Boys will be boys…

After the school holidays I always look forward to returning to normal, back in a routine if you like.  Knowing that each day will be the same.  I have decided I no longer like this feeling as we are only two days in to the second half of the first term and Tom has an after school detention.

This annoys me a great deal.

Firstly; it annoys me because FFS we have only had one full day back at school what could possibly have happened already that warrants an after school detention? Secondly; it annoys me that the school emails me at 4.37 pm to tell me that the said after school detention will be tomorrow (today in real-time) and that it will be from 3 pm until 3.45 pm.  Thirdly; it annoys because it does not say why? Nor in fact does it give any other information that may seem relevant to a parent and Fourthly; it annoys me well, just because it bloody well annoys me.

The email says that if we require any further information about why our child has an after school detention we should reply to the said email with the child’s name and a request for further information.

WTF.  Why do I have to do this?  Is it not completely obvious that yes, I do want to know more information?  I am the parent of said child.  Yes I do want to know more about the after school detention, i.e what it is for?

I can not rely on Tom to know this information, he is a boy.  He walks around with his eyes and ears closed and only speaks in grunt and only to persons of his own age and gender.

I would also like to know why on a Tuesday afternoon after school on Halloween no less, when he has a party to go to at his friends after school I will now have to come and pick him up from the bloody after school detention and take him to the party late.  I have also arranged for the chimney sweep to come today at 3.30 pm as I thought I would be home alone (Elsie also has a Halloween party at a friends) and that I would be able to accommodate the chimney sweep, without them getting in the way.  Clearly this will now not be the case.

Last night when I got home from work and interrogated Tom about the after school detention, he did, as expected, claim to know absolutely nothing about it!

He told me some incidents that had happened in the day but apart from silly boy stuff and goofing around a bit I couldn’t really fathom any reason as to why.  So I did as required and emailed back to request some more information.

By this point it is nearly 6 pm and I don’t expect to receive a reply tonight!

So unimpressed by this am I that it puts me in a very grumpy mood.  I appreciate that if a child needs to be disciplined for something they should be.  However, I am also a firm believer in communication.  The lack of which from the school is starting to drive me slightly nuts.

I do not want to become one of those Mum’s that is constantly having to go in to the school to find out what the hell is going on or to keep phoning up and emailing all the bloody time.  If there is a problem, please by all means let me know but please feel free to give me all the details at once.  I would find this extremely helpful.

This morning we were at a loss as to whether Tom had a detention or didn’t, he still very adamant he didn’t.  As yet, obviously, there was no reply to my request for further information and I didn’t expect there would be before we all left for school/work.  So where does that leave us.

In bloody limbo land, that’s where!

At 9.45 am the email containing the further information arrived.  Apparently this was a ‘carry over’ from last term.  Tom was late to English and did not attend his 10 minute lunchtime detention so it was escalated to an after school detention, which will be today.

I am trying to maintain my mantra of In with love and out with anger but is it is very bloody difficult.  I want to shout, loudly, at someone.

I do recall Tom telling me about being late to English one day and that he got a ten minute detention for it.  I think I even blogged about it as it was during the period of many detentions, the girlfriends and the fight and the general stresses of Toms foray in to secondary school.  I think he did attend the detention but what the hell can I do about that now.

I cannot speak to Tom he is at school. I can email them back and wait another 7 hours for a reply but he will have done the bloody detention by then.  What I am thinking to myself, is the bloody point of all this?

I may as well have said;  Tom you have detention, we don’t know what it for but you will have to do it because the crappy email I got from the school explains nothing and it doesn’t give you enough time to try to sort anything out one way or the other and to be honest I have really not got time for this shit!

The likelihood is that he would have shrugged his shoulders and said, Okay mum.

I have since picked him up from the after school detention, where I noticed it looks like he has spent the last 45 minutes drawing all over himself, very educational indeed. He was completely nonplussed about the whole debacle.

Why oh why do I worry like I do?

Arrived home just in time to see the chimney sweep unloading. Hooray. We will be warm this Winter after all.

Moving on…

It is official I am over J. Well ok, I’m still bewildered but in a good way not a bad, unhappy, bloody pissed off kind of way. That has now passed. His loss is another mans gain, or so everyone keeps telling me anyway!

I have after a bit of gentle persuasion returned to the dating site, where I am now ‘chatting’ to a couple of other fellas. Just like that!

It is quite tedious in the beginning to be fair. It is that bit where you are messaging but not sure if you want to exchange numbers or not. Once you do exchange number you cross that boundary from being pleasant and testing the water to indecent proposal, almost in a nano second.

I have exchanged numbers with M 45 yrs old from Kent, he is alright, for want of a better word. He can not spell though and I find this a little bit frustrating. However, not one to judge a book before I’ve opened it, I am happy to engage at the moment. It is all very normal chat still as we only exchanged yesterday, lets see how this evening goes.

I am bit loathe to get in to the whole texting for weeks thing again. It is time-consuming and your heart starts to rule your head as we have already discovered. You lose all rational thinking and your libido becomes your brain.

Oh talk of the devil. He wants to phone me!! Ohhhhhh…

Don’t make me talk to you. I don’t want to. I’m a keyboard warrior I dont want to actually have a conversation with you, where I might have to think quickly and react properly and well, just be nice I suppose. I can’t!

… Just had an hour-long chat with M. It went okay. We talked for an hour so it can’t have been awful. He said I was quieter than he thought I would be. The buddies would be  laughing out loud at that. It is awkward that first phone call.

He has a West Country accent, I wasn’t expecting that. He sounds nice though and is very, very chatty I almost couldn’t get a word in sideways. Something I don’t usually have a problem with. He was funny and sounds down to earth. Do like him? How the hell am I supposed to know?

I need to see him. I can’t tell from a phone call. He sounds like a bit of a mans man. We talked about the kids, he doesn’t have any, I didn’t ask why. When I told him about Tom and his testosterone he said ‘well, it’s a boy thing aint it. We are all like that. I was a right little sod when I was younger’. I fear, not much may have changed.

Only time will tell and a date of course, If I can be so brave!

 

 

Just a little bit sad…

… to say that J and I are no more.

Our brief but very satisfying ‘relationship’ has come to an end.

I feel almost bereft.

Strange but true.  I can’t describe, properly, how I really feel about this, although the sad emoji is doing a pretty good job of it.

It was an unexpected end and maybe that is why I am struggling with it.  In fairness, I shouldn’t be struggling with it at all, it was after all such a very brief thing, whatever it was that was happening between us.

Our date on Wednesday was ‘fine’, we went for dinner it was ‘nice’. However, the bowling alley was a disaster and full of very loud and very over excited teenagers. We forgot about the half term thing! It was awkward and difficult to have a conversation. The fantasy definitely did not match the reality. We should have gone to the dodgy pub outside town at least it would have been adults only.

In the car at the end of the evening we sat and chatted for a while and we had that awkward conversation about how we were going to spend time with each other.  J is away a lot on business, has family commitments as do I and it is not always easy to just drop everything to meet.

We worked out that between us the next five weekends are a no go as far as seeing each other goes.  We both have lives outside of each other but that is normal, surely.  No one said this would be easy, for me though I would like to give it a fair crack of the whip, difficult as it might be.

The conversation was getting us both down and so we left it there and decided to test the chemistry between us instead.  It was still working!

Unfortunately for us the conversation had embedded itself in to our heads and the texts between us changed dramatically after the date.  J was straighter and polite almost to the point of disinterest.

I found that frustrating.

