From The Pen Of A Mullingar Heifer....

Hands up if you can identify with my sad tale.

Before Red was born I had a nice figure - I always thought I was like the side of a house but with hindsight I was probably an ideal weight for my height. Put it this way - when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant I wasn't too heavy to be almost blown over a lowish wall on the main road by a great gust of wind whilst I was shaping along in my leather coat (probably to buy 20 Rothmans....I was on the ciggies big style in those days) and pixie boots. If I hadn't executed a pretty nifty scissor kick as I was buffetted diagonally from behind, passing drivers would have been dialling 999 rather than just being plain gobsmacked.

After Red was born I was scrawny. Walked everywhere with the pram; still puffing away on the Rothmans; no Big Man around therefore no need for any nourishment other than black coffee. When Mr Charming was born two years later I'd given up smoking, had a brand new car and didn't do any walking ("Look at me! I'm in a J-reg Astra!!"); consequently I started to get fat. And fatter. I've put on roughly seven stones since the pre-kids days; I've lost up to five stones at a time in the interim but put it on again and currently I am looking like the proverbial Mullingar heifer. Never heard of her? When I was growing up in Dublin the disdainful description of any girl whose legs were a little bit chunky/a little bit cankle-y (at least I don't have those...thank you God!!!) was 'she's beef to the heel like a Mullingar heifer!'. I really don't know what the significance of Mullingar is in this by the way - it's a little town in the midlands of Ireland and Googling it I can see that famous Mullingarians include Joe Dolan, Michael O'Leary of Ryanair, Tina Kellegher (if you've never seen the film 'The Snapper' I command you find it and watch it NOW!!) and Niall Horan of One Direction, they of the totally knobbish haircuts - but I find no reference to heifers and fat legs. Go figure. It's almost as insulting as that withering putdown for those with skinny shanks....'last time I saw legs like that they had a message tied to them!' People can be cruel and usually I'm one of them, but then you already knew that....

Heifer with attitude. A bit like me. Lol.

 



So here I am, a fat lady. Not at all happy. Any fat woman who says she is happy with how she looks is a big fat liar. All the 'oh, let's celebrate curves' and 'oh, real women are the new black/new 30 etc' and 'oh, so many proper designers are making clothes for bigger women' doesn't hide the fact that fat girls look crap in just about everything they wear. My opinion, don't hate me for it.
I'm not only fat, I'm very top-heavy so fairly slimmish hips, not much of an arse but a mahoosive chest. Which I hate, hate, hate. I'm pretty sure we've been here before but titless ladies, trust me, if you had my bangers you would not be happy. It's the curse of the females in my family, from Southampton (pretty sure Red has been the cause of more than one male patient going down to theatre with a beaming smile on his face when she's the duty porter) via Dublin, to Minneapolis and beyond. Think of four 4x4 Duplo bricks on top of an upright 2x8 Lego brick and you get the idea. Older ladies might remember William 'the Refrigerator' Perry from the days when we were being flogged the idea that American football was what British sports fans were waiting for. A linebacker, that's me.

My ass is only half this size - o joy!!!

 

A couple years back I lost a stack of weight using a combination of Slimming World (me and Big Man were our group's Mr and Mrs Slimming World...the sense of achievement was exhilirating!), gyming and Spinning. I don't like exercise but I turned into a bit of a gym obsessive and I was crazy about Spinning. When I hit a plateau, which slimmers inevitably do, I decided to mix my exercise programme up a bit by trying British Military Fitness - it was just getting going in Southampton then and sessions were held on the Common. I went along and was a bit worried to see that almost all of the others were students or (what seemed to me) yuppie-types. Slim young women and men who'd obviously just come straight from their jobs in law or marketing...no middle-aged, still hefty mothers in TK Maxx sweats. Firstly we all had to go on a run around the Boating Lake and back to the start point by the entrance to the Common. I puffed and panted my way past the shrimp net-wielding Eastern Europeans, hoping vainly to catch a carp, me obviously bringing up the rear. Everyone else had moved onto the next exercise by the time I made it back. This involved pairing up and doing sit-ups, each holding the other's ankles in turn. I was matched up with a young, scared looking studenty chap, not unlike Mr Charming is now.

Can you see where this is going?

His sit-ups passed without incident, however half -way through mine I let out a smallish but audible fart. His face was a picture, I don't think he knew where to put himself. I should have been mortified I know but I do believe that I might have actually laughed and said 'oops!' quite gaily. Maybe I should have leapt up and run and hidden myself in a little copse until the session ended but I just carried on doing sit-ups until the whistle blew. Needless to say the poor young fella was off like a greyhound out of a trap and I often wonder whether he got as many laughs out of the story as I have. In fact, am I wrong to sit here sniggering as I think of it even now?! And no, I never went back.

 

All this is a bit of a roundabout way of saying that I've started back to Slimming World again. There are a couple of reasons, apart from hating what I look like, not having a very good level of fitness, eating loads of snacky crap (not chocolate though...not really a fan) and not being able to wear lovely clothes. First, I've got another new sidekick at work who is very slim - I'd make two of her - and I don't want my residents calling us Laurel and Hardy. Second, Big Man has booked a holiday to Vietnam and I just don't wanna look like She-Hulk next to the petite Asian ladies.

 

She-Hulkeshling, but with a waist

 

I'm not telling anybody this time. Not Babcia, not anybody at work...even Red doesn't know but then she's hardly ever here and if she did know she might want to come with me then she'd drop out after a couple of weeks and people would keep asking about her and I'd have to keep saying she was doing shift work...blah blah blah. Been there, bought the t-shirt.

 

So, can y'all keep it a secret? I'm not gonna bore you with weekly updates or recipes or ideas for syn-free snacks. I'll just let you know each half stone, deal? And make sure you stick with me every fart of the way.

 

 

 

PS  Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce's Ulysses informs me that '...the plains of Westmeath around Mullingar are noted for fattening cattle.' So there you have it.

