I will say zis only once

So here I am again, a little later than I thought, but it has been a busy few weeks. The husband turned the big 50 this month and refused to have a party much to the disappointment of the children. They have reached the acceptable age of alcohol indulgence and I think they were hoping for a night of fun on the bank of dad.

                                                       
He said he wanted a rest so he elected to celebrate with family soirees. In fairness, if you know Andrew you will appreciate he is a bit of a party animal and perhaps as he hits 50, he has decided he has worn himself out, although I doubt this very much. He informs me that when I turn 50 we can celebrate then. As I have been lying to him about my age ( and others) since we met I will not get to celebrate with him till I decide to come out. This is very true as even on our wedding day at the church, whilst signing the register, he remarked my date of birth was incorrect. Of course, I shrugged it off and said we could correct it later. I know starting married life in a lie is not the best policy, but I had come too far to go back. It's not like I was pretending to be 21!!!  For those that know my true age if they repeat it out loud I will have to kill you. I don't know why I became so ageist and I know due to my constant fibbing I will miss out on the year of 50 and associated celebrating, but it is my bed and I chose to lie in it.
So anyhoo enough about my Walter Mittyesque behaviour and more about the husband. We decided that we hardly see each other and the answer to that was to buy a house in France. A sort of enforced togetherness after we get on the boat, with little distractions of work. I say enforced but I consider my self very lucky.

Now, of course, having a house in France means that I have to brush up on my French and Andrew needs to start learning it, but enough about his attempt at French later. There was a time where I was semi-fluent and quite confident to attempt most conversations although I have fallen foul at my confidence in my ability. Like most people my age ( whatever that is), I had to live in a French child's house and attend school. I hated it but not as much as my lovely friend Adele who arrived at school every day with 2 fried eggs in her string school bag. She hated eggs but her French family thought that English children liked fried eggs for breakfast. At least I got hot chocolate and cake for breakfast, which is every child's dream. This opportunity to live and go to school in France translated to me thinking I was fluent, so fluent that when I applied for a staff nurse job in ED, I apparently noted I could speak French. What I actually meant to say was I had "O" Level French. Unfortunately what I didn't realise was this meant I was entered into the hospital database as an interpreter. Nicola if you are reading this I apologise to reducing the expertise of the interpreting profession.

I had been in post for a couple of years and hadn't realised that I was a nominated French interpreter until I was asked to consent someone for a hip replacement! Now readers I fully understand my code of conduct and identified swiftly this was not in my remit and couldn't possibly do this. However, the surgeon insisted I come and help with something so I arrived on the ward reinforcing I didn't know the French for" hip replacement" never mind "complications of surgery". When faced with the patient I could only say La jambe gauche and point to the leg. I  then explained that I could only ask about je suis and pain and du vin.  Fortunately, the patient laughed and I did visit them a few times for conversational chats but stayed clear of medical French!

Having said this I have realised I still have the ability to communicate and managed to buy a sofa and arrange delivery. Now to Andrew. When I first met Andrew online he once said something in French to me. Many Jersey folk can speak French, so when I asked him if he could he typed. What I didn't realise was he was using google translate and actually speaks little French. This has become very apparent whilst at the house. He has started speaking a form of Franglais whilst gesticulating at objects and when he is not speaking Franglais he is saying English words in an accent that can only be heard in the programme "Ello Ello". A perfect example of this is taking a cauliflower to be weighed, placing it on the scale pointing at it and saying "Cauli... floooerrrr", not once, but repeatedly to the grocer. He isn't even slightly embarrassed, not even the time he was picking up croissants from the baker and instead of saying closed on Tuesday, he says "He is a woman on a Tuesday". He feels that that closed-ferme and woman-femme is too subtle to differentiate.

When I ask him to attend French lessons with me, he tells me doesn't need to and will learn French talking to the French people. I am not sure he will make any French friends, and expect when we are there in 2 weeks the village will of started a vigil for him. This is because of his last interaction with our lovely French neighbour instead of saying he was living at the French house for eight days, he got jumbled up with his words and informed him that he had 8 days to live!

He is happy pointing randomly at things saying "combien and Ou est" and I know when he learns the word pamplemousse he will use it incorrectly but at least he is happy.

So that's me, a little update of possible or not possible interest. 

choufleur

I'm back...I think!

So there I was in M&S changing rooms trying on a bargain jumper priced 4 quid. Getting it over my head was a little challenging, but putting my arms through required huffing and puffing. I persevered, its only 4 quid! As I rolled it down over my womanly bits, slight breathlessness ensued, but no its only 4 quid echoed in my noggin. As I stood there looking in the mirror at myself, a bag of King Edwards in a cropped top; I thought is this what life has come to? Removing the jumper resulted in a panic wrestle. A little faint, I thought I don't want to be taken to ED and cut out of a jumper. Dramatic I know, but trying to peel off a size 8 jumper ( those ruddy sales assistants putting the wrong hanger in too small jumpers) was an ordeal. Sitting on the floor trying to regain my composure, I thought why don't I blog anymore, so readers here I am!

Its been a while, so I will bring you up to speed I lost weight, got married, got fat, wanted a new career, decided I didn't want a new career, sent a child to university, prepping another child for university, had nice holibobs, no holibobs saving for a house, bought house in France, went out a lot, decided not to go out a lot and still fat.

Not very exciting I know but I have come to realise life isn't a Hollywood movie and I am no Angelina Jolie. Life is the washing machine, Waitrose, frustration and joy of work, telling your husband to stop eating Bakewell tarts and answering repeated questions like "whats for dinner". That's why its so important to laugh at the ridiculous, like trying to wriggle into a jumper considerably smaller than your body.

Year of getting married me!

What the hell happened me!

I started this blog as a form of cathartic amusement and I need to get back to writing and sharing ridiculous adventures of my stupidity. I also need to get unfat. Year of getting married me is a better version of current me, excited about my new post shower, strawberry hair wrap!!!


The only consistent thing since getting married is the idiocy of the husband and that I wouldn't change. So to you leave with something that makes me laugh even when I don't feel like it, I give you the husband. Hopefully I have returned to my blog to share inane rambling and nonsense.

 
 

Valentines: you can have my organ!

