Who nose??

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

So let's just take a wee lookie.

Posh before:



Posh after:



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



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





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

Let us continue with an A lister:



And now:




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

Moving on:

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



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



And it aint just the ladeez:



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

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

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

Chase away the greys

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

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

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

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

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

I blame the snow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grateful

Sproglet can now lift Sproglette from her cot. So the mornings are no longer filled with her wailing cries from down the hall. Instead the two of them toddle in and say 'Morning Mummy!' to wake me from my much loved slumber. Then we have a group hug and head downstairs for bagels and smoothies and whatever I can manage to force down their gullets. They have become buddies, partners in crime - and Sproglette loves Sproglet more than anyone. Before I had no 2 kid someone told me that the relationship your kids develop is such a joy to behold - and they weren't wrong.

Me and Sproglette are having a ball together at the mo. Well apart from running out of nappies today and having to use the old 'swim nappy' trick. But a poo in a swim nappy? The WORST THING. Memo to self - NEVER FORGET NAPPIES. EVER.

Life is flying by in a haze. I read back on some blog posts when I was working full time and realised what a frazzled old mess I was at times. So I may have no cash, and most of my life is spent wiping something or other - a surface, a bottom, a nose - but I'm pretty damn happy. I've got a little bit of worky stuff going on to keep my old grey matter ticking over, have sorted some creche time at £4 a time (hurrah - cheap childcare - holy grail) for the Diva (Sproglette) and am getting some lovely time with the bairns. Sproglet will be 6 this year. More Sprog than let these days. Where does the time go?

Last week a friend told me she would never be able to have kids. I won't go into details because that isn't for me to talk about - but safe to say, we both cried. I just felt so sad for her that this life choice had been taken away. I felt it most acutely because so much of my life is wrapped up in my children - and the thought of not having them... She said that although she was never sure that she wanted kids (but more yes than no) that as soon as something is taken away from you, you just want it all the more. Adoption may not be possible either. A woman so amazing with kids - always has been - in some sad irony, will never have her own. Words failed me, because no matter all I could say about travelling and having time to yourself and life being rich with possibilities for other things - she knew that for me, the greatest thing I have ever done in my life, is have my kids.

I know many women who wanted two babies and only manged to have one; many folk who miscarried and then went on to have healthy children; people who got pregnant accidentally and had the babies; people who have had abortions and then had children; people who couldn't conceive and used ivf; people who couldn't have kids biologically and adopted; people who had children and left them - but they all got to mother. Im not saying that any tragedy is worse than the other - I think everything is relative - but losing the choice of whether or not to have a child is so unfair.

Every day when I hear the pitter patter down the hall, when I shove off my eye mask thing and bleary eyed stare at my wakers - I am so damn grateful for them. I kiss their heads and lift myself from my cocooned bed - and slump down the stairs trying to focus on breakfast. And Sproglet says he doesn't like pancakes any more and Sproglette screams for the drink Sproglet has opened and through it all I feel utterly blessed.

Gossip Girl

We all love a bit of tittle tattle don't we? A harmless sport where we dissect and judge other folks' lives, speculate about circumstances and dish the dirt that we know, or heard about from a friend of a friend of a friend. I am as guilty as the next person of joining in and adding my tuppence worth. When I was a teenager my next door neighbour and I called good gossip 'juicy tomatoes' and would often phone each other whispering excitedly about some nugget of juiciness that we would be spilling later.

Poisonous, vacuous and often tinged with bitterness and jealousy - no gossip is as innocent as it appears to be. At the heart of gossip is darkness. A need for people to accept us and our tales, agree and conspire with us - so we all feel so much better about others misfortunes. Whoever gossips about anything GOOD? Anything sincere?

So, I plan to forsake it. I won't be saying a single bad thing about anyone for the forseeable - won't make presumptions, won't delight in other's woes, won't judge, won't 'confide' or share or even discuss others in any way that could be deemed mean. Too often I am sure that I am fodder for other's gossip - which is half the reason I write this blog - by doing so I am owning everything that happens to me - by sharing it - it aint gossip because I CHOOSE to tell it. Or if it is used as gossip - well it can't wound me or effect me in any way. I think often the worst gossipers are those we think are closest to us... we think they care when really their interest is to gain some more info for tomorrow's gossip session. I don't think men gossip do they? They are too interested in the football scores/a new car/news...

Anyway - I am abstaining. Gossip girl, no longer.

Some pics from Xmas day....

Justice, finally.

The year has already started well. Finally, after campaigning for justice for 19 years - longer than her son even lived - Doreen Lawrence watched today as Gary Dobson and David Norris were convicted for the brutal racist murder of her son Stephen in 1993.

We all know the case, we all remember when it happened. I was a student in London at the time and was sickened by the callous way Stephen's killers knifed him at a bus stop in Eltham. Stephen didn't provoke the gang - he hadn't been drinking - he didn't even speak to them - he never got a chance. They saw him and they pounced. 5 or more of them - plunging a knife into his body twice - severing axillary arteries. Stephen's friend Duwayne Brooks began running, and shouted for Stephen to run to escape with him, but Stephen collapsed and bled to death on the cold wet street. He was only 18. He was only a year and a bit younger than me. His life so full of potential was tragically struck down. His killers were even younger than him. What motivates a group of young men to perform such evil? Undercover footage of their racist rants is possibly one of the most shocking videos I have ever seen. Who raises their children to be this way?

The police's failings in the case are legendary - not least failing to assist Stephen when they arrived on scene - questioning Brooks instead - as if he was a criminal. The attempts to put the 5 murderers behind bars came and went - all buried in 'lack of evidence' and idenification evidence being classed as 'unreliable.'

With new scientific evidence - a fleck of blood found on Dobson's jacket that was Stephen's and some fibres from Stephen's clothes were found on Norris's jeans -
they were brought to trial and finally convicted. Dobson will serve a minimum of 15 years and Norris 14 at the very least - one hopes it will end up being far more. And what of the other three murderers - Jamie and Neil Acourt and Luke Knight, at large? The Scotland Yard commissioner today said that 'they should not rest easily in their beds.' I really pray that somehow there is fresh evidence - something new comes to light and these three get a similar punishment.

Stephen Lawrence left a legacy. In light of the blatant racism on behalf of the police and how they conducted their investigations into his murder -(taking 2 weeks to even arrest the suspects despite having been directed towards them) which were identified in excruciating detail by Sir William Macpherson's inquiry report in 1999, Police operate now in an entirely different way (or at least one would hope they do). Racial aggreviation is now seen as a crime in itself. The ripples of the report were felt across government, the judiciary, the National Health Service and schools. So much has changed since Stepehn's death - perhaps folk would say not enough... His Mother's courage is awe inspiring. Her eloquence, poise, dignity and determination are an example to us all. A Mother's love knows no bounds - and she proved this. I hope today brought them some peace - although as she said, her son is dead so how can she celebrate?

Maybe when all 5 are behind bars she will have some closure. Please let that happen soon.