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My ‘Oldness’

13 Sep

Rolling over in bed last night I got a bit of my insides caught in my ribs.

This has never happened to me before. Unsure of how to remedy the situation, I carefully rolled back to my original position, untucked my inner wobbly bits and rolled again more carefully without snagging my innerds on my ribs.

I can only assume that I caught my  ‘oldness’ – as I’ve dubbed it – unawares and that as I age, the bits inside me will start sagging as much as the drooping exteriors. Clearly they’ve already started.

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Mumisms

12 Sep

I just did it again…

Definition of a mumism: A fact your mum told you years ago, probably as a child, that stuck in your head which you randomly use in grown up conversation years later without thinking – only to realise that it’s not a fact at all and you just took it as such because YOUR MUM SAID IT WAS SO….AND YOU BELIEVED IT HOOK, LINE AND SINKER.

My latest mumism:

To my friend: “The only reason stopping me moving to Bristol is that it’s the wettest part of the UK, got it’s own special micro-climate” – even without googling this, it’s a pretty safe bet this  isn’t actually true but i said it with my default – I-trust-my-mum – head on and then had to admit I just fell foul of a classic mumism..

A quick google seems to suggest Cumbria .

Thanks mum. So Bristol’s back in the running then.

Get your rocks off, honey

11 Jul

And so it dawns on me as I lie awake at 3am from too much of a mumsy coffee day yesterday, that solitaire diamond necklaces are the new must-have yummy mummy accessory . The bigger the diamond the bigger the yumminess, clearly.

At Ellie’s open day for big school yesterday, the de rigeur necklaces – or uniform for mums if you will – were these little jewels. A single diamond on white gold/platinum chain. Understated little and not so little trinkets but no variation on the theme, that’s it. The recessionary jewellery of choice perhaps, in that they’re not too flash although they do splash the cash for those that want an extravagance but without being too obvious. You could say they even cost an arm on a neck (OK maybe that’s just 3am brain humour).

After officially becoming ‘Mrs Goldsmith’ on my passport this week (two kids down, I can protest no longer), I feel religiously obliged to sport one as proof, not only of my obvious yumminess (?!), but also of my newly acquired Jewish princess credentials.

Oh yeah – and we saw Primal Scream in the pouring rain at Regent’s Park outdoor theatre during a Jimmy Carr gig on Sunday, hence the blog title. They were really old & total crap. Luckily Carr was brilliantly funny & offensive, although at least 1% of it went too far.

A five day week – who’d want that?

20 Apr

Worked a five day week for the first time in nearly three years. What’s that all about then? I’m bloody knackered.

Give me my mad mummy juggle with 3 or 4 days work a week, screaming kids, supermarket runs, pick ups, drop offs, tantrums and nappy changes any day…

Have no idea how it was so shattering to sit on my arse and move my ginger fingers on this keyboard but nice to have current life decision reaffirmed.

Are high heels shackles?

2 Apr

Twitter’s not enough to explain the real rant I just touched on with the lovely Caryn Franklyn re women’s body image, the pressures/harrasment women in public life are under to be thinner and prettier and thinner and prettier. So here it is…

This time it started with the whole SamCam/Kate/Posh article in the Sunday Times suggesting they use being thin as a control mechanism in otherwise out of control lives where everything they do is controlled by the media. But all the judging then becomes on how they look, preened and rumple-free. Woe betide a grey streak, wrinkle or case of bed-head, it becomes a media scoop.

It is a terrible image to be presenting to our children and one I’m so frightened of for my little girl. At four, she’s already been brainwashed by the Disney princess mantra. Where are her role models and aspirational figures in which looks don’t figure?

Apart from me of course, handily my non celebrity status and hands-on lifestyle means my boobs look like spaniels’ ears and my tummy a Cadbury’s Flake – she call’s it a floppy cushion. I don’t mind – in fact I tell her I love it – and to a certain extent that’s true because it’s where she came from and that’s what I say.

So along with my changing body has come a change in body image and clothing. Now with my jeans and converse firmly in place, a looser top to flatter my rippling tummy, I find I’m actually much more liberated than before. High heels hurt and you can’t run or jump in them (unless you’re a pop diva, which I most certainly am not). I can do all those things in my new uniform. That’s the bottom line.

We all have a responsibility to our children to fight these aspiration-limiting stereotypes and show them that we are their role models. If I prance about in a perfectly groomed state 24/7, that’s what she’ll see as the norm. I’m not suggesting we all turn into slobs, but there has to be a happy medium. Little girls need to see that mummy works just like daddy, that she can run and jump and argue about politics and do maths and play football. We can none of us do all of it, but we can all try to do some of it. We have to, or the barbie doll aspiration will take over completely.

And back to SamCam, Posh and Kate M – I can only guess how hard it must be to live in such a goldfish bowl – but they would do better to be real women and a little less perfect if they really want to challenge the glamour-stereotypes that bind women in our world today.

Our Daily Bread…on the High Road

27 Mar

As a local Chiswickian I’m perplexed by the carb-fest that Chiswick is becoming. For a while now we’ve had the obligatory Zizzi, Franco Manca and Pizza Express, not to mention various ‘patisseries’ ranging from Gregs (admiteddly more bread than patisserie) to Pat Val, Bread & the other posh one on the corner, Gail’s. Did I miss any? It’s hard to keep track.
Now we’ve got Union Jacks and its ‘flats’ (a rose by any other name etc..), a Pain Quotidien and, wait for it, a Rosso Pommodoro coming to replace the much loved greek mini-market Adamou.
Am i the only one to’ve noticed this glut of bread-based eateries is actually defying the current trend to cut carbs.
What goes on here i wonder?

Boris Johnson’s new mini-me

21 Mar

So my son has curly hair. Full on blonde curly hair with ringlets. Yes he looks like a girl but having had dull dark brown straight hair all my life, I’m lovin’ it.

But hubby has dubbed him Boris – as in him of Johnson mad hair mayor fame – and so my daughter now calls him Boris.

Now today, when an old lady stopped him in the street and asked “What’s your name little girl?” He answered “Boris.”

Dear God, forgive us, for we knew not what we were doing? In ten year’s time this is bound to come out to his shrink – as is he, probably, given his current penchant for Rapunzel outfits and Barbie dolls.