You have to bear in mind that up until this point the texting had been full on, perhaps too much so and if I’m honest it has been me who has been holding back out of the two of us.  We barely know each other and while it has most definitely been fun and I have laughed out loud and romanticized about where this is going it was J that was the persistent one of the two of us.

We spoke again about how difficult things were going to be. I could feel him backing away. So I naturally backed off too.

 

It is now Sunday and I miss him.  I miss the texting, the chat and the laughter.  Yesterday in an effort to rid my mind of J.  I ploughed on in the garden.  It was long overdue and took me hours and although I pruned, mowed and trimmed all the bushes, every single minute of those 5 hours spent trying to wear myself out, I thought of J.

He has been in my head, constantly,  for a little over three weeks.  Three weeks!  FFS when you say it like that, it does put things in to perspective a bit.  Three weeks is nothing.  Three weeks of life in the grand scheme of things is a drop in the ocean and I know that in another few weeks time I won’t even think about J anymore but it’s the seed.  The seed had been planted and it wanted to grow and now it is starved of water and oxygen it is withering away, slowly.

Today I feel a bit better.  Marginally.  Last night we exchanged a few texts and they will be our last.

He tried to explain that because we won’t be able to see each other he doesn’t want to commit to anything.  He feels that it is unsustainable to keep things ‘alive’ by text and that texting all the time anyway is going to be difficult.   That we will get tired of not being able to see each other and to avoid any future heartache it is best to end it now before we get too involved.

Too involved. Is he for real?

Er, Newsflash mate.  I am involved.  I’m in or at least I was.  Or prepared at least to give it a chance.  How will we know if we don’t try?  I can’t decide if I like him enough to marry him but that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, we’ve been on two bloody dates for Christ sake.  Something that I quickly reminded him of.

I am not heartbroken, we barely knew each other but I feel empty again. It’s that horrible feeling of rejection I suppose.  It hurts.  I know that this is a fleeting feeling and I will of course get over it.  That thought doesn’t stop me from feeling sad about it all though.

My heart is telling me it is ok to be sad, after all I liked him, we knew that and my head is telling me to get a bloody grip and stop being so silly, it was a couple of dates, that’s all.

In all fairness I was questioning my attraction to him on Friday.  Chatting to the buddies at work and trying to explain that while I didn’t find him drop dead gorgeous and knicker meltingly hot; he was funny, we got on well, we laughed and seemed to enjoy each others’ company and there was a sexual attraction of sorts.  I know this because we had tested it and I liked it, I liked him.

I tried to explain that I don’t care.  I just want to see what happens. There is no pressure here for it to be anything that it isn’t. Just take it as it comes.

If you are scared of the future how will you live?  How will you find the things that thrill you, move you or just please you? How will you find the things that don’t?

We have only been on two official dates but we have actually seen each other four times, two were in secret and were ad hoc, last-minute hook ups, not for sex but just because like I was saying, sometimes it is not always easy to get away, so when you do get a couple of hours to yourself, well… why not?

We have both lived 45 years of our lives.  Yes, there are things that I wish I had done differently but in general I have lived life how I wanted to live it.  I have made mistakes and hopefully learned from them.  I have loved, if only lightly and have been hurt, both in love and in life.  That doesn’t however, stop me from wanting it again.

It is hard to be completely honest with yourself sometimes and even harder to put that honesty out there for all the world to see.

I don’t really do emotions. I have a shell and it is there for a reason. I don’t want to be vulnerable. I have a hard time showing my softer side, especially in relationships but I try not to let this stop me from starting a relationship should one come my way. I still want it.

I like to think that love takes many forms. However fleeting. I believe that people come in to our lives for different reasons, some to make us realise what we have and some to help us realise what we want.

He knows I am not happy about the decision.  I also questioned whether I had the right to be unhappy but I don’t care.  I do have the right to be unhappy and I do have the right to let him know it.  Whether I am more unhappy because the choice about where this was going has been taken away from me, I don’t know.  It is a question I am still trying to work out the answer to.

You know that feeling that you get when you are not sure whether you want something or not but when someone says you can’t have it you just want it even more.

I am too old and life is too short not to be honest about how I feel.  I am not that shy, awkward teenager anymore and whilst I don’t want to come across as a stalker or needy in any way because that is just not me, I just needed to tell it how it is and how it is, is bloody unfair.

The end.

The trouble with trouble…

It’s Wednesday, I am bored.  This is not a word I use often.  The kids are both out, again.  I am beginning to wonder why I am having all this time off in the holidays now.

It is a nice day and so there are probably loads of thing I could be doing.  The sodding garden for one.  I keep meaning to sort the shed out too.  My upstairs needs a bloody good hoover.  The airing cupboard needs re-organising.  I have some things I want to sell on ebay.  My fridge is long overdue a bit of Dettol and well, the list goes on.

However, here I am sitting with my third coffee of the morning blogging.  I do not like housework.  It is a running joke in my family that I do not clean.  I do not iron either, something that totally amazes most people.  I make myself sound very lazy, perhaps I am when it comes to chores.  They are a chore, the clue is in the title.

I always want to be doing something more exciting than housework, doesn’t everyone?

I am also still finding J more than a little distracting.  This really can not go on!

Yesterday he was telling me how he wants to lean me over his desk and take me from behind.  The fact that he even has a desk is very amusing.  I can just about fit a sofa, a TV and a coffee table in to my lounge and the lounge is my downstairs pretty much, apart from the kitchen.

Visions of a big old Victorian desk, complete with antique green leather inserts, springs in to my mind… and a lot more besides.  I am in trouble here.  It is all very fun and flirty by text but face to face it is a different matter.  I know I will not be as confident as I pretend to be while I am texting.  I am after all very comfortable at a keyboard.  When I can say what I like and pretend that I am someone else.

The trouble with trouble is… It is bloody fun. There is no doubt about that.

We have a date tonight and he has suggested we ‘shoot some pool’ after some dinner.  I wonder why?  He seems to very much like the idea of me stretched over tables/desks, well anything really.

How sexy this will be in reality is anyones guess.  I am only 5 ft tall, elegance doesn’t come naturally to me.  I need heels to make me look like an adult and a plunge bra, otherwise I would be mistaken for a boy.  I kid you not, this has happened before.

I have a very straight figure.  It is almost shapeless.  I am not concerned by this and I do not have body dysmorphia or any other issues with it.  I am 45 now, my issues are slowly disappearing.  I care less now about how I am perceived by others.  In fact I can’t wait to be 90 and be able to just stick my middle finger up at absolutely anything that displeases me.

I obviously like to look good and I am not saying that I don’t make an effort with what I have got. Of course I do.

So, we are going for pizza and then to play some pool. It is all very ‘low brow’ this date. We were even considering going to the nearest town and looking for a proper pub with a dingy back room and pool table but he isn’t quite ready for that yet.

He is though, I have since found out, a bit of a biker.  So he might not be as polished as I first thought.  This also means he must have leathers so dingy back rooms might not be a problem after all, well until he speaks at least.

So our next date will be in the very public and very neon bowling alley. I will be wearing heels, high ones.  The furthest I go in flats is the village post office and that is only because the floor in there is very wonky.

I expect everyone else will be dressed very casually as it is the bowling alley.  This is a bit of a worry.  I do not even own a pair of trainers or anything of similar nature.  I just don’t wear them.  Elsie has about 50 pairs.  I could borrow a pair of hers as we are the same size, which is handy sometimes but I don’t want to.  I will not feel sexy in trainers and the likelihood is that I won’t be able to see over the pool table either, never mind put a ball in a pocket.

