Who nose??

So, there has been something troubling me of late. Not you know, keeping me up all night or even causing me to frown - but just simmering with a quiet 'is it just me, or does anyone else think XYZ has had a nose job???' Folk have popped up here and there with their perfect schnozzles and then I've seen a pic of them several years back and I'm like - 'they look a tad different, what could it be....?' Hmmmmm.

So let's just take a wee lookie.

Posh before:



Posh after:



And just incase this doesn't convince how - how about:



And Dannii Minogue - well we all remember her as Emma on 'Home and Away' with her thick thighs and huge honk - but now... well it is much more purdey:





Now for the record, I like a good nose. I also don't mind a thick thigh, or a flat chest. If a woman feels good, then rock on her. What I can't stand is those who lie - who pretend that they never had surgery, or they never would. I mean, why not be honest? It would make us all feel a helluva lot better about ourselves knowing that most slebs have had knives hacking at them in order to look so fabulous. NOT that any of the celebs on this page have definitely had surgery on their faces, or indeed bodies. I am merely wondering....

Let us continue with an A lister:



And now:




Perhaps without the nose work she wouldn't have been so 'get a load of me' at the Oscar's last night. Man that was nauseating. Having been a fan, I just could not believe a woman stood there posing so much and for so long - no wonder she was as wooden as stick reading that autocue. Jaysus, as we say in Belfast, 'if she had been a chocolate bar she'd a' had herself ate!' Hun, you get to shag Brad - you don't need to cock a leg like a dog needing a piss, and do the whole sexy come hither voice thing, replete with pout - you already won the golden ticket!! Thank god for the Descendants writer Jim Rash (unfortunate name...) who took the piss out of her when he collected his Oscar.

Moving on:

I knew that Blake Lively was different - but now I know how:



Even one plastic surgeon has gone on record to say he believes Gwynnie got in on the action early in her career:



And it aint just the ladeez:



On the web there are pics of Avril Lavigne, Halle Berry, Ashlee Simpson, J-Lo and many others all with before and after shots and docs explaining how the (alleged) surgery they had was good - because 'they did not take a standard, boilerplate nose and stick in on her/his face. They worked with what she/he had originally and what resulted was a refined, natural-looking nose that fits her/his face.'

Maybe these folk were advised by agents and producers to have the work done - if indeed they even have had work done (gotta cover myself I know). If that is ever the case - it is a sad old world were folk feel they need to go under the knife just to get record deals or secure film roles etc.

Now I'm off to study my own honk in the mirror - have I been going wrong all these years???

Chase away the greys

Oh I've been wanting to blog about so many things.... a programme on Social Workers that has haunted me, I often lie awake at night thinking about all the wee babies featured in it; a conversation with my oldest friend about seeing the difference in life between those who have been there through difficulties - and those false friends who pitch in at the last minute, in a weak attempt to ingratiate themselves, but who actually couldn't give a rat's ass about you; about the sheer joy of watching FNL on television now that it has finally made it to our shores; about how addictive Malteser bunnies are etc. etc. etc. but never seeming to get the time.

There was the week from hell that I last blogged about and then I flew to Ireland with my family for a week. It was hectic, fun, embracing, excluding, happy, sad, entertaining and all too quick. I saw dear old friends, shared rum and banter, then when the clock passed midnight we shared all the things that bring us right back to where we've always been. To unite us in our histories while we all still march forward in our different lives, in different countries, with different people.

I met up with a good friend - an old boss - a woman I admire and value, and found myself telling her all my hopes, all the plans I have been putting in place - the things I am too afraid to admit sometimes to myself, let alone others - and it was a relief. And wonderful to have someone cheer me on. I miss the craic (as wee say) in Belfast. The warmth and friendliness of the people. The amazing house I could have there if I swapped the one I am in. But my is it grey. The weather is relentless. Every day a speck of sunshine - a brief flutter across your face - and then THE GREY descends. Rain optional. There was a moment when my son was at an art class with my favourite artist, and Husband was holding The Diva Sproglette, and I was shoving coffee cake down my gullet and I felt peace. Pure joy. Cake, coffee and friendly folk. The artist's husband who runs cafe handed me one of her prints, and the moment was complete. It was still grey outside the steamed up window.

So now I am home, and the routine begins again. The order and the chaos, the mundane and the sublime. Through this sea there are days when I struggle to keep afloat. When the GREY descends, even a sunny day. But these days are less and less. They usually happen when The Diva is being beyond clingy and I have to wee with her on my lap and I dream of having some personal space - even being able to drink tea without her trying to stuff her hand into the cup. Yes, she likes tea.

Through this all, In fact through my whole life, I have always believed that one can have anything in life they desire. To quote my favourite book The Alchemist 'if you want something with all your heart, the whole universe conspires for you to achieve it.' I almost got that tattooed on me once, I believe it so strongly - but it has a lot of letters and I'm a wimp. So I'm going after that. I am asking the universe. I hope that it is listening. I'm sure I have shocked the hell out of it with some of my requests over the years. But on the whole it has conspired and I have received, with a lot of hard work and determination. You just have to believe. So in between I'm raising two kids, and staying afloat with no income. I'm eating cake and drinking wine and promising to start running soon. I'm finding a single grey hair and convincing myself it is really bleach or something, I'm feeling grateful every day for all that I have, and I'm collapsing in a heap most evenings while the bairns sleep. I'm keeping my GREY at bay. Yay.

