tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36480901858071361542024-03-05T18:09:41.816+00:00Crummy Mummy (who drinks)For anyone who wonders where their life went?Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.comBlogger529125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-25747905500195686662024-01-30T13:15:00.007+00:002024-01-30T15:49:39.096+00:00What I'm into...<div style="text-align: left;">Crikey Jan is a long old month innit? Coupled with bleak weather, the old D word that everyone is doing or at least everyone SAYS they are doing and husband's birthday (who has a birthday in January? It's selfish isn't it? Especially after all that Xmas malarkey) it is enough to send one over the edge. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I feel like it has been a January Monday FOREVAH. So I thought I'd list the things that are giving me life this month. Plus a couple of things that aren't. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">1.<b> Candles.</b> </p><div style="text-align: left;">You can never have too many can you? I have never ever been given a candle (bar a Yankee one once) and felt saddened. That little flicker, the warmth, the scent - it makes one happier. I always have one burning on my desk to keep my metaphorical creative flame lit, (or spluttering most of the time). This is my latest purchase. To myself. I know I know, it's a bit fancy for a self gift. But hey, it's Jan and I'm not drinking or eating anything fun so I need SOMETHING godammit. How pretty is it? Plus with my John Lewis discount (Sproglet can never ever leave his job at Waitrose) it was almost a steal. Grab one <a href="https://www.johnlewis.com/paddywax-a-dopo-tiger-cerammic-scented-candle-226g/p111325339?s_ppc=2dx_mixed_home_BAU&tmad=c&tmcampid=2&cq_src=google_ads&cq_cmp=20536922826&cq_con=&cq_term=&cq_med=pla&cq_plac=&cq_net=x&cq_pos=&cq_plt=gp&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiA2eKtBhDcARIsAEGTG41SYhkL7tRUr317mHgMK9jQ1EuclpmWTAA-zq-X5x-8kOrErslAztwaAm27EALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds">here</a>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKz79oCM7_p-cftZ4WH7gpu87obW-s8TlmYrZW7RCKI2Mxvw8KqWYXd5zE1npee98VhxifxTI4IwCXRkCj7fx_U57xMken7soIaOnmOjHvckFmm5tOBd76E1472PxdQPAgE6jSxS7wZjtxwqddusBsWpsezeuggzJSjCQxhN7L3OFkWpvQmrsEESLXjk/s853/tiger.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhKz79oCM7_p-cftZ4WH7gpu87obW-s8TlmYrZW7RCKI2Mxvw8KqWYXd5zE1npee98VhxifxTI4IwCXRkCj7fx_U57xMken7soIaOnmOjHvckFmm5tOBd76E1472PxdQPAgE6jSxS7wZjtxwqddusBsWpsezeuggzJSjCQxhN7L3OFkWpvQmrsEESLXjk/s320/tiger.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. <b>Cold water. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">However bleak, it is my fav time of year to immerse oneself in cold water. First time ever of swimming through shards of glass-like ice the other week. Man in front of me got out with a bloodied chin. Still smiling of course, because nothing makes one smile more than one degree... My weekly swims are SO cold, you don't actually feel anything. Like an epidural. All over. But, in order to get that weekly high more often - although admittedly not as much fun - I'm getting in my new ice bath. Another John Lewis purchase but you can get them all over. My cousin and his wife are getting into the joys of cold water and had purchased one that they swore by. Whilst not quite as <i>in nature</i> as a lake swim - or in fact a swim at all, more of a dunk - it is still exhilarating. I cannot wait to get in later tonight and will curse spring when temps get above 10 degrees. My personal fav is 7-8 degrees. Biting and brilliant. The high is amaze. Promise. Get involved. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDYxPmJPhzRmh5LntqCOLxSiVjIHX9LR73zNzHl-4AVC52DXbM0sBtP_7r7MCEGTdWgS0ToMKhfvw4Iq4pvFWaAugOqA-WRvYHjhM8755QGR7Yc0P_1K0TylpW_6_ok8eJkPb6UdIVIImJerJpDdGDL1WebzB3tfrBeorrBA3EU0IQ__W9uExFwuxfg3w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDYxPmJPhzRmh5LntqCOLxSiVjIHX9LR73zNzHl-4AVC52DXbM0sBtP_7r7MCEGTdWgS0ToMKhfvw4Iq4pvFWaAugOqA-WRvYHjhM8755QGR7Yc0P_1K0TylpW_6_ok8eJkPb6UdIVIImJerJpDdGDL1WebzB3tfrBeorrBA3EU0IQ__W9uExFwuxfg3w=w240-h320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. <b>Hot water. </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is bloody lovely isn't it, wallowing in hot water? NOT - I repeat - NOT straight after the above. Or risk coming out in serious hives or something more dangerous. (As an aside always let yourself warm up naturally after being in cold water under 10 degrees... ). Anyway, for Xmas I got my husband to buy me a recommended <a href="https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=john+lewis+ovlerum&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8">bath oil</a>. When it came, the size of the bottle was SO tiny - for £28 - 28!!!! I was livid. They are taking the piss I thought. Until I poured half a cap full into my bath and then -shazam! Instant heaven. I bow down to the creators of such blissful stuff. It smells like angels and butter clouds of lavender silk wrapped up in a comfy cashmere bow of loveliness... Don't take my word for it - but you will never look back. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UGZ-QSnbI3MzwAqTvT8NJMB5Sl08AS-4L6n0Vd-tSxcColhBFmG50i8qOhyPYECuNSAlfsmKEYP4BSpDuxC3eIkx25uqTsqFtB3WIaHll9l-vHLFY7rKaw3ktZf1p-FBO8It58Wof_YZdujMnKMwnbTqiVdfpzJn9LBsDyamOfuAJjmLnW4ciw_Ilw4/s2400/bath%20oil.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UGZ-QSnbI3MzwAqTvT8NJMB5Sl08AS-4L6n0Vd-tSxcColhBFmG50i8qOhyPYECuNSAlfsmKEYP4BSpDuxC3eIkx25uqTsqFtB3WIaHll9l-vHLFY7rKaw3ktZf1p-FBO8It58Wof_YZdujMnKMwnbTqiVdfpzJn9LBsDyamOfuAJjmLnW4ciw_Ilw4/s320/bath%20oil.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>4. <b>Films </b></p><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sorry I missed <i>The Traitors</i> boat - so I have no idea how good it is. I must get on and watch it, but <i>Married at First Sight Australia</i> is back soon and I can only cope with one trash show at a time, sorry. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">January is always great flicks time, with all the awards contenders out. Sorry but not sorry - I could only do 15 minutes of <i>Saltburn</i> - and that was after 4 double gins. What a crock of bollocks that was. Emperor's new clothes. Undoubtedly some great lines - but do we have to watch very deliberately provocative scenes meant to create buzz and water cooler fodder (or rather social media memes) - to justify a feature? I mean when you stoop to a bloke licking a bath plug for residual cum, one wonders what the point of the whole thing is? Titillation? Shock factor? Or something rich poshos do - a world I am not privy to... </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Or maybe I'm old. If you are a Jacob Elordi fan then much better to watch the sublime <i>Priscilla</i> - Sofia Coppola's latest. A gorgeous director - one of my favourites - it is fascinating as it is beautiful. Elvis comes across as a bit of twat... Also, I loved <i>The Holdovers</i>. Sentimental yes. Predictable, maybe. But laugh out loud funny and I adored being back in the 70s... Next up <i>All of us Strangers</i>. I would watch Andrew Scott paint a wall and still find it amazing. Go support your local cinema, while we still have them. Not a Vue though - because they are toilet even if they have reclining seats. Oh and shout out to <i>Next Goal Wins</i> which I watched on New Years Eve with my daughter. It was wonderful. I'm so into <i>feel good</i> these days. I may even re-watch Dawson's Creek. The world is crazy - we need all the joy we can get. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>5. <b>Bedding</b>. </p><div style="text-align: left;">Well it is winter. We need all the blankets. If you want a throw - McNutts. Google it. A place in Donegal that I have sadly only been to once. But its throws are magic. Duvet cover wise, I always struggle. I know, John Lewis blah blah - but everything feels samey and then I chanced upon these guys: <a href="https://www.secretlinenstore.com/?gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQiA2eKtBhDcARIsAEGTG43zeCjae0yPs7A0_b9ZjB1ktY8pPQia5Z1TCNFbqxikgYvNsFp7LGYaApQREALw_wcB">Secret Linen Store. </a> My god, they had me with a stripe. I love a stripe. (As an aside, I had wardrobes built in, just before Xmas. (Sadly 3 handsome men in my bedroom as I lay downstairs with a bedridden with a lurgy as they hammered away). I now have a dressing table nook, a desk nook, pretty lights covered with THE most perfect lampshades in front of tongue and groove panelling. (<a href="https://www.issygranger.com/collections/lighting">Issy Granger </a>- BLISS). The sheer ORDER of my closet is thrilling. I had had my pants in B and Q plastic drawers for 7 years... Anyway, I digress. Secret Linen Store - not so secret I assume - but has the softest duvet covers known to man. Invest. Going to bed - already exciting because it is winter and we need that wintering rest - is even more exciting. My exact bedding:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhYHlw04p3T4c82jM7k6nNqm1nvGhR96UZUZefBBxsKQ_FXZ0uZ8LzQon8aaxGYtiJka4UsfvV5dvb48atKsNgY9ifMZohhMiXZ8wUex4YhuI6d8TRjBXvSBjMH0FzN-4V0WWj2wpDbRdYIp6X0_pqeX52Y-3CacHmRp_CozchB1WHzNLyAl65nMHZDk/s1800/bedding.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1627" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhYHlw04p3T4c82jM7k6nNqm1nvGhR96UZUZefBBxsKQ_FXZ0uZ8LzQon8aaxGYtiJka4UsfvV5dvb48atKsNgY9ifMZohhMiXZ8wUex4YhuI6d8TRjBXvSBjMH0FzN-4V0WWj2wpDbRdYIp6X0_pqeX52Y-3CacHmRp_CozchB1WHzNLyAl65nMHZDk/s320/bedding.jpeg" width="289" /></a></div><br /><p><b>What I'm NOT into</b>:</p><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Abstinence.</b> Looking at bottles of alcohol calling me and realising that we aren't friends. I smile and walk on by. Trying to avoid carbs. Carbs are so MUCH FUN. Bread is amazing. AMAZING. But I can't have it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Driving</b> in the dark. I am challenged as far as driving is concerned at the best of times. But on a dark foggy night - it is grim...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Ageing skin.</b> Why do women think they have to look younger? WHO started this idea? What fuckwit said - men can grow old gracefully - but women, yeah they can't grow old. Ever. Sorry. Now, I'm totally down for any woman to do whatever they want with their bodies and faces - whatever makes ya happy and all - but I just wonder where it all began? What person is laughing their way to bank having said 'lets make it that women have to always look 25 and a size 10.' It's ridiculous. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Having to make plans.</b> I am wintering people. Call me again in March. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Etiquette. </b>And for those that do call me - a lesson: it is polite and empathetic to ask someone how they are rather than rant about yourself for 20 minutes before hanging up. Ranting is always allowed, just remember to enquire how the other person does. Life does not revolve around you, despite you thinking so. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Menopause.</b> Sweet Jesus but I cannot remember anything. A convo with my closest buddies (all the same age) is a start/stop/where were we/oh yes! I was saying/did I not say/why was I telling you that - where we all give up and spend the rest of the evening trying to remember the word we forgot.... The RAGE. I am RAGING. FOR. NO. GOOD. REASON. Then I am sad. Sad for no reason. All in the same 5 minutes. The brain fog is the worst. Debilitating. I was in a writers room for first two weeks of Jan and at one point asked my mate: am I thick? I felt wildly stupid. Because trains of thought just ... kind of run out of... yes... where was I again?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />See you in Spring! CM XX</div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-26559299016005915962023-12-29T14:26:00.006+00:002023-12-29T14:57:08.423+00:002023 in a nutshellAs someone who kept (tragic) diaries from the age of 8 - 28, I cannot let a whole year go by without reflecting on it somewhat. 2023 may have been my most successful year of work but I fear it perhaps lacked the glitter of 2022. That year I graduated as a counsellor, had a magical holiday in Greece and got to work with fab people on a fun (if extraordinarily difficult to write) show. It was manic - with not a weekend off between April- July - but all those hours of counselling folk (100 in order to graduate) and frantic essay writing was undeniably worth it - and I felt like the whole 4.5 years had been one long therapy session. I miss college still - a moment where every week I got asked: 'how are you?' and I really had to answer... no waffling: 'not bad thanks' but a real look at the gnarly stuff going on in my head...<div><br /></div><div>So 2023, the world on fire and I turned 50. I always remember Dawn French (who I was lucky enough to see this year - thanks Sam) saying that she was delighted to get to 60, as many of her friends hadn't. It is a privilege to age. With the loss of my step-sister at 60 (which feels so young) I thought fuck it - and had a party... Bar a dodgy lamp short circuiting the electrics the minute the hog was put on to roast and it being the most sweltering of summer nights, it was perfect. My actual b'day was spent in Boscastle, visiting a witches museum and having to eat outside the wonderful Rockstore restaurant so our dog could join us. It was April and we froze our asses off - but at least my favourite hairy beast was by my side. </div><div><br /></div><div>50 aint bad, bar the dreaded M word - wombless, I have no idea if I am pre/mid/post - but it sure keeps my husband on his toes... It's a bit of a rollercoaster. To offset the fact that if I so much as sniff a piece of beloved shortbread I put on 3kgs - I've taken to going to brutal reformer pilates and it is a miracle. That, dog walking and my weekly cold swims keep me sane... </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm grateful for my health - although a vicious lurgy wiped me out before Xmas and reminded me that we winter for a reason.... 4 trips up north, two weddings and a bar mitzvah coupled with a new job counselling in a 'challenging' school one day a week was all too much. Next year I will hibernate from Halloween until March... </div><div><br /></div><div>The new job has made me realise how totally screwed our education system is - don't for a second tell me that a homeless child bouncing between hotels getting a C in a GCSE is the same as privately educated, tutored to within an inch of their lives kid, getting an A. Why is the whole schooling system based on exams - a certain method of learning - in the first place? AsI painted my picket fence black (yes we look like the goths of the lane) I listened to a brilliant podcast with Louis Theroux talking to his cousin Justin Theroux - and they discussed their wildly different upbringings on either side of the pond. Louis - privately educated at Westminster, Oxford and then the world of investigative journalism. Justin admitted had he grown up in England he would have disappeared between the cracks - academia not his forte. He went to a local college and discovered a passion for acting. Arguably the more successful of the two - Justin knew that the UK education system wouldn't have worked in his favour; he attended the Buxton school in Massachusetts - where the grading system is based on report conferences - not exams... I digress... It is just the UNFAIRNESS of the cards folk can be dealt with early in life and how hard it is to climb out of the poverty trap - even in 2023 - astounds me. Until the education system changes - a more fair playing field - I don't see how things will improve for the less privileged children....</div><div><br /></div><div>What have learnt this year? To accept loss. Or try to... My family circle grows smaller. My friendship one too. It is difficult watching one's parents age and deteriorate. Time races by. People, behaviours, thoughts - no longer serve us and life moves on... A great lunch in York with my friend Chris gave me much food for thought: are we only real in the consciousness of others - he suggested. Having stopped worrying about anything as he approaches 70, I could take a few pages from his book... I stress over the small things too much - I need to let go and trust the universe a bit more. Hippy that I am at heart....</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm putting up some pics to remind me of this year and glorious moments: the freezing swims, Kings of Leon in er... Wrexham; Amsterdam for one night only (think that's all we can take at 50); watching a dear friend be the most beautiful bride; Sicily and Sproglette managing to break a $400 table(!!!); hen dos and high teas; 50th gigs (V I'm looking at you) rainy dog walks; uni visits; the campest/most pink wedding (with THE best curry - the broccoli YUM ) I have ever been to by a country mile; Fischers and La Fromagerie on Xmas EVE and all the lovely moments I have been lucky enough to share with friends and family. It's my own personal photo diary if you will... </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's to 2024 - may it be kind to us all. Nothing but peace and love. CM x</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuXjXHTfXVjUh-C3JEhBF6_BJLPZj9zoESE8VbRf6PeVTH8_aK9fsAlHs5e2TnnzKuCX4uJm-_lH-RViKWsXLM2pRRxtMfp88GYAm0ox34MJsRFWk7enIEbCiCBo0YDZEQft6-l64Do3zdJ8adymxay4IfHcPHERGsCJP6HqNpsFCI9j7BWjs0N2jwD8/s3088/D24A0BC4-870D-4F0C-BDBE-84A5C24DB9B9.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuXjXHTfXVjUh-C3JEhBF6_BJLPZj9zoESE8VbRf6PeVTH8_aK9fsAlHs5e2TnnzKuCX4uJm-_lH-RViKWsXLM2pRRxtMfp88GYAm0ox34MJsRFWk7enIEbCiCBo0YDZEQft6-l64Do3zdJ8adymxay4IfHcPHERGsCJP6HqNpsFCI9j7BWjs0N2jwD8/s320/D24A0BC4-870D-4F0C-BDBE-84A5C24DB9B9.heic" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzrIRQcT3Zi9591fuy8nhHYU0hJmvQ5ZcLa1Ttc-UogXHsDQM5_juddqkSRqmElGHXm3qFgz_zRFKShc8_TTc6vEBHQSv21UPUl0T6UntTH9wfGOB6oMoyIJJZ0aL-qOb551tnlvuchIp7i1hnKLunHUaH3sgOGIWYwrQc8OgWnsiwJTH6C8LYDTv9A1Y/s3088/FB225FD9-FFB8-4844-8E0E-6E4BBA21F16C.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XicdgrlmBW7tzenaHAqfqkamx00QNryMBX_0BsOifxOOm7WFiEJjRjBnb2AwHUC4TVhilNvSlFw-B9_qpia06wH7qmhyd-npUw54FWEnbc35TWrz-8dX9mt3oJckVV_YfqxnXpt5Q3vMdDbvBYyJ6d8U_zcd2nA3eMUdopUPVwLRSe7tVtLdDUSdnKY/s320/AE78E39E-4C22-4152-87FB-5AB7157177C5.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-23100026447445799552023-04-04T12:51:00.020+01:002024-02-01T18:13:51.438+00:0020 to 50 in a heartbeat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG00EjD-Fhe-keCyti4B_S-rXUEDoqlsWscWDvcvYli6vgO0mfKjtlklCvGcpYkIC943HW-oMWYPxrO-_oLaaw-IRaAPJ6P4NNmNVfBIXZwnSrqvbg2C-i2oqRXvm0LI4KY4n8dtezh8lf8SdZgXtq7ER8z5NwP3CSYwZJN6uQb8S0HWfXQbDXMxLg/s640/me%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG00EjD-Fhe-keCyti4B_S-rXUEDoqlsWscWDvcvYli6vgO0mfKjtlklCvGcpYkIC943HW-oMWYPxrO-_oLaaw-IRaAPJ6P4NNmNVfBIXZwnSrqvbg2C-i2oqRXvm0LI4KY4n8dtezh8lf8SdZgXtq7ER8z5NwP3CSYwZJN6uQb8S0HWfXQbDXMxLg/w400-h400/me%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Cost per wear: about 2p over the 30 years....</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>On the verge of summer 1993. I'm living - somewhat improbably - in Devonshire Mews West, London W1. (Opposite Babs Windsor no less - who I will later meet while working at Enders - a total diamond). My rent? A mere £30 a week. I'm attending Westminster Uni where I'm training to become a broadcast journalist. The course is amazing; being a poor student in London less so. Yet somehow, I've bought Vogue magazine, where there is a spread on Michael Hutchence and Helena Christensen, at his house in France - where they shoot each other with water guns and play table tennis. It all looks idyllic. He was of course a huge crush of mine (and I'd be lucky enough to score free tickets on the day of his Town and Country club gig in Leeds later that summer - to see INXS) and Helena epitomised the cool girl that I would never, ever, be. In the captions to the article (pic below) it said that she shopped at Portobello market and so inspired, off I went, with the hope of finding a vintage white dress, to wear that summer. </p><p>I found the one above for a mere £20 and loved it. Wearing it was the first time anyone looked at me in the street or complimented me. It was the summer that felt ripe with possibility - my 20s lay ahead... No longer an awkward teen, but, I dared to hope, becoming a woman... Filled with hopes and ambition and energy and doubt and fear and all the things we are aged 20.</p><p>Almost 30 years have passed since that summer and I'm days away from turning 50. I cannot believe that fact is true, even as type. In many ways I am still that 20 year old - less ambitious, less doubt, less fear but hopefully still with that energy. It would be remiss of me not to reflect on all that has happened - but I am completely grateful that all of it did - because it got me to here. Without sounding like some awful hashtag or trite life phrase hung in a kitchen - I have never been happier - or rather, been as content. Shit that mattered doesn't matter so much. Fitting in, being accepted, being valued for things that ultimately are not who I am. For any 20 year old I have no advice - how can I - I'm not in their shoes - except one thing: run at life. Enjoy every fucking second because in a heartbeat it can be taken from you. </p><p>The 20 year old that I was: I thought all my problems would be gone in an instant if only I could become a TV presenter - perhaps with a side order of fame. Well, I did manage to be a presenter for about ten years and THANK GOD I was never famous. If there is one thing to ruin someone with a fragile sense of self - that would have been it. The presenting was wildly fun - not like having a real job whatsoever (a dating show where I took teens on dates to Paris first class Eurostar/ interviewing Leo DiCaprio and Will Smith/attending Julian McDonald fashion shows with the Spice Girls or handing them a stolen pirate VHS tape of their Spiceworld movie with News Bunny at Heathrow on a rainy Halloween night 1997/Paris Fashion week/live studio audience at 11pm at night to keep me on my toes/backstage at V festival - or was it Reading - pretending to be in Robbie Williams' band). But there was a price to be paid for it, as when I had my son, trying to combine work and motherhood became the holy grail - and in fact why I began this here blog.</p><p>So what did I learn? Well nothing beats a cup of tea with a digestive biscuit and butter, that is for sure... (And yes with butter. Try it. You'll thank me later). The thing is, I'm still learning - I hope I always will be, so I'm not sure that I have any secret inside knowledge to life - no more than anyone else who is lucky enough to live to 50 doesn't have... Perhaps my best discovery is that life isn't all about those winning goals, the big celebration moments - but in fact all the little incidental bits in between: the first cuppa of a day, red wine by a fire, a wet rainy walk with a dog who is still delighted to be out there in the elements, a great hug, a comfy cinema seat and a hot coffee, clean PJs, a perfect old fashioned, laughing until you cry with oldest buddies. I try to find one of those moments in every day. </p><p>Funnily enough, I hoked out all my painstakingly kept diaries (from age 8-28) for something I am writing at the moment and was amazed at what I read. Those that had wronged me, I realised were just finding their way too; a first love affair was anything other than the blissful romantic ideal that I had remembered - and was in fact one long lesson in what not to do... As an aside, for every boy that had to endure one of my many, many letters (god, it seemed all I did was write frigging letters) I apologise. All those emotions of mine just had to get on paper... They still do. The other thing I've realised, is that there is no term of love for friendships - and yet, they are the great unsung relationships of our lives. I've been a good, if challenging friend - as my own hang ups meant I need/needed to feel prioritised and valued, perhaps in a way that others don't. I think I've finally realised that people not calling me back immediately - isn't a sign that I don't matter. Yes, it took me a degree in counselling and 50 years to get there... </p><p>A friend came to visit last September having not seen me for quite a few years and she said I was calmer than she had ever known me. Thank god eh? I feel very lucky that I met my husband and had my children - even all the young kid years where I was working full time at Enders, writing 13 Babble articles a month and on my knees. The key to life I feel is balance - colouring in that old life wheel and realising that you've got each bit covered and none compromising the other. I work from home, I get to write every day, I get to counsel teens and give back something that would have benefitted me enormously when I was that teen. I get to jump in cold water and be fully in nature and that keeps me sane. Another dear friend asked me: 'you make your own Xmas wreaths and get in cold swampy lakes for fun - who the fuck are you?' As that is a picture far removed from my hedonistic 24 year old swinging from the Met bar days... I don't miss that girl. I was looking for things to fulfil me that I was never going to find there, no matter the glitter, no matter the excitement, no matter the glamour. </p><p>I still get excited by the thought of a cocktail. (Preferably at a hotel bar). By a gathering. By parties. I still think anything is possible, no matter my age. I don't have regrets (except not going to see U2 that summer of '93 with my school buddies in a limo), because every mistake I hope - in time - I have learnt from. You learn nothing from successes bar one thing: that hard work is what it takes to get there. I've had several careers and instead of seeing that as some kind of failure - I see that now as a success. I wanted so desperately to become that TV presenter and I got there: replete with chauffeur driven cars to work, makeup and wardrobe and studio lights. It was fun, as long as presenting can be for women (until the work dries up). I'm happier where I am now. I'm saddened by cancel culture and the way I am more afraid in this era of insane correctness, to speak out than I was in the 90s... We are all too quick to judge and if we could all just listen that bit more or try and understand others - realising that division is pointless, we'd all be in a better place. The other day I drove into my local garage, and a guy was crossing deliberately slowly so I just drove on in. He shouted abuse at me and ignoring him, I parked up, got petrol and duly paid. I looked out to see that he had walked back and was in fact photographing my license plate. I went after him and he shouted that the Highway code had changed and that he had right of way. He was apoplectic with rage, gunning to fight, so I took a breath and replied: 'thank you so much for telling me, I'm truly sorry, I had no idea. I am grateful you took the time to tell me.' Well he had no clue what to do with that. He stood stock still, stunned. I was being sincere too. He was utterly thrown. Try it - back down, agree, understand, see their side - and wham, life isn't the row everyone expects or perhaps wants.