Pointless Update

Posted on November 30, 2012 by kabe1 | Leave a comment

Reunión Furby I (Photo credit: alvarezperea)

Update on my “pointless” list – a kind reader has given me my first (and last) onesie – fortunately for me it does not have novelty headgear too – but all the same it is a onesie probably best described as resembling a snow leopard. Now I love the person who gave me this onesie but I can confirm that I look more than faintly ridiculous in it and I definitely look like an overgrown giant baby (not my favourite look). One thing I had not appreciated before I owned such a must-have garment is how flipping hot it is inside one of these onesies. I started to sweat profusely within about 5 minutes – a sweating snow leopard in a babygrow – not a pretty sight! I have to admit to being slightly fascinated by the speed with which these onesies are flying off the shelves this Christmas – who (apart from my friend) is buying them? Imagine if you were an alien arriving on earth for the first time and you were greeted by the sight of giant babies wearing all-in-one, furry, faux animal outfits – I’m fairly sure if it was me, I would turn right round again and return from where I came, very disturbed by the sight I had just witnessed.

On the subject of Christmas shopping, I am also very distressed at the return of that hideous creature the “Furby” – who thought it was a good idea to bring it back for this Christmas season for god’s sake? To add insult to injury this ugly, little monster retails at well over £50. Sometimes I really do think I live in a parallel universe to everyone else. I get Peppa Pig (regular readers will know I am actually a little partial to a bit of Peppa Pig) but Furbies – they are wrong, all wrong.

I’m on a roll now…one last bugbear (bah humbug!)…football kits for kids. My boys support Arsenal. I know nothing about Arsenal – a deliberate ploy to prevent me from ever having to discuss football leagues with my children or worse go and watch matches with them. An aside, the only thing I find vaguely interesting – actually rather pleasing in an odd way – is that the Arsenal Boss is called Arsene – almost poetic. Anyway, my problem is very simple, premiership football teams change their football strip (home and away) every season so I am forced to buy new football strips every season too. These football strips are not only deeply unpleasant to look at but they are also extortionately expensive. In my view, these premiership teams are committing daylight robbery by hiking the prices of these kits way beyond their value because we poor unsuspecting parents, ever keen to encourage our offspring into supporting a team, are forced to buy them on an annual basis (last year’s strip is so passé) in order not to embarrass poor little Johnny in front of his mates.

So there you have it, rant over for the day. You could be forgiven for thinking I complain about everything. Well I do, I guess, but only with good reason, and actually those who know me will testify that I can be nice too!

Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice…

Posted on November 29, 2012 by kabe1 | 4 Comments

Male and female gender symbols based upon work by User:Edbrown05 on the English Wikinews project. Original file was/is here. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let’s get one thing straight, I adore my boys – I really adore them but I don’t get them. if I’m perfectly honest, as one of three girls myself, they are like little aliens to me most days. Occasionally I get one of those breakthrough moments when I think I’ve finally understood them and then out of nowhere, one will cross the room and nonchalantly kick his brother for no other reason – that I can fathom – than he can. I know what you’re thinking – there really isn’t very much to understand: boys are not complex. There is a lot of truth in this and I have lived the last 9 years of my life according to the maxim that boys are very much like dogs: feed them, water them and exercise them and all will be well with the world.

My two boys are very different in character but they also share common characteristics: the ability to wind the other up incessantly and the ability to wrestle any time, any place (preferably in a supermarket aisle in front of a tutting crowd of people without children and smug MOGs (Mothers of Girls). For a while I put this insatiable desire to be in physical contact with each other in some way 24/7 (usually in some painful-looking, totally unnatural wrestling hold) down to watching too much TV and particularly the ghastly WWE wrestling to which my elder son appears addicted (no, before you ask, I don’t let him watch it, but he’s clever, he’s cunning and he seems to find a way to outwit me…), but I don’t think this is the case. This is just the nature of boys. For the first five years of motherhood, I watched my boys with a growing sense of horror – what had I created? Rough and Tumble, they call it, no **** – that’s putting it mildly. Sometimes I can barely bear to watch and I am constantly amazed that they never seem to really hurt each other (well, not too badly). I don’t really intervene much these days, I let them work it out. I am resigned to the fact that this is how boys operate – it’s King of the Jungle stuff and I am not going to pretend to understand it. The fighting aside, I love my boys totally and I can only hope that the fisticuffs they indulge in now with each other will recede as they mature otherwise I shall be spending an increasing amount of time visiting the local nick.

