It has been a bit of a mad few days. The Git had a toothache and I had to take him to the Emergency Dentist. This, of course is after two nights of sitting up with the poor little guy. I finally managed to get an appointment with the Emergency Dental Service. I am a bad Mother and a self confessed Dental Phobic. Joshy used to attend the Dentist with the parents as I could not face it. I have not been to the Dentist in 20 years.
I, very (shakily) parked at the Dentist and told The Git 'everything would be okay' (Liar!). I was dreading it but The Git was unreasonably confident and told me not to worry. I had to fill in some forms but the arm was not very well so The Dental Nurse helped me. Joshy was really relaxed and I was on the point of fainting. I asked him if would like to go in alone. 'Oh No mum, I would like you to come in with me' he said. 'Okay' said I, in a very shaky voice.
We were summoned by The Dental Nurse. By this stage I was ready to collapse but staggered through to the Surgery. Oh Man, do you think that all Dentists ought to be locked up? You really, have to have a strong stomach to be a Dentist, failing that you ought to be receiving the highest form of Mental Health Counselling!
We were greeted by a very pretty girl, who was very relaxed with the Git. She was wonderful with him. He flirted with her (as all 12 year old boys do), and he played with the Chair, and she let him! I was not in a great place at this stage. The Dental Nurse took one look at me and shoved my head between my legs. I was as green as the top I was wearing! Joshy got his temporary filling and I managed to stay awake.
We got into the waiting room and I had to sit down for 20 minutes. Josh could not understand why I was in a such a state and I did not let on! The (lovely) Dentist asked us to register with our local Dental Surgery as they were taking on NHS patients. I bravely drove to said Dental Surgery and guess what.....the Receptionist took one look at me and sat me down, whilst shoving my head between my knees. I did not manage to stay awake and fainted, The Git thought this was very funny. Thank god he does not realise that I faint in fear! We did manage to register after the embarrassing fainting episode.
I told Penfold about the Dentist Debacle, he laughed his head off but was quite sympathetic. Oh well, that is just me....time for me to pull myself together if my son is being so brave! I will meet Mr Dentist in two weeks. Bets are on for me passing out!
I went to the hairdressers today. I have had 'Candy Floss' hair for the last few months due to my anaemia and the meds I have been taking. My hair has been driving me mad and I HATE being so precious about it. I have always had a big curly head of hair until a year ago. The hair started to fall out. Three types of anaemia, etc, etc... but with my hair I could usually put some serum on it and get away with thinning hair. Ho...Hum, not recently. I wake in my bed and find my pillow full of hair. Going in the shower has been terrifying as I have had to deal with great handfuls of hair in my hands.
I have a fantastic Hairdresser, they have tried to look after my hair, welcomed me and always looked after me. My lovely girls are wonderful. It was time today to get rid of the 'Candy Floss Hair'. All the girls were around me as I had all the 'Floss' cut off by Kerry, the Maestro of the Scissors. I am feeling a little strange but bloody delighted with her cut. I may seem brave but to be honest I am relieved that I have lost 'the Floss'.
The last time I had this hair cut was 20 years ago and I feel GOOD. Thanks to Kerry, Roxy for being there and of course my lovely Arlene.
Namaste
Muse x
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Being a Bad Grumpy Muse....and dealing with a GMS
I have broken my record. My record is that during the last school year I have been very polite to Teachers/Headmasters and all those that dwell in the 'Biosphere' that is School. I have bitten my lip. I have been reasonable in the face of adversity and have given all those people whose names begin with a T a long rope. I have not once stamped my foot, I have written letters, dealt with bullying in a calm and quiet manner and even the sarcasm that spills from a frustrated teacher's mouth. I have been very, very good and was proud of myself until today.
Today was the first day back at school for The Git. He looked very smart, new white shirt, tie, clean trousers but the shoes were a bit scruffy. The Git has the feet of a Hobbit. We were referred to a foot specialist at The Royal Cornwall Hospital last year to fit him with 'NHS' shoes as I could not find anything in the shops. The Specialist could not fit him and held his hands up, suggesting 'Skate Boarding ' Shoes as by the time the specialist shoe maker made The Git's shoes he would have grown out of them. This problem has long been recorded in his Primary School records, which his College obviously refuse to read! I have always try to stick to black but it is difficult and each time new shoes are called for we spend about a week trying to find them. I usually manage the 'Black' except for some small logo. Compounding the problem is The Git's aversion to the smell of shoes. If they don't smell right then they are dust. Pa took him shopping for his last pair of school shoes and he ( not The Git) needed a large Brandy after that trip!