</p><p>So what for my future? Who knows... What I have also realised is how little of anything, we control - much as we would want to. Money might make life easier and buy better health care (sadly) - but it doesn't keep us safe. I hope I make it to 60. I hope I'm still curious about people, still getting in lakes and that my dog is somehow alive forever... My 50th will be spent getting in the sea, cake of some sort, a wonderful seafood meal in The Rockstore in Cornwall and er... visiting the biggest Witches and Magic museum in the world. I may get a tarot reading to see what is in store, but in truth, I don't want to know... May it be as glorious, as fun and as loving as the past 30 years have been. </p><p>Maybe, I'll still be wearing my Portobello market dress... </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrboYqp_cZjkFSNdyb-yc0LzoUtQ9QnzcVHQKXNtct36XJTIdZT6cVuDlwonM0KeCqcNjXh7O-iR0xN96W7hRhXlMsz5Cq2h1FhGBuyX5va4wTpWMkdPPt32tYCKGcpLRhGHz6lp7dXubWepiePYVcu8OvKrpvkaI3tPbaSMGHQF9fCpb555fQ3xhg/s1251/fullsizeoutput_26d9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1251" data-original-width="579" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrboYqp_cZjkFSNdyb-yc0LzoUtQ9QnzcVHQKXNtct36XJTIdZT6cVuDlwonM0KeCqcNjXh7O-iR0xN96W7hRhXlMsz5Cq2h1FhGBuyX5va4wTpWMkdPPt32tYCKGcpLRhGHz6lp7dXubWepiePYVcu8OvKrpvkaI3tPbaSMGHQF9fCpb555fQ3xhg/w296-h640/fullsizeoutput_26d9.jpeg" width="296" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-85783843916971773422022-11-30T09:20:00.007+00:002022-11-30T13:30:27.795+00:00The M word/Mental heath and She Said. <p> 1. Whoever created woman, really was a misogynist. Why on earth would they decide to give us teenagers, ageing parents and the menopause all at once? I mean, WTF? I worship at the altar of HRT as without it I would be more cray cray than I already am. It is like PMT on steroids. I'm FURIOUS - like, ready to kill because the dog has wandered upstairs and onto our bed, leaving a trail of muddy little paw prints everywhere. The kids haven't tidied their rooms and why WHY have I more laundry to do? Where does it come from? And why does no sock match EVER? Then, in a heartbeat, I just am so teary. Ready to burst into floods just because there are no cookies left in the tin. All I wanted was a cup of tea and that last chocolate chocolate chip. Husband says it is like walking a tightrope living with me. He has been googling menopause symptoms. I think I can get away with anything at the moment - because I just scream - IT'S THE GODDAMN MENOPAUSE at him loudly. Rationally, obviously. My hair is thinner, my face starting to droop, I am so TIRED all the time. More paranoid than a spy, I slink around the house, desperate to just go to bed and sleep forever like some middle aged sleeping beauty who doesn't ever want to be disturbed by any handsome prince. I rang a friend in tears on Sunday and discovered she too had gone to bed as she hated everyone and everyone hated her. She said at least there she wasn't fighting with anyone. I had my womb out in 2016 - I have no periods, so I have no freaking idea if I am peri-menopusal, in the thick of it - or like my mate E - who was told by her doctors that she had gone through it... unknowingly. So this not knowing where the hell I am menopause wise keeps me on my toes. I also forget everything. Who even am I? A few months back I wept as I couldn't find the car keys. I had bundled them up in a T shirt to take upstairs to the laundry basket... Why? Who knows. I am talking and I forget words. What is that stuff to clean your teeth with - tooth thread? Oh yes - floss! Floss! How did I forget that? Because the menopause is the gift that keeps on giving. Just when you think you have your symptoms licked - along comes a new one. Sigh. </p><p>2. Last week, I did something I never like doing as a freelancer. I turned down work. The lovely universe was looking out for me as a chance encounter in a pub in my little market town, one Xmas eve, led to the events of last week. I was offered the chance to be in a writer's room (I love them even if they are terrifying) but I happened to know (due to the Xmas eve encounter with people who I have never seen again) that the head writer (who I had never met) was best friends with the only person I would never work with again. And they were likely to be in that room. Literally the only person in TV bar Kelvin MacKenzie that I would rather eat my eyeballs than have to be in a room with for 5 days. So I turned down the opportunity. Because, my sanity is worth more to me than any cash. The older I get the more I realise - work with those you like hanging around with. Creative life is difficult at the best of times, so be as kind to yourself as possible. I felt nothing but relief at saying no and thanking my lucky stars I had made the connection and not turned up in the room to be faced by the toxic fresh hell of that person. Who knows, they may have changed - and it would have been ok - but I take no chances. This year I've been so lucky with all those I have worked with - it has been my most favourit-ist year yet work wise. Gawd bless those who have been my creative team mates... My new rule in life - it is too short to be unhappy. It is too stressful in and of itself. So don't add to it if you can. You don't want to go to that Xmas party but you think you should? SAY NO. Tell them you are washing your hair, or the dog or whatever. No more to people pleasing. I spent decades saying yes to things that I didn't want to do for fear of upsetting people. Now, NO is my new word. Well, if I remember it... (see above). </p><p>3. Last night I snuck off to the movies alone to avoid the football. Despite being DESPERATE to see Bones and All - husband miraculously wants to see it too, so I decided to go for 'She Said' the story of Jodi Cantor and Meghan Twohey - two brave New York Times journalists who wrote an article detailing Harvey Weinstein's decades long history of alleged abuse against women. The story that launched the #Metoo movement and brought about the horrific rapist's downfall. It's watchable, upsetting, if no longer shocking (we all know the stories now as the article led to many more women coming forward) and yet... </p><p>I noticed at the start that this is a 'Plan B' production - which is owned by Brad Pitt. In it Gwyneth Paltrow is mentioned many times and held up as one of the women who came forward first about Harvey. Paltrow and Pitt are on great terms - she recently interviewed him on her Goop website. But what of Angelina Jolie's bravery in coming forward at the same time? Omitted here. The whole film gave more than whiff of Hollywood patting itself on the back for making a film about the article, when in fact the majority of Hollywood - Pitt included - knew exactly what Harvey was doing and yet stood by... As long as they got the parts and the Oscar buzz - who cared, right? I found it hard to stomach in parts. What of all those who enabled Weinstein? Who continue to enable predators? On a slight tangent - I guess it's ok that a woman is banged up for her connections to Epstein while all those who flew on his Lolita Express just go about their business... If anyone fancies on joining the dots of why fancy lawyers are representing Epstein victims - and ultimately deciding who is to blame for what happened - all the while Maxwell's little black book has mysteriously vanished - and no man has yet been held accountable for what happened to these women - take a little look at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/houseinhabit/?hl=en">House Inhabit</a> on Instagram. I no longer buy into the narrative the media want us to know on stories such as this - when the real story is so much more shocking.... </p><p>PS Random stuff, I know. It's the MENOPAUSE ok???? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-88713080500903719522022-09-19T16:25:00.004+01:002022-09-19T20:00:14.095+01:00Success?<p>There is a famous saying: good girls keep diaries - bad girls don't have time. </p><p>Not so, according to the diaries I managed to fill in the late 90s. I've been reading over them for something I am working on and 97 - 99, when I'm a budding reporter/presenter, is spent in a blur of filming, parties, launches, cocktails and stumbling out of the Met Bar at 4am when the lights came on - like a cooler version of the Shane Park school discos where the bright lights illuminating your dodgy neon leggings and even dodgier frosted lipstick, were a sign of - get the hell home now. </p><p>Reading my antics, let alone living them, is exhausting. I am so busy STRIVING for attention and acceptance and well, love - that I barely have time to eat. I tell myself, shamefully, that if I am famous, if I get that glorious next job, if I rise up the ranks to dizzying heights (not sure what these precisely are) then I will be happy. It is goalpost after goalpost. Rarely do I stop to saviour the moments of triumph (blagging my way into and then backstage at Stella McCartney's first ever Chloe fashion show; lying my way into a Bond Premiere and getting a one to one with Bond himself; surviving attending a human autopsy with a Brit party induced hangover). Also, are these REALLY moments of triumph? Or just moments where I convinced myself that at long last I was 'enough.' I am certain that validation is waiting at the end of a camera, or in the arms of some fly-by-night director, or a morose comedian. What I never realised is that I had to give it to myself first... </p><p>Of course we live in a capitalist society where success is valued in monetary gains and status symbols - but at heart we are hunter/gatherers, desperate to belong to a tribe, needing to be amongst nature. We adapt behaviours to compete - when we don't even realise who we really are competing against. Or what for. </p><p>I listened to an amazing podcast at the weekend: '<a href="https://drchatterjee.com/dr-gabor-mate-on-trauma-illness-and-healing-in-a-toxic-culture/" target="_blank">Feel Better Live More</a>,' where Dr Rangan Chatterjee chats to physician and author Gabor Mate. (I'm a fan). They discussed former rugby union player Jonny Wilkinson - who dreamed of playing for England, in a world cup and scoring the winning point... This was his ultimate goal. Then - it only went and bloody happened. In the World Cup final in 2003 he kicked the winning drop goal in the last minute of the game. According to a story he told, before the ball had even dropped to the ground, he started to feel low. The following morning he could hardly get up out of bed and then sank into a deep depression. He had a goal - it gave him purpose in life - but at the ripe old age of 24 he'd achieved his dream - so what then? Jim Carrey wishes <i>everyone</i> could be rich and famous to see just how it doesn't make one happy... When you fail and have to get up or when you are trying endlessly to get to a point in the distance and then suddenly, miraculously it appears - who are you then? Society says you are rich/famous/gorgeous/successful - so why do you feel like an imposter or if you take your foot of the pedal your house of cards will all come tumbling down?</p><p>Michael Jackson woke up one night (I know I know, he's persona non grata these days but hear me out) and he had a banging tune in his head. Rather than go back to sleep or just write it down, he got up and went into his recording studio, desperate to record it. At 7am in rolled his studio engineer wondering why on earth Jacko wasn't getting his beauty sleep. Jacko tells him he has been up most of the night laying this tune that was in his head. Surely they could have recorded the song that morning muses the engineer? Jackson turns to him and replies: 'No, because if I'd gone back to sleep, God would have given that tune to Prince.' </p><p>In the podcast Dr Chatterjee talks about a time when his book was coming out and he got a phone call to tell him that it had done well. Exceedingly so. He took the news, thought 'oh ok,' and then went about his day. He admits that previously, news like this would have given him a high as his ego would have been royally massaged. But, he's done a heck of a lot of work on himself and he doesn't need success (book sales, fans etc.) to validate who he is. He discussed believing in his work, regardless of how others viewed it. The moment we look to outside sources to give us validation, we lose our own sense of power. </p><p>Another quick story: I listened to <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/episode-6-andre-aciman-novelist/id1490412801?i=1000460867972" target="_blank">another podcast,</a> where the writer of 'Call Me By your Name (SUCH a beautiful book) Andre Aciman was talking about his newest novel. The interviewer was commenting how <i>Call Me By Your Name </i>was huge and even moreso because of the Oscar-winning film adaptation. She wondered how all this interest and attention had affected him? Aciman said that whilst yes, it was lovely that the film had brought him a whole host of new readers, that they will disappear, the attention will vanish and then his core readers will remain. He didn't pay much heed to the glitter, the noise, the sudden interest, because he didn't need it nor desire it. He was just happy, sitting in his little office in New York, writing as he always did, enjoying the journey. It struck me just how assured he is; how happy in his own skin and how joyful he finds writing, regardless of how his books are received. </p><p>Life is fucking short - I have witnessed this on several occasions over the past few years, when I've lost people I dearly loved, who died young. Why spend what time we have here, striving for something that only will temporarily boost our egos? What a horrific waste of time... </p><p>I look back at those painfully detailed, raw and exposing diaries and feel compassion for my younger self. I was looking in all the wrong places. Now I get my kicks from the most mundane of activities. A dog walk yesterday led me to pass by a small library of books hidden within a little nest of bushes near the end of my lane. One book jumped out at me to read: 'The unexpected joy of the ordinary.' I picked it up because I've learnt (as the film 'Soul' so beautifully depicts) that it is the very minutiae of a daily life that makes it so thrilling: the perfect cup of tea in the morning, a robin landing outside a window; a hug from a friend; the chatter of my kids over dinner; a glass of red as the fire roars. Over the past few years I have very deliberately carved out a very simple life for myself; living on the edge of town, with a little stream babbling in my garden; venturing into cold waters every week and walking my dog through fields and forests every day. I've studied and graduated not only to counsel teenagers but more importantly to counsel myself. People keep asking - will you now be a counsellor? Or a writer? Can't I be both? It is surprising how similar both jobs are... </p><p>Speaking of jobs - why does there have to be competition? Another thing Jonny Wilkinson said is that winning the cup meant he no longer played rugby for the joy of the game. Isn't that a shame? When does an activity you have loved become a ball ache - a means to simply make money? I've written diaries since I was a child, blogs as I got older, scripts for a living. I will never not write - regardless what it is for. Does it even have to be for <i>something</i>? My son has just done his GCSEs and I told him simply to pick A levels he would enjoy. That's it. If you don't enjoy what you are doing - studying/job/life - then why the hell are you doing it and who exactly for? </p><p>Which brings me back to all that success I was busy networking for and hustling to get back in my stardust days. I think my nights on the town brought me one job in the end. I lied to myself that I was busy trying to get the glory and get my face on screen because I was 'good at my job.' Which maybe I was... But really it was to be seen, to be heard, to be wanted. It was all just ego. All that comparison with others - it is only ever going to bring misery. A good friend of mine in the arts, rang recently - upset that her particular artistic endeavours were not being received with as much applause as some other people's. I told her that it was all just noise and fluff and instagram bollocks. I reminded her that she would still have to make dinner that night. Take the bins out. Iron school uniforms etc. That really all that 'success' is just bullshit. In the grand scheme of things, whatever you put out, however it received isn't really the point. What is one person's trash is another's treasure and art is subjective; we all respond to a painting in a completely different way. If you are doing it to be on best seller lists or to get awards - then what does that say about your needs and how fragile they are? What if they fail? Or perhaps worse - what if they succeed? Then where will you be? Trumping yourself I guess.... </p><p>This year I had some bad news about a work thing in January. I walked up the hill, in the rain, through the muddy fields and wept. The next day, I felt completely normal again. Back at the wheel. In August I had some amazing news and I smiled to myself, told my husband and then got on with making dinner. The highs these days aren't so high and the lows aren't so low. That locus of evaluation is more internal. I don't need to feed my ego. Thank god. </p><p>I only wish my 24 year old self could have discovered the above much sooner. I would've saved myself a fortune in lipstick and heels. </p><p>Still, I got there in the end. </p><p>Now I just need to burn these bloody diaries so my kids never get their mitts on them.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-31158170122367755462022-09-05T17:16:00.003+01:002022-11-30T13:32:36.321+00:00All endings are new beginnings....<p> ... Or so the saying goes. </p><p>2022 has been a vintage year for me (bar one sad loss that I'm still getting to grips with). </p><p>Hand on heart I'm not one for change. I like the comfortable falling apart worn slippers, the roads travelled, the familiarity of faces. So I understood perfectly why my 11 year old was utterly distraught when she had to say goodbye to her much loved primary school in July. The horrifically warm weather had put paid to a few of the school's plans, so she suddenly had her leavers' service on the same day as the leavers' show (where she played a resoundingly natural Peggy Mitchell) and then promptly left the following day. A day she declared as 'the saddest of my life.' I can only hope that stays true for the rest of her days as then she will be truly blessed... </p><p>Meanwhile Sproglet - (which seems an insane name for my now 16 year old) had to contend with GCSEs and then a long stretch of summer with absolutely nothing to do. That of course changed the minute I herded him out of the house, suit on, CV in hand, with the words: 'get a job.' He is now a cherished employee (so he tells me) at Costa coffee, where I am delighted to report one of his duties involves cleaning the bogs. Amazing. I also have witnessed him empty and change a bin there - something he has yet to do at home. Coupled with refereeing money, he had enough to spend when he went camping at Reading estival for 4 nights. He survived. Perhaps also as importantly, I SURVIVED this - although a fair amount of alcohol was consumed to make me forget that my first born was doing god knows what in a tent in a field surrounded by people off their faces. </p><p>The day before, he had held at our house an 'arts and crafts' day where with the help of his 3 buddies and my old schoolmate H, we had popped unbroken caps off water bottles and filled said empties with pure vodka. Another mother had made vodka jellies, disguised in shower gel bottles. Four bottles of shower gel carried in by a teen boy at a festival? Unlikely... The house was a hive of activity that I image was similar to bootleg stores during prohibition. One of H's 11 year old twins asked to to sip water from a bottle she found in the fridge, lest it be pure vodka... </p><p>GCSEs done successfully, he is now suited and booted and off to sixth year, to do A levels. I cannot quite comprehend that when I started this blog he wasn't yet 2 - and somehow in 2 years he will hopefully be heading to Uni... Where has the time gone?</p><p>This year began hopefully and ended up exceeding my expectations. Sproglette's school team won nationals at table tennis and bless her, she won Dacorum's Elite Sportsperson award from over 80 schools in the area in July (always a great time to sweat in a school hall for 3 hours). From April - July was INTENSE. Juggling two scripts, the last term of a degree, counselling for Rape Crisis and at school for a day, plus supervision and actually attending college on Thursdays from 1-7 meant I worked every weekend for 7. It was punishing. My whiteboard looked like the diaries of the serial killer in Se7en.... I thought July would never come. Then suddenly, it did. College after 4.5 years was over. Those people know me in many ways as well as my oldest mates - and here I was saying goodbye. My supervisor asked me: 'what will replace college for you?' I'm still pondering that answer. I passed my counselling diploma in August, fittingly hearing on holiday and duly celebrated. A string to my bow. Writing is keeping me busy, but hopefully I'll manage to do a bit of both. There is nothing quite so rewarding as helping someone help themselves... </p><p>Every week I still got in the lake with my mate KR and said to her - I will get to Greece. I am holding the thought of getting in that warm water. It keeps me going.</p><p>That warm water was worth waiting for. </p><p>Especially as one of the places we island hopped to ended up being right smack bang next to an abandoned water park. The stuff of amateur horror films - and yet, I had several beach coves to myself, with water so aquamarine, it was as if I had dreamt it. On our last day I went for a swim alone, drinking in the beauty of the place; taking a mental picture to go back there when I need to. Paros, you were perfection. </p><p>The summer was a haze of ABBA (My My!), cocktails, family and friends visiting, home made slip n slides, fishing in the stream and bizarrely looking after chickens. On one evening, I suggested a dog walk to a pub along our canal, where inexplicably two sets of Morris dancers decided to have a dance off. No fever dream I have had came close. Three gins later and I nearly danced with them. Three weeks later upon our return from Greece I ventured back to the same pub - only to discover - yep, those dancers were back for one last hooly. While my husband cried about one of the dancer's blind dog Stevie (as in Stevie Wonder) I found myself almost agreeing to join their group. Is there anything as joyful as a morris dancer? I think not... </p><p>And so, the summer is coming to an end. Sproglette headed off for her first day at big school today - the first time she has donned a skirt since nursery days... Sproglet advising her on skirt length/tie wearing/teachers... After the chaos of summer, the jam packed working calendar since March, the house was silent and I returned to my desk. </p><p>On it is a photo of me aged 17, in London visiting my older, much more glamorous and beautiful step sister. Her bright blue eyes shining, her white blonde hair flicked out, her face tanned and smiling. It was July 1990. We lost her on May 13th this year. Well, losing her isn't quite right. Cancer devoured her until there was little of her left. The last time I saw her she stripped and said to me 'look, this is what cancer does to you.' It is a brutal, humiliating, savage bastard of a disease. </p><p>So instead of mourning all the change in my life; fretting over the unknowns, the 'what ifs' - I embrace every single day. Sounds cliched doesn't it? I made a pledge to myself every day from now to Xmas, I'll throw on my trainers run out into the lane and up the hill and take in season.... I'll hurl myself into those cold lakes; I'll plan that up-coming 50th no matter the cost, I'll dance with those Morris dancers next time they appear in town. Because we only have today. That's it. The temperature may start to dip. The longer nights drawing in. Embrace it all. Who knows what's round the corner?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSpNFp2mSIBaftIY7IRDAG2x4kex8aQdZ1g3BBOUN5NVz3LaenEHIBPZFPt92ThXL1NWrF16WUwCzkIctHHqRVi8DLdHYrVNaPWJEQNLS_lDdXl3-ISpmMl2CvizQn4XsPoKkpFJ1dug34WJ014sFAy_er7yY2evnuZacoEGGA-mGXWO_-EZpQMi1/s4032/MO6UozyCQmSYuMUjY7IOoA.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSpNFp2mSIBaftIY7IRDAG2x4kex8aQdZ1g3BBOUN5NVz3LaenEHIBPZFPt92ThXL1NWrF16WUwCzkIctHHqRVi8DLdHYrVNaPWJEQNLS_lDdXl3-ISpmMl2CvizQn4XsPoKkpFJ1dug34WJ014sFAy_er7yY2evnuZacoEGGA-mGXWO_-EZpQMi1/s320/MO6UozyCQmSYuMUjY7IOoA.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDxLEqroebkjnFKBUOmhf4qwDDMdFZaF-TlCXDIs1szbn1OdtSq1LIKhQdlOjDCnTZgoF2FthWD142O0iOA-ClIOOBIH8MoZHCrz6QHwiejSRKa3NeZbspg16z1p2KhuVJiCcuMwGHbMWLLHa_dRSA5BFeFYFdUZpFd-xzDQ-zrXYtTdN4m5kQM2a/s4032/Xkm9Rq7VRrWrcCvLpbykMw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUi_c-94GfbouccgOE7kid2yQ8LfNNUCiZlZdQWA6afSrKeGJOWE0nnaiYH01Pqf5_pfP428OUQNOz8qBBizQ83pNEdYGjfCduBjCVBu2oLcbNgxRRCls4UeXsVNl4JRSt0NeiE7dKdhcFO0FW4c1B_G7h4m5arRwufyUTD-4mjS70yXJzAqQWQB8m/s320/UBCnSowmS9qWhW6+LJ12mg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvMTwsZ7hpJHPrMHbMiqRr2RJajS6C4U4WV43uUk6-dpXEM5OnivNJrp_0LaSHXD9A44mQASeoqvfilFyIvcdM9xNp4cLyATr45rzO0JnavDYQBnJ3Pu-Zv3fEFxRzXPNJy3GdZxsnx7gBCEjRkaQe1FN7vXw9Vv0cGZjUdWydh1Tg80YTKmztdCA/s4032/goh3+EYfRbaxkPvkgRRSdQ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvMTwsZ7hpJHPrMHbMiqRr2RJajS6C4U4WV43uUk6-dpXEM5OnivNJrp_0LaSHXD9A44mQASeoqvfilFyIvcdM9xNp4cLyATr45rzO0JnavDYQBnJ3Pu-Zv3fEFxRzXPNJy3GdZxsnx7gBCEjRkaQe1FN7vXw9Vv0cGZjUdWydh1Tg80YTKmztdCA/s320/goh3+EYfRbaxkPvkgRRSdQ.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-29687443479612763512021-12-31T15:54:00.002+00:002021-12-31T16:11:56.716+00:00So, how was it for you? <p>It's all a bit of a blur isn't it? </p><p>Are we in 2020, or 2021? Delta or Omicron? Lockdown or 'don't go to work, but DO go to NYE parties?' Will this fecking pandemic ever end?