 



In The Doghouse

Oh dear, I seem to be in the doghouse again with Red. The crime this time? It was a beautiful afternoon when I got home at four, followed shortly by the return of Big Man. Red was nowhere to be seen - gone out, according to her dad, without waiting in for the Homeserve man to come and fix our overflowing drain. She often, when she's not working, disappears at about 1pm and we might not see her until the next morning. I said to Big Man, 'let's go into the Forest for a pub meal', just on the spur of the moment and because he loves eating out and we do it rarely he jumped at the chance.
We ended up at The New Forest Hotel (I recommend it highly) and had a lovely meal and a drink. When we arrived home Red was back and on the computer downstairs. No sign of food being cooked for us, even though it was 7pm and she had no idea where we were. We might have been anywhere at all. I suppose I was a bit facetious because I'd had a sniff of the barmaid's apron (I am a total lightweight where drink is concerned), as was Big Man. It transpired that Red had indeed waited for the Homeserve man AND she hadn't left toast in the front room, something Big Man had also accused her of (oops! That was Carb Addict!). When we said we'd been for a pub meal she was furious with us, very insulting (I'm still sniggering as I'm telling you - she got madder and madder the more we laughed and when I asked her if she wanted a Twix instead she went ballistic!) and said we were selfish but in far more colourful language. But I ask you, is it selfish for two adults, parents, to go out for a pub meal and not take their 22 year old daughter, who might have been anywhere in Hampshire, with them? I felt really guilty about it actually. Should I? What would you feel like?
Later on I was reading upstairs when the door knocked and I heard Red answer it. She came upstairs and I asked who'd called but she ignored me and went into her room. Big Man told me it was the pizza delivery man.......

Tit-Fer-Loll Speaks

I read Lucy's post on body image with interest and also Krista's response to it. I don't normally write 'comment' posts because I think there's enough drama in my life without pulling more in from outside sources but this time I thought people might be interested in my take on things.

Keshling on the left. More chins than a Chinese phone book, as they say.....

I've always been a biggish girl, from about age 7. I like food. I love to bake then eat it (as I write there's a Red Velvet Beetroot Cake chugging away in the oven. Nom nom nom!). Growing up in my malignant Northern town Babcia didn't believe in unlimited sweets and cake for us kids so I loved going to Auntie Eva's house next door but one (she's not a real auntie but it's a Northern thing to call any female friend of your mum 'Auntie') where I could help myself to handfuls of chocolate digestives from her Tupperware barrel. It mortifies me now when I recall her saying, eventually, 'only take two of those, Keshling' though at the time I just remember feeling aggrieved and hard done by. Auntie Eva has two daughters and the youngest, Shirley Anne, is a couple years older than me. She was absolutely spoiled rotten and had all the latest clothes  - think cheesecloth shirts, loon pants, as much tartan stuff as you can imagine (Auntie Eva is Scottish for one thing, and it was BCR mania at the time); and matching corduroy jacket and jeans combos (they didn't make them in my size, 9 Portly). I particularly recall the time that Shirley Anne appeared wearing her first bra. We were in my neighbour-girl Christine's tent on her back garden and Shirley Anne, who was totally flat-chested, was letting us unfashionable dopes try it on. I don't really remember how it fitted the other girls but I know my puppy fat/budding boobs filled the cups completely which made Shirley Anne very annoyed. I was chuffed and said 'look, it fits me!' to which she snapped 'no it doesn't, you have to be able to get your hand into the pocket in the front and you can't when you're wearing it!'. She made me take it off there and then and fell 'out of friends' with me later that day. It was my first hint that big tits are not neccesarily a good thing.

From about 14 I slimmed down a lot and stayed that way, mostly as a result of my 20 cigs a day habit. Looking back at photographs of the time I always believed I was like the side of a house though in reality I was about 10 stone, which for 5'7" isn't bad.....I was really pretty hot! I probably had about a 36C chest - a bit bigger than average but not Chesty Morgan-sized - and I didn't look out of proportion.

 

Chesty with her 'twin torpedoes'

I snapped back slimmer than before after Red was born but once I had Mr Charming my body started bulging perculiarly. Maybe it was due to giving up smoking, or going from walking everywhere to driving around, or most likely I'm just genetically predisposed to be a titty woman. Whatever, I put on weight and my chest got bigger and bigger, whilst my bottom half stayed normal, for want of a better word. Nowadays I'm a 16 bottom half and a 22 top half and let me tell everyone who's ever wished for a bigger bust that it's no laughing matter. I can't say that I get back ache from the weight but nothing looks nice on me - it's hard to find dresses that simultaneously fit a 16 AND a 22; big breasts are incredibly ageing (matronly, even.....it's difficult to pull off a denim mini skirt, opaque tights and boots look when it's teamed with a Hattie Jacques-type bust); it's murder getting nice bras - they're all 'serviceable' rather than sexy; some men talk to my boobs rather than to me; and they look just horrendous when they're finally released from their over the shoulder boulder holder at night. It's safe to say that after breastfeeding three kids mine are hanging down almost to my belly button. It's even worse when I lose weight....they look like two empty pockets made of skin, a bit like Iggy Pop's in fact, only way bigger.

Red has inherited my big chest (though hers at least are perky!) but she quite likes it, however I can't help but notice that in many of her pictures on Facebook the guys she's out with seem mesmerised by her boobage. She has also had complaints made about the amount of cleavage she shows at work ('yeah, by jealous, flat-chested nurses!') but doesn't seem to care. She says her boss George hasn't complained but then in Red George has the Jessica Rabbit of the Portering Department working for him, so why would he?!



It's no exaggeration to say that I totally hate my breasts and would love nothing more than to be able to have them reduced and lifted. Some might say that I've lived this long with them but that's missing the point. Nobody has ever made me feel bad about them but I'm not happy with them and in the future, when everything is paid off, I WILL do something about my boobs. I think any girl or lady who wishes for bigger breasts should be very careful - they are more trouble than they're worth. Take it from Tit-fer-Loll.

Titter Ye Not!! Oh, Go On Then.....

I know not everyone is such a fiend for spelling and grammar as I am - Mr Charming, the English undergrad always tells me 'spelling doesn't matter Mum, people know what I mean' when I automatically edit anything from the most casual of notes to his coursework essays. I can't help myself - when I was at school in 70s and 80s Dublin, spelling really mattered. For me, kids nowadays rely on spellcheck too much which is not good, plus it can miss the context of things. I think if you read a lot, and I do, you automatically pick up good spelling and grammar. Having said that, Red never reads anything more taxing than 'LOOKS' magazine but is very literate whilst Mr Charming reads a lot yet isn't brilliant with his punctuation...he's more your 'stream of consciousness' kind of writer. Yeah, right. Big Man reads very rarely and correspondingly is not good at all at spelling - I've never let him live down the bluey he sent me from the Falklands that ended 'Sweat dreams, darling xxxx'. Oh dear. Still, he was in charge of a £300million nuclear submarine's reactor room so his inability to spell didn't do him too much harm.

