Uh oh, bad moment. I have a house full of teenagers and have just had to lock myself in the bedroom to cry. I am having a moment of feeling totally overwhelmed, not help by the fact that as it is my weekend 'off' I have been at work and am tired.

I have moved one small child into their own bedroom Sharing no longer works for me. It was working well for them in terms of all night parties but I was having to go up and down the stairs 15 times a night. So small child now in my dressing room, amongst clothes, make up and shoes and various stacked bed parts. I cam home determined to make a sanctuary of sorts for him.

This was a mistake. One spare bed needs to go upstairs, which means dismantling cot bed and selling. Discover I cannot do this as small children have used specific screws for toys and are now missing. New sanctuary/dressing room does not fit a normal bed and will have to find and buy a new one - which means trying to find somewhere to keep two cot beds and the house is so full of bits - there is nowhere.

On moving bed parts I discover the forgotten horror of a cooker cable tacked down the middle of the wall, with the requisite smashed hole behind the socket. By now I am feeling so overwhelmed that I consider having to ask 'It' to help me. then I realise that I cannot do that since he was the one that did it and he was the one that told me on leaving that he had purposefully refused to do any DIY in the house for the two years before he left.

So now I have had to staple fabric to the wall in a bid to cover the wire and to stop one offspring killing himself when he decides to poke something in the hole. Now the landing is full of bed parts and a spare mattress and I can see it is going to be like this for many weeks. this is the point that i fall over the cot bed, it breaks and I drop about two hundred nails on the carpet.

Seems like a good idea to go outside and smoke, so I do. This was a bad idea because the garden is a hell hole. Having spent weeks sieving soil with the colander - grass is growing albeit patchily. It should have been mowed about two weeks ago but still has highway fencing all over it because I have not had time. So I go out the front. This was a mistake - following the carboot sale and middle childs insistence that the seats in the care be moved - I trip over the car seat in my tiny porch and scrape my leg. This adds to the discomfort I have in my knee, which is still not fully recovered. To top it all, I now have shin splints.

I cannot fail to notice the front door which has been kicked in at least twice in the last two years and the frame and lock are held together by two nails. It is very unsafe and doesn't even lock anymore. The door does not fit and has needed replacing for about 5 years.

The ironing pile now exceeds the three baskets. The dog still needs walking, the boys will be back in an hour and I have to wash and find all uniforms by then. I have to find all the parts to the wii that they given by 'it' at Christmas and has not worked since Feb. Seemingly not intending to get it fixed under warranty, I am hoping that shoving it in his hands may prompt him. I am trying to sell things to get enough money to take the teenager to Spain, to salve my conscience that he did not get to go last year and to celebrate his venture into adult life, I need to save the money to take them all to France and to kennel the dog and I still have nowhere suitable for the dog.

'It' used to regularly remind me that going to work was very hard and that I would never manage to do what he did, but really - can it be harder than this?

It is my birthday tomorrow and in the last six years - I have had one night way by myself.

I do not feel like celebrating.

I am a scaby bitch. I know this because the man that cycled past my house and looked over the garden wall, told me so. It has to be quite the funniest thing that has happened all week.


This man once spoke to middle child. I struggle to recall the exact words but it was something along the lines of



"Get off the fxxxxing grass, you fxxxxxx little xxxxx"


Now call me old fashioned but I do not view this as an appropriate way of speaking to a then 10 year old and so, quite out of character for one that prefers to avoid confrontation - I decided to go and tell him.


It wasn't a very productive conversation. The man and his wife swore so much I struggled to make sense with what they were saying. Apparantly child had walked on a grass bank in front of the house. At this point I was yet to discover that they did not own the bank, nor did they in fact have planning permission or ownership of the concrete steps and gateway they had placed over it. So at this point I had little more than my stance against the decline in moral guidance by adults.


"Do you have children of your own" I enquired.


"No and I wouldn't fxxxxzng want brats like yours" the refined lady replied


"So" say I "There is a God" and turning heel, I left.


At this point I phoned the local police and advised that inappropriate and foul language directed on one so young was less than good citizenship. They agreed and sadly for them - they regularly invite this charming chap to have chats on his word usage with locals.


Now since this event I have in fact stumbled across him whilst walking the dog. We have chatted in a civilized manner and both continued walking our bitches (mine was the dog), so the incident yesterday was doubly funny when I realised that when walking the odg, he had no idea who I was. I have looked up tourettes but it is no more likely to have a predisposition to amnesia than any other quirk.