I am competitive by nature.  I used to be extremely so, but have calmed down a bit, or I think I have. We will see later?

When Elsie was in the netball team she banned me from attending the matches.  I was a serial sideline shouter.  I can’t help it.  I want them to win.  It’s all very good saying that it’s the taking part that counts and to a certain extent this could be true but sports are competitive.  They always have been and always should be.  There is nothing wrong with healthy competition and a want to do well or to win.

She however, used to hate me shouting from the sidelines and so I either had to go and be quiet or not go at all.  I went and tried to be quiet.. ish.

Oooh… my parcel of 7 pairs of jeans has just arrived.

Jeans are so hard to buy.  I have been looking for some new ones for ages.  I have bought several pairs recently all of which have been returned, so in an effort to find at least one pair in one hit, I have ordered 7 pairs to try on.  Then I will return the other 6 pairs.  Well this is the plan.

As previously stated I have a flat arse and not much of a waist, in the way that it is not cinched, it is only a couple of inches smaller than my hips so jeans do not always fit me well. I have two pairs currently and they took me forever to find.  They are also very tired.

I really do hope I only like one pair as this little lot has cost £327!! I did not realise Levis were so freaking expensive.  Hopefully they will be terrible and the cheap ones will fit lovely for a change.

I cannot afford to keep them all!  I see more trouble on the horizon.

Right I need to get off this machine and do something before I completely lose the whole day. See you after the date…

Insane grinning pt: 2…

Still feeling very relaxed.

So as promised, here is part 2 of the saga…

Last night I had the best night’s sleep I have had in a long while.  For now my nervous anxiety seems to have abated somewhat.  Maybe this is because at present I don’t feel anxious about anything.

I have no more first dates.  My blog is out and proud, well out at least and Tom and Elsie have been behaving.  I know, don’t worry I am not going to get too comfortable, as the minute I do, something will inevitably happen.

We are still in the half term, another week to go.  It will be calmer though as Tom has broken his phone.  This is obviously what he actually meant when he called me from the surgery that day because his battery had died.  My phone is dead he tells me.  So was he, nearly!

I thought I would be angrier than I am about this, as after all he has only had it for 3 months but Tom without his phone is generally a much nicer boy.  I had almost forgotten what he was like but now he can not be constantly plugged in to aggressive rap music and also can’t phone me when he is out and about to change all the arrangements we have already made, he is back in the fold and that is where I am keeping him.

I am obviously a bit pissed that he has broken his phone, they are not cheap but it was only a matter of time really, as you should have seen the state of the bloody thing.  I am surprised it lasted as long as it did.  So a nice long wait for a new one won’t do him any harm at all.  While he waits he can think about how best to look after his belongings.

Give him his due though, he hasn’t even mentioned getting a new one.  Elsie on the other hand would have made my ears bleed by now.  Constantly droning on about the ‘life struggles’ of having no phone to keep her social media updated and Snapchat ‘streaks’ going.  I can hear her now!

By the way. I would love to know how many of you actually read the first 400 words and didn’t just skim straight down to the juicy bits?

So the date with J… Forgive me if we get off to a slow start as I’m not really sure how to explain it.

It was a successful date, well, at least in the grand scheme of online dating anyway although, not quite an expert yet in that field, I do feel that as far as first dates go it was a good one.

He picked me up as promised on the dot of 6.30 pm.  I was nearly ready.  Not quite.  I am always late.  I have stated this on my profile as I can be horrendously late sometimes and for some people this is a ‘deal breaker’, another new term I have learnt.  Anyway, he waited patiently while I decided what to put in my bag.

As a general rule of thumb, I don’t do bags.  I take my cash card, a lipstick and my key, who needs a bag for that? But in an effort to look sophisticated I take a bag, which to be fair is all limp and lifeless because it has fuck all in it and annoys me for the whole evening.

As we leave, with me all of a fucking dither and trying not to skid across my wooden floorboards in ridiculously high stilettos, (remember I have Shortism) he asks me how I’m feeling.  I try unsuccessfully, no doubt, to appear calm and nonchalant and say ‘I’m okay, I think!’ then promptly misjudge the doorstep I have been treading over for the last ten years, very successfully I might add, to launch myself down the drive.

It is not very elegant that running man thing.

He grabs me in a very James Bond way and pulls me a bit too close.  Jesus, it’s a warm night!  He manoeuvres me to the car.  I am in trouble if he let’s go of his firm grip.  Sack of potatoes comes to mind.

Getting in a fast car with a complete stranger is something I don’t do very often.  Honestly.  It was scary.  He is a man and one that was obviously quite keen to show his prowess at driving, speeding off down the road at break neck speed.  I did actually squeal at one point but still trying to remain calm and unflappable I dug my nails in to the leather upholstery and resigned myself to thinking that if I am destined to die tonight, I might as well do it in style.

The restaurant as expected was posh, well posh by my standards at least.  A very lovely restaurant though and quite busy which I liked.  There is something very awkward about being the only two people in a pub/restaurant and very obviously on a first date.  So we took a table by the window in the corner and cracked on.

He was all things that I expected him to be.

I was completely right about J.  He is from good stock. That is obvious.  He is well-educated, that is also obvious.  His hands look like they have never done a days work in their lives.  I have more calluses than he does but then I do have to mow my own bloody lawns.  The most danger he probably comes in to contact with on a daily basis, is a paper cut from a broadsheet?

He clearly has his shit together.

I was worried before we met that he would be too posh for me.  I would not go so far as to say I am common but I am definitely not in his league.  My friend and I were joking by text and I told her I was worried about him being a bit to high brow and not being able to relate to his ‘dinner party’ friends.  She just scoffed at me and reminded me that I am me; take it or leave it.  Her actual reply was…

‘Wot u on about u ‘ave eye brow friends, anyway he might like a bit of rough!’ – That, just about says it all.

She also reminded me that we were way off dinner parties yet and to just take it as it comes.  There is no deadline here.  Let’s see whether we like each other first before we worry about me making an entrance as the star guest at his December Ball.

I am drifting.

We got on well.  I expected we would as I felt like I knew him already.  I was nervous as hell and a bit girly and smiley all evening, which if you know me is hard to believe.  If there is one word I would not use to describe myself, it is girly.

In all it was a really good evening we seemed to have a lot to talk about, he was very interesting and I found his conversation quite stimulating, if I’m completely honest, that wasn’t all I found stimulating but I’m keeping it clean.  My mother will probably read this.

He is ‘not my type’ though.  I know, loud groans all round.  I said before I don’t have a type but I suppose as far as attraction goes, I do.  I have a thing about hair, in the way that I like my men to have some.  He doesn’t, well not much anyway. Can I let this bother me?  Probably, yes.  Should I?  No, probably not.

I like a messy looking bloke, you know the sort that is potentially going to be the worst kind to get in to a relationship with.

Why is it not possible to find a messy looking bloke who has all the other things as well?

I have said before that I do believe a lot of things can make a person attractive but as previously stated you have to want them and I mean want them.  In that sexual, oh my god just rip my knickers off kind of way.  Having said that once that feeling has passed and generally it does, to a certain extent, you must have something left between you, that will keep you fulfilled and happy and still enjoying great sex.  This, for me at least, seems to be the hard bit.

Some of my friends have these relationships, granted only a few, as I think they are rare but I want one.  I don’t think I have ever felt like that about anyone yet.  I have a tendency to confuse great sex with love and it is not the same.  Nice as it is.

