A Sick Muse

I haven't blogged in the last couple of days as I have been in a lot of pain with tooth abscess and barely able to raise my head from the pillow. I am still unwell but so full of painkillers/antibiotics I am at least able to write for a bit.

First some good news, my daughters best friend Kayleigh, gave birth to a baby girl in Denia, Spain. She is a gorgeous little blondie and looks like her mum. Thank the gods for delivering her safely to us. Welcome to the world Carla Enola!

I have been talking to a couple of friends about my blog. Asking, how far do I let it go? How far do I let you into my life, my thoughts, dreams and passions. My hates, spoilt moments, hissy fits and general grumpiness?

I started this online blog as after a recent arm injury, I am unable to write for long and as a prolific journal keeper, I missed writing so much. Putting my thoughts on paper (or now in blog form) helps me to make sense of them and think things through. It helps to talk about my day, purge any bad thoughts and embrace any good ones.

So how far do I go? It's not that I am shy, far from it but do I want to spill all? The general consensus seems to be 'spill', but that poses its own problems. Oh well, I guess I will just let it develop and if anyone finds it difficult to read then they can always leave it alone.

Right. I have had an interesting few days with the 'other guy', I mentioned in my last blog . Lets call him Mr S, short for Mr Sensual. Mr S, rightly pointed out that I was wrong to cut communication with him just because he has a complex personal life. I hate it when I have to admit to being wrong but admit I did, and I am glad I held my hands up because he really is the most interesting guy.

He accused me of playing with pretty boys and not knowing what I wanted. Hmm.., that was a bit hard to swallow but he was right on that score. I just did not realise what I was doing. Lets face it, its all very well going out with a 32 year old, the flattery, the gorgeous looks and the fact that ME, at the grand old age of 45 pulled him! But I can't carry on dating unsuitable men, no matter how beautiful they are. I do not care what any woman who dates a man more than 10 years her junior says, it will never work! You are either replacing his mother or you have money and he may not even comprehend it himself, but no way is your relationship going to last more than five years. I suppose you could also argue, well five years is five years and we'll have a good time. Hmm...then you will be 50 dear and what will you do, have a face lift or dash off for a 'Demi Moore'?!!

So yes! that is what I have been doing, having a bit of fun and they didn't seem to mind but I have to stop it at some point. Its a bit like chocolate it tastes fabulous, makes you feel happy and then you reach for another bar and feel very, very sick. I am not quite at the feeling sick stage yet but I can't see it being long!

Back to Mr S. I can only describe him as an anomaly. He speaks like a Chav (ouch, no doubt I will be soundly reprimanded for that one) but writes beautifully. He is a man of many talents, can turn his hand to anything plumbing, decorating, carpentry, mechanics and yet is an Engineer by trade (I know, I know..another one!) Then his interest in, and love of, history and art belie his persona as a sometimes DJ and clubber. He has also, somehow managed to work out a little of what I am about. He is quite an antidote to those toy boys, ah but I have to confess he is 5 years younger than me. All I can say is I am a young spirit and he has been back on earth many more times than I, so I shall endeavour to learn from his example.

I am meeting him on Saturday and for the first time I am nervous. I wasn't nervous about any of the other dates as they did not really mean anything to me and I was quite happy to walk away if things didn't work out. Now before Mr S, gets a big head, its nice to get a few flutters about a date, doesn't mean that I want to marry him! Yes don't panic, I am still a feisty Muse and a bit of a handful but I am sure he wouldn't have it any other way!

I will let you know how things work out. Now I had better get some more painkillers and lay my head down again. After all I need to be fit and gorgeous for Saturday!

Namaste

Muse x

Being Gentle

It is very late, or very early depending on whether you are a night owl or an early bird, and for once, I have an excuse for my insomnia. Ghastly toothache! A little high on painkillers but just about able to blog sensibly, erm...do I ever blog sensibly?? Oh a little apology to all those I have inadvertently blocked from my blog, forgive me, I am an IT incontinent and pressed the wrong button!

Talking of pressing the wrong buttons.....I was reading back my blog of the last week and it seems very cold and clinical. It is so difficult to write in a balanced way about the dreaded subject of the difference that exists between men and women, without sounding spiky and man hating or as though you have swallowed an American self help book.

I guess I have talked about specific men on here (named by profession only) in a light hearted way. Just guys that I have dated or had 'fun' with (read into that what you like!) and I meant them no disrespect, suffice to say they were not right for me and whilst leaving me frustrated, did me no harm.

