maybe they are, who knows. Should I be writing I have skied since I was 11, I just haven't done it the last 7 years. I have been caving, abseiling, took professional salsa lessons, been a member of a wine appreciation society. ( I don't mean propping up the bar of the Black Bull) and had lots of life's experiences.

Some even prescribe that you have to like a particular film genre. I only discovered foreign cinema, due to the fact I dated a boy who introduced me to it. Yes there has to be some commonality but isn't dating about experiencing new things?

I'm too sexy for my barrel 
I have had to make the following note on my ad "Additional note: As delightful as you think it is, for those that keep winking at me, then tell me they are naked and doing some sort of samba with their willies, I can only say nope it isn't. Pop an anorak on you will get a chill!"
I get approximately 6-8 of them a day, some are very specific about what they are doing when they are winking at me. Its become so common place that when I go into work the following morning my work colleague asks me how many pings I have received? I think ping is the definition for dodgy winking. YES, I said winking.
I couldn't find a picture of a naked man in an anorak, so had to improvise.

Don't get me wrong I have been chatting to someone that seems bright and who doesn't require a charisma transplant.

However the whole process seems so much removed from the wonders from dating. I might as well stand in the town centre with a sign on saying "Yes I might not fit your genetically engineered stereotype, but guess what you don't know what you are missing".

Anyway will stick with it for now. You only need to worry if you read that I have bought a flame retardant suit and am mastering the art of "I love you" without singeing my hair.

Additional note, as soon as this was posted I got pinged with a what you wearing honey... then I am a cowboy baby ride me..I snorted my coffee down my nose..I said I am wearing a grey dressing gown that makes me look like an ewok...awaiting response!

Sunday, 24 July 2011

The best things in life are free.

I haven't blogged for the last two days, truth is I have been busy.
OK the title suggests that life is free, I appreciate unless I am referring to the Inkspots interpretation generally everything has a price. I have included the Inkspots so you know what I am referring to. Yes there are comments left referencing the uploader to being a serial killer, but I think they missed the point. The video and the lyrics are simplicity in themselves. For me its a sweet ditty; I like it, but then I am a kook. You be the judge. How do I know about such a random piece of music? Well I know lots about all sorts of random things, things I will share with you readers, in time (sniggers).

Right, where was I? Oh yes the free things in life. Jersey the island of affluence where people come to seek their fortune, live the dream or find Bergerac. I am here because I have skills, that's the only reason they let me in, if they knew the content of my monkey bank that sits on top of the fridge, they might deport me back.
For all those who think that I pay no tax, and everything is cheap, well not only is that a fib, I am living on an island where I even have to pay more for my Jersey potatoes. I was educated not to talk about money, politics or religion so I will swiftly move on.

Its lovely to get dressed up, dine in a swanky restaurant, attend the theatre, drink champagne pay extortionate amount for cabs home (another Jersey bugbear of mine!) BUT a good night is not the measure of the luxury experienced.

I can honestly say, the last two days have been the best days in my short Jersey life. Why? Well let me share.
Friday evening I went to a friends for dinner; a girlie night of four.The host had gone to tremendous trouble, cooking up an Indian banquet fit for a Maharaja. No dress code required just a sense of humour. She was a warm host she didn't even mind when I dropped the mango chutney on the floor, it wasn't my fault the dish had a wonky handle! It was a night where dancing in your bare feet didn't look out of place.

Two of my girlies are in their 20's I can just about keep up and they don't take no for an answer. Its a good thing. The craze here is Zumba, an exercise dance routine. So tummy full of lovely food there I was shaking my arse, having a 20 year old teaching me to do all the actions. Its so infectious I am now signing up. My 20's were all about salsa class, I was transported to that time and I loved it. Any movement that requires hip shaking, for those that know me is well its very me (Not that kind of hip movement, busters!).
It was time to call it a night when my pal demonstrated her ability to lean on one hand and hold her body in a graceful mid air pose, part of her Capoeira skills. Of course I could of attempted it (coughs) but I had a naan bread still waiting to be digested.

Saturday was a very different day, it was an inpromptu visit to another friends. Her house is amazing, its full of life, colour and one of the most welcoming places to be. When I arrived there was wall to wall cupcakes, brownies and other delightful sweet treats. A full on bakeathon. Her daughter and pal were home from University and the bakethon was all about raising money for Moscow for participating in a world rowing event. how exciting is that? So we all mucked in, my job was to make icing bags. I know that's not rock and roll, but it was a hive of chatter and busy bee-ing. There is something exhilarating about being in the company of youngsters (Golly I sound old). There is an openness you don't get with closely guarded grown ups.
Dinner was amazing, my pal has the best kitchen garden you could ever imagine. Enjoying a salad with lemon verbena and nasturtium flowers  was just exquisite. I love to eat what I grow, so I have been propelled on to widen my own kitchen garden.

