Hello to 2012

So farewell to 2011.

A lot of folk I know won't be sad to see the back of such a difficult year. I only know of a handful of folk who have found this year to be a vintage one - the rest of us muddled through and tried desperately to economise and keep the wolf from the door - I for one am delighted to welcome in 2012 and wave a hasty goodbye to 2011. Not that anything bad happened - and it was great to spend time with my kids in years I'll never get back - but I struggled within myself, worried about how to juggle the whole 'me' thing - and still be a great Mother. I'm intending to give myself a break next year - I'm the best Mother I can be - and that is good enough. Now it is time to get the 'me' back... Let's see what happens.

I have a really good feeling about next year, tomorrow. No idea why - not basing it on anything in particular. Just a feeling of 'out with the old and in with the new' and welcoming what is to come. I feel excited, this year has potential.

My resolutions - or rather, my hopes for the year:

1. To run a 10k in the spring. Maybe late spring. But some time this year. Hopefully not to injure my ankle in the process. God that is a lot of red faced sweating and huffing and puffing. BRING IT ON!

2. To enjoy the moment more, to worry less about what is happening next and just go with the flow - I am exactly where I am meant to be right now - and I'm happy with that.

3. To not care what anyone else thinks. And anyone who judges me - to eradicate them from my life.

That is all, pretty much. My aim with the whole running malarkey is because I remember how damn good my lungs felt when I pounded along the canal, all the blood rushing around my body. My circulation has always been that of a 90 year old woman - Husband complains nightly of my ice like feet clamped against his legs for warmth. So it is time to DRINK MORE WATER - (have been swearing that for the last ten years at least) and get the blood rushing around. I know I'll be starting from scratch again - but it is amazing how quickly the body responds to exercise.

Maybe this coming year I'll sort out once and for all job wise what I want to do... I know what I DON'T want to do - so that is a start. I've got itchy feet that's for sure. Husband and I are talking about how many years we have left in this house... I really feel ready for change - which is something I normally fear.

So to you all - I hope you have a swell new year's eve (hate the day if I am honest - all that need to have a great time - why?) and a brilliant 2012. Let's hope it is memorable, for all the right reasons.

And to all you lovely commenters and regular readers - thanks for sharing. Keep on sharing!

Love Suzanne (CM) x

Yultide cheer

So it's that time of year again. Stress, family squabbles, overspending, overeating and feeling like it just didn't quite live up to your rose tinted expectations.

But not this year! Nope. We have negated all stress by going out for Xmas dinner to the lovely Orrery on Marylebone High Street in London for 7 courses (memo to self - wear loose clothing - kinda Joey from Friend's Xmas day outfit) and a skinful of wine. We are taking my Mum and are also joining one of my oldest buddies in life, his wife and Mum. It should be great. I did all my shopping on-line and everything arrived in time! Hurrah! And I managed not to overspend (and luckily got some freelance work just before Xmas that paid for the lot). Husband and I aren't buying each other gifts this year because I am not earning - now those 3 weeks of work have finished) so technically he would have to give me the money to buy it. And also you know, I don't want anything. Maybe an address book and some rose oil bath lotion, or some of those lindor chocs. But in all honesty I'm pretty stoked with what I have - so don't need stuff to make it special.

Sproglet watched The Grinch this week - a family favourite at this time of year (just behind Elf on the Xmas must see list) and then that night as I tucked him in, I said 'what if Santa misses our house?' Sproget said 'It doesn't matter Mummy. It doesn't. Christmas isn't about presents, it's about having fun.' Gawd bless him. In saying that if Santa did forget to drop by he would be beyond gutted. As crap as it sounds I'm just happy to have some fab home made mulled wine that Husband will rustle up, watch my kids play together and eat some fabulous food. That is enough for me. My Mum is so excited and all the old ghosts of the past beween us are long buried - so now we can just relax and enjoy each other's company. I feel pretty darn lucky. I have a great feeling about 2012 - don't now why... maybe because it is my last year in my 30s!!!!!! I just think a lot of folk I know had a hard 2011 - and next year is sure to be better.

