Changes...

Good evening...

There are changes afoot...well, for wondering woman and her blog that is...

If you have found yourself here...you be in the wrong place ya scallywags!!!

Please try The year of being forty...plus one more

This blog will be closing, or at least will be redundant very soon. In order to do what we want to do everything has now moved to the original blog...(which will throw my dad I am sure), but basically what you have been following over the last year, it is all there now....so remember this www.wonderingwoman5.com

Thanks as always for your support...we appreciate it and as always your feedback is important to us...see you on the flip side.

Wonderingwoman ;-)

Love padlocks...

In a week where love and romance seems to have been beaten up, smashed around a bit, thrown in the river and beaten against some stones for good measure, I am pleased to have something more cheerier to write about today...

Whilst procrastinating about writing and in-between shouting at small hobbits to get to bed, I found a lovely symbol about love, that you may or may not have heard about...

Love Padlocks...soaked in romance; idealism and engraved with lovers names they are turning up all over the world. Locking in the love that couples feel for each other.

To some degree they are causing angst within the boardrooms of officials, who see these little padlocks of love declaration as an eyesore...however, there are also some that are embracing these little gems and making specific areas for people to show the world how they feel.

Vodootvodny Canal in Moscow, has an iron built tree specifically set up for the padlocks, and is absolutely covered in them...

There are many other places too that are covered in metal locks in all shapes and sizes and I just love this public declaration, especially when sometimes we can become distracted by so many other unhappy things in life...

You can find them in Paris, Germany, Canada, Ireland, Italy etc...in fact I am considering asking my dad to make me an iron tree of my own so I can have it in my front garden...maybe being in the presence of love will rub off on me?

Perhaps this is the best way to describe love after all?
That feeling that you want to lock away for safe keeping and security, so that it will never leave...

The meaning of life...

I have spent some time Googling love this afternoon; well, more specifically, 'What is love?'

I was not surprised to see that it was the most searched phrase on Google in 2012 and it was quite reassuring to see that I am not the only one with the urge to find out about the greatest emotion of all.

A big part of me also feels quite positive that this is the case: I mean the top search on Google could have been anything...
Why is David Cameron Prime Minister, (a mystery to many of us), what is the Bermuda Triangle, or indeed what is the meaning of life?

The dictionary refers to it as a general description; affection, attachment, sexual passion or desire, a profound emotion. However, this doesn't go anywhere near to explaining the power and the definition of love.

If there was a venn diagram of personality, attraction and sexuality and all of these circles were equally fulfilled, you would think surely it is only natural that love is the result?

No? Why? If everything is perfect, why does love not exist? Or, I hasten to say, the feelings behind falling in love?

Love has to be one of the most complicated emotions to describe as it is one of the few emotions that it is covered by a biological, psychological and philosophical response. All three of these need to be in place in order for us to feel like we are in love or that we love someone.

Then of course there are varying degrees of love.
According to a Dr Paulette Sherman in NY, there are 15 different types of love: Infatuation; romantic; eros; companionate; unconditional; conditional; puppy, maternal, paternal; soulmate; spiritual/divine; patriotic; brotherly; self and tough love.

Are you keeping up?
No wonder it is one of the most searched phrases, as actually thus far no one has been able to define it in one word...one sentence...so that we all know what it actually is; and no wonder it is such a hard thing to do...rather like the perfect conception.

There is so much involved, it is impossible to define why you love something or someone. We can describe how we unconditionally love our children, yet it is a feeling that is undefinable. From the moment they are born we know that we would lay our lives on the line for them; we would, possibly, even commit murder in order to protect them.

Yet, we know those feelings are irrational in any other part of our lives. Which shows you the power of what unconditional, paternal and maternal love is.

So what is love?

Biologically we release chemicals. I am not talking about lust, but the actual feelings of love produce pheromones, dopamine and serotonin to name a few. Psychologically we talk about self love - Aristotle discovered that in order to love we must first love ourselves; but also there is Eros love - a sexual passion that can burn out - and on occasion this can move on to a mature love, that gives us the sense of security or family attachments. Showing goodwill in long term relationships, commitment, compromise and understanding.

Then philosophically...I quote Julian Baggini, a philosopher and writer who describes it better than anything I have read... "At its best, however, all love is a kind, passionate commitment that we nurture and develop, even though it usually arrives in our lives unbidden. That's why it is more than just a powerful feeling. Without the commitment, it is mere infatuation. Without the passion, it is mere dedication. Without nurturing, even the best can wither and die."

So how and why do we fall in love?

I'm afraid to tell you I don't have an answer for you.
My role here is to ponder and wonder, and maybe provoke the same wondering in my reader. What I do feel after investigating this particular subject, is that love can feel different for everyone. We can not stay on the plane of Eros love; it may burn out or strengthen and move on to a more secure feeling. What feels right for a lifetime of happiness to one, may feel inadequate to another...nevertheless, we all experience it, feel it and need it in our lives.

Perhaps that is why 'what is love' is the highest searched phrase on Google, as maybe love is the meaning of life after all...

Reasons to be cheerful...

I am banging my head on the table right now...

Repeatedly, frustratingly...it hurts a bit, but sometimes when head banging is required - nothing else will do.

Unfortunately, there is no one else involved so I can't even tell you that it is in a passionate embrace with a long haired lover from Liverpool...just an overwhelming urge to bang my head.

So you are probably guessing correctly, that something is frustrating me...not the first time I hear you cry and surely won't be the last. I am sure it will pass, these things normally do...there is always something, or indeed someone, around the corner that will replace the previous frustration.

Head hurts now....

Anyway - good evening peeps :-)

I am aware that my blogging capacity has been lily livered and weak lately. The good news for you is that you have been spared from my regular drivel, but for me this concentration has led to a far more productive time with the 'multi million pound bestselling book' which is just around the corner I am sure.

Never hurts to be optimistic as my dad would say...

I have been plugging away at it...with of course, a regular healthy dose of butt kicking from certain good friends. So thank you to those who have been reading the first draft, to those who have slapped me when I have slumped into my 'Oh my god this is crap' moments, and specifically T who has been quite inspirational at helping me get over those mini writing hurdles...appreciate it dude.

The plan is thus; write a 1000 words a night, edit it, publish it...then f**k off on a yacht with my millions...sounds about right surely?

So, whilst there are some aspects of my life that aren't quite heading in the direction they should be, or turning out to be the good things I thought they might be - there are still reasons to be cheerful...friends and family who continue to believe in you.

Sometimes, a little bit of belief is all you need...

The dictionary according to me...

Honesty;
noun; truthfulness, sincerity or frankness; the quality or fact of being honest....

Communication;
noun; the act or process of communicating; the imparting or interchange of thoughts, opinions, or information by speech, writing or signs...

I am aware that both of these words I have discussed on here before, but nevertheless I am clearly not communicating it effectively to the masses.

Oh alright I hear you....I mean the few people in the Ukraine who read my blog.


There are occasions of course where honesty is not the best policy...to spare someone from pain or hurt; to appease a child about Father Christmas (although I still believe) or in the event of arranging a surprise - white lies have their place.

Within any relationship communication and honesty still remain, in my mind, the key elements of life with someone else.

They are valued components. They work in conjunction with each other.

With the time and energy that you give to someone else, time you can never get back, these components are paramount throughout a relationship so why not hold onto those values when it is time to say goodbye?

Now shitty things happen to good people. It is unfortunately the way of the world. People make their own judgements, have their own opinions and feelings about others. We can not change what we feel or inherently who we are.

Sadly relationships do come to an end. One or both parties make that decision. That is not my concern here today; my concern is more about the value of honesty and communication in either the breaking down or break up of a relationship.

If someone has given another person time and put energy into a relationship, then surely that person deserves the respect when it comes to the reasons behind why it is no longer working for them. Not only does it help with closure for the relationship and gives the other person the motivation to move on, there is also the chance that after talking things through with clarity and sincerity, that there is a way to resolve issues.