Two guys I have not discussed with you are still stuck in the front of my mind and I so wish they would go away! However, they are unaware that they invade my space and, should not be blamed. I wonder if this is the cowards way, to use my blog to apologise and tell them how much I think of them both? I am only apologising for putting up barriers and protecting myself, nothing more.

I miss my Mr Engineer so much, I adored (past tense) him but he belongs to another and I cannot deal with the guilt that goes with that. I miss you Mr Engineer but I cannot carry on and feel more settled for ending things between us.

The other guy is a recent acquaintance and I enjoyed his company. I was very unsure of him (I still am) and I could not possibly see how we could actually overcome the high fences that surrounded us. I am at a stage in my life where family life is at long last, not the be all and end all of my existence and I am looking forward to some freedom. So after learning of his various family complications, involving children, I could not see a way forward. I dutifully wished him goodbye in what I hoped was a civilised manner.

What followed between us shocked me. He told me that by cutting contact with him I had humiliated him. Oh dear, not something I would ever want to do to another. I have sat and mused about this and can only come up with the following:

1. I have behaved in a blokish manner and should be reprimanded forthwith!
2. He should realise that not everyone is compatible and Move on!
3. I am way too prickly and should try and be more understanding
4. Yes I know blokes have feelings but this is the first example I have come across in a while...

You see! There I go again 'Ms Put Up Your Fences and Prepare to do Battle'! Can't help it can I?

I have to find someone who makes my heart skip a beat every time he enters the same room, a guy who knows how to kiss a girl softly and then take her breath away by grabbing her when she is least expecting it. Someone who can finish my thoughts, be completely at ease with me and talk to me about his hopes and fears.

That, I suppose is the literary romantic side of me talking, but it does exist. Despite my full on 'deal with it' attitude I do have that side. It's an awful long time since I showed it to anyone though. Who knows, perhaps there is no hope for me? When we get to this age most of us are damaged goods in one way or another and my most significant damage must be a lack of trust in others.

On the up side of things I am more confident in myself, my parents and children are delighted by the change in me. I am pretty happy being a solo in this world, but it would be so good to find someone like minded. My darling girlfriend Jo, told me I have to kiss a few frogs in life to find my prince. Yes I know its a bloody cliche but hell she is so right!

Right enough of my pondering for one night. The Muse is off to write to some dear neglected friends.

Love and peace to all of you out there x

Are The British a nation of 'Fakers'!

This blog has become a bit 'mumsy' of late and whilst my kids are a big part of my life they are not the whole of me. I wanted to talk about sex and what people out there actually want. I wonder if I can do that in a lady like manner, very much doubt it, but I'll give it a go. Those of you just about to eat your dinner may look away now!

A lot of women (and men) read magazines, most of which are full of hype about 'how to turn her on' or 'how to satisfy him' and I wonder how many of these articles are actually written by real people. I strongly suspect that they are penned by bored journalists trying to spice up the cover and increase circulation figures. Failing that we are a nation of FAKERS!

In my experience, lets just say that (oh god, how do I put this delicately) the average bloke only knows which way is up and which way is down! Feck it, (to steal the words of another) pass me the shovel! Actually, todays man is a poor confused soul who has to live up to the expectations and desires of an entirely selfish, dominant female press. Likewise, todays female has had words like G Spot and Orgasm drilled into her mercilessly until she actually believes the hype.

So lets start with Mr Metro sexual/modern/in touch with my feminine side (I bloody hate that phrase) man...whatever you want to call him. These guys are full of their own bravado, telling you, they are fantastic in bed and really know how to turn a woman on. Really? Erm...I don't think so. I have to say that when you come across a 'bragger'. leave him alone and move on! They think they know which side is up but rarely do and will disappoint you and leave you wondering why? you let him into your bed in the first place!

Then you get the kind and caring romantic guy, who promises to treat you gently, with love and care. Ummm... no thanks to that one as well guys, sex is a primal urge, an emotive, passionate act between two people, not a flipping scene from a cheesy Hollywood Movie.

Okay lets try and balance this out a bit. The females have a lot to answer for too! Whilst they are, generally not as vociferous in their sexual exploits as the male of the species ,I have to ask a scary question, scary because I am ducking low to avoid the insults coming my way! How many of you girls out there a responsible for FAKING it? Come on own up, the members of the 'oh, if I fake it, he'll just get it over with' club. Well, ladies, you are the reason so many guys are crap in the sack! See.. told you it was impossible to talk about this in a demure manner!

