No fucking idea

As soon as the kids come home from school I am dragging them by the scruff of their little necks and forcing them to go and eat an enormous amount of cake with me after the day from sucksville.

I'm a bit bleuurggghhh.

A bit like - what will become of me? Will I spend the rest of my days avoiding running, avoiding making any kind of money whatsoever and avoiding actually having one of them there career things that most folk have. It really is fun when you have 27p left in your overdraft facility. I mean, that is 27 1p chews just waiting to be bought! I know.. don't spend it all at once eh?

I've just read some Nora Ephron and Caitlin Moran and realised that I cannot write my way out of tampax box - and why am I even trying to shape this blog into anything because it has all been done before AND SO MUCH BETTER, so I may as well just give up and go and live in some monastery - and take a vow of silence. I actually think I could give everything up (like the nuns) but talking.

So, the highlight of my day was having my ear syringed. Truly. I can now hear again - but have had to take a rest from working today, to read the above books and remind myself that I am rubbish.

God most women my age have careers, and nannies and proper clothes that need ironing and go on hangers and everything... They have SAVINGS. And a 5 year career plan and are decently paid. I think I've kind of pin balled my way through my life - swinging from one fun place to the next job wise - and now the ball is shooting it's way back down the hole to disappear forevermore.

I just don't know what my plan is... I'm not good without a plan. Every day I put my keys, inhaler, card, tampax (you never know) and phone in my bag and think 'there is something missing' Oh yes, my plan.

I feel like I want to hide away and not go out and see all those sunny working people who know what they are doing and are planning vacations and trips and shopping and all the things people who have plans get - because they planned, because they structured - because they were careful.

These people do not read Shelley Von Strunkel and believe their lives revolve around her predictions. These folk do not think 'I will absolutely without a shred of doubt win the lottery in the next week or two.' They do not think 'something work wise will happen and work out and most likely come from nowhere and rescue me like a knight on a trusty steed.' They do not expect miracles. They do not write blogs. They do not change careers about 20 times and pick ones that are notoriously competitive and tough to break into. They do not have huge overdrafts and still buy Pimms with their last remaining pennies because life without Pimms is a life not being lived.

I'm meant to know what I am doing - and I kind of do. But none of it has any certainty whatsoever. I could try and write a trial script - and fail. I could tout my blog around and no one could be interested - after all a moaning mother of 2 in her 40s bleating on about hot young men and why we should keep our pubic hair and the like isn't exactly screaming 'BEST SELLER.'

All the energy has fizzled out of me like flat lemonade and I just don't feel like chirpy CM today. I don't want talk to mates, I don't want to see people, I don't want to hear about the world. I just want to  watch John Hughes films and pretend I am in fact 17 and can do the whole lot again. I wouldn't change meeting Husband, or having my kids - for anything. Nor the flatmates I lived with in my 20s and my school buddies. I wouldn't change them. But me, I'd change in a heartbeat. I'd have a word with myself and say - do something clever and exciting that will give you maternity benefits and savings and a pension and all that important stuff that you kind of missed... Don't be so aspirational CM - because you aren't as talented as you thought you were - and you'll kind of end up the jack of all trades and the master of only making martinis...

But I can't go back. I remember sitting in 2005 weeping just before House Of Wax came on (and it really wasn't that bad a film) at the movies with my (then) new husband and I said I just didn't know which way to turn, post presenting telly stuff. What will become of me, I wondered - at 32, when I wanted to have a family... I'm so glad I got through those years with the help of a fun fab job - that paid me peanuts.

But I feel I'm here again.

More than anything I wish I had some kind of mentor - some amazing woman who I could sink gin with and who would say, 'Do this CM and then that and then this and you will be fine.' It has to be a woman - I never trust men in any kind of power. Actually that's wrong, it is just I think women understand more - all the things you have to juggle, all the battles you have to fight. Especially those who are juggling work and kids or have done... - someone who has muddled their way through and come out the other side and says - it's ok not to have a plan. It's ok to be going for cake on a credit card aged 41. It really is.