My plan in a few years is to take my kids volunteering on xmas day - so they can see how freakin' lucky they are to have families, and toys, and shelter and love when others have so little. Xmas is such a hard time of year for so many people - it breaks my heart to think of an old person alone all day, with no one to talk to. Or a parent who wishes they could give their kids some gifts... or even a home. it really is a time to be grateful for what we have. Ok, I'll get off my soapbox...

So, to you all - my lovely readers, I wish you a wonderful Xmas - I hope Santa is good to you and that your local store still has mince pies (as mine does not!!!). Here's to a memorable 2012.

Much love and hugs

CM xxx

Caroline Flack I salute you

I've resisted the urge to jump on the bandwagon and cast judgement on the relationship of Caroline Flack 32, TV presenter and Harry Styles 17, Boyband member. But I can resist no longer. Caroline I salute you!

Here are some photos for those of you not familiar with the jobbing TV presenter of the X Factor after show on ITV2 (who I think has a great dirty laugh and can do the job a treat - something her co-presenter Olly Murs cannot) and the typical boyband fare that the X factor spawned -






Now Harry - he aint my type. Too much coiffed hair and arrogant flick of said hair - but I know rather a lot of women my age who fancied him when he warbled on the X Factor last year and came 3rd. But what I support is that even if he is 17 - he is in a band - they tour, they don't exactly sit down for dinner while Dad reads the paper - and he clearly is a bit more worldly than most 17 year old boys. Scrap that - just show me a 17 year old boy that WOULDN'T want to shag Caroline Flack? Exactly.  So as long as Caro doesn't expect any meaningful commitment - then what's the problem? I mean he is 17. He is in a band. Do you really think he'll be her 'the one?' I doubt it - but maybe she - like I did - wasn't interested in 'The one.' Instead, she just wants some great sex. I say you go girl!

I also say this because I was out with a group of women on Fri night and I got chatting to a group of well bred stallion types next to me. They were all about 19/21 age group. I asked one if they had gone to the posh collegiate school in my town - and naturally they had. They asked how I knew this and I explained it was all in the jaw. Posh types - strong jaws, well bred bone structure - and a healthy glow, like they've been raised on calves who only eat chocolate and milk. Now one of the women in the group was mightily uncomfortable with my chatter - which is fair enough as I did tell the uber handsome one that he could be in the band that old Harry is in above... But this woman was deeply uncomfortable - to the point I stopped yakking to said stallion boys. Turns out she likes older men - she is 40 and likes 50 + year olds as they make her feel younger. I am at the opposite end of that scale - as the thought of gassing to some beer bellied bald bloke all evening about banking does not thrill me one jot.

My Husband is younger - by 4 years and looks pretty youthful. My Father always looked much younger than he was. I don't know, I first fell in love at 17... Maybe I'm trapped in the mind of a 17 year old... And before you chastise me - Husband and I think it is wildly healthy to be attracted to other people - but obviously we don't act on this. We're loyal, we believe in vows etc. But that you see is why I support Caroline in her fling. Young girls entice older richer men all the time and not a word is said. 52 year old actor from The Green Mile (what is his name?) and his 16 year old bride, Bill Wyman and his bride Mandy Smith, any man over 60 who has just 'fathered a child,' AND there is 17 years between these two - the exact same years between Dustin Hoffman and his wife, Donald Trump and Marla Maples, (now 24 between Donald and his latest squeeze) Jerry Seinfield and his wife... and 25 between Bogie and Bacall...  So don't get me started on the one rule for one sex and one for another malarkey....

At the end of the day - what harm are they doing? A few jealous older women getting their knickers in a knot because of the age gap - bitter because the last time their husbands shagged them X factor wasn't even on telly. Give over Ladies and let them have their fun. The day Kerry Katona slags off your relationship, you know you are doing something right.

Is it Xmas time or something?

So yesterday The Diva (aka Sproglette) was 1. Yep a whole year has gone by since I waited a whole day and got bumped 5 times to have my C section from which she appeared.

