It's my Birthday and I'll cry if I want to

I woke up to my four year old ripping open my cards and presents and singing Happy Birthday to herself.    She even managed to be the centre of attention during the evening of my 22 x 2 birthday celebrations by giving herself a haircut and then having a complete meltdown whilst running around with a big clump of ginger curls in her hand. God, she is a little sod but boy, I do love her.

The previous week, my super fit husband managed to look even more gorgeous and foxy after completing the 100 mile London Bike Ride. I reckon I burned even more calories and pulled more muscles carrying the Ginger One on my shoulders walking through the Surrey countryside trying to catch a glimpse of Benny Boy on his wheels around Box Hill.  We did see him chasing Boris Johnson (and eventually beating him by more than an hour, Yay).

I took Charlotte on a train ride to London to meet Daddy after the Bike race. Jesus, that was embarrassing.  She did some kind of Sporty Spice super flip getting on the grain and was caught in the arms of an absolute hunk whilst flashing her bum.  She then took a shine to a geek that I thought was superman in disguise and decided to land in his lap after a head stand.  But the worst part of this horrendous journey was when a guy boarded the train and Charlotte commented very loudly that he had a large nose.  When I told her off, she just said in a tone like a fog horn, “but Mummy, he has the biggest nose I have ever seen in my life”.  He may have looked like a gang member from the ‘hood but thankfully he got off the train at Vauxhall without pulling out a knife and stabbing me.

I sometimes think that I am not cut out for motherhood. Charlotte and I are best of friends and we have so much fun but we spend about 50% of our time screaming at each other.  I must not let her mirror my behaviour and we have made a pact to be nice to each other with shouting banned from our house.  Well, she started it. Na na na na na. Poor Benny Boy. He spends so much of his time peace-making between us and the phrase he uses often is a good one: “Don’t negotiate with a terrorist”.

My Beverley Hills Princess, KT17

My God, she is only four years old yet she had a birthday gathering with some of her closest chums fit for a Footballer’s Wife, is due a graduation ceremony at her nursery complete with mortar boards and certificates and a summer season full of parties.  This is more  full-on than when I was back in the Ibiza living the dream in the 90’s.

I visited the school she starts in September at the parents’ evening. It was a bit odd as everybody seemed to be best buddies. “What about me? Help. Don’t ignore me, I’m lovely”.  One little man did feel sorry for me as he seemed to be following me around. The three reception teachers are all lovely and Ben asked me to describe them.  One is a grown up Girl Guide, one looks like a bundle of fun (not said sarcastically) and the other looked very prim and proper and is probably a lap dancer at the weekend.  Guess who’s class Charlotte is in? Yes, the lap dancer.  Benny Boy is a bit excited about that and is acting like a horny teenager that has been caught with his pants down.  Well, he has to get his kicks from somewhere.

The Teacher was meant to come round on Tuesday evening for a home visit but she bloody well stood us up! A no show.. It happens to me all the time working in recruitment. When candidates fail to turn up without the courtesy of a phone call usually it’s because their Granny has died. I think one week around ten grannies kicked the bucket. Bless them and that old chestnut.

Anyhow, the Teacher not turning up was a bit of a disappointment. Poor Charlotte wouldn’t go to sleep in case she arrived. Well, Mrs J, did you give yourself a detention for that naughty behaviour? One hundred lines?  The cane, woops, I had better not mention that to Benny Boy in case he can’t control himself.

I am very sad that Charlotte will be leaving nursery after almost four years. She will be leaving her safe little bubble to enter the Big Bad World. The pleasure has cost us around £42,000 (ouch) but I must say it has been worth every penny. The nursery has fed her milk from a bottle, seen her crawl and walk for the first time, heard her first words and given her lots of cuddles and mopped her brow during various bugs and the Pox. It has been her second home and I think I am going to blub forever when she leaves. Is she ready for school? Hell, yeah but she will miss her bested buddies. She has grown up with little Aoife, they are as close as twins and she  loves little Sophie that looks like butter wouldn’t melt (but the two of them manage to scare the entire congregation of St Martin’s church). She lives her boyfriend Zaki but says she won’t marry him yet as he has not bought her a ring and being  married is horrible. Woops, Benny Boy and I must be nicer to each other and not ruck so much about whose turn it is to take out the bins!