By contrast they were two very different days, each with their own wonder. The inkspots identified below what they felt were the best things in life that were free.

The moon belongs to everyone
The best things in life are free
The stars belong to everyone
They gleam for you and me

My interpretation

Laughing hard, smiling ear to ear and shaking your ass baby, shaking your ass
The best things in life are free

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Lions, Tigers and bears...oh my!

OK, OK its not so much lions, tigers and bears but living in my house requires you to have a net. This is my house below, as you can see its surrounded by fields.

David Attenborough's headquarters

I am writing this today, because I saw him again last night, a ruddy field mouse staring at me in my lounge. The first time I saw him was November, I screamed had a hissy fit then cried. Appallingly so, and very stereotypical, boys are supposed to sort the wildlife out. So I was feeling sorry for myself, wimpering on a chair. Its hard work at times being on my tod, for many reasons but the David Attenborough fan club really needs to be dealt with by a big boy.
Spiders, dragonflies, field mice and a flamin toad that visits for summer are not my favoured house guests. One morning I even spent breakfast with a baby hedgehog staring at me in the kitchen.

I pray to baby Jesus each evening for a big boy to come rescue me but I think he might be busy dealing with hurricanes, war and famine. Maybe I could write a letter to Santa early and he might send me one.

Well I am here and I have to deal with them, so I took the advice a big boy gave me. I imagine that I am Snow White and they are cartoon woodland creatures, (breaks out into song). So they are no longer creatures to be feared but Mortimer the toad, Boris the hedgehog and Trevor the mouse. The spiders and dragonflies are the groupies for the woodland band. I have a lovely humane pest man who visits me periodically to address the mice.

Don't get me wrong I am not infested, its the perils of country living. Don't be put off visiting me , I can con them into buggering off on a package holiday to Guernsey.

The recommendation by someone for me to get a cat made me screw my face up. You cat lovers out there, I get it; the company I have no doubt is lovely. However for me its a step in the wrong direction. I just don't want to be a middle aged woman with a cat. Ducks whilst cat lovers throw catnip at me. I appreciate that cats are loyal. The Egyptians were clever folk, after all they did essentially invent writing. So their reverence for cats, at the time made sense. Putting someone to death because they nicked the neighbour's tabby, I do, however   think was a bit extreme.

The issue is I am not a lover of cats, had the Egyptians met my granny's cat Smokey they too might not of been a fan. Staying with her as a child became like a Bear Grylls survival task. This evil cat used to sit on the door frames,  it dive bombed you as you passed, anchoring on to your head. This would continue throughout the night as it hid, like a marine under the bed. I could of won the 1978 bladder holding competition as to go for a wee was a fate worth than death. One foot out the bed and suddenly you would be wearing a painful slipper.

Blofield, CEO Cats Protection League

So yes, I could get a cat, but the Snow White approach seems to be working. Look seriously who would you rather be.
When you smile and you sing
Everything is in tune and its Spring
and life slows along
with a smile and a song 
Irene chilling with her Woodland band. 

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Bo, Bis, Bit, Bimus, Bitis , Bunt!

My love of language started at the age of 11 when I joined "big school".  I thought there was something exotic about being able to speak different languages. Quickly I took to French, and to this day am not so bad at it. I can still recount the words to that famous French song " Moi j'ai soif, je voudrais un Orangina".

However as delightful as my French teacher was; it was when I discovered Latin that I thought how great it would be to be able to actually understand it. I was exceptionally good at it, but it was a slog trying to get it as an option. The principle at my school was you had to be a prodigy child, taking O level English when you were 15. I wasn't. I thought why defy nature, I took mine when I was 16. They used the same principle for religious studies, so initially was placed in a lower set. It became rapidly apparent what I didn't know about Jesus wasn't worth knowing so I was moved back to top set religious studies and was allowed to take O level Latin.

I am sure what you are thinking readers, is Latin is boring, a dead language, why bother? Well, it was all about my teacher. He was stark raving bonkers, and I loved him. (not in the way, quickly developed girls fancy their PE teacher). He was passionate about the language and Rome. He would make us stand on the desks and recite the verbs and he would tell stories of decadence, immorality, gluttony and violence. It was exciting! There was only 8 of us in the class, housed in a little brick building set away from the main school and all girls.
I used to gaze at him in awe as he bellowed "tempus fugit" at the end of lesson. Then the last day of term came when he said we could have a Latin orgy. I told you he was bonkers! What he meant was we could have one bottle of wine, some bread and grapes and tell stories of ancient Rome. However it all went horribly wrong when this was interpreted as a carte blanche allowance of alcohol drinking. So armed with pop bottles disguising the mix of gin, vodka and other spirits we embarked on the orgy. I don't think he noticed we were pissed because he was too busy telling gladiator stories.