</p><p>I'm now super-immunised after covid last xmas (thank you delta); 2 jabs, a booster and 5 days later - boom! Omicron. It only lasted a day symptom wise - a few aches, a headache, but an underlying lung infection (my third this giving winter) required steroids - which today, I finished and I'm feeling much more my old self again. Hurrah! So I thought I'd take a trip across 2021 to see what pearls of wisdom I discovered this year and what I'm hoping for in 2022. Crickey 2022, it seems but a heartbeat ago we were ushering in the millennium. </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpbW_phev6ZP-XYe7slUWtd71-bcC2REax0VwgOAqjbRJ69EaTcJ76HYefX6eIqxz8SIwjNsinIiJMG6QvjKqy2TnOr1RRj0h2h7EVhTzaHuvSzYebYFELdTn8ChKYVEea_P_C4fqEzmbsA2oFo47c5ZvVhI7zdNAwhzhhwM6gPrBETvhH6FsP8FsQ=s4032" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpbW_phev6ZP-XYe7slUWtd71-bcC2REax0VwgOAqjbRJ69EaTcJ76HYefX6eIqxz8SIwjNsinIiJMG6QvjKqy2TnOr1RRj0h2h7EVhTzaHuvSzYebYFELdTn8ChKYVEea_P_C4fqEzmbsA2oFo47c5ZvVhI7zdNAwhzhhwM6gPrBETvhH6FsP8FsQ=s320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4Yu_ejBdeSTZYPgzDHBxQGJt3a801CAmI1-ISxM1SrJd2Csu-mDdsOxBVGe6_AQN4F8lfViJrqwRLefQg0AAn9sbPXJ0Mx3eDpN-5f4dSg4o3qnXtuWK6dVJ98JWio6a3kX-oV3w8lHEr2lAfwpHvEdp7WwUr3vS01DJMt7imGdGn2sXcBQZcQO82=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4Yu_ejBdeSTZYPgzDHBxQGJt3a801CAmI1-ISxM1SrJd2Csu-mDdsOxBVGe6_AQN4F8lfViJrqwRLefQg0AAn9sbPXJ0Mx3eDpN-5f4dSg4o3qnXtuWK6dVJ98JWio6a3kX-oV3w8lHEr2lAfwpHvEdp7WwUr3vS01DJMt7imGdGn2sXcBQZcQO82=s320" width="240" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>1. A quick gander across my photos of the year shows me that clearly the most important member of my family is my dog. 80% of all the pics were of his sweet soulful face and silky ears. It seems all I did all year was walk a dog and get in icy water. There was a particularly vicious ankle injury on St. Paddy's day - but sadly I was sober and yes, you guessed it, on a dog walk. The moral of this - look where you are going and it pays occasionally to look down - those little potholes on country lanes are just waiting to get you...</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBsCHXmfHoas2sTMKmk_8PUV0p0GyPgjnchUMRHcpCQK9fi8FylTwOL8Q4lCdC5KfNmgn6SXBISEaVDmcvrFrJIcUGDIM5pRvU9bVIqv47vIOjPIK136gfxIU-oCh6Gxfzn124eF6rP65CCXso-uXh14SCeDDS8PLsSYGA8iMsZP9cx2rquWtf2sjG=s3724" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2096" data-original-width="3724" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBsCHXmfHoas2sTMKmk_8PUV0p0GyPgjnchUMRHcpCQK9fi8FylTwOL8Q4lCdC5KfNmgn6SXBISEaVDmcvrFrJIcUGDIM5pRvU9bVIqv47vIOjPIK136gfxIU-oCh6Gxfzn124eF6rP65CCXso-uXh14SCeDDS8PLsSYGA8iMsZP9cx2rquWtf2sjG=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. Talking of that icy water - nothing gave me greater pleasure than getting in. Ok that's a lie. Nothing gave me more pleasure than 25 seconds AFTER I had got in that freezing lake. For the first 25 the pain - THE PAIN - dear god - in my elbows, around the nape of my neck and oddly my shoulders, was like I was on fire. Then all of a sudden - nothing. Just bliss. Just swimming along, in awe of the fact that it was 0.6 degrees on Valentine's day. Well, what says romance more than being shouted at by a scary fisherman warning of impending death by catfish? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfDFNu4ECtKKZyMin2ucke5X59kUpkAsnGwgpbHrAn6HqC43Fa4XZ-ViFbeHZvbX5uwo11wbSUBKAYUF5NqgNc7C58PGtBs_B_LPNh3u2o_xD9SS-XYTxb6McYYoE9zqVvG8VfAG3X1vMFGRPjche5zoqEJMoqPCnxFj6T6IOXPQKyDCxLa52_4XWN=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfDFNu4ECtKKZyMin2ucke5X59kUpkAsnGwgpbHrAn6HqC43Fa4XZ-ViFbeHZvbX5uwo11wbSUBKAYUF5NqgNc7C58PGtBs_B_LPNh3u2o_xD9SS-XYTxb6McYYoE9zqVvG8VfAG3X1vMFGRPjche5zoqEJMoqPCnxFj6T6IOXPQKyDCxLa52_4XWN=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRcRmZGd0qOZ7nkbH-lbou8f134rY6ZRUmivoceStWAFDp8i8yQf75bn7ZQjoupy71Y_uz3ibdzxF__T4T1wFL0E-FxElO907HmKdgImyD_5zwswe8dg3TWCF0hHsU83p2sJFLHukus15gBqE5AUXipHkE0JWKiHdrTEw1aa-7wcWfJnfsr1YpgLKR=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiRcRmZGd0qOZ7nkbH-lbou8f134rY6ZRUmivoceStWAFDp8i8yQf75bn7ZQjoupy71Y_uz3ibdzxF__T4T1wFL0E-FxElO907HmKdgImyD_5zwswe8dg3TWCF0hHsU83p2sJFLHukus15gBqE5AUXipHkE0JWKiHdrTEw1aa-7wcWfJnfsr1YpgLKR=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. Reading this week about an interview with CBBC presenter Sarah Jane Honeywell who lost her job at the BBC for daring ten years ago to strip naked for a PTEA, I was struck at how she turned a really difficult time in her life into something positive. She said 'I'm so grateful though and I now know - even when life doesn't go the way you want it, things can turn out better than you wished for anyway.' Which is perhaps the greatest lesson in life to learn. The failures, the mistakes - those are where we learn - not from our roaring successes. Also, these champagne moments are but just that - mere moments - so if we don't celebrate and enjoy the struggle to get there, then what's the point? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She also added 'You are not your salary or even where you live. You are not what other people think of you.... You are you and to be alive means everything.' I couldn't agree more. The older I get I see how we all surround ourselves with 'stuff' to make us feel safe, to feel seen, to feel valued, to feel 'successful.' I read of a retreat where folk go and ask a single question all weekend: who am I? They begin with their job, marital status, if they have family, where they live, their hobbies, their achievements, but as they strip them all away - who really are they? A head-fry for sure, but really all the 'stuff' is just fancy window dressing. Don't be afraid to do a bit of an internal closet clear out - and what you find may not be pretty. But letting go of old scripts in your head that do not serve you; being fallible; being unafraid to take a new path - may not be easy, but, trust me, so worth it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSoA1QCxrUOs4QRewpAkzJirmfdPe7N_Zx-8Xc-zuJ6_0iygMYXPYio-mGv46q7PdTcHxZB5S3rpyXZOUVdASoiNq1Nx7oNX4NqXBfZ61565Svj7oCDvpGEl0zYW5q1rEdwJ-AsNx3OT6sx4xx1Y7m08gjsr_43IMd8pAiyUQrgqwE-0a2pFcb820B=s3024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="2983" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSoA1QCxrUOs4QRewpAkzJirmfdPe7N_Zx-8Xc-zuJ6_0iygMYXPYio-mGv46q7PdTcHxZB5S3rpyXZOUVdASoiNq1Nx7oNX4NqXBfZ61565Svj7oCDvpGEl0zYW5q1rEdwJ-AsNx3OT6sx4xx1Y7m08gjsr_43IMd8pAiyUQrgqwE-0a2pFcb820B=w395-h400" width="395" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4. All I am hoping for in 2022 is health and more life experiences. My new rule is for every item of clothing I buy - I'll sell/give away something else. I'm all about simplicity this year. Less is more. Looking through this year's photos again - my best days were those with friends or family, sunshine, sea, lakes or country lanes... My swim buddy KR is all about the mini-break. She believes the way forward in life is simply to have as many mini-breaks as possible. This year I had several - including a girls' night in London in October - and I have to say - they are my new favourite thing. Holidays can drag. Family tensions can rise up after sharing an apartment for a week - but a mini-break? No time to get grouchy! No time to feel on day 4 that you can't face the buffet breakfast again or having to make small talk with the people by the pool for the 7th day in a row... 48 hours people is all you need! </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcw_QPQVrbWj1922spklkz9Xwhnn4_FQjPy2bHXYTgAwinXLVDj-6ivpWyHFW21a4_w5VkvsxsVYKrc3E3MDnp8HRAJQcsyUmtT2m9shUFBf252iwsatQSBJqaBXsYdh9ze8WTNG9OUqQ1OqPGWqk1c4Uq4wqji3xEVajxi6qAb52QFN3yRG4wf2qv=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcw_QPQVrbWj1922spklkz9Xwhnn4_FQjPy2bHXYTgAwinXLVDj-6ivpWyHFW21a4_w5VkvsxsVYKrc3E3MDnp8HRAJQcsyUmtT2m9shUFBf252iwsatQSBJqaBXsYdh9ze8WTNG9OUqQ1OqPGWqk1c4Uq4wqji3xEVajxi6qAb52QFN3yRG4wf2qv=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6lZKOssn5VvERit-q6AxvaKr7O3T1b6plzXsGhXND60FDsvoGqipWdFqQ5L8CZ73A8UktmNuiKKzzgqzAQ2mLEcVjnc2COMdv-Bjj_YP5GBHnsNpXk8yw1IF3Beb1vX9hSanTaFZ7y9Mc3mGLg09JDQLwvXk5xCQfI92YcQFGcO2ROcOR6JMJ1Flk=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6lZKOssn5VvERit-q6AxvaKr7O3T1b6plzXsGhXND60FDsvoGqipWdFqQ5L8CZ73A8UktmNuiKKzzgqzAQ2mLEcVjnc2COMdv-Bjj_YP5GBHnsNpXk8yw1IF3Beb1vX9hSanTaFZ7y9Mc3mGLg09JDQLwvXk5xCQfI92YcQFGcO2ROcOR6JMJ1Flk=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5. This year I have had to volunteer as part of my degree - 100 hours of my time no less. Its a bit of a gift to help others empower themselves. You get to see (forgive me for getting all Carl Rogers over here) that giving people autonomy, a safe space in which to talk, to feel free of judgement and showing them unconditional positive regard - changes them. What I think surprised me more, is that has changed me too. The biggest gift of this year was realising - really getting - that I can't control anything pretty much or anyone. Just my reactions to things. God I wish I'd known that at 25. I'd have saved myself an awful lot of energy caring about what others think. </div></blockquote><p> </p><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEie-kklj6DrFaV6uSAHMMqyWtq917WaQBzeH_ijo8dXHKRAA0mcOxIq9y6Oyi-NToG1uJeu-hSEmfgoxkB1TId526VZ5ZN8_Knb0B7UtMkRBokaAEHTPTSaE5pcsfiVLzBNI-UNltwjMNW6JmfvqJv2PokZ7B4v2l5Urg9E-c7Tt2xrf3IDAVKOL_vI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEie-kklj6DrFaV6uSAHMMqyWtq917WaQBzeH_ijo8dXHKRAA0mcOxIq9y6Oyi-NToG1uJeu-hSEmfgoxkB1TId526VZ5ZN8_Knb0B7UtMkRBokaAEHTPTSaE5pcsfiVLzBNI-UNltwjMNW6JmfvqJv2PokZ7B4v2l5Urg9E-c7Tt2xrf3IDAVKOL_vI=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div></blockquote><p><br /></p><p>6. Life can change on a dime - so there is no time to waste! Do everything you want to. Today. Don't find excuses. Dare yourself. Be bold. Go on!</p><p>The other day a friend posted a pic on Facebook of a plane she had taken across the barrier reef - and 3 days later the same plane crashed killing one person and giving life changing injuries to the rest onboard. Below are photos of the bravest family I know - J, C and kids - who had their whole lives upturned in a matter of seconds, when J crashed his bike. Their lives have never been the same - but the resilience, the determination, the sheer strength of getting through this - is a testimony to what incredible people they are. Donate <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/127k" target="_blank">here</a> if you can - as they continue to battle for help from the already stretched to breaking point NHS - and every penny raised goes towards helping them all live as a family and Jaime continue his journey to regaining more sensation in his legs. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik9Ai63UzkN4Aaf0IEGOlIcROHxWTZLRJg_KPH18DKWbETDyl3YIQe6DyuakBs_cR35zC6yxDtV5GIaPtJjNa6m70bCAjx4uoEYLZZbPYpXhSHnvqJlo0r9LLTpvA2EQu70MTCd_W5uQh2gzGrroyiRlLebXmu7PZchGcHvP9xX5hLrZXz6Ls-dbut=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik9Ai63UzkN4Aaf0IEGOlIcROHxWTZLRJg_KPH18DKWbETDyl3YIQe6DyuakBs_cR35zC6yxDtV5GIaPtJjNa6m70bCAjx4uoEYLZZbPYpXhSHnvqJlo0r9LLTpvA2EQu70MTCd_W5uQh2gzGrroyiRlLebXmu7PZchGcHvP9xX5hLrZXz6Ls-dbut=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>6. Roll on summer. My happy place: Rathmullan. This year we were blessed with weather that was quite frankly - unbelievable. Normally you can't see your hand in front of you for the rain - but in 2021, the weather gods did shine upon us and grant us an insane amount of sunshine. Such a highlight. Bar the bastard jellyfish who stung me on day 2. (As an aside I am never not going on a mini-break without JM - who has a Mary Poppins stylee bag, whereupon she will bring out ANYTHING you request. Hairband? Plasters? Sting medicine? How about a full size beach blanket folded into a bag the size of a hankie? Oh and she had a 'whole rake of wine' in her room. I mean, if Carlsberg did holiday buddies....).<div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6ZRtR9Qj8gIvBZXwBRkIE-YE8dEl7Y_ID6EOlASPKhHeJjX_h1ZS6e-hG9DG8akSbqoNaxtqWoKbYExfFT0S_TKsGTIIFsMWdIvutVXQQJltlrvsSyoi3IS2mZYdpmrwPa_9eQtMgCi3YS_FCTOobwvHC5h8cISlj2O-qrqwYQB-r09xh8hnjpGZV=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1600" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6ZRtR9Qj8gIvBZXwBRkIE-YE8dEl7Y_ID6EOlASPKhHeJjX_h1ZS6e-hG9DG8akSbqoNaxtqWoKbYExfFT0S_TKsGTIIFsMWdIvutVXQQJltlrvsSyoi3IS2mZYdpmrwPa_9eQtMgCi3YS_FCTOobwvHC5h8cISlj2O-qrqwYQB-r09xh8hnjpGZV=w640-h530" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfKxVb-2lF5qRbU1eHnqfsPZ8Bvo3BTC26tpZEYg1rVwly_biJprrhwejCNC2UlApXh54yegcHAXQzt0_RkUQzdZ-a5uS2VT64wowABZ2MAiLZiUCt5XBOJxG7mMl5CvNehOvaUaREurBYui2rfZpoVLMCm6l4B-fw3pdYHGzm-tubJHfXXm35tCPz=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfKxVb-2lF5qRbU1eHnqfsPZ8Bvo3BTC26tpZEYg1rVwly_biJprrhwejCNC2UlApXh54yegcHAXQzt0_RkUQzdZ-a5uS2VT64wowABZ2MAiLZiUCt5XBOJxG7mMl5CvNehOvaUaREurBYui2rfZpoVLMCm6l4B-fw3pdYHGzm-tubJHfXXm35tCPz=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZq3I5omzznwRNYuRwutPevJwXK52-Rki4KK-jE2LlxsO36P5MpDn2gw37xbQYvy1wgra0V52XTApN646AGPzDnZcf_37H3OcUt939y5RiZFHj_JeMVssIf7rxlRPN6O0rjL7f84pVrkqFfAcePf7sC9pkx1hnBeXYfvjZUG9Qjk-a_DqbZZr1jgIj=s1600" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZq3I5omzznwRNYuRwutPevJwXK52-Rki4KK-jE2LlxsO36P5MpDn2gw37xbQYvy1wgra0V52XTApN646AGPzDnZcf_37H3OcUt939y5RiZFHj_JeMVssIf7rxlRPN6O0rjL7f84pVrkqFfAcePf7sC9pkx1hnBeXYfvjZUG9Qjk-a_DqbZZr1jgIj=s320" width="240" /></a></div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNTwgZJ6Lrl0-JRJboZjv39E8EJ4s0OK6OAJ7SCklUqwzB63XqsyaTcV9bDz2TJXO7s7-oYbxxM86x6sAYTvxRxs_gHVGqk72zq3ApFstOLWU5eiU7RwSvtVgL1eIiTgrfL9EXH_AV_IoyuuhUDNpqePnH-bGwPpgVPRtS-hDniqRRJLAUrCRktjca=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNTwgZJ6Lrl0-JRJboZjv39E8EJ4s0OK6OAJ7SCklUqwzB63XqsyaTcV9bDz2TJXO7s7-oYbxxM86x6sAYTvxRxs_gHVGqk72zq3ApFstOLWU5eiU7RwSvtVgL1eIiTgrfL9EXH_AV_IoyuuhUDNpqePnH-bGwPpgVPRtS-hDniqRRJLAUrCRktjca=s320" width="240" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3cHKaHwekKKDAK2SvNdmcjekQa3pfYxTfjrlXeGc6Iz2NSVWIA1yu90lXbhRBuOCGXLJMac2SduU1TzbxgiKyRU03HsLVDEmfa4RG41RaRJD5j9jvFqRrUHUp02BNhPW45bSMfy2Gl3Lkyx1jr68a5r6FVf7xBCf2GbJWdR08YBYiPtuFZCYSckfn=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3cHKaHwekKKDAK2SvNdmcjekQa3pfYxTfjrlXeGc6Iz2NSVWIA1yu90lXbhRBuOCGXLJMac2SduU1TzbxgiKyRU03HsLVDEmfa4RG41RaRJD5j9jvFqRrUHUp02BNhPW45bSMfy2Gl3Lkyx1jr68a5r6FVf7xBCf2GbJWdR08YBYiPtuFZCYSckfn=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">7. My last year of my 40s - HOLY SHIT. But you know, I'm lucky to be here. I'll be seeing in a new year with my family over a particularly vicious game of Bullshit/Kids against maturity/Uno. I'm grateful for all the experiences of 2021 - even lockdown in Jan/Feb (although I remember virtually none of it). The 3 birthday cakes before 9am on my birthday, the dinners and the drinks and the sunshine and even the moments of unbearable sadness. Loss is all around us. Borrowing from 'Inside Out' - it is ok to be sad. I think sitting with sadness is another of my life lessons this year. It means that you loved...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were lots of work highs - but it's funny, the highs don't last as long, with the bonus, neither do the lows. I'm lucky to have worked with the nicest folk - and been able to row my own boat - rather than dancing around trying to please producers who have no idea what they want - and it has been revelatory. Writing should be joyful, it should be fun. This year, it really was. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihLnaR9fTi5ry666AgqnBE6nIgEx-IpdWbz8AUQO-vTaEwYD4Zb_47V75gKjrE7BgFeqy0B9q4TchAJ3bd7FTMzF3lE-cK7ewXJHZWtrMi3_nwlVQ_zzJFORJ66Eo74lTxSckIEURtcebVQ_HQLfOez5fJDD9YyfY-oSJGRlVdTvinqFtzKNdC2zw1=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihLnaR9fTi5ry666AgqnBE6nIgEx-IpdWbz8AUQO-vTaEwYD4Zb_47V75gKjrE7BgFeqy0B9q4TchAJ3bd7FTMzF3lE-cK7ewXJHZWtrMi3_nwlVQ_zzJFORJ66Eo74lTxSckIEURtcebVQ_HQLfOez5fJDD9YyfY-oSJGRlVdTvinqFtzKNdC2zw1=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikJtTMVL_fgPu6NmfZ0AYV5XViRlTJkex1WUMvZq3DVLQ6_qqh-hNj7xZaGtbtyCf-tllW4LOwf39py23AUF7JrEh3ROd7_Yygcy9pDn7XbDHs8qn4G9UY4CX341BRSEwX7YXKyW08FkC_wx1QW6Q4m0Q1nbUEWPbelvqPCJgs5ErIQdRBZf6zRCdP=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEikJtTMVL_fgPu6NmfZ0AYV5XViRlTJkex1WUMvZq3DVLQ6_qqh-hNj7xZaGtbtyCf-tllW4LOwf39py23AUF7JrEh3ROd7_Yygcy9pDn7XbDHs8qn4G9UY4CX341BRSEwX7YXKyW08FkC_wx1QW6Q4m0Q1nbUEWPbelvqPCJgs5ErIQdRBZf6zRCdP=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsljZAtaD4A-eSdN0XcGf2m8x5uKbJ-uXgjnN8U-J7NxCcuEy27X6P_vFITjk7-BhoJVlq83l6u_6HfNG8ee2GmBLxKK1kxfykwwHcpmA28g35qWCe1SVb2O2w63ycGT2Fo7P9ZHHrnoFcIaNaJUxFtuQdCuTpH0uMtca8MkOKfMBuHm_oOvdZHRRO=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsljZAtaD4A-eSdN0XcGf2m8x5uKbJ-uXgjnN8U-J7NxCcuEy27X6P_vFITjk7-BhoJVlq83l6u_6HfNG8ee2GmBLxKK1kxfykwwHcpmA28g35qWCe1SVb2O2w63ycGT2Fo7P9ZHHrnoFcIaNaJUxFtuQdCuTpH0uMtca8MkOKfMBuHm_oOvdZHRRO=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">8. Final thought of the year. Show up. Make the effort. Letting someone know you are there for them, that you care, that you value them - well, that's really what its all about isn't it folks? So all that remains is for me, is to wish you all a happy, healthy, warm and wonderful 2022. Who knows what the tide will bring in... That's the fun of it eh?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Love always CM xx</div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Xm3861kMzyUAyQQOSlw5wEkeusntbK6hAY8QpR42qn4Z4etYypyH1UQOs4jQcPGJSTtyTKmVwfMyezyVYNGK6VIbPm0OFzDM977g7FyrepEtHhub95dwfeIT9nE5hfW58YOkxhAb5k_BNpw2PQ-60p5QVm5jyRrh_YX1KdFC3NDS36xXCYYO-l9n=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Xm3861kMzyUAyQQOSlw5wEkeusntbK6hAY8QpR42qn4Z4etYypyH1UQOs4jQcPGJSTtyTKmVwfMyezyVYNGK6VIbPm0OFzDM977g7FyrepEtHhub95dwfeIT9nE5hfW58YOkxhAb5k_BNpw2PQ-60p5QVm5jyRrh_YX1KdFC3NDS36xXCYYO-l9n=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg894wy8Tnqxr_KJnBVkaLwIay70ozlrXvUdYijIIS_RYn89MpizQUtuzZd38clq_GwL18n6KAUQFOezCz7Q0aSPKyBEx84szu6jZGn1KKqMEbDPEYOKgQKvgnfkhIHZCUCv_MFZekh_zaPdK93-aedm1WXUul1ACraJ3RdEJyliP6GHQzWO8SeZKCx=s4032" style="clear: left; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhflZMoEBXYtTCIkBWfoRa3uEMv55v7EsfLXCkb_Kru0OSWLUL-j_1Nd2nprYtRiJG6YC-4Sf3mNhzV8h4q1PanDLI4SlZBwdmNeDjl9j7GsxaCt2ExUf7Zdo4xLDbJycMisMwi7RbM1ic4zVd9460CmpHwsxzHw0RAyu_5Rg6sVaMIT0M0pzPJkBLN=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhflZMoEBXYtTCIkBWfoRa3uEMv55v7EsfLXCkb_Kru0OSWLUL-j_1Nd2nprYtRiJG6YC-4Sf3mNhzV8h4q1PanDLI4SlZBwdmNeDjl9j7GsxaCt2ExUf7Zdo4xLDbJycMisMwi7RbM1ic4zVd9460CmpHwsxzHw0RAyu_5Rg6sVaMIT0M0pzPJkBLN=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiLQfQSPTVcaXgMCX9_cy-Xv0hgZ3Slpp6t6irzB2_XdztKYJkyj7EG-OPGLb4evBCBfzE-ODVCQwlciH9T_cb3r6TC8BR-eL0WRnmVt_M_JXWRNsjb7l1VDlPzSIPc97jMlk6eEsVuUeL_ag08BrdljE3w27NwnheSCh5zdtMkvPEuuBeUigdfrC7=s4032" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiLQfQSPTVcaXgMCX9_cy-Xv0hgZ3Slpp6t6irzB2_XdztKYJkyj7EG-OPGLb4evBCBfzE-ODVCQwlciH9T_cb3r6TC8BR-eL0WRnmVt_M_JXWRNsjb7l1VDlPzSIPc97jMlk6eEsVuUeL_ag08BrdljE3w27NwnheSCh5zdtMkvPEuuBeUigdfrC7=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFyDkrFV2mfMX3p8gTpK9QbZWJA3T6Buikh0fqSuzZ9Uh0-PLXAhVWz7HhEODj5bLPMz13tEgy84z4GSD0c1JeL8I5p3bTZRKLMVK_x1cVEYaEiUbr6xElnrFrXU6wsSXu6ahBi4Zm_ndvUR6yAbOhXKKysRRD0BjvZjT5dV3Y1cwRxq_mjpTIAGFb=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFyDkrFV2mfMX3p8gTpK9QbZWJA3T6Buikh0fqSuzZ9Uh0-PLXAhVWz7HhEODj5bLPMz13tEgy84z4GSD0c1JeL8I5p3bTZRKLMVK_x1cVEYaEiUbr6xElnrFrXU6wsSXu6ahBi4Zm_ndvUR6yAbOhXKKysRRD0BjvZjT5dV3Y1cwRxq_mjpTIAGFb=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-8025770634643296982021-05-03T13:43:00.004+01:002024-02-01T18:18:54.395+00:0012 RULES FOR LIFE<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Recently I read about </span>a book entitled '12 Rules for Life' which sounded interesting, if only the author wasn't someone who wanted women's studies defunded and seems to be a conservative in liberal clothing... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As I turned a ripe old age 2 weeks ago (a wonderful semi-lockdown birthday replete with 3 cakes, cold water swimming and finally, thrillingly a meal out - which may have been stone cold but who gives a shit because I WAS OUT OUT) I thought I would give you dear readers my own version. (I mean what do I know? Consult a doctor before doing and blah blah... But hey, who knows, you might find something in here that makes you go - yeah, I'll try that...).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span style="color: #ff00fe;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><b><span style="color: #ff00fe;">12 Rules for Life (CM STYLEE):</span></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6y8IJx1tDVLExgLCTczCl22YJ2c8ItRe_EyLT1o_UcLX7GhauxXlWrc6-Ju1a1cc1s1MJGL5wZnP5w66GpVjw6_lvA3PHjMLxFh54y-jmOzdyZ4o-Gdwa0DIcdrNm9xszgkXsRvA9Z-s/s4032/fullsizeoutput_1c1d.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6y8IJx1tDVLExgLCTczCl22YJ2c8ItRe_EyLT1o_UcLX7GhauxXlWrc6-Ju1a1cc1s1MJGL5wZnP5w66GpVjw6_lvA3PHjMLxFh54y-jmOzdyZ4o-Gdwa0DIcdrNm9xszgkXsRvA9Z-s/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c1d.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1. <b>Get a dog.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Why oh why did I not realise this sooner? My college lecturer last year mentioned that people think they need 'stuff' and 'things' to fill voids (more on that later) but in truth, the pleasure of owning and looking after a dog is all one needs. Don't get me wrong the early days feel like you have become a parent again ( On night 2 playing tough love I asked my husband: 'How long can a dog howl for?' Turns out a bloody long time. 6 hours later I caved. Mistake number 1. We simply had to do the whole shebang again - and move our complaining kids into our room. Yes, for a week we were Victorian England in our sleeping arrangements - all sardined into one room because open plan houses aren't the best when a dog wails all night). Anyway, now I love Berkeley more than life and his ears are pure silk. I love how he gets a huge stick in his mouth and prances up to strangers all: 'Get me and my mahoosive stick.' There is nothing better than a dog walk across a wild open common and bonus - most dog folk are lovely, with everyone stopping to chat and talk all things dog. Dogs love you, don't answer back and are hilarious. Frankly that's a lot better than I got from most men I dated in my 20s... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">2. <b>Never compare yourself to others.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This simply is a road to ruin. I remember on the eve of my 25th b'day fretting that I hadn't achieved much - comparing myself to what MADONNA had achieved by the same age. I mean, WTF was I thinking? Every single one of us is unique. Every single one of us is going to have to deal with good times and times where we don't want to get out of bed. Yes, even Madge. But looking around you and constantly worrying that you aren't keeping up with the Joneses is going to send you dolally. Also, pretty much 99% of the time - what happens to others - will have ZERO bearing on your life whatsoever. So what if Sammy down the road is moving to a mansion? If Dickie gets the big fat job you secretly would love? It only eats away at you if you let it. Envy can be healthy and can spur us along - but in reality, have a word with yourself. Write a list of all you have in your own life and think on that. Wish other folk well and be grateful for what you have. Might not be easy to do at times - but trust me, it will bring you peace.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">3. <b>Lose the bitterness. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It ages you. Plus carrying that load - must get pretty weighty, no? If you harbour resentments they will gobble you up and turn you into a gargoyle version of yourself. To quote Frozen: LET IT GO. If you are having trouble with this see point 4. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ACdkwXOtZfxWhCT_gENBvzluxK1W-arsQhHHte91jC_nuzyYJpwE3jnu-kfbxrRRCyVYolhqqUsvdfnB-ExOBk8Sbggszut988pGC6YOq9Bk3oeCBUxzyQ7zu1jcozqLx_ndNeoRvc/s1920/in+treatment.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ACdkwXOtZfxWhCT_gENBvzluxK1W-arsQhHHte91jC_nuzyYJpwE3jnu-kfbxrRRCyVYolhqqUsvdfnB-ExOBk8Sbggszut988pGC6YOq9Bk3oeCBUxzyQ7zu1jcozqLx_ndNeoRvc/w400-h225/in+treatment.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">4. <b>Have some therapy.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh you think you're sorted do you? Well let me just ask you this: where do you get your self worth from? Do you look to others to validate your choices? Or do you base your beliefs about yourself on the opinion of others? No? So you've never checked in on your instagram or facebook to see how many likes you've got? Sure we all do it - but when your life in any way depends on what others think of you then who are you really doing it all for? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Don't get me wrong it isn't pretty when we rake over our histories or inspect all our foibles and failings as a human being. But in that shameful, embarrassing, painful place - if we can become aware of why we do things - we can change them. Yep, we can grow and goddammit become a fully functioning person (some of the time at least). Life is gonna throw all kinds of shit at us. Sometimes we have the tools to get through it. Other times we shove it down into a deep well within us and we just about survive. But that issue is still in that well and one day it will just pop right back up again when you least expect it. Maybe you'll shove it down again - not unlike a <i>Whack a Mole </i>game - over and over... until one day you can't pop it down any more. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You are in a rut. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Go sit on a comfy couch and talk to someone. It will change your life if you let it. Since I started my course training to be a counsellor in 2018 I've got to know myself in a whole new way. For a start, I like myself now. I understand myself too. Warts n 'all. Without sounding in any way smug - as hell, it is a journey this life malarkey - a long old marathon - and at this present time, I have never been happier or more content. Not every second of every day - but in general. Talk it out. Get it off your chest. You deserve it.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusD4NxCIweB9V7spHGZ3JkXzinZnFwAPGYmVyVhPxoGC2WaJjNW93YR9znvDURLAme_6bZW1NT1uJr9_j-Kiopd4CkOcscU-RhGK9_m0OZqk2uyIAyGVHJ0bkKjsACsbIaZY9chVoYgU/s2048/5Fc6e9rKRO2LmG5mhJP8oQ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgusD4NxCIweB9V7spHGZ3JkXzinZnFwAPGYmVyVhPxoGC2WaJjNW93YR9znvDURLAme_6bZW1NT1uJr9_j-Kiopd4CkOcscU-RhGK9_m0OZqk2uyIAyGVHJ0bkKjsACsbIaZY9chVoYgU/s320/5Fc6e9rKRO2LmG5mhJP8oQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">5. <b>Get outside every day.