Tuesday, 22 November 2011


NOTHING has happened. Nothing good or interesting anyway.

Just a series of petty irritations and annoyances that have taken place in the last 48 hours. Monday morning arrived with another sizeable fox shit outside the front door for me to clean up, I have put on five pounds in ten days (I know I am shocked and also slightly in awe of myself), I spent an hour and a half tidying their stupid bedroom (Bea and G) so that they could play in there with their afterschool friends (one each - it was too much and I admit it was a bit over excitable of me) only for them to make the same amount of mess for me to tidy up all over again, my new iphone didn't arrive when it was meant to (that really is petty - it did turn up eventually - the only brightness on my bleak horizon), I washed a nappy which was mixed in with the washing and now there are millions of little gel crystal things all over my washing machine and the floor (I am too angry to hoover it up), I now can't get my iPad due to budget restrictions, Ted wee'd on the carpet two minutes before we were meant to be out of the door for the school run, Woody has been decapitated (the toy, not a child) and on Sunday the young girl in the beautician's at the end of my road told me that my cheap (in her opinion) moisturiser was no longer good enough because 'when we age' (OUCH) our skin becomes thinner, less elastic and drier.

To be honest that alone was enough to ruin my week. The problem with hanging around with people who are older than you on a day to day basis is that you become quite convinced that you are eternally young. It is only when faced with some spotty faced young skinned bitch at the end of the road that I realise that I am in fact, not a teenager or in my twenties anymore and that I am in fact properly ageing. Not that that Caroline Flack seems to mind - even if you don't know who she is or who Harry from One Direction is, the fact that she is 32 and he is 17 should be enough to make you feel queasy. It might seem ok if you don't know a teenage boy but I do - that is the same age gap as between me and my nephew and the very idea of going anywhere near any of his immature friends makes me feel exceptionally ill. I can only imagine that she is totally deluded over her birth age and in her mind she is a perpetual 18 year old, in which case it wouldn't seem that weird to be dating a person only a year younger than her. It is still totes G-R-O-S-S. Although oddly, not as freaky if he was a girl and she was a man. Although people weren't that keen on Billie Piper and Chris Evans when they married so maybe it still would be - but definitely less odd. Boys reach maturity at around 40+ and girls at about 17 so it makes more sense that way round.

I know all about Caroline and Harry because I have bought an obscene number of stupid 'celebrity' magazines in an effort to cheer myself up (The 'ageing' thing and me sacrificing my iPad for stupid arse Christmas has not had a positive effect on my mood). I also know Martine McCutcheon has put on two stone (BOTHERED), that Mark and Lauren are likely to get back together once a-bloody-gain when Mark gets out of the jungle and that poor old mad Fatima Whitbread had an incredibly horrific childhood. All of this is pointless trivia and is potentially rotting my brain - and I have evidence to back this up - today I forgot how to write my name. What the hell is that about? It might not be a brain tumour (my instant assumption) and it could just be because I had to actually write my name manually with a pen. I tend to do most things on my phone or my computer so I don't write my name a lot. I hope that's what made me ponder how many 'i's there were in my name and not a brain tumour or yet another side affect from being the wrong side of 30 to go with my thin and dry skin.

I am wallowing. I must stop. It is an unattractive quality and I don't need any more to go with my five-pounds heavier stomach and my thin and ageing skin. I apologise for my self indulgent wallowing. I shall make sure my next post is full of joy and glad tidings and fluffy bunnies.

(the spell check isn't working - if there are any mistakes just live with them)

I'm off. laters xx

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