However our PE teacher quickly noticed when we repeatedly fell off the trampoline in the next gym lesson. Summoned to his office, we giggled as we said we had been orgying. Somehow we managed to keep it a secret it had happened in Latin class, and I am glad we did. Our Latin teacher was too great to find himself investigated by the head. That was my last day of school, and its him I thank  of why I love language.

Living in Jersey has made me further my thirst to learn languages. possibly because I find myself in a peer group of linguists. There is a huge Portuguese community here. Near the hospital is this great Portuguese coffee shop where I torture the staff with my ridiculous attempt of speaking Portuguese. Its become like a party trick as for some reason I haven't understood the fact that speaking a language to someone that is not English does not mean they are deaf. Each time I speak I insist on doing actions much to the amusement of the staff.
I can only say 3 coffees, one weak, please, to takeaway but its a start.

I have found that if you make an effort to speak someones language it makes for a better relationship. This was tested out the day I went flying in the road and seriously cut all my knee. Sitting wimpering outside the coffee shop the same girl who sniggers each day I say "take away" with an accompanying thumb over my shoulder like I am hitch hiking, ran to my aid. She cleaned my knee, stroked my leg, smiled and gave me a glass of water. She possibly would of done that anyway, but I felt cared for, not just the nutter who does actions when asking for coffee.

I have had the honour of being involved in interviewing for interpreters for the language and interpretation service. Yes, I am aware it has nothing to do with resuscitation, but it interests me and promotes networking between departments, something which is much easily facilitated here rather than in a busy NHS teaching hospital.
Following those interviews, it spurred me on to know more, maybe if I stop doing actions I will actually look less like Shirley Valentine and more multicultural.

My Latin teacher was my John Keating, his unorthodox style carried me to adulthood and as Mr Keating taught his pupils on Carpe Diem, so did my Latin teacher.

So I say obrigada to those poor suffering Portuguese people who have their ears bleeding and their eyes boggling when I embark on ruining their language. To my Latin  teacher I say Bo, Bis, Bit, Bimus, Bitis , Bunt and crede quod habes, et habes (believe that you have it, and you do)

Golly I hope I remembered that correctly as the last time I  wrote a Latin quote, it was on the wall of my lounge. I  signed it by the author Corneilius. Then being all intellectual I was explaining it at a dinner party at my house. Someone remarked "isnt that the guy from planet of the apes?"...bollocks I thought, I meant Cicero.!

Sunday, 17 July 2011

Who ordered Timmy Mallet for my birthday?

Well my birthday has gone but it was lovely nonetheless. Remember readers, I met my pal who I never seem to leave sober? Well why ruin a track record, again it was very much so.

I have always been rubbish at early evening drinking, I forget to eat. I think these Jersey folk have emergency stores like a hamster as they don't seem to struggle. They always seem sober, or it may be the case I am too drunk to notice their inebriation! People refer to Jersey as 90,000 alcoholics clinging to a rock, I don't agree. I think its 90,000 people with early evening drinking survival skills.
You start on a small demure glass of wine, so not to over do it; then some bright spark gets the idea to pull out the Jack Daniels. OK that  was my idea, but it was my birthday, I am allowed.

The best bit of the evening was two other people joined us, like a surprise. It was lovely that they had made the effort to celebrate my birthday. It felt more like old friends than new acquaintances. Maybe I am integrating myself into island living after all. I need to remind myself of that more often , when I feel lost and homesick. This is my home!

Lots of laughing, story telling and putting the world to rights was fun and then it happened. He was stood at the bar at last orders. Remember the 10 to 2 principle? That frantic moment of people thinking I haven't pulled yet. Girls batting their eyelids at staggering boys, boys circling you on the dance floor, ice skating round you, trying their best to score.  

Well here was my 10 to 2 propping up the bar. Was he the man of my dreams, only if I enjoyed that musical work of genius of Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini? Link provided for those under 30 reading this blog. Don't knock it, it reached number 1 in 1990.

Why start talking to me I thought? Well I was stupid enough to make eye contact. I can't help it I smile at everyone like a grinning eejit. So he ice skated up. " I know you" he remarked. He explained further that he thought I worked in the staff canteen and  I was lovely, did I think he was lovely too?   
Oi Missus....
Glancing  at his checkerboard shorts, Hawaiian shirt, baseball cap with over sized sunnys perched on the top...
"Err if you are chatting me up, it ain't working".
I swear the barman wasn't serving me quick enough because he was watching and enjoying the show. As his first haphazard guess of where I worked was wrong he guessed another job.
"You are a nurse, you took care of me. I saw you gazing above me and though she is lovely".
 "Errrrr well sir, if you think you saw me above you, treating you, you were very much knackered".
 I wanted to say he would of seen me jumping on his chest but he may of considered that foreplay.
Deep breath folks, he wasn't my 10 to 2, I trundled back to my seat, only after buying him a drink for effort. With lines like that, I felt it only right to reward them. On leaving with my pals, he was heard to be yelling "Oi come here" (I think the extra alcohol assisted his dulcet Oi-ing), I thought time to go home before he rummages in his pantaloons for his mallet.. 
Getting outside, my second wind returned. Fortunately had it not been my mates quick thinking of throwing me into a passing taxi (think Face bundling Murdoch into the A team van, much to his repeated objections), I probably would of been a lot worse than I was the following day.