But we all know it's not....



PS Even in my PMT addled state I know I am lucky - with my family, with my friends. I know this. But occasionally, we're still allowed to feel a wee bit sad. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate all I do have. xx

Things I have learnt this week part 3

Things I have learnt this week in no particular order:

1. When your son has his bedroom floor painted, no amount of telling your children 'do not walk on it' will make a pick of difference. When the urgency of getting 'my toy car on the desk' is so great for your 3rd year old, the floor could be aflame and she would still cross it.

2. People without children, generally are having a better time than you - and if you really thought about it - all that disposable income and free time - you would agree. But unless you say otherwise, people mistakenly believe this constitutes you saying 'I don't love my children' - which of course is nonsense.

3. You can run further than you think. The key is to go slow.

4. You can run further than you think, but would do so better if there weren't so many folk with scary snappy dogs who race towards your ankles like they are giant bone to be chewed upon.

5. If people plan a gathering, and then you tell them 'I can't do that date,' but they carry on with the gathering, then they clearly didn't give a fuck if you attended or not.

6. Baking a cake looks easy. It isn't. It is at least half an hour of measuring, an hour of sweeping up sugar granules that cascade everywhere, with buttery fingers, half an hour of stress as will it/won't it rise, and then at LEAST an hour of cooling. Or else, I fear the jam will slide off along with the top part of the cake and that buttercream icing so lovingly crafted - will in fact just become runny butter again. After all that stress it will still end up looking like your 3 year old baked it: (NEVER AGAIN).

7. Two martinis is plenty on a school night. No really, it is. And that blog your wrote after 2 - proves this point entirely. Thank god I never hit 'publish.'

8. Everyone knows everyone else. A friend will call and tell you they know through work another mother who lives in your town. Another will know someone else because they worked together ten years ago etc etc. Everyone knows everything. TELL NO ONE anything. Or else, like me, tell the whole world on a blog and then no one gives a rat's ass.

9. No, May arriving does not mean that summer is here. Just as you thought it was safe to bear your cankles, forget it! Get that brolly at the ready - summer isn't here. Nor, in true British fashion - will it ever be. Dry your eyes or book a one way ticket outta here.

10. That life without a box set to watch is a a truly lonely one. Since True Detective ended I have been a touch lost. Time for House of Cards methinks. Otherwise Husband and I would have to have a conversation - and there where would we be?

  *********************************************************************************

I don't want to be a woman

This writing malarky is all well and good, but it don't half send you mad.

I'm one of those people that needs people the way you all need water. Or gin. So put me in a room, alone for 18 hours a week, and the rest of the time surround me with people who need fed, bathed, clothed and one who demands their arse wiped and quite frankly I go a bit stir crazy. I start talking to the folk on the till at the supermarket as if they are my best friends. Invite builders round just so I have someone to make tea for, and then grumble when they want to drink all my Nespresso capsules instead.

It's made me cranky. Like - why haven't you emailed me back in ten seconds? Can't you text at 7:25 in the morning like I can? And why on earth do you have something else to do - like a frickin' job? What do you MEAN? I mean, really - why can't everyone just run on MY time?

It has also turned me into somewhat of a Twitter addict. If I haven't heard that pleasant little popping sound once every 5 minutes I become twitchy. On the plus side, I have re-connected with the stuff I have been working on  - plus, due to a LOVELY email from a writer I worked with - I have another idea cooking. Well, percolating at least. So you know, I am making progress. Well maybe I'm not - I have NO ONE TO ASK.

The weather has been sunny - no rainy - no cloudy - no it's all sunny again - no - it just can't make up it's mind. Take shades or an umbrella on the school run, (up a hill so steep it should have a coffee shop half way up it)? Husband has been grumbling that I'm out too much - but if I don't get out - I go slightly cuckoo. Having LOVED being at home with the kids - I am now like - leave me ALONE small people. Particularly when I need to change a tampax... I have mentioned this before, but it is now reaching crisis levels...