Anyhow, the thing that I've seen a few times recently on other blogs, and it makes me titter each time I see it is bloggers spelling 'definitely' as 'defiantly'. Not gonna say who (and can't remember anyway!) but when it says something like...'we really enjoyed our kale last year and we'll defiantly plant it again this time' I imagine a blogger purposefully approaching her allotment, brandishing seeds in one hand, a trowel in the other and with a determined look on her face, telling the startled, codgery old bystanders 'I'm gonna plant this kale, so don't try to stop me!'

I'm easily amused.

PS. Just in case you're starting to hate me for being a total and utter spelling snob you'll be happy to know that I still cringe with mortification when I remember the time I was trying to impress a guy I fancied and was airily dismissing something or other as 'banal'. To rhyme with anal.........

Uses For A Tesco Uniform?

Whilst 'tidying' Red's bedroom I discovered several items of uniform from her days as a (very unwilling) Tesco employee. Skirts, shirts, trousers and a fleece to be precise. Given that she left there three years ago, to sighs of relief all round, I think we can safely say that she won't be needing it again. But what to do with it? Red and Big Man tell me to ditch it - as Red says, they wouldn't give it to anybody else if I returned it to the store, which was my original idea. Better them dispose of it than me. However, I don't want to just bin it because I HATE wasting anything.
Any ideas anybody?

PS ...I don't quilt. Or patchwork.

Crocs Away!!!

Next week I am working in the kitchen again for another three days. I said I'd never do it again after last time because it was so exhausting and I'd had sleepless nights beforehand worrying that things were going to go wrong (they didn't btw). However, this time it will be a joint effort, me and our handyman Robbie together. Robbie was also pressganged into cooking last time and he said that he would only do it this time if we both cooked. Rather than see money wasted on agency chefs I agreed and we are planning to do some spectacular meals. The food is a bone of contention at our place with the chef on one side and the staff and management on the other. It's complicated but Robbie and I hope to instigate some changes next week.
Anyway, last time I found it very hard on my feet and legs, standing for nine hours and someone recommended Crocs as being good for this problem. Previously the idea of Crocs made me shudder....ugly, clumpy, nasty-looking....but I saw some in Primark today for £2.50 and so I decided to take the plunge. I doubt they are genuine for that price, don't you?;P

The hour I spent in Primark with Red today was the longest I've ever stuck it for - normally I am driven out after five minutes, terrified by the sheer scale of shapeless schmutter (heaven forbid any woman with breasts might want to shop there!) and hordes of teenage girls. And to be honest, who can be bothered to sift through all the dross in search of the elusive treasure? If I was shut in a room stark naked with 99% of the stuff from Primark I'd make a dress out of the carpet before I'd wear any of the clothes. I know it has the same kind of jumble sale vibe as TK Maxx but somehow Primark is so downmarket that it's demoralising.

Anyway, I showed Mr Charming my new Crocs when I got home and he was scathing in his contempt. This is a man who would be willing (if he had it) to spend over £100 on this synthetic jacket.

I told Mr Charming that Babcia could knit him one but he's not convinced...

Has one or both of us had a taste bypass this week? What do you think, and have you ever bought something you previously turned your nose up at?

The Weekend I Realised I'm Old

In 2009 the Kings of Leon were THE big thing and I really, really liked their music. I got it into my head that I wanted to see them live and since I'd always wanted to go to a music festival (never having been to a proper one when I was genuinely young. As opposed to just feeling and kidding myself I was young) I thought it'd be a wheeze to go to Reading Festival. Camping. Red was agreeable to coming with me - she was going on an all expenses paid weekend away AND seeing great bands, why wouldn't she be? - plus she had camped before. Only later did she tell me she'd never actually put a tent up before, only arrived at a campsite where the tents were already pitched (see! I've got all the camping lingo! Sadly none of the skills ;P). In a state of excitement I bought a wind-up lamp, a tent - I already had wellies! - no sleeping bags though. From reading festival-goers' websites I found out that it was better to just buy a couple of duvets from the Reading branch of Asda, wrap up in them at night then donate them at the end of the festival. I had also been assured by all the festival attendees I spoke to that there was no way I'd be the oldest there. That should have set alarm bells ringing.....never take the word of young people, particularly when it's someone (remember Pigface?) who has designs on your daughter.

We arrived and managed to pitch (there I go again, semi-pro camper-talk!!) our tent then hotfooted it into Reading where we bought a couple of duvets, a disposable BBQ, a dozen sausages and a case of cider. The place was full of lissom public school-type girls, all shining hair, long legs, family holiday in the Maldives style tans and good teeth. Need I say I hated them, whilst at the same time wishing I was like them?
The Kings of Leon were appearing on the first night of the festival (our second night there) so we got into the main stage area from about midday. I'd say we were maybe three rows from the front which wasn't bad going. Red is taller and stronger than me - my elbows are sharper though! - so she kept a tight hold. All was going fairly well...it was very hot and sunny and all the feet churned up loads of dust. Within about 30 minutes we were covered - clothes, hair, inside your boots. In fact it was so unbearable that on the next day, Saturday, Red and I went and had our hair done in Reading town centre. Big Man says I must be the only person who went to Reading Festival and had to have a wash and blow dry half way through.
After a couple of hours watching bands I'd only vaguely heard of, Deftones came on stage and a circle pit formed right next to where we were standing. Do y'all know what a circle pit is? A mosh pit? It's kind of like this;

   Except the one next to us was smaller and less good-natured :(

Mmm. Now imagine yourself being snagged by some maniac as they ran around screaming, and hurled into the centre. It might be exhilarating when you're a teenage boy (Mr Charming loves to mosh) but when you're an unsuspecting mum of three it's bloody terrifying, let me tell you. Luckily there is an etiquette at festivals...if anyone falls over they get picked up straight away, and so I was pulled up unceremoniously and was able to get back to Red. Almost unbelievably she said to me crossly 'for God's sake Mother, stay out of the mosh pit!'

Needless to say we got separated during the afternoon. Some girl pushed herself in between the two of us and there was no way I could get back to Red, and by then the heat, the dust and the sheer pressure of the crowd behind was not only getting to me physically, it was quite frightening. More circle pits were starting up, there was more pushing from behind, causing people to fall over - I was pushed over a couple more times and each time I really thought I would die, be crushed to death. Yes, you get pulled to your feet again straight away but there was no quarter given by any of the festivalgoers for the fact that I was as old as their mums - I was just another bod to be pushed past, bowled over and then yanked up again. At least youngsters are egalitarian I suppose! I pushed my way out of the crowd and spent an hour or so just walking round the market.

