Tuesday, 22 July 2014

Weddings: Tradition or True Love?

The storms on Saturday were a fitting metaphor for the day.  My OH and I went to his friend's wedding.  It was a pretty ceremony, the dress was beautiful and the company was fun.

In fact, I think it was perhaps too fun - my early hours of the morning fall-into-bed wasn't without the knowledge that it had all gone too far; wayyyyy toooo far.  I couldn't speak anymore; the taxi drive was a moment of mentally holding on for fear of not being able to sit up without assistance and I was already aware that Sunday was going to hurt really badly.

But as pretty and fun as it was, it wasn't without incident or comment.

I'm not going to share here.  Honestly, I'm not.  She's a great friend to OH and I am not going to wash her laundry without her permission.  But it has got me thinking.  My next novel has a lot of wedding related moments and I wonder whether we (women) really want them to be romantic?

Should these moments be the gushy, fairytale like moments?  Or should they be filled with raucous relatives not seen in decades until they smash the cake with a drunken dance move gone wrong?  Should the wedding be filled with true love or cynicism that it was too fast?  To cover insecurities?  For money?  Or all the other rumours we hear in the run up to such occasions?

It is just me who doesn't like weddings?  Or do others feel the same?

Saturday, 5 April 2014

Cleaning and decorating or TV?

It's the Easter holidays; I've been waiting for this for ages.  Fucking ages. Well - six weeks actually; but I have worked really hard.  Really hard.

And now it's the holidays and I have lots to do:
-Cleaning the house
-Packing up boxes for storage, charity or the tip
-Accounts
-Admin for school, writing and home
-Catching up with friends and family
-Trips with my children

And that's the list without even thinking about the amount of writing I want to do.

But as I sit here, I'm wondering how much I will really get done.  Will I round off the holidays in a tidy and beautiful home, typing away happily and well rested for the term ahead?

Or will I round off the holidays sat on this sofa, still in my onesie, worrying abut all the jobs I need to do and not having done any of them?

Bet now.




Monday, 28 October 2013

Not wandering around naked and other new rules

My Prince Charming got caught naked by my Son on the landing the other day.  He had come back from the loo and hadn't realised anyone was awake.

I laughed and asked, "You scarring my son?"

He replied, "Nahhh, he's fine.  He already saw me naked last week!"

So it seems the idea of other people being awake in the house does not deter my PC from wandering around naked.  I don't know if this is a good or bad thing...

... I guess we'll see when either my daughter or one of their friends finds him.  Perhaps they'll post his pic on FB...



I didn't grow up in a naked house.  In fact it wasn't a touchy-affectionate house either.  The idea of nakedness around the house still freaks me out a little; think Charlotte from Sex and the City putting out towels for her hubby.  But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing - what do you think?


Saturday, 19 October 2013

Clip the lid down tight when you blend a family

The stresses of family life can be intense.  This is especially true of a brand new family made up of pre-existing components: a bachelor, an independent single mum and two teenagers...  It's a messy mix of shared humour, common immaturity and a general assumption that each is the MOST important person in the world.  EVER.

The last couple of months since the blending began has been stressful.  At times I have wondered if I am going to be able to cope; the compromise for space, control and tidiness reduces the best person's ability to empathise.  We live together in a house where nobody understands.

And then we have a moment when I realise none of the above is true.  

It's a strange place where I can come home to find my OH making my DD homemade versions of a Lemsip to help her sore throat and at the same time he's bought a new washing machine that he liked because it looks like Darth Vader.

Monday, 23 September 2013

And I really don't want Meg Ryan as a friend!

You've Got Mail is as painful as walking out of a job interview with your skirt tucked into your knickers.  Worse even.  Why? You ask.  After all Meg Ryan is a sweetie-pie running the kind of magical bookshop where Narnia could really exist.

Ms Ryan with all her books and a quaint vintage style

And Tom Hanks is always a good guy really... surely I know that?  Ol' Tommy-boy would never be the bad guy after loving Hooch the way he did, and surviving the island and all the other loveable characters can't be wrong...


But let's look at the film more closely.  Let's take apart all the soppy-gushy-pukey romance and have a ganders at the guts of the movie.  Our Meggie-Moo runs a cute little bookshop which her dead mother left to her.  Pantsy-Hanks runs a chain of large, corporate bookshops and his business has destroyed hers.  His actions have destroyed her business, her heritage, her inheritance and her memories.

Forgiveable: Yes / No.  Delete as appropriate.


If that wasn't bad enough, he manipulates her online and in her company.  He turns up in places he knows she will be, fashions answers he knows she wants to hear and basically works her into a corner until she has no escape.  The only thing genuine about his courtship is the phrase, "Go to the mattresses" as evidently he has no boundaries when pursuing something he wants to win.

Creepy man pursuing an innocent woman... Poor Meggie!
And yet by the end of the movie we're meant to be happy they're in love.  Really?  How is that true?  Why am I compelled to want her to want him?  Why would I want her to spend her life with a deceitful, cunning, manipulative, ruthless businessman with no heart for warmth and no eye for community?  Oh.  Yeah.  Probably because I don't like her...


Or I think I must have been convinced he's alright by his cute dog.



Saturday, 21 September 2013

Why am I still the domestic around here?

I work.  I work full time. So why is it when the tea bags run out, or the dishwasher needs packing, or the kitchen floor needs cleaning, it is always me who is left in charge? 

Nobody round here notices or helps without be asked.  Well.  Nagged.  And then the help is reluctant. Somehow The House is my responsibility. 

In fact I know that good old fashioned masogynism is still alive and well and sleeping in my bed because whenever the OH does a chore he does it in the spirit of helping me and not just doing the job which needs doing:  "Honey, let me help you.  Oh I hung out the laundry to help you..." 

And why is it when men or teens hang out laundry to dry they put it on the airer in the same shape it comes out of the machine?  My OH who professes to be good at maths and logic hangs jeans in a scrunched up ball - by my reckoning they would take at least 83 days to dry, they'd smell stale and would be impossible to flatten.  He'd be left with a denim sculpture.  Yeah!  Let me say thanks for that help!  I always love doing a job twice. 

If I'd wanted to be a housewife I would have organised my life to not have a career for the largest amount of hours.  I didn't head into adult life thinking, I know - I want my equal rights, so I'll have a career AND be a great housewife.  Hobbies, friends and time to unwind are soooooo overrrated - I'll spend ALL my time being busy so everyone else can enjoy those things. 

That's a plan. I suppose I'd better put down the laptop and pick up my pinny. 

Friday, 20 September 2013

The weekend... Can it ever really be a break?

I'm not married but otherwise this could be my weekend. Here's to the piles of marking, ironing and other random chores.