Because you see, my daughter, 3 year old Sproglette, followed me into the bathroom a few weeks back and saw... you know... period stuff - though I did ask her to leave. Anyway, she is now announcing to anyone who will listen that 'I don't want to be a woman.' When then asked by perturbed folk as to why this is so, she practically weeps, 'because of the blood.' She then admits she wants to be a boy. Then said person gets confused as to what the feck she is going on about and I have to explain that she has seen 'womanhood' and aint that jazzed on the whole thing. Fair enough I say...

At least I'm not having the month that my mate Mark is having: poor bastard had his bi monthly botox and then went out and got hammered. He came home, slapped a load of gunky eye cream on his eyes (the gays love their creams) and fell into a deep sleep. He woke up to discover he couldn't see. Turns out he had put shampoo instead of eye cream all over his peepers - and they had swollen up to Quazimodo proportions. After seeing the Doc, the eyes went down - but the swelling had caused his botox to move and has given him a lazy eye for the next 3 months. Thank gawd he has a sense of humour.  If you ever thought that botox might be a bad idea - there is the proof.

Meanwhile, I popped to the lovely local cafe on Saturday for a much needed hazelnut latte, (minding 3 kids that day... I was a tad frazzled) whereupon I bumped into some mates. As I chatted to them, Sproglette disappeared to the fancy bathrooms upstairs. Having been many many times - as bathroom visiting is her favourite sport (on the Eurostar she managed to go 7 times) I let her go alone. A few minutes later, I was just about to send my son looking for her, when a nice lady tapped my arm and asked if my it was my daughter upstairs.

I stood and looked up - to see Sproglette, holding her shorts, with her pants round her ankles, calling me from the top of the stairs. Great, a half naked child wandering through a cafe, that belongs to me. I can hear you lift the phone to social services as I type. Turns out she needed her bum wiped and refused to hoik up her knickers until I had done so. We went down the stairs - a pure walk of shame if ever there was one - to disapproving looks from other diners and the staff frowning at me. Guess who WON'T be going back to the nice cafe for a LONG time?

What else? I'm rambling, I know. That is what being at home and in your own head does to you. Did I already say that? Gotta run - has been at least 5 minutes since I was on Twitter!

Help me please you lovely people!

Hey y'all

I have a favour to ask... Now apart from a bizarre advert for vacuum bags (WHY? Why not vodka or tampax??) I have never advertised on this here little blog. I have never asked for money, save the time I ran 5K - but I did suffer from a SERIOUS ankle injury and I had many asthma attacks as I hauled myself around that event, so I did deserve to ask for your help...and it was for a v good cause. I rarely have asked for anything - mind you I have moaned a fair few times, so that probably was asking for help... Anyway...

Now, I have a more personal question to ask. It sounds a tad wanky - to be honest, to ask you what posts of mine have been your favourite - and maybe why... But I genuinely need to know. I could trawl through the past 7 years and think 'Oh that one aint bad... maybe that one' but what do I know? Not much. Maybe nothing has tickled your fancy - but I know many of my buddies, work colleagues, family etc read this - 5,000 of you a month sometimes... so could you tell me in the comments section if any post stood out at all? I need it for a project I am working on... or trying to work on is a better description. I've added a few links below (just as suggestions - but maybe you have a specific blog post that you liked from many moons ago...) - even if you write 'that one where you cried' - at least that is something. If the comments box remains empty I shall start texting and emailing and harassing and no one wants that undignified behaviour do they?

So if you ever stopped by, if I ever made you laugh or shed a tear - let me know when? I'd be eternally grateful folks.

Thanks

CM xxx

These are just suggestions - but feel free to tell me any one at all you liked. 

