Confessions of a Twentys Rep and a Club Rep out in London..

Many years ago, when I was a girl-around-town I had a night out in London with a group of friends.  We met a group of boys and sat huddled around a table in a trendy bar having fun and fighting each other for the attention of the gorgeous one. It was an outrageous night and as we got drunker, we were doing the best we could to get a date with Mr Gorgeous. My mate, the Club 18-30 rep succeeded in swopping numbers with Mr Gorgeous and boy, did she gloat. Good for her though, the best girl on the night won the prize.  The rest of us were a tiny bit jealous but had such a wicked night it didn’t matter.

The date was actually a disaster!  Club Rep met Mr Gorgeous the following week in a bar and immediately noticed something about him that none of us had noticed on a drunk dark night in the West End of London. She excused herself to go to the ladies to powder her nose, then swiftly ran away never to see Mr Gorgeous again! Ok it may not be politically correct, but there is a lot of pressure on young single women to look good, feel good and quite simply vanity and expectations get in the way of kindness and sincerity. The nicer things in life are more important to us as we get older. 

I told this story to the girls in the office this week to see what they would have done when they noticed that Mr Gorgeous was not as perfect as we had first thought. We had honest bitch that would have said, “sorry but this is just not going to work”. We had Coward Bitch that would have also made a very quick exit and me, who would probably have married the guy, loved him forever and had 2.4 children.

The moral of the story is: Do not judge a book by its cover.

The Girl is back in town.....

I want the life of Mrs Jones, my Friday night dream. She has got rid of her lazy arse husband, snogs her son’s oh-so-gorgeous mate (Billy’s eyes are to die for) and even has one of the Dads from the school gates going gaga over her. Okay, so the Dad is a total bell-end but he’s handsome and he fancies Mrs Jones.  She’s skinny, youthful and attractive and she’s 41. I would love to get some male attention, preferably from my husband, but if not him, anyone!  As long as it’s a red blooded male and at least a little bit hot that’s all that matters. I am craving romance.

Maybe botox and liposuction will help. Blue skies and sunshine would be nice. SAD syndrome is not attractive. Gloomy and dull is not sexy and my mood is matching the weather.

I have fun at the Emirates Stadium watching the Arsenal. How I used to crave a kid to take during my baron years as a goner.  I was a lone Arsenal fan during the nineties and noughties. I would stand next to a random child and sing football songs hoping nobody would notice that I was a dribbly-billy-no-mates.  All fellow Gooner buddies had long since grown up and found other interests. Yet my passion for red and white from my childhood days just never went way. That was until my own red haired beauty, Charlotte arrived in the world.

Well, my passion for Arsenal is back and I even found it touching that the result on Saturday was 1 nil to the Arsenal.

Arsenal Arsenal Arsenal

Help. I have SAD Syndrome!! Fifty Shades of Grey - I wish! There is just one shade of grey for the sky at the moment. Its damp, it’s miserable and I have not seen blue sky and sunshine for over a week. Is it the end of the world?

I have just about recovered from giving a speech at my sister’s wedding and making the big KT Cunstall Gaff. Sorry lass – you are great but I got my K’s in a twist as well as my knickers. Little Charlotte tried hard to steal the show at such a beautiful event; she flirted with all of the boys especially the photographer, she pulled off the buds of her flowers after about five seconds, got grass stains all over her pretty tights and dress and rugby tackled the beautiful bride and managed to get her to fall on her bum in her finery.

Jimmy Saville has managed to monopolize the news for the last month. What an absolute disgrace that was. I wrote to Dear Jim’ll when I was 10 with my best friend Sally. We wanted to host a chimpanzee tea party.  Thank goodness our request was declined. What I don’t understand is why these people did not come forward when he was alive! I can understand the vulnerable girls not speaking out, but what about all the people in authority? BBC Chiefs, medical professionals, charity chiefs, managers of schools – shame on you!!

I am still stressing about Charlotte going to school next year.  What on earth am I going to re work? How I long to be at the school gates to pick up my little terror.  Its life now I suppose so I shall just have to suck it and see.

I am watching the Arsenal tomorrow with my little nephew Luca; my first game in four years. I was up the duff last time I cheered on the Gunners.  My love of Arsenal (Ben aside) was the absolute passion of my life!  Liam Brady, Frank Stapleton, Charlie Nicholas and later on Bergkamp, Ian Wright and Thierry Henry. I probably can’t name more than three players now – little Luca will have to educate me.

My love affair with Arsenal began around 1979. I fell in love with Highbury, the long walk from Highbury Corner to the ground and the old men selling hot nuts.  My Pop Pops used to drive up there with half the kids in the street. I think it cost £3 to get into the North Bank.  I can still hear the noise now the moment I stepped out overlooking the pitch.  Those were happy days. Charlotte says she supports Arsenal – even though the kit will clash with her red hair. I hope I get the opportunity to take her to some games when she is a little bit older. For tomorrow, I will enjoy shouting from the terraces with Luca – lets just hope it’s a goal fest! I am so excited.