I am like the Queen I had 2 birthdays, today being my second. Lunch with the girls in a fab place on the beach.

View from where we ate
The Beach House, St Brelade

Food was lovely, cocktails were great and my pressies were adorable. One of which was a handmade martini glass painted with cherries, very me.
Being a northerner in a foreign country seems to of on occasion defined a stereotype. Lunch was great although I was irked when I ordered mozzarella and sun dried tomato foccacia. As the waitress leaned into me in a "aww aren't you special kind of tone"; she felt the need to explain to me that foccacia was indeed a sandwich. "   Yes I know" I commented assertively. Nooo she couldn't leave it there as she continued to explain to me a sandwich was bread. Really never, how remarkable, and I thought foccacia was that renowned Italian opera singer.

This is the second time this has happened to me here, when, whilst on a date and after ordering gorgonzola souffle followed by halloumi, he felt the need to inform me I had ordered cheese followed by cheese and was I aware of that fact. He didn't see me moan, when he had ordered fish followed by fish. I LIKE CHEESE, WHAT OF IT!!! I was compelled to tell him that even northerners understood the world of gastronomy, we don't all eat chips with summat that's moist!

Well my celebrations are drawing to a close. In finality I raise my cherry painted martini glass filled with Orangina (My liver requires some respite) and thank all that wished me a wonderful birthday. Your wishes came true, it was indeed wonderful.

Friday, 15 July 2011

Happy Birthday to me!

Well its here, my birthday! I have always loved birthdays, its the time to spend quality time with friends and loved ones. Its not just my own birthday I love its others too.
Thank you for the facebook messages and texts. My 40th was probably the worse birthday ever not because I turned an age I didn't want to be but because it was a  traumatic. This year sort of took me back to that. So I have took a deep breath and thought right Irene this year is going to be different, it has to be.

Birthday cards are generally something you pick up from Smiths and send. Me I am lucky I have friends that write more than happy birthday in them. I cried when I opened them, it made me miss you all. I generally only cry when I open my card from Barbara in Australia as I miss her. When she left it broke my heart like a teenage crush, that's eased now with time and I have come to realise that no matter what distance there is or no matter how many years past she will always be my Yogi bear to her Booboo.

This year I cried at every card. I am not sentimental generally but moving away from friends only brought me closer to them. When the chips were down, they were there every step listening to my repeated "God what have I done" and incessant tears. Being told that I am the strongest woman they know and can do this made me take grasp of my own destiny. I am not quite there yet but I am better than I was on my last birthday.

Right anyway I am not being melancholy its my ruddy birthday. Each card told something about my friendship with them. I have a mind like a video diary, words can transport me to a moment or some memory in glorious technicolour. You may of detected this in my style of writing. I love it (smiles).

Babs sent me a card with "bubbles are a vital part of any occasion". This is true my friendship with her was about how much champagne you can quaff down your neck. We managed a fair amount. We weren't always such toffs. In our 20's after a late shift we could finish at 10 run home jump out of our uniform be in the pub for 10.10 with a pint of Stella and a bag of roast onion crisps. We managed that every late shift. Two pints then Yogi and Booboo trundled back home. I am sniggering just at the thought of how much Stella we put away those years.

Tears changed to pissing myself laughing when Tonionio had wrote she is sending me dancing. I love dancing so much that when I was 23. I remarked in a club to my friend "oh my god when I get old if someone told me I can't dance anymore, I will just die". Here I am older and still dancing..yay..go me!
When Lynne and Toni visited me, they were threatened by some crazy alcofrolic woman to a dance off. I so wanted to see Lynne do it, but as remarked previously in a post she is a good catholic girl and affords herself much more dignity (coughs). However as we ran off watching Toni shout to the crazy woman "Its a good job its not Karaoke, I would have to pull out my Piu Jesus, then we will see".  Oh my ribs! I am laughing my head of thinking of how funny that looked.

If you have never sent or received a Moonpig card get straight on it. I received one from someone who I haven't known as long as you lot but it was clear he truly new me. After getting over how could you use that picture shriek, I laughed hard it was very me, the words. Its hilarious, I thought great no crying, just laughing. Then I opened it, the bugger had to go and write "May you never loose your lovely smile not even for a moment". It came the floods from eyeballs and snot and that awful noise we make when we are gulping air.