This is how dusty it was

Red and I had our mobiles so I knew that she'd stayed where we were. By the time the Kings of Leon came on I tried to get back to her but there was no way, so I watched their set from the middle of the crowd and we met up again at the end. We'd pitched our tent quite near the entrance to the campsite (and near the toilets....that was one of my specifications lol!) so we had a walk through the different zones to get back to our tent. I had decided that my appetite for festivals had been sated - I felt exhausted; I was bruised, covered in dust, my hair was like nothing on earth; I was disappointed that KOL had been so ill-tempered and not played any encores AND I'd been separated from Red most of the time (she was very contemptuous of the the way I'd 'let myself be pushed out by that girl'...well, excuse me - she was a head higher, young, fit and strong!) - and I was looking forward to getting back to our tent and a (for me) sedated sleep. The final straw came when two young fellas walked past us and twisted round to look at Red and I. Both had smiles on their faces (you know the kind of smile I mean....when someone's about to try their luck) but the one opposite me's face fell when he saw that I was mum-aged and not a teenaged girl too. They quickly turned around and kept on walking.

And in that moment I knew I was old.

Too old for festivals. Too old to be wearing shorts and wellies, although in my defence my legs were very brown from a Turkish holiday. Too old to be camping (sleeping on the floor? No thanks!). Too old to live on four sausages and twelve tins of cider for three days. Too old full stop.

And I still had two more days to get through........

For Heaven's Sakes....!

How annoying is this? I've sold a book on Amazon for £12.50 and I can't bloody well find it. Why is everything so disorganised? I'm almost driven to join one of these de-cluttering challenges that are flying round blogland. But not quite.

Going to bed now to try to dream where I put it. Like that's going to happen...

BTW, thanks for your good wishes for Red everyone. She recovered sufficiently to go to Chiquitos this evening with a friend but I'm still planning to get her an appointment with the doc to check the heartbeat out.

Happy Birthday Red!!!

My beautiful girl Red reached 22 today and she spent it curled up on the settee asleep. She's really suffering with 'raging' (according to the nurse at the walk-in centre) tonsillitis. She can't get comfortable in her own bed due to a spring in the mattress that's hurting her hip - so far she's been in my bed, Mr Charming's bed whilst he's at uni, and on the settee. She even spent all night downstairs the night before last! She has some antibiotics now and they seem to be doing the trick. I'm a bit worried though...she told me this morning that after climbing the stairs her heart was beating so hard that it really frightened her. I'm going to try to get her an emergency appointment at the doctors because she already has a heart murmur (all three kids do), plus Babcia has atrial fibrillation (erratic heartbeat, although she's pretty erratic generally so why should her heart be any different?) and all four of my grandparents (Red's great-grandparents) died of heart-related problems. I sometimes get that really pounding heart in bed at night - it feels so strong that you can almost see your chest jumping. I'm hoping it's nothing to be worried about....have any of you guys come across it?
So, we didn't go for our special meal to TGI Friday and will have to rearrange it for one night this week, which will mean neither of her brothers will be there. Seems a shame when Mr Charming will be home Thursday. Maybe we'll go then.

Awwww, bless!!!!

Is It Money-Saving If....

...you decide against buying biscuits and cake at Lidl in favour of baking a homemade cake, which you all then eat 7/8ths of in one sitting?

Looking nothing like the picture but still very scrummy, with a bit of going-mouldy fromage frais!

I had £47 left of my £250 food budget when I went shopping this morning, and my list had food needs for the next 11 days meals. I didn't need much because I have the makings of most things in the freezer or cupboards already. The total came to £52 but that included 6lbs of minced steak at £1.49 a lb - not on my list and limited to six per customer but such a bargain that I couldn't turn it down. But then, when I got home and checked my emails later I had one from Approved Foods. Carb Addict is a popcorn freak and they are selling popcorn kernels at 99p per kilo so I ordered four. Plus another £36 of stuff on top that we didn't really need. I'm not sure why I am the world's worst self-sabotager but I am. I suppose the good thing is I got an extra £200 in my wages for the overtime on Christmas Day and New Year's Eve, and even being £50 over my food budget is good for me.

We bought a reduced turkey crown just after Christmas. I cooked it this evening and I hope to get three meals out of it - roast dinner, turkey and leek pie and turkey stew and dumplings. I also got three meals out of the pork loin I bought after New Year's, that was reduced by 50% to £10. I'm just not used to ekeing things out like this, and we still have meat or sausages for nearly every meal; even just a bit of bacon in Egg, Bacon and Potato Bake counts as a meaty meal to me. Thank God I can cook is all I can say - it must be very hard for those who can't or won't home cook. My Red cooked a couple days this week and she's pretty good too....at least she won't starve.

I'm working tomorrow, Monday and Tuesday at my regular job. Wednesday I am doing extra hours as a carer, Thursday and Friday my regular job then Saturday and Sunday I am the chef. Never cooked in a works kitchen before and I'm soooooo nervous about it! Keep your fingers crossed I don't poison any of the residents!!!

Me on Saturday. Except I will be screaming.

A Bloody Business

I fulfilled one of my 2012 goals today when I gave blood successfully for the first time ever. Go me!!!!

I'd tried once before, a long time ago, when the Blood Donation Service paid a visit to the offices where I worked as an accountant. It took quite a long time to get the needle into my arm (I am from a family of narrow-veined people; so much so that when my sister V was in hospital once so many veins collapsed in her arms, feet and hands that she ended up with a cannula in her neck. Poor, poor girl!) and when the person eventually did manage to jab it in he collapsed my vein. Not only did he chew my arm up and leave me with a massive bruise from wrist to armpit, he told me I was a 'slow bleeder' and not to try giving blood again. Pig.

Undeterred (well, only for about 26 years!) I decided that as I am a Universal Donor, and since I can only receive my own blood group (thanks, datacreata!), I should try again. So I made it one of my goals for this year. I found the first session of the new year I could and booked an appointment. Just before I went I had my eyebrows and upper lip threaded, so I'd remember what real pain was and though Red was happy to come to that with me she (a fellow universal donor) ducked out of the needle stabbing.

There were a lot of students waiting in the strangely Gothic surroundings of a local church, all eager to 'do their bit'. One girl almost fainted when she'd finished! The first phlebotomist (for that is indeed their title) couldn't get a good vein but the second one said there was a pretty good side one. I smiled bravely. The second lady managed to get a needle in - not massively painful but not pain-free either. Maybe level with waxing, not quite as bad as threading. And five minutes and three seconds later I was done! I'd given my first full 470ml.....a bit less than a pint. I didn't feel like I was wasting away and I didn't feel faint - I just hopped off the bed and walked home carrying my bags of Boots' sale goodies. Oh, and I made my next appointment for June.