I don’t think I can honestly say I have ever been in love.  Lust yes, love, I don’t know.  How do you know?  I question that all the time.  Is love different things to different people?

It is a lot to do with me.  I do give off a bit of a hard act image and while I am soft inside as are most people, it is possible that I am just generally attracting the wrong type of man because of the way I portray myself.

Anyway I digress, again.

The upshot of the date is that, I like him.  He fancies me, he told me that straight away, almost.  It seems my friend may have been right.  Whether long-term, we will have enough in common to sustain a relationship, however casual, remains to be seen.

Maybe we don’t need to have things in common?  The thing I am probably most attracted to about J is that he is his own man.  He has a life that runs perfectly well without me in it, I like that.  He wants me but doesn’t need me.  I feel the same way.

When he dropped me home.  He kissed me.  I was surprised by this, as him being from good stock and all, I thought he would be a bit reserved.  He wasn’t at all.  While he wasn’t pushy and trying to cop a feel, he did indeed let me know what he wanted.  It was a very nice kiss, he has very soft lips and he was firm but not invasive.  I liked it a lot and as the tingling sensation in my belly started to travel South, I desperately tried to bring myself back to reality.

I forced myself to get out of the car and lock myself in the house so as not to turn in to a complete harlot.

We have arranged another date and we are still texting.  The texting thing, I thought, would wear a bit thin after the date, it hasn’t.  It has got worse.  We are still texting all the bloody time and until the early hours.  It is getting a bit naughty now mind but still only sometimes and still along with lots of other general chit-chat.  I am also still grinning insanely and often.

The tension between us is building, rapidly…

 

 

 

Insane grinning…

To say that I have been a little anxious about this next post is an understatement.

Going back to work on Thursday was terrifying. I love my job, I have said it many times and I love the people I work with (well, I have to say that now, as they are all reading this probably) but I was dreading the reaction to everyone knowing about the blog.

Most of my colleagues are on fb so of course we are friends and while I am not usually a serial poster on fb and they know bits and pieces about my life from that and general chit-chat in the office, they don’t know everything. However, now I am exposed as a blogger, or wannabe blogger, it is all out there for the picking.

The fear is that you will be rubbish at it and everyone will laugh at you, rather than with you.

To my surprise everyone was very nice about it all. Why I was surprised I don’t know, on the whole they are all very nice people but unlike most of the people who may or may not read this blog, I will see these people almost every day. This does put a certain amount of pressure on you to A: to be funny, B: to be nice (especially about people you will see) and C: to remember you are not a celebrity… yet! ;

Anyway lets move on.

I am, once again calm, well as calm as I ever am.  As all my dates are over.  Thank Christ. I lost weight this week and I am pretty sure it was anxiety related.  Not sleeping/eating and by the time I got around to going on my date with J Thursday, I looked like a bag of spanners.  Although most of that is his fault to be fair as texting until 2 am doesn’t usually lead to a restful night’s sleep.

I feel bloody dreadful.  Recently I have had to start using reading glasses.  An age thing apparently, although who wants to admit that? It is mostly for close up work, small writing etc.  However, this week they have been permanently attached to my face as my eyes are hardly open!

Even now I am struggling to focus.  I did though, sleep marginally better last night (Fri).  I think from relief that I had finally got to the end of the week and had now met all of the potential husbands, ‘expertly’ suggested by the dating site and for now (mostly because I have refused to log in for a week), there are no more waiting in the sidelines!

Oh, just thought, I should probably send an email to the dating site to advise them of my progress so far, as their experts don’t seem to quite know what I am looking for!

So let me tell you about my dates.

On Wednesday I met T, it was a bit of a rush to say the least.  I had to take the kids to my Mum’s and they both had youth club so I couldn’t collect them until 6.30 pm, then had to drive to Mum’s and back as T had decided he didn’t want to meet locally (he lives in same town as her, pretty much), nearly always a bad sign. Apparently, he didn’t want to bump in to anyone he knew.  Visions of The Kray twins popped in to my head at that point, not sure why.

I wasn’t sure if he was worried I would look like a monster and just to be on the safe side didn’t want to have to introduce me to anyone or if he was a ‘proper face’ and couldn’t go anywhere without trouble following close behind.

Knowing my luck it was probably the latter.

So you can imagine my relief when on arriving at the pub he was alone and not flanked by two suited men with shotguns and pockmarked faces.

We introduced ourselves in the same awkward fashion as is required on a first date and debated if a quick peck on the cheek was necessary.  I was inclined not to.  In all honesty it was a fairly average, nondescript date.  He was a fairly average and nondescript man. I’m not saying he was bad but I’m not saying he was good.  We seemed to chat okay and conversation was fairly easy.  He seemed funny and relaxed… but… and let’s be honest, you knew it was coming; he was not for me.

There was nothing about him that made me think anything at all. I wouldn’t say bored, just not enthralled. Am I expecting too much? God knows!

He was 37, never married, no children. Kind of gave the impression that he had not really had many relationships (I know, I should be grateful after last Saturday’s gigolo) but he wanted someone to have a full on relationship with.  He was lonely.  At an age where most of his friends are probably married/settled, starting families. I can’t and don’t want to make a commitment like that to anyone.

We are looking for different things. I won’t say I am not looking for a relationship of sorts, but the kind that is casual to a certain extent and as and when you are both available with no pressure on either side.  Still exclusive but not necessarily with all of your extended family involved in the relationship with you.

I’m probably not making any sense at all but I know what I mean. I think.

So, after an okay evening we decided to call it a night.  He said he liked me and wanted to see me again.  I said, all of the above and to avoid any more conversation he said, he would text me. Great.

He tried for a couple of days to get me to meet him again but I was not having any of it. So as politely as I could I re-explained all of the above and I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.

Now, I know this will sound big-headed and don’t take this the wrong way but it was obvious he fancied me.  I am not insinuating that I am in any way akin to Claudia Schiffer but I can hold my own.  However, men are much more susceptible to looks than women.  I hope this does not offend any of my male readers, few that they are, when I say that with men it is usually a case of, Yep. I would!  Then decide after if she can hold a conversation or not, or even if that matters.

I know, before everyone gets all uppity, that is a sweeping statement but true in most cases, in my opinion.  However, although it is true that women are just as easily turned on by looks, especially, hot, dark ones, we do generally need to feel like there is a smidgen of a connection going on.  Even if it is miniscule.

I feel I should add here, that for those of you who knew me in my ‘repping days’ I was drunk, often!  Nothing further to add your honour.

This was unfortunately not the case with T.  There was also the issue of him not having had children. He may or may not want children but I, most certainly, do not.  I am having life struggles with the two I already own. The teenage years are like a field of land mines at the age of 45 and I certainly don’t want to be navigating it again at the age of 60! No, just no.

So luckily, depending on how you view the world, I had one date left to go.  Yep.. the date with J.

So giddy with excitement was I about this bloody date that I had almost made myself sick.  I thought I was going to have to cancel on the morning as I couldn’t function properly, eyes still not working, looked fucking terrible from lack of sleep and hadn’t eaten in almost 36 hours.  My stomach was full of acid and had started to become extremely anxious so what was left promptly made its way to the bottom of the toilet every couple of hours or so. Gross, I know but I want you to feel this.

How is this even remotely possible?  To be so completely consumed by someone you have never met.  Normal? I don’t bloody think so.  Exciting? Fuck me, yes.

Will it remain this exciting? Unlikely.

