39 Steps

I turn 40, yes my dears FOUR ZERO in September.  Do not pity me for I am in fabulous shape, mentally and physically.  In fact, I'm feeling positively excited at the thought of this milestone.  Of course, long gone are the days when I could get away with wearing polyester mix material and my teeth don't quite fit the old gums as snuggly as they once did.  I've even found 3 grey hairs in my unmentionables (to add to the gagillions on my head - thank god for modern hair dye) as well as the stray whiskers on my chinny chin chin (though with modern technology those too have been exterminated)...gosh don't I just sound an absolute catch? It's a pity I don't have a sister, since I'm married (don't you just envy The Silverback?)

But by the same token, I also have an inexhaustible supply of healthy self-esteem.  I am secure and sure of myself and happy in my skin. I am doing exactly what I want to do, living exactly where I want to live surrounded by an ever increasing circle of mummy entrepreneurs and making only the sacrifices I want to make.  Sickening isn't it?  Well, not really, since this is all bourne of the experience that comes with being 39.  So you could say, I 've earned my stripes in this sense and now I am looking forward to the lookout point the next 39 steps may offer.  And if they produce the wisdom, friends and experience of the last 39 - I reckon I'd be quite happy to hang up my clogs there and then.  I think 80 is a very respectable age to check out.  The Lish will be 45 and hopefully have had the same rewarding experiences - none of which I hope should come too easy - because of course by definition, they wouldn't be rewards.   

So back to turning 40.  I am going out in style. Cheese style.  The Silverback is organising a party at the local tennis club (I know sounds very chic - and it is - proper Mannequin chic).  To which I am inviting old friends and new.  Including one girl I went to primary school with.  The icing on the cake will be a mini break to New York City. I am aiming for a proper 80s flashback time of my life.  I've been gearing up for it by watching all the 80s cheesoid films like Desperately Seeking Susan, Ferri Bueller's Day Off, Dirty Dancing, About Last Night, Pretty in Pink...oooh I could go on...WHAT?  I have a 5 year old!! I don't get out as much.

Sadly the second hand shop that features in Desperately Seeking Susan, Love Saves The Day, no longer exists in NYC...BOO!  but there will be other cheesoid locations.  All ideas welcome!!!



I will end with the wise words of Ferris Bueller:  "I've said it once and I'll say it again; life goes by pretty fast, if you don't stop to take a look around every now and again - you're going to miss it."

One more day, one more hour



If having it all means doing it all, and I believe that is exactly what it means, then I'm sorry. Not interested.  When you work, have a child and your other half is away on business and half the team at work are on annual leave, time doesn't fly - it transponds.  Last week was so incredibly manic that between school runs, frantic news generation (I work in PR)  and you know, a little thing called life (shopping, cooking, eating and maybe fitting in the odd shower and yoga session), Monday became Friday in the blink of an eye.  In fact I was convinced it was only Thursday on Friday because I needed one more day to fit everything in. That will be my epitaph.  Just give me one more day.

Of course come Saturday morning, all I wanted to do was loll around in bed - preferably asleep - but the chances of that, with a 5 year old (seemingly into paganism) around are pretty slim and this morning was no exception however I knew that in order to buy myself an extra hour in bed, I'd need to get Lish Losh set up with breakfast and children's TV.  It sort of works in that you do get to stay in bed a little longer but once you've been roused from that beautiful state of REM sleep, it's pretty much Game Over.  So I got a coffee and reached over the side of the bed for my book.  I'm currently reading about the life of Isabella Blow - stylist, icon and fashion guru. 

The rest of the day did take a much more laid back flavour.  Library. Park. TV. 
 
Here's a curious thing.  At the library I went to check some more books out - I admit to being a total book junkie.  I read two, sometimes three at the same time - always have.  It's weird I know, but I can't help myself, and the librarian points me in the direction of what looked like a soft drinks dispenser.

Piss take

Turns out it's a self service customer point.  A nice way of telling you to: Do it yourself!  So now you can check out, return and pay overdue fees without the can need of a person.  Already you can reserve and check for books online.  You can renew books online too.  Am I the only one here worried about the fate of the round-shouldered, tofu eating, bicycle riding, leather patch wearing humble librarian? 

I have a librarian friend, who sometimes reads the drivel I post here and I wonder what she makes of these machines? Whatever next?  Reading circle via Skype?  That's what I remember most about my childhood library - weekly visits with my school class for reading time followed by the mad rush to borrow the handful of copies of the book the librarian had just read to us from. 