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Come rain or shine do it. Walk on the grass with bare feet. Look up at the clouds. Get in cold water. Take a venture through a deep dark wood. Run along the shore. I will never ever stop getting in cold water week after week after week all year round. It makes me feel more connected with the whole planet than any other moment of my life. I am never more present than when I am watching the ducks fly overhead, the dawn breaking and the mist twirling around the edge of the clear as glass lake. It's nothing short of magical. Hey, I know it's all in vogue post lockdown but my dear friend Magster told me on a particularly down day in May 2019: go get in cold water and Wim Hoff the shit out of your blues. I did and it helped me more than any other thing. If I can get in that water, I can deal with whatever is thrown at me. It doesn't need to be cold water - it could be a jumping on a bike, having a quick run, walking the dog, bloody pogo sticking down the street or throwing on some skates (yes I want roller skates!) and taking in the day. Enjoy it because without being all Debbie Downer here - you do not know what is around the corner so enjoy enjoy enjoy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">6. <b>Do not 'keep' anything for a rainy day</b>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Use the perfume. Wear the great pants. Throw on the fabulous dress and just appreciate it now. Why not? Today is as good as any other - right?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlhDHcI1D0vLm2lBuW6o6jzoe-NQ4vLIxQ4pFbaeeh4U7tMKO50rRIV-KctcyQAgGwUQdrl1cRySpVzs65iykRZVb6bA7DD_yBRqNyw-mlXYwqjF_8GlPOBKLzy30QB_eIn9RA14evXI/s640/book.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="462" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlhDHcI1D0vLm2lBuW6o6jzoe-NQ4vLIxQ4pFbaeeh4U7tMKO50rRIV-KctcyQAgGwUQdrl1cRySpVzs65iykRZVb6bA7DD_yBRqNyw-mlXYwqjF_8GlPOBKLzy30QB_eIn9RA14evXI/s320/book.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">7. <b>'Things' will not make you happy</b>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ah yes, if we get that fancy house/car/shoes then the world will be ok - no? Sorry to say - that's a resounding NO. We accumulate stuff - because stuff makes us feel secure. If we surround ourselves with things than life will be comfortable and easy and we can show everyone JUST how well we have done for ourselves with all our status toys... But then next season there will be a new fancier toy - and suddenly the one we loved just isn't cutting it any more. So then we need the new fancy toy... and then - yep. The next one and the next and we chase our tails just trying to have the latest what not and who is it really helping? Not us that's for sure. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Don't get me wrong - I think having a sanctuary you love to spend time in, be it a room, a garden, a home - is important. We all need our basic needs met to get on with the next level (thank you Maslow's pyramid). But I look to Dr Suess for advice on most things in life - and his book 'The Sneetches' describes this far better than I could... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the happiest times of my life was throwing on a backpack and hot footing it around the globe for a year. Life, stripped down to all I owned in something I could carry - was gloriously simple. I recently read an article with Chris Evans who has made and lost millions over his life and in it he talks about not weighing ourselves down. How Marie Koodo-Ing our lives is the way forward. Evans has given away most of his clothes and shoes and finds it freeing. I watched a video yesterday with Trinny going through a collection of 190 pairs of shoes and it just exhausted me. Glorious as some are - she admitted she could live with just ten of them. The very brain power used to deciding between 190 pairs of shoes would waste precious time every day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So 7A - is <b>de-clutter</b> - give to charity/sell on Ebay/ or give to a friend. Then every time you go to buy something - don't. Hold that thought for a night or two. Do you REALLY need it? Often I think I want something - don't buy it and a week later realise I didn't want it after all... Better for your wallet and the planet. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxOMya4BbDe_cT_KVtzcWijpTgimduIhdXsRraodI5oez-RP3vet2ATLMTqlogeFXnoZaf26R_QFaxcziU_TIlE56Ksjxh01fZbPHLuhLJQ2U6pCVs2OICq7jiAB0icQInxLrvd53_us/s2048/60gNsKvtQVOC9bEMneRq8w.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxOMya4BbDe_cT_KVtzcWijpTgimduIhdXsRraodI5oez-RP3vet2ATLMTqlogeFXnoZaf26R_QFaxcziU_TIlE56Ksjxh01fZbPHLuhLJQ2U6pCVs2OICq7jiAB0icQInxLrvd53_us/s320/60gNsKvtQVOC9bEMneRq8w.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">8. <b>Meditate</b>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Headspace is my preferred app but there are tonnes of them out there. Meditating helps you realise that thoughts - they come and go - and you can just watch them. Yep, like traffic just whizzing along - coming and going... It gives you perspective so you can give your precious head a break from them. A great friend of mine Rachel once sent me a crochet heart from a wonderful place called <a href="https://linktr.ee/takeheartxo">TakeHeartXO</a> - who send out gorgeous little hearts for free to keep people's spirits up 'spreading the love one crochet heart at a time.' It says: <i>Don't believe everything you think.</i> It sits on my desk, where I look at it every single day as I sit down to write. Meditation - something I need to practice more often - is a key to just breathing and feeling everything will be ok. Even when you are sure as shit it won't be. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiTGLetapOtEu2f8b1ovTvviTfB1iXzT-aTRgTOhhmetSSLexnx7h1iDJsd5f2nOcAz2Qm_BlTqNe9yKaWLKuwah_9UXwqXKuOTEIb3vuRWI8uKEs2T9g0lLuO7bX-qrPNNVYwYPb_bw/s275/meditate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiTGLetapOtEu2f8b1ovTvviTfB1iXzT-aTRgTOhhmetSSLexnx7h1iDJsd5f2nOcAz2Qm_BlTqNe9yKaWLKuwah_9UXwqXKuOTEIb3vuRWI8uKEs2T9g0lLuO7bX-qrPNNVYwYPb_bw/w400-h266/meditate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">9. <b>Set boundaries.</b> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is a newbie on my list and what a cracker it is. It is top of the old self-care tree. Your time is precious people! How many times do we say yes to something we don't want to do and then moan about doing it, hate every second and end up thinking - why did I do that? We HATE the thought that anyone would think ill of us so we go out of our way time and again and then somewhere along the line we stop and think - WHY? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For me, I can't abide folk that are inconsistent. One day a smile on the school run the next they cross the road and look through me. It befuddles me. Confuses me. Causes me unnecessary angst. Those folk that sometimes return a text, other times don't or fit you in when they have nothing better to do. Anyone toxic. Well gawd bless lockdown for sorting wheat from the chaff. Now - I know who my people are and I am grateful as hell that I have them in my life. I draw a very careful line around my time and give it to those who enhance my life and who are my champions. My team members. And I them. Chris Evans calls them - Zappers. Those that enhance your life. Sappers he says (those that only want to talk about other people or who enjoy the moments you are having a crisis or constantly try to bring you down) need to be avoided. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Learning to say NO!!!! takes practice and once you get into the swing of it - is as liberating as taking your bra off at the end of a very long day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">10. <b>It is never to too late to go after what you want in life.</b> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Hold that thought dear. But ask yourself always - does it make your heart sing? If it doesn't - then it is the wrong path. Follow your passions and be brave. Doors will open. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFZFkx-QQ_rT2R19vMhwsip6FiL8tCK6XK5tGNTdV9YwzzciXcmNIR6wLSVlPwnc4_DURYBsHY2xFzQ28fspW7jVsxcqG3ccWV5qgYi4yyGS_cAfQ9ry9Esd5M_7IPetT_0JzvtdAi80/s496/hugs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFZFkx-QQ_rT2R19vMhwsip6FiL8tCK6XK5tGNTdV9YwzzciXcmNIR6wLSVlPwnc4_DURYBsHY2xFzQ28fspW7jVsxcqG3ccWV5qgYi4yyGS_cAfQ9ry9Esd5M_7IPetT_0JzvtdAi80/s320/hugs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">11. <b>Don't be afraid to love wildly. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sure, it makes you vulnerable. But my god it is worth it. Tell those that you love just how much you love them and let them know this <i>all the freakin' time.</i> There are heart stoppingly awful moments in life where you get a phonecall, or an email and the news just blindsides you. Knocks the wind clean out of you. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>We are all just a car crash, a diagnosis, an unexpected phone call, a newfound love, or a broken heart away from becoming a completely different person. How beautifully fragile are we that so many things can take but a moment to alter who we are for forever?</i></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So I say love wildly. Hug folk because Christ, we all haven't been allowed to for so long and who saw that coming? Be vulnerable - it is in those moments of letting people in - and they us - that we truly connect with another human being. Being known, seen and loved is perhaps the greatest of all the gifts we can have on this earth. I am a sentimental old fool I know, but I'm so glad to those that I have loved so dearly and lost - that I told them, I hugged them and I felt and feel grateful to have known them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">12. <b>A Don't care about what others think of you. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Easier said than done. My husband is genuinely brilliant at this and while he is also an anti-social grumpy Australian - on this point he is completely correct. Obviously don't be offensive or disrespectful - or try to be a dick. But all in all be happy in yourself. It's that freakin' simple folks. Fly your own flag, row your own boat and just go - this is me. You are good enough. Once you know that and BELIEVE it - the world is your oyster kiddo. </span></p><p><b style="font-family: arial;"> B Don't be a dick</b></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is self explanatory - but honestly manners go a long way. Treat others how you want to be treated yourself. Show some grace. It may not be all about you - that other person may just be having the shittest day ever. A waiter is there to bring you an order not be treated like they are beneath you. Anyone in a position of power who speaks down to someone who has less power is frankly a class A dick. Mentor others. Be generous. Be kind. Put out lightness and it will come back to you. Volunteer for something. Make your life meaningful. All of this could be summed up as: be less of a dick. There. My 12 rules for living. So far they are working for me... </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">So what are yours? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-33688163026790080132020-12-14T16:56:00.005+00:002020-12-15T13:46:04.370+00:00Well, what the heck was all that about?<p>Every year I look back over my end of year blog - one of the very few traditions I have kept up since I started this here lil' old blog in 2008. Every year I reflect, try and learn a lesson or two and look hopefully towards the new year about to be ushered in. But I think I have NEVER looked forward to a new year more - than this year and I know folks - I sure as hell aint alone. I mean WHAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT??? Answers on a postcard...</p><p>In the blink of eye we were all locked down, hidden away, masked up and life as we knew it would perhaps never be the same. So if I didn't learn anything this year - then what pray tell was the point? I could sit here, feet up, glass or mug in hand and rant on about the lunacy of the 'rules' - the 'go to work, do not go to work, do not take public transport but go to work, but work from home' that Matt Lucas parodied so beautifully... I could wang on about the forgotten 3 million self employed who have received nada from the state (a travesty) and I could bitch forever about trips to Castles by cockwomble politicians. But that is too easy and frankly it does a whole year of my life a disservice. </p><p>So things I learnt in 2020: (forgive me if I knew them before, now I know them WELL) </p><p>1. A quiz is brilliant. When I say Tiger King, Stuart McQuitty's quiz and secret wild swimming got me through 2020 I'm not lying. Thank the lord for a bunch of my schoolmates in Belfast who brought me onboard every Tuesday night for a wee quiz. We drank too much, talked until the wee hours and somehow, I didn't feel so alone. Even when Stuart had better things to do - we still attempted Halloween and festive quizzes and honestly, it great craic. Meanwhile my cousin started a Sunday night bingo, which then became various quizzes, a round of 'Mrs and Mrs' and even 'Play Your Cards Right.' His wife's family all joined in and the technical hitches and oldies inability to work zoom just added to the thrill. So grab some mates on zoom/teams, take a turn each week and a whole year will just fly by. </p><p>2. A walk in the woods cures all ills. Perhaps best not to listen to a true-crime podcast though while you are doing so... or by god do you sprint home again in a flash. </p><p>3. I miss hugging. When this is all over - friends, family, hell, strangers - beware - because IMMA COMING FOR YA. Now there are awkward elbow pumps goodbye and lots of uncomfortable smiles and that awful face (which you also hold while you leave a Zoom meeting) when a HUG does and says so much. </p><p>4. If it looks like a wolf and smells like a wolf and is wearing sheeps clothing - it is still a wolf. Even the nicest person can be a total arsewipe if it serves them better than you. Hard to spot but never forgotten.</p><p>5. Empathy is an underrated gift. I have had some truly horrible moments in 2020. In those moments I have had some super lovely empathetic people listen and support. But I have also had those who turned those moments into ALL ABOUT THEM and used it as a way to somehow try and make me feel worse. Hey - I'm on the floor here, so could you like just leave your ego alone... for maybe <i>a second</i>?? In case anyone is confused: empathy is something you do WITH someone, sympathy is something you do TO them. Empathy is trying to really HEAR them and walk in their shoes. It is not saying 'you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you how bad my XYZ was and also how I'm now alright Jack.' Or 'You think you had it tough, well I did too and yet I'm shining through...' </p><p>6. People can surprise you. Looking at those folk who have gone out of their way to crowd fund for my friend Jaime (see my previous blog post - I mean, I still can't fully comprehend what that family have had to go through) just made my heart sing. You kind, kind folk. I see you and I am so grateful. It's humbling. </p><p>7. Thank god we had a small respite in the summer. A trip to Ireland, Stuart's quiz IN THE FLESH!! ( I was in fact his first human contact after lockdown. Sorry Stu but I love you and I needed that hug) and a wonderful week in York just about saved my head. I was in the sea in Yorkshire and I looked up at the sky and thought - as long as I can get in cold water, it will all be ok. I am so grateful I have a friend like Katy R - who is as insane as me and thinks 5.8 degree swimming is a LOT of fun. We may have been told off for illegal swimming in November by a fisherman who was a bit 'I Know What You Did Last Summer' (I was waiting for the hook to appear) and warned that we were about to face death by 'giant catfish' - but it was worth it! </p><p>8. To all those who checked in on me in 2020 I love you - because as an extrovert - being locked up/down whatever - without the ability to throw the MOTHER of all Halloween parties as I had planned - it was a hard year.... So thank YOU. I will be making Halloween 2021 UNFORGETTABLE. Be warned. </p><p>9. How little we need eh? Turns out the fancy clothes all just gather dust as we don't get out any more... Not that I did that much anyway. For me the thing I missed most was the cinema... But since it has reopened I feel a sense of total freedom. I'm also so pleased college continued - in the FLESH; that connection with people every week was/is such a joy. But my goodness, next year I'm going to have a party the minute I can. For no reason. Just because we can - and that my friends, is a good enough reason. My lychee martinis await you all. Also beware, one Mum needed carried into a cab after a sesh on those martinis at mine - but I promise you, is worth the vom fest. </p><p>10. It's ok if folk airbrush you from someone's life at a funeral. You know what you meant to the person that died and that is all that matters. Don't wait for others to validate you - or you will be waiting a long, long, time. </p><p>Finally, I learned this year that the phrase 'self-care' - which hitherto had made me want to vomit - now is my touchstone. Be nice to yourself - you deserve it - you lovely person you. So have that bath, read that book, veg on the sofa, buy the shoes, kiss that boy, send that text. Don't fecking delay DO IT NOW. Why? Because life can change on a dime so if you don't now, then when? </p><p>Go boldly in 2021 - it WILL get better. We've been through the worst I hope (don't mention Brexit). Remember you can't control what others do - only your reaction to it. Do your best. Love your hardest. Never give up.</p><p>I'm right with you. Love CM x</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-22166349254403848762020-12-11T14:54:00.003+00:002020-12-11T15:12:40.672+00:00The worst news of 2020... <p>Let's face it 2020 has been a total shit show hasn't it? I mean there isn't a person alive who hasn't been effected in some way by the pandemic. However, there is one person has had the hardest year and shown the most resilience out of anyone I know, or have heard about.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrxNsj-jnsVrHG2xzie5BvHcub1Pp057FhmoRYQKXm9mb8ys6Thyphenhyphen2Ds4jcx0rRupm5qgVVrVpxzdry3h_0qg6lOncDfWlQbHMQv-W58_od4CSTm4N-LuP8KcF4SMcboVlq2YlHLR43MU/s500/jaime+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="500" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrxNsj-jnsVrHG2xzie5BvHcub1Pp057FhmoRYQKXm9mb8ys6Thyphenhyphen2Ds4jcx0rRupm5qgVVrVpxzdry3h_0qg6lOncDfWlQbHMQv-W58_od4CSTm4N-LuP8KcF4SMcboVlq2YlHLR43MU/w400-h209/jaime+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>His name is Jaime and he is a Dad of two beautiful kids. His partner Caroline also happens to be one of my closest friends from school. I met her when we were both 11. She had a longer fringe than her school skirt, the most beautiful face and a tan from a summer holiday in Spain. We bonded over our love of Prince and she still wears so much fake tan we call her 'The Mexican.' (Forgive me if that isn't PC). No one takes the piss out of me more, or better than she. For example she managed to get me to buy the WORST xmas jumper I have ever seen - let alone worn in my life - I was hungover by the way - and she photographed me in it and spread it all over facebook. I took it back of course but the damage was done. She tells me I have to die before her because she has my funeral card all planned with enough embarrassing photos to paper the wall of china. </p><p>Anyway, this year Jaime, wanting to enjoy the sport he loves and get some exercise in the middle of lockdown 1 - went for a bike ride on Ilkley Moor. He walked out the door and he sadly wasn't able to walk back in again. A tragic accident - simply hitting a stone and flying over his handlebars - left him with life changing injuries. He is paralysed from the chest down. It's the kind of story you hear about someone in the news, but you never think it will happen to you. Or you will know anyone who has to go through it. </p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76uPmGTFxLc">Here</a> is their story and footage of that fateful bike ride.</p><p>Jaime now spends 16-17 hours a day in one room, where he eats, sleeps, has his commode and all his physio. This is a photo of him in it -</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBdE0O9xAcS2zbWF-ljgz6QQM86rGYZvT1kPuH1RzsCfaEUnJo7b_stFGKl9FRmI1BeJqq5BI4l1zlyDnfvLi5nc4c-IbryYj6RMgG5ohQ-xj-DbebR0kSdsm7NxZj4Xkg6ouJhUbma8/s649/Screen+Shot+2020-12-11+at+14.57.16.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="649" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcBdE0O9xAcS2zbWF-ljgz6QQM86rGYZvT1kPuH1RzsCfaEUnJo7b_stFGKl9FRmI1BeJqq5BI4l1zlyDnfvLi5nc4c-IbryYj6RMgG5ohQ-xj-DbebR0kSdsm7NxZj4Xkg6ouJhUbma8/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-12-11+at+14.57.16.png" width="320" /></a></div><p>Jaime has shown such bravery and strength it is beyond humbling. But the facts remain: the house the family have had to move into - is not adapted for a wheelchair. They have had to leave their beloved home and at present Caroline has no room to sleep in. Funding has dropped off a cliff and nothing is available - despite them spending months researching all charitable grants etc. The council have said they will have to wait 6 months before he is even assessed, let alone them helping. The whole family has been psychologically scarred by the whole trauma and the absence of a home where they can live functionally together, in this new unasked for life - makes everything deeply difficult in what already is a difficult adjustment.</p><p>This story could be mine. It could be yours. We are all just a car crash, a diagnosis, an unexpected phone call, a newfound love, or a broken heart away from becoming a completely different person. </p><p>So I ask - if you have ever read a single blog of mine - and it made you laugh - or cry and or think 'what a dick' then could help in any way? <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/jamiel-01?utm_term=pQBk6Dvjw&fbclid=IwAR2bS_EB9jpOETLUrXENBzFSus12oDqpjjIR77ArBeldFQDrs_1iYRyjAFs">This</a> is the crowdfunding link where Jaime needs your help.</p><p>I thank you all. Jaime and Car are the best of people and they deserve to have a life together after all they have been through. Please lets make that happen. x</p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-42575217584713972952020-09-10T12:00:00.001+01:002020-09-14T21:29:48.696+01:00I'll Be Gone In The Dark <p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">April 21st 2016 is a date burned into my memory. It was unseasonably cold. My son's weekly cricket practice had begun despite football having yet to end. Which is why I found myself standing on the edge of a cricket pitch, bracing myself against the elements with my husband standing next to me, already tetchy about how the blustery wind would affect play. He was making polite conversation with another parent when I got a text - '<i>is this true?</i>' with a link to a site announcing my all time hero, Prince had died. I was certain it was a hoax. But messages on facebook started to ping through and it the crushing news was in fact true. I started to cry and all I remember is my husband shushing me, mortified that I was acting like such an emotional loon in front of random parents. It was the day my all time favourite musician died - but unbeknownst to me, an incredible crime writer died that day also - Michelle McNamara. Only later did I discover that not only do we share the same birthday, but she too had loved Prince....</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two years later I chanced upon an article about a woman writer who attempted to catch a serial killer from her daughter's playroom. While her family were peacefully sleeping, Michelle would stay up into the wee hours, trawling websites and hunting for clues to track down the Visalia Ransacker, the East Area Rapist, the Original Nightstalker (EARONS) or as Michelle cleverly coined him - The Golden State Killer. Michelle called her book, <a href="https://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/ill-be-gone-in-the-dark-main/michelle-mcnamara/gillian-flynn/paperback/9780571345151.html?gclid=Cj0KCQjwqfz6BRD8ARIsAIXQCf3JqgnvuUS3qgipziKL5z9utfeFaFnGzjHrDZR44mMrFIz4-sgf38QaAu8OEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds" target="_blank">'I'll Be Gone In The Dark</a>' - a reference to a line that the monster hissed to those he raped: 'Make one move and you'll be silent forever... and I'll be gone in the dark.'</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Michelle was a teenager, growing up in Kansas City, Missouri - less than a mile away from her home, a 24 year old woman called Kathleen Lombardo was brutally murdered while out on an evening run. She had been dragged into an alley and had her throat sliced. Two days later Michelle walked the same steps Lombardo had taken and picked up the fragments of her shattered Walkman that lay on the ground. From that day onwards, unsolved murders became Michelle's obsession. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Michelle was fascinated by the fact The Golden State Killer is the most prolific serial killer that you <i>have never heard of. </i>She was curious as to why he wasn't widely known and why the cases remained unsolved.<i> </i>Between 1973 and 1986 he committed at least 120 vicious burglaries, 50 violent rapes and 13 brutal murders across California. His crime sprees each spawned different nicknames as back in the pre-computer days, it took years for the individual police forces to connect the burglaries to the rapes and eventually the murders he carried out. Michelle told LA Magazine : 'However twisted the grins of those killers, however wild the eyes, we can at least stare solidly at them, knowing that evil has a shape and an expression and can be locked behind bars. Until we put a face on a psychopath like the Golden State Killer, he will continue to hold sway over us - he will remain a powerful cipher who triumphs by being just out of </span>reach.'</p><p style="text-align: left;">As Michelle was midway through writing the book, aged just 46, a combination of an undiagnosed heart condition and a home-brewed concoction of anxiety meds and painkillers (including the drug that would cause Prince to overdose - Fentanyl) killed her in her sleep on April 21st, 2016. Her husband, the comedian Patton Oswalt, showed incredible determination by helping Michelle's researcher Paul Haynes and acclaimed investigative journalist Bill Jenson to join forces and complete it with the wealth of material Michelle left behind. It is an astonishing read. Michelle is equally concerned with getting under the skin of the determined lead investigators of the case as she is the unnamed killer himself. In her writing, the victims blossom from the page: their living breathing lives and relationships laid out: the person behind the number, the quirks behind the cold statistic. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There are details almost too raw to read: how the phone rang in the house of a victim, 20 odd years after her attack. She had lived at the address for 30 years. His voice was low, she recognised it immediately: 'Remember when he played?' he whispered. The 15 year-old victim who was alone in the house playing the piano when she felt a presence behind her. After the rape she no longer played - always assuming that someone uninvited would appear behind her. The plates that the rapist placed on the bound husbands' backs as he led their wives away to another room to be raped. He would warn them that if a plate dropped he would murder them both. The 13 year old victim who asked her dog 'why didn't you do something dummy?' There is a simple cruelty in taking items which only held sentimental value to the owners; he wanted to infiltrate their lives, destroy them, humiliate them and take from them every last breath of security they ever felt. Blindfolded and bound victims remember lying silently for 45 minutes and beginning to move only to feel the blade of his knife against their neck and his heavy breathing - he had been silent but present the whole time. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The Epilogue of the book is entitled: 'Letter to an Old Man' - as the killer was then still at large - but Michelle was convinced that he wouldn't remain free. That a police car would pull up to the curb. 'This is how it ends for you,' she promised. She desperately wanted to know his face. 'Open the Door, show us your face. Walk into the light.' Her dogged pursuit of the case kept it in the limelight, helped people to remember, forced questions to be answered. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I finished the book in April 2018 and as I literally closed the cover and googled some more info, I was stunned to discover that he had just been caught. As predicted by Michelle - it was through a public genealogy website. The police had tracked him down as a potential suspect and raided his bins to ascertain if the DNA was indeed a match. Joseph James DeAngelo, father of three daughters, was roasting a chicken in the oven when he was arrested. <i>This is how it ends for you</i>. In June 2020 he pleaded guilty to 13 counts of first degree murder and will spend the rest of his life behind bars. While the rape cases had passed the statute of limitations - the survivors were allowed to address the pathetic excuse of a man in court. They did so with tremendous courage. In the documentary of the book 'I'll be Gone in the Dark' (on <a href="https://www.hbo.com/ill-be-gone-in-the-dark" target="_blank">HBO</a>) many of the survivors movingly gather together - able to rebuild their lives knowing the man who tried to ruin their lives - but failed to do so - is at last behind bars. The tragedy is that Michelle is not alive the witness this.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Looking at the frail old man, it is hard to imagine that any human being would be capable of such cruelty - and I can't help but think Michelle was right. In seeing his face - bald, wrinkled, weathered - or even the faded photos of how he looked at the height of his crimes - baby faced, thick nose, frighteningly ordinary - he loses his mystery, his power. Relatives in the documentary talk of a sweet man, 'Uncle Joe' and they cannot reconcile the man they knew with the atrocities he committed. Perhaps this is why he escaped detection for so long - he was just a face in the crowd; he moved amongst people, silent, observing, impassive, blank.</p><p style="text-align: left;">He isn't clever - just lucky. In todays era he would be unable to prowl neighbourhoods as he did - CCTV would have spotted him in a heartbeat. Phonecalls would be traceable; DNA lifted at the scene of the first crime. His face would have been captured on a mobile phone; mid attack a child in another room would have called the cops from his iPad; security cameras would have unearthed his every movement. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Michelle can rest in peace. Something, his dark hollow soul will never be able to do.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-81274659110411745312020-07-13T18:21:00.000+01:002020-07-13T21:14:59.723+01:00Conversations we should have had.... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As we come out to this 'new normal' whatever that means - I've been reflecting on what I can take away from this loooong time in the wilderness... Forgive me is this is a more rambling blog post than usual but I put that down to 1. My head is fried. 2. My head may always be fried.<br />
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Having spent lockdown watching the wonderful <i>Normal People</i> - it made me realise that there are so many conversations that we should have, but for various reasons, never do. How one little conversation could change the whole outcome of a relationship, even the outcome of a life. We shy away from being truly congruent with another person for fear of offending, or worse, being emotionally vulnerable and then we have to live with the consequences. Just imagine if Connell had told Marianne he had nowhere to live that summer? Or admitted to his mates he was seeing her whilst at school? If she had told him the truth about her tortured family life?<br />
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I think over the night the cruel dog breeder texted me asking me if I wanted some of her poxy overpriced calendars - and I refused, lying that funds were tight. She immediately assumed that meant we wouldn't pay her the £600 she had added on to the already eye watering price tag for a pup - which we had agreed to pay after collecting Cooper. Rather than have an adult conversation - saying - sorry to hear funds are tight, but you will still pay me, won't you?' she choose instead to suddenly withdraw the sale causing massive hurt and a whole wealth of recourse where we felt duty bound to report her to the Kennel Club, Champ dogs, the council etc. Anger fuelled me until it left me empty. One conversation - and everything maybe would have been different. It is incredible when you think that we pivot on these moments - that the chips could fall in many different ways, all depending on what people say - or rather don't say...<br />
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Imagine if everyone was just a bit more honest? How refreshing it would be. Instead lies disguised as pleasantries: 'We must meet up soon!' 'You look amazing....' 'I'll call you...' we all just said how we <i>really</i> felt. I read a <a href="https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/tough-love-should-i-cut-out-my-old-friend-b5nh9pz5n" target="_blank">problem page recently</a> where a woman asked the agony aunt about how she should end a friendship - as every time she saw this old buddy, it was fractious with neither party really enjoying themselves and yet they persisted in this merry old dance. Emma Barnett gave some brilliant advice - where she suggested the woman actually <i>calls </i>her friend. I know. Terrifying. I choked on my wine as I thought about how awks this would be - had I been in her shoes. But also how wildly <i>honest.</i>.. and brave. Barnett suggested the woman simply tell the truth and wish her friend well, suggesting they no longer labour keeping in touch for the sake of things and cut ties accordingly. All very cheery amicable and sensible. Having wasted years on keeping some folk on the fringes of my life, I think this chop, rather like the haircuts we all desperately need - would be nothing but a bonus; if nothing else lockdown should have highlighted to us the things that are important in life and those that really aren't worth fretting over.<br />
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Which brings me to last week when a woman ran into me - sadly, in her car. I was in my car too I should add. It was a rainy tuesday and it was entirely this other woman's fault. I was so delighted that no one was hurt and that it wasn't MY fault for once in my life - that I decided to be to this woman how I would want someone to be to me... (Or rather how nice neil was to me when I totally his BMW in November '18). I was freakishly calm, I told her not to fret and when I returned home husband said he was surprised I hadn't invited her to dinner... (I would have but we both had just picked up our takeaway burgers).<br />
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Instead of being stressed and angry I just told the woman sincerely- that a car crash is no biggie. It is a hunk of metal and not to fret. I meant it. Anyway, the whole thing did turn out to be a huge pain in the arse - of course it was - with insurance and cars written off and hire cars and car tax and all that palaver - but all in all, I was pretty chilled about it compared to crashes of old. Lockdown has taught me two things - to let go of the stress, because really, most stuff is solvable. Two - be as honest as possible. During this whole house arrest, I found it nigh on impossible to get a second of headspace. Between home schooling, kids fighting, someone needing something urgently despite having nowhere to actually go, emptying the dishwasher twenty times a day and relinquishing my phone and computer so my kid could house party while robloxing - and screaming the house down as she did so - I got precious few seconds to think a thought to myself. I told my producers and they totally understood. I didn't want to hear about people who learnt french or how to crochet a plant holder or what not - I was surviving goddammit - just about.<br />
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If we can have the conversations we should be having rather than the ones we do out of duty, out of fear or out of saving face - then life would be so much simpler dontcha think? This all might have been born out of the fact that I read over all my old diaries for a project I am working on - and it was truly fascinating. I thought I was wildly mature, cultured and fairly balanced. I am a total fruitcake. Why no one on earth told me to stop mooning over a boy in Manchester who clearly didn't give a flying feck about me and get on with my life, I have no idea. I am tragically deep, boy obsessed, allowed to hang out with a tennis player for an entire night MID A-LEVELs and kiss a male model in London when I am 15. FIFTEEN! Heavens above. My son is now 14 and I am now locking him in the shed for the rest of his life. We are all virtually alcoholics before the legal age of drinking and I spent my life on a bus going somewhere in Belfast, usually The Empire pub, mates' houses and Botanic gardens. It is a wonder I have time for school. Anyway, I wish to god I could have had a word in my shell like and told myself there is a whole world out there and not to mope over a boy and instead to do some fecking revision. I did pretty ok in my A levels but I wonder what I'd have achieved if I hadn't been studying the morning of the exams... for the first time. The moral of the story - is there one? Well it all turned out ok in the end I guess, and boy I had a ball, (too much of a ball it seems) but did I have to write and tell every boy how I felt - begging them to put me out of my misery instead of seeing the writing in CAPITALS on the wall? If they'd had the balls to be honest and not string me along it would have saved a lot of tears and by the sounds of what I have written - a feck tonne of paper as well.<br />
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Honesty people. The conversations we never had. I say have them. Warts and all.<br />
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I dare you*.<br />
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CM x<br />
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*I take no responsibility if it all goes tits up mind. </div>
Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-56186295417068904052020-04-29T10:22:00.004+01:002020-04-29T10:41:05.901+01:00Tuesday is the new Friday <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There was nothing quite as sweet tasting as that Friday night g and t - always a double (what is the point of a single?) and that lovely blurry feeling that signalled the end of a working week and the joys of a weekend that lay ahead.<br />
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But in this whole covid lockdown malarkey, Friday ceases to mean anything - as the weekend stretches before us - a gaping void with no social activity or children's sports to attend. So I've had to find that fuzzy feeling elsewhere and stone the crows but all of a sudden Tuesday is my new Friday. Why? Well it is all down to one man and his incredible mane of hair. I'm not talking Joe Exotic - (although Tiger King does have a place in my heart by easing me into this new world). The reason Tuesday is a '<i>bother to put on mascara and brush your hair to greet your mates on zoom'</i> kind of a day is because of a tennis coach called Stuart McQuitty who each week throws together a stonking quiz for anyone - all from his humble lounge. No disco balls and flattering lights for our Stu - no, he simply pours himself a beer (harp, natch) or a large G and T and settles into what looks like the least comfortable chair and begins...</div>
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My schoolmates alerted me to the quiz; there are six in our team (although last night 3 A-level Maths students let us down on the angle question - and they know who they are) and we all chat via Teams, even after the quiz until the wee hours. Meanwhile on another device, we have Stuart blaring out from his live facebook feed, entertaining us with his (dreadful) singing and cheery anecdotes in between quiz questions and refilling his glass. </div>
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The quiz is simply brilliant. I'm not much use to be honest (picture rounds and film rounds are my specialities) and whilst there is the odd low-brow question to make me feel like I have contributed - by and large there are other sharper tools in the box to help with questions on types of hamster, renaissance literature and anything chemistry related. So far, we have come third and then last night an all time best of joint second; but we have yet to win the coveted top spot. Our team name: 'Anyone Malone?' comes from the many (school) years spent staggering from the Empire pub to the taxi-cab firm opposite and waiting for the above two beautiful words to be spoken by the controller - to signify we would no longer have to sit in the sweaty, fag ashed room that smelt of piss and burgers but were being thankfully released to pour ourselves into a waiting cab, making our curfews by a whisker. </div>
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The highlight of the quiz is not actually the quiz itself. (Sorry Stu). No, it would be Stuart's hair. Week one and barely a question was asked when he didn't stroke his just-stepped-out-of-a-salon brown locks (Joe Wicks you have nothing on Stu) - so we decided every time Stu caressed his curls, we would shout 'DRINK!" Necking a glug of our chosen alcoholic beverage. We were hammered by round 2. Our mistake was to tell Stu this (via facebook comments). Next week he saw our game and he raised us - by wearing a HEADBAND. We were devastated. Next week, he teased us with his hair hairsprayed back and oh no - what was this? A kind of ode to Burt Reynolds crossed with 70s cop show <i>moustache</i>. Thankfully last night the tache was gone and the hair stroking was back in full force. Next week he has promised us a man bun. The big tease. I'm hoping he releases a calendar and the proceeds go to the NHS. I for one would buy it. </div>
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The thing I love most about Stu and the quiz is its sense of positivity. It is the shining beacon of hope in my otherwise monotonous week. I applaud him for getting off his butt and bothering to do something that brings folk together, entertains us and gets the old grey matter ticking, in what would just be another 'what shall we find to watch but spend most of the night trawling Amazon, Netflix and Sky and still end up watching Derry Girls repeats' kind of night. </div>
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After the quiz has wrapped Gar and Jo - the mothership of our team - send us picture rounds - as they are UBER quizzers. We are not their only quiz rodeo of the week. Nope they cheat on us with not one, but two, other quizzes and then throw us the picture rounds to test us. This is where I truly shine - knowing one Z lister after another. Then we pour another glass - because it is the new Friday after all and suddenly, inexplicably we look at the clock and it is well past midnight. On a school night. The next morning our daily Joe Wicks is always a bit of a chore and we pray for bunny hops rather than the burpee hell and slump at our desks while the joy of home schooling begins. Wednesday drags but before we know it, Tuesday will roll around again. I simply cannot wait.</div>
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If you fancy joining in - and anyone can - from all over the globe - it is 8pm Tuesday nights <a href="https://www.facebook.com/stuart.mcquitty.79?__tn__=%2CdlC-R-R&eid=ARDwl0llauND0EQvyApBDc2cmhJgHjWqK8njvJbjN7qNZInBtsjbsNl2xYHG2q1RU6ivFemwaem_IMqw&hc_ref=ARSFGp7-07o900Mo4JERf5IeiD9wpPwkg99OSQ72pn0UkGien9ZadOsRgS0L-DpwDwA" target="_blank">here</a>. </div>
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Stay safe and keep her lit xx</div>
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-85085569208153921642020-03-25T13:20:00.000+00:002020-03-25T15:05:55.837+00:00How to survive the isolation....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
... I'm fecked if I know. Sorry.<br />
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I wish I was able to give some wealth of insight here - some mystical wisdom that will make everything better - but sadly, I'm me - so I don't have much. But I'm trying to stay positive - even though I'm married to an introvert that thinks all his Christmasses have come at once. I mean he barely has noticed anything is amiss. He says he is living the dream. If he didn't cook up a storm every evening (I may leave here on a mobility scooter in 3 months) I would murder him. So how am I getting through - bearing in mind it is day 3? (3!!!!Sweet Jaysus)? (Forgive me if this rambles. My head is FRIED).<br />
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<b><u>For the kids: </u></b><br />
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So yes, we have made a time table and it lasts until exactly 10:30am. Then they take a break and play football and cricket and do some gardening and beg to camp outside (soon, little do they know, but I'll be so stressed they will LIVING in that tent outside) and all in all we haven't done much studying. I'm not too bothered - because there will be rainy days when all they will do is study and also - dear god, we have sunshine - so we may as well get out in it before it rains and we all weep onto our devices...<br />
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But my timetable is as follows:<br />
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<b>8am </b>- Walk<br />
Up the hill and through the forest next to where I live. I'm actually loving this and we actually talk which we maybe last did.... in the summer of 2005 before we had kids.<br />
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<b>9am </b>- Joe Wicks PE.<br />
I love him. Bless you Joe for getting us all dressed and throwing mad shapes at 9am. I keep convincing myself that by the end of all this I too will have abs like sweet tiny Joe. But then I delve into the kids' easter eggs at 11am - just the back mind, so from the front they look untouched. How's that for genius?<br />
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<b>9:30am - 10am</b> Reading<br />
This has turned into breakfast, the first row between my kids of the day and then they finally they settle down to work. We fight over the computer as the laptop is being repaired. I think - is it too early to drink yet? They make up and giggle at each other and refuse to read. Husband on a work call and we are all meant to be silent as the tomb. This is all going very well. Not. I eye the vodka.<br />
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<b>10:30 -11:15 </b>Maths<br />
By the end of this time, my kids run into the garden for break time and essentially don't come inside until 3pm... I try to do some reading/emailing writing and then give up and sit in the garden with a book. Checking on the Guardian Corona Virus update every 20 seconds and unable to concentrate because what if I never get a can of lentils in Waitrose again?? Or Yorkshire tea?? Meanwhile every 3 seconds I hear - 'Mum Mum Mum!!' I ignore them so my daughter has started saying 'Suzanne?'<br />
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<b>3pm</b><br />
We all decide we should do some work just as husband decides he wants to prepare dinner. My teenage son explains his work all has to be done for some time in the distant future and my daughter looks at her home-made timetable and does what she fancies for about half an hour and WHY oh WHY is all of this homework/schooling only done on a device - meaning HOW ON EARTH <i>am I meant to do any work</i>? I look at the laundry pile that is the size of Everest and think - why bother? Not got anything on this week or indeed ever...<br />
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<b>5pm</b><br />
The house looks like a war zone and my children have managed to get changed 3 times today. We try and FaceTime/Houseparty family or friends but there are little boxes with too many people and my god - I have seen myself on screen and I need a LOT of help in the eye area. My roots need done. Oh well, they will be. Next year. We all talk at the same time and no one can hear anything so we all drink like fish and laugh about how insane this all is. Just as it gets interesting the screen goes black and we all attempt a meet again and then give up and finish the bottle of wine. Time to open another eh?<br />
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<b>7pm</b><br />
We eat dinner. Husband bitter about filling the dishwasher 'for the third time today.' The kids have their 10,000th argument of the day. I ask for a table family meal and my teenager points out that we don't need to ask 'how was your day' because we lived and breathed every minute together. So we all watch that mad animal man on Netflix and try and decide which one is more mad/evil/murderous... Wine never tasted so wonderful.<br />
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<b>9pm</b><br />
We all have given up on boardgames and head to bed. Because tomorrow - YAY - we can do it all again.<br />
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<b>So my top tips:</b><br />
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1. The good thing is - if you avoid the news - it is all quite relaxing. No make up, why shower? I'm living in gym gear and keep promising to go for a run... But they key is - do NOT keep checking in on the news/social media because it is wildly anxiety inducing. Whispers of living like this for 18 months. Information overload. I keep holding the thought of September back to school again. I mean, it's so close isn't it? *Reaches for the gin*<br />
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2. Do keep moving. Who knew that a walk was so wonderful. I mean just getting to exercise feels like a treat.<br />
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3. Do a clear out. I mean if you can be motivated. My problem is I keep thinking - well, I've got months - so I don't have that kick up the arse I need But if you can clear out that room/shed/wardrobe. I'm doing the shed of Saturday - because I have to have something to look forward to don't I? *weeps*<br />
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4. Do lots of face timing even though downloading Teams has proved a nightmare and don't get me started on Zoom and why can't I hear anything on House Party? But try because isn't it wonderful to see those faces of folk you miss? Just think of a sunny day in a pub garden, cold drink in hand, buddies all around. I mean - IT WILL BE AMAZING. I'm getting my Irish muckers together the second I can. They have no say in the matter.<br />
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5. Find a project apparently. Now mine is to get my Fimo out (I ordered a tonne) as I used to sell broaches back at school. Had a slight production problem when the pigs ears all fell off and everyone wanted a refund 'Er... Suzanne, it looks like I'm wearing a potato' - but I aim to take it up again. I haven't made Fimo stuff since I made all my wedding invitations - because I had so much time on my hands in those days... I've also ordered waders and my kids will be clearing the stream of all debris and rubbish... And they will be doing all the gardening I can't be bothered with. But get into yoga/sewing/cocktail making (that I love) or cooking or whatever - now is the time to learn Spanish...<br />
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6. It is ok to veg. It is ok to not know what the fuck you are doing. I don't. I mean its easy to have order when you have to be somewhere by X or to meet so and so by Y. But when we stare into the abyss of time, it is hard to get your arse off the sofa. So don't. Watch movies, box sets, read books and CHILL. You deserve it. I know we might not have work/jobs/anything left at the end of this - but we can't control it, we can't change stuff - so just BREATHE.<br />
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Get into Friday Night lights, Russian Doll, Glow, The first two seasons of Fargo, Parks and Rec (There is NO better series to watch with your kids I swear. I dream of being Leslie - she is a goddess and my husband is Ron Swanson. Except sadly he can't do DIY). Mind Hunter. Unreal is trashy but fun and I liked The Society on Netflix which is about a group of teens and something weird happens and they are left alone in their town... (Bit like life now I expect. Except they are all young and hot).<br />
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Films - Summer 1993, Whiplash, Toy Story 3, The Lives of Others, Me Earl and the Dying girl, '91, Big Fish, Room, Martha Marcy May Marlene, The Squid and the Whale, Call Me By Your Name, Boyhood, Custody, Brokeback Mountain, Almost Famous, In the Bedroom, Drive, Little Miss Sunshine, A Hidden Life, The Virgin Suicides, The Social Network, After Hours, Halloween - all my favs...<br />
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9. Help your elderly neighbours... Its so lovely to get their shopping and to have a very very brief chat - at a distance - as you drop it off for them. Connecting with community honestly is the way forward and frankly what we all should be doing anyway.<br />