I am composed now and thinking about what to wear when I go out later. I am celebrating with a mate, I have never managed to leave sober. He is more climatised to the principle of early drinking, I am still in training.

Sunday is when I celebrate my birthday having lunch on the Beach with my girlfriends. I am looking forward to it, but I will think of you at home. Who knows I may get a story out of it!

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Don't be fooled by this beach peach look, inside is an inner goddess.

Written by Diane on my Facebook "absolutely love the blogs. I too am very different to my sister and wish I was as humorous and articulate as you to describe how I was the thin one but she got all the boys and fun!!"

According to a recent survey 76% of women are body conscious and 48% of women like to wear clothes during sex to cover up what they are conscious about. Interestingly 81% of men are apparently body conscious too. That makes up for a lot of sex in the dark wearing  anoraks.  
Like Diane's sister I was the chubbier of the two siblings, but it didn't impact on my ability to pull as we say in the North. 

Of course I am body conscious and firmly sit in the 76% but you won't find me in the 48%, as I cast my anorak aside with wild abandonment.. Why? Well its no secret what you are getting, its not like I can hide my arse under a bushel. 
Throughout my courting days, I didn't struggle due to the fact I had a confidence in my body, it was the one I had so you have to get on with it and try to improve your inner goddess. I have done all the diets yo-yoed my weight. I was a thin child and then I became self sufficient when I left home, and discovered alcohol and restaurants.
The Atkins period of ketotic breath doesn't really do much for that crazy passionate snog we all love.
I am not saying I haven't had those awful moments of what to wear and saying that's it no more biscuits. Of course I do I am a woman!
I suck everything in when required I try to stand at jaunty angles when having my picture took (that's if you can catch me in a picture, I am the one moaning take that picture and I will kill you).

I have never been more conscious of what I look like than currently. God do I have to say it, please don't make me say it.....OK I am single. (Meh I hate that word). This blog is like therapy as before I have defined my self as just come out of a relationship, or recently split up and here I am admitting it in public that I am indeed single. 
Man or woman if you are out there thinking god I too am conscious when naked then remember these things. I am no Gok but I can talk from experience. There is nothing more beautiful than the human body, its a fantastic piece of machinery. Yes it may be a little wonky or not be how we like it. In truth we can change it if it bothers us so. It requires hard work and you have to decide if today is going to be the first day of doing something about it.

The mouth you kiss is just lovely. The hug you feel from their arms is snugly. When you get down to the nitty gritty of commingling (this isn't an adult rated blog, one has to use certain words, :-)) its exciting. Embrace it with abandonment. being very much in to your lover beats pulling your anorak down to cover your arse.
Well if it bothers them that your boobs aren't bigger, or your arse is too large, your stretch marks look like a AA road map, your willie leans to the left and is smaller or too ruddy big then they can shove off. They won't know what they are missing when you embark on kissing, sex and snuggling. 

I am confident in my skin, of course I would like to alter bits, I can't moan about what I am because its in my control to change it. I am not big boned and as my diet club woman once told us all "You are not bonnie, you are fat" ( I thought yeah well at least I haven't got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp, now stick that in your pipe and smoke it you skinny bint).

I  had the same teenage angst we all suffer, but it all floated into the background the day my friend Babs amused her self. (I know you are reading this blog Babs, all the way over in OZ, I miss you and I know this will make you smile).
I shared a house with 4 girls and a boy in my 20's, best years of my life. I loved those  all in one body underwear thingys, with the snappy poppers. I wasn't shy so would  always be on the phone chatting in my underwear. If the phone rang Babs would answer and yell bubble its for you. She called me this as when i came downstairs in my underwear she said I looked like a little pink bubble. Oh readers this story gets worse, in fact why I miss her is any ones guess.

Then the fateful day arrived, I had a crush on someone in the emergency department. I was flirting being amusing and then suddenly a baby in a nappy waddled pass us. He was chubby and pink and yes a BOY. 
Babs response "Mr X see that baby that's what bubble looks like in her underwear". If I could of trephined her head and got away with it I would. I was speechless as she cackled and Mr X response "Oh right".
That's it done for I thought. However I laughed and actually thought it was funny. Handling a flirt disaster worked out. He snogged me that night. It didn't matter that I am not Kate Moss because when we snogged he liked it and so did I.

You have to make the most of what you have. You won't catch me in an all in one jumpsuit (flash back caving suit, a story for another time).

So folks embrace all that you have. Love your body and cast those arse covering anoraks aside.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

As I lay me down to sleep I pray to god to close my peeps

Since I Moved to Jersey I have had trouble sleeping. Initially it was about a stress response, an overactive mind in bother. Lately I just seem to of got in this routine where I watch a Law and Order omnibus trying to drift off. Maybe its too stimulating and I need to switch to Countryfile.
I have tried lavender, hot milk with nutmeg, counting sheep and other such nonsense.