The first time I married Husband in secret: here

When blood isn't thicker than water : here

Looking at ex's to discover that they er... have changed a tad: Here 

A love letter to my son just before my daughter was born: here

Marriage - and how my sad story was on repeat... : here 

Unwanted house guest Kipper: here 

The one where I was tempted by the fruits of another : here

The one where I loved the VSB boys... : here 

No one puts baby in the corner : here

My travels: here 

Glasses : here 

Are you a wanker? here

Tight Lipped

In my life there are times when I wish I had spoken up and others when I wish I'd kept my big mouth firmly shut. The difficulty, of course, is working out WHEN to speak out and when to maintain a dignified silence. It is a fine line to tread - damned if you do - damned if you don't.  Speak out and you could be accused of meddling, of stirring up angst or creating more drama. Be silent and further down the track you when the truth has come to light your tight lipped stance is seen as making a stand - one way or the other. 'Why didn't you tell me?' is chanted in your face...

True story: Years ago I was working in a bar in New Zealand. The manager was the owner's sister - lets call her Jane, and her assistant an arrogant guy called Piers. They were flatmates as well as co-workers. Meanwhile my flatmate and best buddy (let's call her Lisa) had a whopping great crush on this idiot Piers. He was single, flirtatious and she thought a lot of fun. Just as I came down with the worst food poisoning you can have (campylobacter - nasty I can tell you - all down to my mate undercooking chicken - be warned!) my flatmates decided to throw a house party. As I quietly died in the corner, Jane scooped me up and took me to her place - looking after me as I lost a stone in 3 days. (Which would have been fab but I have never been so ill in my life). My flatmate Lisa, shagged Piers at this party and was over the moon. Now, he could be hers! Except he didn't. We couldn't understand why...

Until he confessed to me that he was in fact in a long standing relationship with lovely Jane. Poor Jane who had no idea what had gone on... He swore me to secrecy... (although he did eventually confess to Jane he had shagged Lisa, but said he had been so drunk he didn't realise what he was doing) so I had to lie to Jane's face - all through our friendship, knowing she was secretly dating her 'flatmate.' Meanwhile my best buddy was cut up over this twat - and wondered why he would shag her and then disappear. Eventually I had to tell her about Piers and Jane - just so the poor girl would stop shagging this muppet.

Months later we were due to leave NZ for sunny Oz and threw an almighty leaving bash. I (typically) drank far too much and confessed to Jane I knew all along that she was with Piers and that I was sorry I hadn't admitted this earlier. She was horrified. Frozen to the spot - she just couldn't believe I had betrayed her - letting her pretend she was single, over months and months. But what could I do? Piers had asked me to keep his confidence and I had. I expected her to understand, but she was furious - not with him sadly - but with me!  We patched up our friendship over long distance phone calls but it was never the same. Piers the twat came to London and made off with the takings from a bar he worked in - vile from start to finish. Jane and Lisa bonded over what a dick Piers was, so at least some good came of the mess.

So I learnt that keeping quiet didn't always work in your favour... Should I have spoken up earlier?

Years later one of my closest friends started dating a guy I immediately disliked. Naturally I kept this to myself. Then more and more of our mutual friends would ask, 'but CM, why is she dating HIM?' No one really liked him. They hoped she'd come to her senses. She married him. I never told her - I worried that if I had, she'd vanish from my life -particularly as this guy often tried to drive a wedge between me and her) and anyway, it wasn't about whether or not I liked him - it wasn't me having a relationship with him... But it bothered me. He wasn't good enough for her, spoke badly to her, didn't value her enough. They divorced years later and she rounded on me, 'why didn't you ever say?'

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

So what do you do in those sticky situations: when a co-worker thinks all is well with their job and you've heard otherwise - that their card might be marked. They could go for another job elsewhere but aren't going to, after all, their job is secure, right? Do you tell? Or if your male buddy fancies a girl who you know is stringing him along - feeding her fragile ego with his devotion -  but she's kind of a friend too, so you can't criticise her to him, can you? Or if a friend is compromising her marriage by contemplating a fling with the world's biggest lothario - a borderline psycho who preys on vulnerable women - but she thinks she's the only one, do you speak out? Or if your friend's teenager confesses to you that she has started having sex - do you keep her confidence or do you tell the mother (your friend?). When to keep quiet, when to speak out.... It is a minefield.