We have been away so much this Summer and it is MY fault that I did not face up to the shoe shopping trip before now. Right! That's my confession done. Josh has been wearing a pair of plain black Skate Shoes for the last TWO terms and they are now tatty and need replacing. He wore them today and I was a little embarrassed, saying to Josh, we would go shopping this weekend.
I picked him up from School, delighted to see him and asked if he had, had a good day? 'Erm.... Mr X said I should not wear these shoes to school and if you didn't take me shopping for new shoes, he would and you could pay him back! I am not vindictive so will not mention this guy by name but, can I also say that he is a Ginger Midget Shite! - now known as GMS on this Blog. Whoa....I was tired from lack of sleep, grumpy that my hair would not behave and I only had the bare minimum of make up on! On top of that my arm throbbed as I could not take serious painkillers until I got The Git home. Not in a great place then to deal with the GMS.
The poor deluded GMS was on Traffic duty and I tried to explain, somewhat frostily about the problem with The Git's feet. He was not listening to me and said in his most imperious manner that only 'Black Leather Shoes would do'. Feck! it was like waving a Red Rag to a Bull. 'Fine' I snapped ' you already have a Doctors note in his school records, but obviously, being a Sports teacher, you are unable to read'. Oh man, I am such a a bad Muse. I continued...'Tell you what, I'll provide you with ANOTHER one and then I'll pin it to your Rugby shirt in case you don't get the message! By the way' I said ' have you missed having a moan for the last six weeks? - did the wife get upset because you were whinging at her instead of your pupils?'
Oh, oh, oh, I am very very embarrassed by my loss of temper. I asked the GMS why he had offered to take The Git shopping? He then dug himself into a bigger hole by trying to suggest that I was in financial difficulty and so had suggested HE buy the shoes. Fecking little GMS. I think I actually growled at him at that point.
The point of this Blog is to say that I get my son to school 9 times out of 10. He hates school and compared to Robartes, his wonderful Primary School, which was such a positive force in his life, The College is a huge negative with very tired, jaded teachers who don't give an F! I want my son to be in a positive environment. I am not being precious here but I think he might get on a lot better if certain people gave him an inch of space.
Okay, she says, that's me done now. Sorry folks but there is nowt more cathartic than blogging. Please forgive my dread fullness and obviously you will need to pray for my soul!
Namaste
Muse x
Today was the first day back at school for The Git. He looked very smart, new white shirt, tie, clean trousers but the shoes were a bit scruffy. The Git has the feet of a Hobbit. We were referred to a foot specialist at The Royal Cornwall Hospital last year to fit him with 'NHS' shoes as I could not find anything in the shops. The Specialist could not fit him and held his hands up, suggesting 'Skate Boarding ' Shoes as by the time the specialist shoe maker made The Git's shoes he would have grown out of them. This problem has long been recorded in his Primary School records, which his College obviously refuse to read! I have always try to stick to black but it is difficult and each time new shoes are called for we spend about a week trying to find them. I usually manage the 'Black' except for some small logo. Compounding the problem is The Git's aversion to the smell of shoes. If they don't smell right then they are dust. Pa took him shopping for his last pair of school shoes and he ( not The Git) needed a large Brandy after that trip!
We have been away so much this Summer and it is MY fault that I did not face up to the shoe shopping trip before now. Right! That's my confession done. Josh has been wearing a pair of plain black Skate Shoes for the last TWO terms and they are now tatty and need replacing. He wore them today and I was a little embarrassed, saying to Josh, we would go shopping this weekend.
I picked him up from School, delighted to see him and asked if he had, had a good day? 'Erm.... Mr X said I should not wear these shoes to school and if you didn't take me shopping for new shoes, he would and you could pay him back! I am not vindictive so will not mention this guy by name but, can I also say that he is a Ginger Midget Shite! - now known as GMS on this Blog. Whoa....I was tired from lack of sleep, grumpy that my hair would not behave and I only had the bare minimum of make up on! On top of that my arm throbbed as I could not take serious painkillers until I got The Git home. Not in a great place then to deal with the GMS.
The poor deluded GMS was on Traffic duty and I tried to explain, somewhat frostily about the problem with The Git's feet. He was not listening to me and said in his most imperious manner that only 'Black Leather Shoes would do'. Feck! it was like waving a Red Rag to a Bull. 'Fine' I snapped ' you already have a Doctors note in his school records, but obviously, being a Sports teacher, you are unable to read'. Oh man, I am such a a bad Muse. I continued...'Tell you what, I'll provide you with ANOTHER one and then I'll pin it to your Rugby shirt in case you don't get the message! By the way' I said ' have you missed having a moan for the last six weeks? - did the wife get upset because you were whinging at her instead of your pupils?'