Anyway, tomorrow is Sunday and I'm hoping to get a proper lie in.  I hope that having allowed Lishy to stay up a little later than usual, she will be so amazingly exhausted, she won't wake up until oohhh at least 8am tomorrow. 

I wonder when the tipping point happens? - you know - when kids stop acting like Pagans up at the crack of dawn like they're celebrating the summer solstice or something to the scornful, loathesome bags of hormones that can't get out of bed before 11?

Actually I'm not sure what's worse; sleep deprivation or life with a teenager?

The Staff Jolly

And just like that two weeks have gone by with very very little to report.  I say very little - it depends what constitutes "news" to you.  I mean, if hangovers and overindulgences are of interest, then perhaps I might be able to oblige.  The head of department decided it was high time to get the Tech Team, as we are known, out for a jolly around Soho. This was achieved with the ease of a hot knife going through butter.  Since you can't flick a bogey without hitting 10 pubs in Soho, a pub crawl is a) the obvious choice and b) with the exception of a show at the peelers, drinking is pretty much the only thing worth doing.

It was a night with multiple choice endings. The first ending (should you choose to select this one), was at "Byron at The Fox"a burger place in Wardour Street, today an upmarket diner that serves posh burgers and is located in what was once The Intrepid Fox pub.  OH THE IRONY! If that wasn't once the greebiest pub in London.  I do believe I spent my whole 16th - 17th year loitering in the general vicinity.  It was a legendary punk pub on the street where the original Marquee Club used to be before it moved to Tottenham Court Road and then finally went the way a lot of the old school cultural landmarks - up in a puff of gentrified smoke.  It sure was weird to sit at a table in a place where furniture was once banned and the closest thing to food was crisps.  The carpets (or what was left of them) were so sodden with beer and vomit that standing in one place for too long was as difficult as walking in quick sand and almost as dangerous. But....

That was then...

This is now...

...today you won't find a tattoo or piercing within 10 metres of the place

You could choose to end the night there.  You could.  But you don't.  Instead you say your goodbyes to the boss and the out-of-towners and then there was 3.  We slip down a side street to fit in a couple more pints, because we just can't help ourselves.  We just don't know when to stop.  We're just having too much fun and we're feeling way too sober.

But not for long.  And then the morning after pays a rude visit and you want to die.  We all make it into work - though I dare say very little of the stuff (work) got done.  Still, if the aim of the Tech Team jolly was to bond with work colleagues? I think I can safely say: Mission Accomplished.

And just as soon as we bond, the first casualty.  One of the team resigns and of course, we must celebrate, Soho style.  Can you guess what we did?

So that's really the long glass and shot glass of that.

 

(A belated) Day 4: Browning the Beef

I had high hopes for today, it being the last and the sunniest of the half term week.  I wrestled with my conscience over not taking Lish Losh to the jungle jim but it was more than I cold stomach.  The connection between indoor playgrounds and the frosty years in Canada was too disturbing.  In fact it all made me realise that there is a real possibility I might never be able to visit that place ever again. The Silverback will freak.  On second thoughts I might have to go.  I'll walk that plank when I need to. 

Moving on - please.  The day began in a leisurely fashion.  Midday I think it was before we actually set off.  So long term it would appear this staying at home lark would stagnate at some point.  In fact, I know so having been there before I was working full time.  There were days when it was pushing 3pm and we still hadn't left the house.  So all the more reason to celebrate how lovely this week was and appreciate why that was.

It was a scorcher yesterday so I knew at some point a park or fountain would make the itinerary but first we had an appointment with fear.  The dinosaur exhibit at the Natural History Museum.  The first time we went Lishy had a full blown panic attack when it came time to file past the 'real' dinosaur.  Here:



I kid you not my friends, this animatronic full size T-Rex is flippin scary.  Even more than a good scare myself is watching other people shit themselves.  Lishy was one of these the first time round.  She covered her head with a bag (not a plastic one  - put the phones down) but afterwards she pledged that next time, she would look the bugger in the eye. 