This isn't about keeping a secret - for all my mouthiness, I have kept many many secrets. I'm actually pretty good at that. If someone trusts me enough to confide in me - something incredibly personal or valid to them - then it is not my place to ever repeat that. It aint my secret to tell. But what of all those times where you get caught up in the mire? When your silence effectively makes you in cahoots with the betrayer?

It is murky territory I can tell you... Whilst I believe that remaining silent is usually the only (safe) option - if the shoe was on the other foot - I would want to know. I always think that I could cope with anything - as long as I am not lied to. I value honesty and loyalty in my friendships above all. Be honest with me - no matter how hard, how brutal you have to be - I will respect you all the better for it. The best folk I know in life are the brave honest ones - the liars are easy to weed out.

I look back on those New Zealand days and my only regret is that I ever kept any kind of a confidence for the snake that was Piers. The fact he was stringing along 2 women - both brilliant - both my buddies, should have shown me his true colours. But he was charming and it seemed, vulnerable and I felt privileged that he chose to confide in me. The worst mistake you can make is to take pride in being confided in - as most of the time - that's just part of their game.

The moral of this tale? I don't have one. I'm still fudging my way through the swamp of secrets and lies and trying to raise my head above it all. But, if in doubt - speak out - is probably the way to go.

What say you?

The one where I got out some more....

Husband's job has meant that for almost 8 years I have stayed in. Well not EVERY night like a prisoner - but it hasn't been as easy for me to skip into London town and paint it red as it was in the pre-kids (golden) days. Now that he has changed jobs and walks through the door every evening at 5pm ish, I have taken advantage of the freedom and raced out the door at every given opportunity. It has been SWELL.

One big merry-go-round of nights out, birthday celebrations and then topped off with a blissful trip to Paris. It began a few weeks back - the week after my 'Grappa man' night out as it shall be known. (Though let's not bring that up again as Husband still frets over it and let sleeping dogs lie and all that...). I headed out on the Wed night to a gig with a good friend. Work obligations - and an early start the next day kept me from my usual drinking antics, so a few simple beers and much merriment enjoying Matt Berry's band in Islington, and I was on the train home.

That Friday I reached the epitome of being deeply uncool - and threw myself into a night of audience participation at 'Sing-a-long-a-Purple-Rain.' It was hilarious. The film itself is beyond woeful - 30 years on, and you see how dreadfully sexiest it is (Appollonia wearing not very much to sing Sex Shooter being the low point) and that 'the Kid' is basically a wife-bashing arrogant little prick who kisses like he is resuscitating someone. But... the songs. They are as fresh as when I heard Let's go Crazy on a tinny radio back in 1984. What shocked me, was the theatre was packed with folk who weren't BORN when Purple Rain first hit the flicks. There were jump cuts, it crackled and the dialogue was sphincter clenching stuff - but we were all on our feet waving our hands to Purple Rain at the end. If there is any way way to have more fun - I have yet to find it.

Saturday night and a different spectrum of culture. Having never been to the ballet - my good mate Sam bought us tickets to A Winter's Tale at the Royal Opera House. It was breath taking - from the magnificent Opera House and it's uber sexy bar (s) to the mesmerising ballet itself. Just beautiful. I am officially a convert. Opera you can take, but a ballet - ahhhh... just stunning. I wish I had a waist the size of those spritely nymphs. How they cavorted around a stage for as long as they did, without collapsing in a sweaty coma, I have no idea.