Oh, oh, oh, I am very very embarrassed by my loss of temper. I asked the GMS why he had offered to take The Git shopping? He then dug himself into a bigger hole by trying to suggest that I was in financial difficulty and so had suggested HE buy the shoes. Fecking little GMS. I think I actually growled at him at that point.
The point of this Blog is to say that I get my son to school 9 times out of 10. He hates school and compared to Robartes, his wonderful Primary School, which was such a positive force in his life, The College is a huge negative with very tired, jaded teachers who don't give an F! I want my son to be in a positive environment. I am not being precious here but I think he might get on a lot better if certain people gave him an inch of space.
Okay, she says, that's me done now. Sorry folks but there is nowt more cathartic than blogging. Please forgive my dread fullness and obviously you will need to pray for my soul!
Namaste
Muse x
Friday, 3 September 2010
Dream. Dream. Dream.....
I have just kept half an eye on a BBC programme about sleep - lack of it and how to sleep well. I am the worlds worst sleeper. I have tried absolutely everything. Valerian, Night All, Lavender, Hypnosis, Sex, Walking, Exercise, Fresh Air and I cannot sleep. I also tried Alcohol but the consequences the next morning are not worth it! Apparently the new thing is fasting. If you are on a long haul flight you should fast and this allegedly works. Fasting will be my next experiment. I guess I will have to give up my cream crackers and Imperial Mints!
I think my problem is actually getting to sleep rather than sleep itself. Once I go to sleep, I can sleep for England, the entire World, in fact! My mind will not shut down and I long for sleep to come naturally. When we were on the barge on Folk on The Water, The Dutchman and Penfold amazed me by being able to 'drop off on a washing line' for a 20 minute power nap. At one point Penfold actually lay down in the sun, on a lovely grassy bank, surrounded by 200 odd people and a few live bands and was snoring peacefully when I came to wake him up for Dinner. How did he do that! Similarly The Dutchman was able to snooze for exactly 30 minutes and get up and function! They are ex- Military men, please, please teach me your secret!
I have whacked the arm so have had to take some painkillers and my sleep patterns are all over the place at the moment. For instance, I was up at six this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Absolutely frustrated that no one was up to talk to me. This was a result of two days of painkillers and one sleeping tablet. I do take them, as rarely as I can, as they are pretty awful and I would rather not. It seems that I am at odds with the World Time Clock....
At about 11 am I lost my sense of humour as the arm was bad and I waited with gritted teeth until I could pick The Git from the train station at about two this afternoon. By the time he had his hair cut, it was about 3.30 when we got home. Note - the Barbers was full of boys pulling similarly dreadful faces as they had their bright pink/blonde/purple and Mohican's cut out for the new school term. The Git nearly broke the mirror with his scowls.(Question - why does their hair colour affect their learning....erm..teacher quote.) I took the painkillers gratefully and then passed out until six tonight! Poor Git, he had to wait for his tea. Now I cannot take a sleeping pill in case I do not wake for first day at school tomorrow!
I am very tired as I write this and I wonder how I will solve this? Should I ask Penfold to rub my back for a couple of hours until I reach Nirvana? I don't think so . This is my problem not his. The quest for sleep remains elusive. Advice please? What do you do to get some sleep when your busy mind will not shut down. All answers on a Postcard gratefully accepted.
Take Care out there. I hope most of you are in nod land and having Sweet Dreams.
Namaste
Muse x
I think my problem is actually getting to sleep rather than sleep itself. Once I go to sleep, I can sleep for England, the entire World, in fact! My mind will not shut down and I long for sleep to come naturally. When we were on the barge on Folk on The Water, The Dutchman and Penfold amazed me by being able to 'drop off on a washing line' for a 20 minute power nap. At one point Penfold actually lay down in the sun, on a lovely grassy bank, surrounded by 200 odd people and a few live bands and was snoring peacefully when I came to wake him up for Dinner. How did he do that! Similarly The Dutchman was able to snooze for exactly 30 minutes and get up and function! They are ex- Military men, please, please teach me your secret!
I have whacked the arm so have had to take some painkillers and my sleep patterns are all over the place at the moment. For instance, I was up at six this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Absolutely frustrated that no one was up to talk to me. This was a result of two days of painkillers and one sleeping tablet. I do take them, as rarely as I can, as they are pretty awful and I would rather not. It seems that I am at odds with the World Time Clock....
At about 11 am I lost my sense of humour as the arm was bad and I waited with gritted teeth until I could pick The Git from the train station at about two this afternoon. By the time he had his hair cut, it was about 3.30 when we got home. Note - the Barbers was full of boys pulling similarly dreadful faces as they had their bright pink/blonde/purple and Mohican's cut out for the new school term. The Git nearly broke the mirror with his scowls.(Question - why does their hair colour affect their learning....erm..teacher quote.) I took the painkillers gratefully and then passed out until six tonight! Poor Git, he had to wait for his tea. Now I cannot take a sleeping pill in case I do not wake for first day at school tomorrow!