So here we are, the obligatory day of romance whether you want it or believe in it. If you don't apparently you are miserable and of course you are not.. Well for the first time in my 40 youngish years I tend to agree with the sentiment of consumer orientated dribble.
Yes I got flowers and of course I love them and am grateful; its the only time I get them. We have flowers always in the house but I buy them. If its something I want all the time then I should buy them.
I understand its that one day most people get any flicker of romance but its not without stress as I witnessed in Clinton's card yesterday. It was like a scene of the living dead. Men folk picking up cards, putting down cards, huffing and puffing., talking aloud to themselves "how much". Women with younger children chanting "just get one, anyone". Then there was me with the youngest helping me pick a husband card. The first one she pointed at I bought, without any consideration to the sentiment as she informed me she was sick of Valentines day. Then it hit me being a teenage girl on Valentines day is actually the most pants day of the year.
As soon as you are at "big school" you realise all those cards you used to get during primary were actually from your parents not the boy in 5A you actually thought liked you. For me I realised that when I never got another card again during my school years. Well excluding the one a pal gave me from the ones she received as she had too many. How very kind of her!
Of course I am teaching the youngest that Valentines cards are not a merit of how pretty, popular or desirable you are its just a load of pants. She agrees but I can see she wouldn't object if she got one.
I am not a fan of getting older but I wouldn't want to be 15 again with my tight perm and proper school shoes.
Writing the customary "guess who" in scrawly handwriting to disguise my own,  I sent a card to a boy in my class. It was the last card  I sent until I became a grown up. He mistook it for being sent by someone else. I know this because he told me and he asked the girl out. They dated and I never owned up. So yup Valentine can suck.
I felt guilty this morning being one of the masses sending a card for the sake of it. So my grand gesture of romance for Andrew today, the most romantic days of all the days; I put the bin out.  
In our home, that's Andrew's job and it doesn't seem much but it has to be dragged down a very large lane. He was delighted with his present when he got home from work.

Anyhoo I think there is a much better gift on Valentine's day than a heart shaped box of chocs or a card with padding and glitter. Its a pressie that doesn't discriminate between single or married, coupled or divorced, cupid believer or non.  Its  the one of being a living donor. So my gift to those that may need it is to register. This might not be for you but its worth considering. Its a personal thing.

        
https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/

The next chapter:Moving forward.

So here I am blogging again. The tag line of this blog entitled "A Northern girl's account of starting a new life" seems a distant memory as I have been here 6 years.

However I find myself starting a different aspect of a " new life". A new life of marriage so it still seems applicable. Has anything changed? Well a little; I like saying husband and its evident something seems different for Alice. Apparently its easier to buy cards for me now as she felt "someone special" cards were a little limiting. It also means I am not going anywhere which is reassuring.




Andrew has 2 children and I love them both equally but  Alice lives with us, I am more responsible for her and its a fantastic journey. As she grows so do I. I never thought that first month of my challenging Jersey journey I would be a married parent, but here I am.



So our journey so far is as hilarious as ever. Andrew and I are very much on the same page. 3 weeks of a chucklesome honeymoon reinforces that. We never stopped laughing,


We got fatter but laughed none the less. After 6 weeks of marriage standing in front of the bedroom mirror like a naked teletubby, (Don't worry there isn't a picture)  I ask him "have we let ourselves go already?" His response is priceless as he stands next to me, both now like naked teletubby bookends. "Well we are fatter, but we have the rest of our life to get hotter". Its hard to be hot when you are laughing hard and all your teletubby bits and bobs jangle about. Its true though, we do have the rest of our lives but I am setting a 2 year completion date.  Don't want all that effort  last year to go to waste! So chickpea bulk buy awaits!

I didn't make new years resolutions as I never keep them. De teletubbying is about a life change not a resolution. If I was to change or complete something in 2017 it  is my book. Yup I am writing it. Its the most ridiculous thing I have ever read and certainly won't be winning the Man Booker prize. I write a bit put it down, then write a bit more. I don't seem to move forward with it because I pick it up to continue writing and I read it and think "this is ridiculous". However I like it, I like ridiculous. Without ridiculous I think adversity would be much harder to manage. When finished I am not even bothered if anyone reads it. It probably won't make any sense to anyone but its very cathartic for me. If it is ever read by anyone and they laugh, then that's all a person could want. So halfway through writing it, a year to complete it and 2 years to de teletubby; I would say that's the next chapter indeed!

So readers perhaps start your own chapter.

  
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Its been the most wonderful time of the year

So its Christmas eve, the most splendid time of the year. What a year its been!
For some of you, especially in my pals group you will be working throughout the festive period. Long hours and experiencing sadness for some; as people are poorly and need your care. For some of you there will be your own sadness, missing or remembering people. Whatever your situation, I do hope its not too unhappy.
Here in the Ruellan household we are also remembering people but its a very different house because I am now officially a step mum . I thought that is what I did before but apparently "its proper" now, I have an official responsibility for children. I haven't changed , nothing is different or so I think. My Christmas card reflects that I have underestimated the role of the step mum. There was a build up to receiving this card. It was given to me in private and with glee. Of course there was tears on my part... I was totes emosh which just got worst when the little one said Daddy its your turn for renebells card.

So despite thinking I was always a step mum and Andrew always referring to me as " the wife" ; this year its official. Of course I am happy but this year seems very special. As for the first time, in a long time Andrew has both his children here for Christmas. The only real present he ever wanted. Its been a while but feels very wonderful. Of course I have been baking, ensuring everyone has everything and not took my Cath Kidson chrimbo pinny off. The children tell me its the best rocky road in the world they have ever tasted. Its not, its just its Christmas eve they are excited and dad getting married means a sense of permanence. Clearly something that is a good thing.

So readers may you find your own "good thing". Its not easy finding or maintaining a good thing, nothing is; that is worth it. However right in this moment of eating cheesy puffs with a Kir Royale, educating the children about how amazing Human League actually are and seeing how happy Andrew is .. well its a good moment and a future memory and for now I will take that as the best Christmas present ever.

Sending love, happiness and health and if that doesn't work who cares, soon it will be another year. Finally in the words of a genius.
Come now sing with me,
Proper Crimbo
I'll take you for a drink with me
Proper Chrimbo
Put up your Christmas tree
Proper Crimbo
So excited you might wee

Proper Crimbo Proper Crimbo

Happy Christmas readers xx

Its the Final Countdown

So I am getting married in 10 days, I have no idea where the year has gone. I keep waiting for the moment when you enjoy the wedding planning but it hasn't kicked in yet. Talk about stressful! Its all a bit overwhelming. My pals have had to do home visits as I sob with "Its all too much!"
I set myself goals associated with getting married. I wanted to be 5 stone lighter, I am not I am 3. Its been challenging. It started well then I decided I wanted to give up smoking. There was something distasteful for me about wearing a wedding dress with a cig in my mouth. So I stopped and was slightly concerned when the stop smoking lady said " you will probably put a stone on" Brilliant I thought! Although I didn't gain weight, I didn't loose it  either.

I am pleased I am slightly smaller than when I got engaged and even happier I have quit smoking. However for some reason for a chick who has always been confident in her skin, I appear to of turned into a emotional wobbling jelly. There is this overwhelming pressure to be the most beautiful you have ever been in your life on your wedding day. It sucks. I have been primping and preening and prepping all year and 10 days before my wedding I look like I haven't slept and have a hacking cough and a ruddy cold.
Whilst doing the wedding plan a couple a weeks ago I shrieked at the dining table that I had forgotten to order the umbilical cords!! Andrew couldn't work out how that fitted with table 2 turtle doves and table 6 geese a laying. Stupidly I had booked the wedding 2 weeks after course directing APLS. My fellow RO's will know that APLS is one of the more challenging resus courses. The outstanding maternity unit came to my rescue and collected cords and the faculty worked hard and achieved a 100% pass rate for candidates. Phew one less thing to worry about.