What happens is he spends about seven and a half minutes on foreplay, she fakes it and he thinks he is a sex god. Not good! You can forgive the poor guy for not being able to understand how to please her in bed. Oh that terrible phrase 'please her', actually I thought sex was a two way thing.

This brings us neatly to what is known as the 'Catch 22' situation. You're darned it you do and darned if you don't! I am sooo...not going to discuss my sexual leanings with you but I think the best policy to adopt is throw all Sad Mags away and bloody be honest! We are supposed to be grown ups but alas my name is not Dr Ruth and I can barely find my own way through the sexual minefield that is the modern dating world, but I am sure as hell going to stop talking about it and try and find someone who agrees with me!

I have been preoccupied for the last few days and in no mood to write....and no! my time has not been taken up with impossible but beautiful men...alas! I wish it had because I am very, very bored at the moment.

As you know The Git recently started big school (also known as the terrible place that you are made to attend by the government) and I have been busy being his Social Secretary. How ever did Number One son manage (the 21 year old)? I honestly can't remember doing anything at all for him..I phoned him in a terrible panic last night, almost in tears...

"James, did I actually get your PE Kit/cookery ingredients/trip money etc.. for you?"
"It's okay Ma, you did your best and you always got my cookery stuff for me, even though I hated the damn lesson".

How very diplomatic of him, and then it struck me, when he was at College, I was in the grip of a a hideous fog called post natal depression. Four years of stumbling through life, going through the motions of living and wishing for every day to come to an end so that I could go to bed and thankfully pull the covers over my head. That is why I have absolutely NO recall of James' time as a newbie at College.

Anyway I am wandering off the subject again! Back to me as The Gits personal gofer. I need a holiday already. Letters arrive like a blizzard, sign me, money please, give permission, Joshua needs... . Joshua's shoes are not regulation colour, Joshua is playing rugby after school and needs a rugby shirt....Is he? Bloody hell, they had better make sure an ambulance is standing by then, The Git is absolutely solid and if he brings someone down, they will stay down!

So ever the dutiful mother (I can hear my oldest two laughing from here as they read this 35 miles down the road) I empty out his school bag and spend the evening obeying the instructions of the faceless 'they who must be obeyed'.

You did not sign Joshua's homework diary. Feck! I had better scuttle off and do that then or I will be in detention as well as the poor Git. I am exhausted already and horrified at the prospect of spending another 6 years doing this. Light bulb moment! Boarding school, that's the answer, then the TWMBO's (they who must be obeyed) will have to deal with the little boy slumped in the chair who is so tired from big school he can barely keep his eyes open, let alone do bloody homework! Irrational hatred of the TWMBO's surfaces and I feel as though it is I, not The Git , who is 11 again. He came home from school today and said, "I really hate The Government mum". I was busy at the time and replied distractedly, "yeah don't we all son". Then I sat up and asked him why he hated the government, I mean what an odd thing for an 11 year old boy to say. "Because they make us go to school", he said somewhat mournfully. Poor little man.

So here I am stamping my foot and wishing my son could attend my secondary school in Cyprus, where there were only about 200 pupils, you started at 7.45 and were done by 1.15. I was often to be found at the Water Ski club, teaching the latest contingent of Marines to ski, instead of Double English with Mr, I spit in your face, Denholm. We got away with murder and still managed to learn something. We didn't turn out so badly, among our numbers are Nurses, Midwifes, Teachers, Engineers, Top Civil servants and Paramedics.

What I am trying to say is, that whilst I realise the TWMBO's are showing The Git who is boss for these first few weeks of term, education at this age is not the be all and end all of a child. They either want to learn or they don't. I didn't and neither does The Git. I will not worry about this, he will find his niche in life and learn when he is ready, just like his Ma. In the meantime, I will continue in my full time job as his Social Secretary.

Before I finish this post it is time for a bloke update. I had been talking to a guy that I wasn't entirely sure of and as we talked more on the phone I realised he was definitely not for me! So no dates for 2 weeks now. See what happens when you try and be sensible and avoid the pretty boys.....absolutely nothing! Yawn.

The God Apollo

Hmmm.....

Back again. The Git is now safely in bed and Hyacinth (also known to others as the mother who should be obeyed) is currently driving home.