I was once given a reason for ending a 'relationship' that someone had with me which had no foundation. No consideration how I thought about 'the issue' or even a frank and full discussion to discover if it even was an issue. Consequently I never responded either and never told them, that actually it wasn't the issue that they thought it was. They hadn't even given me the respect and time to talk it through with me; they just made assumptions (wrongly) and made their mind up based on those assumptions.

This week this scenario appears once again to have risen its ugly head in a friend of mine. They had no idea that their partner felt that there were issues, they were never given a real chance to talk about compromises and changes in their relationship that perhaps would mean that the issues were no longer relevant. It was over. They had made up their mind...without ever really effectively communicating and discussing it.

Sad isn't it? There was no fight for the relationship, no chance to resolve it and to give respect for the time given. I know this isn't new to people, but interestingly so many relationships would work if people worked harder at being honest and communicating throughout the relationship, and maybe there would be no final conversation.

So in essence, honesty; in short a simple seven letter word...and communication; a slightly longer word, however in the dictionary according to me two words that are vital to the existence of a healthy relationship, and alas of which, some people have no real concept of.

8 out of 24...

Ok the weather was clear, a touch of rain but nothing too horrendous...good day for a road trip, eh?

The impending nuptials of Lord and Lady London are upon us, and with a quick goodbye to the hobbits this morning I set off for the sunny climes of Gloucester.

To be honest, I should have known that things were going too well when the hobbits happily said goodbye; or when I seemed to hit every traffic light at green...or when the policeman didn't stop me for doing 37 in a 30...

However it all went downhill when I hit the main motorway - the M25...also known as London's biggest car park.

Unfortunately for someone there was an accident. I say this because really in the great scheme of things me being delayed is nothing in comparison to someone else's misfortune of being involved in an RTA...however, the impact of said accident was nearly a four delay on a stretch of road that normal would have taken me about 15 minutes to drive.

Initially I was happy. Panic hadn't sunk in...I was ok. I had a coffee in a large cup, I had music and biscuits for sustenance should I require them.

I played with radio channels whilst I inched slowly up the road; bantered with transit drivers but after a while...it may have been in the third hour, I realised my bladder needed some help. I was beginning to worry now...was I ever going to see light? Would I ever see beyond the back of the Jefferson Haulage lorry I was stuck behind? Did I have enough biscuits? I was actually nervous about eating them...in case I was here all night and might need them later on.

The bladder was also getting to be a problem. Some people were parking up and running off into the bushes for relief; there was even a hen party of women all dressed in nun outfits who took it turn to run off into the fields with their crosses and loo rolls. Nuns are clearly prepared for every eventuality.

A kind transit driver did indeed offer me some toilet roll, but I declined and eventually at just peaking the fourth hour got off the motorway and to a road side cafe, to finally rush into a toilet to discover....no damn toilet roll.

Really? Thanks to Dad who got me on the right track again.

So a journey that should have taken me three hours...took me nearly eight and a half...but the chance to see your best friend get married, I don't really care if it had taken me 24.

Jam for everyone...

At about 5.20 this evening I hear my front door open and a moment later, J pops her head around the door to the kitchen.

She looks at me seriously and says simply, "I need sperm."

I look at her bemused for a few seconds, (but it feels much longer) and say, "Sorry, I only have coffee."

She sinks down on one of the dining room chairs, "I need sperm now."
I frown slightly at her, "Dare I ask why?"
"Acne. It's a cure."
"Oh...yes, I had heard that - I recall a blog many moons ago about this very thing."
"I don't remember that," she says googling the '8 Things you didn't know you could do with human sperm.'
"Yes - ages ago, talked about the positive effects of Sperm."

"Did you know that you make food with it?"She tells me.
"Eugh...really? Nasty."
"Oh I dunno - it gives a recipe for Creme Caramel here...it is under a company name of Natural Harvest."
"All natural? Oh Poot's will love it."I tell her.

I pass her a cup of coffee, with sweetener I hasten add..."Well, you could always ask D if he could provide you with something for the weekend?"
Her eyes light up - "Would that be appropriate?"
I laugh, "No, but has that ever stopped you before? He could put it in a little pot for you - like a face cream pot."
"Do you think it has a shelf life?" She asks.

I consider this, "I would have thought so. Two - three days tops. Maybe you can put it in the fridge? Or perhaps it has to be kept at room temperature?"
"I don't think my son would approve if he found that in the fridge."
"Well, you don't tell him - say it's a prescription cream."
J laughs..."I don't think a small pot will do either. I need a bigger jar or something."

Poor D....he is gonna have a busy weekend.

"It says you can freeze it too..." She says checking her list. "...and someone painted with it."
Ok, now this conversation is becoming even more bizarre than normal. "Anything else?"

So she informs me that sperm is great for the following:
Eight things you didn't know you could do with human sperm...

After a lot more chatting she finishes her second cup of coffee and starts getting her stuff together...
"Where you off to now then?" I ask.
She gives me a hug, throws her bag on her shoulder and starts to walk out the door;
"I'm off to buy Jam and Marmalade....and I aim to eat a lot of it by the weekend. Ta ta."

Good luck D :-)

The art of communication...

Lady London is getting married in just over a week.

I, and my fellow 'matron of dishonour', have been working hard to produce an appropriate hen day for about six months now...and it is finally here.
So basically it is all our fault if it all goes wrong...and I really will be placed on Portaloo duty on the day instead of my current role;
"Moisturiser? Hand towel sir?"Note I said towel...

I'm afraid I can not reveal the closely guarded 'hen event' as the Lady herself reads the blog, and of course I don't want to ruin the surprise or indeed the heinous activities we have planned for her... *insert wicked wink and smiley face here*, needless to say it will be a very special day.

Nevertheless it will be the wedding of the year for our little circle...so important really that I feel that I should be writing a piece for Hello magazine in celebration...
"Lord and Lady L pose by the fire with their four labradors; the Lady herself is wearing a beautiful design by Alexander McQueen and her boots are by Dr. Martens..." About sums it up doesn't it babe?

My bestie of three decades is finally doing the deed; we all get to see her marry the man she loves...that is of course, unless you kill off anymore vicars, eh my lovely?

So what with the next couple of weeks being wedding feverish, I have been considering how and why relationships work...what excites us about another person? Is it an instant bolt out of the blue? Is it gradual? Is it personality/aesthetics/money? Are you the best lover or Shepherd's pie maker there ever was?
I mean after all, even Woody Allen got married.

If it is instant attraction - what is it that instantly attracted you to that person? Can you describe it? Can you remember your first kiss and did it blow you away?

Lord and Lady L are perfect. They work as a team, but even they started from scratch. They built something from nothing, and have worked at it to ensure that it stayed healthy - not the same, because nothing ever does - but that it developed into the right relationship for them.

Let's be honest; good looks go and the body changes. Money can also come and go, especially if you are Donald Trump...eventually we all end up the same way. The spark that was there before dims...

However I don't believe that has to go away forever. My dad as always, has the answer.

Communication.
This is where he comments and tells me I haven't rung him for weeks...However he is right, relationships last because of communication.

If you can disagree and talk about it; discuss every subject that interests you and still have a response; have a level that you both meet and an honesty with each other, then you will be a man my son...

Relationships break down because of lack of communication. Not because they didn't ever disagree, but because they didn't ever disagree. Does that make sense? Opinions; thoughts; ideas, all shared with someone else is the art of communication. If you spend your life with someone without ever having a cross word, then as someone wise advised me recently then that essentially means that someone in the relationship isn't being honest.

Yes, enjoy the thunderbolt; enjoy the shepherd's pie and the fun bit...but in order for it to keep being fun - talk. Never stop talking.

Good luck Lord and Lady L - I can't wait to see you in that dress my lovely friend; you deserve a lifetime of happiness...you are truly an inspiring woman, a fantastic Fairy Godmother, a terrible car driver and my best friend to boot.

Congratulations to you both. Love you xxx

Anticipating the positive...

I have just been chatting to A.

My A is one of the kindest men I know and I told him so. I could almost feel the blushes through the instant messaging, and he just simply batted off the compliment.