In a funny sort of way I didn’t want to go on the date because what if it didn’t live up to expectations and although we had both agreed ‘by text’ that we obviously could not expect too much and there would be no pressure on either of us to have to like each other, it was also obvious that we both wanted to.

I have invested heavily into this texting, my body is testament to that.  I can’t have gone through this whole week feeling the way I have to then be left with nothing at the end of it.  I wont allow it.

I have been laughing out loud to myself.  Smiling like a half-wit at some of the things he says and grinning stupidly at the wall, while sitting on my own in fluffy pyjamas.  I am completely smitten with his chat.  We have spoken on the phone and while he does not sound like Gerard Butler he doesn’t sound like Minnie Mouse either.  He tells me he has never been a great texter and so he is finding it quite amusing that he now wants to text all the time. While I on the other hand feel like a crack addict, who is just sitting waiting for the next fix.

At this point it might be good to remember, I am 45 years old, bitter about the whole ‘love’ thing and cynical to say the very least.

I am soooo freaking freaked out by it all and now it is here, the date I mean. I t is Thursday (well it’s not, it’s Saturday but you know what I mean),  I am going to meet him and I have even agreed that he should pick me up, from my house!

I know.  It goes against everything you hear and read about online dating.  Buddy almost had a bloody heart attack when I told her and we had to have an emergency security meeting at work during lunch but the need to have a drink this time, far out weighed any grain of sense I had left.

…and so as I waited for J to pick me up and tried desperately not to throw up, I had absolutely everything I could cross, crossed…

…to be cont’d

 

 

 

 

 

Give me strength or give me Gin…

… but for Gods sake give me one of them!

I do not usually blog so soon after the last one but I have had one hell of a night/morning since my last post. Which as you know was only yesterday.

I have fallen in love. Lost a child. Broke a fingernail (this is an issue in case you were wondering), I have a bloody date on Wednesday and it is not just broken, it is no longer. Just skin in fact, no nail at all and the skin that is there is blood-red and sodding sore. Then to top it all, I shared my blog (this blog) on my fb profile.

I know you might be thinking that is ok but is it? I have friends on there. Is now the right time for them to know that I am a completely fucked up wreck. Well if it’s not it’s too bloody late.

I like to give the air that I have my shit together and I am certainly not a one for hanging my dirty laundry out to dry, so to speak. I feel vulnerable and exposed and a just a little bit nervous about the reaction to it all.

Up until today I had a whopping 14 readers all of whom I don’t know (except the buddies of course), who I have to say are my proof readers and spellcheckers (they do not trust me not to go too far), or at least one of them doesn’t. She worries and to be fair that is probably a good thing as sometimes I do need a lid.

Don’t get me wrong I am grateful for my 14 readers and I have to admit I was wondering how you grow your audience. I have now found out! You have to share it and be prepared for people you know and those you don’t to see behind the scenes, to know all the things about you that you generally don’t share.

Obviously, it is up to you what you write and how much you share but if you are going to do something like this I suppose it has to be real..ish! I won’t say that some things may not be embellished, after all who doesn’t love a good story. On the whole though, I hope it will be true to life and currently my life is hard bloody work.

This may change and one day my tales will be dull and not exciting at all but until then I hope that you all at least enjoy a good read if nothing else.

It is weird to have it all out there but I am going to go with it and see what happens. Although I am a bit scared about going back to work on Thursday!

So feel free to share it amongst your friends if you want to, comment and let me know what you all think. Although it goes without saying I only want people to say nice things.. this isn’t a debate… 😉

In other shocking news today. My son who still thinks he is an adult has been missing all morning! He had a sleepover yesterday at his friend’s house and apart from a hasty call at 8 am this morning to tell me he was going to the skate park in town, why do boys get up so bloody early? Have a lie in for heaven’s sake it’s the holidays, he hadn’t been heard of since. I was supposed to pick him up at 12.

Anyway at 2 pm I still hadn’t heard a word from him. Called; phone is switched off. Messaged, several times, no response. By 2.30 pm I am wondering if I should be worrying. I am not a worrier by nature. I have a naive tendency to think that everything will somehow just be ok. Then the landline rings, it is Tom.

This very sheepish voice says ‘Hi Mum, I’m at the Health Centre because my phone is dead and I couldn’t call you, can you come and get me?’

No! I’m not coming to get you. I don’t want you back. You are going to be the bloody death of me and I am too young to die. You are 11 son. I need to know where the bloody hell you are.

It was all I could do not to paste him up the wall when I got there. If it wasn’t my place of work I think I might have done. It was the hardest I have ever tried to be a reasonable, rational, responsible mother, instead of the raging mad, bat shit crazy one I feel like.

He looked at me like he knew I was going to lose it and knew instinctively that he should probably keep quiet.

Old images of my mother swatting me around the head when I was a similar age and shouting at me in front of loads of people filled my head and in that split second I knew exactly why she had done it.

We walked to the car in silence. Then it hit me. He did do the right thing. He absolutely should go to the Health Centre if he is stuck, or if something happens and he needs help. The alternative is him panicking about how he is going to get hold of me and worrying about talking to strangers.

We chatted in the car before coming home and he looked at me with those bloody eyes of his and all was forgiven. ‘I know you hate me, he said’ Jesus. Tom, I do not hate you, I worry about you, all the time. I need to know that you are safe and being sensible and I want to give you the freedom to be with your friends but you have to understand how hard it is for me not to worry all the time. I worry from the moment you leave the house until the moment you come home. If I had my way you wouldn’t go anywhere, ever.

It is becoming increasingly clear to me that I am struggling to cope. As the kids get older the challenges just become bigger, more worrying. I feel like I have less control not more.

The other issue that is making me very anxious today is the fact that I have completely fallen hook line and sinker for J. This distresses me a great deal as I haven’t even laid eyes on the man yet! What the F*** is happening to me. Where did my sanity go? Oh I forgot, I don’t seem to have any at the moment.

I kid you not, I can barely eat and I can’t sleep. The texting thing has got way out of control and I have no idea where we go from here. We have been texting for a week. We can’t meet till Thursday as that is the first time we are both free and I just have this feeling in my gut that the disappointment I felt Saturday will be nothing compared to how I will feel if it turns out that J is not the, funny, smart, sexy bloke that has been texting me for the last week.

Last night we were texting until 1.30 am. It is the kind of texting that is addictive. Good witty stuff that has you actually laughing out loud and smiling like a goon, while sitting on your own, in your fluffy pyjamas, pretending you are a sex goddess. It gets a bit rude in places but more innuendo than blatant rude and it is flirty and then serious again.

I don’t think I have ever enjoyed something so much since, well, I can think of lots of things but I probably shouldn’t go there, anyway lets just say I haven’t felt such a buzz in ages.

You might think this all sounds very positive and it does but what will happen after Thursday? My heart will be broken and I will have to start all over again with someone else! I can’t do it.

I’m falling apart at the seams, my life is unravelling before my eyes. I should like to go back please to the time before my son started secondary school and before I drunkenly agreed with my friend that online dating would be a good idea and actually, Oh sod it let’s go back further than that… to a time when I was young, free and single….. can’t I please, just start again?

 

 

 

 

First date…

Well it happened… I had my first date Saturday!

The excitement that preluded this meeting with a complete stranger, whom I had only exchanged a few dozen messages with, almost equals the disappointment I feel after the event.

Still I have the first one under my belt and now I can move onwards and upwards, hopefully, definitely…?