So I told everyone in my favourite drinking venue that I am now a scabby bitch. I can laugh about this because I know that it is untrue - I am still having a close relationship with the Clarins Body Serum and enriched body lotion and as such, have skin like a 12 month olds butt.


On returning to the car last night a friend was horrified.

"Oh my God" She declared "You didn't leave it like this, you've been broken into"

She was absolutely right, the car had been turned upside down and it was in complete chaos.

She was wrong about it being broken into though. No self respecting car thief would ever break into my car and if I thought they could find anything quicker than I do, I would willingly leave all the doors open and a list of items I lost in there.

"Why did God invent head lice?" asks small child

"I have no idea" Say I

"I don't think God would have invented head lice" continues child

"I think maybe a scientist did"

I can see his reasoning; looking at all the truly irritating things in life, most are created by the hand of a human. You may find ipods, computers, mobiles and printers truly fabulous but I find them intensely, intensely irritating. The printer breaks every single time I need to use it. I have never had time to read the instructions for the ipod, the mobile phone can make Lattes and I still can only manage dial outs and text - I have considered asking the manual to bed with me but by the time I have mastered the many assets it clearly has, the children would have broken the phone.

Life is full of things you don't need and none more so than terms and conditions. It seems that every policy taken out has to come accompanied with a 1cm thick manual on all of the reasons why something wont be covered. I binned the lot. Half way through binning the lot, I got bored of reading the policies - so I binned them to.

Then I binned all of the old stuff relating to the house, and the house before and insurance claims, planning, mortgage bump, valuations. As I type this, my wood burner is wading through 2.5ft of paperwork.

In amongst this purge I came across a whole host of bumph relating to my wedding day. 17 years since and I still had all the cards, the table plans, the correspondence and the thank you letters. How strange that I held onto those things when I didn't need them (after all, when you are actually married, what proof of the event do you need?) and yet when your marriage is over, it simply becomes even more redundant. So I burnt most of that too.

So the filing shelf is now lighter and more coordinated, having decided that matching boxes are better for Karma than an array of clutter. There is now one small corner of the house that is vaguely tidy.

Parents evening this evening. Middle child's report and personal statement is available for viewing. Apparently he enjoys Kayaking every two weeks, from one local town to the next. This came as a surprise to me, as I can only recall one occasion where he has ever floated anywhere. Middle child adamant that since he was asked what he would like to do this weekend, rather than what he was planning on doing - then his response was entirely appropriate.

The small ones had their first sports day this week. I cried (discretely) like a big girl simply because they were unbearably cute and this is their last first sports day. One of mine tried so hard to kick the football but missed on almost every attempt; overshot, slipped on the ball and landed bottom and face down in the grass. He was a little mortified.

Still, I got some great photo's. There are some memories worth keeping.

If there is one thing in life that I truly hate, it's a car boot sale. Being on the grab a bargain side is fine but being the glum looking one behind the paste it table, is my idea of hell. Which is why I found myself wondering what on earth persuaded me that despite my better judgement, it would be a good idea.

Having roped in a friend whose car boot sale clutter has been in her loft for so long, her once stylish clothes would now befit the best Bay City Rollers fan - I agreed that 7.15am was a good time to leave. This may well be for normal people but I had to shift the possessions of four children, 25 tonnes of unwanted Christmas presents, a bench, 5 children and walk the Bitch before we could set out. It took until 1.30am to load the car and this does not take into account the week going through cupboards and driving around Wiltshire trying to find a friend that likes wallpaper sufficiently to own a table.

So I start my car booting with the first hate of the day, the flock of vultures that poke their heads into your car when you are trying to get everything out. Five children disappear at this point, I can't find the change and I realise that 5 decorating tables would be no match for my stuff. Everything turfed out and I have to sit through 5 relentless hours of:

'Will you take a £1' (Yet again, symbol problem on keyboard so no question marks today)

'But it is a vintage Cartier Watch'

'Right, how about 50p then'

Okay, so I exaggerate but you get the drift. Why do people feel that anything you sell in a car boot sale should be £1, no matter what it is. I was selling an almost unused Rotastak cage, original cost £49.99 and bedded in by the first inhabitant for a mere 24hours before escape and presumed death. I figured £15.00 seemed a fair and reasonable sum to ensure any hamster felt this wondrous space command centre a suitable abode.

'I don;t really want to spend more than £2.00' say's the first have a go robber.