Here is how she felt about her b'day:



Just a bundle of joy. She was grumpy all morning, howled in Waitrose, caused an old lasy to recoil when she glared at her in the trolley and moaned all through her cake and semi-party. She liked her toys though. Particularly anything she could be violent with - hammering pegs was a real hit. (No pun intended).

Anyway, I am struggling to my head around the fact a year has gone passed since I spogged and still don't quite know what I am going to do work wise. But it is nice to relax into Xmas (if one can relax into the whole nightmare lead up to the BIG DAY) and not really have to give a feck. If I get a wobbly moment where I wonder where my life is going, I just stuff a mince pie down my neck with more cream than you could hake a stick at - and voila! I am fine.

Some of my old script ed buddies have started to have babies - so I am watching to see how they juggle telly work and motherhood. They all used to marvel at me working on the same show as them - me with a toddler and Husband who did crazy hours. Maybe they'll inspire me - who knows. To be honest though - I am really digging some time with my kids. It all is going by so fast - so to take some time with these little people feels right. They'll be grown up and slagging me off to their Uni mates before I know it.

Anyway - enough of that, there is Xmas stress to be had people! I try to get cool gifts I really do, but after three hours flicking through seven shops on line and debating how much to spend, and blue or red? And have they got that? And, does that look cheap - oh maybe because it is cheap... I end up at M&S and buy everything in one swoop. Then I beat myself up over - will they like it?

Real Tree or not real tree? That is the question. I am going real tree - but where is the time to get the thing, get the decs out and realise that your tree screams 'gay man trapped in a woman's body!' Think we'll be doing the deed on Sunday. Saturday - it is much more important to introduce Sproglet and his chum to Scorsese - not through Raging Bull or Goodfellas - no, Hugo. Hoping it will be wicked.

We are off out on Xmas day for grub at fancy schmancy 'The Orerry' in London. Hurrah! No idea how we will entertain a one year old during the seven courses - but that is what cough syrup is for isn't it? Only joking... brandy in the bottle... JOKE!

I just don't feel all festive yet - so in a bid to do so, I'm getting my best mate and her Mum over next week for mulled wine, mince pies (and cream of course) and 'It's a Wonderful Life.' If that don't get me in the spirit - nothing will.

How did you lose yours??

The other day in the Dr's waiting room I read a magazine article about first loves. This is mine:

It all began with a purple orchid. Or at least the promise one.

His name was Ben. He was tall, blonde, hailed from Germany and smoked so much weed he was barely coherent. He was my first love. I'd seen him around but it wasn't until I'd been roped in by my art buddies to paint a huge mural in my sixth form centre at school, that our paths began to frequently cross. So after school, in the evenings I had begun trek back across town to school and wield my small paint brush. It was a garish collage of various sporting activities - painted originally in the 70s, across an entire wall, and we were updating it - with even more hideous colours. It was spring, the school formals were just around the corner and there was sense of excitement in the stale school air.

Every evening post study (he boarded at my school) he would slouch down to the rec floor (recreation floor) and muster a few sentences through his stoned stupor. I was bewitched. His long dirty blonde fringe swept across his face, hiding one eye. He told me he planned to send a girl a purple orchid as a valentine and proceeded to ask me at length what I thought of such displays of affection. I blushed, unsure who this orchid was meant for and then muttered some inane reply. (This was the staple of our conversations - he would be direct whilst obtuse and I would stumble through the chat avoiding the grenades, barely aware what I was saying). Anyway, this night, we chatted on while the others painted, and just as the bell for boarding bed time rang, he got up announced that he wouldn't be buying ME an orchid after all. Then he was gone. I know, what a twat. But I was hooked.

Every evening I would down tools and wait for his appearance - he would saunter in, all scruffy shirts and thick boots, his silver ring gleaming in the glare of the bright school lights. It was if it pained him to speak. He was monosyllabic, with the most intense stare I have ever had bear down on me. So, I sent him a valentine card, but my promised orchid never came. I felt foolish. He stopped me as I left the local coffee house - The Mad Hatters - and thanked me for the card - I denied all knowledge of it. Annoyed at my refusal to admit being the sender, he strode off - leaving me in the lurch as always.

