My salad dressing days


The transformation is complete*
March 29, 2007, 10:23 pm
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I have become Motherhen. As she was circa the summer of 1977.

‘Gosh, aren’t they comfy, Pam? And you wouldn’t think it, would you, what with them being wooden!’

Gotta love Dr Scholl. (Although I note that he has since dropped the ‘Dr’ bit. Perhaps like The Poo Lady, he was shamed into admitting his pretendy PhD by the Super Duper Rumbler of Bad Science Ben Goldacre.)

Anyhoo. It pleases me no end that Comfort Sells. (Especially when it sells at a heavy discount in TK Maxx.) And bugger it if it was five degrees celsius outside today. If the clocks have gone forward, then it’s spring in my books.

Besides, I had a mind to put in a last minute bid on these divine specimens:

 

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‘So why dincha?’ I hear my lone Thursday night reader holler.

Because I just changed my mobile phone ring tone from ‘Chopin’ (kinda classy) to ‘Rooster’ (kinda silly).

So…when the alarm on my phone went off to tell me to log onto Ebay, I fancied I had been mysteriously spirited away to rural Perthshire, where the neighbouring farm’s cockerel was suffering from a rare form of avian jetlag and therefore ignored it.

(Entirely possible.)

* I know, I know: What Would The Manolo Say (I dread to think…don’t nobody tell him, ‘kay?)



Full circle
March 25, 2007, 10:03 pm
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You’re born. You’re pretty slow by the standards of the animal kingdom to achieve independence. So you dote on your omnipresent, all-providing parents (‘I love oo, mummy’). You cling to their trouser legs. You think it very clever that they know how to get all the way to north Devon from Scotland for your annual summer holiday. You think some of the jokes they tell are funny.

Then your hormones surge like the wave in the Guinness ad with the horses and you develop a deep disdain for anyone over the age of 17. You talk in monosyllables and write off any family-centred activity as ‘sooooo boring’. You leave institutionalised education and start to holiday with friends. You let the phone ring out on a Sunday evening because why would you want to talk to your mother when you’re oh so busy being an a-dult yourself? Then you get married (if heterosexual and not averse in principle). You have children. You start holidaying with your parents again. Three times a year. Some of their jokes – even the ones they send on round robin emails to their own friends – seem to cause the mildest tittering.

And then wham bam! Your parents are suggesting you go halves on the purchase of a chainsaw and you’re saying ‘good idea!’.



How to get a new career: Step One
March 21, 2007, 10:19 pm
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Get some business cards printed. Give one to your parents*. (Yip. Still got 249 left to hand out. Phew.)

* who, if they’re anything like mine, will immediately stick it on the pinboard in their kitchen, pointing it out to visiting friends: ‘Do you see? She’s going to be a taxidermist!’



Secret societies
March 15, 2007, 10:29 pm
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A friend invites the chicklets and me to lunch.

The kids scoot off to play, whilst my friend starts to assemble the lunch things on the obligatory garishly-coloured plastic Ikea plates.

Then, in a hushed tone, she approaches me waving a multi-pack of Hula Hoops under my nose.

‘Have they…? Do you…? Is it…?’

She shuffles around nervously and looks down at her feet.

Uh-oh. She thinks I am One Of Them.

So I jump in quick: ‘It’s fine! Oh yes! Oh God, totally yes!’

Her shoulders heave up and down indicating the relief. The relief of finding another Club Member.

But you can never be sure. Not the first time. Politeness pays a big part. Fear of being the odd one out.

So when it comes to drinks for the kids, she’s on the back foot again.

‘What will your two drink? What do they normally drink? Water…? Jjjjjjui…?’

‘Oh, whatever,’ I reply. Although it then strikes me that this is exactly the non-committal sort of an answer One Of Them would give.

So I start again: ‘Water, juice…’

Then I sidle up to her and say: ‘It’s usually Coke, though.’

She laughs.

‘Fanta for breakfast, Coke with lunch, Irn Bru for tea and gin for special occasions.’

She laughs some more.

Later we show each other our membership cards. So there’s no doubting it.

*******

The Anti Food Fascism League
Motto: Down with ricecakes!



What a £5,280-a-term education buys you
March 6, 2007, 1:17 pm
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Not sure what happened to the Youtube video here. Will try to repost it.



What life has taught me (Part One)
March 3, 2007, 11:35 pm
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1. That when you find a pair of jeans that make your bum look small, thighs look thin and your muffin top non-existent, embrace them as you would a long lost relative. And buy five pairs. (Maybe six.)
2. That there is more to life than the perfect pair of jeans. (Bitter? Me?)
3. That a pussy bow can detract attention from most unsightly body parts.
4. If you’re Kate Moss (and have no unsightly body parts).
5. That you should never choose your life partner when you are mid cycle. You will only pick a George Clooney and this will only lead to subsequent misery and strife. No, you should pick your life partner when you are in the midst of a case of raging PMT. If they love you for your hormonal acne and short wick, this is a good sign of an ability to commit to a long term relationship. (Worked for me.)
6. That if you only realise a blue-lit ambulance is trying to pull past you because it is filling the whole of your rearview mirror, then you are playing your Belle and Sebastian CD too loud.
7. That no-one is going to be impressed if you try to brag about playing music in the car so loud that you cannot hear the nee-naw of an emergency services vehicle.
8. That a surprising percentage of people expect a thirty-something mother-of-two to behave more responsibly than she occasionally does.
9. That there are some sick, sick people out there. Specifically the group of students spotted using their mobile phone to photograph a dead squirrel in the gutter outside the Royal Botanic Gardens last Saturday afternoon.
10. That it’s a sad state of affairs when your sidebar is longer than the main body of your blog.