If you can give blood (and some people can't - Big Man always did but because of the drugs he takes since his heart attack he can't do it any more. He is also O Rh -ve.) then try to do it. It's always needed.

Just as an aside, after I had Red and was still in the delivery room I was, as a Rh -ve mum, given an anti-D injection. I protested that my husband, the baby's dad was also Rh -ve so surely I didn't need the jab? The midwife said 'yes, but you might have babies with someone else'. A nice thing to say to a panicking young mum whose baby has just been rushed to the SCBU, no? And you all thought they were so considerate in 'One Born Every Minute'.........



Pain

In preparation for my holiday next week I went to the salon today for waxing. It's more than a year since I was last there and my pain threshold has seemingly decreased in that time. When I was a regular I could almost fall asleep during the process but not today. I normally find shin fronts and ankles are the worst and backs of my legs the easiest. Bikini line is obviously pretty hair-raising too (Geddit? Hair-raising!) as are the armpits. Today was just a world of pain from beginning to end. This evening my underarms are burning and feel raw and as for the bikini line....well, best we don't even go there. All I will say is I'm walking like John Wayne. I salute any woman who can tolerate a Brazilian because I had to bite back a small scream when the beautician was splatting the hot wax around my nether regions and ripping hair out by the roots. There can't be many men who could bear it is all I can say.
It doesn't help that I'm....shall we say, on the hairy side. I'm not saying I'm
Frida Kahlo but pale skin and dark, strong hair (don't be fooled by the hair on my head - that hasn't been my real colour since I was 12) is a recipe for hirsuteness. I'm taking comfort from the fact that as you get older you get less hairy - the elderly lady residents I help care for are without exception hairless on their bodies. Not so on their upper lip and chin though....some of them need to be shaved as often as our men.

Talking about bikini waxing made me think of vajazzling (must stress I'm not planning any, just in case you get a little bit sick in your mouth at the idea) and in the interests of research I had a quick look at vajazzling.com. According to the website, 'vajazzling isn't that much different from other forms of bikini area decoration'. I must be a bit of a style numpty because I assumed, in my innocence, that the only form of bikini area decoration available was a pair of bikini bottoms. Red had explained to me quite a while ago what vajazzling is so I was surprised to see that not only can you be vajazzled on your back, arms or chest but that men can be vajazzled as well. Presumably a man very secure with his own sexuality. Or a groom-to-be's rite of passage on his stag night, much like having one eyebrow shaved off. Or a step up from a back, sac and crack wax for Red Nose Day (back to waxing again - sorry, I can't help it, my armpits are really sore!).
I don't see the point of it to be honest - the little stick on stones look cheap and nasty and really, if you think it looks a bit boring down below you could always use one of those Bazooka Joe transfers to cheer the 'bikini area' up. Or a tattoo. My dad went to sea with a man who had 'A Present For A Good Girl' with an arrow pointing downwards tattooed on his lower belly. And Babcia told me a story she'd heard about a trawlerman who used to go into the pub she worked in before she met my dad. Seems he had a couple of huntsmen tattooed on each buttock and a fox's tail disappearing into that place 'where the sun don't shine', as we say in polite society.

Now that's pain.

Hallowe'en Letdowns.....:(

Well, what a letdown was Hallowe'en this year. For the first time in ages we didn't have a single trick-or-treater at the door. We don't usually have many because we live on a main road and we are the only family house for maybe six blocks but there is a little estate fairly close; there are flats with children opposite; and we had the decorations outside before school closing time so passing kids could see we were 'ready and willing'! But no, not a sniff of a wee witch, ghost or ghoulie. I'd bought plenty of sweeties and they were in a skull bowl by the door so to save myself from temptation (there were Swizzels lollies....I ♥ Swizzels lollies!!!) I emptied them all into a bag and sent Carb Addict back to his placement with them. They are having a Hallowe'en/Bonfire party there on Thursday night so the sweets will be welcome. Before that I have to snag a black and white t-shirt and some black trousers I can cut down for him because this year he is dressing up as Pugsley Addams.

Carb Addict doesn't know yet and would care even less but we have a

long tradition of dressing up in this family so he has to comply!

I like Hallowe'en but I know plenty of people who don't. I was brought up in Dublin and, because they don't 'do' Bonfire Night there Hallowe'en was, and is very popular. I had heard of it when I lived in England, probably from watching Scooby Doo or The Osmonds cartoon show, maybe even The Addams Family but in a malignant Northern city in the early 70s there was next to no chance of finding a pumpkin, let alone making a Jack-o-Lantern. I do remember nattering Babcia for a pumpkin to carve and her giving me a turnip and a spoon. She's always been a joker.
Anyway, I do know that there are more spiritual meanings to All Hallows Eve but it's a fun holiday too. When I got back to England and had my own children I started trying to make something of it. I remember the first time I threw a party - Red was maybe a scrawny ten and Mr Charming a clueless eight and they both invited friends. Everyone was dressed up to one degree or another.....I had laboured over Red's Wonder Woman outfit for days - a boned corset top, satin knickers, boots and even the famous Lasso of Truth. I seem to remember Mr Charming was wearing his trusty Robin Hood outfit (also made by me for school book day - the tunic was made from snooker table baize), quite amenably* but Red was very grumpy, asking repeatedly 'but who IS Wonder Woman? I wanted to be a cat!'
The night in question was very cold and drizzly as I led fifteen children up and down the nearest residential road to us. Not one single person gave them anything and most wouldn't open their doors, or if they did were very ungracious. What a washout!
You'd think I'd learned my lesson really, wouldn't you but I was up for it again the following year. Sadly the children weren't and locked themselves in their rooms from October 15 until November 2.
Overall Red has had the most outfits made for her but they don't usually go down too well. She really liked the Medieval Queen outfit I made, the only time I used a pattern, complete with draped crown using fruit gums for jewels. She won first prize for that at a school she didn't go to, to the barely supressed fury of the other mothers. She tolerated the Cruella deVille outfit for World Book Day (the same day Mr Charming wore his Lincoln Green-o!)

They both liked their Hallowe'en Morticia and devil outfits which were made from a thrifted woman's dress each. Mr Charming's even had a hood and a cape that you can't really see. This was a competition too and in a complete and utter travesty, neither of them won anything!!!



She didn't mind the Polish traditional costume (which was only borrowed so no fear of having to say Mum made it).

But she hated the Carmen Miranda get-up, complete with fruity head ('who is she? Who is she? Nobody's ever heard of her but you!!') and the Ice Queen ensemble ('everybody could see my underwear!')...she just said that yesterday evening in fact when we were talking about costumes. A bit of an over-reaction.

