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.