So I am excited about the wedding but I do need to chill out about what occurs. I keep having hot sweats that my dress will burst at the alter or a chunk of beetroot from my starter will sit in my cleavage and stain the dress. I understand why people elope!

Then there are the helpful people giving me advice.

You have stopped smoking? Probably that is why you haven't done well with the weight. (When someone asked me to have a cig)
Step away from the biscuits! ( I was only getting a teaspoon from a drawer)
Don't be the bride who never stops eating forever once they hit the buffet.


I have decided my wedding day should be like a Vegas for "One Night Only" show. If I want to drink a third of my 60% body weight of water in champagne. I will. If I want to eat a third of my body weight in cheese I will.
Having said all that; it is a coming together of the people that mean the most to us. People for me who have loved and supported me at various crossroads in my life. Who better to feel insecure with?   So in advance I thank those who have listened to me say "Gawd" over and over again.


Its important that I remind myself on the day of what someone recently told me. I am marrying my best friend and that is the only thing that matters.

If that doesn't settle the nerves I will recall what twinkle said last night.
Twinkle: Now that you will be married to daddy you will have parental responsibility of me as a step mum
Me: Don't I have that now?
Twinkle: Well you love me and couldn't love me more but this is more official of me
Me: I don't like the term stepmum, it feels evil.
Twinkle: OK you can be mummy two
I cry
Twinkle: Renebell you really need to stop doing that crying. I wonder what I will have for my breakfast at Longueville?

Roll on 17 December.

Going to the chapel just got a little closer

Two hen parties down, one to go and a stag weekend in Chernobyl (yes you read that correctly)  for Andrew to attend. I have learned the more you say to your girlfriends "no penis" the more likely penis will appear.

Andrew raises an eyebrow when I tell him of my hen events. However his stag has received more raised eyebrows than my choice of cities. When people ask me where he is going and I respond Chernobyl, they say "No, where is he really going?"  Ever since he bought that book 100 places you will never visit, he has the strangest destinations he wants to go. I did draw the line at Tuscan Titan missile site for the honeymoon. I can't really complain. I knew he was outrageous when I met him. One of his finest qualities.

Anyhoo, the wedding is getting closer, seven weeks to be exact. Where the ruddy hell has the year gone?!!?
It was only yesterday when he asked me to marry him. We are ready, I think!
Venue: Check
Dress Check
All other paraphernalia: Check
First wedding dance music: Check.... oh hang on .. hang on. We have discussed it, narrowed it down, discussed it more and decided perhaps dance lessons are needed. So we had our first one last night. The premise is we learn some basic moves and Andrew leads and generally makes it up as he goes along.
Slight hiccup Andrew doesn't dance and for me dancing is about; as a guy once said to me in a club
" no one puts baby in the corner" I think we have discovered our first incompatibility.
Apparently we have to watch Dirty dancing for the brace not the lift; I haven't loss that much weight! Then perhaps Andrew will be less Herman Munster and more Johnny. He does seem to be enjoying it, especially the bit when the dance teacher says " Irene pull Andrew's finger"  for balance whilst twirling. Andrew likes that bit, saying "pull my finger" . As I said earlier he is outrageous.

So we need to practice. However that may be a bit delayed after I had to locate him in the emergency department today with a sore knee. It would seem he has twisted it. The reason I found him in minor injuries is because I heard his dulcet tones saying " my clackers are blowing in the wind when you move my legs that way". Oh the shame. A spot of rest required and practice for our wedding dance maybe a bit delayed. At least his clackers won't be all over the place.

So for the readers attending the wedding it might be you see me push him about on the dance floor like Lou and Andy pointing at various items saying "I want that one". We always have the David Brent Pilates dance to fall back on.

Hen Night Eve

So readers as usual its been a while. I make the same excuses. Busy, but well; I have no idea why its been a while but here I am.

Tomorrow is my first hen night. Yes you read that right I am having three. I didn't insist on three its just worked out that way, particularly as I have friends all over. I am lucky to have  friends who are very kindly preparing secretly a evening, day or weekend of wonderment.

Hen night number one is in Jersey. Six years living in Jersey and I have made enough dear, fabulous, close friends to warrant its very own hen night. For that I am lucky. The ever beautiful "My Rachael" is chief hen working away organising. She knows me well.Planned is champagne, my most favourite little place Relish and of course cocktails in a gin room. The theme, vintage 50's.

Time for swing, wiggle and rockabilly girlies in all their glamour.
To distinguish I am the bride to be, a birdcage veil for me. The discussion was had about sashes and L plates and I wasn't too keen. Contrary to what you know of me, on this occasion I am nervous about being the centre of attention. more of that later.

In preparation I went for a facial and decided to opt for one that infuses your face with oxygen. Yes I hear you, what a load of bollocks! It was like someone blowing raspberries on me. Apparently its 100% oxygen so it has to be good, right? When it had finished, she closed the experience with " you look so much plumper",  I know I scowled. Last time  someone  said that to me was the 60 a day Benson's and Hedges fat club leader, She also said your not bonny your fat in addition to the plumpness comment. Well let me tell you missus, I might be a little rounder, I can do something about that but last time I looked you couldn't get a charisma transplant on the NHS.
So the young therapist blew 100% oxygen via a raspberry blowing system and commentated throughout, the percentage I was receiving. As I am a geek, constantly running through my head was " you only get 16% oxygen from mouth to mouth".

So back to the matter in hand, hen night. I am excited and a little nervous. I am getting married and a hen night means yep I am getting married. Its real! That makes me nervous. Not in what am I doing way but oh lordy its happening!

So I am sure their will be pictures of  magical merriment and glamour; of course there will. The girlies are just adorable.

Hopefully they will not feature the penis. Although my pal the McConk has identified a penis with a lily sprouting from the urethra for table decorations. She said she made the effort because she knows I am sophisticated and demure ( I am sure she is teasing....slight panic sets in).

Demure! I hear my pal  Jenny Piccolo shriek. Shhh.. she can report that on my Manchester hen.... hen number two.

    

Washing and ironing and darning too

Happy Mother's day readers! Perhaps you are being spoiled or remembering a mother who isn't here, cursing a mother who is or having your normal Sunday activities. Whatever you are doing I hope you are having at least a semi decent day. The title of this blog is from a song my own mother used to sing to us when we were little.

My "be kind to myself week" is now officially over. I know this as I am sorting the washing. Andrew is off practising for his pistol competition in Germany and Alice is at her mums cooking lunch with her big sister. So although I do have stuff to do I am sure I will fit at least one more episode of Law and Order in.