My Husband has had a personality transplant

Thank goodness that is over for another three years. Half an hour the doctor kept me waiting and I became a little bit nervous about the important but totally undignified procedure and just waffled away. I asked about the menopause and realised that I don’t actually have any symptoms apart from mood swings and that could be just down to Ben and Charlotte winding me up.

Our new boy at work is fab and has totally changed the dynamics of the office. It is no longer a Mothers’ meeting as we have made way for some testosterone. He says that me, Margo and Janet Half Job (our office names) are moody wenches and he comes to work to get away from his wife’s rants and moans. Ha Ha and please stop taking the mickey out of my lunchtime “lie back and think of England” procedure as it won’t be long before you have to go to the doctor and have his finger stuck up your backside checking for walnuts. Well, all I can say is what a great life we live in that so many illnesses can be prevented from not very nice but essential health checks.

Benny Boy has had a personality transplant since becoming teetotal. It reminds me of a Tony Parsons’ novel that I recently enjoyed about a middle aged copper that inherited the heart of a nineteen year old Rapper. The Wife had to learn to love a completely different person. Ben is more sensible, he no longer snores, is more serious and he goes to bed very early. Maybe he doesn’t fancy me anymore?  After all, it’s the first time in around twelve years that he has seen me without his beer goggles.

50 shades too late

Happy Anniversary Darling. Thank you for my lovely dinner from Sainsbury’s finest range. That definitely was restaurant quality, shame the rest of the evening wasn’t.  Well why change the habit after nine years of marriage. I hope you are enjoying your silly tennis match on the laptop between Queen Victoria and John Lennon. I’ll just blog away and read my book, Fifty Shades of Gray (yes, I know, I am about two years too late) and dream of Christian Gray.

Christian Gray. Mmm, what a babe, but what a complete dick.  Well, I am not even half way through but I have to agree with those of you that think its pretty boring.  The story is quite entertaining but the sex is a little dull. If you want a decent raunchy read, there’s nothing better than a Black Lace novel, now those are naughty but nice.

I think most of us have had our own Christian Gray experiences to a degree, albeit not so sophisticated or rich or violent. My innocence was exploited by an older guy called Barrie and most of this was in the back of a British Telecom van!!

Well, I am sure next year’s 10^th wedding anniversary will bring much more excitement as we are planning to renew our vows and have a party! Yay!!

Wee Willy Ginger

“Have you had a hysterectomy?” That is the question we would love to be able to ask when interviewing for our own office if it was politically correct.  We just can’t consider another menopausal chick with mood swings and dodgy periods!  Ha Ha! We are actually getting a geezer and he’s ginger too which is absolutely fab for me and my love of all things orange. But what will we talk about in our little moments of banter? We will no longer be able to moan about men, sex/lack of it or pelvic floor problems and smear tests. Oh dear.

Life before Centre Parks was getting dull. A week of telly, well one night actually, consisted of me crying over bear cubs, grossed out by Siamese twins joined at the head and sharing all bodily functions and absolutely baffled by men and their lady boys! Gay or not gay?  Well, these creatures are super attractive but they still have willies!

Centre Parks was fun and a great holiday for Charlotte Bear. I loved being super fit for one week by cycling, swimming, badminton and cha-cha-ing at Zumba. Now I am back sat on my lardy arse all day in front of a screen trying to recruit financial services professionals.

One of my holiday highlights was on the way home. Charlotte needed a wee so we stopped in Richmond Park and she did her watering of the grass behind a big tree. During that brief moment I managed to lose the car keys and Benny Boy was stuck in the Ford Focus having a bit of a panic attack. It was very funny and I wish he could have been locked in there for hours or even days rather than minutes whilst I went off and had a nice time with Charlotte. That would have been blissful and the perfect punishment for his lazy slobby ways.

I am proud of my Benny Boy truly and he is still teetotal whilst now training for the London 100 cycle race.  I think he’s having a bit of a mid-life crisis. He never did any fitness with me during my healthy life BG (Before Ginger). He’s become obsessed even eating yoghurt for breakfast and weighing himself every day. He better not have a mistress or I will literally chop off some of his body parts – hey that would lose him a few pounds when he next steps on the scales. 

Anyhow, he admitted that he is scared of falling off the wagon in case the booze causes an Amy Winehouse style early death. What a wally!  A few cans of Fosters are hardly the same as a hardcore alcoholic that also had a big time drug problem. It’s sweet though and if that is what motivates him to stay dry, then that’s a good thing. Bless him and bless the wonderfully talented and beautiful Amy. 