Why do we do that? What stops us from accepting a compliment in the form that it was meant?

Eventually he said Thank you - but I could tell he didn't really believe what I was saying. I wouldn't have believed him had he said it the other way.

Is this a good or a bad thing?
I am trying to get my head around the fact that we find it so hard to believe people, even people that we trust implicitly. Is it because our own self doubt effectively trumps a compliment? The negative outweighs the positive...

On the other hand, is it what keeps us on our toes as it were? If we were the type of person who accepted and believed every compliment that came our way, would that change who we are? Would we become so self obsessed that we would neglect to question our behaviour at times?

If questioning our behaviour to others and ourselves is a good thing, (which I believe it is) and helps us see the occasions when we were wrong or inappropriate then surely on the flip side accepting a well made, truthful compliment is also a good thing?

I would be really interested in how people see this, and indeed how they go about accepting something nice said by another.

Is it because we don't want to fail? Let people down? Believe in ourselves and our abilities? Why would we refuse to believe something positive, but happily accept something negative?

I have another friend, E - she sent me a picture recently of a cow. She said that every time I doubted myself I was to look at this picture and think, 'I am being a silly cow." Perhaps I should post it on here, so that if anyone else feels the same they can chant the same Mantra.

The impact of a compliment should have a much higher meaning than a criticism. I am not suggesting that a criticism shouldn't be paid attention to; there is normally a reason for it and anything that helps us be better people should be noted. Nevertheless, for that reason - a compliment should also be happily accepted...it means we are on the right track; and if someone sees that quality in something you do, or how you are, then you are already nearly there.

Too rose tinted? Sheesh really? :-)

Well, maybe it is - but that would be me anticipating the negativity - so today, I am anticipating the positive and accepting it.

Summer evenings...

Ah the sun is here again - and you know what that means for all of us women don't you?

You got it - we get excited by the fact that we can dry our washing in under an hour...and the kids can play outside for once instead of being trapped indoors while it rains...

Nevertheless it did rain here briefly this evening; the warmth of the evening brought a little rainstorm and Spiderman and I danced around in it, in true hippie style that would have made Pootle proud.

The sun and summer evenings does make us feel so much better, and, dare I say it, a little bit hornier? Hell, yeah, I have said it now and Pootle and I discussed this tonight over a beer...

"How many batteries have you been through this week?" She asks laughing, "It is only bloody thursday!"
"Yeah - poor thing, it is exhausted...every time I go near it now I can almost hear it crying, 'Leave me alone.'" I say with a mock squeal, "It may have ears, but it needs legs to run away."
"Poor thing - it can't even have a fag afterwards!" She says in sympathy.
"Honestly, it isn't that bad - I am on the same ones, I promise. You?"
"Mine is bloody broken. It's not good man."
"No, that isn't good. What did you do to it?"
"Over use man - it's shagged. I tried whacking it against the windowsill, but no go."
I laugh..."Maybe that should be our website idea, recycle your old vibrators..."
"Yes, in this day and age what an idea...we could be saving women all over the world, women and the planet!"
I knew this would appeal to her...trouble is, we have to know how to fix them.
"I could use mine as a prototype...take it apart and see how it is all put together, bang it on the windowsill again."
"Oh, yeah - I can hear your neighbours now, 'Are you alright dear?' 'Yes Mavis, just banging my vibrator up against my window, won't be much longer."

Ah, what an image Poots...perhaps this is an area where recycling is slightly distasteful?

Alas, there are no shops we can pop it into to have it fixed...maybe we need an National Telethon? "Let's get Poots pootling again", with a friendly fluffy smiling vibrator as the image or some other odd marketing strategy....

Hmm - maybe not....it's bad enough that the blog is public, let alone her broken vibrator dilemma...unless I can get Hugh Jackman answering the 'phones...

However, there are some things Hugh can do...but sometimes only a beer in the front garden with your bestie will do...with no batteries in sight and a simple tune...

I love summer evenings...

A glimmer of hope...

A woman is open, honest, kind and bubbly...and she enjoys the company of men equally as much as her female friends.... yet some men see this as a 'come on'...why?

This question has arisen this week and consequently an open and honest debate has ensued at my house this evening...thankfully, you will be pleased to hear not with the Hobbits.

If a man is open and honest about any subject that you can care to think about - he is seen as modern man...a bit of a holy grail....but a woman, who knows her own mind and clearly knows what she likes and wants, is seen as potentially someone who is too independent; slightly intimidating and for others is seen as an opportunity...
...and not always in a good way.

Don't get me wrong - I would advocate honesty over anything and having a man that is equally as honest and kind is truly something to hold onto...J will tell you that.

So what am I trying to say here...clearly something is playing on my mind.

Hmm...well I have had the pleasure (ahem) of a few different dates recently...and conversations with a few different men. Some, read my blog...some don't. Some have known me for sometime and know who I am, what I believe in etc - whilst others have made assumptions and judgements...often wrongly.

However I can not control what people think or indeed feel about me. On the surface I can pretend to be the person who they want me to be, but for those who take the time to find out - there is more going on underneath than simply a conversational blog about vibrators.

Underneath is what is important - not my take on the latest sex toy...if that is the only thing that interests you about me, then you are missing out on my latest opinion of current affairs or indeed my inner most fears and thoughts, essentially getting to know me and I you...does that make sense?

I wouldn't want a male companion who didn't care about those things, who considers that those surface conversations are relevant - cos they truly aren't. Having a discussion about sex with someone doesn't mean that I am game...or indeed available; please don't make that assumption about me.

It just means that I am happy to talk about things in a general way - but trust me, there is far more to learn if you bother to take the time.

Thankfully where some men can not be bothered to take a closer look, there are men out there who will...as I am beginning to find out finally...so Pootle, there may just be a glimmer of hope for us after all...

The grieving process...

"Good evening, Mercedes-Benz helpline, how can I be of assistance?"
Distinct soft crying is heard...
"Hello? Can I help you?"
"Hello...I need help."
"Of course madam," says the young girl softly, "what seems to be the problem?"

A big sigh, followed by some more sniffling, "I have to give it back."
"Sorry, I am not quite with you." She says, confusion in her voice. "You have to give what back?"
"The Mercedes..." I say, my voice full of despair.
"Oh Madam, I am very sorry to hear that. What appears to be the problem with the vehicle?"
"Oh there is no problem...I love it; But someone lent it to me and I have to give it back."

"Oh," she stutters. "I see the problem. Who lent it to you?"
"A friend."
"A very good one, " she says.
I nod as though she can see me..."I am not sure if I can cope without it, I think I need a phased returning of the car...some sort of counselling or support group to get me through the loss."
"I completely understand Madam, however it is very rare that our customers lend out their cars...so we don't have a group. Have you considered the Samaritans?"
"Yep. Already rung them. They told me they couldn't possibly understand what I was talking about. There were suicidal people out there, and I was upset over just a car."
"Just a car? Oh god, I am sorry. The Mercedes is not just a car."
I nod again...she understands.

"Madam, where are you ringing me from?" Her voice is kind and sweet.
"The drivers seat."
"Are you using Bluetooth?"
"God yes," I almost cry in pain and I shift in the seat making a small sound.
"What was that noise?"
"The chains." I inform her.
"What chains?"
"I have chained myself to the car...I thought it would be ok."
"Oh..." She says, now with a considerable amount of worry in her voice. "I understand it is difficult."
"I feel bereft. I will no longer be complete."
"It takes time Madam. First you will experience denial that the car has gone, anger...but finally acceptance. It is the grieving process."
"Really?" I am not cheered, but I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.
"Yes, you have to go through each phase...but the pain will eventually pass."
"Oh good, when?" I ask her.
"When you buy a Mercedes....that will help."
"Oh," I say deflated. "That could be a while."
"Yes, the grieving process does take time." She pauses, "thank you for your call anyway. Your feedback is important to us."
"You're welcome." I say, the chains around my waist chafing a bit. "Goodnight."