Mr Charming favours this kind of outfit these days...

I would love, love LOVE to be invited to a fancy dress party but I never have been. I would have the best costume ever....not sure what it'd be but it'd be the best! In fact I'm going to start thinking about it right now....!

My other Hallowe'en letdown was at work. None of the staff but me made any effort, despite me trimming the lounge up with decorations; making a lovely ghost cake; and carving two pumpkins to go outside once it got dark (well, Red came over and carved one of them whilst at a loose end). I even went back to work after I'd finished with two candles for the Jack-o-Lanterns that I'd forgotten to take with me in the morning.

This morning when I got to work the pumpkins were still sitting on the table, obviously unused. Was I cross?! I asked my (currently not-so lovely) colleague Staś why they didn't put the pumpkins out and he started saying 'oh, it's all American crap, it's all commercial, you're not American, English people don't have Hallowe'en' and other carrying on. I was pretty hacked off because it doesn't matter what he thinks...it was for the residents' benefit not his. We had to put the pumpkins out tonight instead, like gobshites who don't know what day it it.

He'd better watch it. His card's been marked, and not particularly by me.......

*having been dressed in a leotard to hop across the stage of the Southampton Guildhall, then as a blackberry (we got an awful lot of use out of that costume, which was made for Red's appearance in a gymnastics display) for something or other, Mr Charming welcomed any form of dressing up where he could keep his strides on. Even if they were Red's lime green leggings...



Where I Succumb - Big Time - To 'Wants, Not Needs'

It's half-term here which means Carb Addict is home from his placement (he usually goes on a Monday morning and comes home Friday afternoon) and Big Man has taken a week's time off in lieu to look after him. As much as an 18 year old who doesn't care whether you're there or not and is well able to entertain himself needs looking after. By the way, I advise anyone who might be thinking of visiting Intech near Winchester tomorrow to give a prancing young man with a mohawk and baggy trousers (he's run off a lot of weight despite eating...well, a lot of carbs, obviously) and a large, scowling, hungry-looking, ex-military type a wide berth. Just saying.....;P Red had the day off from portering so I took my day off today as well to spend some quality time together. The idea was that we would go to a local rummage sale at 9.30 then on to Gunwharf Quays at Portsmouth for a bit of Christmas shopping and general slurping around. This was going to be test of our willpower because apart from other shops there is a Cadbury's outlet there and we are both doing Slimming World right now.

At the last minute the plans had to change because Big Man's work rang to say that the driver standing in for him this week had suddenly entered a manic phase of his manic depression so could Big Man help them out blah blah blah.... He needed the car in the morning so we decided to go instead to Eastleigh which is a...well, I suppose it's a town. Bigger than a village and not a city so I guess small town would be right. It's very popular with me and Babcia when she visits because it has loads of charity shops including some small, obscure ones.

I think this shop is closed now but it was (not to put too fine a point on it) smelly

and odd. I got some really great stuff for eBay from here that I made loads on. 

However, we were not chazzing today, although I would've liked to. Of course I would! Instead we started in Claire's Accessories where they had an offer - spend £10 and get a voucher for £5 off your next spend of £10 or over. We were able to spend £10 with ease on barrettes - mine are little red horns and Red's are small, blood-spattered skeletal hands. She says she's wearing them to work at Halloween but I'm not so sure they're appropriate when she's taking people to theatre and back. And a pair of 'deer in a woodland scene' knee socks for Babcia. She always has very cold feet, plus she mainly wears black so these socks can be a splash of colour under her trousers. You didn't think I meant she'd wear them with a skirt did you? She's not that eccentric! The girl behind the counter was a bit naughty. She wasn't going to give me the £5 voucher at all - I had to ask her for it. Wonder how many people walked out without one?

Next we moved on to Monsoon and Accessorize where I saw the most beautiful enamelled bird trinket box for £15. I didn't succumb to that but I did tell Red I'd like it for Christmas if she was wondering what to buy me...:)

Pretty. I want it.



They also had delightful little enamelled robins, Christmas tree ornaments I think, which I would have loved. But as I'd spent £45 (yup, the succumbing started at B&Q yesterday. And now we have so many decorations we will have to put both our trees up this year) on decorations the day before, I hesitated to get more.

Pretty. I want it.

Red found a dress she liked and tried it on. At £35 I thought it was a bit steep and it's not for any particular occasion so I said she should ask them to keep it for her for a couple hours whilst she looked round. I hoped she would forget all about it and save her money. We had a quick skeg in New Look (tacky, poorly-made, unflattering to anyone over 15, not even particularly cheap - that was Red's opinion and she's only 21); Dorothy Perkins (lovely costume jewellery but nothing to make you say 'wow!'); then into my favourite store in the world, after Century 21 - TK Maxx. And the spending began....

Betty Crocker Rich and Creamy Coconut Pecan Frosting...didn't need

Beano's Deli Mustard with Real Horseradish....didn't need either

Jelly Bean Factory Mint Sorbet Jelly Beans...didn't need but only 50p

Smoky Iguana Smoky Jalapeno Chipotle Salsa...definitely didn't need

Pair of Men's Socks by Pringle.....reduced but still unnecessary

Sebnini Floral Bouquet Scented Candle....not needed but oh, so wanted!

Sebnini Mimosa Scented Candle....ditto

Belle Maison Vanilla Verbena Scented Candle....definitely ditto!

Home Bake by Eric Lanlard.....Christmas present so semi-needed - just not right now

Desserts and Puddings Magnetic Jotter Pad.....another stocking filler...see above

Four Cupcake Soaps, Caramel Cream Variety.....ditto

July 2011 - December 2012 Diary...WHICH I NEEDED!!!!!

Advent Candle for Carb Addict.....would have got one sooner or later I suppose...

White Reindeer Head with Antlers to hang on the wall......ha! most definitely NOT needed but wanted sooooo badly.

And that, friends, is how you spend £65. I only feel a little shamefaced about the reindeer head but it is so cool and SUCH fun! I'll have to keep an eye on Carb Addict though - he seems a bit freaked out by it.

Similar to this but totally white. I'll post a pic when it's in situ!

I think because I haven't spent money on anything extraneous this year I went a bit wild but it won't happen again...just had to kick back for an afternoon. We finished off with a mooch around the wonder that is 99p Stores (if you don't have one near you then I pity you because 99p Stores RAAAAAWWWKKK!!!!) Who would believe that you could get so much wonderful, incredible stuff for less than a quid....sometimes two items for less than a quid!!! Forget Poundland, 99p Stores knocks it into a cocked hat. Despite it's all-round fabbishness however, we didn't buy anything. This time.