I am very tired as I write this and I wonder how I will solve this? Should I ask Penfold to rub my back for a couple of hours until I reach Nirvana? I don't think so . This is my problem not his. The quest for sleep remains elusive. Advice please? What do you do to get some sleep when your busy mind will not shut down. All answers on a Postcard gratefully accepted.
Take Care out there. I hope most of you are in nod land and having Sweet Dreams.
Namaste
Muse x
Friday, 27 August 2010
Having A Rant !
I had the dubious pleasure of buying a second hand car today. Actually that is an over statement, I set out to buy a banger. I had to get some wheels on the road as Public Transport in Cornwall is almost non existent. Besides which, why should I share my space with people who knock my arm and smell funny! They say an Englishman's Home is his Castle....not in this day and age.. You won't get a Brit out of his car, even if petrol hits the two quid a litre mark.
After searching eBay and looking around locally I could find nothing. 'Right', I said, rolling my sleeves up, 'time to scour the local paper and talk to some spacey people'. I probably phoned about 20 numbers today. These people were not spacey but complete and utter fecking idiots. Nutter is one word I could use. The others that spring to mind are demented, fruitcake or mental defective. WHY do people advertise their cars and then seem reluctant to sell them? WHY do they forget to take them out of the paper when they sold them last week.
Words fail me... I offered to go to St Ives to look at one car (quite some distance from me) and the lady on the phone seemed happy with that. I phoned back to confirm and her hubby answered. After making me hold on for 5 minutes they had a long discussion and said they had decided to go out for a meal and would I mind phoning back. The car is for sale or its not! Bugger. I have had some real foot stamping moments today.
I phoned about another car.
'Hello I am phoning about the car you have for sale'
'Oh yes Mi Dear, what do you want to know?'
'Erm is it MOT'd?'
'We sold that...now lets see about 8 days ago....'
I am speechless. Another guy wanted to chat about his gout or some such terrible thing before he finally told me the car had been sold. A toddler answered the phone and told me his mum couldn't come to the phone. Yep, I have had the lot of them today! After ripping out several handfuls of hair Ma and Pa arrived. Ma tried to calm me down and Pa just resigned himself to driving me 100's of miles to find a car.
I was determined and Pa knew that look from old and just went with the flow. I was amazed as the last car I looked at, a sensible person with a terrifically broad Lancashire accent answered the phone. I may have only been able to understand about half of the conversation but he actually attempted to sell it to me. Yes! Yes! Yes! Result! Wild horses would not have stopped me as I dragged long suffering Pa to Indian Queens to view the motor. We do have some strange Cornish place names around here. Endellion is one of them! But Florence Rose is not. Note for American readers of this Blog (yes I do have a few) our PM just called his daughter Florence Rose Endellion as she was born in Cornwall.
I digress. Arriving at the address of man from Lancashire, my heart sank as I realised the car was....a Metro - sigh. I had got so excited about the prospect of wheels, I sort of forgot what the car was. I know I said I would not ever again drive a Metro because of dickey arm but beggars can't be choosers. Anyway, she says defensively, it was cleaner than the Grendel, there were no parking tickets in the glove box and there wasn't an empty Evian bottle in sight!
This Muse now has wheels but has also had the day from hell. New advertising rules should read. 'Anyone that can't be arsed to sell their car are prohibited from advertising here'. Grumpy girl promises she will be back to her own sweet self tomorrow.
Namaste
Muse x
After searching eBay and looking around locally I could find nothing. 'Right', I said, rolling my sleeves up, 'time to scour the local paper and talk to some spacey people'. I probably phoned about 20 numbers today. These people were not spacey but complete and utter fecking idiots. Nutter is one word I could use. The others that spring to mind are demented, fruitcake or mental defective. WHY do people advertise their cars and then seem reluctant to sell them? WHY do they forget to take them out of the paper when they sold them last week.
Words fail me... I offered to go to St Ives to look at one car (quite some distance from me) and the lady on the phone seemed happy with that. I phoned back to confirm and her hubby answered. After making me hold on for 5 minutes they had a long discussion and said they had decided to go out for a meal and would I mind phoning back. The car is for sale or its not! Bugger. I have had some real foot stamping moments today.
I phoned about another car.
'Hello I am phoning about the car you have for sale'
'Oh yes Mi Dear, what do you want to know?'
'Erm is it MOT'd?'
'We sold that...now lets see about 8 days ago....'