Lord, won't you buy me...

It has been a quiet blogging week...

I haven't seen J, C or randomly chatted to strange men to find out some little anecdotes to tell you...I have been too busy driving the beast that is the other half of C's car...are you really sure you want it back J?

It is a bit like having car sex for a week...it is that good. (It really suits me too, Pootle said so.)

Even my dad was in awe of it this evening when he came over to see us...very impressed.

I love the satnav, the stereo, the boot that opens automatically, the seat belts...the engine sound, and so much more...I have even downloaded a specific song to leave for J to listen to when he returns and switches the engine on.

Anyway...enough of my car porn...I can tell that you are bored already, and I can't even see your faces...

So, I am afraid it is a bland blog tonight...but I was aware that I hadn't written for a few days...amazing how times flies when things are good, eh?

Out of the blue...

I just love the sun.

Pootle calls me a lizard or gecko, because as soon as it warms up you can normally find me lying on a wall or a bed of grass, or propped up against the fence with my feet dipped in the paddling pool soaking up the rays.

I love the warmth, the way it makes people feel happier and being able to have a reason to drink more Pimms....as if an excuse was ever needed.

What I don't normally like are surprises however.

You have to be very good and keep it very secret, because if I get a whiff that something is up I start to feel a tad uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, this weekend has been full of them. Surprises that is and all good ones.

This morning I had arranged to take C and J to the airport. Arriving at their house I started to unpack the boot of my car to get their suitcases in, when J hands me his car keys.
"All done." He says, "already loaded up."
I look at him for a moment and then look at the key in my hand.
"I am driving your car to the airport?" I ask.
"Yep, and you have it for a week. You are fully insured. Enjoy."

It takes me a moment, but a touch later I squeal, jump up and luckily J catches me; (I confess I am impressed he does this, because C is only a tiny slip of a thing and he is really not used to larger women leaping up at him.)

The car is a beauty. A Mercedes off roader...(I would tell you the exact name if I knew...but hopefully J or C will comment and give you that information).

Nevertheless, who cares...it is the hulk of the road...I feel like I am driving a big beastie that can crush anything in its path...I have absolute power...
...well, almost absolute power.

Automatic with rear view parking, the seat belt automatically corrects itself around your waist, to the point that initially it took me by surprise...then I confess I quite enjoyed the squeeze; the hobbits are totally into the inbuilt DVD player at the back and suddenly no longer have the urge to sit up front...and I have bluetooth...so if you ring me over the next week, I may actually answer you when driving.

As I dropped them off at the airport and to C's horror, J explained the off roading buttons I needed...should I indeed choose to go off piste....(that is piste and not pissed, you can trust me J)...hmm, now where can I go?

J and C - thank you so much for trusting me with this absolutely awesome car...I love it...and on reflection I have decided that I do enjoy surprises...including the other one I had late yesterday evening.

Funny how some people never surprise you...but then out of the blue, someone else does....

10 year old pillow...

My friend J has amazing breasts...

Seriously - she does. Her man would more than likely concur with me about this, and Pootle, J and I discussed this recently as she is considering having a breast reduction...

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" I ask her, inevitably over a coffee.
"They are too big." She moans and looks down at them just to check they still are as she remembers.
'They are quite amazing though...I confess to being a little bit envious of them." I tell her, and for a brief while all three of us stare at her breasts trying to take in the greatness of them..."and a little scared of them too." I add.

They are very big.
"You see?" She reiterates her point, "Too big."
"Can breasts be too big?" says Pootle.
We shrug...size is relevant to the person I suppose.
"They can certainly be too small." I say, and everyone stops starting at J's breasts and look at mine. "At least you have plumpness and cushion like ability...in fact they are pretty much top of the range pillows; like memory foam." I add.
J preens herself a little hearing this news.

Pootle herself also has excellent Silent Night types and between her and J, I can't imagine you wouldn't get a good night sleep on those puppies.

Mine however would probably give you a head ache...

"Oh, yours aren't that bad." Says Pootle, "If you pushed them together they could make a pillow of sorts; like an old favourite pillow that you have to fold over," and she kind of demonstrates this with her hands in front of her...
J nods in agreement, "Yeah, like a ten year old pillow that has lost 'featherage'. But you are still quite fond if it."
"...that has lost its stuffing and is a bit stained and flat." Pootle continues.
"Girls," I look at them, "please don't hold back. Tell it like it is."

The thing is they are right, however, we can't all have memory foam and we can't all have the body of David Beckham or Kelly Brook...it doesn't work like that in real life, yet there is an expectation on the dating scene that anything less than perfect (in our eyes) is not on our list to try.

Someone said to me recently that they couldn't go out with a female who was anything but slim; that is fine as most of us have a criteria of what we find attractive initially...however, are we being too picky? Are we missing out on the voluptuous femme fatale on the other side of the room just because of our preconceived ideas about what we want?

I have dated in the past both men who are slim and men who are on the larger side...it wasn't that that specifically attracted me to them. It was what they had to say. But the trouble with getting older is that we are using our experiences to tell us what we really don't want, therefore some potentials are being missed out on our radar purely because they are a few pounds heavier...or their face is too thin.

What am I trying to say here?

I suppose there is an element of us that wants the whole package; the looks, the conversation, the banter...the thunderbolt; but what I am learning is that the thunderbolt doesn't normally mean long term.

Meeting someone who has the ability to reduce you to talking b**locks on a first date, doesn't necessarily mean they have the ability to hold your attention span once they start talking...whilst someone who doesn't create fireworks initially, may just ignite a spark once you start getting to know them and may be longer lasting.

Meeting a man who is shy may well put me off...however, I could be walking away from someone who once I got to know actually has a great deal to say, but I never gave them the chance.

Certainly a few of my friends would agree. When they met their partners there wasn't a thunderbolt; there wasn't a firework display behind their retinas...but with time, they became attracted to them and accepted them for who they were...warts and all....

Now, they wouldn't change them for the world...including their ten year old pillows...

My other half...

I have some news to announce.

People have been asking Pootle and myself a couple of questions with the same theme lately;

Are we sisters?
Are we a couple?
Are we likely to run off and live in a mud hut together and grow veg from pots?

Well, the quickest answer to all of the above is No, but I can not vouch for Pootle and the mud hut thing - it is entirely along the lines of something she would do...

No, we are definitely not sisters...I am sure my father would have noticed...nevertheless I think my dad would be quite happy to welcome another daughter to our team. Also, I find it hard to believe that siblings really get on as well as Pootle and I do; My actual sister and I barely see each other throughout the year, let alone go on holiday together or share a bottle and a goss over dinner.

Are we a couple? Hmmmm...define couple...
We are a couple of idiots that get the fit of the giggles, does that count? But, are we an actual couple? Both Pootle and I can tell that some people are just dying to ask us...we get on well, are pretty much always around each others houses, depend on each other, share crap stories and happy stories; buy each other flowers to cheer the other one up...and miss each other when we don't see the other...

So yeah...we are a kind of a couple.
However, neither of us are about to change our relationship status on Facebook, or indeed embrace the restaurant downstairs...but we are a couple enough that we care; will cook each other dinner; think of the other when out shopping...or bring a favourite coffee back...

In fact...our relationship has just taken that next step...

Pootle and I have talked, just discussed mind, moving in together.
Gulp.

It's a big step - I know we haven't been seeing each long, just over a year, but we feel that we may be ready. We are starting to have 'that' conversation...it just seems to make sense. Get big house; six bedrooms - and well, you know...pitch in and raise the kids together.

Why not?
Well, essentially we can't afford a house that big...not until I get a big advance for my novel, but then we are really considering that actually getting a house together may be the way to go.

We get annoyed with each other on occasion, but far less than a man annoys us. We are far more considerate to each other than any man has ever been to us, and whilst neither of us fancy each other - let's be honest, if sex is what you need, you can get sex anywhere...

Am I being too brutal? Really? How many women out there would seriously consider living in an all female commune? To abandon the idea of living with their husbands and raise the kids in an environment that is more chilled?

