Eat me

I have just got to show you this.  That's me.  On a cupcake.  I had 40 made for my birthday.  Yep.  Not at all egocentric.

I was born under a wandering star!

If you are wondering what it's like to turn 40, I gotta tell you - it rocks.  And I know this because I am 40 today.  I think it may well have something to do with the fact that by the time you reach 40 you've probably already done quite a bit of living (for better or worse) and quite frankly at this point, you're on the age equivalent of the "night bus" (next milestone marks your ticket to a place on the mobility bus) and you pretty much just want to get home - in other words: Am I bovvered? No, not really.   Least not as bothered as I was when I turned 30. In retrospect, I have to say, 30 was my scary age and I spent the rest of my 30s bemoaning that age.  I have no intention of wasting my 40s on that sentiment.

Besides which I'm in great shape.  Don't take it from me - see for yourself:

 (that's me on the right - the 25 year old Romanian au pair I borrowed is on the left...)

Tell me I don't look ravishing at 40!  And that's the other thing that happens at this age - self-esteem appears to peak because...yep you guessed it - 40 year olds (for the most part) don't give a monkeys what anyone else thinks.

I want to take a moment to thank the Silverback (so you can go ahead and add "humility" to the list of new sentiments that begin at 40) for organising the dog's bollocks of a birthday party yesterday at the local tennis club where a constant stream of friends, old and new and all cherished, just kept on arriving.  I had friends from primary school there and friends I've just met this year. 

Old ties like these that tether us to the happy innocent days of our early youths are so incredibly special, they verge on the mystical.  And that is what I have with this special lady:

and this one:

But by the same token my working mum chums who are brand new friends are equal in stature to me for all the support they have given in the short few months I've known them - in fact this motley crue, one hopes, will join the league of "old" friends when I'm celebrating my 50th. 

And these are just the ones that posed for piccies.  There are more!  Yes, it does seem like a lot of bragging over a few friends.  Big deal - we all have friends, right? Actually no, we don't all have good friends and even when we do have good friends, they should never ever be taken for granted.  I should know I've F-ed this up in the past and learnt the lesson the hard way.  So all the more reason to rejoice in gratitude for these and let's leave it at that.  (Note to self: add " get all preachy" to that list of stuff that happens).

So, this is what it feels like to turn 40. 

No but in all seriousness...take care of yourselves...aaaaannnn eachother. 

 

The Silverback - cheers!

Milestones and miracles

Flippin' eck it didn't take long to go from "I wouldn't say I was missing work..." to doing nothing but.  Still, I like to remind myself when the going gets tough and I start to obsess about the Euromillions, that it felt far far worse to have nothing to do and little money to spend on women's fripperies.

So, we got the flat - did I say? After 5 months of to-ing and fro-ing with the solicitors about "stuff" we finally exchanged. We get the keys in mid September and so we must bid farewell to this unbelievable area...for now at least and move into the NW2 postcode - the last postcode lived in by UK's most prolific serial killer, Dennis Nilsen. Which is just marvellous.  No joke.  Still, he is behind bars and he lived 2 full streets away.  (Note to self: stock up on karma purifying incense).

So with contracts signed and bank account emptied, I feel I can rejoice.  A home owner again with that all important anchor in London.  For the silverback it's a nice investment, but for me...it's home. And here it is: (well the front room, kitchen and couple of the bedrooms)




Nice ennit?  Sadly this isn't my furniture but I'm taking note.  Usually at times like this, you know milestone markers I would normally not be able to resist a little melancholia and think about another thing I can't share with my mother who has been gone 18 years this month.  Hard to believe, even harder to accept.  But you know, whether it's the yoga, the enormous amounts of Vitamin B Complex I ingest daily, the 'maturity' that finally comes with turning 40 ( as I'm doing this Sunday) or maybe it's knowing what rock bottom really feels like (thanks Canada - I owe ya) that I'm just grateful.  No more no less.

It's a fucking miracle.