Then one night - March 15th 1990 - he finally, finally asked me out. It was in the days when if someone asked you on a date - it meant you were 'going out' already. He was constantly gated (kept in school over the weekend) for bad behaviour - so we only got to be together a handful of times. His A levels were looming - he was repeating them and this time could not afford to fail. He was 19 to my 17 and seemed wildly exotic compared to all the dull Belfast boys I had known all my life. We would meet at The Empire - a musty pub with a cinema on the stage. We would sit in the gallery and kiss over cheap pizza and cold beers. I could barely eat, I was so full of butterflies and excitement. We got drunk and foolish and were barred from The Empire for fooling around in the toilets together. It was worth it. Every night he would call - at the beginning of our relationship I would get 70p worth - and by the end, maybe 25p... Calling him was a nightmare - in the days before mobile phones - the line was always engaged and when someone did answer it took them ten minutes to find Ben - and often he wasn't around - getting stoned in the rafters no doubt.

We always knew there was a clock ticking - the end of term meant he would fly back to Berlin and then head off to Manchester University while I remained in Belfast, with A levels to complete. I kept a diary for every day of our last month together - an ode to those tortured days of first love.

As the weather began to warm we would lie in Botanic Gardens opposite school, smoking cigarettes, hands entwined. I was in love. I didn't even know what love meant - but every minute of every day I thought about him. My stomach flipped every morning when he would walk past my assembly room and grunt hello. He came to stay at my house - separate rooms, and breakfast with my step family. He gave me a rose and my first orgasm. We wrote letters when he had to disappear to Sri Lanka (where his Dad lived) for the Easter holidays... I still have those letters.

By June, I was on the pill and debating when, not if, I would have sex with him. I was ready. I was prepared. He wasn't a virgin - I was. I prized my virginity - thought of it as a gift to give, rather than something to be taken. But I always imagined having a daughter and her asking me how I lost my innocence - and I always wanted to tell her - that it would be through love.

His A levels finished, as did our summer exams - a sense of liberation rushed through us all. My Mum went off to visit relatives, so my house was 'free.' I drank cheap wine and worried about whether or not it would hurt. He was famed for being well endowed - just to add to my fears. And yes, those are the things you think about before you get around to having sex at 17.

Now my first time - on June 22nd 1990, wasn't great. Quick, painful and forgettable. He asked me for a number out of ten and I think I gave him a seven - when in fact I thought it was barely worth a 2 and I wasn't sure what all the fuss was about. The following night we had another go. Better, but no great shakes. But by my 4th time I'd got the hang of the whole idea and had begun to enjoy it. He taught me how to have sex, how to love and how to have a relationship - and for that I will always be grateful. My firsts in all these arenas was one of joy - and consideration and being cherished.

That summer I went to Berlin to visit him - my Dad paid for the flight after asking me of I loved this guy. I said yes. I flew to London then on to Berlin and he met me at the airport. His Mother met me in a bar, with with a rose between her teeth - she was not long out of a mental facility - that is the truth. She was vivacious, flirtatious and fun. She asked me what contraception I used and then announced that the first time she had sex she got pregnant and got VD. She said an injection cured both. I was expecting chat about school and hobbies - but with her, you always got the unexpected. She was amazing, open and a slight bit unhinged - telling us to vacate her flat as her lover was coming over and then would complain about sore nipples all evening.

We spun a line to my Mother that I was staying at his Mum's - when in fact we holed up at his Dad's empty apartment. We drank red wine, watched videos (I remember watching Rosemary's Baby in German and still loving it... and also Uncle Buck - what a combination. I read Riders and a book about sexual fantasies called 'My secret garden'). ran long baths, got stoned and made love for ten blissful days. Then I left.

At the airport I could barely see I was crying so much. That fucking Roxette song from Pretty Woman blared out from any radio I passed.... 'It must have been love, but it's over now...' Wearing his old tatty jumper and stubble rash, I said goodbye. Then a kind guy in the boarding lounge offered me a Marlboro red and asked me if I had 'thrown the apartment at him? Or getting divorced?' I couldn't even reply. I spent a lonely night at Gatwick airport, smoking endless cigarettes and pouring all my coins into phones as I sobbed to every friend who would listen.