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10. Look through old photo albums and diaries and remember all the stuff that you have survived in life - from broken hearts to horrible illnesses to losing jobs to being broke - we've all got through in the end. We are all in the same boat at the moment and no one knows how to get through this or what world we will come out to - but maybe it will be a better one? Where we care less about how we look all the time and about trash reality tv and social media and more about people, being present and all that warm fluffy nice stuff. Maybe we will all be much more appreciative of all we have...<br />
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I miss people. The cinema. My college. Cold water swimming. But it will all come back and I will thank my lucky stars every time I get to do one of those things - and I will hug my friends and family so tightly... I always valued them but this has put into perspective the folk that mean the most to me. One sent me a video of us all in a pub when my mate Blair was over from Oz and we all congregated in London (coming from from Belfast, Glasgow, Newcastle etc...). In it we are drunk and being stupid and talking rubbish and it looks like just about the best moment ever. My mate said - 'more good times to come.' There will be. Keep her lit.<br />
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(And wash your hands).<br />
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CM xx</div>
Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-79246742391939795542020-02-16T11:27:00.003+00:002020-02-17T14:58:05.473+00:00UNFAIR<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hands up a writer who has always been treated fairly and with respect? I said hands up? Oh that's right - there are none.<br />
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This is a blog I have long put off writing because I felt like 1. Don't be a moany bitch and 2. It is just how it is - SUCK IT UP.<br />
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No longer. I'm enraged. So much so I shouldn't be writing this. But it's time people were held accountable for their actions. On Friday - during my counselling course I talked about why my job makes me miserable at times. We - my trainee counsellor and I - worked through why I feel so alive and happy in writers' rooms and why I feel so miserable and alone when I get notes. It is simply this - because when I get notes I have no voice. I am expected to do as I am told or risk losing my job. So we keep quiet, we don't rock boats because the first person to lose out is US.<br />
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You don't think that happens? Let me tell you a story....<br />
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A few summers ago I was working on a show where from the very start I explained the story in my ep didn't work. The way they wanted to tell it gave no decent character arc and was just bizarre. I said this over and over at every draft and we went from pillar to post on this ep. I went to the director's meeting and we didn't EVEN OPEN MY SCRIPT. (This is a meeting where normally you just chat through the ep with all involved and cross your 't's and dot your 'i's). The Exec boss lay back, kicked his feet up on the desk and said 'I think we've missed a trick. Let's have XYZ.' Which was what I had said ALL ALONG. The then series producer (who in my mind should have been the exec of the show) looked at me palms in the air - as if to say, I know, I'm sorry. It meant an entire re-write of the A and B stories - within 48 hours. Because a man couldn't make up his mind. I did it of course, but I complained to my agent and he asked for a re-brief fee. From that moment on - according to an insider on the show: CM your card was marked.'<br />
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The following year - I do another ep and low and behold - we go round in merry circles on a story <i>again.</i> I have to park the grief of my step-sister dying to adhere to their schedule. Just before half term with my kids I get 10 pages of notes - a B story entirely to be re-written. (As an aside this was because the Exec producer didn't want to clear all the music in the story - my question: then why have a story that is a singing competition if you don't want to have to deal with music compliance??). The replacement story was one an assistant came up with in ten minutes. I slave over this all week. But guess what? There was a crucial factor I was unaware of at the time: <i>The story hadn't been cleared by the big wig producer.</i> It would NEVER have worked - because it featured the same two lead characters in the previous ep. I did not know this. Did anyone hold their hand up and say 'oh sorry we got you to waste your time for a whole week working on a story that was NEVER going to fly?' Nope! So I go the director's meeting where we all sit round discussing my script and I fight for my story - like an idiot. A total fool. It was never going to be used anyway. I keep thinking - this is my fault. I am a shit writer and this is shit because of me. I get told - with 24 hours to go - to re-write it all again. A total new story. I (now know) a direct quote that the Exec producer said to staff: 'She will not be getting the money again like last year.' He rang me and basically told me that if I didn't do their new story they would take the script '<i>in house.</i>' (This means they get someone else to write it meaning you lose your credit on the show and potential earnings). Blackmail. No apology for the mess up, no sense that if he had done his job correctly and focused on the script and not led me a merry dance just because he could - we wouldn't be here. So I did it. I worked my ass off on this - due to their mistake - and I didn't ask for a penny more. The Exec producer gallingly said 'we've not wasted time.' Really? What do you think I've been doing for 3 months - pissing in the wind???<br />
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By the end of this I felt utterly burnt out. I was depressed, grieving, devastated that no-one was sticking up for me - that I was labelled as 'trouble' just because I wondered why my story was being up-ended. I lost my voice. Speaking up for myself - and asking WHY ARE WE DOING THIS - had left me pegged as a person who didn't just take the notes and silently suffer. Only because one kind person decided to tell me the truth of what went on in the background did I get through this time.<br />
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I thought about giving up writing. I felt so so gutted to have gone from being one of the first writers they called to work on the show to being someone they would probably never work with again. I couldn't sleep. I suffered with anxiety. I thought: if I lose this job - where will the next one come from? People forget that we are all human beings - we aren't machines just churning out words. We take our work and writing personally - and it is hard to divorce yourself from criticism - even if notes are just 'suggestions.' In the end, I realised that I would NEVER work with this Exec producer again - even if they asked me. It simply wasn't worth it. So he fails at his job and yet is still in it. Me? I never heard from them again... You tell me - is that fair? Oh and I quizzed other writers on the show and at least 3 had similar experiences to me....<br />
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And this is just one story I have. I know so many more from so many other writers. Invited to story conferences only to be binned the week after. Promised anther episode and then their calls not returned. Axed mid draft even though the previous drafts went well. Axed with no warning. Scripts polished by another writer despite having been on a show for 20 years. After writing on a show for 20 years axed midway through their very last episode. No thank you gift or card for their 2 decades worth of work. Bullying notes from big wigs above - that don't actually make sense (some are just frustrated wannabe writers who don't have the balls to do it themselves). Re-written because the show runner's ego is so great they want to write every ep of the show giving no one else a voice. Going to pitch an idea at an Indie to having it stolen by said Indie. Having your idea stolen - even when you are a successful writer. I know of one female producer that has so far stolen 3 projects from writers. She is still working. Lauded even. Given notes at 5pm on a Friday as the script ed dashes off leaving you a weekend to solve all the problems - alone. Being scared to voice an opinion because when you do you will be seen as trouble and you will be axed. Ask any writer have they had a bad experience and they will give you TEN.<br />
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Yesterday chatting to a good friend who is a writer - he described the job as feeling bi-polar. One minute you get a great commission - the next ten pages of notes basically saying: give up and start again. He said something so true: when we get rejected, or taken off scripts, or re-written or umpteen pages of brutal contradictory notes - we simply have to pick ourselves up and still have faith in ourselves. We have to show such resilience. There is no other industry where I know the worker is punished for speaking out or for simply asking to be treated fairly.<br />
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So as I read about tragic cases of people feeling so alone they take their lives - which in the public eye is a whole other world of pain and intrusion - I think of all the writers I know who sit alone over their laptops and have to find resilience when they feel like they are on the floor. It is time writers were treated better. It is time they were treated fairly. It costs nothing to take responsibility for your own mistakes, to support someone who essentially works alone and to show kindness.<br />
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As a postscript I'd add that I'm desperately lucky too: I worked with incredible people on a soap for 5 years who I loved; I've brilliant supportive agents and I'm currently working with the best folk of my life. I've got mentors to turn to and fellow writers who are utter legends and are there to pick me up when I am down. For those folk I'm eternally grateful. Without them, I'd be doing something else...<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-71392509829246593492020-02-10T18:28:00.000+00:002020-02-10T18:56:06.946+00:00Reasons not to have a midlife crisis: <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
1. It means you are admitting to being middle aged - which in itself is basic.<br />
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2. Because it's all so fucking cliched isn't it? I mean - what is so wrong with being middle aged? OF COURSE we all wish we were 24 again and romancing Timothee Chalamet - (as an aside - <a href="https://news.avclub.com/nobody-knows-what-to-do-with-timothee-chalamets-oscar-l-1841574782" target="_blank">THIS</a> article on his Oscar look is EVERYTHING) but in reality - your 20s sucked. You were only getting going on the career ladder, no one took you seriously; you met people at parties and discussed <i>The Power of Now</i> or whatever self-help book you were reading at the time and thought you sounded deep; you had dates with all the wrong boys that you were so<i> sure</i> were right and you paid a fortune in rent. You shared houses or flats with people who left plates in their beds and blocked the toilet and who had loud sex with men they had met that very evening and you panicked they would bring crabs to the house... Also - friendships were torturous as everyone paired off and started inviting you to their weddings and you had to have lots of wedding outfits - most of which lasted longer than the date you brought to the said wedding. Remember - was it fun? YES - but you were so busy worrying about money/boys/career that you forgot to have fun. so no - not that much fun.<br />
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3. The grass my friend - it aint greener. It looks it. Oh yes that grass, it looks sexy and lush and wouldn't it be nice to lie on that grass and roll down that hill and just stroke it? But then, that grass would also get old and wither and start nagging you to cut it and all of a sudden you realise - SHIT - I have the same grass I had before - and I thought this grass it was all new and exciting. It is. Until it isn't.<br />
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4. There was a time dancing on the tables looked hot. That time was 1997. Just stop it.<br />
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5. You know what is so great about middle age - NOT CARING what people think. Because firstly - you can't see their facial expressions without your glasses ANYWAY and secondly - it feels so great to be YOU and be alive. Because lots aren't. So just being alive is pretty bloody great.<br />
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6. Getting a dog is the best way ever to have a mid life crisis gracefully. A new child that doesn't involve heavy sanitary pads, leaking breasts and stretch marks.<br />
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7. That ex that you think you should still be with? Get a grip. For example - I think back to my first love. He was great. I mean the best - what was not to love about running off to Berlin aged 17 and being shown the broken down wall, the frothing beers, the cool night clubs, the funky flea markets and the candle-lit smoky restaurants? I was in awe. I still thank my lucky stars that I had all that - but would this work in my life today? Not a snowball's chance in hell because I am no longer 17. I am twice that and then some. What rocked my boat then isn't going to rock my boat now - and things end for a reason. Meanwhile 3 of my exes are dead. Perhaps I am the black widow... One died of a horrible cancer, one drowned in a boating accident and one from alcohol related illness. So frankly if your lips locked mine - get a health check. Or write a will....<br />
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8. Because the best is yet to come. Over Christmas a friend told me that her parents said - if you just get through this sticky phase when your parents get old, your kids become teens and work is FULL ON - then you hit a glorious sweet spot when your kids all leave home and you and your spouse get to gad about and become young lovers all over again. I can't wait. Husband doesn't know it yet but I plan on a trip across the USA and learning the tango and going to Paris for lunch. Because we can. There are adventures to be had. I intend to have them.<br />
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9. Because all that marathon running and tough muddering is just running away from the inevitable. We all die. We do. It's shit and often painful and shocking - but we have to do it. So why run? Why not sit down, turn your face towards the sun and eat the goddamn cake?<br />
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10. Next week I am going with my good friend M to see all 3 of the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/22/movies/before-sunrise-ethan-hawke-julie-delpy.html" target="_blank">Before</a> trilogy films. Sunset, Sunrise and Midnight. I feel like I grew up with them - I was at college or roughly there for Sunset, older but pre kids for Sunrise and married with kids for Midnight. I related to them all hugely. I know I will cry because I am no longer the girl that will tell her funny stories to to a boy walking through Vienna.... It is SO intoxicating to be seen as witty and alluring - and so freakin' alive! But I was that girl - no wait, I <i>am </i>that girl - and my husband - he still likes my stories (even though he tells me to 'focus' and 'what is the point of this story?' and 'does it have an ending?'). So - as wonderful as it was to be those ages and to have those moments - I'm also really grateful to be here - where I am now. I wish I could tell my 20 year old self - it will be ok. It really will. Oh and you will have the best children in the world - beyond your wildest dreams.<br />
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If Gwyneth Paltrow can be excited about her 50s, then hell, so can I. I mean our lives are so similar. Except I don't steam my vagina. (Yet). Last night I booked a trip to Amsterdam with one of my dearest mates for her 50th this August. I'm getting a dog. I'm still getting in cold water every weekend. My chest still stands up without a bra. I mean - what more can I ask for? I aint rich, but I do what I love and I'm also studying to keep my brain active and my options open. I'm working with the best people I have ever had the good fortune to meet/work with and I feel more passionately than ever that women in their mid life need to be seen. Hey, I don't get cat-called in the street any more, I definitely do not turn heads - but I'm still able to throw on lipstick look at myself in the mirror and say - you still know how to have fun. Just wait for my 50th my dear mates - because I am planning it already. Yes, it involves costumes. You may have to come as a movie character. You have 3 years to prepare. So you have no excuse.<br />
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So my advice - that you didn't ask for? Ditch the mid life crisis. Look at what you <b>have</b> rather than what you have not. Celebrate all you have learnt. Make a fun plan. Get a tattoo. Buy those crazy trainers. Have those impossible dreams. Make that Old Fashioned. Because it is still all for the taking - and we are all still young. Hashtag - still got it. Hell YES.<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-71685317153892735702019-12-27T13:05:00.000+00:002019-12-27T14:20:27.925+00:00Goodbye 2019<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And so we put 2019 to bed....<br />
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Last night we played musical beds. (Standard in CM house). Husband has the worst cold ever and my daughter is also getting over a cough so we quarantined them to our room. My Mum in the guest room. My son in his cabin bed. I slept in my 9 year old's bedroom and I lay there and gazed at her spanking new desk, her football trophies, her abundance of stuffed animals and I wished so hard that life could stay this sweet. Soon this will all go and be replaced with cool teenage stuff and I will forever mourn her simple, colourful, 'optimistic outlook' (yes that this what the colour is called - it is VERY optimistic and aqua) painted room.<br />
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More than ever I try and hold time. Grateful for every day here. How can we be seeing in 2020? I mean, isn't it like 2003 or something? I CAN'T be THAT OLD. So as I say goodbye to 2019 as usual I wanted to mull over the year - what I have learnt, what I have lost, what I have loved, what I have achieved. Because isn't that the point of the end of year interminable days between Xmas and New years - to look back and then wipe that slate clean; new year, new you and all that jazz?<br />
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So how was it? I'm not gonna lie - February was brutal. I have never known a more painful time. I've used the trios we do at college as therapy to overcome the after affects and I'm emerging stronger now, if somewhat bruised. When someone your age dies, it feels like the world has got the order wrong. How can someone so young, so full of life, suddenly be gone? Death leaves behind unanswered questions, unspoken ties broken and yet we must pick up the pieces and move on. At college I was told a phrase: 'We are all just a car crash, a diagnosis, a new found love, or a broken heart away from becoming a completely different person. How beautifully fragile are we, that so many things can take but a moment to alter who we are forever.'<br />
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Ok, I'll get more cheery. Bear with me. Then came house refurb and I GROSSLY underestimated how much head space that took up. Having been dicked around about work - I found I had time on my hands and looking back - I am SO grateful I had it. My 'house ideas' book looked like the one the killer scribbles all over in <i>Se7en</i>. Insane amount of planning and choosing and oh my god, I LIVED on eBay. I have never known such a thrill - sourcing items from all over the place. Cinema chairs from here, old cabinet to put the sink on from there, old puffer fish light fitting from a miserable woman in Surrey. Days went by in a flash, finding ovens, taps, fridges etc. We only moved out for a mere 3.5 weeks and when we returned, upstairs had been completely gutted and everywhere was filled with rubble and dust. I couldn't breathe; I hated walking over the uneven floors and I dreamt of carpet on a nightly basis. Somehow, when we painted the WHOLE house ourselves (4 coats baby!) it started to come together. People kept saying how I must be loving it - when all I could think was - this is HELL. Until the floors came and then carpet and finally the kitchen doors were made and in and suddenly, it was done. I sat back and loved my home. All that sweat and OCD fixation on detail was worth it. I cried when my builders left - because <i>I missed them</i>. Paul, Gary, James, Darryl and Jack were the highlights of my year. Gary - a carpenter genius, helped me solve every problem and had the best design ideas I could have dreamt of. James and I chatted Love Island every day. Darryl asked me: 'any jobs you need doing?' Heaven. If you want details: Paul Hobbs builders. THE BEST.<br />
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Then summer was over and yet my outdoor swimming continued - albeit without my wetsuit. ( Due to a mere 15 litres of paint spilling in our car - thanks Selco - and all over said wetsuit). It was easily the best bit of my year. Total bliss. I have never known such joy as getting into 6 degree water. The water stings, my shoulders ache, my feet are blocks of ice and then... its wonderful. Afterwards, my body feels like it has been through an epidural and I can't feel my feet for about 2 hours, but it is honestly worth it. On reflection this year has really been about embracing difficulties until out of the blue, they become inexplicably wonderful. Thank you Katy for being my swim partner in crime - the sight of you in a bobble hat swimming towards swans shouting FUCKKKKKKKKKKK - This is NOT EVEN FUNNY - still makes me smile.<br />
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My son became a teenager and I attended a 50th the same weekend. To combat the feeling of being wildly over the hill, I bonded with the Uni students serving drinks and discussed their love lives - me being all down with the kids and that. Until their free-pouring meant the only thing I was down with, was falling into a privet hedge and flailing like a beetle until I was rescued and poured into a cab by my tolerant husband.<br />
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I found that the best pleasure in life is a dog walk. So, after promising our daughter we would get a dog: 'when we move house; when we get planning; after the refurb is done;' we have run out of excuses and our first purchase of 2020 will be a fox red lab.... Stay tuned for the woman who has never had a dog - surviving puppy school....<br />
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College: just a joy. We studied all the theories of counselling and I got to learn what a total feck-up I am... before you laugh - er, so are you. We all are. That's what makes people fascinating. I learned why I behave as I do; why it is ok to let people go from your life if they are not supportive and true friends; what narcissists really are; Freud's theories; attachment theories; transactional analysis; Drivers (mine: being perfect); CBT and NATs; Carl Rogers' theories; Erikson's life stages and the triangle of insight. I love love love it. Not so much the studying, but the privilege of hearing other people's stories and working out why they behave as they do. The best thing about my course is that not only do you have to do the work - essays, presentations etc - but you have to do the work ON YOU. I leave class every week thinking 'how am I fucking up my children on a daily basis?' In one journal I wrote about conquering my OCD then realised I had spent the morning tidying the house rom top to bottom before writing. As I said, I'm a work in progress...<br />
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What else? Oh yes, I learnt to say NO. I'll never work again for producers that treat you like a dancing monkey. If you screw up and send a writer the wrong story, and they spend their entire half term neglecting their kids to write a new version - only for it to be a total waste of time as it is the wrong version - then admit your mistake! I'm not prepared any more to spend my days going in circles; being treated badly and for it to be seen as acceptable. There is something very 'bad boyfriend I can't quit' about various aspects of writing - and frankly, I'd rather stack shelves at Waitrose than have to put up with it. I may end up poor, but I'll be emotionally richer and for me, that's more important. But the projects planned in 2020 are my most favourite-is yet so here's hoping they go well.<br />
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So as I move into this new decade, I think my new mantra is about simplicity. Getting outdoors and into cold water. Eating well and getting sleep. Caring about the planet and about each other. Yes, I am a becoming a bloody hippy... But truly, a little kindness goes a long way. So my aim for this decade, is just to be here as we approach the next one. (DV).<br />
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To those that still dip in here to CM - I send love and thanks. I wish you all peace, health and happiness in 2020. Make it count. Keep her lit!<br />
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Love CM xx<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-43974215352115638712019-12-03T12:00:00.000+00:002019-12-03T12:13:21.962+00:00The Alternative (cheaper) Gift Guide<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So it's here. My mucker Jason Yarrow has called it - and we are in Christmas 2019 build up. It's unavoidable: the John Lewis advert, the school Xmas fair, Waitrose shelves threatening to topple with the sheer weight of Panattones... Call me Scrooge if you must - but the whole enforced festivities have me running to the hills. As if the end of year wasn't stressful enough, without all this mad consumerism and sudden rush to see EVERYONE YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN because dear god if you don't, you may Cinders like, disappear by the stroke of NYE midnight...<br />