So we set out, as I say, like people who had all the time in the world.  I decided to bus it - it's a chance for The Lish to calm the freak down and rest a little while watching the world go by.  It's usually a very Zen experience.  Today (or yesterday to be exact) the traffic was murder.  It took a long-assed time to get there only to find the kind of queue you find outside embassies to countries people actually want to live in.  The sun was now hanging like a succulent peach, dripping it's sticky hotness onto us.  I lobbied hard to go to the Victoria & Albert next door which had no queue (never a good sign) but nonetheless.  The Lish was adamant.  We were going to see the dinosaur.

So we stood in line. For a long time.  Eventually we made it into the cool main hall.  Sweet relief. 

"I don't want to see the dinosaur," said The Lish.  Now, the Natural History is a busy place and that is the only thing that prevented me from drop kicking her into the iconic giant dinosaur skeleton that greets you on entering. 

Suffice to say, we went to see the dinosaur and after a little bit of sheer unmasked terror, Lady Lish came round and stared, if from somewhat an awkward angle, at the very realistic eyes of the beast.  Well done cockerliscious.  I don't think we'll be visiting the exhibit again.

Then it was a hop skip and jump and walk and stop for a pee-pee and a mummy, I'm hungry - you promised me a popsicle to Somerset House in The Strand.  This is a water park that puts all other water parks to shame.



It was slightly busier than this but I want you to feel the grace of the place.  And luckily for mummy there was an exhibition of zodiac heads by kidnapped artist Ai Weiwei which I flippin love. They are freaking amazing.  Such a mystery what's happened to the poor man. 



The day scorched on and I browned the fat a little bit more.  In fact, I will look like I've actually been away at this rate. 

I revelled in the sculptures but before you start pegging me as one of those namby pamby, arty farty types - all I could think was: I wonder is Ai Weiwei is pronounced I wee wee. Which just goes to show that you can take the girl out of the council flat and give her an education yet she will still take the most base route to humour.

Day 3: Chlorine popsicle

I woke up this morning, correction, I was woken this morning at an ungodly hour, I should add, by who else? - The Lish - demanding I put a DVD on.  I'll admit, I cracked.  I did all the things I've been trying hard not to do all week and then I put the DVD on. But I've decided I'm setting a new rule that no-one, talks or moves before 8am on a holiday or weekend.  To help the little one understand what 8am looks like, I'm buying one of those alarm clocks with eyes, specifically designed for whacko kids who, no matter what time they went to bed, no matter how tired they were (or tired out) the night before, still wake up at 6:30am.  You can set the eyes to open at a specified time.  So basically - you don't so much as fart before those eyes are open or there will be hellfire to pay.

After that little morning battle, I just couldn't face a jungle jim despite having proposed the activity myself. The fact is, I hate the damn places. They remind me of the loneliest and most depressing time of my life in Canada.  They also smell of feet.  Canucks prefer to call them, indoor playgrounds and since most of the country is under 9 feet of snow for 6 months of the year, you can understand why there were so many of them over there.  Yet every time I took The Lish, I was usually the only person there besides a bewildered Bangladeshi at the checkout, no doubt questioning the decision to have left a warm (if somewhat humid) paddy field for this shit.  What or where other Canadian children do for 6 months of the year in Ontario remains a secret.  And no, they are not slicing the powder on some breathtaking slope cos there aren't any worth skiing on in Ontario.  None.  So I imagine they are all sitting in the basement eating Cheetos practicing for a life of obesity. 

But I digress.  So I vetoed the jungle jim on the grounds of emotional trauma and instead decided to take The Lish to one of London's few open air pools.  It's in the heart of London too.  One could say the capital's best kept secret.  One could say that or one could say it's not going to win any prizes any time soon. 

Here see for yourself.  That 3-tier gallery around the side there? Not a gallery.  They are council flats full of gypos that overlook the pool 365 days of the year.  Smoking their fags and having their dole arguments in full view of the unsuspecting Londoner who thinks he's just hit the jackpot by finding this place on an otherwise stuffy summer London day.



Also, the sun decided to hide behind the clouds the moment we stepped into our swimming costumes and didn't come back out until our lips had gone a deep shade of purple and our bodies began to show the first signs of hypothermia. By which point, we were done. Nice try. At least it only cost a £1 to get in.  Again, you can  understand why.  We found the nearest park and lay like sardines for 2 hours as we waited for our core temperatures to rise enough for circulation to return.  Again, I do believe that was the nicest part of the day for me.