I am speechless. Another guy wanted to chat about his gout or some such terrible thing before he finally told me the car had been sold. A toddler answered the phone and told me his mum couldn't come to the phone. Yep, I have had the lot of them today! After ripping out several handfuls of hair Ma and Pa arrived. Ma tried to calm me down and Pa just resigned himself to driving me 100's of miles to find a car.
I was determined and Pa knew that look from old and just went with the flow. I was amazed as the last car I looked at, a sensible person with a terrifically broad Lancashire accent answered the phone. I may have only been able to understand about half of the conversation but he actually attempted to sell it to me. Yes! Yes! Yes! Result! Wild horses would not have stopped me as I dragged long suffering Pa to Indian Queens to view the motor. We do have some strange Cornish place names around here. Endellion is one of them! But Florence Rose is not. Note for American readers of this Blog (yes I do have a few) our PM just called his daughter Florence Rose Endellion as she was born in Cornwall.
I digress. Arriving at the address of man from Lancashire, my heart sank as I realised the car was....a Metro - sigh. I had got so excited about the prospect of wheels, I sort of forgot what the car was. I know I said I would not ever again drive a Metro because of dickey arm but beggars can't be choosers. Anyway, she says defensively, it was cleaner than the Grendel, there were no parking tickets in the glove box and there wasn't an empty Evian bottle in sight!
This Muse now has wheels but has also had the day from hell. New advertising rules should read. 'Anyone that can't be arsed to sell their car are prohibited from advertising here'. Grumpy girl promises she will be back to her own sweet self tomorrow.
Namaste
Muse x
Monday, 23 August 2010
Just Sixteen and Dreaming...
My 22 year old son posted these lyrics on Facebook last week : -
I remember when we were just sixteen and dreaming.
Drinking in the basement, just shouting and screaming.
Listen to our favorite records all while thinking,
Some day were gonna be there on stage all singing.
Remember breaking hearts and getting hearts broken?
Lying to our parents on what we were smoking?
Solving all our problems with bottles and women?
Even though we knew were better off without them.
(Trophy Scars - Assistant Assistants.)
Loved them, they brought back a lot of memories.
I have no idea who the band are or how the song goes but he was rolling around laughing as I commented 'So do I son and we did it better, bigger and badder way before you did!' Most of us Donut Kids are in our late 40's. One or two of us are actually 50. Gulp! Where did the time go? We are still the same people inside, just older, greyer, tinted, wiser and more exhausted.
At 16 we were bright new things and looked upon those even 10 years older than us as positively ancient. We are catching up with them now...oh the shame. We hated the elderly, oh god, they should have been euthanized years ago. We did not think for one moment that we would hurtle toward perms and zimmer frames, slippers and pipes. In fact, myself and two school friends have one functioning limb between us. If I went up to stay with them, I fear Jess, their German Shepherd would voluntarily put herself in kennels, lest she had to look after us!
To my son, I say... 'We will not bow to old age. Age is but a number and we will still be listening to The Stranglers in our 80's'. The lyrics he posted got me thinking as to how our perception of age has changed. When I was a teenager every woman over the age of 35 had a perm and every man over the age of 40 sported a cardie and Jesus sandals with socks. A- line skirts with geometric print and twin sets were popular with the ladies. 'Simon Cowell' under the armpits trousers were De Riguer for the blokes. I dare not venture north of Cheltenham as the world of flat caps and rollers beckons...not that I am part of the anti roller brigade - Ma loves the things. Quite how you can actually love something that feels as though you have a hundred hedgehogs in you hair is beyond me. But there again, I have done my time at the hairdressers, head bowed under a tonne weight of Aluminium foil!
Our perception, expectation and knowledge of age has been made more profound by Education, Celebrity and the Media. I would like to think that Education is at the forefront of how we embrace our gathering years but, alas it is that old devil called the Media.
Women are expected to stay young and fashionable. Men are becoming more aware and thinking about their image in a way never seen before. Slight problem here. Women naturally age faster than men because the process of childbirth mature their bodies and faces in a different way to men. Look at a woman that has had a child and compare with a Woman that has not. Trust me, I am right about this. Childbirth changes the very essence of the female.
The modern Media world insists that we remain young. Granted, men are under more pressure than before but never as much as women. The question is, can we stay younger without resorting to plastic surgery, creams etc... my answer is a simple one. It rather depends who you are. If you are so precious about your appearance that you have to run off and get Botox in your early thirties then you will probably get more wrinkles worrying about it! Yeah I admit to being precious about my hair but only because it is as sick as me and suffering with the anaemia I suffer with.