The Great God Apollo was a Sun God, a brother of Dionysos (who has been through my short life with me, hand in hand) and a conductor of the Muses. I wonder what is the collective term for a group of Muses? No doubt, I will be pulled up, and educated, forthwith.

Musing tonight about the benefits of housework? Clean kitchen sides, sparkling bathrooms, oh! and my most favourite, crisp clean sheets. My least.....is moving dust around (annoying and not beneficial) and hoovering. I do not really get hoovering, certainly since I wrecked my arm as left brain reaches for the damn thing and it hurts! Much more fun to put rugs out on a line in the sunshine (in my dreams) and batter the hell out of them. A memory from my childhood, with the big beautiful Greek Mamas doing the same. Just an old fashioned stress release! Forget the psychologist or psychiatrist couch!

Okay, time for bloke update. Talked to a nice guy with loads of money, but not for me as he kept telling me the price of everything he had recently purchased! Ewwww, no thanks, don't care how much money you have, GO AWAY!

Have also been speaking to another, who I am not entirely sure of. Have been accused of disliking his accent, but who am I to judge. He writes beautifully and eloquently, I just wonder what he has been through recently and what he is hiding behind that calm and confident exterior.

Time for me to sign off now.

It has been a good day.

Night all x

The Git

I haven't blogged for the last couple of days, sleeplessness and The Git's initiation into big school have distracted me.

I have had a 'triffic' day. Hairdressers followed by sunbed and picking my lovely kids up from the station along with Miss Princess (granddaughter Angelina) who was wearing jeans, sweat shirt and tutu, topped with tiara. Why can't I wear that every day! I took the Chicklets out for lunch and insisted on wearing Angel's tiara for at least an hour. I may have had some funny looks but hell, its good to play! The Chicklets are quite used to their Ma's embarrassing behaviour!

How the heck did such a rebel manage to have such beautiful children. The 24 and 21 year old have counselled me throughout their young lives and my parents have been on hand to instill morals and discipline. So I guess it really is a team affair. I was so delighted when The Git came home from school and we were all under one roof, something that happens once in a Blue Moon, Christmas and Birthdays. Seeing all of them together gave me such a rush!

I was driving them all to the station, trying unsuccessfully to control my road rage and it was the first time I had, had them all in my car for god knows how long. I was struck by a terrible sense of responsibility and a huge fear for them all, their lives and what was about to come. Wow....does that mean I have finally grown up? Just to say my gorgeous kids (indulge me for a moment) your Ma loves you so much x

The Git started big school 10 days ago and we have already had our first foray into the world of detentions and stern notes home. The Git does not understand the lay of the land at the moment, so whilst enjoying his new found sense of freedom, he is constantly being watched and challenged at every doorway. He is pretty exhausted and bewildered but he has to (unfortunately) toe the line at some point.

In a way I feel great sympathy for those that teach and in another I feel great disdain for those that teach because they cannot do! Yeah, I know, it has all been said before but just as my father taught me to make up my own mind about things, one of his wisest sayings was that you could only be taught so much, the rest you have to learn for yourself. The Git may be challenging but blessed with a semi-photographic memory I will not worry about him and let him make his own way. It is me, I shall worry about, dealing with my terrible reputation with teachers thus far. I know I am recognized within teaching circles as 'Monster Mother'. But this if is what I have had to do to protect my son, so be it, deal with it!

Let me explain. The Git's brain is wired a little differently from ours and takes some understanding but I am delighted that, with my support he has managed to remain in mainstream school. Yeah! I have fought tooth and nail for this but I have also been belittled, and treated with disdain by those that do not 'do'! I have cried, embarrassed myself and yelled at some of these teachers but no more! I am a different person now and will not take shit from those who know nothing else than their own front door. I will keep you updated.

I should really update you on the 'blokes' situation but as I write my poor mother is driving up some 40 odd miles from Falmouth with the Git (it is 5 to midnight) as despite going to stay with the parents he wants to come home. God ! She is bloody heroic! I would smother him with a pillow....joke.

More Later

Muse x

General Grumpiness

Before I start I wanted to say its been a sad day for film as Mr Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze passed away. Oh, how beautiful was he, what an iconic film (you can keep Ghost, there were too many shots of Demi Moore in her knickers for my liking) and if any women says she didn't fall in love with him after watching that, she is lying through her teeth.