'Sod off then' said I (Literary license - I only thought it)

People want something for nothing at car boots. There is nothing wrong with asking a fair price. You buy something, you use it a little and you charge a fair sum. They get something that they wouldn't want to buy new for a fraction of the cost and everyone should be happy, but they still moan. Perhaps the car boot is simply a reflection of the British attitude to life.

The man that eventually got the cage was delighted. Unsurprisingly so because in a moment with my back turned, middle child decided that since this man had said he only had £5.00 this was what he must have it for. I was not as delighted and even less so that a grown man would feel chuffed that he had clearly fleeced a 12 year old.

Still, life is all about balance and it was seemingly restored when the two little ones approached the stall holder opposite to enquire as to the cost of the battery operated and very annoying guitar and key board. Apparently one was £6 and the other £5 and feeling very chuffed, they counted out 8 very small brown coins. He didn't have the heart to refuse. On discovering their ruse - I dashed over in apology and offered the correct account but apparently being small and fluttering your eyelashes gets you far in life. I shall bear this in mind .

The strange thing is that I sold quite a lot. What makes it strange is that despite selling lots of things I only made £40.00. There could be a vague connection in the fact that I kept throwing the money in the car and the children kept insisting on going through the other side. This combined with a rather large collection of remote control cars and loud instruments might hold the key, but given that I didn't have the money in the first place, they have no idea where it is then I guess that really, I am no worse off and in fact have £40 in the holiday fund than I did before. The only thing I really lost was sleep and patience.

So the day ends with me feeling overwhelmed. The car is full of stuff, the house is a tip, the uniforms are in the dirty washing, the boys are dirty and tired and the Bitch was so bored she ate quite a large proportion of the house. In yet another moment of valiant rescue, fellow booter and Clarins supplier turns up at 8pm to tell me that she knew I would be overwhelmed, With that she unloaded my car, walked the Bitch with me and told me when she was a single mother of one child she frequently felt overwhelmed and that I was doing a sterling job. Granted she told me this in the garden as the words would not have rung true in the chaos that was indoors, but for a moment - I wanted to marry her.

This is the definition of a good friend. One where you make her get out of bed at some ungodly hour, you laugh hysterically at her clothes collection, you make her transport one of your children because the clutter in your car leaves you without space and then she turns up at your door to sort your mess out.

Today was of course Fathers Day. Calvin Coolidge, the US President from 1923 to 1929 recommended the day to the all male congress as a national holiday in 1924. He declared the purpose of Fathers Day was to :;impress upon fathers the full measure of their obligations;

Yet the origins of the day go back to Washington in 1910 by a Mrs Sonora Smart Dodd in recognition of a father that had made sacrifices for his 6 children after the untimely death of his wife. This is perhaps more relevant now when more husbands find themselves fully involved in the upbringing of their children.

It is also interesting that in Divorce, it is the children's right to see the estranged partner and not the other way around that is the key. Children may well have the 'right' to see the father but there is nothing in law to make a father see the child and hence we have children in every corner of the country that would not have seen theirs today.

My children were amongst this band because their Daddy decided that going on holiday with the polyester clad shag was a far more appealing option than seeing them on either Fathers Day or his birthday.

Yet the essence of the courts is correct in its thinking and you can see how this can filter through to Fathers day. A parent should not have to demand to see his children on this day but the child should rightfully expect to be able to see their father if they so wish. The reality is that life is not as you expect and sometimes not as it should be. It is what it is. On the plus side I can add Fathers day, to Mothers Day (when he didn't suggest they call when he had them) and Christmas as events he is not bothered about.

Of course 'It' has told neither me or his children that he is on holiday with the PCS but has not allowed for the fact that I have always been extremely good at putting 2+2 together and coming up with 4.

"Where are you going" I asked

"What the f**** has it got to do with you." he replies.

Now I am no rocket scientist but a reaction like that will not arise from a boring old business trip and as the old adage decrees, defense is the best form of attack. It also proves the theory that many men foolishly assume women are stupid.

On Monday night there was a conversation with the little ones;

"I won;t see you for a few days" he say's

"I know Daddy, you are going on holiday" says small boy

"errrrr, well, I am going away"

"Where are you going" asks small boy

"errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, I don't know." say IT

So clearly no business trip and no business trip, aggressive response and lies to small people guarantees a holiday with the Cul-De-Sac Barclays advisor. I feel almost sorry for him - he really did corner himself. He cannot possibly admit an illicit holiday since he already declared that he cannot afford to give the children money for a holiday and nor can he see them more often, as he is too busy working. On their half term - he simply was run too ragged. This must be a very demanding holiday since he has failed to phone them at all, which would have been fine had he told them that he would not be. He didn't

So you are back to expectation and slowly after time, your children stop expecting anything from you. They should have their rights but if those are not offered, then ultimately they will chose not exercise them.