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As an aside, I ended up accidently in Westfield the other week - don't ask, but it involved taking my Mum to see Loose Women. (Bonus - I did see Gareth Thomas speak and he is simply a hero - anyway, I digress). It was horrific - everything wrong in the world in one giant throbbing over-lit overpriced nightmare. I'd rather have a smear test every day for the rest of my life than enter it again...<br />
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So, with all this bah humbugness, what gifts do I suggest dear reader?<br />
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Firstly, I'll admit - I do love a good gift guide. <a href="https://onthespike.com/2019/12/01/dear-husband-3/" target="_blank">The Spike</a> is a goody (and not extortionate) and I also love to check in to <a href="https://goop.com/style/gift-guides/ridiculous-holiday-gifts/" target="_blank">Goopy</a> Gwyneth's because - shock - I do think she has a sense of humour - suggesting a trip to space, a joint roller and a brass fire extinguisher all on the same page. But in all this gift giving malarky - have we lost sight of what Xmas is all about? A friend who came for dinner on Friday said 'aren't you tired of stuff?' I couldn't agree more...<br />
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This year I had to pack up my entire house, shove it into a non-water tight shed and one room while the rest was demolished/gutted/refurbed. It gave me that wonderful opportunity of a massive clear out and frankly it was thrilling. I did a LOT of Marie Kondo-ing: 'does this bring me joy?' Bad bits: how on earth did I ever fit into my wedding dress?? (The skirt had gone mouldy, out it went. Corset - made clearly for a tiny fairy - stayed). Good bits: I found cards from my recently deceased step-sister that made me weep.... Anyway, it made me see how much we accumulate and how much we really need. I spent '95-'96 travelling the world with a backpack and it proved to me how we can survive with so much less than we think we need. Buddhist monks are allowed just 8 items and I think they have a point. Have a clear out, donate items to charity instead of putting them all on Ebay. When someone finds that bizarre hand-mirror with lights that show up spots coming a month from now or that kite you never got round to using but have had since you were 8, you will make their day...<br />
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So what can you give at Xmas? Well for one thing - your time. Who wouldn't want someone to offer to babysit their kids/ clean their car/ cook a meal/ house sit/ walk the dog? Or sign up to help the homeless this Xmas - <a href="https://www.crisis.org.uk/get-involved/christmas-volunteering-london/" target="_blank">Crisis</a> are always looking for volunteers, or you can donate. I know someone who does this every single Christmas and she told me it can change a person's life completely, to just be treated with respect and comfort at such a vulnerable time of the year.<br />
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One of the most beautiful Xmas gifts I ever was given was a white box, with pretty cloth red ribbon containing home-made meringues. Now sadly I cannot bake (<a href="https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/collection/christmas-biscuits" target="_blank">here</a> are some ideas if you can) - but anything home-made is a winner this Xmas. I plan to make a wreath with my daughter, using foliage in the garden and then give it to my dear neighbour. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AnxNV-PNK4" target="_blank">Here</a> is a wreath making guide - it is honestly simple. You can get the base on ebay for a mere £3, some twine £2 and then get thee to a forest, Chop some ferns and holly and maybe get the odd ribbon or pine cone and you are away!<br />
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Another idea is to get a photo framed that means something to the person you love. One year I gave my Mum a framed pic of her with my then one year old son and she wept. All our best moments seem to be stored on a phone or some USB stick. Get them out - remember a moment. Live it all again.<br />
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Ok a favourite of mine - BOOKS. Don't even think about going into a bookshop unless it is an independent like the gorgeous one in <a href="https://welbooks.co.uk/" target="_blank">West Hampstead</a>. You can always pop into an <a href="https://www.oxfam.org.uk/shop/local-shops/oxfam-bookshops" target="_blank">Oxfam</a> bookshop and buy some gems - giving to charity at the same time. I have never, ever been upset to get a book, no matter old, new dogeared, doodled upon. I won't try to suggest any because we all have different tastes - but an old favourite of mine is : <i>She's Come Undone</i> by Wally Lamb. I also love a book called '<i>Surviving Survival</i>' about the human spirit and what we can endure, when we have survived the worst that can be thrown at us... Every year an old school chum of mine Gareth reads <i>A Christmas Carol</i>. Inspired by him, I read it on Sunday. If it doesn't have you feeling festive - I don't know what will. Buy an old copy of it, add a bottle of wine/port and who won't love that as a gift?<br />
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Socks. I know I know, not the most exciting - but our washing machine eats the feckers, so we are always desperate for them. I also love to skulk around working from home in <a href="https://www.decathlon.co.uk/adult-100-navy-id_8549944.html" target="_blank">these beautie</a>s - cheap as chips - from Decathalon.<br />
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There is a not a woman alive that I know, that hates getting a candle. <a href="https://www.jomalone.co.uk/products/19904/for-the-home/charity-candle" target="_blank">These</a> from Jo Malone are spenny but support charities. (Look on google for more charity candles... there are tonnes).<br />
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Talking of charities, <a href="https://choose.love/collections/shelter-collection" target="_blank">Choose Love</a> is solely to help Refugees - so buying from them, you really are buying someone hot food, basic sanitary goods or even a tent to shelter in. Well worth supporting... It's a difficult time of year to know which charity to support - we all have lost someone to cancer, we all see the homeless on the short walk from Euston to Kings Cross, we all watch the adverts where children are dying because they have no fresh water to drink. Ask someone to donate to one, instead of gifting you something you don't need. Do you really need another perfume/pair of shoes/dodgy blusher?<br />
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On to lighter subjects - I googled 'cheap gifts' and<a href="https://www.findmeagift.co.uk/gifts/grow-your-own-hairy-beaver.html?adGroupId=9942893748&device=c&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIidng0qmZ5gIVAuDtCh1X7wgJEAQYBSABEgKU_PD_BwE" target="_blank"> this </a>came up. Lord.<br />
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You may wonder what I'm asking for this xmas - a pair of gloves. That's it. Gloves that mean I can get into 7 degree water every Saturday without feeling like my hands have been cut off. Of course I'd love a <a href="https://www.googleadservices.com/pagead/aclk?sa=L&ai=CSTkmlkHmXePJLNnAtwfr5KCAD7LUib1awvD3zMYG0b_dtTgIABABILlUKAJgu46Xg9AKoAGl3ozYA8gBAakC2Vk_pprKtT7IA9ggqgQ8T9Bga_bkljGPBCMh_V9qi66WeDyGVy5D6B_iFwrHShKA2tkrY3tFFPXIFKWUC53A1x15v0ZJkDZXTRuYwASGg8nClwGABZBOoAZRgAfDofMnkAcBqAemvhuoB9nLG6gHz8wbqAfz0RuoB-7SG6gHwtob2AcBsAgB0ggFEAIghAGaCRRodHRwczovL2RyeXJvYmUuY29tL7EJwKnd2gqTRca5CcCp3doKk0XG-AkBmAsBiBQB&ved=2ahUKEwjizbLyqpnmAhXOWhUIHbUHBRcQ0Qx6BAgREAE&dblrd=1&val=GgiNHN43O-pvgSABKAAwzoeMpc2eo7lvOOTk3O0FQLvtmO8F&sig=AOD64_1-pawDM1wj2_-rhqOmsLcFpheL9Q&adurl=https://dryrobe.com/" target="_blank">Dry Robe</a> - but they are pricey... And it feels against my rule of: NO MORE STUFF. But it is like a big blanket and when you swim in icy waters it is SO BRRRRRRRRRRRR. Step away CM - Xmas isn't about YOU.<br />
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For me, Xmas is about food, family and fun. With that in mind, I bring you the tasty treats that any living soul would appreciate at Xmas:<br />
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1. M and S shortbread. It is a fiver folks and it is is HEAVEN. Heaven I tell you. I've already chomped through one and have hidden one at the back of the tall cupboard. If anyone in my family sniffs it before Xmas I will murder them.<br />
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2. I LOVE these <a href="https://www.lakeland.co.uk/40294/Wild-Hibiscus-Flowers-In-Syrup-For-Sparkling-Drinks?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI39_RxK6Z5gIVBLDtCh0YtQ1YEAQYBCABEgLWPPD_BwE&src=gfeed&efid=EAIaIQobChMI39_RxK6Z5gIVBLDtCh0YtQ1YEAQYBCABEgLWPPD_BwE:G:s&s_kwcid=AL!49!3!264094215785!!!g!294997576266!&ev_chn=shop&ef_id=EAIaIQobChMI39_RxK6Z5gIVBLDtCh0YtQ1YEAQYBCABEgLWPPD_BwE:G:s" target="_blank">hibiscus flowers</a>. Under a tenner and make all festive fizz fabulous. Just drop one in and watch it flower...<br />
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3. How can you not love Lindor? Call me a basic bitch if you will, but who is laughing as they chomp down on those on Xmas morning? Or a toblerone. Always a toblerone.<br />
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4. Get thee to Aldi and get these beauties: THE best cracker ever. You can thank me on Boxing Day. While I'm on Aldi - their London Gin, according to my husband, who knows his shit about liquor - is as good as Tanquery he reckons and a mere £14.<br />
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5. Let me say it here - 2020 is the year of the Toastie. My kids love my old Breville Daisy toaster - not sure you can still buy it... But there is a Breville <a href="https://www.currys.co.uk/gbuk/household-appliances/small-kitchen-appliances/small-cooking-appliances/sandwich-toasters/breville-vst041-deep-fill-sandwich-toaster-graphite-stainless-steel-10148168-pdt.html?store=2377&&istCompanyId=bec25c7e-cbcd-460d-81d5-a25372d2e3d7&istFeedId=2928af81-b29b-476c-a180-ac5de265a98e&istItemId=xprptilqw&istBid=t&srcid=198&cmpid=ppc~gg~0000%20(PLA)%20WHITE%20GOOD%20All%20Products~WHITE%20GOODS%20All%20Products~Exact&mctag=gg_goog_7904&kwid=GOOGLE&device=c&ds_kids=92700020206436023&tgtid=0000%20(PLA)%20WHITE%20GOOD%20All%20Products&&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIv7C7mLGZ5gIVC7TtCh1cnAgcEAQYASABEgLSvvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds" target="_blank">here </a>for £21... A toastie solves all hangovers. Or, if everyone is starving and you cannot be arsed to cook - a toastie. Seriously. Get amongst it.<br />
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6. Cheese. The best bit of Xmas, I find, is the cheeseboard. Just as you feel ruined by a dinner and worried that you will spend the rest of your life python like, unable to digest the bugger, out comes the cheese board. Suddenly you jump up, ready for all the festive 'games' and eating like you have never seen food. No cheeseboard is complete without Comte, an overripe Brie, Goats (Chèvre Blanc), an Epoisse, Blue stilton, Manchego, Morbier and Wensleydale with cranberries... You will need some decent crackers (YES to digestives in case you were wondering) and quince. And a shed load of gaviscon no doubt...<br />
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7. Finally booze. No Xmas should be without it, unless you abstain. In which case I salute you. It takes the edge off all that 'family bonding time' with people you avoid all year. I myself see it as an excuse to indulge in an old fashioned, (my fav drink) and so for me, you can't go wrong with a bottle of Woodforde bourbon. Husband always gets this for me, then drinks most of it - so I am certain he owes me one already from last year. Aldi do a fabulous <a href="https://www.aldi.co.uk/organic-prosecco/p/076806148752900" target="_blank">Prosecco</a> - if you don't believe me <a href="https://www.standard.co.uk/shopping/esbest/christmas/food-drink/wine-spirits/best-prosecco-to-buy-in-the-uk-aldi-harrods-lidl-tesco-a3419381.html" target="_blank">here </a>is one review - and I have read more... Eco friendly to boot. Port is a must. I think <a href="https://www.waitrose.com/ecom/products/taylors-10-year-old-tawny-port/380057-151485-151486" target="_blank">this</a> is an epically good one. Or M and S do a half decent one and it is always on offer (at least every time I go in I get offered a thimble full - which is a winter warmer I always appreciate). I always think a festive tipple is in store, if like me you are hosting a few for drinks on Xmas morning... I am debating expresso martinis (yum) or fizz with any of <a href="https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/howto/guide/how-make-prosecco-cocktails" target="_blank">these </a>. Here are <a href="https://www.olivemagazine.com/drink/best-ever-christmas-cocktails/" target="_blank">some suggestions</a> to mull on...<br />
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So that's it. If you don't have the time to make stuff - I've been there (full time job at Enders, 2 small kids and 13 Babble articles to write meant I didn't have time to pee back in the day) - then gifts I also think are fabulous are - fire lighters, that little thing that snuffs out candles, (did I mention candles?) any kind of mitten and a jaunty scarf. Something colourful from Zara costing no more than £20. Like <a href="https://www.zara.com/uk/en/houndstooth-scarf-p04758240.html?v1=32554778&v2=1281551" target="_blank">this </a>. Or <a href="https://theordinary.com/default?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIyZ-zybmZ5gIVh7PtCh1SjAHXEAAYASAAEgJO-PD_BwE&ccm=6afb414ca0a748bd85ed7ead6c4e6729f133993f2fd49d2697d9aa1f3700dc05f70102cb1d00da802a8fe86a4f7a904b2cc58b019d79610ab89b7e00b33f328bc753a4096d6833cfdfd104393f7b6d2ecb20d25e977a39756d529b46842e1f8a5c6226f26f657c6f72609d43576ea413bed3f59ebfc597d0301cada4cda20bcbd3ebfa8c7d15b1b0f38dc71252db1f9d&ccvis=1" target="_blank">Ordinary products </a>- they are CHEAP and AMAZING. I need a whole blog post to discuss the wonders of 'Buffet' alone. Try them. Takes years off. (Not that I think we need to all look younger - kick that bloody idea to touch for a start. But we do all appreciate help after a big night, no?).<br />
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I'll be back with my end of 2019 round up - excited for 2020. Jaysus. It was a mere second ago I was at my dear friend Caroline's on millennium eve, so drunk I ended up walking into her Dad's bedroom in confusion (so many times he used a bicycle to barricade the door). So you filthy animals, have a great #Buildup19 and if in doubt - keep it simple. People love you for who you are, not what you give. Not the size of your house, not the amount of money you spend on a party, but for the joy only you can bring.<br />
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Seasons greetings. CM x<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-25553702760230289582019-09-25T13:28:00.003+01:002019-09-25T13:41:39.039+01:00House refurb part 1: The joys of a shower... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. Best not to speak to me until I've had a shower and a cup of builders. Then, only then, am I vaguely human. When my buddy Est and I travelled the world, our flatmate Katy in New Zealand refused to wake me - she said I was so scary in the mornings. Monstrous is how she described me and I think she was being kind. Now when I wake my 8 year old Sproglette, and she groans and turns away, spitting venom about having to get up - I realise I have passed on the 'hating mornings gene.'<br />
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Anyway, when we bought our crumbling cottage back in 2017, I knew that we wouldn't have a shower. How bad could it be I reasoned? I mean, a bath is lovely - right? Well of course it is... but <i>every </i>day? A bath doesn't give you the same jolt into wakefulness that a shower does. It doesn't make you feel fresh, alive, ready for the day. Baths are for sinking into on an evening; leisurely soaking troubles away - the exact opposite of how one is feeling when they are rushing to get out the door in the morning, with everyone wearing matching shoes and hopefully still speaking...<br />
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Why else did I not love our bathroom? Well it was old lady bathroom. You couldn't swing a cat in it. Don't believe me? Here you go. Photo exhibit number 1. The bathroom as pictured when we first viewed the house:<br />
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Inviting isn't it with that 30 year old floor? I thought: well, how long can it take to get planning permission? Turns rather a long time... We first saw the house in October 2016, moved in October 2017 and got planning...... February 2019..... That is a LOT of baths. Husband couldn't really fit in it so took to going to the gym... </div>
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Then this was it the day we moved out (for a mere 3 and a half weeks while the builders gutted the house upstairs - leaving only one remaining wall) - </div>
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Gorgeous isn't it? So I fantasised about a shower for a LONG time. Every time I had to go away with work or stay at friends' houses, I stood in the shower and just thought - this is SUCH a lovely thing, having hot water pour on you. It's energising, calming and comforting all at once. Rinsing your hair without using a crappy leaking shower hose felt divine. It also made me think A LOT about the kind of bathroom I wanted: the vibe was kind of New York bathroom, but without all the chinz. I wanted it to feel clean, relaxing, inviting. I also had a limited budget - because it turns out that refurbishing your ENTIRE house, well it aint cheap. So I embraced that limited budget - I positively thrived on it - by spending my days scouring eBay and being inspired by all things Pinterest. I found a teak unit I loved, picked it up and bought new legs for it. I sourced taps from here, shower from there... So here we go (with hind site I maybe should have used some fancy filter or given the place a deep clean first - but I'm not a fancy lifestyle blogger, so here it is, as is):</div>
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Dull bit: Unit is vintage (Ebay), Radiator (brand new, again Ebay), oyster candles (a gift). Spider plant called Darryl (after one of my builders) is from <a href="https://www.capitalgardens.co.uk/store-locations/woods-of-berkhamstead-garden-centre/" target="_blank">Woods</a>, and my prints by <a href="https://www.lu-west.com/" target="_blank">Lu West</a>. Mirror (Ebay again) and lamp lights (<a href="https://www.lampsy.com/" target="_blank">Lampsy</a>). Plant pot from <a href="https://us.homesense.com/" target="_blank">Home Sense</a>, Shower from <a href="https://www.rubberduckbathrooms.co.uk/" target="_blank">Rubber Duck bathrooms</a>, Toilet and shower doors and tray from <a href="https://www.drench.co.uk/" target="_blank">Drench</a> (but I would advise caution using Drench - they take FOREVER and never let you know when there are going to be delays...). Wall mounted taps from a local bathroom store but you can get <a href="https://www.bathdisc.co.uk/grosvenor-lever-3-hole-wall-mounted-basin-mixer?utm_source=google_shopping&gclid=EAIaIQobChMImqHWscej4wIVxrHtCh3rRQyPEAQYASABEgIl7_D_BwE" target="_blank">here</a>. Tiles: <a href="https://www.chilterntiles.co.uk/home/" target="_blank">Chiltern Tiles</a> who were MILES cheaper than Topps tiles etc and knew <i>exactly</i> what I wanted. I actually can't remember where I got the sink but think again - eBay. My life really has been on eBay. I WISH there was a job sourcing stuff for folk because I am a genius at it these days... </div>
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Every day I get in this shower and think - I am SO grateful to have a shower... I think it is ALMOST making me appreciate mornings again, but not quite...</div>
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Finally on the subject of bathrooms... I wanted my guests to have an ensuite. (I don't want one myself - husband has an aversion to anything toilet related so refused one point blank. As he was happy for me to choose everything pretty much in the house, I agreed to this one small point). So for the guests I went for fun. And what says fun more than a feck tonne of foxes?? Also my daughter has a fox toy called er... Foxy - that she loves. We get foxes in the garden and well, I kinda like the cheeky scamps. So I threw in a darker colour for the panelling - (love me a bit of panelling and stiffkey blue) and some rope accessories - and voila! The only gutting thing is the shower in the guest ensuite is actually better than ours... So, what are you waiting for - come visit! </div>
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And I can guarantee a life size parrot in your bedroom. Meet Gary (named after my lovely builder who is frankly a god):</div>
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Because every house needs a parrot is what I say.... Do pop in....</div>
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CM XX</div>
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-55124091536057667382019-04-23T00:37:00.001+01:002019-04-24T14:00:18.860+01:00Scrap that, Blood is thicker than water... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My children have no blood relative cousins. My husband has a brother in Australia who has no children and I am an only child, meaning my kids are cousin-less. Having grown up knowing the wonderful relationship you can have with your family members of similar ages, having the best of best cousins myself, I have always wanted the same experience for my kids. I was delighted therefore to create that dynamic with people - who maybe felt for the fact I am an only, or cherished the relationship they had with me - so my kids were not really aware what a 'blood relative' or 'real cousin' even was. They had them. Simple as that.<br />
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But there will always be <i>that</i> person - who will tell them, who will remind them, that the relationship is false: like Santa or the tooth fairy - something great to believe in, but not strictly a truth. This year, more than any other has taught me one thing: no matter what you believe you have created, nurtured, cared for and invested in - others will not. That when the chips are down, one thing matters only: are you blood?<br />
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I've never seen life this way. Raised every weekend by my Mum's ex-boyfriend (whom I lived with from the age of 11 until I finished Uni) - I decided pretty damn early in life that family could be chosen. That being an only kid, who never felt she was her parents' priority - it was ok, because I could carve out family when it wasn't really there. Never living with my Dad, not having the classic 2.4 and all the trimmings - well, who cares, when you can throw your love at others and make it stick. Breathe life into the word family - in whole other areas, to find that love you are so desperate for.<br />
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And up until this year, I would have said, I did a damn good job of it. But suddenly - in a single moment, standing in the queue at an airport - I realised that my construct of family - well, it was potentially all in my head. Perhaps how I saw a relationship - was in fact only in my imagination. I scrolled through texts and whats apps and our whole history to work out if I had in fact gone mad.... A friend described the effect on me as 'gaslighting.' To say it knocked me for six is an understatement.<br />
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Since then I have pondered on what I mean to others and also, what do they mean to me? Being an only kid I have never had a sibling to rely on, someone to charge ahead, forge the pathway for me. Someone to look up to, or to guide. Perhaps my love of company (husband says I am 'energised' by seeing people, whereas he is drained) is based on the fact that as an only child of divorced busy parents - I was often alone. The bonus of this, is I have never struggled to make friends and find it easy to engage with others. So for me, friendship, well, it is <i>family</i>. I choose friends sparingly and once I'm in - I'm there 100%. Thus the majority of my mates I have known 20/30 plus years...<br />
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And yet, if anything were to happen to me, I can imagine people turning to my soul mate buddies and thinking 'oh you just lost a friend... big deal.' <i>It isn't like losing a blood relative...</i>. Because we seem to measure love, commitment and importance on that simple fact - being related. Yet, my life is littered with people who mean the absolute world to me - who I literally would do anything for and who have supported me through thick and thin - and they aren't blood. I sent <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2018/apr/22/after-a-miscarriage-and-divorce-my-friends-showed-me-true-love" target="_blank">This</a> article by Elizabeth Day to several friends because it was a love letter to friendship - the most underrated and unsung of loves of our life.<br />
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This year I lost someone dear to me. She introduced me to Prince on her weekly mix tapes...Taught me how to dress at a time when I thought long kilts and polo necks were cool. We used to sit on the doorstep in our PJs and play albums loudly during the long summer holidays. She was the first person to get me drunk. (I still can't even smell Martini Bianco without wanting to wretch). We would sit up late watching scary movies trying (and failing) to recreate McDonald's thickshakes. She showed me The Exorcist and I duly vommed. (Regan had nothing on me). We had each others' backs during the dark teenage years... covering for one another and sympathising when we fought with our respective mothers... Her daughter was flower girl at my wedding, sat in between my new husband and I through the reception. I flew home to celebrate her daughter's 2nd birthday. She wrote my children birthday cards from 'cousins X Y and Z.' I knew her for 35 years, lived with her on weekends for almost 10 and yet I had members of my own family who never once said: 'I'm sorry for your loss.' I guess because she and I weren't related... we weren't blood. So my grief, it seems isn't valid.<br />