So tomorrow, while like today the forecast is low 20s - I think I'll believe it when I see it and instead am planning an activity that does not require the removal of undergarments.  I'm thinking museum.  There are so many to choose from in London, we are really spoiled and they are all free.  So I may just mosey on down to South Kensington and do a kind of museum crawl.  The Natural History, Science (which has a kind of jungle type jim for eggheads and boffin children) and Victoria & Albert museums are within a minute's walk from eachother.  Or I may just go to the Southbank to the Tate Modern to see the Miro exhibit.   Or I may just lie on a rug in the park as this has by far been the most rewarding of all activities...nice to know children still do ultimately appreciate the simple pleasures in life.

Whatever we do end up doing, it will mark the end of the first ever holiday utterly dedicated to mothering since I became one.  I shall reserve judgement and Lishy's review of it all until then.

Day 2: Paedo-watch

So end of day 2.  Pass the morphine.  I know it's Wednesday which technically is day 3 in a typical week, but Monday was Bank Holiday and The Silverback was on hand, so I can't count it.  This is day 2 of hardcore 'mano-a-mano' single parenting.  I managed to eek a day at a fountain in a park until almost 4pm.  That's art.  I should point out it's not just any fountain, it's the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain in Hyde Park designed with children in mind.  Children or seals - the water is sub zero temperatures but the children do not seem to mind.


And what a motley crue of kids they were.  All shapes and sizes with very independent thoughts on the correct attire for public swimming.  The Lish went Canadian - shorts and T-shirt.  The Brits let it ALL hang out and with some of those kids verging on the oldish side to be that naked, it made for uncomfortable viewing.  Put it this way, it's a good job Muslims very generally speaking do not seem to bring their kids here.

The Lish went mad.  No hesitation, she was in like Flynn.  Up and down, round and round.  I decided at the start of the week that there would be no reading on duty.  I just watched her chase her tail and with good reason, this is a park.  At best you get mentalists who like to do tai chi in orange jumpsuits from the 2009 Guantanamo collection but at worst, parks and particularly places designed for children draw the nasty and depraved.  I kept a sharp look out for paedos all afternoon, not once allowing Lishy to leave my line of sight and almost willing some arsehole to come between mummy bear and her cub.  I was ready to rip his bollocks off with my bare hands.  Luckily I didn't see any - but then again, what was I really expecting? A fat, bald sweaty fuckwit with bottle end glasses and trousers round his ankles?  I dare say they were around, quietly taking it all in.  Makes my blood boil.

So cleary, I enjoyed this part of the day immensely.  But in all seriousness, I didn't obsess - it was just, you know, there, in the back of my mind.

Onto brighter subjects - the day was one of those days that get immortalised in photographs of your youth, when it seems it was only ever sunny.  Except of course today I forgot to bring the camera.  So you'll have to make do with me telling you - it was a bloody lovely day.  Warm, dry and sunny.

After what seemed like 3 weeks, Lish finally came to sit with me and eat her sandwich and this is the bit I will fall alseep to tonight.  We lay together - she wrapped in a towel like a piglet in a blanket and me cuddling her from behind - munching our lunch while sedately watching the park life unfold around us.  It was idyllic.

Then another age passed as Lisherlicious went in for a second dip.  Meanwhile I kept watch like a meercat.  I managed to persuade her that an icecream truck was about to leave if we didn't move fast at about 4pm.  It did the trick.

We hiked back to Queensway, via the wild part of the park which I somehow convinced myself  was full of grass snakes.  To distract from this I got The L to lead the way a la Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz kind of way.  In retrospect, had there been any snakes, I'd be feeling pretty rotten for sending the kid in first.   I made up for it with a strawberry ice cream ( I had mint chocolate chip) which we enjoyed to the symphony of the traffic on Bayswater road and the heady exhaust fumes.  Bangkok has nothing on Queensway.  Still, we had ice-cream, we didn't care.

It was 6pm by the time we got home.  So no need to bake today thank god.  I rushed the pleasantries of bathtime, dinner and bed - rattling through 2 books blocking Lishy's every attempt to stall.

Kiss kiss, click and slump.  Over and out my friends.  Tomorrow I have Jungle Jim planned.  I'm already feeling naseaus.

Day 1: Half term - "baker extraordinaire"

I only said fuck once today.  This is excellent. .  As you may have gathered it's half term this week when all God's little children get a week off school; A week I have meticulously planned - to the minute.  As a working mum, it stands to reason that I would embrace this week with sincere openness and enthusiasm.  And I believe I have.  Like I said, just the one 'fuck' today. 