I have to admit that due to the unruly behaviour of my boys on occasion (NB understatement), I did at times really question my mothering skills. I had deliberately ignored the Gina Ford route with mine – I realised very early on that I had already failed by her standards by 7am as I had not pulled up the black-out blinds, changed baby, had a shower myself and eaten my toast and marmalade. I didn’t think that feeling a failure so early on every morning would be particularly good for my confidence levels (which we all know are not exactly rocketing in the early days of motherhood). I found myself naturally gravitating to other “MOBs” (Mothers of Boys) because they understood that there was no way my children were going to sit at a table for half an hour, colouring, gluing and sticking (not unless they were able to do all those things to each other or one of my more prized possessions).

Then suddenly three years ago, I found myself with one foot in each camp – I had a little girl. Over the last 3 years, it has become obvious – it’s not about nurture (well at least not largely) but it is nature. I have done nothing to encourage her in any direction different to the boys but she naturally loves pink, plays with dolls, dresses up, watches me put on make-up in a rather disconcertingly fascinated manner and basically behaves in the stereotypical “girl” way. I have to add that at the moment she is proving an awful lot easier than the boys at that age. Yesterday, she had a playdate and I did absolutely nothing for 2 hours whilst these two adorable little girls dressed up, tottered around in little heels and played “Mummies and Babies” (where’s the Daddy you may well ask?! Is this a sign of the times?).

The biggest relief to me with a foot in each camp is that it is not my mothering skills that are at fault – they are as good or as bad as the next person. No, the simple fact is that boys and girls are fundamentally very different from birth and I would wager that boys are harder work in the first ten years of life (although enormously rewarding too) but I am under no illusions that come the teenage years, all those hours of my little girl watching me put on make-up and tottering around in my shoes is going towards creating the horror of “teenage girl”. I know at that point I shall probably be saying to my boys that they were hard work when they were younger but that their sister’s behaviour now is a whole new ball game and I shall be looking back fondly at the days of my “rough and tumble”, uncomplicated boys. However, for now, there is truth in the old ditty that girls are “Sugar and spice and all things nice” and boys are, well, fabulous, physical and sometimes just a little frustrating!

Pointless

Posted on November 21, 2012 by kabe1 | 1 Comment

Pointless (TV series) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I decided this afternoon that I would compile a list of the things which I think are entirely pointless. What is the point of this you may well ask? Well there is no point, it is in itself pointless but it will almost certainly make me feel better! I guess it is along the lines of my “things I find irritating” list – I am hoping perhaps that by expressing these pointless things, I might at some point be able to focus on slightly more important matters like world peace etc (or perhaps I will just find another list of things to compile). So here it is and please feel free to add as you think appropriate – one caveat – this list is by no means exhaustive but is merely a snapshot of what springs to mind as utterly pointless.

