Want to know how to reach the big 'O'? Yes, Yes, YES!

Odd question to start, but are you a w**ker?

I mean this quite literally. Chances are, you are but have never admitted it to anyone, because let's face it, talking about buttering one's muffin isn't really the done thing. Men of course happily boast about needing to polish their swords at any given opportunity and no one bats an eyelid. But just as a man who sleeps around is a stud, whereas a woman who does the same is seen as slut - the double standard exists when it comes to masturbation.

Let me go back - waaay back in fact, to my school days. During a game of truth or dare at a mate's house when we were all about 16, a close female friend admitted to enjoying some Downstairs DJing. Myself and several other girlfriends were stunned and admitted that we didn't do such a thing. (At the same gathering my male mates all described how they played some awful cookie game - where the last one to come on said cookie, had to eat it... Perhaps this was a myth. Even if it was a treble choc chip, that wasn't going to be a tasty treat). Looking back, I'm pretty sure that my girlfriends were lying. I, however, was not.

Although that year my first love was able to... how shall I put this, help me attain special heights (that sounds quite nice doesn't it? Like a room with a view), I had never been able to by my own devices. It was some time before I was versed in such skills. But at the time, worst of all, it wasn't like I was going to ASK anyone about how to... better oneself in that department. Simply: women don't wank.

But that is really IS a myth. So much so in fact, that app designer Tina Gong is in the process of creating 'Happy Playtime' - an app to facilitate female masturbation. According to Gong, 46.6% of women touch themselves less than once a month. Well, there is all that online shopping to do isn't there? How does one find the time? She also quotes that 20% of women masturbate to help them go to sleep! And there was me thinking the big O was more of an awakener, than something coma inducing...

Before I applaud Gong and her mission to make the M word something women openly discuss, I had a look at the app's main character: 'Happy - your friendly neighbourhood genitalia.' 'Love your vulva, because all she wants is to love you.'

Now all this vulva loving is well and good, but the problem is, Happy looks like a cross between a Russian doll, a baby and the last stuffed chicken in Tescos. Sexy, she aint.  There are also some patronising, basic instructions: 'This is the clitoris. Make a circular motion here. Oh my, I'm getting all hot and bothered.' Now if that really was true, millions of women would be walking around with massive grins on their faces, and we'd have agreed to another date with all the poor blokes who needed a map to even find where a lady's pearl resided.  So far, the app makes out that all we need to do is find our nubbin and begin rubbing as if we're giving the car windscreen a good clean.

But that doesn't take into consideration that for women, sex begins in the brain rather than down below - and you can bet your bottom dollar they aren't avoiding masturbation just because they can't find where to touch.

In a post 50 shades of grey world, women clearly have desires - and erotic imaginations to match - but what they lack is the courage to voice them. The courage to admit to liking some finger painting on their own...  The courage to break down all the age old taboos in saying 'I embrace my sexuality and if that involves masturbating, then so what? I stick two fingers up to anyone who criticises me for it.'

Whilst the Happy Playtime app doesn't excite me at all (for want of a better word) I do think Tina Gong has put her finger on a problem that needs addressing. Women should be able to talk about wanking and all it's joys. Females should be able to own their sexuality without being derided for it, or need to gratify someone else in order to have pleasure... So if a little pink chicken Russian doll thing starts that ball (or pearl) rolling, and opens new doors to discussions on this taboo-est of taboo subjects - then I welcome it, even if it if it is about as sexy as the word 'Vulva.'

Checkin' in...

I feel like I have just come up for air.

So I began blogging at Babble and I threw myself off the top diving board and hurtled towards those showbiz waters. Then I kind of belly flopped. I wasn't really sure if they wanted positivity, or if I could let my true Gwyneth feelings show... They have a way of working where people 'dib' pictures and stuff, so is hard to be the one 'on it' all the time. Plus, I had my full time job and two kids....  I worked, and worked and blogged and tried to get to grips with all things technical. There were slip ups for sure. Posts with no pictures, all that jazz.

Then I dashed up north for my cousin's wedding. This is him with his beautiful bride:

 They looked so in love. I remember those days... Made me feel really nostalgic for my own wedding... They had the reception here (that's them walking to their champagne reception):

Castle Howard, in York. It was stunning. The sun shone, the bride sparkled, the pimms fizzed. I started to feel royally ill. Not because I was allergic to weddings, but because I suddenly felt exhausted - as if every part of my body ached. I sat down to the reception meal and found it hard even to talk. Me, hard to talk - exactly! I couldn't even knock back the champers to toast the bride and groom. I drank water and later asked for tea. Then came over an hour of speeches - my cousin's was amazing. He said he looked over at me as he spoke and thought 'CM is either bored or ill.' It was the latter, Neil I promise.

By the time of this:

I was outside, trying not to throw up. The evening do had a band, drinks galore, a sweet shop and people downing shots and throwing shapes. I shivered and ached and eventually had to ask to go home. Oddly, it made me cry - I was so gutted to have to leave, to not dive head long into the festivities. Once home, I climbed into fleece PJs and huddled over a hot water bottle all night, sweating yet completely frozen.

Home again, and I didn't make it into work for 3 days. I felt awful. AWFUL. I couldn't blog, babble, work, read - nada. I managed to get through a LOT of Game of Thrones though. Dwarves (with the best lines) sex and violence just hit the spot.

Since then, I've had work to catch up on, a girls' weekend, Father's day, a nit scare (with my daughter - thankfully all is fine) and her vomming everywhere upon my return from said girl's weekend. Welcome home Mum! So not much time in all that to catch up.