Celebrity age is a lie - a big fat nasty lie! Look at actresses on the red carpet and then look at them doing the shop at Sainsbury's. It is easy when you know how. Gut sucking underwear, which leaves hideous marks and take two bouncers to get you out of, creams that make your face so tight you can barely raise an eyebrow and that little photographic trick called airbrushing! Failing that they (Demi Moore) go under the knife and emerge doll like, a veritable alien to their own minds.
Lets backtrack. Do you age gracefully or follow the celebrities and use various products, botox, face lifts? Again an easy answer. Age is an attitude of mind. Carry yourself well, look after yourself and accept the passing years but do not forget your soul, your brilliant youth and your courage.
Namaste
Muse x
I remember when we were just sixteen and dreaming.
Drinking in the basement, just shouting and screaming.
Listen to our favorite records all while thinking,
Some day were gonna be there on stage all singing.
Remember breaking hearts and getting hearts broken?
Lying to our parents on what we were smoking?
Solving all our problems with bottles and women?
Even though we knew were better off without them.
(Trophy Scars - Assistant Assistants.)
Loved them, they brought back a lot of memories.
I have no idea who the band are or how the song goes but he was rolling around laughing as I commented 'So do I son and we did it better, bigger and badder way before you did!' Most of us Donut Kids are in our late 40's. One or two of us are actually 50. Gulp! Where did the time go? We are still the same people inside, just older, greyer, tinted, wiser and more exhausted.
At 16 we were bright new things and looked upon those even 10 years older than us as positively ancient. We are catching up with them now...oh the shame. We hated the elderly, oh god, they should have been euthanized years ago. We did not think for one moment that we would hurtle toward perms and zimmer frames, slippers and pipes. In fact, myself and two school friends have one functioning limb between us. If I went up to stay with them, I fear Jess, their German Shepherd would voluntarily put herself in kennels, lest she had to look after us!
To my son, I say... 'We will not bow to old age. Age is but a number and we will still be listening to The Stranglers in our 80's'. The lyrics he posted got me thinking as to how our perception of age has changed. When I was a teenager every woman over the age of 35 had a perm and every man over the age of 40 sported a cardie and Jesus sandals with socks. A- line skirts with geometric print and twin sets were popular with the ladies. 'Simon Cowell' under the armpits trousers were De Riguer for the blokes. I dare not venture north of Cheltenham as the world of flat caps and rollers beckons...not that I am part of the anti roller brigade - Ma loves the things. Quite how you can actually love something that feels as though you have a hundred hedgehogs in you hair is beyond me. But there again, I have done my time at the hairdressers, head bowed under a tonne weight of Aluminium foil!
Our perception, expectation and knowledge of age has been made more profound by Education, Celebrity and the Media. I would like to think that Education is at the forefront of how we embrace our gathering years but, alas it is that old devil called the Media.
Women are expected to stay young and fashionable. Men are becoming more aware and thinking about their image in a way never seen before. Slight problem here. Women naturally age faster than men because the process of childbirth mature their bodies and faces in a different way to men. Look at a woman that has had a child and compare with a Woman that has not. Trust me, I am right about this. Childbirth changes the very essence of the female.
The modern Media world insists that we remain young. Granted, men are under more pressure than before but never as much as women. The question is, can we stay younger without resorting to plastic surgery, creams etc... my answer is a simple one. It rather depends who you are. If you are so precious about your appearance that you have to run off and get Botox in your early thirties then you will probably get more wrinkles worrying about it! Yeah I admit to being precious about my hair but only because it is as sick as me and suffering with the anaemia I suffer with.
Celebrity age is a lie - a big fat nasty lie! Look at actresses on the red carpet and then look at them doing the shop at Sainsbury's. It is easy when you know how. Gut sucking underwear, which leaves hideous marks and take two bouncers to get you out of, creams that make your face so tight you can barely raise an eyebrow and that little photographic trick called airbrushing! Failing that they (Demi Moore) go under the knife and emerge doll like, a veritable alien to their own minds.
Lets backtrack. Do you age gracefully or follow the celebrities and use various products, botox, face lifts? Again an easy answer. Age is an attitude of mind. Carry yourself well, look after yourself and accept the passing years but do not forget your soul, your brilliant youth and your courage.
Namaste
Muse x
Thursday, 19 August 2010
A Letter to The Donut Kids.
Dear Donut Children
I need your help. I have been writing Donut Child for nearly a year now. I started it last September because of letters/emails I had sent to friends. They all said I should write a book, so Donut Child was my first tentative step towards teaching myself the discipline of regular writing. I am about as disciplined as an elastic band so it has been helpful, if a little traumatic at times. It is just as well I don't eat all the pies as I would be done for!