Red went back and bought the dress by the way. It is currently still in the bag at the bottom of the stairs, where I expect it to stay until I take it up to her room. I'm not the only one who succumbed to 'wants, not needs' today.

Kettlebells R Us

This evening Red and I tried a kettlebells class. I'd wanted to give it a go since I saw that very butch fitness instructor putting the contestants through their paces with them in 'The Biggest Loser'. And Red came along because....well, because I offered to pay for her I suppose. Plus we wanted to escape our numbingly-cold house for an hour.

This class is hardcore (as my colleague Staś would say)! I can feel my joints seizing up already and I know I'm going to be hobbling around at work tomorrow just like my residents. I had a nasty accident right at the start of the class doing something called 'Round The World' when I managed to throw a 3kg kettlebell onto my foot. The pain was excruciating, absolutely terrible. It was all I could do not to collapse to the floor and start blubbing. Luckily, I remembered just in time that I am Northern and we leave that kind of carry-on to Southern softies. I waited until I got home to milk my injury....for all the good it did me.

We've booked to go again next week, despite agreeing that it was odd the instructor, a man in his mid-forties would say that he was 'passionate about kettlebells'. We had a juvenile snigger over that....

Dancing Feet, I've Got Those Dancing Feet

When she was a little girl Babcia couldn't sit still so she was sent to dance class. She did a bit of ballet but mainly tap and carried on, the star of every show, until she was 15.

 Babcia about 6 on the left. What a little dolly! Maybe 15 on the right.

She  was an excellent dancer apparently and because her mum, my Big Grandma had also danced as a child it was very much encouraged. Money (well, what little they could spare) and time was lavished on costumes which were usually homemade by Big Grandma and her mum; my great-granny, Little Grandma. Both of the costumes in the photos were made with love by the handy females of the family....clever, weren't they? Even though the family were very poor - didn't have two pennies to scratch their arses with, in the vernacular of my malignant Northern home town - money was always found for Babcia's dance classes. I guess she was a source of pride to them, winning competitions, appearing in shows and so on.....times were hard and God love 'em, they needed something. 

Fast forward fifteen years and Babcia had her own daughter (that would be li'l ole porkster me). And what was more natural than sending her to dance class? I started off at Mrs Bradley's and did Ballet, Tap and Acro, which was acrobatics and the bit I loved most - I was always upside down, doing the splits or walking on my hands and was pretty good at it too. The studio was at the top of some stairs and we always started with a kind of warm-up that entailed us doing tap, ball-change; tap, ball-change all around the room to Mr Bradley pounding out 'Walking My Baby Back Home' on the poorly tuned piano. If I ever hear that music it flings me right back to dark winter nights up those rickety stairs.

I went to a class there on a Saturday morning too and I remember a horrible incident that wouldn't happen nowadays - Health and Safety has some good points. We didn't have a barre and had to hold on to the back of a chair to do warm up, including where you kick to the front, side and back from the hip with a straight leg. One big girl (so probably about 11 to my 7 or 8) must have been kicking a bit too mulishly, the chair tipped over, she fell and her knee was dislocated. It looked horrific and the screams from her were just awful. An ambulance was called and when it arrived the paramedics had to manhandle this poor child down the stairs. I remember thinking at the time that she was making a show of herself but with hindsight I see she was just a little girl and for sure she was in agony. Strange the things you remember...

I have a second cousin who is a couple months younger than me and her mum, the aunt of Babcia, wanted Martha to dance too so consequently she followed me from dance class to dance class like a bad credit score (I never stayed anywhere for long). If I was a porkster she was a girl mountain....together we were Pinky and Perky made flesh, our chunky knees, dimpled thighs and straining leotards marking us as different from the sprightly little pixies who made up the rest of the student body. And even at 10 I had enough dignity to realise the teacher's suggestion that Martha and I appear in a duet as Tweedledee and Tweedledum in the annual county-wide Musical Festival was A Very Bad Idea.

   

Friends, I left with as much dignity as a little round ugly duckling could muster.

Undaunted I enrolled both Red AND Mr Charming in tap and ballet classes. Whilst tidying a cupboard the other day I came across Red's ballet bag with her leotard and stuff in and couldn't believe how small it was. She liked ballet ("good toes! naughty toes!") and Mr Charming tolerated tap (I found his weeny tap shoes too) though the fact that he hated ballet didn't stop him being inveigled into appearing in the Christmas Gala as a robin in a brown leotard and beak. I must find the video of that performance....! By the time Red was 6 or 7 I enrolled her in gymnastics too and within a really short space of time she was moved from a little 'for fun' class into the city squad, training for 12 hours a week. Yep, that's right, kids of 7 and 8 train for 12 hours a week in this country. The problem is, if your child shows any spark of being good at gym they're pounced on and really worked hard....I know because after three years Red had a crushed disc in her back to prove it. I think we're so desperate for sporting success in the UK that we push children too hard and not all can cope with it. Red accepted before I did that she was never going to be good enough to go far as a gymnast (I'm as guilty as all the other pushy moms out there who want something more for themselves than for their child) and gave it up. I don't need to tell you either that Mr Charming is NOT Gene Kelly in-waiting!

Still, the family love affair with dancing continues. Whilst at Babcia's at the weekend my sister-in-law came to visit with my niece and nephew, Lili and Little Baby Jack. Although she doesn't yet go to dance class she loves to try on the tap shoes Babcia bought her and do a routine. This time Babcia put her tappers on too!!!

Although it looks false that is actually Babcia's real leg -

she asked me to make sure I pointed that out

Putting on the shoes seemed to turn Lili into a whirling dervish - a kind of tiny tapping tornado. She's just four and has an amazing imagination...here she is in her magic shoes that won't stop dancing once you put them on (and no, she hasn't seen The Red Shoes). 



I only wish I could show you a second film with Lili's face in it....her expressions are an absolute scream, she's putting everything she has into it - confusion, terror, disbelief, exhaustion - I'd forgotten how comical little children can be! But I promised her mum I'd keep her identity a secret. Until she appears on 'You've Been Framed!' that is.