I constantly feel I should be babbling and if I'm honest, I don't think they'll keep me long - the women who write there seem to make a living from blogging, so they're on line all the time - pouncing on all the hot stories. Good for them, I think. But I've got a full time job too... and those pesky two kids. so is hard to find the time. I miss just blogging for me. Just having my little chin wag. I worry about clicks all the time... I'm fairly certain I'm not getting as many as I should be... C'est la vie. I'm honestly just so happy to not feel ill, that I'm ok with everything. I'm even gonna babble tonight about how I really feel about the Goopster. I feel that good.

Apart from Sproglet's 7th b'day party to sort this weekend and Husband working on Saturday, and more laundry than I can even see to sort - I'm fairly chilled. So I'm here. Again. And no amount of babbling or vommiting is gonna keep me away.... 

Needing the loan of your finger.

Ok, So maybe Babble aint your thang. But here is an article I wrote today for it. If you can click - fab. I'm hoping JKelsoFarrell, that it still sounds like me. I am aiming not to do posts on vacuous celebs, but instead more kind of fun, me type posts - like this - about stuff I would even write about here. So go have a look if could. Feel free to share and tweet and all that stuff that confuses a technophobe like me.

Thanks xx

How was your weekend???

Every Monday I troop into work and my lovely colleagues ask 'How was your weekend?' They are all young, mostly single and they gad about London sinking drinks and taking in obscure productions in tiny sweaty theatres.

In short, they have fun. Not that I add, the theatre really floats my boat. Most of the time I'm just willing the fecking play to end so I can neck my G&T in the interval. But I digress. Point is, they get up late, they mosey around markets, they mooch. OH TO MOOCH.

Me, well not so much mooching. So as they ask 'how was it for you?' I want to scream 'Murder. It was hell. From the moment my Diva, I mean daughter, opened her peepers until the blissful second after 3 stories and endless Incey Wincey songs, she fell asleep - it was hideous.' Instead I smile and say 'great, thanks' and then think about taking up smoking again.

Take yesterday for example. Day 1 at Babble. So I get up, laptop out, desperate to come up with a story and more importantly, be able to actually upload the thing. 3 hours later - still in my PJs - job done. Husband tetchy as 'I didn't think it would take you this long...' and kids bouncing off the walls. Diva keeps asking me to huggle her and trying to tap tappety tap on my laptop and I am freaking out in case I lose all my efforts. Eventually, I upload. Relief. I check Babble. My Mossy story is there in all it's sycophantic glory - minus the photos. Yep, Photos did NOT upload. 3 hours and only a bunch of words, no slideshow and no photos at all. I want to scream.

Here it is incase you are interested - lots of pics of fab Kate looking fab. How does she do it? BECAUSE SHE HAS A NANNY - THAT'S WHY!!!!

So we go out - to the park, filled with loads of other stressed slightly on the edge parents, and naturally within 5 minutes the Diva is crying. Then Sproglet. So we pop to Waitrose and that is worse. They want this and that and they moan and Diva is scootering through people like Evel Knievel, and folk are tutting and I am just walking towards the gin - head down, ignoring all stares, because if I don't get my hands on a bottle I am going to run away with the circus (or at least the cheap funfair that has landed in our town). Gin - come to Mama....

And we go home and no Diva won't sleep, but Husband does - for 2 hours - while I entertain the aliens that I live with. It's funny because my colleague at work laments living with other people and wishes she could just escape and live on her own. Me too babe! Me too!!! I make dinner and they refuse to eat it, bless them. And then it's bath time and that is just a riot of fun. How we laugh. Except we don't, as Sproglette is sure she can see poo in the bath - blames Sproglet, he cries and then she cries and it is all one joyous cry fest. I crack open the gin and finally they are put to bed.

Rise and shine at 6am!!! Sproglette is up and at 'em! By 8am I am exhausted. Most Sundays (if Husband isn't working) we play 'who is the most tired' competition. We spend days bickering over who did what and wiped which bum and organised XYZ, all the while trying to fit in a mere 5 minutes to ourselves. It is not natural to have NO personal space for an entire day... People up in your grill every second....

Today I am frantically trying to do another BETTER Babble post - desperate to impress, desperate to not look like the blonde Irish idiot who can't get to grips with technology.  So I am typing and bribing kids with sweets and just wishing they could play on the trampoline for the next 6 hours ... and then Sproglette howls and it turns out she discovered a way into the bathroom cupboard and has decorated her legs with my son's verruca pen - therefore slightly burning her skin... Frantically I'm washing her legs and slathering on the sudocream and trying to remain calm. CALM.....

Then a friend calls and that is lovely - even if we barely get to say two words to one another as we are constantly interrupted for tissues and drinks and biscuits and kids needing this and that... But once she leaves - and a BBQ we were meant to go to is cancelled - Husband arrives back from work and the rest of the day stretches out before us with two small people staring at us, willing us to fill it.

When I first had my son I used to fantasize about running away to the local travel lodge in West Hampstead, where I could lie in an air conditioned room and sleep uninterrupted. Ahhh sweet, sweet sleep. I have the same desperate fantasy now, albeit without the air con. A night of peace in a second rate hotel sounds heavenly...

I love my kids. I swear on my life I do. I love hanging out with them - but I also love peeing alone, reading a Sunday paper before Thursday, getting to write this blog post without being interrupted - here is the Diva now, clambering all over me, dripping her bottle milk on the laptop as I type....

I have to away before she manages to lock herself in the bathroom (her new trick) and I've got chores galore. I am actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow. To escape the endless prodding and whining and demanding folk I live with. To make a cuppa, and actually drink it...

And when folks ask 'So, how was your weekend hun?' I'll smile sweetly, and say through gritted teeth, 'Lovely. How was yours?'