I returned to grey skies and A levels, boring Belfast and life without Ben. I was lost. I went back to Berlin again, the following year and then to Uni... we hooked up again when I was 21 for one night... We kept in touch with letters and then emails - until he got together with a girl who had been a few years younger than us at school - and had always had a massive crush on him. I wasn't her favourite person. Then the radio silence began. I asked to be his friend on facebook and he ignored my request. It made me momentarily sad - I gave you my virginity and you can't me my facebook buddy?? But really, things are best left where they were. I will never regret loving him, learning from him and all the adventures we had. I was playing at being a grown up in Berlin and it paved the way for all my subsequent romances. The world opened up to me in 1990 and my life, and my heart, were never the same again.

Now I can I look Sproglette in the eye and tell her that I lost my virginity in love. So I kept that promise to myself. For all those memories of a wonderful angst filled first love - I thank you Ben. But I never did get that purple orchid...

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

If anyone wants to share their first love/losing virginity story, I'd love to hear it.

Just a catch up...

Fri night - watching an amazing documentary on Prince. Man, I just love that guy. He has inspired me, comforted me, cheered me, and been my own little talisman, since I was 11. I wish he would gig over in the UK again. I have blogged manys a time of my love of the purple one, so I won't bore you all again. But whenever life is shit, I stick on Dirty Mind, or Sign of the Times, - and hell, nothing is that bad anymore, because there is always Prince.

Anyway, I digress. I haven't blogged in ages - not because of any dark old reason - just a lack of time. I've been doing a bit of script work for my old bosses - and between that and raising two small beings, Husband starting a new job and all that jazz, I barely get time to pee.

For example - I am now looking on ebay for Prince T shirts and watching Purple Rain - when I should be packing for a trip tomoz that I am SO exited about. I am off to Newcastle with my sprogs and Husband to see my good buddy who recently had twins. Meanwhile another schoolmate is heading over from Leeds way with her new baby and another from bonnie Scotland. Hurrah! While our babies all gurgle and our older boys run riot - we can all drink fizz and blether. Oh I just don't get enough time with my Ya yas these days (as in 'The Ya Ya sisterhood) so it is long overdue. But it does involve a 3 hour train journey with kids, so it aint all joy...

So what's been goin' on down my way? My once razor sharp memory is toast these days. Today I did a food shop and then - no card! Genius. Had to trek home again... Well, After I threw a fab Halloween party for myself, I mean Sproglet, well November happened and now it is nearly over and in between there has been an enormous amount of tea drinking, manys a mince pie shoved down my gullet, a few wobbly moments when I thought 'what the fuck am I going to do with my life?' and lots of joy as Sproglette now leans in for kisses and has become more Miss independent diva by the day. There has been a special row where I was so tired I threw a cup of (sadly cold) coffee over Husband and I now have a dining room wall to paint... Some Xmas gatherings coming up, the starbucks red cups are out and I have yet to partake, and festive spirit has begun ever since I took Sproglet to see 'Arthur Christmas' which only cost me £24 for two tickets. £24!!!!! Bloody 3D bollox. Plus some exiting movies coming up - Scorcese's 'Hugo', Fincher's 'Girl with a Dragon Tattoo' and then all the pre Oscar stuff...

The Killing 2 is on!! And a bizarre new series by the Glee team called 'American Horror story' which is NUTS. I'm mightily enjoying 'The Slap' on BBC4. A character gets an episode a week and I find it riveting. Which is why I sat up last night until midnight watching a recording of it... TV is back in the good zone again - so why go out?

A new year will soon be upon us and I have a feeling that 2012 may just be my most memorable year yet. For a few reasons - but we'll have to see. Cryptic I know. But I just believe in fate and I think the universe is aligning at the mo. Plus the happy pills are keeping me chirpy. People keep remarking on the fact I have lost weight - I don't see it myself, but my jeans are all falling off me, so I've been scouting ebay for a size lower... The weird thing is I worked my ass of for 6 weeks before a wedding in May of this year and then after it I kind of thought, sod it and just ate cake again. Then the weight came off. Totally odd. It's like when you don't think about it every minute of every day, then it looks after itself. Mind you post xmas I may have to take up running again.... euughhhhh...