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Perhaps a less sensitive person would take this on the chin. But I am not that person. My friend H wisely said: "you have to ask yourself why this matters so much to you." My answer: I am the girl with 3 sets of keys and 3 homes as a teen. I am the girl who sought out family... I am the one who never believed that blood was <a href="https://crummymummywhodrinks.blogspot.com/2013/01/thicker-than-water.html" target="_blank">thicker than water.</a> I am that lonely only. So whilst I thought that by 45 I had managed to contain all my demons - suddenly they have come flying out of the woodwork.... A pandora's box opened, the contents mocking me and all I believed in. All I thought I knew. All I guess I had hoped for.<br />
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So this much I know is true: blood will always be seen as thicker than water. No matter how much you want it to be different.<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-65613583032370915482018-12-20T11:52:00.001+00:002018-12-20T17:19:40.760+00:00All you need is love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, it is that time of the year isn't it? When we down tools... pick up bars of Toblerone and our TV remotes and sink into the sofa. No? Just me?<br />
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It is also the time of year we get to reflect on 2018 and all it has brought us...<br />
<br />
On a work level, it was one of my finest. I got to work with wonderful people, saw a project dear to my heart rise like the phoenix from the ashes and met a whole bunch of amazing folk in film - waters I had never dipped my toe into before. After a punishing 2017, it was nothing short of joyful. On a personal level, going back to college was a highlight - again for the people I met and also because it is great to get out of my Berkhamsted bubble and learn new skills. The loneliness of writing has never sat well with me.<br />
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And yet, there have been moments of complete devastation. When the phone goes and someone says - 'Are you sitting down?' And you say 'yes,' because you always do, don't you? Even when you are standing in your kitchen, heart pounding, thinking - what the hell is coming next? And it is never what you expect and it is never, ever good. People dear to me have had struggles - life or death struggles - and all I have done is offer support and love, while I watch them be more courageous than I could ever be. It is at times like this, that I think of my Father's saying: You are nothing without your health. I hope they (and you) have a healthy and happy 2019.<br />
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What have I learnt this year?<br />
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1. That when cooking it is best if one stays in the kitchen. Maybe not get on Twitter or stop to write that email or two... never ends well.<br />
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2. That being near the sea is a balm for the soul. Cornwall and Croatia - easily two of my favourite times in 2018. Beautiful Brela - swimming around the famous rock every day, as schools of teeny tiny violet fish swam just out of reach - was incredible. One morning husband and I got up at dawn and crept out there for a swim. It was silent, save for the quiet sea lapping at the shore and I held that moment in my head for the rest of the year.<br />
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When I feel stressed, I go back there.<br />
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3. That nothing on earth beats hanging out with those that have known you since you were 11 and still miraculously do. But perhaps 3 drinks and then stop is a lesson I should have learnt back in 1994... Maybe then, texting your first boyfriend, after not actually seeing him for 25 years, (and I quote - spelling mistakes included) : ' Too many drinks later... We are at a girl's reunion... and I have a daughter and a son and I thought I have a lot to thank you for. Thank you fit teaching me sex and thank you fir making me love my own body. I only wish my daughter felt teh same. I wish you only happiness.' DEAR GOD. 'What,' said my dear mate C, "are you going to say when he asks how old your daughter is and you reply er.. 8?" My point, was that I wished my kids would have the great first love I did. Perhaps it got lost in my 12 gin translation. Sigh. Oh and I sent YET another text to his gentlemanly reply, but I cannot face writing it here. I would have to kill myself if I did.<br />
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4. So really, a lesson is, STEP AWAY FROM YOUR PHONE WHEN DRUNK. I'm 45 - why do I still need to learn this???<br />
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5. There is NOTHING wrong with star bothering, even at my age. But when you meet the most handsome and talented actor of his generation, remember he is not of YOUR generation - so to compensate, tell Timothee Chalamet that he looks like your son. Then exit. Quickly.<br />
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6. Hanging out with your kids - when you set down the phone, leave the house and go explore - is amazing. They will be gone in a matter of seconds, (my son is a teen next year) so enjoy it while you can. Every hug in the morning, every lazer quazar game at their birthday party, every blackberry pick in September sunshine, it will all be gone in a heartbeat. So embrace. Go outside. Look up.<br />
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7. That Dark N Stormy at 3pm on St Paddys - because B thinks it is a good idea and sure didn't we win the rugby and isn't Ireland fecking class - will end in a broken toe. Be warned.<br />
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8. Bike rides are always good idea.<br />
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9. Freshwater swimming is amazing. Especially with my two old flatmates. Henleaze you are stunning and I wish I could swim in you daily. Thank you CJ. Summer you were glorious and exhausting in equal measure.<br />
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10. As ever, 2018 affirmed that my greatest pleasure in life is when the lights dim low and I'm holding a hot coffee in hand, waiting for a movie to start. Tomorrow, we as a family are off to see Elf at my local art deco cinema - replete with bar! I'm so lucky to have The Rex on my doorstep - meaning I get to see wonderful films like Summer 1993, Wildlife, BlackKKKlansman, The Rider, Custody (the most tense film I have EVER seen), Coco and Ladybird (with my son) there... I'm still not down with films being on Netflix or Amazon before being on a big screen - I just do not get why you would want to see the cinematography of something as incredible as The Rider, on a small screen? End of rant.<br />
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11. I've also leant that I may no longer have periods (thank you partial hysterectomy, I love you so) but my PMT still rages and thank god for Evening Primrose. There was a point this year as I wept on the school office staff because my cakes for the cake sale had on the drive to school become cake roadkill, that I realised my hormones are the ruin of me. Evening Primrose helps. Something had to.<br />
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12. Most of all, I realise how fleeting time is, that we are here again, about to usher in a new year. I know that we must use our time wisely, in who we share it with and what we chose to do with it. I personally need to get offline more and get outside more. Having almost pet ducks (we named - Daisy and Derek) to feed most of spring; the rest of the family seeing a deer in the garden - but only me seeing a beautiful kingfisher hurrah! - has meant me embracing the outside more. Getting out and walking to the end of the my lane, along a canal and up into the woods - is brilliant.<br />
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2018, thank you for being kind to me. For affording me health and a stable income. For giving me sunshine and the seaside. At a time when our country is a mess, when everyone seems to be suffering, when mental health issues are only starting to be less taboo, I try and find one reason every day to be cheerful - from a good book, to a hot bath, to a great cuppa - joy is in the small moments. That all we have and can give, is love - and that really, is all you need.<br />
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Merry Xmas and a Happy 2019 you filthy animals.<br />
<br />
CM xx<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-87254777742286515382018-10-02T12:25:00.001+01:002018-10-02T12:40:52.711+01:00The Wife<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Let me count the ways that I love Glenn Close: she was able to garner sympathy when she played a mentally disturbed woman who refused to be tossed aside like a used napkin in <i>Fatal Attraction</i> (I even bought the DVD in order to see the original ending, the one that Close believed is the rightful one); she played an adulteress herself in <i>The Big Chill,</i> but one who was willing to het her husband father a baby with her best friend - the fact this felt normal is down to the charisma of Close; she was the ultimate feminist in <i>The World According to Garp</i>; deliciously cruel as Cruella DeVille in <i>101 Dalmations</i>; powerful and determined as Teddy Barnes in my guilty pleasure <i>Jagged Edge</i> and perhaps at her most luminous, most acidic and most memorable as the utterly wicked Marquise de Merteuil in <i>Dangerous Liaisons.</i> (Who could forget the incredible moment John Malkovich as Valmont demands that she keep her side of the deal and sleep with him or it will be war... only for the Marquise to give an aquiescing smile as her lip curls and she yells a triumphant: 'War!').<br />
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She is easily one of my favourite actresses of all time, so I went to see <i>The Wife</i> with high hopes. I couldn't have been more disappointed.<br />
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The film begins in 1992 in Conneticut, when Joe Castleman played by Johnathan Pryce, gets a phone call to say he has won the Nobel prize for literature. Joan, his wife, (played by Close) listens in on the other line, her face a picture of shock and wonder. The couple with their wet weekend of a son (played by a pudgy Max Irons who desperately needs a haircut and to ditch the leather jacket) travel to Stockholm to collect the award, followed by the human snake that is Christian Slater - a journo desperate to write a tell all book on Joe. (Slater is terrific - at his sleazy best).<br />
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Joan gathers up socks, picks crumbs from Joe's beard and tells him when to take his pills. She is the steady wheels behind his success, which he is quick to explain at every given opportunity. When asked what Joan does for a living, she replies 'I am a Kingmaker' and aint that the truth. There is of course a much deeper reason for Joan's angst in her role of sidekick - which is less of a <i>reveal</i> and more of - 'this fact has been blatantly obvious from the second act.'<br />
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Joan's rage simmers until it can no longer... which left me with the question - why now? If you have accepted this role for the whole of your life (one Joe's first wife was glad to escape) then why suddenly kick off? Over the Nobel prize? The 'truth' fails to unpick what role Joe had in this arrangement - how did his ego fare, save the fact he ran around shagging other women? There is a whole well of complex relationship questions that remain completely unanswered.<br />
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Close's daughter plays the younger Joan in flashbacks and she has clearly inherited her mother's talent; but there is precious little for her to do. Plus there are no styling differences between present day and flashback, which feels like a missed opportunity. When we hop back in time, it feels jarring and lack lustre, as if the budget ran out and they filmed all the scenes in one day.<br />
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Which brings me to the woeful direction. At one point I found myself thinking 'did Bjorn Runge run out of shots? Maybe forget to get a better focus?' The lack of skill made me constantly feel outside the film and not at all engrossed in it. The scene where Joe and Joan's son discovers the truth behind his dad's success, is a crash course in heightened melodrama and how NOT to act.<br />
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Close is clearly meant to be the mouse who roared but in fact she is a bitter little shrew who simply glowers through most of the film with only a couple of dramatic outbursts. An actress of this calibre deserves better to chew on. Perhaps there are far more nuances and complexities in the book that the director has simply shaved away here making the film feel flat and one note. The climactic scene is so over the top it belongs on a soap opera not the big screen. Finally, his want to keep Close centre stage, so obscuring other characters from view - literally cutting them from frame - is distracting. Instead of focusing on Close, we are wondering where the headless air hostess is. Did the director not believe that Close was captivating enough without this tedious technique? Mate, the woman steals every scene she has ever been in, so fill the frame!<br />
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<b>Spoiler alert</b>: So Joan is the writer not Joe! Who knew! Who saw that coming? Are we to believe that even in the era of Joan Didion, Erica Jong, Sylvia Path and Gloria Steinem that Joan wouldn't have broken through unless under the guise of a man? Perhaps so, but by the late 70s and 80s this surely wouldn't have been the case? I found it somewhat unbelievable that a woman - played by the tour de force that is Close - would have allowed that to happen - to be the silent partner while her husband gets all the glory. If there is a morality tale here, I sure as hell didn't get it.<br />
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Perhaps come March, after 6 nominations, Close will win her well deserved Oscar. But it is a shame that it will be for this limp offering and not her blistering performances of old. Close will always be watchable, but give this one a miss.<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-72754505600499528272018-06-29T13:21:00.003+01:002021-06-16T10:11:38.006+01:00You learn something new every... Friday. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The best thing I've done this year, has been going back to college.<br />
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In truth, there isn't a September that goes by that I don't wish I was picking stationary, grabbing files and heading off to a new classroom. The last time I was at a Uni was back in 2000 when I studied a film course, for one term - simply to know that bit more about it. Prior to that a I graduated (2:1 oh yes!) in 1994. Jaysus. 1994...<br />
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This year I decided I wanted to study again<a href="https://growingpower.co.uk/blog/money-with-kids">,</a> this time to become a counsellor. Of course I love writing - but I want more feathers in my cap. Plus, I miss people. Living and working in the same small town day after day means my world becomes ever increasingly smaller - and I wanted to broaden it again. I wanted new people, new stories, new ideas, new challenges.<br />
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It was better than I ever imagined. Counselling training is as much about getting to know yourself and your reactions to situations as it is about helping others. At times you have to really study yourself - in all your naked glory - and its harder than you'd think. You are vulnerable, exposed and all that dark stuff buried deep within starts to bubble up to surface and come out. You may think you've sorted your shit into perfectly packed boxes - but you soon discover that you need to go back and have a good old clear out.<br />
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With my volunteering work, past training in life coaching and general fascination with people - I've loved every minute. There is nothing better than helping someone, help themselves. I've got 4 more years of study to go - but I'm excited. There was a time when 4 years felt like forever, but a year now goes by in a flash. By the time my daughter is ready for big school, I'll be a BACP qualified counsellor. There is a real privilege in hearing people's stories; them opening up and letting you in to their lives. The course has taught me - once again - that no matter how it looks on the outside - everyone has had to wade through the trenches of life, that no one is unscathed.<br />
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Today was the last day and it surprised me how sad I was to let them all go. Each week I've so looked forward to seeing the group - checking in, doing trios, getting to know them better. Such a wonderful bunch of people: brave, inspiring, honest, caring and kind. Work dependent I may be on the next stage with some of them - but others may be on different paths... We've promised not to lose touch and I genuinely hope we don't. My town sometimes feels like a big glass box; you don't get to know that much behind most masks - so to truly connect with people, has been a joy. My lecturer was amazing... the kind of person that you feel can see right inside you - knows instantly what makes you tick. Unnerving and thrilling in equal measure.<br />
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I'm so glad I took the leap - inspired by a lady in my lane, who is a counsellor still at 80. She told me you are never too old to learn something new - I just never realised I'd learn so much about myself into the bargain. Roll on September and my new classroom... I can't wait.<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-7937873111141522462018-06-12T14:06:00.003+01:002018-06-12T14:06:37.754+01:00The book of the summer. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDh0LSJkGwezeNZVmvsPhPpAEp59G-JnrYRpzzZESTuXd7WPLjqEApVQITTBf69aHxdYfY4i4zV5oZf-VD0RvydEkJsF57XVOB-w4i2sr6BqQE2WiDRwWe2QcRrgbzThCw7VOk5VMYC4/s1600/little+big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDh0LSJkGwezeNZVmvsPhPpAEp59G-JnrYRpzzZESTuXd7WPLjqEApVQITTBf69aHxdYfY4i4zV5oZf-VD0RvydEkJsF57XVOB-w4i2sr6BqQE2WiDRwWe2QcRrgbzThCw7VOk5VMYC4/s320/little+big.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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Sometimes you read a book that touches you in a way no other book has done in a long long time...<br />
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Amazing Katy Regan's book is written from the point of view of not one, but 3 characters: There's 10 year old Zac, who is overweight, bullied and desperate to find his Dad Liam, who apparently did a runner just before Zac was born. Then there is Juliet, Zac's Mum, who works in a sandwich makers, struggles with her own weight, her car-crash of a love life and her tense relationship with her Mother. Finally, there's Mick - Juliet's Dad, who dotes on Zac, but has his own demons to contend with.<br />
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The story centres on Zac's quest to find his father - one that he plots with his best friend Tegan - noting everything in his 'mission folder.' Aware that his Mum may not exactly be jazzed on him finding his Dad, he keeps his plan a secret. Meanwhile, Juliet keeps a secret of her own: the real reasons why Liam went away.... Mick and his wife are still recovering from the death of their son, Juliet's brother. But the closer Zac gets in his mission, the more likely it is that long buried secrets and lies will float to surface...<br />
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This is a charming tale, where you cannot help but root for Zac and his earnest ambition. Regan's ability to write a convincing voice of a ten year old boy is nothing short of miraculous. Zac sweetly begins every chapter with a fact (who knew an Octopus has 3 hearts?) and has us championing his need to make his Mum happy while at the same time, trying to find the missing piece of his life's puzzle.<br />
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Set in Grimsby, on a grim estate, is doesn't hold back in showing the difficulty in being a single Mum, living close to the breadline. Juliet only wants the best for her son, even if that means telling him a big fat lie. This is the kind of book, where you want to be alone when you get to the end - or at least with a huge pack of tissues next to you - as if you don't cry, you simply don't have a pulse.<br />
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I kept going back over chapters I read, not wanting my time with Zac to end. A hero in every sense of the word, his ability to remain positive in the saddest of circumstances is a life lesson to us all.<br />
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Miss it at your peril!<br />
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Available <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Little-Big-Man-Katy-Regan/dp/1509854134/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1528807591&sr=8-1&keywords=little+big+man+book" target="_blank">here. </a><br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648090185807136154.post-78139084094544191942018-05-23T19:44:00.000+01:002018-05-23T19:44:49.555+01:00The Mid life C word. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And it aint crisis...but more on that in a sec.<br />
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How goes it folks? Round these parts life has been pretty damn good. 2018 couldn't be more further away from 2017 than night and day.... Anyway it's been a while since I did a round up of <b>Things I've learnt part #376 </b>so I thought I'd put finger to keyboard...<br />
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1. Nothing is better than waking up to a baby deer in your garden. Life round these here edge-of-town/semi-country parts is thrilling. Yesterday Daisy our (almost) pet duck came into the house. It all went swimmingly until she shat twice on the rug - but thankfully it wasn't on my watch so husband had to clean up... Meanwhile, I spot herons, kingfishers, robbins and goldfinches on a daily basis. Who knew birdies could be so exciting? Their little chirrups and tweets are music to my ears...<br />
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2. Nothing is worse than raging PMT. My god, I thought the beast would depart with my womb - but no, as I kept my ovaries - it still rages on. The other week I cried when my (pre-made sponges, iced by my own fair hand) cupcakes ended up cake roadkill after I drove to school. I wept on the school office staff like a BASKET case. Later I wept on my script ed, later still on my children. I knew it was hormones going haywire but couldn't stop it. It was like a car with no brakes. I speeded towards emotional carnage and could only watch - through blurred teary vision.<br />
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3. Nothing is better than table tennis, cold beer and kettle crisps.<br />
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4. Nothing is worse than a lack of <i>Consistency</i>. Not in cakes - but in life in general. That's all I'm after at this stage of the game. In the quality of pants I buy, in the quality of coffee I drink and in the friends that I have. I simply don't have the time or energy any more to waste on anything that is flaky/only sporadically good/ doesn't always live up to past experiences. I want the safe, comfortable knowledge that in everything I surround myself with - it is generally what you get on the tin. Anything less has got to go.<br />
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5. There is nothing better than a good movie in an art deco cinema. The other week I saw Custody - a fabulous french film that was utterly terrifying. My buddy R and I could hardly look - yet there was no gore. Who knew a seatbelt alarm in a car could be so threatening? If you haven't seen it - do. Also, in my local art deco cinema - replete with bar - (this is SUCH a good idea.... especially when I saw Mission Impossible 4. A bottle of red and I forgot how terrible it actually was) I saw Beast. The script is flawed, the plot ropey but it has an AMAZING Jesse Buckley in it (more of her in everything please) and the HAWT Johnny Flynn. Is a serial killer or not? Frankly he was so hot I didn't care. I would have shagged him too Jessie - so totally get it hun.<br />
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6. There is also nothing better than bike rides. I'm on the verge of buying a hybrid - mainly because in Cornwall for my birthday we hired bikes and cycled 11 miles on the camel trail. The sun shone and we saw a seal frolicking in the sea. It was like a little birthday gift from above. I had forgtten what a joy cycling is... Dinner at Rick Steins with squid ink risotto and lobster salad made it one of my best ever birthdays. Every time I look back on the photos of those 3 days away I feel happy. Mini breaks are the answer to life, I am sure of this and only wish I had thought of it sooner...<br />
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7. There is also nothing better than waking up in Ireland on St Paddy's day, realising you are free from the shackles of kids and husband and are with your oldest school buddies. Obviously it would be wrong not to neck Guiness, watch Ireland win the rugby and then join a Neil Diamond sing-a-long with an entire pub, before swallowing several dark n stormies, a bottle of Shortcross gin and going home with a broken toe from energetic dancing. It would be rude not to.<br />
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8. There is also nothing better than catching up with your oldest buddies, even if just for 2 beers on a Sunday afternoon in London...You take that time, those moments and reconnect - it is like you saw them only yesterday.<br />
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9. I thought there was nothing worse than turning 45. But actually, I'm fucking loving it. If this is mid-life - bring it on. Sure, the skin on my neck is thinner than paper and if I look at a cake I'm 6 pounds heavier and what is with pubic hair deciding to grow in odd tufts? I mean what is all that about? But apart from all that - I'm just happy to be healthy. To not be walking like a walker like last year. To be around my kids - because sweet jaysus Sproglet is almost 12 and he came home announcing he and his buddies had found my blog at school and were looking at photos on it. Holy shit - what when he reads it? Now that will be the worst thing in the world.....<br />
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Crummy Mummyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16236010469858051562noreply@blogger.com0