Yesterday was a proposed day of being with the vicar to discuss our pending marriage but he is poorly. Andrew was a little pleased then I reminded him you can't be happy when a man of the cloth is sick even it is a cold. So plan B was both Alice and Andrew saying I could do what ever I wanted. Much to Andrew's horror and Alice's delight it involved garden centres, charity and things you don't need shops then cake. I struggled with the cake moment as I am on  operation wedding frock diet. It is a terrible thing to say but if someone told me loose weight if you will kick the bucket I would of asked for a second opinion. A wedding frock seems to be a bigger incentive. If I start to show signs of putting weight on post nuptials I will have to look for another husband to incentivise me.
So I ate the cake with my fat club leader's words echoing in my head " you are loosing weight too quickly, its not sustainable and your skin will sag". Righty ho better eat some cake, wouldn't want that prophecy to come true!
After dropping Alice off at a concert last  night I spotted a park. I think Andrew thought I had lost my mind when I said lets go play on the swings. He just stood and watched me as I asked for a push. Not sure when the last time you had a go on a swing readers  but would recommend it. Its quite refreshing  just swinging about. I do appreciate being in a park late at night might not be recommended. I myself fell foul of being in a park late at night when I was setting off fireworks with a boyfriend. It was quite magical looking at them lighting up the sky but not so magical looking at the  illuminated bushes and silhouettes darting about in strange positions shouting "what the f*$*#!!   I don't think they had anticipated cottaging by candlelight by  two idiots with rockets. So perhaps choose your swing moment  carefully. (Easy, no swapping required).

So I think or I hope I have re-centred myself. Its a big year! Busy with  work, dieting and  getting married to name a few, but my "be kind to myself" week couldn't of ended better. A little voice piped up from her bedroom when she heard me get up. "renebell come here". So I sat on her bed as I do most weekends for a "whats ahead in the day" chat. She produced a pink envelope from under her duvet. I knew it would be a card acknowledging someone special as it is mother's day. I received my first last year.
However I sobbed when I saw she had upped the anti with a "like a mum to me " card.

"I got you this because that is what I think" I sobbed some more gave her a kiss and sobbed again.
" Right you can go now" she remarked. I think the sobbing was becoming embarrassing.
As I stood at the door trying not to sob  she said "renebell"
I thought oh I hope she doesn't say anything that will make me sob more.
 "my vans need cleaning"

So its business as usual and whats better than that.    

Invest in yourself

So I wrote a Facebook post recently  about having a "Be kind to myself" week. I thought about it  later after I wrote it. I thought some might think " I wish I had that time to myself" and " all those cocktails and hotels, how much kindness does she need?!"  

So I thought about it some more which naturally drew me to writing my blog. I am tired, I don't mean late nights tired, I just mean tired. I have lost 2 1/2 stone on operation wedding frock so far,   people keep saying "you must feel better"? I pause and say yes but then think I am still tired!. Recently I have been doing a lot of work, study, wedding planning and children juggling. No more than anyone else I am sure; but once I felt I was so close to the wall I could lick the paper off. I thought  time to stop a little and be kind to myself..

So there it started. I am not saying to be kind to oneself it requires a staycation. I spent 30 minutes staring at the ceiling this morning and thoroughly enjoyed it! I understand that 30 minutes is a little longer than the recommended 2 minutes to appreciate yourself but I thought what's a little over indulgence?
It was certainly better than the 30 minutes I spent discussing what kind of toilet I wanted for my wedding marquee!
In order to be truly kind to myself I needed a little help whether it was getting a week's annual leave off work or Andrew doing the school duties. I have no doubt work will still be there when I get back but Alice on the other hand might not. There appears to be an abundance of apples in the kitchen and on further investigation Andrew has been convinced by Alice that Haribo is one of the 5 a day. No wonder she is enjoying Daddy mornings getting ready for school as it means having a butt warmer in the car rather than the school bus and a Haribo fruit snack.

I wrote a be kind to myself list of things to do starting with "watch law and Order  from the beginning again". I didn't get any further with the list because after 3 episodes I nodded off. With 456 episodes produced I might need to do my be kind list when I am staring at the ceiling for 30 minutes.

Now exercise should energise me I thought. So I have joined a gym. Well I say gym I mean a spa that has a little corner for equipment the Marquis de Sade sold them. So far I have done 3 lengths in the pool, sat in the Jacuzzi and steam room. We all have to start somewhere! So I took it up a notch; return of the cross-trainer at home. I have a plan to get fitter at home before visiting the Marquis de Sade's torture room. There is a trainer at the spa who is ready to get me motivated, I just wave at her as I pass her en route to doing 3 lengths. I am sure if she got her hands on me she would be productive but I will carry on with Alice. I can distract her with a bag of Haribo.

In my early 20's I went to the gym a lot until I couldn't get up from emptying a catheter bag when I worked in  ICU. It required an anaesthetic intervention; meaning one of the registrars oiking me up whilst eye rolling. So that was short lived.

Andrew is also in the getting healthy mood and is supportive. However when he said no matter what you look like in your dress, it won't matter to me. I paused, starred and quietly whispered "I am not doing it for you dear, I am doing it for me".

That's what I really mean about a "be kind to yourself week" . It is about having a moment of doing what you want. I know you might not be able to manage a week readers but if you can find 30 minutes of being vacant I would thoroughly recommend it for recharging your batteries.  That might seem counter productive for a "invest in yourself moment" but whatever it is; do it to be kind to yourself rather than others.

Logic would follow that I complete this blog with an affirmation but as its my " be nice to myself week", I have finished with something inappropriately funny that makes me laugh.
 


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Back to bore you!

So its the start of 2016 and I haven't blogged for over a year. The reason, who knows? Perhaps apathy, being busy or not making the time. I always enjoyed my rambling and after a pal started up his wonderful blog of recipes and other such gastronomic wonderment; I thought to myself maybe I should return to letters from Jersey.

It could be argued that it is no longer "a northern girls start on a new life". Its been 5 years in Jersey and no longer can be thought of as "new" but just "my life".
What a life it has been. I had a 5 year plan to go back home if things didnt turn out and although a challenge at times I am still here; for that I am glad.

The next chapter, I am getting married which hasn't sunk in yet. First stage of planning a wedding is GET THIN!!!
Well I say thin I mean less portly. I am no stranger to dieting and have tried many a plan. However now I am older and can afford cocktails till they come out my ears unlike my drinking  20/20 days, I don't appear to have self control. Policing myself with dieting was not really a practical option as I have come to justify cheating. So back to class I went starting this evening.

My new class is not like anything I have attended. The person that runs it is quite bouncy in an energetic way. I can think myself less portly just by being exhausted by watching her.
Previous class experiences have involved a woman that looked like the back end of a bus and smoked 100 B&H a day I am sure. In her gravely voice she would start with "you're not Bonnie your fat". She didn't bother me in her words of self esteem bashing as I used to sit there and think " at least I don't look like the back end of a bus". However I could see how she might not encourage people to return to class. I used to keep going just for the entertainment of "Bonnie bus bitch" as I started to affectionately to call her.

My new leader of all things less portly could never be referred to as that as she is quite lovely and inspirational. Oh the other different aspect of attending class is errrr Andrew. On further discussion of joining a class he remarked "I will come with you, it will be supportive". Now I heard you readers, you did a little "awww" but I think that had we been at secondary school together we probably wouldn't of been pals.