So it was a welcome moment not having to set the alarm. I had a thoroughly lazy day, periodic naps. (I am getting older its permitted). My mind wandered to being older again, next week I won't be so obsessed.
Certain chronological milestones make you think you should be doing something daring. For me its the casual flirt with getting a tattoo. I KNOW very cliche.
My first notion of this idea was when I turned 30. I even went to the tattoo parlour the day after my 30th party. I wimped out and left with the top of my ear pierced. Seeing them guns and ink, made me think shit this is permanent;one ear piercing please.
So here I am again googling tattoos. I have always been a bit mesmerised with them. Remember those ones you licked and stuck on your arm from the bubblegum wrapper? I wouldn't wash mine off partly because I had to share the bath with my sister. Then in the 1980's you could get them stick on ones, I always had a rose in my cosmetics bag, god how tacky! None of you can comment I have no doubt some of you had those awful rat tails cut into your hair, aka new romantic.
I fancy a half naked lady with butterfly wings a bit burlesque thingy. Maybe I can get a stick on one. I am not concerned with the pain, I am the chick that endured a 4 hour ablation without anaesthetic or analgesia, for fear of concern I couldn't tell them I was arresting. Weird I know, made sense at the time.

The thing that puts me off is that as I age, my skin will change. What was once a hot burlesque chick will look like a cheap hooker with a stroke as she starts to sag. I found a few I liked then imagined where I could have it. Somewhere the chance of sagging is reduced. I arrived at the only places that won't sag are the foot or the earlobe, maybe I can get a tattoo of an ant, less surface area and it isn't going to wander south. I only dallied with the idea briefly as it was nap time again.
Then there is the cost, I need my money for a loaf of bread. So maybe I will revisit it when I am 50, apparently its not far off. Its not exactly on my bucket list but you know, I just fancy being daring.

Well readers I need to warm my milk and spray my lavender. OH MY GOD I AM OLD!!!! TATTOO TATTOO.
Ooooh I wandered to fantasy island then and Ricardo Montalban.

Tuesday, 12 July 2011

I feel pretty ..oh so pretty until.....

Here I am again readers with my ramblings. I get the impression you quite like them as I keep getting texts with supportive comments. Write them on the flamin blog that's what the comments box is for!

Anyway I broke up today for annual leave. I have no clue why I still refer to it as "breaking up" like I did when I was a school. Shudders at the thought of school, built up Dorothy shoes, eye patch not to mention the knitted swimsuit. (Goes to safe place, imagines lapping water round my body and whale music, phew flashback averted).

I think when you know you are about to finish work to embark on a rest period your brain slows down and you feel in a fiesta mood all day. It was a lovely day today at work and I think that was because I wore a red flower. I like wearing some corsage thingy sometimes, its a bit vintage and it brightens my day. I think it brightens my day because so many people comment on how pretty I look, or radiant or just plain lovely. I smile a lot too generally, I know it makes me look a bit special sometimes but I think it can be infectious.

One of the psychiatrists stopped me today (no sniggering the psychiatrist reference is a red herring, so bog off) and said, "you look lovely today" to which I responded oh the flower, it brightens my day really. Then she  stopped me, touched my arm and said "No dear its you that brightens our day". I blushed and I got a lump in my throat. Living here isn't always a picnic and I often get homesick missing the North, but its moments like those that make me glad I am here.  

So today has been a happy day. I did resuscitation training for the dental hospital, and for those that have worked with me professionally, know I am at my happiest when teaching. I love what I do and I have a passion for resuscitation. It was a fabulous session with great evaluations.

On my way home I made a few calls, and all I can say is my flower wilted not because of the down pour that ensued but because well I was reminded about being older on Friday. Indeed its my birthday and for the record I am no where near BLOODY 50!!!!!  (whale music, lapping water, lapping water!!!).
Yes I am 41 (coughs). I am not so keen on that, I thought 40 was bad but when someone points out you are getting nearer 50, its not lovely or radiant. 
I believe I don't look it so that's a saving grace but within one week I have received left on shelf comments and being nearer 50, so it makes you think.

I trundled home and thought gawd when did one year past 40 become near 50. Numeracy has been known to be on the decline in our educational institutes, I will blame that.

So I sat at home sucking in my face in the mirror, pulling at the skin round my eyes, checking if I had a waddle. Then it happened it actually flashed through my mind for a fleeting second would I consider plastic surgery? Could this be the moment I take a photo of my sister looking like Lady Di and telling the surgeon, I will have that please.

It was only for a moment as my response was bollocks to that I am off to watch Columbo. I can always lie about my age and Columbo fixes all misery. I mean who is to know my age and Columbo isn't telling anyone; as my soul mate died recently aged 83 yrs old.