I blame the snow

The snow comes and things always get a bit worse. Along with the feverish little flakes of hell came a gastric flu that ravaged my body and caused me to spend more time close to a toilet than I have done since a vicious bout of gastroenteritis when I was 15. That also includes a trip to India. Grim didn't even cover it. I have a feeling I picked the bug up from a kid infested place that we visited on Saturday morning. It had a drop slide, bumpy slides, dodgem cars and more soft play areas that you could see. On the plus side it had comfy sink-into chairs and great coffee. If you have to be anywhere kid related on a Saturday morning at 10:30 then there are far worse places to be.

That night a friend kindly picked me up - driving an hour to get me, an hour back to his house and then the same trip the next day. I had refused to drive in snow as we all remember the great car write off in Feb '09 (shortly followed by the almost marriage write off...). I drank too much wine, ate too much and felt mighty queasy when I went to bed. But the next day I felt AWFUL. After vomiting several times, I kept thinking that 'boy, I'm getting old the hangovers are KILLING me' but when every muscle in my body ached and even my eyeballs hurt - well maybe not my eyeballs but you get the picture - I curled up in a bath and then bed. Husband was understanding. Kind of. 'You just had a night away... your turn to do bath time.'

Next day he got up with the kids - which was great as I felt worse. Head like cotton wool. Body aching. Stomach heaving. Husband left, Sproglet went to school and I took Sproglette to her first happy clappy class. It will be her last. Only three other Mothers made it through the snow - so I couldn't hide away from singing letting all others drown me out. No in the chilly hall every voice counted so I had to growl my way through songs and clap and cheer and run around with floaty scarves and catch bubbles, the whole time thinking 'I am going to shit my pants.' Not with joy. But literally.

Sproglette was a bit 'meh' about the whole thing. She wanted to eat the drumsticks rather than bang them. She wanted run around rather than sit nicely in a circle as we patted our knees and most of all she clapped at every inappropriate time. Good on her. We made it home by walking on the street - pavements impossible with all the sludge snow - and then I became best friends with the toilet. I'll spare you the details - but I think I 'detoxed' for sure.

Sproglette, not to be outdone on the toilet front produced three horrific nappies that suggested she too was sharing my bug. She slept for 2 and a half hours whilst I lay on the sofa realising that every TV movie on in an afternoon contains Steve Carell - often being not that funny. Only by about 6pm did my stomach cease it's purging. We had long gone past the 'purge even when there is nothing left there to purge' stage. I had a bath with Sproglette. Sproglet meanwhile was so engrossed in the Simpsons that he weed his pants. I was livid as he knows where the bathroom is. I threatened to write a note in his school diary to his teacher about such pant wetting - maybe he needs nappies? (as we have been here before - the kid waits until his bladder is about to explode to move his skinny ass towards porcelain). He went nuts. He said he would rip out the page so the teacher would never know and hide it. Then he declared, 'I am going to run away!' O.M.G. I remember doing exactly the same but I think I was about 8 or 9. The kid is 5 and 3/4 and he is thinking of doing a bunk.

So I did what my Mother did to me. I offered to pack his bag. I set about putting toys in his back pack and he strode downstairs and put his wellies on. Demaded his coat, swung backpack over his shoulder and marched out the front door hell bent on escape and running to... god knows where.

I let him get as far as the gate which is basically about five steps. Then I made him come back. He announced next time he would run away "in real life!" Then I snuggled him and told him I loved him and that of course we didn't want him to run away. Then I put him to bed and kissed him goodnight.

Today I awoke to the sound of the bathroom bin being shut. I immediately knew what had happened. I opened it to reveal a ripped out page of his diary. I was so angry I didn't even realise that I hadn't had to visit the bathroom all night - and therefore must be on the mend. I didn't know what to do - so I made Husband deal with it. I hadn't written to the teacher at all - he had ripped out a note I had written about wanting to see his schoolwork as I missed the child shows parent day. Bless him, full marks for calculated planning. He must have sat on his wee mission all night. I realised he was just frightened about his buddies discovering his pant wetting event so his punishment will be fair but not as harsh as initially I had suggested. His suggestion to solve this all 'build a toilet in the hall.' Our hall is an arm length wide and about 7 foot long. Not big at all. Tiny in fact.

In the midst of all this toilet trauma I have been having email discussions with a friend who is getting back with her idiot ex-boyfriend. I did a lot of home truth telling and maybe that wasn't the way to go... It is just crap to watch friends make the same mistake over and over again - should you always support them in all that they do, even though you know that what they are doing, is downright wrong???

The snow came and with it more drama than I have had in months. Thank god those icy little particles are melting away into nothingness. Soon it will be like it never happened at all.

UPDATE: Now my daughter has managed to lose a shoe - from her only pair of shoes (on Dad's watch I add) and the boiler has packed in. Can't be fixed until Friday. No heating - JOY!!!!