I have never attended some form of course with Andrew and hadn't anticipated what kind of student he was going to be. Well as he was the only one that had his name referred to 3 times during the class  by "teacher", I suspect I will have to move seats. Now I love him dearly, I must do I said yes but I think he might get thinner because of the constant poking I do of  his ribs.. Firstly he is the kid that can't sit still and makes more noise trying to adjust his comfort. The fidgeting, the rustling the crossing and uncrossing of his legs that sounds like a gale force wind is somewhat distracting.  I glare! Then its the bobbing of the head looking round. When I ask what he is doing he says "I am doing a head count". I glare again and whisper concentrate.

Now perhaps I am being too harsh but you know that kid that asks teacher a question right at home time as you are packing your bag away and have one arm in your coat. Well that's ANDREW!
On the way home in the car we were discussing his sense of ermmm irritation to which he asked can you have extras on this diet? I didn't like to enquire what extras he wanted. We have concluded I will just tell him what to do and eat what I give him, it seemed a better solution.

So that's the start of it, the year, the getting thin, the planning of a wedding. I will try not to bore you with the ramblings but they are a coming.
   

Happy Birthday to Meeeee!!

Good afternoon readers! It may seem a self indulgent blogging on my birthday but its about a celebration of friends rather than a celebration of me.
Today is my actual birthday and despite opening a birthday card that states " Happy 40th Birthday"; I am not 40. I am not telling you how old I am as I feel I am now at that age where I can start lying. So today I  have turned 40! I never thought age would matter but somehow it does. I had a recent conversation with an anaesthetist who was convinced once a woman was over 40 then things change. Like what??!! He couldn't answer; perhaps because my facial expression said you answer this question and you will  be surgically removing an endo tracheal tube.. and not from your gob! I put that down to the fact he had sniffed too much gas over the years. For those of you who know what peer group of anaesthetists I have;  its not the beautiful Dan as he is too beautiful.


So today I was going to have a whole day to myself catching up on my Columbo and eating cheesy puffs. No such luck! The beau's eldest returned home requesting scrambled egg and to watch a movie. I can't complain as over the last month apparently I am the evil girlfriend of her father. Children are fickle, now she wants to watch a film in my presence. That's a good birthday present in itself. She asked for a pen to write my birthday card. So I got one, so I am happy.

The beau forgot it was my birthday today and only realised when his sister popped over with my pressie. He informed me he hadn't had time to get a card and was very busy. Again I can't whinge as he threw me the most wonderful birthday party on Saturday.



Why was it wonderful well it was a commingled party of Jersey and UK friends. It was very magical,  feeling so settled that UK was meeting Jersey. I never thought I would get here but here I am. Music was provided by the most amazing Tony Gardener whose dulcet tones could warm your cockles. He does a fantastic swing interpretation of The Cure's Love Cat.


   

Catering was provided by Heavens to Betsie. I couldn't of asked for better quality food. Kerry, Faye and Francis surpassed what I was expecting. There was lots of licking of lips and satisfied tummy's.
Those that know me are aware how much I adore vintage, so the cute little van that did my catering was just the ticket.





Thank you for all my wonderful pressies and for your wonderful company. It made it very special and I didn't cry once. To show how special it was I made a little video. I think it sums up how "Happy" the evening was.

Letters from Home

So you will know from my Facebook for those that are on it, I have been home. I say home because even though I keep changing my mind as to where home is. Returning to the North, well it feels like home.Technically a dwelling is a home and I dwell in Jersey. I want it all; so feel that I can have 2 homes. I read a quote recently which said 

" Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

For me never a truer word was said. My pal was having a charity  wine and cheese soiree. To our immediate group of friends we affectionately call her  "Hyacinth". She is prone to candlelight suppers and if her house was immediately water side, no doubt there would be riparian entertainment.. If you are not sure who Hyacinth is, here is a taster.

Unlike Hyacinth no one wants to avoid her soirees quite the contrary as she is a fabulous host. The clip made me giggle as she too loves to sing but is a tad tone deaf. I know this from a duet of Islands in the stream one New Years Eve. She made me be Kenny Rogers. Her evening was in aid of a charity called Friends of Mulanje Orphans. It was a fabulous event; raising £437. None of my friends knew I was attending and it was the best "Tah Dah" surprise ever.

A selection of guests Selfie

I did get a little concerned when my friends introduced me to their new friends with " this is Irene". "Ahh IRENE" they would respond. Is that good or bad? Does that mean I have notoriety for good reasons or bad reasons?

I also got to see my little sis which was a treat as I haven't seen her in months. Catching up about my nephew made me feel quite old as she told me about his girlfriend. A girlfriend??!! Well he is 17 but I still think of him age 3 in a pooh bear outfit. 

The weekend continued with dinner on the Saturday night with lots of laughing and catching up.Flying home I was smiling ear to ear. Partly because of my fun train experience and partly because I was happy and still excitable from the weekend. Sadly the beau was and is in New York so he missed it. However it was great to be my old self just selfishly on my own doing my own thing. 

I note from comments on my Facebook fun train status of "It could only happen to you", my friends think I attract odd bods. I don't think I am an odd bod magnet. I think I just have an inane grin and make too much eye contact. I can't help it! I can be in a crowd of people and strange people can sniff me out. On a pal's hen night a particular odd bod seeked me out and proceeded to tell me he wanted to eat me. At that point I should of ignored him. As he continued to say how much he wanted to eat me he showed me the pictures of his 4 children. Before I knew it I was in a conversation with him.

Me: "Beautiful children, what is the little one called?" 

Oddbod: "Georgia, God I really want to eat you"

Me: "Err right! Oh they are very lovely. You obviously like being a dad"

Oddbod "Yeah I do its very rewarding. Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful mouth. I really want to eat you"

The bride to be informed me that I need to stop being so polite. Even on my hols , walking back to my hotel after a night out with friends a big stretch limo pulls up. At first it was all a bit confusing as it appeared the car was the latest upgrade of KIT, Knight Rider's car. No driver was to be seen. Then a voice "let me take you for a ride" spoke from the car. Lo and behold a gentleman who was a dwarf limo chauffeur, peeking over the steering wheel. Of course I had to engage in conversation and politely declined and explained that I had a carrier bag of crisps that required attention.

Maybe I am weird. Apparently like attracts like. Perhaps that's why I have found myself paired with the beau. He is exceptionally polite and failed to notice the chap he recently chatted to in a club was actually flirting.

Me: "Do you know that man?"

Beau:: "No we are just chatting"

Me: "Are you aware he is gay and flirting with you?"

Beau: " No. Don't be silly he is just chatting"

Me: " Darling. What do you think he means when he says 'I love to take bears home' ?"

Beau: " Oh (laughs till his piggy eyes disappear into the back of his face") err I wasn't sure but I thought that would be explained later"

Me: "Perhaps discovering why he likes bears later might just be a little too late"

I could go on with more embarrassing conversations with oddbods but I fear it may incriminate me.

