21 Bum Salute!!!

My cycle is now every 21 days instead of 28. Trudi is the name I give my period.  The mood before Trudi arrives is unbearable. I cannot believe that Ben has not divorced me. I turn into a monster, hating everybody in my sight and I get quite a few "red mist" moments as well has being tearful and having a complete sense of humour failure. I apologise now to anyone who stands in my way on a day like this. In future, please give a wide berth!

A friend of mine is due to go into hospital for a perimenopausal procedure. This is something to do with the shedding of the lining of the womb.  We had the conversation about her needing to buy a new dressing gown so that her modesty is protected in a mixed ward. This reminded me of when I was 19 and had my tonsils out. My dressing gown barely covered my arse and I had no slippers.  I got a proper telling off from my nurses. My friend is a right milf and was insisting on getting a new gown that covered her backside, but would still fall a fair bit above the knee. I reckon some old man will get the shock of his life and have a heart attack at the excitement of seeing her lovely pins!!

Oh to be 21!  As I celebrate 10 years of marriage this year. Yes really, my little cutie of a bridesmaid will be turning 21.  I may get an invite to the party so I can dance with her Mum and we can try our best not to show her up in front of her cool friends.  At a previous party with her Mum, I was 8 months pregnant and the whole room was scared that my waters would break as we boogied on down to the Rowing Boat Dance. This did not happen, but if you looked closely enough you could see the baby's head. When I was 21 I  had spent the summer travelling throughout Europe and had invited every hot man that I met along the way and most of them actually turned up!! I think I had about 30 girls at my party and 300 men, who did not look as foxy as I had remembered with my beer goggles on during my inter-rail adventures!

The Suicide Sanctuary

Oh God, why do I always blog when I have something to rant about!  Work is pants today – phone problems/IT problems – recruitment was such a joy when candidates would just pop into the office and you did not have to rely on modern technology! FML is the saying of the week in this office.

I started working when I was fifteen years old at a Tax Office (of all places) as a Clerical Assistant.  I would get the bus every day at the end of my road at 7.45am. I felt very safe and secure as the roads were busy and there was usually plenty of people around. One day, a man in a white van pulled up outside the bus stop. He reversed closer to where I stood, jumped into the back of the van, knocked on the window to get my attention then proceeded to toss himself off. I had never seen a penis before. All I remember was that it was purple. I was so embarrassed and turned the other way; he then turned his vehicle around and shook his willy at me having so much fun playing with himself as I nearly died of shock. I asked myself: Do I run home or will he catch me and rape me, kidnap me or kill me? Or do I just wait for the bus, which as usual was late. I decided that I should wait at the bus stop as it was on a main road and there were plenty of cars around that I could flag down if I needed to. I was so mortified. I never told my parents or any of my friends for a long time.  I feel guilty about this, as this man could have continued stalking young girls in this way. He may have taken things further. If this is the case, could I have prevented this? What about now – thirty years on – do I report this man? He was probably in his mid-twenties, had dark hair in that trendy wedge/DA hair cut that was fashionable in the mid-eighties.  I knew where he worked. It was a shop in town. (I daren’t say more at this stage).  I am on a Molesey Facebook page and other people have also mentioned a flasher from our home town.  Do I take action all these years on when so many mature “gentlemen” in the press, such as Jimmy Saville have been exposed as evil and twisted?  This world truly can be a sick place.  

I don’t watch Corrie at the moment as it is in the middle of trying to get Charlotte to settle down to bed in the middle of a ton of housework. I have heard the story of the death of Hayley Cropper. I once met the actress who played her, at apartments we stayed at in Devon for New Year.  I even found myself staring at her in the pool/Jacuzzi to see if she had a Willy! Doh! What a lovely, kind and sincere person and wonderful mother. She was very friendly and nothing like the character she played – in looks or personality.  Suicide and assisted suicide is such a delicate subject. I think it should be allowed without having to travel to Switzerland and die in an undignified way in a dingy flat.  One of my business ideas (with the help of friends) is to open “The Suicide Sanctuary” or “Gateway to Heaven” – this will offer counselling, prayers and support and be a beautiful spa, making the experience of death beautiful. 

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.