The Teacher and The Pupil

I don’t get time to watch the news but I am hearing whispers about the Maths teacher and the pupil running off to France together. It is an absolute disgrace. It is wrong. A grown man or woman should not have a relationship of that nature with a child. If you are under 16 you are a child, yet you can actually get married at sixteen, pass your driving test at seventeen and let alcohol pass your lips legally at eighteen. Is any of that in the right order?

When I was growing up, I remember a true love story that was exciting, glamorous and romantic. Bill Wyman, a Rolling Stone, fell in love with Mandy Smith who was just thirteen when they started dating. He was an ageing but awesome rock star, she was a beautiful chick. I was of similar age to her at the time and wanted to be her more than anything in the world. At sixteen, she married her lover. It transpired years later that they had slept together when she was fourteen. As if we didn’t know that anyway. It was a hot story back in the 80’s. The two of them were on the Terry Wogan show, the Russell Grant show, radio stations, all over the newspapers and though people were shocked, it was accepted. The girl’s Mother encouraged it; I believe she even set the two of them up. 

A few years later one of my Arsenal heroes, Graham Rix, fell in love with a fifteen year old girl. The relationship ended, the girl got angry and bitter as dumped women do and he ended up in prison, was put on the sex offenders list and labeled a peodo.  His football career was ruined. Yes, what he did was wrong, totally wrong, but why did this happen to Graham Rix and Bill Wyman was considered a hero. Was it acceptable for Bill, just because he is a Rolling Stone? 

In other races and religions, children get married at 13 and are become mothers well before their 16^th birthday. What is right and who are we to judge?  At seventeen, I dated a 26 year old.  I was still a child myself.  What man can resist a young woman in her prime? There is such a fine line here. I believe that the men that get in trouble are the ones that break the hearts. Revenge is bitter! I think I am ashamed to say that I feel a little bit sorry for Graham Rix.  Well, he did get his comeuppance.  Really, guys, you need to stick with someone your own age!!!

I love my toy boy Benny, but I certainly would not have been attracted to him when I was twenty and he was fifteen. 

Curiosity killed the....Hysteria

It has become a reality and scares the living daylights out of me, in addition to my fear of spiders; Charlotte is going to school! Not until September 2013, but ther forms have arrived, tours of the lcoal schools have been booked and the politics and hissy fits have begun - and that's just me.  I swore I wouldn't turn into an obsessive Mum but our nearest school has a bit of a rubbish reputation and I don't work five days a week for my only child to have a crappy education. So, I will try hard and do whatever it takes to get Charlotte into a decent school. There is actually nothing I can do. I have no idea how we have avoided bankruptcy with the cost of nursery so private school is out of the question. Maybe the good schools need a token ginger kid. All I can do is hope or win the lottery. I must buy a ticket!

Education and the growing knowledge of children fascinates me. I recently repeated a story to Ben in front of Charlotte about little "Billy". Billy's parents were watching a Piers Morgan interview with Roger Moore. Roger was asked if he slept with his leading ladies. He answered that he loved the blow jobs!  Billy's Mum and Dad won't tell him what a blow job is which is the right thing to do. At nine he is too young but he is asking Grandma, the neighbours and anyone that will listen to tell him. I just hope that Charlotte does not go to nursery with the same question. 

I recently learned a new thing myself.  The definition of the word Hysteria.  It is the name of a medical condition from the 19th Century. This "illness" affected many women. These days it would called PMT or sexual frustration.  The Doctors would cure the ladies by giving them a hand job until orgasm was achieved.  Wow, I would have been a willing patient to Dr Tappin who was my yummy GP when I was in my twenties.  Well, in the eighteen hundreds the Doctors did not get aroused by this. In fact, they got bored and developed tennis elbow, until the invention of the first Vibrator. To think that dildos were an electoral feather duster that  had gone wrong. I look forward to watching the film, Hysteria with the Inventor of the first sexual toy played by the very lovely and dapper, Rupert Everett. Ladies, it's one to watch.

Get me to the Church on time...

I had a truly fabulous time at a glorious Essex Wedding. I just can't stay out of the county at the moment and I still haven't bumped into Mark Wright.  The September sunshine allowed the ceremony to take place in a beautiful English garden of a classy Country Manor.  The guests looked stunning, the fascintors were colourful and I couldn't help noting a few pairs of Leboutons. I felt like I was witnessing Brad and Angie getting hitched and was looking out for the helicopters above but they were obviously out trying to get a glimpse of Kate M iddleton's boobies (disgraceful!). I needed a pee so badly throughout, thank god the pelvic floors have improved a bit since I have been bouncing  on my trampette.

The Canopes were pretty special as the bride and groom had their pics taken in the beautiful setting that is Braxted Park. I should have eaten more but was too busy to speaking to my new best friends!  I did however manage to fit in quite a lot of champagne that was flowing and flowing and flowing. The eight of us that formed a little group of loud and gobby recruitment consultants were getting pretty pissed. We desperately needed some food to soak up the alcohol that we were consuming quite rapidly. 