I have to be honest, I wanted to be the next Belle De Jour. I wanted to have that book deal, those film rights and to be as successful as J.K Rowling. I tried the 'salacious' bit, regaling (or boring) you all with my dating disasters. The content gave me so many sleepless nights as I wondered how far to go, who to name, who to give an alias to? How many peoples photos could I nick and post without being slapped with a court order? The other angst was sharing on Face book. Up until now I have only posted each Blog once. There are some people on my wall that shamelessly promote anything they can. I was sniffy about this and said to myself, if they want to read it they will read it.
Then I had a conversation with an Aunt of mine who gleefully told me that she had been reading it to my 90 something Grandmother. Groan.... This plunged me into a further dilemma and I do admit to cleaning up a bit. I tried to shrug off the image of my lovely nan reading it and hope I have been successful.
Donut child has become a bit of a monster. I know that 100-150 people read each Blog. I am so grateful for your interest whoever you are. I had 1500 hits for the Folk on The Water Blogs which completely stunned me so thank you, all of you.
What do I do now? The numbers are steady, but I have NO followers. I am not having a whinge here, just telling you like it is. I need your help. I need your input. Its lonely Blogging into Cyberspace. Also the more followers I have, the more chance I get of being a Google Blog of Note. Which means they share it with the World and you get thousands of hits.
Can you do me a favour ? At the end of each Blog is a FB/Twitter etc bar. If you click on the B (note to all; I am just giving you the idiots guide - apologies), you can sign in and register with Google and become a Named or Anonymous Follower of Donut Child. You can even comment, be it caustically or constructively.
If you can't be arsed to do that ( I do understand as I can't be arsed to do a lot of things on line as they just make me sigh out loud and put head in hands) then perhaps you can share a link occasionally on FB or Twitter or wherever you like to blow your trumpet. If you can do something to help I would be so grateful.
Enough of my shameless begging. Will post another Donut Child soon.
Namaste
Muse x
PS I also write two other Blogs which are not yet shared so the writing is going well. Thanks for your support. x
I need your help. I have been writing Donut Child for nearly a year now. I started it last September because of letters/emails I had sent to friends. They all said I should write a book, so Donut Child was my first tentative step towards teaching myself the discipline of regular writing. I am about as disciplined as an elastic band so it has been helpful, if a little traumatic at times. It is just as well I don't eat all the pies as I would be done for!
I have to be honest, I wanted to be the next Belle De Jour. I wanted to have that book deal, those film rights and to be as successful as J.K Rowling. I tried the 'salacious' bit, regaling (or boring) you all with my dating disasters. The content gave me so many sleepless nights as I wondered how far to go, who to name, who to give an alias to? How many peoples photos could I nick and post without being slapped with a court order? The other angst was sharing on Face book. Up until now I have only posted each Blog once. There are some people on my wall that shamelessly promote anything they can. I was sniffy about this and said to myself, if they want to read it they will read it.
Then I had a conversation with an Aunt of mine who gleefully told me that she had been reading it to my 90 something Grandmother. Groan.... This plunged me into a further dilemma and I do admit to cleaning up a bit. I tried to shrug off the image of my lovely nan reading it and hope I have been successful.
Donut child has become a bit of a monster. I know that 100-150 people read each Blog. I am so grateful for your interest whoever you are. I had 1500 hits for the Folk on The Water Blogs which completely stunned me so thank you, all of you.
What do I do now? The numbers are steady, but I have NO followers. I am not having a whinge here, just telling you like it is. I need your help. I need your input. Its lonely Blogging into Cyberspace. Also the more followers I have, the more chance I get of being a Google Blog of Note. Which means they share it with the World and you get thousands of hits.
Can you do me a favour ? At the end of each Blog is a FB/Twitter etc bar. If you click on the B (note to all; I am just giving you the idiots guide - apologies), you can sign in and register with Google and become a Named or Anonymous Follower of Donut Child. You can even comment, be it caustically or constructively.
If you can't be arsed to do that ( I do understand as I can't be arsed to do a lot of things on line as they just make me sigh out loud and put head in hands) then perhaps you can share a link occasionally on FB or Twitter or wherever you like to blow your trumpet. If you can do something to help I would be so grateful.
Enough of my shameless begging. Will post another Donut Child soon.
Namaste
Muse x
PS I also write two other Blogs which are not yet shared so the writing is going well. Thanks for your support. x
Friday, 13 August 2010
The Mothership and Mayhem in the Muse household!
The Mothership came to visit for a few days this week, dragging the long suffering Pa with her. The Mothership is one of her nicknames, the other is Hyacinth. Is it old age that causes adored but challenging parents to misbehave or something else? Do they secretly think, 'Ha! I am getting on so I will cause as much mayhem as possible'. It is a bit like that famous poem, 'Warning' by Jenny Joseph, which I will post on the side bar. One of my favourites by the way.