When I think about Peter Falk as Columbo I only remember him as younger not as ageing. I can be like that, forever young. OK, OK I appreciate that his neverending youth was because he was on the telly in many channel 5 afternoon film re-runs, but you get the principle,

So in the words of my idol and tweaked a bit my me...."Just one more thing.....I ain't 50" 

Monday, 11 July 2011

Bananies-oh my sister is coming to Jersey

12 ruddy months I have lived here and her royal highness still hasn't graced me with her presence but no more. The red carpet is out and she is arriving next week. OK so her flight isn't booked and she can't find her passport (this is the same girl who tried to board Aer Lingus with a library card) but I have my fingers crossed.
She is after my kidney so I am seducing her with the possibility of a harvest when I am not looking, that will get her here. Ever since she told me there is a possibility she wants it I have thought of ways she can't have it.
Hitting me over the head with a can of Elnett hairspray all those years ago, I still hold a grudge.

We have a wonderful relationship but it wasn't always so. See we are very different in so many ways. I didn't realise how different till we were stood in the butchers queue me age 7 and her age 5. He remarked to my sister golly aren't you just pretty and adorable , I got and what do you want to be little boy when you grow up? I wasn't sure if Esther Rantzen would take me away to a children's home if I answered honestly "a serial killer of butchers" . so I responded "a girl".

Alexandria has always been glamorous even her name is glamorous. I sound like a 60 yr old woman with a pinny on. When she was little she asked for a Lady Di haircut and indeed got one. I thought oooh I will have one of them and I got a Ringo Starr haircut. I asked for Olivia Newton John Grease pants..I got green cords. She got trendy dungarees. She wanted some cute little burgundy kitten heels for school and that's  exactly what was in the shoe box, of course I though ohh lovely me too! I opened my shoe box and there was a Judy Garland pair of ruby shoes but built up as if Dorothy had a limp. Click your heels and you end up on the mobility bus!

So yes we are very different. See below

Ringo Starr

Olivia Newton John

We are from the same parents although I did tell her she was adopted and her original parents were an Indian couple that sold her. She was exceptionally tanned and jaundiced as a child.  It was  premeditated torture as I knew one day she would hit me over the head with an Elnett hairspray can.

Despite our difference in appearance, we do actually have the same button upturned nose. Our outlook in life is generally the same you have to be strong to survive life's upheavals. We also laugh in the face of adversity. I miss her terribly even those daft o clock calls in the middle of the night "I can't sleep, lets Thelma and Louise it to Blackpool, there's a bag of chips in it for you" This essentially meant driving to Blackpool with music blaring singing at the top of our voices. Her like that chick from The Cardigans and me flaring my nostrils whilst trying to reach the high notes. 

I am excited to say the least that she is visiting. It still could come to be she never gets here, and I will be sad but thinking about her made me write this blog and that has amused me no end.
See the bananies -oh reference is of us aged small doing a dance in the lounge. Imagine two small children, one all blonde like Lady Di and the other like Ringo Starr with an eye patch (ruddy opticians idea) dancing with arms side to side like a lu ow dance. Repeatedly singing bananies- oh over and over again and laughing.

To this day we recreate that dance as it amuses us the same as when we were small. She is hilarious to me and I love her. She still isn't getting a kidney that bloody Elnett hairspray can flamin hurt!       

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Dating...god do I have to?

Its no secret readers I have come out of a long term relationship, and for that I am terribly sad. I have been told its been a year and I have to get on with it before I am left on the shelf...charming I say.
I have dated since the split but I am not ready for anything as part of me is still occupied by someone else.

However who doesn't like dating? I have to say  the pre date primping is a bit stressful. I mean do you think having your feet eaten by fish is a bit excessive as part of your getting ready routine? Whats wrong with a bit of lippy and a posh frock?
10 years with the same person sort of makes embarking on a venture with another slightly daunting. You know me I am a confident chicklet and my pal Annette will tell you I have never had trouble getting boys. I am not that same 25 year old though.
I should think myself lucky that I am in a different country. I can reinvent myself as a sophisticate or a care free chick or even as a cougar. Perhaps not a cougar as I have a mental image of Liz from Edinburgh on Come Dine With Me. She had a tight perm and a t shirt with I love Spain, her boobs looked like they were sniffing for floor truffles. There she is luscious Liz as she called her self. One thing is for sure she had spirit and was quite adorable. She was a bit bonkers but you couldn't help but like her as she caterwauled " I am a cougar baby".

You boys aren't aware of the plucking, waxing, shaving, the covering up grey and creaming (errr sounds dodgy..its the application of cream to ones body to result in soft skin) one has to endure. I am thinking of getting vajazzled saying you are lucky to be here!