I wouldn't say I've been missing work...

No, your eyes do not deceive you.  Yes this is a scene of a hotel pool in the UK...and it's sunny!!  Scorching in fact.  I would post a picture of myself but I fear it would be one brag too far, the brag that broke the blogspot's back, however do take my word for it when I tell you that I am roasty toasty brown and it's mainly due to the last week spent lolling about the pool you see above.  This is the pool of The Redcliffe Hotel in Paignton, Devon.  Credit to The Silverback.  I had my doubts about his choice of destination and don't get me wrong, we were the youngest people by ooohhh 40 or so years and outside the talcum powdered perimeter of this 100 year old hotel exists a world inhabited by fag smerking, chip scoffing, oxygen cylinder carrying, motorised wheelchair-using, tracksuit wearing, donkey riding folk who haven't seen an honest day's work since the end of the second world war -   but that only served to make the surroundings that much more relaxing.  I mean, you can let that depress you or you can accept that this is life outside of London and let it mellow. 

And once you've learnt to live with this, you just need to make peace with the doddering pace of a septuagenarian waiter and you're home free - conquer the hand trembling, pigeon step speed of service and you very quickly found the mood shifted from one of irritation to one of relative zen. It's a bit like being in the Dominican Republic except there you might wait forever for a margarita that would never come.  Here at least, the British sensibility dictated that while you might well be checking out by the time you get it, your vodka tonic would eventually come.

I have no bone to pick with this endearing generation.  In fact I have the address of one and I intend to keep in touch with the delightful great-grandmother to be and her effeminate male friend.  Yes sir, I do.

Rewind to a week earlier, to a much more bohemian week spent at the Kawan Camping village in Mesnil Saint Pere, Champagne, where a week was spent bunking up and bonding with a group of like minded people and our respective herds of children.  It exceeded all expectations and ok, I had my doubts about camping...but I'll let you into a little secret, while we were at a camp ground, this dog did not camp.  Did you really think I would contemplate a holiday in a fart filled bag?  What do you take me for?  No darlings - this is where we "camped".... ahem.  I mean really!


But more to the point, it turns out The Silverback is a proper "Mr. Group Activity" and I have to say, after a week of al fresco eating with everyone pitching in and kids living like free range chickens, Devon was a rather lonelier experience by comparison.  Still, we managed.
I for one, hope this is the beginning of a long group tradition.  For now, it's back to the old grind tomorrow and you know what? I'm looking forward to it.  Jesus, how much cough medicine have I had?

So the moral I think of this story is...dare to step out of your comfort zone you might just be dazzled by the results.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside!

With one day to go before holi-woks for two whole weeks, I'm remarkably calm considering these are contenders for the most random destinations since the time I decided to go to Helsinki...one November... but that was before the lobotomy.  The first week promises a commune-like week at a campsite in Champagne where we are hooking up with my circle of Wums (working mums) and their offspring.  I'm keeping an open mind about group activities though I draw the line at naturism.  I mean this is France.  Last time I looked, the French weren't big on shaving.  And besides, I don't have any accessories that go with nudity.  No. So we'll see.  I have bought a vintage kimono for the occasion.  It will be my multi-purpose garment and if nothing else, should distract from the Cesarean scar. 

I have a romanticised vision of hazy, lazy days and cool evenings with a perfectly behaved child and a charming husband.  Yep.  Pass the beernuts.

But it doesn't end there, hell no.  Then we're coming back to the UK and heading down to Paignton in Devon.  Boo-yah-kah!  P to the A to the I to the...Brrap!  The English Riviera!   I'm expecting a week of dodging mobility chairs and pikeys; little toothless simpletons with their Shetland ponies - but I might be wrong.  I gave The Silverback free reign to choose a destination, and he chose Paignton.  The last time the sausage-fingered destroyer of all manmade things - A.K.A. The Silverback chose a holiday destination, we ended up in Brussels.  So, every cloud....

At the end of the day, it's not where you are but who you're with and the effort you make right?