Keith Floyd also went today. Oh man, what a trail blazer, I was never a huge fan but he pretty much launched the Celebrity Chef genre single handedly. I wonder which one will go up and which one will go down....hmmm there's a thought.

Today has been one of my grumpy days. I have them periodically but alas, they are becoming more and more frequent. If I don't watch out I shall be growing hair in my ears and confiscating footballs next...shudder! I like being grumpy, it suits me and allows me to vent so that I may return to my sweet self the next day.

I usually try and keep my road rage under control just so that I don't teach the 11 year old too many bad words (the 24 and 21 year old are beyond help). I didn't quite manage to do that today and The Git (as the the 11 year old is fondly known) was crying with laughter as I told various drivers just what I thought of their mothers, or perhaps that should read Mutha's? This is the person that never uses foul language, with two exceptions, in bed and behind the wheel. Oh and if my older kids are reading this, you are quite welcome to but prepare to learn some things about your Ma that you would perhaps rather not!

Anyway my road rage stems from doing 400 miles a week as a Support Worker and I haven't been the same since. It doesn't take two seconds to say thank you if I let you out or perhaps just flick your hand in acknowledgement if I stop at a Zebra crossing for you. Yeah, I know you are supposed to stop but that isn't the point here.

Then we come to the Emmetts. Mmmm, for those not in the know, an Emmett is a tourist. I live smack in the middle of Cornwall so we have to put up with more than our fair share. They wear hideous pac-a-macs with shorts (without having the decency to go on the sunbed first) and drive Chelsea Tractors towing large wobbly caravans, stacked high with mountain bikes. They have children called Timothy and Tabitha. She wears no make up and an Alice band and really SHOULD put those dimpled thighs away. He is quite nice looking (how did she ever pull him...daddy must have money) and has the look of a man who cannot wait to go back to work. They never let you out in traffic (even if you have a low cut top on and are looking hot) and cut you up at roundabouts. Oh god I had better stop my rant about Emmetts before it gets completely out of hand.

I also made the mistake of going to Trago Mills today. To be fair I didn't realise how grumpy I actually was when I made the decision to go. I live only 6 miles from the infamous place. I usually time my visit like a well organized SAS raid, in and out with the minimum of fuss and casualties. Trago is a warren like shop where it is so hot that you strip off to your undies even though it is minus 5 outside. I usually take two Nurofen upon entering in a pathetic attempt to stave off the inevitable migraine. The staff have a sort of dried up dessicated look, as though they are shells of their original selves. All the staff need to go to California for smile training. If you dare as much as utter the words 'excuse me' they look at you with such contempt that you are mute for the rest of the day. We are talking seriously damaged people here who are unable to get off the Trago Hamster Wheel.

As Trago has many entrances and exits, they have a quaint little system whereby, upon leaving, you must show your receipt and prepare to be strip searched by a fat old man with halitosis who wears a blue jumper saying 'Security' on it. The only good thing about Trago staff is they treat Emmetts worse!!!

Ok thats about it for Grumpy Girl today. Normal service will be resumed tomorrow!

What do men really want?

I read back my blog of yesterday and it seemed a little unkind to the male of the species. I wanted to let you know that I am not a feminist or man hater, just a bewildered female who wonders what is it todays man really wants?

I am not going to go into the 'men have lower levels of testosterone' debate here as its all been done before, and besides I can't be arsed to do the research. I talked about certain men yesterday but not what I had come to realise by dabbling in the world of dating. I have been single for a while so perhaps I tend to see the bigger picture. Or maybe it is that I am severely paranoid and should proceed to the nearest mental health unit, without passing GO!

I wonder if women out there realise how many men on these sites are actually married and looking for 'extras'. For instance, there are the guys I call the Web Cam Wan****. You start mailing and they ask for your MSN address. Oh he sounds nice, I say to myself, adding him and inviting him to talk to me. The conversation starts normally enough and then the smutty questions pop up. This quickly disintegrates into a full on get your kit off and put your web cam on.

I must admit to have been caught twice like this (erm... not with my kit off you understand) and the second time it happened I was so angry. I was furious, not just with him but with myself for being so stupid! I wasn't going to take this, I was going to teach this guy a lesson. He had given me bare details about his life and I put these together and found him and his wedding photos on line! I mailed him a picture of his wife and asked him if I could add her as a friend on FB. He panicked like a rabbit in the full glare of oncoming traffic, except he had the full wrath of a Muse to deal with. Being run over might have been the easier option! I had no intention of telling his wife, he would break her heart swiftly enough, of that I am sure but the grovelling apology that followed soothed my hurt pride.