So to kick things off, I had three options for a date on Saturday. I know it could have been worse, could have been better but definitely could have been worse. At least I had an option, originally I was supposed to be going out with T from Kent, 37 but I took a curve ball at the last-minute and swapped him for P from Surrey, 49, who seemed much more chatty and down to earth. Which in all fairness he was, chatty I mean.

I really wanted to go out with J from Sussex, 45 but he was busy, dinner party apparently, so we have arranged a date for later in the week, which I have to admit I am really looking forward to but more about him later.

So after much excitement and whooping from the buddies during  previous lunch breaks about the impending date we set a time and place to meet.

The thing with first dates is usually you need a drink. I needed a drink. I don’t drink a lot but I needed a drink like I have never needed a drink before at about 6.30 pm and was seriously debating whether a good glug or three of neat Vodka would hinder me in any way.

You really have no choice but to drive. You usually meet half way it seems, as this is considered safer, who for I’m not sure. Obviously, you don’t want the date to pick you up, this isn’t 1976, when there were no crimes of any kind against women, you didn’t fear someone stalking you the day after as they knew where you lived and of course men were much less sexist than they are now..  ??

So, stone cold sober, I drove myself to the restaurant, in the dark and met a complete stranger in a car park. Did I feel safe, not really but I suspect that I wouldn’t have felt any safer in 1976 so things have not really progressed. However, the plus side of going on a date in 1976 is that you would have been able to drive yourself there drunk! *Drink driving was all very acceptable then.

*Not that I am saying this is right, of course. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do not need to have a drink as a general rule of thumb, which is just as well as where I live I have to bloody drive everywhere. It’s a nervous thing. All in your head I imagine, you feel that with just one drink inside you that you will be the chatty, charming, flirty girl the guy has been talking to for the last few days, whereas, without it you will just be a cardboard cut out of yourself; straight, boring and unable to maintain eye contact.

The pub itself was very nice and luckily quite busy. As there is nothing worse than trying to make small talk in a very quiet pub, where everyone thinks your conversation is more important than having one of their own. We got a drink and found a table by the fire. Yes fire. I am glad I only had a thin blouse on as I don’t think it is really open fire weather at the moment. It is still very mild out there.

After an hour I thought I might look a bit lopsided as the bones in my left side had started to melt.

I am going to be brutally honest now and say that he was not as nice looking as I expected him to be. I know, beauty is only skin deep. We all tell ourselves that on a regular basis but let’s be honest a bit of something easy on the eye helps, doesn’t it?

I think a lot of things make a person attractive but you must have something to start with.

He was and I am trying to be polite so forgive me if this comes across as impolite, ‘a bit rough around the edges’. Most of us women all say we like a bit of rough but we mean in a tough, tattooed, throw you on the floor kind of way not like a drug dealer from Shameless.

He was tattooed and to be fair I liked that but he was skinny in a malnourished way and looked like he hadn’t slept for a month. In all fairness he probably works hard, as he told me he works away a lot and he seemed to do a very manual job but he just looked like he had seen better days. It seems he also parties hard which could be a factor. He had dabbled in some substance use and told me that he had to leave the last town he lived in because someone was ‘after’ him.

At this point I thought, hold on a minute, this guy doesn’t like me. He is clearly doing everything he can to put me off. Maybe, as soon as he saw me he thought, oh good god no, she is not my type at all? How can I get rid of her without actually telling her she is an ugly old boot.

After about an hour it was becoming increasingly obvious to both of us that we were not really gelling.  For me, I think it was the bit where he told me he had four kids, with four different women and some Grand-children somewhere, out there, that put the final nail in the coffin.

We parted company and out of politeness both agreed to text once home. We didn’t.

Once home, I duly notified Buddies that all was well and I hadn’t been rolled up in a shag-pile carpet and left by the side of the road for the foxes but that the date was a bit of a disaster. Never mind they texted, on to the next one…  if only I can face it.

All is not lost though, well not yet. It is the beginning of the week and I have two more dates lined up. I can’t believe I just typed that sentence. I have two, yes two, dates this week. No, I haven’t given my children to Social Services, they are here alive and well, for now. They are though going to Granny’s again Wednesday as it is half term, again and I have to work some of it. So as well as work I will be indulging in a little bit of pleasure too… wouldn’t that be nice!

At the moment we are texting. J and I have been texting for what seems like an eternity and it can get a little bit taxing at times. It’s that whole, trying to be nice all the time and seem like you have a great sense of humour, while also being intelligent. It is tiring.

As you know I swear, I probably think I am funnier than I am and I can be a tad sarcastic, trying to keep all that contained is hard. I am also feeling a little bit sexually frustrated, this is not helping my restrained texting at all but so as not to sound like I am a complete tart I am reigning it all in. Soon I fear it might all come out and probably at the most completely inopportune moment.

For now though, I like him. He seems, oh.. who am I trying to kid, who bloody knows how he seems. I thought the last one seemed ok and look where that got me. I am excited and I am looking forward to meeting him but who knows if I will be pleasantly surprised or bitterly disappointed after?

Got to dash… the texting has started!

 

 

 

 

 

 

That festive feeling…

I’m feeling all Christmassy. It’s a bit hard not to, it is everywhere already. The trouble is it usually means I peak too early and then by the time it’s here I wish it was over already.

Elsie is already trying to decide what date would be best to erect the Christmas tree and Tom has written three letters to Santa (who, I might add he has never actually believed in) and left them under my pillow. Does he think I’m Santa?

Even from a young age Tom was never a believer in anything magical, which quite frankly I was completely astounded by, often.

I can remember him losing first tooth and the long and very complex discussion we had about the tooth fairy. How does she get in? Well she is magic and very, very tiny, I tell him, she can fit through almost anything? How does she manage to carry a tooth then? She turns it in to fairy dust so it is like powder and very light. Where does she live, how can she get to all the children in one night? There are lots of tooth fairies not just one, they train very hard to become a tooth fairy it is a very special job. Where does she get the money from? Oh for gods sake it’s real ok…. just go to sleep!

I have always believed. As a child I wanted to believe in everything magical from Cinderella (granted this is a somewhat tarnished fairytale now), to witches, pixies and well, fairies in general. Father Christmas? Goes without saying doesn’t it?

Elsie is her mother’s daughter and even at the age of 14 will not actually say out loud that Father Christmas doesn’t exist. Just in case.  Maybe it’s a girl thing and we just want to believe that all these things are real.

When Elsie was little she absolutely believed in fairies and believed that one day she would be a fairy. She was rarely seen without a pair of wings stuck to her back and I sometimes worried that one day she would throw herself out of the window just to see if she could actually fly. It’s a time I look back on with very fond memories.

I did all those things that parents do. Little letters in the tiniest writing from the tooth fairy. Replies from Father Christmas, not typed ones from companies, hand written ones on burnt edge paper in gold pen and always used the same pen for their special present from Santa. Always the same gold paper and green ribbon every year without fail and every year Tom said ‘thanks Mum’!

There was always a small handwritten note inside the present to make it perfectly clear that this special present was from Santa not from Mummy. Elsie always squealed with delight at the thought of her special present, she fell for it for years and I loved it. Tom on the other hand was less than convinced. He was the sort of boy who needed to go on ‘The Polar Express’ but of course that’s never going to happen, is it?

Once you lose that belief in all things fairytale you are officially a grown up and let’s be honest who wants to be one of those!

Tom has a very expensive Christmas list this year but I don’t think it is particularly hard for children to rack up a list that enters easily in to the four to five hundred pound mark these days. He wants a custom scooter. The one he showed me is worth more than my car and as for the trainers, well.. that’s a whole other mortgage!