It was fantastic being home but I don't think I will ever move back. I have another home here in Jersey. At the soiree a friends husband said "We miss you terribly but we don't want you back. You seem very happy and we want that more than miss you"

So readers I am off to watch .. you guessed it.. Columbo and have a Pina Colada I found in the fridge. The first time I ever had a Pina Colada is when a friend made them and said "Here bubble have a penis enlarger"

Don't mind if I do... but that's a story for another time! 

  

  

Romance the ardent emotional attachment

So Valentine's day has passed and generally  most of us have gone back to wearing mismatching underwear and eating what ever we can make out of ingredients at the back of the fridge. Not that I am cynical but for those of us in a couple we may of made a special effort for the day. For those of us not in couples they may of wished they were being romanced or some may not of given a monkey's chuff. Those in the monkey's chuff category probably have the best insight.

All my adult life I have had romantic notions of  what I want from a relationship. If honest I think I am unrealistic. I looked for a definition that best suits what romance is and came up with "Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people". Personally I think that smacks of stalking.
"I was being romantic your honour when you found me behind the wheelie bin with a pair of binoculars. I was ardently emotionally attaching myself to the chink in Sandra's curtains." 
Growing up I never received Valentines cards (aww I hear you say). I think the eye patch may of put boys off. If I did receive a card it was from my parents; written in illegible writing to signify another teenager had written it. To be honest that was worse than not getting one at all. "Guess who" with a "?" scrawled in the card might as well of said "mum and dad". I was a late developer when it came to boys and when I did get my first boyfriend I was 14. Not that you can call him a boyfriend as I didn't even kiss him.
My first "proper" boyfriend was when  I was 17. Like I said I was a late developer. During this time late adolescent romance was all about stuffed animals and cards that would of needed a crane to deliver them. When that ended I broke my heart but at least it let me experience what it would be like to be a size 8. Sadly I was too heart broke to enjoy my newly acquired gauntness.
Following that I dated lots and I mean lots. I had discovered my inner goddess as discussed in a previous post. During this time the thing that mattered the most was romance. During the honeymoon phase its all about the romance. Not  many relationships survived past that phase until I fell desperately and painfully in love with someone for 10 years.

So anyway romance. My problem was I dated someone who was an obsessed Smiths fan and one evening in his woeful way he said

"And if a ten ton truck Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine"

 
In that moment I thought "OH MY GOD! How romantic". We dated for 2 weeks I was 19. It ended because well, in essence he was too intense. An ode to love in extremis turned out to be ardent emotional attachment of the stalking kind. However this didn't deter me on my quest for romance. I wanted to feel that "OH MY GOD! How romantic" feeling again. Next time I felt it I was 22  when a boy gave me a quarter of wine gums wrapped in A4. He had coloured in the paper himself and used glitter glue to make it "pretty". He was a graduate in economics trying to get a job so never had any money. He was also my boyfriends best friend. Awkward I hear you say readers, another ardent emotional attachment. This is true, but in that moment I did think "how romantic!" 

However in reality I know that wasn't romance at all but just weird. Someone once asked me "what would you want from a relationship?"  My answer wasn't commitment, trust. honesty and respect. Oh nooooo readers remember I am an idiot so my response was "I want someone to be able to twirl me round and round on a dance floor then dip me." She raised her eyebrows.

Its took being in my 40's to actually realise what romance is and that it cant be in extremis every day. That days can go by without romance and the smallest thing can make your heart a flutter. I know some of you will make that special effort every day and I commend you on those efforts.  I think some of us would like a little more romance in our lives.

When discussing this with the beau he responds with "well I am not that romantic and if I was romantic every day then it wouldn't mean as much". Hmmmn seems plausible but I think its to shut me up when I am whinging about his reluctance to get run over by a ten ton truck for the privilege and he thinks wine gums are bad for your teeth. I shouldn't moan as I too have let my honeymoon allure slip with the comfort of wearing my dressing gown that makes me look like an ewok; also shaving my legs has reduced to only when going out as its winter and no one sees them. So who am I to whinge?

So returning to Valentines day, it can make you stop for a second an indulge in romantic capitalism of flowers, cards and dinner. I did get a beautiful bouquet of flowers which of course I appreciate but if honest I can see the shiny glint of commercialism in them. Valentines flowers although beautiful don't produce the "OH MY GOD! How romantic" feeling I want to recreate.

I accept now I wont get twirled round and round as my beau has 2 left feet. However when he looks at me as I stand in my Ewok dressing gown with 2 hairy legs sticking out the bottom and says "I love you as much and as long as a fisherman's tale I think "OH MY GOD! How romantic"

My Facebook status recently has reflected his tolerance for my oddness, so maybe that's what romance is all about.

We’re all a little weird. And life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love. 

Robert Fulghum

Difference

Growing up I was different. Some of you readers know this. Its not that I  strive to be different, things just turned out that way. I blame the knitted swimsuit! Yes you read that correctly readers. When I was 10 I couldn't swim and it was essential that all children had to learn to swim before moving up to "big school".
I returned home with my obligatory note requiring parental consent for my "special swimming lessons". If it wasn't bad enough that I was in "special swimming classes", the knitted swimsuit would exacerbate my specialness.

It was orange and knitted in the style of a Victorian swim suit with legs knitted in. It also had shiny gold buttons. To compliment the ensemble, I had a swimming hat with white material in the style of a turban with a shiny shiny gold scarab beetle pin to secure the material positioned centrally in the forehead of the hat. Bobby dazzling it was!
To go that extra mile with my Gok Wanishiness; I was a child with a lazy eye who wore an eye patch. So as I walked to the pool looking like a Oompa Lumpa  pirate my humiliation would be further endured. I never got a length certificate as my costume would hold so much water I would sink. However  I did complete my width certificate to the shouts of children "Miss, Miss... Meatballs sinking" . I think I only achieved my width certificate because Miss would yank me to the side with the window pole to prevent me drowning.

I never did my cycling proficiency test either. I liked having stabilisers till age 11 and wasn't that keen to have them removed. So it wasn't that I make a particular effort at being different, I just was. Would I change the knitted swimsuit? Looking back.. no I don't think I would. I am not saying its easy being an Oompa Lumpa pirate once a week at the local baths but it certainly makes you work out fast who you are I learned not to care what people think.

I went to a friend's birthday party age 35  with the the theme "Dare to be different". Women were glamorous in their burlesque finery and the men were equally handsome. Me nooo I misinterpreted the brief and turned up as a pumpkin; thinking "ooh a pumpkin in summer now that's different"!!! Dancing in the middle of the dance floor trying to negotiate my pumpkin girth round tassel's and stockings, I quietly thought to myself all I am missing is an eye patch.

What I am trying to say that at some point in our lives we should all have a knitted swimsuit moment. I think humanity should learn to accept difference rather than challenge it at every opportunity. (ooh that's a bit deep that is!). I know its easy to say don't care about what others think but stood at the side of that pool thinking "bollocks this itches" I jumped in and I have been jumping in ever since and look how I turned out.

Fabulous darling!

.

 

Where have I been?