Ok, gents - maybe I am being unfair to you. There are many of you that make excellent fathers...and a few out of the billion on this planet that make great husbands...but you know what, (and I am prepared for the backlash) *whispers*...men you just aren't cutting the mustard when compared with what a female will and can do...

**runs off and cowers**

I am not saying every man, but the guys that will think about what their wife would like; or care about how she feels; thinks of her while shopping...text's her that special message or leaves it in the fridge behind her favourite bar of chocolate...understands that she may need a sausage sandwich after her night shift...yes those guys....well, hell, they are rare.

I am prepared for the comments...I suspect that those guys probably number around four in the world, and all possibly read my blog...but can you genuinely say that you think like a woman?

Ok, so women are certainly not perfect. We can get grumpy for no reason, and say we are fine when actually a 'I am completely bloody pissed off today' would be a far more appropriate answer....and I am sure that there are many other examples you can think of where we are a right pain in the arse...but be honest; women think of the extra bits...those things that can make a difference to your day.

Pootle is my other half really...she fits every criteria that I have ever put out to the universe...and quite frankly, is without a doubt better company than any male I have had in my life for a very long time. I need a male version of her....actually no I don't, I already have her...and in the words of Bridget Jones, 'I like her exactly the way she is...'

Why the hell, would I need anything else?

PoF...

This evening's blog is from my far from Penultimate friend....thank you for this, I loved it...and with his permission he has allowed me to share it with you guys;

Abandon all your hope all ye who enters here! (Take 1)

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
all of them with hopes.
Carefully scripted adverts,
to charm available blokes.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
None of them dismayed.
Photos selected, uploaded
and prominently displayed.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
anticipate replies.
Some are short and snappy,
others full of lies.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
have arranged a date.
Will he like my dress sense,
should I turn up late?

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
the date was not to plan.
The photos not too recent,
he was a fat old man.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
the dates they come and go.
Some are better than others,
but mostly it is NO!

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
it’s been a year or more.
And still they keep on checking,
for what might be in-store?

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
all their hope has gone.
Their profile’s been deleted,
they’ve upped and moved along.

Abandon all your hope all ye who enters here! (Take 2)

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I won’t go out in sun.
Don’t want nothing heavy,
still live with me mum.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’m gonna take it slow.
Got a second mobile,
wife don’t need to know.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’m genuine, sincere.
I like a good night out,
and 15 pints of beer.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
profile rit myself.
As if u wldn’t no it,
I wont b on the shelf.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
photo 2003.
I haven’t really changed much,
Gut and bald you’ll see.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’d like a serious date.
A cuddle, kiss and fumble,
she’ll hand it on a plate.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve got a right one here.
Sent a lovely email,
NSA it’s clear.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
Date goes wrong I’m bored.
She’s keen on underwater,
National Snorkelling Award.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
frustrated and forlorn.
Glad my wife is home in bed,
Keeping it all warm.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
a date out in a bar.
She’s got an adam’s apple,
I’ll slip off in my car.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve had a lucky date.
Been to the GU clinic,
condom? Bit too late!

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve learned my lesson now.
I should have stayed at home,
Or had a quick half in The Plough.

         The Cynic

All good...

I am aware that there hasn't been a hobbit blog for sometime and I wanted to correct that...

You will all be pleased to hear that they are well; the usual scraps, strops, colouring pictures with 'I love mummy' on are still abound...however I am noticing that they are changing and growing.

Perhaps I am feeding them too much; as this growing lark means that they have stroppy testosterone moments, eat even more food and clothes are shrinking...

They are turning into young boys. They are really growing out of that toddler stage, which saw tears over the stealing of a toy. These days they are more likely to punch each others lights out and resolve any issues the quick and the hard way; if another dares steal the latest Lego figure...bam...problem solved.

Ah my boys, my hobbits...I am unsure if they keep me sane or insane in a mad world, but nevertheless they are my world.

I am also not sure if it is a mixture of emotion and pride that I felt this morning, or absolute disgust when one of the hobbits excitedly informed me that their brother can now 'underarm' fart with both hands...certainly they were very congratulatory of their brother with cheers of "hey man, you did it!!!"

Amazing what qualifies for a hearty slap on the back in hobbit world.

So they are good, I am good, we are good...however, check back on me at the end of the summer holiday. I may well be practicing that underarm fart myself...

Whirled Peas...

"I am making an 'erb garden" says J to us at lunchtime.

We are out celebrating the fact that she has worked here (here being the place we all work) for ten years to the day...and a select few of us are sharing a drink and a pie at a local establishment.

"Pray, tell me what is an 'erb garden?" I ask...keen to discover in case it is something I have seriously missed out on in Biology at school.

She tuts at me, "You know. A garden. With 'erb's."

"Of course...I know exactly what you are talking about." I reassure her.
It is terrible, I shouldn't mock the afflicted who can't say their 'h's...In fact, I am sure I saw a helpline number just the other day for it; although it may have been an 'elpline...one doesn't recall.

So we are discussing the beauty and wonder that is, an 'erb garden...J is making Basil, perhaps some Chives but definitely not mint...can't see the point in growing mint.

"Good to throw in the Pimm's," I suggest.
She looks at me as if reconsidering the mint growing element.
"Is broccoli an 'erb?" she asks...
Needless to say no one answers, because if it isn't...everyone feels that it should be.

"You know what I can't stand?" she says, and her nose crinkles up in disgust at the mere thought of it. This is gonna be good....

"Mushy peas." She looks at us around the table, waiting for someone to back her up..."I mean, what is the point. You don't mash peas."
"You need tiny mashers to do it though." I offer quietly.
"You need proper peas." She says defiantly, standing up for the humble pea.
"Let me guess," says S, "Bird's Eye?"
"Oh God yes," she agrees, "Petis Pois...classy peas."
"Not minted then?" I suggest.
J shakes her vehemently, "Never. Minted peas? God no. Bird's Eye, Petis Pois."

Classy Peas for a classy lady...

Happy 10th Anniversary J...a class of her own. A formidable woman at work, respected and loved...and often teased. Here's to the next ten....

Responding to the masses...

Last night I received a text...
'Where is the blog? Are you dead?'

Ok, so it wasn't quite that direct, however this evening J looked after the hobbits for me when I went to meet a client, and when I return she says much the same thing - even though clearly, I am not dead.

"Why aren't you blogging? I am not happy. People are not happy." She says through slurping a very large mug of coffee.
"People aren't happy?" I look at her, "I hardly feel that the depression of the general population is my fault because I haven't blogged for a few days."
She looks at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say, actually it is.
"People aren't happy." She repeats with more force.
"I think that is more likely to be David Cameron's fault than mine, but however enlighten me?"
"Well, I have checked every day since the last one, and nothing. I am disappointed what is going on?"

I explain to her, as I explained to my friend last night, I never had any intention of writing a daily blog with the new one...it was an 'as and when I feel like it' kinda blog.

J flares her nostrils at me, as only she can, "Well, quite frankly it isn't good enough."
"Oh ok." I say meekly. One is always a little unsure how to respond to hearing that you have failed the masses.

You see the thing is, I am writing now. *Celebratory dancing around the dining room table*; and I am really enjoying it. I have my draft, I have my first line of the 'novel' (of which I have been waiting for three weeks for) and I am off...

Last night I wrote 2,000 words and was in my flow when I suddenly realised that a) I hadn't eaten and b) it was midnight. Does that make me a real writer? Perhaps as I progress I shall slowly wither away to nothing, a mass of unkempt hair, old coffee cups and half a dried up sandwich lying on a plate?

Consequently blogging and concentrating on another type of writing hasn't mixed. I have needed two types of imagination in order to write the 'novel'.

However...the people are not happy according to J. I think it is more likely to be a select few, but thanks guys as always for being so positive about what I write. I am a little unsure why you are so positive and generous with your feedback, but according to J it is because it is a good read...nothing to do with being nosey then?