wasps – what or who actually benefits from the existence of wasps? I have wracked my brain and come up with absolutely no-one or anything. They contribute, as far as I know, the sum total of nothing to anyone’s life. Quite the opposite in fact, they detract from the quality of my life, particularly from enjoying lunch al fresco on one of those rare days in this country when the sun peers from behind the clouds.
various body parts – to be precise I am referring to tonsils, appendix and male nipples. I can honestly say I have never heard anyone, or in the case of nipples any man, say “thank god for my tonsils/appendix/nipples – I would never have survived without them – it was touch and go and thanks to them I pulled through”.
“Onesies” – please someone explain to me why any fully-grown person would want to dress themselves in an adult version of a babygrow? What could possibly be attractive or remotely appealing about looking like an oversized baby. To be perfectly honest, I actually find “onesies” rather creepy. I reserve particular distaste for novelty “onesies” – is it not bad enough that an adult thinks it is appropriate to dress head to toe in one piece of material (because it so so cosy) without adding novelty ears/antlers or whatever?
Parsley garnish on restaurant food – don’t get it. Who eats it? I have never seen anyone eat parsley garnish. The first thing everyone does is remove it to the side of their plate. I don’t have a problem with parsley per se but just its use as a totally pointless addition to a perfectly good dish of food. The only reason in my mind ever to garnish with parsley is if you were trying to cover up a rather unpleasant plate of food or one where presentation is rather lacking.
“Baby on Board” signs in the back window of cars – am I the only person who finds such notices so smug, irritating and pointless that it has the opposite effect on me – I actually drive closer to the car displaying the sign rather than keeping my distance and I find myself feeling irresistibly drawn to swearing more than any mother of 3 of a certain age should do decently.
Celery – the most pointless foodstuff of all time. It tastes revolting and adds absolutely nothing to anything. Apparently you lose calories eating it but that just has to be one of those urban myths designed to make you feel better about something so pointless in the same vein as being really sick in pregnancy is a sign of a strong pregnancy – seriously?
Limbo dancing – don’t get me wrong, I like dancing, in fact I like it a lot. However, I fail to see the point in bending backwards progressively to a more extreme degree in order to get under a horizontal bar. Why? What does it prove except that some people are more bendy than others?
The recorder – how many world famous recorder players can you name? None. I rest my case.
Bus timetables – buses never arrive on time so why is it helpful to know when a bus should have arrived but didn’t?
Teaching children to say “thank you” – “aha, strange one” you are thinking. I am not saying that gratitude is unimportant – quite the opposite – but that trying to teach our children to say “thank you” is a pointless way of expressing it. Saying “thank you” is clearly counter-instinctive for humans as this can be the only explanation as to why it appears to be the hardest thing of all for children to learn. If only our ancestors had dispensed of this customary way of expressing gratitude, I could have saved an awful lot of time and energy saying to my children after nearly every utterance, “What do you say? What’s the magic word?” – in my case I reckon on average 20 times a day for the last 8 years. Compared to algebra or the like, it is hardly a difficult concept to grasp but I have yet to meet a child who has mastered this simple response.
Non-alcoholic wine – completely self-explanatory, I think.

That’s it for now. I am going to help myself to a glass of wine, weighed down with a high alcohol content, and ponder the pointlessness of spending time compiling a list of utterly pointless things.

Stationery Fetish…

Posted on November 20, 2012 by kabe1 | 5 Comments

A Post-it note is a piece of stationery with a re-adherable strip of adhesive on the back, designed for temporarily attaching notes to documents and other surfaces. Although now available in a wide range of colors, shapes, and sizes, Post-it notes are most commonly a 3-inch (76 mm) square, canary yellow in color. A unique low-tack adhesive allows the notes to be easily attached and removed without leaving marks or residue, unless used on white boards. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have to admit that the title sounds a lot more exciting than the reality. The only “Fifty Shades of Grey” I’m afraid that you are going to get from my blog today is fifty shades of grey writing paper.

I was having lunch today with some girlfriends and it was a conversation we had that has sparked this blog piece – I, or to be more correct my friends and I, are stationery fetishists ( I hasten to add that I mean fetishist in the dictionary meaning of “someone who has an excessive and irrational commitment to something” rather than any sexual overtones). I wouldn’t have ever described myself as this until I realised that in fact I am not alone – far from it, there are loads of us out there: people who really love stationery and most particularly shops that sell stationery in all its shapes and forms. I am not just talking about the Smythsons of this world – luxury stationery – I get more satisfaction than I should from looking at the more humble stationery displays in WH Smith. Who needs a Mont Blanc pen – all I want is any fine point ballpoint pen with turquoise or green ink (my personal favourites)? I find it almost impossible to pass a fine display of stationery and not buy something for which I have absolutely no use at all. I recently bought a huge stash of multi-coloured post-it notes despite already owning at least 10 pads of regular yellow post-it notes – totally superfluous, yes, but you can never have enough post-it notes (or at least that is how I justified it).