I think I have a cuteness that's a bit special and yes I do mean window licker. I think its endearing. I am sharper than most knives in the box and if required I can purr on demand. Getting a feather stuck in my throat whilst burlesquing proved that. (OK it was more like choking on a fur ball..but we all have fantasies).
The recent "get left on the shelf" remark didn't make me rush out for some Veet and a newly printed call me cougar tight tee but made me reflect that I am actually sort of happy. There are blokes out there who are delightful, I have met them. So what's the rush? I can flirt insanely, bat my eyelids attempt my purr but does it really matter I am not shacked up with two ankle biters?

So I will continue the odd date as I have. I met a guy whilst dancing with a kebab in my handbag so it could be that its more care in the community rather than dating but who cares.

Someone recently said to me "You have spirit". I think that's it in essence what I do have and no matter how hard life gets it won't dampen. Generally I love my life and all that's in it. The last time a total stranger saw my tuppence it was flashing whilst having my femoral artery compressed during my ablation. Maybe its moments like that, that make you realise whats important and having spirit is indeed whats important.

The modern parlour game..a decline in society or just an all round hoot!

I consider myself lucky as I have friends that do actually enhance my life and  have proven to be like family. Its only when you find yourself in a loop of sobbing and drinking cheap wine from Iceland do you realise who those friends are.
I have many to thank for showing me the colours of life and such a friend is Antonia or Tonionio as I like to call her. Now it could be said, what she introduced me to was less enhancing and more ridiculous but well for me it has provided hilarity.
If anyone has ever been to dinner at hers she spares no expense. I like old fashioned glamour and she still subscribes to dressing for dinner, a veritable feast fit for Bacchus himself and of course the obligatory parlour game.
Although I am sure Trivial pursuits could be cited in divorce court by her lovely Argentinean husband, pass the bomb proved less argumentative.
One evening boys in the dining room talking aeroplanes, sport and other such interesting topics, us girls were about to embark on her latest parlour game. She introduced it by stating she had read about it in the Times. How could it be anything but stimulating, high brow newspaper like that, it had to be the modern parlour game for the intellectual woman? Errr, hmmmnn errrr Chatroulette proved more to be about dodging the penis than cultural conversations about modern art.

The concept is about people chatting and if you don't like them then you just click next . A disposable format of conversation I know and one could argue a decline in manners but how much penis can one endure? That next button was a godsend. 
Lynne  our good catholic friend spent most of it hiding behind a cushion whilst Tonionio shrieked "I got a penis" several times over. Me, well I like to amuse myself, so requesting a chap in a tiny leopard thong, hoover for us because we found it hot, nearly made me have a brain bleed due to hard laughing.

Then I thought could I introduce this concept to my new lovely Jersey girlfriends. Tapas, cocktails, music and chatroulette, yep sounds fun. Come round at 7?
I have to say not to negate my first experience of chatroulette but this time was just more hilarious. Why? Well I am lucky enough to have found friends in Jersey with fab linguistic talents. Such a skill only enabled us to torment more people on chatroulette in many languages. How fun is that? The best part of acceptance is never being "nexted" and we weren't, possibly due to the fact we were 6 giddy girls indulging the bizarre and the odd bods. Do you know there are boys out there that can do a dance whilst rotating their pride and joys at 360 degree angles. I am sure that could make Britain's got talent if he drew a picture of the Hoff on his abdomen.
Yes it is probably not the best way to have a light hearted discussion or for you to have company in the wee small hours. Its not a solitary pastime, as that just makes you odd. However I would recommend you have a peak in a group, its amusing and there are some odd bods out there pretty much like the Britain's got talent initial auditions. We all know we like watching them.
I like to chat and I like difference, why ever would I have got a job working in health care. Go on get some patatas bravas, a margarita and get clicking.


Well here I am writing my first chapter. Why am I doing this? Its cathartic! I have been contributing to a blog under a Nom de Plume and I found it thoroughly entertaining. I own that blog with 4 others and I thought it was about time I did my own. Facebook doesn't do my chapters justice restricting my ability to twitter on in 420 characters.
Will anyone read it, not sure and not sure if I am troubled if no one does. I hope I do get some followers, although followers implies I am as fabulous as Madonna or as sublime as Jesus, and of course I am not.
I have been known to have a witty repartee so we will see. It could transpire this is the twittering of a mad woman.
Its been a year since I moved here and yes readers its been tumultuous. The journey I initially set out on didn't come to be. If you believe in fate one would would say accept your destiny. Me, I say what a crock. Euphemisms such as it only makes you stronger feels like a load of old codswallop. However here I am in my Jersey granite cottage with the sun shining, so perhaps I should be grateful!

Its taken quite the adjustment to find myself having to start all over again, but apparently so my friends tell me if anyone can I can.
I don't want to overload your eyeballs with a lengthy  blog so I will leave it here. I hope to tell amusing stories of how my life meanders along the Jersey coastline filled with adventure. It could all turn out to be a disaster with the insane babbling of how much ruddy bread costs...I sniggered then and spat my coffee.