So - there you go - tonight's blog. A bunch of words that probably give you an insight to my incapabilities of time management more than anything...but allegedly the people have asked for something and that is pretty much all I have this evening...

Unless you want the conversation about flat tummy's, liposuction and tummy tucks...but hey, some of you may have already eaten this evening and I really wouldn't want you to have a disturbed night...

Nevertheless that reminds me...I still haven't - now where did I leave that sandwich?

Inundated...

So it transpires that the rules of the dating game have changed...

I am not entirely sure when this occurred, or perhaps it has always been there and I just never noticed it before...but certainly I am now unclear of what the rules are.

The issue of trust has gone. It appears that it is ok to lie, to tell half truths and not disclose relevant information. I am learning this and I have to say it is the worse part of the dating game.

Are there any genuine men out there who are honest...completely? Not trying to play you or string you a line...the holy grail does not appear to exist I am afraid ladies...we might as well pack up and live in an all female commune right now.

The only thing Pootle and I have ever asked from a potential date or more was honesty. Online dating is weird enough as it is; it is perfectly acceptable to talk to more than person which is something I need to get my head around.

So consequently it is also acceptable to see more than one potential in a week, and filter out the ones that do or don't tick the boxes.

I confess I am a little old school. If I start talking to someone and they set off a glimmer of a spark, then I give that person my time. I don't go looking for someone else, I don't initiate other conversations...for me it would be like having four different men in the corners of the pub and making your way round them in turn.
"Ok, great to meet you - pause it right there, just got to talk to bigboy123 over by the slot machine. Sip your drink and bear with."

So I need to start realising that if someone is talking to me, that I am not the only one...that they have their options as well; and it is entirely possible that the other option they are talking to is ticking off more boxes than I am.

The thing is - that is ok. I am not naive and neither is Pootle. It is back to the issue of honesty and just being open.  Why is that so damn hard for people?

I once replied to a guy online who had messaged me and we got on well - however I too had someone else that I was meeting the following evening. So I told him. He was okay about it...he didn't get stroppy or angry with me; he understood.

As would we.

So be honest. Tell it like it is.

The other thing I am beginning to notice besides the lack of honesty, is the 'chat'. Why bother if you don't mean it, or indeed do have other options?

You know you don't have to make empty promises; it isn't necessary to tell me the things you think I want to hear, unless you actually bloody mean it. False hopes are hurtful, unnecessary and cruel, and christ I think most of us have been hurt enough by now.

The trouble with me is that I am actually quite nice. So consequently not only do I mean what I say and have the respect for people to be honest, that equally I am then the one who ends up getting played.

So, in conclusion what does one do? Build up the walls? Never trust anyone again? Or risk the whole thing again and be let down all over again?

Alas, I can not change inherently who I am. However I can change my 'dating profile'.

"Hi, if you have reached my profile then I am pleased to tell you that you have in effect, won the f**king lottery. I am Wonder Woman. I am one of the best people that you will ever meet and guess what? I am even acceptable in social circles and can adapt to different environments like a ninja.
If you think you can compare; indeed if you feel that you can match me in conversation, humour, sex appeal and actually would recognise the truth if it slapped in you in the face...then message me. I may not break down my walls, but I might open the letter box and see what you have to offer."

Pootle thinks I will be inundated with replies...

That feeling inside...

Ah the bi-annual eye test...not quite as horrendous as the tri-annual smear test, but a close second...

I always thought that there was something slightly uncomfortable about having someone with a small gadget look into your eyes, in a darkened room and a tiny light....

Hang on - strike that...it has its merits on occasion, if the lights are dimmed and there is some good music and a shag pile rug.

Alas I digress as always; So we go through the rigmarole of left eye/right eye, test after test...so far so good. My eyes are healthy he informs me, I feel pride...well done boys.

"However," he says, "you have a stigma..." and he starts to explain what this means...I haven't written the explanation for you, because quite frankly I can't remember.
"A stigma?" I ask horrified.
"Yes," he says "It is nothing to worry about, you will have had it since birth. It's a defect but nothing to be concerned about."
I am a little aggrieved, "Do you mean?" I ask with mock horror, "That I am not perfect?"
He laughs. "It really isn't anything to worry about." He says reassuring me.

"Now you do need a new prescription, and we can do that today." Apparently, I am long sighted...who knew? Pity I am not able to do that right into the future, eh?
"Ok...so to ask a silly question, but does wearing glasses only support the problem or does it correct it?"
He shakes his head, "No, your eyes will eventually get worse and you will need reading glasses all the time, but for now, just for prolonged work."
Again I am mortified...the year of forty one can't start like this surely?
"So, not only am I less than perfect...I am deteriorating too?"
He smiles and then shrugs...Yeah basically...

So I choose some new glasses...I am bit uncomfortable about this, because even though it is necessary I still want to look good, right? The right secretarial image can have its merits I hear...

The assistant is very helpful and she gives me some to try on...I have to trust her right, she has done this before.
"No cheap ones with Prada on the side then?" I ask her.
She shakes her head, "No sorry...but I have a good permanent marker pen you could use."
Thanks...

Reluctantly I choose a pair, though to be honest I wish I'd asked the assistant to take a photo of me because I want Pootle here to help me with this bit. I have no idea what would make me look intelligent, as after all a little bit of help there does no harm, and I have no desire to look like Alan Carr as Pootle says to me later...

So with glasses ordered I walk back to the car.
However, as I am walking a man walks past me and makes this kind of noise, like a cough but more suggestive.
My initial thought was, 'you need Vicks for that mate', however there was something that made me look back over my shoulder and there he was looking straight back...and he winked.

So of course being the brave, independent woman that I am...I immediately looked straight ahead again and quickened my pace back to the car...but as I do, he whistles.

Really? Now I have never, ever had a stranger whistle at me apart from once when I was doing something cheeky in my youth, and it was then followed by an 'Oy you, what are you doing?' Or something similar...

So this was new...I relayed the story to Pootle when I saw her later.
"That's because you are oozing.." She informs me matter of factly.
I look at her with a disgusted face. "That sounds revolting and not worthy of any whistle." I reply.
"Not at all, you are happy. Things are making you happy, so you ooze happiness, which makes you attractive."
Okay. Actually she is right. There are lots of things right now that are happening that have made me smile, so yes happiness gives you confidence.
"You should have followed him." She says.
"Not if your theory is correct," I say. "Because one of the many reasons I am happy, is that there is potentially something happening that means I don't have to follow him."

Nevertheless...it was a nice confidence boost. I did walk back to the car a little bit taller and a lot more flattered.

So if you see someone today, or indeed at all that deserves a whistle and a wink, then do it. You never know just how much they may need that little boost of self esteem...to coincide with the good feeling inside...

No expectations...

"So what expectations are there?" Says J today to another work colleague.

I have just returned to the office and I walk into one of those conversations.

My colleague ponders for a while, "none to my mind."

I look at them both and plonk my bag down on the floor, "ok, what have I missed?" I can tell this is not about work by the way J is studying my colleague, she is asking for information that is definitely not work related.

"Oh, they are talking about the first date" says another colleague barely looking up from her computer.

"Oh..ok.." Now this could be useful information to me, so I sit down and settle in for the long haul. "Explain." Says J.

Our colleague A continues, "well, in my experience any girl I had sex with on the first date, I didn't stay with."

Oh...it is that conversation. I have no idea how this has come about, but being the nosey mare that I am, I am currently all ears...

"So do men, have an expectation on the first date?" Asks J again, keen to get to the bottom of the subject...as it were.

"Not if they are decent," I mutter, to no one in particular to be honest however R wants to say his piece too.

"I slept with my wife on the first date." He tells us, "no man will have less respect for a woman if you happen to have sex on a first date. Look what happened to me? I married her."

"Ah, but you married for money R, your wife is a consultant." Says the colleague who is still staring at the computer screen.

General nodding in agreement comes from all involved.