So its been a year since I last blogged and I only blogged 6 times in 2013. Lately I have been amusing myself with updating Facebook status and I thought why am I not blogging anymore?
Well I can offer a variety of reasons

• My laptop went on a wonk and despite the beau saying repeatedly "I can fix it". My response was always "oh never mind I can't be bothered".
• I have become a full time step parent which seems to occupy lots of my time.
• Work has been busy with loosing my "Plus One".
• I have been poorly.

However despite all these reasons; reasons that I convince myself are reasonable in truth the explanation is I think I lost my Mojo!

Why have I lost my Mojo readers? Well I have no clue. Most weeks I play a video diary in my head with lots of amusing things to say but then I never write them up. The philosophy of this blog was always laugh in the face of adversity. Dear god have I stopped laughing or is it that I no longer face any adverse adventure.







So here I am saying sod it, start writing again. If no bugger reads it who cares. Its cathartic!
I enjoy writing and  I enjoy the inane babbling of an idiot. I pride myself in being that idiot.
My pal in Oz, who I don't talk to ever enough for no apparent reason, wrote on my Facebook " Perhaps Andrew has learned not to question things to deeply, and accept you as you are....lovely....bonkers...and reassuringly unchanging! Love reading your posts"

There you have it I am reassuringly unchanging. I am still as stupid as I was in my 20's; so why not bore the whole would with my nonsense. So readers I am going to look for my Mojo and maintain this blog.

   

The Pits of Social Media

Normally when I blog its of an amusing nature however today I feel so strongly about something I wanted to raise awareness. I wanted to share something that I am sure lots of people aren't aware of. 

In 2004 a college student Mark Zuckerberg would create something that most people now use as an everyday activity. It would bring people together from opposite ends of the globe. It would allow people to share pictures, memories and for some just let people know what they had for their tea. Facebook a major social networking site would become a mass phenomenon. I never really cared for it whilst I lived in the UK, but living in Jersey its been a great way to keep in touch. As you know this blog will be posted on Facebook. Yes it bugs me a little when an unflattering picture is tagged but all in all I quite like using it. That picture that's tagged I know who did it. I can remove it if I so choose. I can send a private message "with you bugger that picture is awful". Generally my wishes are respected.

However there is a new craze. Something that children feel they want to be part of in case they miss out. This social networking site is Ask.fm. If you haven't heard about it google it. If you have a child in their adolescent years its possible they have an account. The purpose of this site was for children to ask questions they might normally be shy to ask. In principle I get that. Unfortunately the key aspect of this site you can ask questions anonymously. I say question its generally abuse.
"Do you cut yourself? You are fat and ugly?"  Sexually explicit questions and the worse kind "Go kill yourself, no one wants you".

There has been newspaper articles relating to children taking their own lives linked with  constant torment and cyber bullying conducted by the cowards otherwise known as the anonymous.

Within my own home, the beaus daughter had an account. I consider myself vigilant and responsible but its difficult to try and watch everything the girls do. She had held an account for months.  On finding the account it was horrific to read the vitriolic comments aimed at her. She no longer has an account. However her friends do. I remember  peer pressure, wanting to be part of something and the fear of missing out. Sometimes its a difficult time as an adolescent trying to walk that fine line of wanting to be popular and doing the right thing. 

People have campaigned to try and get the site closed but as a Latvian company it sits outside UK law. 

Ask.fm founder Mark Terebin posted a statement in defence of his website: "Ask.fm is just a tool which helps people to communicate with each other, same as any other social network, same as phone, same as piece of paper and pen. Don't blame a tool, but try to make changes... start with yourself... be more polite, more kind, more tolerant of others... cultivate these values in families, in schools."

I believe I have these values. I also believe we are instilling them in the beau's child. We want her to do the right thing and understand the obnoxiousness and dispicable behaviour  of how cowardly people can be. How hiding behind your keyboard and writing horrific bullying messages does not make you a decent person. She is comprehending that. It can be argued that those writing anonymous comments on ask.fm are trolls. Those that set out to write inflammatory comments to promote an emotive response are generally trolls. However its not always the case. Certainly in my own experience of researching it, lots of comments are done by children as young as 13 who use the online community to bully others.

A current comment on  a persons ask.fm profile is "Lol I cyber bully all the time! Its fucking fun don't ruin the fun by this stop the bullying shit"

The response, "Guess you got some problem young lad ;) and saying "fucking" or "shit" doesn't make yourself look cool just saying have a nice day".

Unfortunately not all have the emotional maturity to answer such abuse succinctly. Children generally don't have the skills to verbally fight back.

Sadly one such boy was Joshua Unsworth who  hanged himself last week in Goosnargh, Preston  after enduring months of constant cyber bullying on ask.fm.  I am sure his parents don't agree with Mark Terebin's statement. How hard would it be for the site to have responsible policies of monitoring? Facebook does and it hasn't impacted on their success. 

I cried when I read about Josh and I thought about the inflammatory disgusting comments I had read on both the beau's daughters page and her friends.

I am doing everything that is possible to raise awareness about this site. I have spoken to  the the E safety Officer. I have been into the beau's daughters school and I am educating the beau's daughters about respecting and standing up for yourself.

I want to do what ever I can to inform people about the site. However I want the girls to have their privacy and make informed choices . Maybe that's a tad hippyesque, but I want them to say no that's not right because they know it isn't, not just because we say it isn't. So far that process is working. Tonight she read the article from the Mail that talked about Josh Unsworth. We discussed the reality of cyber bullying. 

So think about it readers, do you know what sites you children are signed up to? Have you heard of ask.fm and have you explored whether your child is on it?

I enjoy social networking and appreciate its value but what joy is there in being told several times a day "No one wants you". 

I never use my blog to campaign or ask you to sign up for something. That is not its purpose. For me its about my journey in Jersey. So by asking  you to consider looking  at it then it demonstrates the concern about what is happening. 

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/STOP-Askfm/141976102613355    

 

A Comedic party with a swing

I am feeling slightly delicate today following a little soiree in aid of Comic Relief. You may of remembered readers in an earlier post that I feel I am turning into Hyacinth Bouquet? Well I decided to host a wine and cheese party at my house.  

I know that sounds very cheesy, pardon the pun but it was for a good cause. So I decided to reinvent the wine and cheese concept to ensure it wasn't something stuck in the 1970's. I appreciate some of of the readers may not remember the 1970's. The reason I choose wine and cheese is because I am inundated with wine that I have had to expand my wine rack from a 10 bottle to a 30 bottle. "Poor you!" I hear you say sarcastically. The beau keeps receiving wine as gifts for a job well done. I can't get my head round it. He charges lots of money for the bill and the client pays it and then says "there you have this bottle of wine". I know he is exceptionally good at what he does but I have yet to see him come home with a box of Roses or Quality Street. In Health that's the gift staple and not to say my beau doesn't work hard. He does, exceptionally so but "here is a bill for 7 k, why thank you for that vintage red". "Oh here is the discharge letter to say your body is back to good working order, why thank you for that box of Roses." I do remind myself that health care professionals do it for the love of it and that it is extremely rewarding. Something that if you could bottle it, then it would most definitely sell.