Monday, was my birthday and once again from high culture to low - all spectrums were covered. After heading out for family cake (usual bedlam with Sproglette covering Sproglet in orange juice, Husband being mortified and me desperately trying to clean the place up) I took the kids to see the latest Muppet Movie. Meh. Then to a fab literary salon at the Kings Cross hotel. Another uber sexy place - god I really must get out more - to see Lynne Barber talk about her latest book and David Nicholls read from his. I went with two buddies who had never met each other - and it was a blast. One friend bought me her book 'An Education' and she inscribed with Happy Birthday. I'm a fan of her interviews - not least because her late husband was my favourite lecturer at Uni.  Anyway, we sank red wine, envied David Nicholls ability to write awkward moments SO brilliantly as he read from his soon to be published book 'Us' and  lounged around the swanky interiors. All in all an ACE birthday. Then I raced home, whereupon I drank more red with my 21 year old babysitter and talked over her boy troubles. It made me momentarily grateful to have turned 41...

The sunny week ended with us all departing on the Eurostar to gay Pareee for a blissful few days. My friend's Dad has a french country house that we went to stay in, after a day strolling around Paris and taking my son up the Eiffel tower. Sproglette wasn't so jazzed on the whole Eiffel tower malarkey - instead loving a rather shiny dolphin balloon... Anyway, the house was beyond beautiful - all rustic open stone walls and wooden beams... filled with wine and cheese (obvs) and great chat. And a pinball machine. We all became insanely competitive at table tennis, supped champagne every night before dinner and talked until the week hours over manys a bottle of red and er... bourbon. It was heaven. And now I am home. Birthday done, nights out all done, Easter break all done. All is left is for me to keep munching on the kids' choc eggs...

Still, it was a good run while it lasted.

Was I in the wrong?

So husband isn't impressed with me at all.

It all started (and ended) innocently enough: I went to the Curzon Soho to see The Double with a good friend. We ate cake, drank coffee, mused on the talented actors in the bizarre and bleak film and then retired to Dean St. Townhouse for some red wine. It was a school night, and I know I know, school hols have started BUT still, Sundays aren't the day for a big night really. So, I headed home on the 11:34 train.

At the station I jumped in a cab and then this guy - smartly dressed, Michael Stipe-esque, asked if I was going near his street. As it would happen, that street is just around the corner from my house so I told him to jump on in. We chatted on the short journey home - he'd been at a gig, (Rufus Wainwright and therefore I assumed he was gay - as coupled with his jaunty cap and glasses, my gaydar was on alert) I warbled on about the movie I'd seen and he invited me into his house for a drink.

So, I went.

He was friendly, he knew I was married, he wasn't hitting on me or anything. It seemed like a fun thing to do. I rarely get to behave in a spontaneous fashion - I love meeting new people, why not? Now, I know, I know. It could have been an axe murderer. But here, in my little Hertfordshire town? In a house around the corner from me - literally is 3 houses behind mine?

So we chatted, he showed me around his new house - he moved in 3 weeks ago - I envied his shed and amazing claw bath - and we drank Grappa and listened to music. It was really pleasant and fun. I left when I realised it was nearly 2am.

My head is feeling far from clever today and it is amazing I can actually type... Anyway, I rang Husband and he asked why I'd got in so late. I explained my fun evening and he was FURIOUS. He hung up on me. Annoyed that I had been so stupid. He called me dumb.

But am I? I mean do we have to be suspicious of everyone we meet? Is there no sense of joy and unexpected meetings anymore? Do we have to be afraid of everything? Of everyone? Is it better to just avoid all unusual or random invitations - just in case it is something more sinister? Or should we listen to our gut?

I always go with my sixth sense about all situations and I have never put myself in any threatening or dangerous situations. Anything that feels odd - I am outta there. I mean, millionaires paid for my best friend and I to stay at the Shangri La hotel in Hong Kong for a week - and we'd just met them in a bar, our first night of travelling. I trusted, I had faith. They were gentlemen who just wanted to look out for us. I've met many people and had faith in them - which, maybe down to luck, or my good intuition - means I have been safe and never been harmed in my life. Thank god, touch wood and all.

But here I am, a woman of 40, a mother of two - accepting a drink from a stranger. Does that make me someone who has a lust for life, for adventure, for people, or a stupid blonde who puts herself in potentially dangerous situations?