"Surely the point is that there are no expectations?" I say, "If both are decent people and with the right combination of fireworks, then of course it is entirely possible that the deed could be done on the first date...however to expect it then what sort of person does that make you?" Everyone looks at me and I fear I may be standing on my imperial leather soapbox and I sigh, "well, it is like the fifth date rule...that, to be fair, I have been reliably informed is more of a guideline. When there are no expectations, and you just meet and go with the flow and it feels right for both of you then fine...it is when you go out in search of that, and that only for one night that is the difference."

"I agree," says R. "But not about the fifth date rule, that is just romanticising it. Too Hollywood. Go with the flow..."

Another colleague has walked in at this time, and I ask him what he feels about the fifth date rule.

He shrugs, "no idea. Never got to a fifth date." Alas, none of us are surprised..

So once again, make the decision that is right at the time eh?

Expecting to have anything on a first date is just the wrong way to start it; having no expectations and realising that it is all about the first moment and seeing where it may or may not lead seems to be the most productive answer.

It appears to have satisfied J at least...for now. 

Hormones and sugar...

Pootle and I have a friend who works for a funeral directors.

He is an incredibly close friend of Pootle's, and I know him through her. He kind of fell into working at a funeral directors when out of work many years ago, however actually genuinely enjoys his job.

Of course, there are the sad cases of children or young adults, but essentially he is professional and caring, and shows decorum when that is required.

Except it seems when he is off to pick up a body in the limousine at three pm this afternoon...when he called Pootle from the car to thank her for the present she picked up for him in New York.

"Love it!" He says, above the scream of something playing in the background.
"You sound a bit high," she says, "what are you doing?"
"Driving to pick up a 20 stone man who has passed away this morning...on the motorway. Got my gift on." He informs her very excited. "I absolutely love it."
"You are not serious, please tell me you are not driving a funeral limousine with a Bubba Gump shrimp hat on?"
"Yep...I ain't taking it off...gonna grow me a beard and live on a boat. Just started eating the American chocolate too."
"Ah, that would explain why you are high..." She says.
"Actually," he falters, "I am starting to get a bit of a head rush. Chocolate is sitting on my lungs...I may be having a heart attack from the caramel and marshmallow rush...god how do people eat this stuff?"
"Seriously? God, I have killed you by a sugar rush..." She is briefly worried...
"Don't worry, if I feel bad shall just get in the back and zip up..."

Once she is reassured that he is really ok she says goodbye and relays the conversation to me.
"Christ he only had one bar and he is bouncing off the walls..."
"For gods sake don't give the kids any...that is an adult we are talking about, their bodies will never cope..."

Slowly we both look out the window of our five boys leaping and playing out in the garden...if anyone gives them an Amercan bar of chocolate, I think I will slip into the body bag and stay low for a while myself...

Hormones and sugar, as we know, never mix.

Chewbacca...

Well, you know life has a way of throwing unexpected surprises your way?

Some of course...well, the ones we are used to anyway...tend to leave us a bit bruised, financially poor or even shell shocked, however there are a few occasions when something nice lands on your lap...

Pootle and I have been out dancing this evening. We love to dance as you know, and yeah we gave as good as everyone else...actually Pootle did one better, by managing to find someone random to do her face in neon face paints.

Only Pootle eh? Embracing the hippie within as always.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with the unexpectedly nice thing...that came in the form of someone who appears to be intelligent, honest, friendly, good looking and - dare I say it gentlemanly?

I know, I know - you think I jest. You can not believe that this miracle creature exists...well, I can tell you it does. Ladies, I have found the unicorn...

Oh ok - so maybe not quite the holy grail, but certainly someone who is ticking quite a few boxes in a very short space of time and holding his own in conversation...he even, (shockingly) used a word I had to look up...this man knows his stuff!

I am impressed...and I like the fact that he impresses me.  I sincerely hope in the not too distant future that there will be more pressings - sorry, ahem - impressing...however, as we know, the journey is rarely that simple or easy.

I confess there is one thing...but I don't think it is going to be the issue that I thought it might...this lovely man is younger than me...does that make me a bad person? I know my dad wouldn't see it that way, although my mother might...but hey, we live in different times here. Some people have to grow up quicker than others, maybe I have met someone who actually did, once, live in Peru...

If you don't know that clue then you are not a regular reader and must go henceforth and read all previous posts from The year of being forty...

However whether or not he is from Peru, knows how I like my coffee - or is just something nice and cuddly, like Chewbacca from Star Wars we will have to wait and see...

But for now, I shall enjoy the little ride and see where it goes...it could be something really good for a change...

New York Montage...

For those of you who would like to see the photos...

The year of being forty...in New York

Thank you to everyone who made this possible...

Health and Safety...

What a great evening to write...the air is warm, hobbits are fast asleep - exhausted from playing baseball at the park, the radio is on and there is peace and quiet in the garden...

In fact it is so quiet out here that you can almost hear the squeals of the slugs as I kill them...disgusting little things...sorry, I never maintained I was nice.

I have tried many methods in my mission to cull all things that are slimy (apart from worms...worms are cool in the slimy world), or caterpillars because they end up as butterflies, or even snails - I just throw them over next doors fence...so essentially just slugs; clearly all things was just a slight over exaggeration.

I have used beer (cheap beer mind); however in my house my slugs seem to like cheap beer, and seem to call their friends over for parties. I find them all gathering at the beer watering hole with their new slug outfits on, chatting over a slurp or two or sidling up to the pretty slug propping up the bowl...so much for intoxicating them until their dead.

Then there is salt.
However I had an influx of slugs last year and salt isn't cheap you know. The hobbits got so used to me popping out into the garden of an early evening with my table salt, that they would often just go in and get the Father Christmas salt pot themselves and scatter the tiny white granules on their victim and watch it melt before their eyes.

Nevertheless that is really not a nice way to die...even for a slug.  So I now just slice them in half with a trowel. Simple and quick.

Then toss them over to next doors garden...

I am not entirely sure why I am confessing this murderous streak to you all this evening. I suppose I am just in a cleansing and refreshing kind of mood. My recent birthday has brought about the urge to start some new things...

In fact Pootle and I have decided to take up running.
I will pause for those who now need to get a tea towel to wipe up the tea they just spat out in shock all over their keyboards.

Finished laughing? Ok, I shall continue. We have decided to enter the half marathon next year. Thirteen miles...that is a lot for an unfit, old bird like me.

Pootle decided first to give herself a challenge and knowing how I am for the most part up for a challenge too, mentioned it to me. So we need to get fitter...oh, ok, we need to get fit.

"So," she says while eating her Weightwatchers fruit crumble bar, "when are we going running?"
She flicks through her diary looking at her prior engagements...
I am playing with my mobile 'phone that seems to have had a melt down since travelling across the atlantic ocean. "We could take the boys to the park tomorrow evening?" I suggest, "Let them play while we run?"
"Sounds good to me. You know it is a shame we don't have a long range baby monitor. We could go running once the kids are asleep, and the other person could listen out for them."
Pootle and I live within spitting distance of each other.
"Hmm, trouble is what about fire? You'd hear them call out if they were having a bad dream, but you wouldn't hear a fire."
"But you would a fire alarm."
"Not mine, it's broken."
She looks at me and scoldingly says my full name, "Why is it broken?"
I shrug, "I don't know, it has been on my list of things to do. To get a new one that is."
She scolds again, "Make sure you do."
"Yes Mum." Going back to cursing my mobile 'phone.

"You know you can get a Fireman in to fix it for you." She says quietly.
Suddenly the issue with my 'phone is no longer important, and I raise my eyes to look at her, "How?"
"There is a scheme that helps single parents or something or other, and you can call them and they will send a Fireman round to your house and fix it for you."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Can you put in a request for a single one?"
"Or a hot one?" She says..."Worth a try."

So I have Googled this excellent community service this evening and she is right. In fact it is fitted by operational firefighters, and the information informs me that I shouldn't be surprised if an engine turns up at my door for them to complete their home safety check....

God, wouldn't that be terrible...I would have to make sure I have enough tea and biscuits for an entire crew. In fact being a single parent, I may well qualify for free smoke alarms, which they will fit for me and then talk to me about fire safety in my home...isn't that nice of them?