So going back to the original question, what did he want. He had a stunning wife and yet he just had to have more cake. Why? Oh dear.. now I have another difficult question. Are men really naturally Polygamous? I thought perhaps that out society had knocked some of the natural selection urges out of our men but it seems not. Would we be happier in less structured relationships where the women just got on with it and the man responded to his primal urges, or somewhere down the line did I lose my ability to be romantic?

I suppose I ought to balance this out. Not every man is made that way, some are perfectly content to be in a monogamous relationship. Questions whizz around my head again. If they are content, does that mean that they are the guys that have lost their ability to choose the right partner? Are they unable to smell her, touch her and think, yes she is the right one for me? Are some men more sexually orientated than others?

That is what I think. You are either a sexual person or not. You either adore it or tolerate it. If a man has a partner who's sex drive does not match his then it is a recipe for trouble. I remember asking a male friend of mine what drove him to constantly 'check out' women walking past. 'Welcome to a mans world' was his reply. He admitted it wasn't actually a conscious thing. It was just something he did.

So here we are back to the age old, 'difference of the sexes' argument. But any woman that wants to hide behind the, 'my man is a new man and would never do that' is in denial. For many men it all boils down to sex but for a lot of women, who are used to multi tasking and filing things away to deal with later, it is foremost about emotional capability and sex second.

I also wanted to talk about letting blokes be blokes. Now this is about all of us women that, once they have a partner want to change him to suit their ideal. I have been that woman and have learned my lesson, the hard way. At the grand old age of 45 I have finally realised that it is far easier to (within reason) let a man be himself and put up with his little foibles and idiosyncrasies. After all you fell in love with him when he was just being himself. The control freak in me has finally learned not to question such things and let him get on with it. Whatever it is, football, socks on the floor, inability to remember anniversaries, put the cat out etc..etc... I have realised that some close girlfriends have such successful relationships because they accept him for who he is.

This blog tonight was supposed to be funny but my busy brain took over as usual. No doubt (if anyone reads this) I may get a few sparky questions but that's good, I want people to think, to pull themselves away from the green eyed monster (TV) and engage brain.

As for me, I will plod on with the dating game and try and keep an open mind. I need to remember that whilst I have had a few disasters, not all guys are the same and as long as I remain alert, I may actually find someone compatible with me.

Unsuitible Men

13.9.09

About 6 weeks ago I took a deep breath and joined a dating site. I would never, in a million years have thought I would voluntarily do this, but since smashing my arm it rattled my cage so hard that I vowed to grab life with both hands and live it.

Creating my profile was the hardest thing I have ever written. How do you talk about yourself without sounding arrogant or full of the smelly stuff?? I awoke next morning to 80 mails...Wow! How did that happen? I think the term 'fresh meat' springs to mind. I settled down to peruse my list of prospective suitors....

Oh god what a motley lot. How DARE they mail me. Too young, too fat, ewww to old, too ugly etc..etc...Why has that guy put his wedding picture up? No! I do NOT do tattoos. I even had a couple from married men asking for no strings sex, ha! why would I even look at you, I could get that anywhere.

Then I suddenly realised I was being a foot stamping monster with a very large ego. How did I become so shallow anyway? Well, in my defence, I looked after myself, went to the hairdressers, didn't eat all the pies and worried about my weight and I have to admit I was looking fit. That still didn't give me the right to Lord it over those less fortunate than me. So I sat down and politely mailed them all back saying thanks but no thanks. At least I won't actually go straight to hell now I said to myself.

Well I may not go straight to hell but the abuse I got from those I turned down was awful. The chap with a bald head, grey straggly pony tail and tattoos asked me why I had turned him down as he could have any woman he wanted. REALLY, oh I see, you are obviously the only man on a woman only kibbutz then! So now when I get a mail from an unsuitable man I read and delete and think nothing more of it. Call it self preservation if you like!

I am now 6 weeks in, I have received nearly 400 mails and have been on 5 dates and it has been hilarious. Thank god I have a sense of humour. The first date was the very hot 32 year old school teacher, also part time model. Oh man he was beautiful. Unfortunately every other woman in the room thought so too and kept hitting on him. He could not stay away from a mirror, I mean anything would do, cutlery, a window, shiny plant pot....call me old fashioned but I do not want to fight a man for a mirror!