Something tells me this family's dancing days are far from over :)





Tonight Matthew, I'm Going To Be The Little Engine That Could

It's going to take all of my mongrel cunning and guile to finish this month solvent.
I got paid on the 8th and because our Working Tax Credits have just been renewed and were (I thought) not being paid until the end of the month, all the direct debits and such came out of my wages, leaving me with nothing to pay into the credit cards when usually we throw a stack of money at them. I can't work out how this has happened. There were a couple of biggish things to pay in the first week of the month - Babcia and Dad's wedding anniversary flowers were nearly £50 and the newspaper Memorial notice for V's first anniversary was over £50, not that I begrudge either in the slightest. And I'm keeping a good check on the food bills too - we're at £263 out of a budgeted £350 (just whilst all the kids are home for the hols, then back down to £200). Anyway, I discovered yesterday that we got our WTC paid on Friday so I used them to pay this month's Council Tax (a mighty £177 which, considering we don't get any rubbish collected, is high by any standards) and paid some money off one of the cards. Now there's no more money again until I get paid on 3 September so it'll be tough.
On the plus side Red is paying me back £50 a week from her portering job that will cover the money I've had to lay out for her in the never-ending rent saga. Yes, that's still creaking on. I'm waiting on £53 in expenses from work and have another £30 or so to put in. I did a mystery shopping job yesterday for a whole £7 (yay!!!). I have a little bit of money in my ING account but that's really for Christmas. I have just over £22 in 20p pieces in my calculating cow AND between us we have £5.50 in Tesco vouchers. Oh, and I have about £45 in my Paypal account and made £10 in eBay sales this week but one of the things I sold was given to me by Babcia and even though she won't expect it, I'm giving her the money from the sale...she needs it just as much as I do. Am I going to make it? Let's just say I'm going to make like The Little Engine That Could.....I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.......

Actually, this is slightly creepy.....:S

Now, I have a dilemma. You remember that some of Red's rent money was taken by the housemate who was responsible for paying it to the landlord on behalf of all the housemates? And that I paid, as guarantor, £680 which Red is portering to pay back? Did I also say that on the last day before they were evicted, whilst I was helping Red scour out the kitchen, the landlord rang and said that he'd discovered there was a further month when the rent hadn't been paid....another £340 each outstanding? In a nutshell the landlord is saying that the deposits (£680 each) are now in arbitration because Red owes the 'missing month' and the rent thief owes...well, who knows what she's paid. The other three housemates' parents have already paid everything for them, no questions asked. My dilemma is, do I pay out ANOTHER £340 (see above, where do I get it from?) making it a total of £1360 I'll have had to find, and hope that we get the whole of the deposits back? Or not pay it, write off the deposit and still have my £340, bearing in mind that the five sets of parents were joint guarantors, ie we are responsible together for whoever doesn't pay. Even if I do pay, the landlord could say that, since there is rent outstanding from the thief, we can't have the deposits back anyway without covering HER share. I wouldn't put it past the landlord to make up some reason to keep the deposits anyway, since I assumed deposits were for damages, not rent arrears. He has never proved, to my satisfaction anyway, that the money wasn't paid, although with everything I hear about this girl I can quite believe it. But to ring up on the last day of the tenancy and say that he'd just discovered that rent from the previous November hadn't been paid (this was July) just stinks to me. Plus he is threatening to sue the guarantors jointly which is not good as I am the one out of Big Man and I with a good credit rating. Anybody got any ideas because it's driving me crazy. I am so thoroughly pissed off with the whole episode and Big Man is no help at all. 'Sue him!' 'Sue her!' 'Don't pay any more!' He wants to load the gun but let me shoot it. Will this ever end? Help!!!!

Finally, since some commenters were envious of my 49p toilet roll dolls, here they are in all their glory.

I ♥ toilet roll dolls :)

The Moon's A (Square) Balloon

Red is looking for a job so that she can raise money to go back to London. Obviously she is living at home rent-free. Mr Charming came home from uni at the end of May with some of his loan left over and has, according to a very disgruntled Big Man, 'slept in for two months'. But now the loan is gone so Mr Charming too needs a job. I find this particularly irksome because at the end of June I noticed that a local leisure centre was looking for lifeguards. The ad said that it wasn't a problem if applicants didn't have the NPLQ (National Pool Lifeguard Qualification) because they would be running a special course on July 15 which would result in qualified lifeguard status. Excellent!!! Mr Charming IS indeed a qualified lifeguard and even though his has lapsed (it needs to be retaken every two years I think), no problemo....he could requalify through the job.



Except he refused to go.

Had money left, didn't need a job, blah blah blah. He even got pretty shirty when I tried to press him on it so I decided he could do what he liked, knowing that he would soon be very sorry.

Last week came the day when the loan was spent and Mr Charming was indeed very sorry. Red had already told me that she didn't care what she did to earn money 'so I can pay you back Mum'. Hmmmmm. Each morning from work I texted to Red and Mr Charming, telling them to get up and look for work by checking the Jobcentre website and each day when I got home they both told me there were no suitable jobs. On Friday I looked myself and straight away found them both openings for the following night at a big pub in town, the Square Balloon. Red has worked as a barmaid before, at the local Irish Club which is run by Mr Charming's best friend's dad (we're big on connections and nepotism in this family). And Mr Charming could collect glasses.

On the Saturday night Red and Mr Charming worked from 8pm to 2am for nothing. No money. Zilch. It's called a trial shift apparently and they both hated it. Mr Charming said that he would rather kill himself than work there again and Red agreed it was pretty awful but that she'd go back if nothing else came up. And at least she made £3.70 in tips.

Yesterday Mr Charming got a cheque for £306 that was his refunded deposit from halls so he has decided that he doesn't need a job now after all, though how long he thinks that will last him I don't know, given that he won't get any more loan until September at the earliest. So this evening when the man from the Square Balloon rang up to offer him work for tomorrow night he turned it down. And it sounds like he's turned it down on Red's behalf too. The manager asked whether she would be available and Mr Charming was very non-commital....the manager didn't call Red so it looks like that's a dead-end.

But tomorrow Red is going to an agency in town about a temporary job as a hospital porter at the General (odd choice I know....maybe she really WILL do anything?) and I said that she should call into the pub whilst she's out though I'd class her response to my suggestion as ambivalent.

I've had to conclude that I have two unmotivated, unwilling and idle people on my hands. How come I can find jobs for them just like that (clicks fingers) but there's never anything suitable when they look? I totally adore all my kids but sometimes they make it very hard. On the minus side they lie in bed, won't do any chores without a lot of nagging, and stopped thinking I was the Oracle of All Knowledge long ago. On the plus side they are pretty frugal, and can live quite happily on packets of Monster Munch and tins of Kopparberg.

The next few months should be interesting.

PS Big Man was talking to his sister Sophie this evening on the phone and I heard him complaining about me using our Rainy Day Fund to pay Red's rent. And, thank you Sophie, she told him that 'your kids ALWAYS come first'. Let's hope he thinks about that a bit.....