So in the interests of re-organising myself and setting myself challenges, I shall contact my local Fire Department tomorrow to see if they can help me.

It is, after all a Health and Safety issue...

Just desserts...

So 48 hours after 'Crap-Gate' we are finally back on UK soil.

The lovely J picked us up from the airport with our suitcases over flowing and a tired look in our eyes...we managed to get just an hour and a half sleep on the plane, and as Pootle described it, we were so tired we were 'hanging out of our arses man' as we settled into J's little white car.

Nevertheless we still managed to fill J in on all the details of our trip and chatted to her excitedly as she weaved in and out of the traffic like a woman on a mission...
"Out of the way Jerk...I have two classy, internationally jet setting, knackered women in the car!"

We are genuinely exhausted; but a really good exhausted. We also appear to be suffering from a little bit of jet lag and that nice wobbly vertigo feeling that can only be produced by flying or living on a boat for three days...how the hell Victoria Beckham does it one will never know.

We have had an absolutely amazing time. We completed everything we set out to do and more on our itinerary, but we were looking forward to seeing our hobbits and indulging in cuddles...if my body and brain would just stop rocking like it is on the sea for just a wee moment.

J asked us this evening what was our favourite bit and I honestly couldn't give her a definitive answer except for - "all of it."

The whole experience was exciting; enthralling; fun; inspiring and sharing it with Pootle was the icing on the cake...well, actually I am being generous...snuggling up to the NYPD blue may just have been the icing on the cake...

Our weekend was packed. In fact the only time we actually stopped was Monday afternoon in Central Park for about 45 minutes, experiencing some greenery and a hot dog from a street vendor.

To give you a brief resume we tackled; Bubba Gump Shrimp, The Chrysler Building, Grand Central Station (where the handsome NYPD obliged us with a photo...hot, was not the word...bloody steaming was); shopped on Fifth Avenue where we perved over the Abercrombie & Fitch guys; The Rockerfella Center...saw Trump Tower; watched Spider-Man on Broadway, bought limitless numbers of coffee in Starbucks; Macy's, Bloomingdales; visited the very peaceful and humbling 9/11 memorial site, pretended that we were financially viable to purchase something in Prada; appreciated the Statue of Liberty from the ferry to Staten Island; drank five dollar milkshakes that were close to orgasmic and so much more...

Are you surprised that we are exhausted? We walked everywhere and the weather was perfect. Many of you have requested photos so I will choose some good ones for you all and post, so that you can at least share some of the experience we had...

I felt quite sad saying goodbye to New York last night, but we will go back. I am determined that that will not be my only visit because it was awesome...however, we were glad to be coming home...not for the usual run of the mill rubbish...but for our boys.

They were spoilt...but it was worth it to see their faces.

So back to normality...of working, good evenings with friends, playing in the park with the boys and chatting up potentials on the internet...oh, and more importantly above anything else, I now have a book to write...let's hope that I give the last year its just desserts...

Happy Birthday...

Now whilst it is true that what happens in NY, should stay in NY...there is, unfortunately, small print to this clause as Pootle said to me this morning; the trouble with the blog is that there isn't much that is staying in New York as it is all over the damn blog or Facebook....

We are having an absolute blast. Truly we are. We are even talking like New Yorkers this morning, and could possibly even give directions if indeed someone wanted to go to Fifth Avenue, 42nd Street East or West or Victoria's Secret...

The food out here is of monumental size proportions so whilst we are enjoying the food, we have both decided that a diet is the first priority on out return. How anyone can sustain this amount of food is beyond me...we even had a side order of vegetables yesterday as our bodies were actually craving something healthy!

Alas, eating a lot of food...means other things too. You know...where it all kind of ends up?

Sharing a hotel room with someone who is effectively on the same body clock as you, means that the 'ahem' restroom is used more or less at the same time...and when you compare that with the fact that a monumental amount of food has been consumed, naturally you would understand that a monumental amount of crap has to occur.

Now for Pootle...a blocked toilet has happened in her house before, however then we had the handiness of M, who would come swinging down the road to her aid with a big plunger...alas, M isn't here, and can not fly like other superheroes....

Therefore...yesterday, after I had been to use the restroom after Pootle, I came out of the room with a scared look on my face and the definitive line;
"Houston. We have a problem."

Now I can not blame this solely on her: the consequence of what happened is without a doubt a team effort...however, we really did have a problem. The toilet was blocked and no matter the amount of flushing, nothing was going away...

We panicked!!! OMG...we were going to start a health scare, we would be news items on ABC or NBC, the Hotel was going to charge us plumbing charges on our credit cards...we were in deep shit.

"I know," says Pootle, "we could be the A-Team!"
"What are you talking about? I don't recall the episode where they were called to assist in a plumbing emergency!!!!" I am almost hysterical about the situation.
"No, but they always go into the garage with tape and a hammer and come out with a tank. We need to think like them. What have we got?"
"Nothing! No big stick, no plunger, no loo brush...nothing!"
"Aha," she says, "but I have card." And she starts to roll up a long piece of card to make a tube.
"What are you going to do with it? Blow down it? "
"No, I am going to beat it...bear with, I am going in." She then goes in and places a shower cap around her hands for protection...

She bravely opens the door and then the lid, I am mortified... I can not believe that we have blocked up the toilet in this very posh hotel...and even worse we were now beating it with a long piece of cardboard.

She emerges, sweating. "F**k...that sucker was a fighter. There is no way we can do this without industrial back up."
"This means.....you mean...." I stutter.
"Yes. We have to tell the concierge."

I have died. I can not imagine anything more embarrassing and mortifying.

She looks at me sitting on the floor almost crying...and remembering the significance of the day looks at me and says quietly..."Happy Birthday." Then kind of rubs my shoulder in an almost sorry mate kind of way...

I fear it is gonna be one of those years again...

NYPD...

Waking up in New York City, on your birthday, just has to be one of the most amazing things ever.

Well, I suppose unless you actually live in New York then waking up on your birthday here is probably no different to any other day...

But for me...it is the bomb...

After spending the evening last night with my bestie Pootle, eating a steak that was the size of my arm at a real American diner, chatting to street vendors and having a cuddle with the Naked Cowboy in Times Square I have woken up this morning with a room covered in balloons and glitter.

During the night, Pootle has effectively pimped our hotel room and there is shiny little Happy Birthday's etc all over the place...my first thought was Oh wow, no one has ever done that for me, however my second thought was, 'Oh My God, housekeeping are gonna love us!!'

Nevertheless more importantly, we are absolutely loving it here.
We love Americans and New Yorkers. They are for the majority, friendly and warm, up for a giggle, they are helpful and we just love the whole experience. I actually feel quite at home here, as though it is everything that I expected it to be. I love the smell, the streets, the size of the buildings and the whole ambiance...I could live here easily...and I can see the Hobbits loving it too.

Therefore when I am a famous writer, I will have an apartment here for holidays...just because I can you know.

So...today I am 41. Not much to write home about there really, however we are off to 5th Avenue to do some shopping, and then we are off to Broadway to check out the new Spider man show. I am sure for some watching a man leaping around the stage for and hour or so in Spandex would be their idea of hell, however for Pootle and I we are imagining an afternoon of childish titillation...

Then this evening we are hoping to have cocktails in a bar with a roof top terrace that shows amazing views of the Empire State Building...We discovered this yesterday when we were accosted by a Scottish street vendor who recommended it to us as a place he takes ladies to when he is trying to get them to have sex with him. We weren't so much taken with him, but more his ideas... so we stole the directions and left him standing.

What I can tell you...is that we are digging the NYPD. Pootle and I have found that when we are in the need for asking directions, that only the NYPD will do...with their polite, 'yes Ma'am, can I help you?' with the Manhattan drawl and their very hot uniform they are indeed, answering our calls for help.

So without much ado...I welcome you to the new blog, I hope the following year is a little less rocky, but just as much fun...especially if we find some of those NYPD type people today....