Next date was with a soft spoken Irish man, he was erm...28, no excuse for that one I'm afraid. Ex professional dancer, now an events manager. He drove up from London. The less said about that one the better! Onto the 38 year old fireman, not an ordinary fireman but boss fireman. Wow he was stunning. Picked me up at the station in his red car with blue light ( I wasn't impressed) and drove me to his beautiful barn conversion, cooked me dinner, kissed me softly ( I was impressed!) and then I spent the rest of the night holding on to big burly fireman whilst he cried over his ex! It can only happen to me!

The 32 year old Mental Health Nurse, who was tall, dark, handsome and as mad as a badger! Finally the 31 year old surfer (yeah, I know, I know...it wasn't my fault honest, he had been chasing me for a month) who spoke in a different language, kept grabbing me and kissing me at odd moments and had absolutely nothing between his ears. There is a lesson to be learned from all this. Do not go for the pretty boys and find someone who has a similar background to you!

I am actually talking to someone at the moment so I will keep you updated (or not if it turns out to be successful). In the meantime beware ladies, its a jungle out there!

NB That should have read Pre not Post Reunion. Its all this excitement about finally getting off my bum and blogging for the first time.

Day One Saturday 12 September

I have wanted to create a blog for some time but have been too lazy to get off my bum and do it. I have always been a prolific journal keeper until a life changing accident 4 months ago.

I managed to smash my elbow into 3 pieces, dislocate it and break my arm, all at the same time. How clever am I! I really don't do things by halves. A nice surgeon called Mr Wilson gave me a plastic one and I am recovering well, back to driving but the writing with a pen is hard. Which leads me neatly to this method of journal keeping.

The Title of my blog says it all really. Its is true, I am a Donut child. For those not in the know that is what they call the building that is GCHQ Cheltenham. My father was RAF before that ,often attending and pretending (to work) then the stuff hit the fan. He spent x amount of weeks of sufferance at Bletchley Park where he underwent a partial lobotomy. They didn't quite manage to assimilate dad completely, for which I am eternally grateful.

The Donut has since affected my life immensely. A fabulous childhood, travelling all over the world followed and somehow my adult life never measured up to all those beautiful beaches, fantastic experiences, like minded people and sense of community.

Last weekend I attended a school reunion in Manchester. I can hear you groaning from here...no honestly! It was a very special reunion. We were nomadic children, moved every two to three years and sometimes that was hard. Despite the fabulous postings we yearned for some roots, some sense of belonging. We were jealous and appalled at the same time at various relatives that had lived on the same street for that last twenty odd years. 'Why couldn't I go to the same school for 6 years' and' how can you be so narrow minded and suburban' were some of the confused thoughts of my teenage years.

I digress, sorry, I have a habit of doing that. Right! back to the reunion. It took 9 months to organize, much like a new life. But this was an old life we were resurrecting, these were the only roots we had and we were determined to pursue them.

We had all half heartedly registered with Friends Reunited and quickly became disillusioned as we posted our personal details and drifted back to our seperate lives. Then Keith, one of our old schoolies joined Facebook. Let me tell you about Keith, he is an anomaly in this sad and jaded world. He always looks on the bright side of life and has buckets of enthusiasm. God that man makes you sick! He dragged us all kicking and screaming onto FB, something we would never have done in a million years. My god our kids are on there! So there it is in cold hard type, FB is responsible (oh and Keith) for pulling us all together for the first time in 28 years.

I know, I know I am probably boring you now but hopefully someone out there will be reading this and really get what I am on about. We have had a marvellous 9 months, post reunion, talking of old times and old faces. Now the day drew near. I was so nervous. Would we actually click or would we disintegrate into little groups and bitch about how fat/sad/drunk people had got?

I need not have worried, for one weekend only in rainy Manchester we managed to get back to that place in our hearts. I won't bore you with the actual reunion details but it was a complete blast to meet so many like minded people. Somehow, we had all managed to wander through life without being too badly scarred/depressed/affected by the world in general. We retained those memories and spoke about them as though they were yesterday. We laughed and cried (erm...me doing the blubbing mostly) and talked of our present lives with renewed enthusiasm and vigour.

But the common ground seemed to be how irrevocably THE DONUT had affected our lives.

Thats all for tonight, I am going to do the hard stuff now, you know the stuff about me, which I hate but needs must.

Muse x