I think my “obsession” with stationery has its roots in my childhood when I had a writing case with lots of different coloured writing paper and a fountain pen with different colour inks – I loved that writing case or more accurately its contents. Of course in the era of email, letter-writing is on the wane (shame) but perhaps all this has done is feed my stationery fetish. Admittedly, I am less likely to be found salivating over different coloured writing paper nowadays, and much more likely to be found eyeing up yet more box files, multi-coloured wallet files, highlighter pens and the ultimate for any stationery fetishist – card: white card, black card, thick card, thin card, shiny card, even glittery card (as described to me in hushed, reverent tones today by a friend).

I recently went to a stationery superstore called “Staples” – this is basically like a child being let loose in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory: row upon row of stationery delights, organised pleasingly by use, colour and quality. As previous readers of my blog will know, as I have aged, I have developed a rather unhealthy obsession with Robert Dyas (that’s a shop not a Hollywood film star) and the only way I can describe “Staples” is that it is to stationery what Robert Dyas is to homeware. Even the name is inspired – “Staples” – suggests that you, the consumer, is “fixed” (in my case read “fixated on”) their store, unable to drag yourself away from the seemingly endless permutations of stationery ware.

Enough. The only reason that I feel able to even write about this little stationery-loving quirk of mine is that today I realised I am not alone. How do I know this – well today 5 seemingly normal women actually discussed their love of stationery seriously for a good ten minutes – it was all very therapeutic, in the vein of “hello, my name is … and I love stationery”.

Back to life, back to reality…

Posted on November 15, 2012 by kabe1 | 4 Comments

40. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am 40. You may have been slightly concerned by my blogging silence over the last two weeks but rest assured nothing awful has happened to me as a result of reaching this milestone birthday – no, in fact, quite the opposite, everything is totally as before and it has just taken me a while to recover from all the celebrations.

I didn’t expect anything earth-shattering to happen and I have to admit that actually I’ve rather enjoyed the whole “40” malarkey. So far I pronounce 40 to be “fine”. If I’m honest, I feel a sense of gravitas which was definitely not there at 39. Indeed, I feel like this is the start of something rather than the end of something. A bit like new year’s resolutions, I have decided that my forties are my decade for finally achieving something professionally. I feel a new sense of confidence and assertion. I guess I feel much less concerned about what others think of me – I don’t give a ****.

However, despite all this slightly concerning self-analysis, reality has been prodding at the edges of my newly-reached 40-ness. I was brought back to earth with a jolt 2 days after my birthday when I received in the post an invitation to go for an ultrasound screening for”dangerous plaque build-up or blockage” in my arteries. I have never received such an invitation (if one can call it that) before. Clearly, when you hit 40, alarms sound on every database in the country and suddenly overnight I have entered a whole new group of people – those at risk of age-related disease. I’m not sure I am so keen on this side of being 40. I do feel that whoever it is that sends such “invitations” might have the decency to leave a respectable period of time between the day on which I turn 40 and the issuing of the “invitation” – may I suggest a couple of months at least rather than 2 days.

Secondly, despite my new found assertiveness, I still find myself unable to request that those working in customer services whom I’ve never met before call me “Mrs….” rather than by my christian name. This may sound slightly ridiculous but this is one of my bugbears – the customer service agent who starts his conversation on the phone with me by asking “Can I call you…christian name…” – I want to shout” No you bloody can’t” but find myself meekly saying “that’s fine” and then wincing for the next 20 minutes when he/she prefaces every sentence with the repetition of my christian name. I know many of you are probably thinking that I am being utterly pathetic and trivial but I can’t help it, it just infuriates me and I promised myself that when I hit 40, I would “just say no”.