Ok Purple Rain really has the worst script ever. But I don't care. I love it. Sproglet asked me last week if I wanted to marry Prince (as we grooved post bath to 'Raspberry Beret') and I said yes. He totally understood. I am bringing him up to appreciate all things Prince. So far he is non plussed. I'm working on it. And so I am off to begin what husband calls 'stage 1' of getting ready for bed. I have packing to do and washes to fold and just pockling do to and then papers to read so it may take a while. Oh and last news - my best friend is making progress! Hurrah!

The old Me

Yesterday I went into central London to Soho, to meet some buddies I used to work with. It was a drizzly, grey nondescript kinda day, but still I felt cheery. I rarely get into London much anymore and when I stride through Soho, it feels like I am walking in a life I lived many moons ago. I used to work at various TV companies dotted all around the area - and frequent the bars and cafes for long boozy lunches/dinners justified as 'expenses' in the good old days when TV companies had money. One street always takes me back to my first ever date with my Husband - in a cafe in possibly the campest street in London. He was getting the eye from manys a cute boy when I arrived... all those years ago. Other places take me back to our dating days - double cinema dates at the Curzon Soho, endless thai meals at Busaba, dinners at Cafe Boheme... Days felt long and full of possibilities.

Mainly it reminds me of my single days - stumbling from one bar to another - blagging my way into member's only haunts, and creeping down dark stairways to late night lock ins... It all feels so normal - I feel myself again - and then I remember I am boring Mother in the burbs these days.

The gang I met yesterday, I started to work with in 2008. My second career - whereas for them, mainly this was their first. So that makes me that bit older than them all - that bit further down life's track. Sometimes I feel like the freak girl who is trying to be this good mother at home - and then with them, I guess around anything job wise, I'm worker CM. The holy grail is trying to marry these two states. I listen as they talk of exciting new jobs and experiences - all of which are so foreign to me (I know virtually no one in the drama industry here) - I couldn't possibly take jobs that they have with all my commitments. So it is strange - on one hand I envy their ability to just have themselves to think of, while I juggle playdates and baby stuff, school activities and all the after school malarkey - and feeding and raising two kids - and on the other I know that at some stage I will be out of these woods and be able to jump into work again.

I listen to myself and my only interesting gambits these days are child related - because that is what my life is filled with. I am turning into the person I never wanted to be - the woman who talks only of her kids. Maybe that isn't true - I can comment on trying to put a gypsy curse on someone even though I am no gypsy; gossip about ex colleagues; predict a winner on the X factor and throw in some opinions on various tv shows... But the thing that bound us together - work - is no longer in my life. Sometimes I wish they all had kids and could advise me how to juggle it all - but maybe by the time they do it they'll be well off enough to afford nannies and big houses, so they won't contend with the trivial issues that keep me awake at night.

It was so good to see them. For years they were my day in and day out family - I spent more time with them than anyone else. I was devastated when I had to leave them all last year - and beyond anything, they are fun. They make me laugh and rip the piss out of each other (and oh yes, me lots) and there isn't really a dull moment when they are all bantering away. I wonder if in my life I'll ever work with a team I love as much again. We had gathered as one of them is moving back to Oz with his lovely wife. It feels strange to think that he won't be around, even though I don't see him that often.

Yesterday as we left the restaurant where we had scoffed scones and tea (rock n roll baby) I spied some women at the bar necking martinis. For one second I remembered myself in a similar pose, all those years ago (1999/2000). My heart kind of sank because I will always miss those days - presenting kids tv until about 4pm (which meant larking about with my mates in front of camera and getting paid for it in all honesty) on Tottenham Ct Road and then sauntering either up to Noho or down to Soho, then hitting the bars, still caked in the on screen make up that would take 5 wipes to get off. There was no curfew, no worries about pennies in the bank - sure that's what overdrafts were for. Life was so carefree. When I walk those streets I remember myself, the bit of me that feels the most remote at the moment. Maybe one day, Ill be back...