It seems Nicholas Coleridges original intention has failed in a modern day society when life is about pursuit of self happiness and not obligation. An obligation as father is not all about money it is about fathering. The title is given, the respect is earned.

Mrs Dodd may have been right after all - Fathers day is indeed a day for fathers that make self sacrifices for the sake of their children.

Ironic that it was a woman that worked this out.

I had to phone a helpline today, one of those really annoying automated ones that makes you go through 8 options to get to another 7, to get to another 8, to get you to key in various numbers t get cut off.

So this happens twice, then I get instruction to key in the relevant numbers one digit at a time. How stupid do they think I am?Why would I press more than one button at the same time. I can only assume there is an inflated call rate that they try and fill in with as many useless instructions they can think of. I was going to pose the question to Cheryl, my call handler but she made it obvious fairly early on that she was devoid of humour. They got their moneys worth.

Still, at least now I have been told - I have stopped trying to dial two numbers at the same time. The whole process took twice as long as necessary because every time it got to the bit when they ask you to say yes or no, the Bitch would bark and the automated voice would tell me that he had failed to recognise my instruction.

By this time, I felt like I was dealing with insanity. Then the lovely old lady that rents us her garage knocked at my door. She is appalled at the state of the garage and demanding it is cleared. She has apparently written to 'It' demanding that he clear it. I then have to explain that in the many years that he rented it, I never got to see in it. This is just one of the many things that were very strange. Despite many, many requests, he resolutely refused to let me have a key to gain entry. He had the same philosophy with his office keys, anyone else could use them but me - no chance.

So I get to see inside the garage for the firs time. It is a bit messy. 'It' has used the cover for my vintage swinging seat as floor matting, my crockery is broken, my wardrobe is broken and my lampshade is unsurprisingly broken. None of this is particularly surprising when three exhaust pipes and a host of bikes have been slung on top. The other side, rented by a neighbour, looks like a news24 bulletin for an earthquake appeal.

I then get a stern telling off by the old lady, who informs me I need to hire a skip and get rid of everything in the garage. I compromise and tidy it but as I do, I ponder why, if I actually emptied the garage, what the point would be in paying rent.

Sometimes it seems like everyone around me is ever so slightly insane.

There is a certain monotony to my life. Having only prepared half of the stuff needed to get out of the house - I have given up and retired to bed with my feet throbbing. It pains me greatly to have to set the alarm clock for 6.30am knowing that despite the fact that this is an ungodly hour, it still will not be enought to get to school on time.

Last night when I went to bed, I covered myself in Clarins body products (thankyou to the chum that gets the invitation to the charity sale) and realised that actually, I quite like being on my own. I think this is good. I have stopped looking at every man that walks within a five mile radius and decided that slavvering CLarins all over and going to bed with the Sunday Times magazine (albeit 2 weeks old) is quite heartening. I forsee a future of stubbly legs and many cats.

On the subject of heartening - When I was about 8, someone asked me what my favourite item of food was; I had no hesitation in naming the humble potato. With young logic I knew that I could saute, mash, roast, boil, fry or turn it into salad and for that reason - I would have enough options to avoid the tedium of the same food each day. So it was ironic that today the humble potato was dedicated to me.

I have a friend, well known in Bradford for her culinary skills and catering. This diva of the kitchen has a blog of hearty family based recipes and is written in a 'Come sit around the hearth whilst I pound Cardoman' kind of way. So I am perusing her offerings when I come across instruction for sublime baked potatoes. A script to me at the start and ending with:

Don't you feel better? Eat all alone. You were too good for him, anyway

I was very moved. I shed a tear at the start and laughed very loudly at the end. No matter what happens in life, you always have the potato. Life is sustained with the spud. You have a potato and friends that think of you when you are not standing in front of them - then life has to be good.

There are those that always thinks of you and others that always talk of you. I discovered this today courtesy of Freecycle. Last week I put an advert on the site for a book on seperation and divorce. Clearly I now need to know the stages you have to skip through in this process and it seemed appropriate to read about it. I did add in the body copy 'This should be enough to get tongues wagging' and indeed it has. Apparently I am now filing for divorce. I know this because a friend told me and someone told her. By the time it had got to her, there was no mention of wagging tongues but more of 'grateful for support'.