Anyway so there you have it a wine and cheese party to shift the wine on. "Bring a cheese and a fiver for the Comic Relief jar. There will be entertainment!"   

So as we discussed entertainment, again we went off at a tangent. The beau plays piano which is lovely but there is only so much Desperado I can listen to. We discussed hiring a pianist but we couldn't find one that played in public only ones who taught it. Then the beau, as he gets carried away said "oooh look what about these?" They were Bossa Baseline, a fab duo who played great swing music at our soiree for 2 hours. They are really lovely people and were fantastic at playing everything I adore. I love the old time glamour of swing. Everyone had a fantastic time with the periodic singing along.

Once they left a pal decided he would do a recital. Unfortunately he can't actually play the piano but is an amateur dramatic treading of the boards type so he improvised. The video demonstrates that. Please forgive the northern voice over. Golly don't you sound hideous when you listen to yourself. Perhaps that's just me.

My pal who reads this blog wanted me to mention him. He said write "I am swishing the wine, smelling it" and although he didn't say "ooooh" I have added that as poetic licence.

A good time was had by all. We raised £137 for comic relief, so it was worth the effort for the evening.

  

Yes its a Mong tomato ANNNNDDD????

So readers I have just returned from Waitrose after a hideous shop. I hate shopping on a Saturday its full of families and stressed women. The thing with supermarkets and Saturdays its like someone made an announcement on the previous evening news that the world was about to end. What do people do when that happens? They go shopping!
Remember when the  Millennium was approaching? People, I say people, I mean those that watched Richard and Judy that day as he talked about buying things and storing them for the world to end. Well those people went out panic buying baked beans and powdered milk. What happened when the bells struck 12 that mammoth eve? Nowt that's what happened. I remember it being nowt as I was standing in my street toasting the bells like I had done previous years. I woke up with a monumental hangover and a house that looked like it had just had a home invasion. I was so glad that I didn't have a kitchen full of baked beans and powdered milk to accompany the empty wine glasses and lots of bottles.

Anyway I have gone off at a tangent. Working shifts is hard, you lead an antisocial existence doing your week of nights or those miserable late Sunday shifts. Now as a Monday to Friday worker I enjoy my weekends. However with that I find my self in Waitrose on a beautiful sunny day being interrogated by the till assistant. As  she beeped my shopping through the scanning thingy, she started a running commentary rummaging through my items. There should be some customer till assistant code of conduct where rule one is "Never comment on the customers shopping". Its embarrassing! Maybe she is a spy for Jamie Oliver to see if shoppers are actually "reconnecting with food and  resuscitating dying food culture  and ultimately keeping cooking skills alive.”   Now I get that Jamie. I can resuscitate a dried, dead mushroom at the back of the fridge to look like fabulous cuisine but do you need to send Margaret from Jersey Waitrose to report every ruddy thing in my basket?

So the first item through my beep beep experience was a jam jar with Freesias in it for the sum of £5. I liked them they were twee like me. Margaret's response "Ooh oh in a jam jar, smell nice only £5 very good" Now I agree with that point, thank you Margaret I like them too. Next item Heinz Tomato Ketchup flavoured Cheddar. Yes I am aware that's an interesting concept, but I am trying to keep my Slimming World diet interesting. 3 weeks in and I am 11 1/2 lbs  lighter. I am committed to it so I thought oh they might be interesting. Well they are readers very tasty indeed. I would recommend them. I appreciate its not a Blacksticks Blue or a fine mature Cheddar but once in a while we need something quirky. Margaret seemed particularly shocked by the tomato cheesy slices to the point of a slight shriek. "Well I never tomato sauce.. in a cheese..when did they come in? Never seen them..I mean cheese with tomato sauce in" It was like a Peter Kay moment of garlic bread. Next came the fig and nut slice bought to accompany a cheese board for an evening I am having next Saturday.
" Whats that? What do you do with that?"
 "Its for a cheese board" I respond.
 "You put it with cheese well I have never EVER seen one of them"
Then there was the marrow I bought. "Oh these are very popular today" Maybe thats because there is a bucket load reduced I thought.
"Well you can't have one of those when you live on your own they are too big"
I said nothing.

The lady behind is now smirking as she looks down at her shopping knowing any minute now she will endure the same experience. Glancing over she has a fairly well balanced shop. Her embarrassment may only be 2 minutes long over the papaya she is hiding under a loaf of white bread.

Margaret remarked on pretty much several items of the shopping. However what prompted me to share this experience with you readers? Well it was this.

What you looking at? Never seen a tomato before?

I love tomatoes and they are very good for Slimming World. I can eat as many as I like. Its name a Mong tomato, named after Hmong, an anti communist who brought it originally from Vietnam in the 1970's. I saw them on the shelf and thought oh I have had that tomato before, I will get it again. Well Margaret picked it up and said in a very alarmed voice "What on earth is this?" The lady behind me who was smirking before was trying not to make eye contact as I could see her face was about to erupt with laughing. This was  the conversation that ensued.

Me: "It's a tomato"

Margaret: "A what?"

Me: "A tomato"

Margaret "It looks like one of them weird things"

The beau " A kumsquash?"

Glares at the beau. Me: "You mean a kumquat. Shush"  

Beau now laughing like a school boy saying the word kumsquash.

Margaret proceeds to look item up on her menargerie of fruit and vegetable intelligence.

Margaret: "I can't find it. You sure its not one of them weird things"

Me: "Its a tomato"

I look back at the mounting queue at the checkout. Eventually she locates the item.

Margaret: " Is it a mo..err.mang...err Mong tomato?"

Me: "Yes a tomato"

Phew the last item to bag. Then I can get out of here. She still hasn't handed the tomato over.

Margaret: "What do you do with it?"

Me: "Put it in a salad"

Margaret: "Well it must be quite the delicacy at THAT PRICE"

That was it! That's what incensed me. Its my tomato and I will get it if I want to. I like tomatoes. Its not like I can get the rum baba I actually really want. I am on a diet. So I am comforting myself with an exotic tomato at the princely sum of 89 p.  Of course that conversation was in my head. I didn't share it with Margaret as that would of been rude. I wanted to shout loudly in Waitrose "everyone look at my Mong tomato that's a kumsquah in disguise." We left the shop went home and unpacked the shopping.

I have had this experience before with a till assistant. He repeatedly remarked on my shopping. Even flicked through the magazines I may of purchased and commented on the articles. He was a pest. So I decided to hopefully shush him once and for all. I felt I couldn't say shush and stop being nosey at my shopping as it does feel rude. I know they are being friendly and just engaging with the customer. 

However reading my magazine articles and stating "Cheryl Cole looks fat there" was becoming annoying.

So one week I bought a copy of Razzle, a bottle of Newcastle Brown and a chamois leather. Awaiting the running commentary of "ooh she could do with a trim, newkie brown eww and what a bargain price for a chamois leather". He said not one word. Not a comment, a cough or a snort. He may now think of me as the weird pervert with a fetish for chamois leathers, but at least he isn't rummaging through my shopping!

Enjoy your weekend readers.