The day started well with The Silverback taking on all the morning duties while I had a lie-in.  Unlike other days, I got up immediately on hearing the front door click behind him.  The Lish dutifully installed in the front room with children's TV and breakfast, I made my own breakfast in a leisurely manner as I referred to the day's agenda.  Hackney City Farm. 

And indeed it was a joy to execute - it took almost no time (for London) to get there despite being on the other side of town.  I made sure to engage all the way with The Lish.  Usually I will read but not today.  Either she has matured or I've succumbed to what' I've always known I've had - a bad case of arrested development - but we got eachother.  She asked her usual obtuse questions like :  Is daddy 10? or her favourite, Am I (her) older than daddy? to which I usually answer yes to both but not today.

Today, imbued with the passion and desire to be the mum I can't be when I'm working - I explained that daddy was considerably older than 10 and no, she couldn't possibly be older than the person who made her.  Right?  To which she answered - but you're still older than daddy right?

Yes.

To Hackney Farm then.  I wasn't expecting much, it being a city farm and in Hackney.  And in that respect I wasn't disappointed.  I remember thinking two things.  1. If the owner has even bothered to read the Trade Descriptions Act - this place probably just made the legal requirements and 2. It doesn't feel like 21 degrees today.

Still, I conjured up a secret garden with fairies for The Lish and what's even more amazing was that she bought into it pretending to see fairies in the most unlikely of places.  There were also chickens, two giant pigs, some lambs and a goat - which Lisherlicious mistook for a giraffe somehow.  Then the obligatory visit to the farm cafe.  Irritatingly expensive to say the produce used in the kitchen was less than 10 feet away and I imagine would take the cook less effort to harvest than it takes me to floss my teeth. 

As luck would have it, we just made it around the "farm" and into the cafeteria - managing even to get the comfy seats when it started to pelt it down with rain.  So I wasn't wrong about the weather.  When I say pelt, I mean Cats & Dogs, which to me made the whole experience that much more organic.  The Lish took her shoes off and lay her head on my lap as we watched the sheets of water run down the sky light. 

Once the rain stopped we bolted to the bus stop.  Large pools had formed at the sides of the roads - it had rained that much - and we narrowly escaped getting drenched as some fuckwit bus driver ploughed through the water causing a hip height wave of gutter water to splash onto the pavement. 

Being a life-long Londoner used to a.) the odd downpour of rain and b.) fuckwits in charge of public transport, I'd more than half expected it.  Lisherlicious on the other hand almost had a cardiac episode.  I have to say, it did make me chuckle though I made sure not to let her see this as she can get quite haughty about these things. 

I looked at my watch - it was 12:40pm.  How could this be?  Surely not? ONLY 12.40?  I'd grossly miscalculated how long you can keep a kid at a farm.  I had to think fast - the prospect of getting home at 1:15 with nothing else planned filled me with terror. 

What take ages?  Think! Woman.  Cupcakes.  Two-for-one activity.  It takes ages and then mummy gets to eat most of them.  So I put the idea of cupcakes into her head and it worked.  A little too well because for the rest of the journey home it was:  mummy, can I mixe the cupcakes?; mummy can I lick the bowl?, mummy can I eat the frosting?.  This is sadly the point where I momentarily lost it and said the F word - just low enough for anyone but my conscience to hear but she got the message.

As promised she got to mix the cupcakes, she got to lick the bowl and she go to eat the frosting...and let's face it when they look like this - that is where the culinary experience has to stop.  What do you think of my collection of bum cracks and fannies? Genuis no?

Though I say so myself,  these are not the kind that look shite but taste really rather delicious.  No these look shite and taste of shite.  I would go as far as to say they are fucking awful cupcakes.

Let's see how far off the mark I am, shall we ?  Compare my latest creation to a shop bought cupcake:

Yes, one might say, I have a little way to go before I win Cupcake Wars.  But you know what? We enjoyed making them and The Lish enjoyed getting her own back for the bus splash by pointing and laughing at my baking skills.  And, I've just enjoyed throwing the whole lot in the bin.

All I can say is:

I'd better get some sleep - day 2 of the half term tomorrow and I'm now conscious of the fact that I didn't bargain on kids doing things quicker than anticipated.  Frankly, the prospect of having to bake again to fill time is just too humiliating.