Thirdly, on a more serious note, I have had my bank account and my Facebook account hacked into and even a new bank account fraudulently created in my name. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before and it has been a real eye-opener. I could now bore on for Britain about internet security – I won’t but suffice to say it has been a total pain in the neck and I could cheerfully strangle (in a manner of speaking) whoever it is that has caused me this first real test of my forties. Last night, when I discovered my Facebook account had been accessed, I decided to take a new approach and take it as a compliment that someone wanted my identity so much that they have decided to be me! I am being flippant, of course, and it has been a total bore having to secure all my internet activity and accounts again.

I’ll leave the last word to my 3 year old daughter. When she is asked how old her mother is, she replies (and this is after relentless training on my part), that she will be 4 at her next birthday and I am 4 with a 0 on the end – now that doesn’t sound too bad, does it?

Final Fling before Forty…

Posted on November 6, 2012 by kabe1 | 3 Comments

Gangnam_Style_PSY_28logo (Photo credit: KOREA.NET – Official page of the Republic of Korea)

So in exactly 12 hours I shall be 40 – apparently I was born at ten past two in the morning. Seems as good a time as any. I have to admit that at the moment – and that is key – I am rather enjoying this “turning 40” malarkey. My husband and I held a big 40th birthday party on Saturday evening – enormous fun and proved all the important things to me such as I am not too old to drink ridiculous amounts, to dance all night, to stay up until 3.30am and not be desperate for my bed (this final one was, I feel, my greatest achievement as increasingly I do find myself nodding off at an embarrassingly early time in the evening – usually with the first bongs of the 10 o’clock news (am I the only one who finds these incredibly soporific?))

However, it is all too easy to be lulled into a false sense of security when partying hard at our age – you can still drink, you can still dance, you can still do really stupid things (like on Saturday evening, paddling in the pond at 2am and downing shots) but you can’t handle the next morning and the hangover. It is all too easy to blame it on the kids – have to get up early, have to get breakfast and try to function as a parent – but this is just rubbish – in fact, the truth is, you can’t handle the hangover because you are no longer 21 and your body is not designed to withstand the pressures of a night for a 21 year old. Nature is so cruel – she lets you believe you can still do it, you swan around feeling omnipotent and invincible (helped along by numerous glasses of whatever your tipple is) and then it all comes crashing down the next day. Not only do you have to suffer the physical effects of your excesses but also the humiliating realisation that things that you thought were hilarious the night before are actually not that befitting of someone approaching middle age. There really isn’t anything that would make a group of young people cringe more than the sight of fifty odd people in their late thirties, forties and fifties doing the “gangnam style” dance. It seems to me that it is crucial at 40 to only have still photography at any party where you are in danger of thinking that dancing in a certain way is cool or hysterically amusing because the idea of having such poor taste on film is really too much to bear.

It reminds me of when I was picking the music for my party and my friend’s son was helping with the “technical side” – my friend and I got slightly carried away by a rerun of 80s and 90s classics such as “Pump up the Jam” and “Ride on Time”. My friend’s son watched in horror at the demented dancing of his mother and her equally demented friend and shook his head in disbelief as I tried to explain how this music was the forerunner of what he listens to today and it was mould-breaking etc. I could tell he wasn’t buying my philosophical approach to the impact of 80s and 90s music on the substance of the music of today’s youth. I guess the only consolation is that in 30 years time, I’m sure he will be having a similar conversation with his children about how innovative and ground-breaking the music of 2012 was. Anyway, regardless of his horror and complete incomprehension, I am not embarrassed to say that both those tracks were played on Saturday night and were floor-fillers!

So next time I write, I shall be 40…I am not expecting much to change except perhaps a sense of relief that the waiting is over!

Whatsyername…?