So in an effort to get ahead of the game I have started my shopping already. Yes, it’s early but I, one: can’t afford to leave it all to the last-minute, not if we want to eat as well and two: I hate shopping. I know, unusual for a women but true none the less.

I can honestly say there are not many things I generally dislike but I seriously hate shopping. I don’t even do my food shopping in an actual supermarket, I have it delivered. Not because I can’t be bothered or don’t have time but because shopping brings out a side of me that not many people should have to see.

People say they ‘enjoy’ shopping or love going to ‘have a browse’ around the shops. Why? No one ever looks like they are enjoying themselves while they are shopping, in fact most people look like they would rather be at the North Pole in a swim suit than trudging around a busy shopping centre spending money on things they don’t need.

I am not one of life’s browsers. I have a list, I go in, I get the things on my list and get air lifted out as soon as is humanly possible. I won’t say I don’t deviate from my list because I do. I am not adverse to treating myself or picking up a little something for the home but it really does have to grab me and quickly or I will walk away.

I can think of one hundred things I would rather do than shop, so if I don’t get it done early, it wont get done because the closer it gets to Christmas the busier and less friendly the towns’ become, the more time I will be spending at home in the warm.

Exciting times at work this week… We have booked the Christmas Party!

Now that does put me in a good mood. I love a party but I especially love the Christmas Party. What’s not to love it’s free food, drink and entertainment, in the shape of a cabaret (and very drunk staff), what more could you ask for. It’s hilarious.

We always do a ‘secret Santa’ which is even more hilarious still and there is much dancing, laughing and merriment. The secret Santa is the cause of much debate at work. People are always trying to opt out, which is absolutely not allowed. It is compulsory I’m afraid. I make the rules.

It’s supposed to be fun. It doesn’t matter if the person who picked you got you a bath sponge and some body wash, they are not saying you smell. They probably had no clue what to get and thought it would at least be useful. Please don’t take it so personally.

Last year one of the girls got a bottle of shampoo, granted it was an expensive bottle but it was shampoo. She was not happy. Doesn’t she wash her hair? I wash my hair, not very often as it’s a bloody mop but I wash it. I would never buy a shampoo that cost more than a couple of pounds so a nice expensive one would be a bit of treat wouldn’t it?

I am however sad about one thing. This year it has fallen a week later than normal and it is buddy’s birthday that weekend. She will not be coming. I can barely write it down, as it makes me sooooooo very sad.

I can not imagine going without her, I do hope she is reading this and feeling terrible about deserting us for her own Birthday party! I mean seriously, priorities right?  😉

The three of us, known as buddies are inseparable at work, we are kindred spirits, my life is definitely better for having them in it, even if it is only for a few hours a day. It is a miracle though that we haven’t been sacked for laughing or swearing or being completely mischievous (which by the way, they would blame me for), although that is not entirely true, of course.

In fact the other day we were in the tea room and someone came in to ask us to keep the noise down we were laughing so much. Proper belly laughing, the kind that is good for your soul. I love them and work would not be the same without either of them.

It is rare to find people who you truly connect with in life but even rarer in the workplace.

I am still clinging on to the hope that she will change her mind and dump her family and friends in favour of a night of debauchery at the Christmas party. However, I fear we may be the ones losing out.

….. just as an added extra Tom is standing next to me at the moment twittering on about his day and has just come out with ‘well you wont believe it I had Maths today and I wasn’t expecting that, it really ruined my day’.

He has the memory of a goldfish that one which I’m afraid he does get from me!

 

Dating update…

It’s Sunday morning and I’m up early. The sun is out already and it looks like it will be a lovely autumnal day. So as the sun streams through the kitchen window and I enjoy my first coffee of the day I thought I would update you with the dating thing.

I don’t think it will take long as there is not a lot happening.

After deciding not to follow-up on a NSA with R…31 from Sussex and politely declining the offer of pretty much the same with an even younger lad who lived a bit to close for comfort. So close in fact that it is quite possible I know his mother. Imagine that!

In fact in the first week or so I had several offers of sex from young men/boys the youngest of whom was 18. Eighteen, FFS! 

I have children not much younger. He is only a few years older than Elsie. I really do hope Tom doesn’t feel the need to join an online dating site when he is 18. I hope that he will be a bit more sociable than that, have a life and friends and quite frankly, do it the old-fashioned way.

Is there something about my profile that was giving off the wrong ‘vibe’ or do these lads just think that every single woman past 40 must be desperate and gagging for it. I think probably the latter and although the idea of being someones Mrs Robinson is appealing in some ways I really would like a boyfriend, (urgh, I hate that word) who I know where he is at and what he is doing and at 18 I really don’t think you do.

I want a man. I have had flings in the past and enjoyable though they are they are bereft of any emotion or fun, that is not held in the bedroom. Once you have agreed on a non committed relationship you are stuck there, you are not allowed to change your mind or to become attached in any way. It is about the sex and nothing else.

A few years ago when my children were much smaller I got tangled up in a relationship with a married man. I know! I’m not proud but it is what it is.

He was an old friend I knew from childhood, I had always liked him and when he contacted me I knew that I would not be able to say no. He also knew this. I knew he was married, we have mutual friends so I also knew he was a serial cheater and was not likely to be around for long.

We met once sometimes twice a week for sex, looking back on it now I think I must have been completely bloody barking but at the time I just liked him and I enjoyed the sex and in the back of my head thought that this could, maybe, possibly turn in to something. It didn’t. He could tell that after a while I wanted more and he dumped me, just like that.

I knew it was coming and I wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Now when I look back at it I see it for what it was and I don’t feel guilty or dirty, although I expect there are people out there who think I should but it is not what I am looking for now.  Not that I suppose you ever really do go looking for that kind of thing.

As a post script, the guy left his wife after a few more affairs and has since remarried one of his affairs and is now happily cheating on her. Who’d have thought it?

Anyway I digress.

So, after much procrastinating I decided I had better sort my profile out. I hadn’t actually written anything on my profile and had only added a picture. This was not deliberate, well it kind of was I suppose, it is just that it is so hard to write a profile about yourself. What do you say… ‘pick me, I’m nice, honestly’.

I decided to add some more pictures, little did I know this would take about three hours of my very rare day off. I am not a one for taking pictures of myself and even if I do take the odd selfie it is usually inclusive of someone else ie, my sister or my kids.  All my ‘normal photos’ of holidays and events etc have other people in them, funny that. So I resigned my self to the fact that I was going to have to take some selfies.

This is much harder than it looks. You have to get the angle right, no one wants to date someone with four chins. You have to have the right light as for some reason when the camera goes in to ‘selfie mode’ you instantly turn into someone with translucent skin and not in a good way. You also need to have make-up on and plenty of it. You have to sit straight and shoulders back to uncrease your chest (this probably doesn’t apply if you are young) and if you so much as move a muscle in between trying to hold the camera in position and trying to push the god damm button with your one and only spare digit at an almost impossible angle, you have failed, miserably.

Fifty six selfies later because as well as the actual pictures, I had to change outfit a couple of times (don’t want anyone thinking they were all taken on the same day) and only two past muster. Two. Fucking hell. What a waste of a day!

Now all I have to do is write about myself. Oh god, kill me now. I want my life back. My life before dating was easy, who cared what I looked like or slept in or woke up like, no one, that’s who. I had no one to impress. I was me. I like me, I am a nice person, I know I keep saying that but I am, honestly. I just don’t know how to get that on my profile and just saying I’m nice probably doesn’t cut it.