Now I do live in a small area, tongues wag and that is part of the charm of living where I do. Yet there was a little annoyance. I for one am very good at adding 2+2 and gainingg 4. Most people I know come up with 7.

I decided that there was only one way of dealing with the chinese whispers and so I did what any responsible person would. I posted a wanted ad for an Ovulation Predictor Kit.

Now that should get the tongues wagging

I never called myself Mrs, which in the circumstances - is pretty convenient. I never changed my surname which is even better. I have never really thought too much about it but having pondered the relevance of it today - I realised that titles own you and I hate being owned.

The thought process started at work when the shift supervisor referred to me as 'her' staff. It grated, I am not 'her staff' I go to work, I do a job. She in turn goes to work and does a job and yet this does not make her 'my' boss, just a manager for the period she is in the building.

So take the marriage thing. I am not (clearly) someone's wife. I chose to get married and whilst I accept that the female name for a married person is in  fact 'wife' - I would never refer to myself as someone's wife. Likewise, I hate it when people say 'housewife'. I once went to a party and met the then Managing Director of Emap

"So what do you do" he asked.

I was momentarily flummoxed.

"I sleep with your Art Director" I replied.

 I was pleased quite pleased with my reply, particularly when he swiftly moved on to the next, more normal wife who thought in terms of title rather than what she did.

Yet we live by titles and some of those are just fine. Small child said to me this evening that I was the best Mother that he had ever had.

"I am the only Mother you have ever had"

"Yes but you are the only one that looks after us and you are the loveliest" he replied, whilst squirming in an 'I am all loved up' kind of way. Now clearly, this is a title that I am happy to live with, though I suspect that his sentiments will be less heart string tugging once he reaches an age where I can ground him and Mother is followed by a rude word.

I got another title this week, for I am apparently a MILF. The age of the one so generous was borderline - I think he may need to think in terms of Grand MILF. I am not sure about being flattered. I think there are more flattering ways of putting it but I guess it leaves options open. 

So, can I call myself this? If you meet me at a party would it be okay to say I am a MILF in progress?

I have been reading a self help book about my erroneous zones. I thought I would deal with this before I moved on to my erogenous zones. Interesting reading and I am now starting to annoy people. A friend said to me today

 "I failed my challenge this week"

I replied

"You have not failed your challenge - you have learnt the consequences of not fulfilling the task you set yourself and therefore you have learnt from it. This is a positive experience. "

I fear that if I read any more - I may get punched in the nose. However it has made me also realise that 'It' should be very grateful to me and very charming, rather that really quite aggressive in his manner. His life was F***** hell and he is now happily with someone else. I think this deserves gratitude. If I had not made his life hell then this new happiness would not have been possible.  Frankly, I think that deserves thanks. 

 Some people are simply ungrateful.

Every good child should be allowed a sickie. Life sometimes is just too monotonous and the weeks one relentless stretch of alarm clock, school, tea, bed. Little people have a TD day so middle child got a sickie and we all spent the day at Paulton Park. 

I thought Paulton Park was a not so great area towards Bristol but in fact in is a children's theme park. I am not sure what it is like on a busy day but on a very quiet, everyone else makes their children aim for the 100% attendance day, it is utterly charming.

I have had many fears in life and one has been theme park rides. I hate them. It is an accrued hate - I loved rides when younger but for some reason - I have ended up avoiding them like the plague as an adult. I am not entirely convinced if it is fear or self consciousness. I do have a bit of an issue with screaming when I am expected to scream and being on a swinging, turning thing in which 20 other people want to scream at the same time - is just a little to odd for me. I am not sure how all this happened but I think you show some hesitation, it then becomes a presumption and before you know it, it has become a habit.

There are some rides where I recognise the fear. Roller coaster are too like having a near death experience and if I only have to experience that once, I shall be happy. 

Its all about labeling, I have labeled myself as someone who doesn't go on rides. If you say it enough you believe it and so yesterday, I had to deal with a lot of demons and I did. Some of them I actually enjoyed and some things I learnt from - like I do not need to go on things that spin round very quickly whilst going up and down and if I do, I may vomit. In fact, I can only really deal with things with a goal - like going down.

I was so immensely chuffed that I breathed through vertigo palpitations to get up to a very high boat flume four times, that I was even prepared to get ripped off for the picture to prove it.