Posted on October 30, 2012 by kabe1 | 3 Comments

Once upon a time I had a brain, actually to be more precise I had a memory – in fact, I had quite a good memory. I was rather proud of my memory – my family used to say it was elephantine. Not now, more goldfish than elephant. Actually, I’m struggling to remember what I was going to write this blog post about…

That’s right – memory. Throughout my thirties, I airily dismissed my inability to retain the most basic of facts and information as “nappy brain”. As I approach 40 (next week), this no longer seems a viable excuse – I no longer have any child in nappies, nor have I changed a nappy for the best part of 18 months. Anyway, I never really bought into that “nappy brain” thing – I’d like to think it was just nature’s way of making those early years of 3 children under 5 marginally more bearable with a sort of brain fog – rather like one of those soft-focus photographs, slightly blurry round the edges – “nappy brain” is nature’s survival mechanism.

image of brain broken up into separate lobes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So what’s happening now? My stomach lurches when one of my children suggests playing pelmanism. This was my favourite game as a child – I found it so easy, could remember exactly where everything was. Not now. Now, I have to face the ritual humiliation of trying my best but still being thrashed by a three year old. As for that game with objects on a tray which you have a minute to remember before they are removed and you have to recall them – well, I struggle to remember the tray.

Names. I have come to dread introductions. As hard as I think I am concentrating, immediately I am introduced to someone, their name has passed through the increasingly empty space between my ears and gone again. How difficult can it be to remember someone’s name? My greatest fear is then having to introduce “whathisname” to someone else and I find myself frantically going through the alphabet (in my head), hoping that the letter will spark of a memory of a name – A – Archie, Andrew…no…B – Ben, Brian…no… C…and so on. Tell me I’m not the only person who does this? In fact, I no longer count sheep when I go to bed – I am a raging insomniac – I just go through the alphabet trying to remember people’s names! Is this an age thing? People say it is because I have so much else to remember – bla, bla, bla. I don’t buy that – I’m sure I had far more to remember when I was younger and at university or whatever. Those who have read previous blogs I have posted might be tempted to say perhaps it is “mother’s little helper” – the glass of wine that smoothes out the edges at the end of the day. I don’t buy that either.

Whatever it is, I don’t think I am alone. As long as I can remember my own name and those of my husband and children, I am not going to worry…although I have noticed an increasing tendency to refer to my children by all three children’s names – something my father always used to do and which I found intensely irritating. I get it now. So if you are introduced to me, don’t be offended if I don’t introduce you to anyone else – I can’t remember your name and it’s nothing personal!

My top ten current irritations…

Posted on October 25, 2012 by kabe1 | 6 Comments

Photo of a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder (Royale) with Cheese. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A few things have been getting right up my nose in recent times and I wanted to share them with you – some sort of blogging therapy you might call it – better out than in! So here goes…

Phonecalls (currently at least 3 times a day) from an automated voice telling me to “be quick” and reclaim £1000s I’m owed on PPI. These claim processing companies (which will take an enormous percentage should you be successful in your claim) seem to think that this is a war of attrition and that finally I am going to say to them, “please, please, do this on my behalf”. I am not going to do this – never, ever – so stop ringing me.
Paying to use the facilities (I hate that word) in railway stations. Payment to use these suggests to me some sort of premium experience, payment for a little extra plush with your flush. However, in my experience, the opposite is true and railway stations have some of the worst public conveniences out there.
Car Park pay and display machines that only take exact change. There is no other word for this than robbery. I can’t think of any shop I would go into, pay for something and expect the cashier to keep the change without asking me. So why is it ok for car park operators to do just this and penalise people because they haven’t got the correct change?
Shops that offer to see whether a product they don’t have is available in another store about 200 miles away. I can’t think of anything that I would buy that would be worth driving 200 miles to pick up. Please stop offering me a thousand other ways to get your product – none of which are convenient – and just let me go.
Packets of nuts that carry the warning of “Allergy advice: contains nuts” – the clue is on the front of the packet and inside the packet. Just because you have an allergy, does not mean that you are incapable of any sort of rational thought.
Shops that offer you cut price chocolate bars at the till along with all your non-chocolate shopping. There is nothing more irritating to someone like me who can’t resist either a bargain or chocolate and it is just not fair – so stop it.
Hairdryers that require a 20p piece to work in public swimming pool changing rooms. This is yet another case of discrimination against those who don’t happen to have a 20p coin in their purse and also leads in my case to another very public example of bad mothering skills when I have to leave the swimming pool with my daughter’s hair dripping everywhere and the audible tuts of others (with 20p) about “catching pneumonia”.
The inability of people working in a well-known hamburger joint to understand what I feel is a simple request “A quarter pounder without cheese”. I’ve never understood why a quarter pounder should automatically come with cheese, but it does and I don’t like cheese – hence my request. I don’t feel there is anything particularly fussy or difficult about this request but I can count on one hand the number of times my quarter pounder has actually arrived cheese-less.
Those really annoying “puzzles” that appear frequently on social networking sites which ask you how many “faces” or “letter Es” etc you can see in a picture. You know it’s a trick and you’re determined not to fall into the trap so you waste an inordinate amount of time searching for something that is not even there and then get the answer wrong anyway.
Magazines on shop shelves wrapped in plastic. Everyone loiters once in a while and likes to flick through a magazine in a shop without buying the magazine – this doesn’t seem unreasonable to me. You can browse in a bookshop – you are positively encouraged to – so as long as I don’t go in every day in my lunch break and use the magazine shelf as a sort of public library – what’s the problem?