Yeah, I think I'll go horse-riding in Paignton...in my kimono.

#6 - Perfection and beauty and...wood

Well, The Silverback and I have made it to our 6th wedding anniversary.  I am told it's the year of wood, and puns aside - yep, wood is as good a description of last year as anything. Sometimes we've worked with the grain and sometimes against.  Sometimes we've had to work hard at not beating the shit out of eachother with the wood and other times it was only the wood in a stripped back frame that kept us together.  So all in all.  Yes, wood is about right.  That said, the number 6 in the Tarot also symbolises perfection and beauty.   And there is much of that too in this last year of marriage though, I suspect those moments have very subjective interpretations. Perfection  for me is being back home, in a job I like, in an area of London I love and looking at the very imminent prospect of becoming a homeowner once again.  Beauty is seeing The Lish become a confident and happy child, in a good school with a great bunch of friends.

And as we enter the 7th year, I'm hoping to avoid the itch that tears people apart to instead scratch the itch that propels people into new adventures. But let's not get ahead or ourselves.

For today, the day we tied the knot 6 years ago, we plan on just being nice to eachother.  Not as easy as you might think when there's a broth of resentment bubbling away in the background.  Resentments that stem from bad life decisions in the past and a whole lotta immaturity.  Slowly the broth is evaporating but it has taken a lot of 'wood' to keep that fire burning and no doubt will continue to do so. Lucky then that 6th anniversaries are symbolised by the stuff. 

In many ways I do believe that The Silverback and me are destined to live our lives in reverse.  Getting pregnant on your wedding night doesn't leave much time for a couple to bond and enjoy that part of the journey.  We will have to wait until the other end, when the kid leaves home and we're into the winter of our lives.  I'll admit it's a huge risk.  So many variables at play, but this wasn't exactly planned so the least I can do is go into this with a completely open mind, and heart.  Having made it this far despite the turmoil and continent hopping, I don't think it's overly ambitious.  Is it? 

Today then is all about spending it together, as us.  You know to make up for lost time.

Getting a complex

...a B complex that is.  For years, pretty much since I had The Lish, I've never really felt right, for want of a better word.  At first I just put it down to post baby stuff, I have to say, it took me ages to lose the baby weight, so long in fact that to be honest, I never really did.  I mean, I'm not frumpy or anything, but I was for a while.  I was also anaemic for the longest time and I guess it must all take its toll.  Then I moved to Canada and I know this is going to sound really weird, but I felt like I was walking on foam for most of the time I was there.  Heels were out, trousers looked wrong and nice dresses has to be flowy to hide the rolls!.  It was the oddest feeling all round, like I was in a bubble walking on foam.  That said, it was actually in Canada where I lost the worst of the baby flab with a personal trainer but because I never really followed a diet - although I was fit and firm, I could have been slimmer.  The same goes for me today, though now back in London I feel the ground beneath me in a way I didn't in Canada.  I'm not talking metaphorically either, I mean literally.  It's mad isn't it? What can I say? 

See the thing is I just can't seem to resist carbs and sugar and my metabolism isn't what it once was.  I've also always suspected that my moods were most definitely connected to diet but I never did anything about it.  Call it laziness, denial, call it what you want I finally decided to do something through what I eat.   I'm now following a special diet that starts with a cocktail of vitamins and minerals designed to boost your neurotransmitters and balance hormones and enzymes.  8 pills daily (1 x B Complex, 1  B6, 1 x B3, 3 x calcium, magnesium and Vitamin D3, 1 x Gingko and 1 x St. John's Wort.  This means, in theory, I shouldn't get the sugar lows that usually lead me by the nose to the nearest newsagents for a bag of Skittles or Maltesers.  And by balancing the hormones in the body, the idea is to also banish the mood swings and depressive episodes.   Early days yet to say whether it's worked.  Today for example, I stayed off the sweets but did blow up at my boss over something...

Wonder if there is a pill that makes the boss disappear?