I hadn't spent a lot of time with them recently so I was looking forward to it. Hyacinth has long been a 'bag lady'. She loves bags. Make up bags, cool bags, handbags and has a special place in her heart for large suitcases that weigh at least 20 kilos when they are empty! In came the bags and underneath them somewhere, I did spot Pa for a moment but this was a fleeting glimpse as he toiled to offload the car.
Hyacinth is very glamorous and feminine for her age ( this is, obviously the reason for the bags) but is sadly hard of hearing. She endured a terrible operation to remove a mastoid from her left ear when she was a child and has always been profoundly deaf in that ear. The other has worked hard throughout her life and is on its way out too. She has dealt with this in a quiet dignified way and lip reads very well, never ever complaining.
However well behaved Hyacinth is at the start of a visit, things generally deteriorate quite quickly. The TV volume starts low with subtitles and The Archers is listened to only as a special treat. Hyacinth does not understand the modern world and can be often be found trying to turn up the TV volume with Pa's mobile! Hence the creeping up of the TV volume in the lounge, The Archers at full blast in the kitchen and The Proms thundering through the bedroom. We are usually far too polite to comment and take refuge in the garden. A garden is a good place of refuge during these times!
Onto other matters. Why do parents drink so many cups of Tea? Personally, if I had to put the kettle on that many times I would cut out the kettle and just take it intravenously. Reading glasses are a difficult thing and hours are spent searching for them, only to find they have been sat on and are unrecognizable. My theory is that reading glasses are so cheap because they are made to be sat on. I once dated a 40 something guy that bought 10 pairs at once - sensible chap. Must remember that for their next visit. I should be careful of what I say on the subject as I am in limbo with my distance glasses at the moment and they are constantly perched on the end of my nose whilst I squint at the mobile or the newspaper!
I think what troubles me the most is that they think I am still 6 years old. I am constantly reminded to wash my hands, use a napkin, go to the loo before going out and 'don't' use too much salt. The other irritant is bedtime. Why do they think I should got to bed at 10pm. 'Time you were off to bed darling' said Pa last night at 10.30pm. Bless!
I loved having them to visit, caught up with Ma and Pa was my hero, spending long hours under now defunct washing machine, cutting hedge and fixing my bathroom light. Despite their idiosyncrasies they are mine and I adore them but its nice to have my space back again.
Namaste
Muse x
I hadn't spent a lot of time with them recently so I was looking forward to it. Hyacinth has long been a 'bag lady'. She loves bags. Make up bags, cool bags, handbags and has a special place in her heart for large suitcases that weigh at least 20 kilos when they are empty! In came the bags and underneath them somewhere, I did spot Pa for a moment but this was a fleeting glimpse as he toiled to offload the car.
Hyacinth is very glamorous and feminine for her age ( this is, obviously the reason for the bags) but is sadly hard of hearing. She endured a terrible operation to remove a mastoid from her left ear when she was a child and has always been profoundly deaf in that ear. The other has worked hard throughout her life and is on its way out too. She has dealt with this in a quiet dignified way and lip reads very well, never ever complaining.
However well behaved Hyacinth is at the start of a visit, things generally deteriorate quite quickly. The TV volume starts low with subtitles and The Archers is listened to only as a special treat. Hyacinth does not understand the modern world and can be often be found trying to turn up the TV volume with Pa's mobile! Hence the creeping up of the TV volume in the lounge, The Archers at full blast in the kitchen and The Proms thundering through the bedroom. We are usually far too polite to comment and take refuge in the garden. A garden is a good place of refuge during these times!
Onto other matters. Why do parents drink so many cups of Tea? Personally, if I had to put the kettle on that many times I would cut out the kettle and just take it intravenously. Reading glasses are a difficult thing and hours are spent searching for them, only to find they have been sat on and are unrecognizable. My theory is that reading glasses are so cheap because they are made to be sat on. I once dated a 40 something guy that bought 10 pairs at once - sensible chap. Must remember that for their next visit. I should be careful of what I say on the subject as I am in limbo with my distance glasses at the moment and they are constantly perched on the end of my nose whilst I squint at the mobile or the newspaper!
I think what troubles me the most is that they think I am still 6 years old. I am constantly reminded to wash my hands, use a napkin, go to the loo before going out and 'don't' use too much salt. The other irritant is bedtime. Why do they think I should got to bed at 10pm. 'Time you were off to bed darling' said Pa last night at 10.30pm. Bless!
I loved having them to visit, caught up with Ma and Pa was my hero, spending long hours under now defunct washing machine, cutting hedge and fixing my bathroom light. Despite their idiosyncrasies they are mine and I adore them but its nice to have my space back again.
Namaste
Muse x
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