I feel so much better now and it’s amazing how little time it took me to think up 10 things that really irritate me. I’m sure there are thousands more – I’m not known for my tolerance. I would love to hear of things that irritate you. Do you agree with me?

Half-term – cash and capers…

Posted on October 24, 2012 by kabe1 | 4 Comments

Posh & Becks Waxworks (Photo credit: reveriewit)

Help! Help! I’m haemorrhaging…CASH – yes, it’s half-term this week and next – yes you read that correctly, my little darlings have got 2 weeks for half-term – twice the time to fill, twice the money to spend, twice the number of tantrums, twice the amount of alcohol required by me each evening.

Yesterday it was the turn of Madame Tussauds – or as Boy 2 calls it, “Madame Twoshoes” (which Boy 1 corrects to “Madame Twoswords”). Facts first – it cost me £55 to get in (after queueing for 40 minutes) – that was the cost for one adult and one child (one child was free because of age and one because I had a voucher). Approximate time required in the attraction – 1.5 hours. By any mathematical equation that seems to me to be daylight robbery. Enter attraction. Guess what we are met with….yes, the popcorn and sweet shop – £10 lighter we finally get to see the world-famous waxworks which of course my children are not remotely interested in now that they have a large tub of popcorn to stuff in their mouths and with which liberally to litter the floor.

The waxworks are good – some are very good. But is it just me who thinks it is deeply weird for adults to be posing for photographs with a waxwork model of a celebrity? Somehow it is OK in Disney World when your kids clamour for photos with Mickey and friends and at least they are moving, talking, dressed-up people. Not so here…and most of the people at Madame Tussauds yesterday were adults – maybe I’m missing something here but I can’t think of one reason why my husband and I would choose to spend enormous sums of money going to Madame Tussauds without the children and then take turns to take photos of each other with the likes of Posh and Becks, Boris Johnson, Usain Bolt etc – except, remember, people, it is not Posh and Becks, Boris Johnson, Usain Bolt etc – they are waxworks…sorry, but I think it is very, very odd behaviour.

People walk around “Madame Tussauds” saying in a surprised voice, “Look, there’s so and so…” – again, strange, because there is no-one there that you wouldn’t expect to see in a museum of waxworks of famous people. Except, perhaps, that is, one Mohamed Al Fayed lurking in the corner of the room dedicated to world leaders – still trying to work out why he was there amongst Obama, David Cameron, Margaret Thatcher…have I missed something?

Today, I tried to keep the costs down – well, relatively – and we went to the cinema to see “Madagascar 3” with some friends. We had lunch in M&S (cheaper than the pizza places) but unfortunately you need a degree to understand their children’s meal deal – apparently, 2 of the 5 pieces your child chooses have to be “snacks”,so to fulfil the criteria my children were forced to swap their relatively healthy smoothies for considerably less healthy biscuits and in my daughter’s case some frankly disgusting disturbingly bright pink “yoghurt” (I don’t think so) coated “Hello Kitty” raisins, which we promptly renamed “Hello Sicky”.