Anyway, suffice to say I did manage it. It took far bloody longer than it really should have done and I still only did the bare minimum. I looked around at a few profiles to get some ideas, call me a cheater if you want but I wasn’t, not really, as it seems everyone on the site is an extreme sports enthusiastic has a really high paid job, travels extensively and when I say extensively, looks like they are hardly ever in the country and has more hobbies than is reasonably possible to partake in.

I’m all for exaggerating the truth and bigging yourself up a bit but seriously.

I decided to do a little bit of a sarcastic twist on the ‘general’ profile blurb and just answer the generic questions set by the site. This seems to be going well as I have had some very sensible messages. Some a bit too sensible but for the moment I am not complaining… but watch this space.

I am in conversation with a very ‘seemingly’ nice 42-year-old from Surrey who is quite funny and hasn’t mentioned the S word once yet. He seems intelligent a little bit flirty but not too much and his grammar is good, I like that. He would like to meet this week and I think I just might you know.  He is however, 6″4 or something ridiculous, which at my dwarfish height is bloody ginormous.

I am also ‘talking’ to a few others but so far they are not progressing as quickly, some men are very backward in coming forward and others are just forward. Where is the man who sits in the middle of all this? For he is the one I am looking for…

 

Approach with caution…

This week has been a bit of an effort so far. At work I have been a bit grumpy, in fact I have been a bit grumpy for the last couple of days and not just at work.

Monday I had my period,  Tuesday night it had gone and now today it has come back again. I am normally not very pleasant when I have my period but I am even less pleasant when I don’t know if I have my bloody period or not!

After 30 years of having periods, they are really starting to get on my flipping nerves now. I try to control it, the moods I mean but there are always those couple of days where you actually think it would be better to stay indoors, just in case. The kids always threaten to move out (ha, I wish) and no-one quite knows whether they should approach or not.

On the plus side, we finally found a new lady, hoorah! She has never worked in a GP surgery before so provided we don’t leave her unattended for too long and ease her in gently, hopefully she will stay with us. I am training her tomorrow on the booking system let us all hope my mood has improved significantly by then.

She is worried she wont remember it all and there is a lot to remember, we have eight Doctors, three registrars, three nurses and three health care assistants, just their names will take a month to remember, never mind who does what and when and that’s without learning who works on the other two floors.

There has also been a bit of a debate about ‘protected time.’ In theory its a good idea. In practice it is hard to police. Generally the phones do not stop ringing, they ring all day from 8 am until we close and even then people just ring the out of hours service, if we were open 24 hrs a day people would still ring, constantly, for 24 hrs because something is always happening somewhere to someone.

Certain people need protected time to allow them to get things done. For example the prescription team only take phone calls at certain times of the day otherwise they would never actually do any prescriptions for people to chase them about.

However, people generally can’t quite get the hang of this. In all the years I have worked at the surgery we are still constantly telling people to ring between ? and ? for prescription queries or ? and ? for results, etc.

It is repetitive and frustrating and sometimes you just want to deal with it there and then because you know it will save you having to deal with it later but you have to stick to it. It is there to stop us from continually getting interrupted because when you are continually interrupted you forget things and leave things unfinished to look at something else and we cannot afford to have things like that happen. Mistakes can have a very high price indeed.

I really hope Sally makes it. She seems nice and caring and kind and it does seem daunting when you first start, overwhelming and you never think you will remember it all but of course you do and without even realising you have.

Tuesday night as I sat down at 9 pm to watch the last episode of Dr Foster with a lovely sweet cup of tea who should arrive at 9.05 but Elsie waving a form in my face.

On Tuesday I got home at 4.15 pm and had been home ever since. I cooked the dinner and we ate together, they cleared up as normal. We did home work together and passed each other many times throughout the evening, not once did she mention the form that she was now waving in my face while I was trying (in vain) to watch the last ever episode of one of the only TV shows I like.

I don’t watch much TV at home. I’m not really in to the soaps, my life is depressing enough, thank you but it seems that when I do find something I want to watch or there is a new drama on that I have become engrossed in, my children suddenly appear, as if they know that I don’t really want to have a conversation now and I couldn’t give two monkeys about what ‘Felicity’ did at school today or whether there will be snow at Christmas. I just want a bit of peace to enjoy the one hour that I have set aside for myself today. Can I have it? No I bloody can’t!

So now she wants to tell me about the school skiing trip. I, however, don’t want to hear about the school skiing trip. Firstly, it sounds bloody expensive and secondly, this is my time, my one hour of calm, go away!

Will she go away, no she wont. She is lamenting about how all her friends are going and she doesn’t want to be the only who isn’t going and the form has to be back tomorrow as its first come first served and what will she do if she is the only one who doesn’t get a place. Can she go, please, please.

At 9.20 pm I ungraciously give up trying to watch Dr Foster and resolve myself to the fact that I will have to watch it on bloody catch up again because I can’t get a minutes sodding peace and spend the next 30 minutes trying to persuade Elsie that she would hate skiing. It didn’t work!

Tomorrow I am laminating myself a sign for the lounge door which says…

‘This is the ‘protected time’ slot.

If you value your life and or Xbox/Loreal brow gel please do not enter. I will not be responsible for my actions should you disregard this message. You may however come back once this sign has been removed. 

 

Wednesday Tom has to come to work after school as his sister had dance club and I don’t finish until 5 pm. I am not keen on letting him go home alone, not because I worry about him (which I do) but more because he will eat all the food. I know this because we tried it once and there were no sandwich fillings left the next morning when I tried to make the packed lunches.

So, he uses this opportunity to go to the skate park for a couple of hours with his friends. After school he comes to me, dumps his things and buggers off again, after a belly of biscuits from the tea room.

Most of the staff now know he belongs to me and so he saunters around casually, like he owns the bloody place, charming everyone with his smile and butter wouldn’t melt eyeballs. Today he was wearing a fake Rolex… and telling anyone that would listen that he was going to be an underwear model when he is older! Heavens above.

I thought parents were supposed to be an embarrassment to their children not the other way around?

Apparently ‘Harry’ his mate can get fake Rolex’s where he used to live. Where did he used to live.. Peckham? Does he drive a three-wheeled van? How old is this boy? Then to top it of ‘some girl’ in year 8 said he is handsome enough to be a model. Oh please. Don’t you know I am struggling to contain this boy at the moment?

When I collected him from the skate park after work he throws his scooter in the boot slings himself in the front seat and we drive off to get Elsie. It is then he announces that the handlebars on his scooter are bent and so perhaps at the weekend we can go and buy another scooter… At this point I am trying desperately to remember he is my son and I love him because if I don’t keep telling myself this I am going to bloody kill him.

I remain calm thinking in my head that really how bent can they be. I’m sure it will last out a few more months, it will be Christmas soon after all.

When we arrive home and I actually see the scooter I quickly realise that this will not be the case. I don’t know what he did to those handlebars but whatever it was it was no accident. They are practically bent double and if he thinks I am buying a new one so he can destroy that too, he is sadly mistaken!

He is not happy about this but quite frankly I don’t care. Money does not grow on trees and it’s about time my children realised this.

… and as if by magic or some kind of ‘will power test from above’ Elsie has just appeared laptop in hand asking if she can have……… still it’s only 8.45 pm. Fifteen minutes till ‘protected time’… yeah right.

I am spending the weekend in bed. Period!