Our table, named Leeds Castle (nice touch Dave, after my wedding venue!!) forgot all about etiquette and wolfed down the bread rolls long before the delicious chicken and ham terrine arrived. The beautiful centre pieces of the tables were delightful and thank goodness included some grapes and apples as we were more than a little bit peckish before dinner. We weren't sure if we were meant to look at the fruit or eat it, but it was very yummy.

The food was amazing and very pretty - noveau cuisine  - is it still called that?  Gordon Ramsay would have been ;proud. The wine and champagne continued to flow. I have never been to a wedding with such generous portions of booze. 

Dave the groom looked nervous but dapper.  The Bride looked truly stunning, young, fresh faced, happy and in love. I think all women should be over 30 when they marry. It should be the law.  Rebbecca looked around eighteen in her bridal gown.

The Father of the bride said some nice words. I must learn from this as am doing the "Father of the Bride" speech at my Sister's wedding in two weeks time. OMG. I have to write a speech, rehearse it and lose around half a stone in a fortnight. EEEEKKK.

Dave showed off his true talents and sense of humour in top form.  Dave is a cross between Frank Spencer and Frank Skinner and I would pay to see him to Stand Up Comedy.  the Best Man's speech was not the worst in the world and Dave was a hard act to follow and I was truly interested in how long the emails were during the on-line courtship of David and Rebecca. He did very well.  Anyway it was time to dance!

Ben and I cadged a lift back to our hotel from my boss and his wife, who happen to be good and longstanding friends. Our five minute journey took more than half an hour.  Oh Satnav, why do we rely on you so much?  All we had to do was turn right and left and we would have been there not driving around some little dark Essex village and around and around then getting directions from the hotel porter and still got dropped off the wrong side of the A12. It was past midnight and there I am climbing over the central reservation with my dress hoisted up over my knickers.

We had a great time and David and Rebecca will have a wonderful future together that will last forever. I did ask Dave the next day if he had done "it" and he neither denied or confirmed. I am intrigued by the question of how many people shag on their wedding night. Apparently its only 17% according to my Battle of the Sexes Sex Quiz that I used to host when I was a Twentys Rep. I am ;proud to say that I am part of that 17% - shame I don't see much action these days, I better get that quiz out again from the loft.

Night night, time to start thinking about that speech...

Confessions of a Holiday Rep/Recruitment Consultant/Frumpy Mum....

Okay, so the week started out on a bad footing. Sunday Evening and Charlotte was settled nicely at Grandma’s. Ben and I had a peaceful and pleasant time watching the Paralympics Closing Ceremony. We were in bed around 11.30pm, pretty late for us. Half an hour later, Ben sat on the loo with liquid squirting out of both ends. I was livid at first thinking it was the result of one too many Fosters in the sun, then panicked in case it was from the BBQ at Grandma’s (god knows what she used to light the goddamn thing)! We would all be poisoned!! Actually, poor Ben was in a bad way and definitely had some kind of horrible bug. As he settled back to bed, our new neighbours, students from Betty Laine’s Dance school came back from the pub with about 100 of their friends. This quiet residential family street in Epsom had turned into Magaluf and even worse, these students are all so beautiful, its hard to hate them.  I did go downstairs in my sad pyjamas feeling older, fatter and frumpier than I ever have in my life, to have a word. Other neighbours took it a step further as the police turned up around 2.30am. Not a great start for them and very disrespectful behaviour on a school night – there I am being a frump again, but these days I seriously would rather just sleep!  

It has been a tough week at work and I am fed up with people having a pop at Recruitment Consultants. It is my chosen profession and not all of us are full of complete bullshit.  It is not my fault that if one of my clients is seeking a qualified financial adviser that I can’t help you get an interview because you are a waitress/hairdresser/police officer or school teacher even if you are good at adding up! 

Sometimes in my job every phone call turns to gold. In April I was the number 1 consultant in the company. At this moment in time our office is seriously jinxed. I can’t say that I’m dealing with idiots as that would not be fair. Maybe I am the idiot for wanting to be a Recruitment Consultant in the first place. Oh, if I could turn the clock back to 1995. Maybe I should have been a holiday rep for ever and stayed in Ibiza with Shaggy and Stevie Sideburns. 

Once again, my life is like Ground Hog day and I have never seen the film. After work its get home, make dinner, bath Charlotte, wash up, put Charlotte to bed. I am well trained. I even take the rubbish out and change light bulbs. Okay, I do the spotlights very badly and in places we have pieces of ceiling hanging out, but I do try. I am very trying according to my Benny Boy who is in the middle of writing a Best Man Speech for my sister’s wedding. He gets lots of ammunition for me. 

My best ranting is done when I am pre-menstrual.

Charlotte is enjoying pre-school and she is now in her second week of the Early Learning Centre at her nursery.  The first week there were tears every day when I dropped her off as she clung to my big fat juicy thigh. On Friday however, she cried when I picked her up as she was going to miss her friends over the weekend. I just can’t win.

Please show me the money god and let me place some candidates next week. Let the drought end so that I can shop in the new H&M in Epsom. That is all I ask of you. Amen.