Next stop the cinema – having spent a small fortune on popcorn (another bugbear of mine is the daylight robbery that is popcorn/sweets purchasing in cinemas) and bought 3D glasses for the film, the cinema management then informed us that due to technical difficulties, they were unable to show the film. Tense negotiations followed and I’m pleased to tell you that we got a full refund plus free tickets for future use (if you don’t ask, you don’t get!). We promptly spent the money we saved on a quite ridiculous “hurricane tube” experience in the cinema lobby – 90 seconds of your children being buffeted by a “hurricane” force wind (basically, a giant hairdryer) – sounds strange, it was strange, although strangely amusing too (mainly for us adults) and it made me return to the thought which I often have – what on earth goes on in some people’s minds that results in such a bizarre product as a “hurricane” experience? Whenever you think people are all the same and we all think the same sorts of things, you come across something so bizarre that you realise that in fact we are all very, very different.

After a quick cup of tea and 8 donuts in Krispy Kreme, I totted up the nutritional intake for my children so far this half-term – popcorn, smarties, McDonalds (at a service station on the way back from Madame Tussauds – classy), “Hello Sicky” raisins, and Krispy Kreme donuts. I’m not proud of this by the way and I can already hear the audible gasp from you Annabel Karmel types but once in a while it doesn’t hurt and the last two days have been quite amusing and I don’t often say that about half-term with three children under the age of 8.

To B… or not to B…?

Posted on October 21, 2012 by kabe1 | 2 Comments

Wrinkles (Photo credit: scoutjacobus)

To B(otox) or not to B(otox) – that is the question? Actually this is a surprisingly easy one for me and perhaps given my tendency to whinge at every possible opportunity about my wrinkles, my answer is surprising – no way, Jose! Just too scared to shove botulinum into my face and anyway I’m bound to be allergic to it. Look, I’m as sick as the next person of those sanctimonious people who bang on about growing old gracefully – as if – but equally I’m absolutely certain I don’t want to grow old looking either as if I am perpetually stuck in a force 9 gale or unable to lift my eyebrows more than a micro-millimetre (not visible to the naked eye).

Just because I’ve decided to grow old (dis)gracefully, does not mean that I am enjoying the inexorable disappearance of youth. Yes, it really narks me when some young whippersnapper on the makeup counter not only tries to sell me foundation which is nothing short of something more usually found on a building site but also suggests I try some fancy new night cream for women in their late forties/early fifties. “39” I want to scream and as a matter of pride, I ignore her advice and buy the night cream for women in the early stages of ageing (although I find it harder to ignore her expression which is clearly shouting at me – “too late for that love, more serious action required’).

Talking of building sites, do you remember when you would get a wolf-whistle when you walked past one? OK, so that stopped a considerable number of years ago for me although embarrassingly for the first few years after it stopped, I still found myself turning round when I heard a wolf-whistle (part habit, part hope), to then have to turn back abruptly, humiliated. In my twenties, I would hark on about how sexist it was, how degrading – blah, blah, blah…but you know what, I’d be thrilled now if someone wolf-whistled at me – it would put a spring in my slightly less sprightly step. It’s all symptomatic of the same thing – you never appreciate what you’ve got in life until you no longer have it.

There is no denying that some mornings my face looks increasingly like it has been through a shredder and other mornings, no amount of make-up can disguise the bags (more like over-sized suitcases) beneath my eyes but the truth is I’m actually much more content at this age now and I know this slight obsession with ageing is just a temporary phase for me, a reflection on the past and anticipation of the future at one of life’s landmark stages.

So keep your poison-filled syringes away from me – I’ll take the laughter lines (euphemism for wrinkles) and I’ll keep laughing – there’s no way back now! There’s no chance of ironing out my wrinkles but they are really just that – a minor difficulty/snag in life’s rich tapestry.

turningtwicetwenty

Author Archives: kabe1