Big Fat Ginger Wedding..

Tell me why I don’t like Mondays, or Wednesdays or Fridays? I’ve had a bit of a crappy week and like Adele and Taylor Swift who write great songs when they have been dumped, I like nothing better that to put pen to paper for a moody rant.

My ginger princess did not get her 1^st choice of school or 2^nd choice or even 3^rd choice, but at least I got a local school in Epsom. Two of my Mummy pals got offered schools on a different planet! So what is wrong with the school Charlotte has been allocated? Not a lot.  It had a bad reputation some years ago, which has clearly stuck and subject to a little bit of surrey snobbery (of which I am the world’s worst). If I lived in one of the inner London suburbs, this school could be five star plus!  I saw it for myself. There is a new super head, a high ratio of staff , happy and polite children and a very cute PE teacher.  The lighting was a bit on the dodgy side (all the better to hide my wrinkles which I well talk about a bit later).  The pupils are from a diverse background. If Charlotte comes home dancing like the girls from big Fat Gypsy Wedding, I will be instantly relocating or camping outside of the Surrey County Council Offices in protest. I’ve got to stop being a middle-aged middle-class Thatcherite and just bloody well get on with it.  As for parental choice – that is just a joke. I am a little bit gutted that Charlotte did not get the church school that we longed for. We go to Church every week and love it but apparently it’s okay to give the school places to the atheists that live close by. To hell with them!  Its tax payers money I guess so all parents have the right to attend the school, but abolish church schools I say and the hypocrisy that goes with it.

I am more pissed off about losing my handbag (well Ben’s man bag with my stuff in it) at the end of a lovely trip to Peppa Pig World.  Why aren’t there more honest people in the world?  Take the cash and the M&S vouchers and run and even help yourself to the variety of panty liners, tampax and ad-hoc bits of make up but please give me back my Raybans, Touch Eclat (for goodness sake I am over 40) and Charlotte’s lovely little coat and new shoes oh and my H&M tee-shirt that was rolled up in there. Last year I handed cash in that was sticking out of the hole-in-the wall at Sainsburys. What happened to Karma?  99.9% of people that I know would hand in a lost bag although I do know of somebody that found a Blackberry in the street and sold it on E-Bay!

What has angered me most of all this week is that I looked in the mirror and noticed that my neck looks like a chicken’s neck. It has gone all pink, wrinkly and wobbly. The one tell tale sign of age that a woman cannot hide is her neck. I have enjoyed wearing a variety of scarves and I need to treat myself to more. I feel like a teenager covering love bites, but without the youth and some geeky guy ravishing me like a vampire. Where’s my Benny Boy?

Maggie my inspiration

Margaret Thatcher, you divided opinions, but were a great lady.  You inspired me as a young woman to want to conserve things. I came back from overseas with a suitcase full of dirty washing and a hairdryer.  Because of you I longed for success, wealth and investments.  I achieved them at that time, although too much of the high life and a failed business means I have little to show for it. However, I am happy with a modest home, a semi decent car and a loving family.  You have more balls than Cameron, Blair and Clegg put together. Your love for Dennis was sweet and tender. You were a great woman Maggie and I love you. RIP

On the note of a loving family and a good man, I was wondering recently if my love for Benny Boy will stand the test of time as Maggie’s did with Dennis.  So I wrote a list of Pros and Cons about him. Here it is:-

Pros:-

• Good in a crisis, he is my absolute rock
• Great Dad
• Nice bum
• Good hair
• Showers every day
• Does a lot of good work for charity
• Listens and gives good advice
• Is like a woman in a lot of ways, you can have a good gossip with him
• Dresses nicely
• Makes sacrifices for his family
• Introduced my sister to her husband
• Puts up with my brother!
• Gets my family
• Was a real sweetheart when my Dad was suffering with cancer
• Loves me when I am a squeezing out of a size 14 or a proper size 12

Cons:-

·        Drinks too much beer but is teetotal at the moment due to Marathon training so that does not count

·        Messy slob

·        Not romantic enough

·        Might turn into his Mother

·        Crap TV choices (WWE, Jeremy Kyle, Man V Food to name but a few)

I am pleased to announce that the pros outweigh the cons and it has made me realise that I love my Benny Boy loads and loads and I don’t think we will get a divorce unless he chooses to do so or runs off with a younger, foxier chick. We are even thinking of renewing our wedding vows next year for our 10^th wedding anniversary, any excuse for a party……….