There were a group of us, no children had cross words, I had an accompanying teenage girl lest there were rides I really could not face and everyone got on, the sun shone and it was one of those rare perfect days.

Grab a seat, it may be a long one.

There is someone in my life that has been trying to teach me something for along time - I am never entirely sure why but we all take out of advice what we  choose to or feel ready to and often leave the harder bits to one side. I, for one finally get it.  Lets call this character the Life Guru.

The Life Guru has tried to get me to see that I am responsible for my own emotions, that the actions of others cannot cause them but my reactions to events do. I got the logic but given the circumstances failed to see how short of practicing free love and smoking a lot of cannabis, that I would ever reach this stage. Free love is rarely free and smoking cannabis makes me blotchy so neither were a long term fix.

Yet I finally get it. Sadly, it was not the Life Guru that made it click, I feel sure this character would not feel in the slightest miffed, but content that they had sown the seed that enabled the obvious to grow in my mind (poetic words, I feel). In fact, it was courtesy of 'It' and his family and for this I am indebted.

'It' is accruing a monumental amount of hatred towards me, almost as if leaving was the beginning of a hurricane of hatred that has slowly building momentum. I am sure that the full force is yet to hit but I now realise that it will only send me flying if I let it - which I won't.

Over the last few weeks it has been clear that one of  the many techniques  that he is keen to continue is one of control by withdrawal. He sends an email, I reply - he will not. I send an email, he does not respond. He will avoid any eye contact. It used to make me mad, which I am certain is the aim and now I am at the eye rolling stage.

So anyway, back to my debt of gratitude. A conversation took place yesterday. I did not raise my voice and since I was asking direct questions that he had failed to respond to, he did not want to answer - so he responds in a vocal manner of someone trying to clear their throat from venom. Long shot was when I pointed out that since it was not me that had had an affair, I was unsure as to why he should be the one holding on to so much animosity.

This was, I might add after he had himself questioned that he embarked on an affair. Since I have kept the Facebook page for the family album - I thought this a tad silly but sensibly didn't point it out. Yet when he spoke to me, his face contorted with utter hatred and this is the point I truly got it.

"You made my life utter hell'

Now clearly I could argue over this one. When you get to do what you want pretty much all of the time,  and the only real investment you place in your family is by way of paying bills - it would be easy to argue that this cannot be entirely true but really, what would the point be.

Hatred is very ugly and as either a personality or a physical trait, it is not an attractive one. If I had made his life such hell, he could have said so. If I made his life hell then he solved that issue by leaving and being with someone else. He has been in that bed now for some time so really, his problems should be solved.  As such, I am not responsible for the way he feels now, he is. His hatred can only be his hatred. The only person that can cause this anger and bitterness is himself and really, you would rather think that his new woman must be getting a little annoyed that he has such capacity for strength of feeling for the woman that made his life such hell.

So that short discussion solved many things. I realised the wisdom. I do not want to ever wear that ugly face of hatred and at 40 - I cannot afford to make myself unattractive, so I won't. I am learning the art of the present. The past is what it is and cannot be changed and there is no benefit to staying there. I for one, am happy to move on.

So the second accolade to my Eurika moment is to 'Its' parents. Following a flurry of emails which are now too pointless to venture into. I received one yesterday advising that I should not be speaking to anyone in the family (Typed in bold) or to any of 'It's' friends.  Apparently it is not normal. What is not normal is for your parents to be telling your wife who she can speak to and giving unrequested opinion. God forbid I ever unleashed my Mother into the ring.

There have been a couple of points in my life when I have realised that I was a grown up and this is one. You cannot be responsible for anyone else's behaviour - only your own. No-one can dictate to me who I can and cannot talk to - only the people that I speak with can decide, for themselves whether they wish to speak with me. 

There were many other lovely things contained in this email and I finally realised that I could respond, which would follow a life long pattern of who gets the last word, or I could ignore it. I have decided to ignore it. I know the truth, I know the reality and I no longer need to prove that to others and I no longer have to read words designed to hurt. Furthermore, I no longer need to stay connected to unhealthy relationships. This is my new choice and it is quite liberating

As one of the banned said "If there is one true immediate benefit to this break up, it has to be that you are well out of all of this"

So it did take seeing the pointlessness of it all in someone else face but it does not really matter how it came about. 'It' had a voice, I cannot shoulder the blame for his inability to use it. 'It' can blame others for life's unfairness, he can blame his parents, his wife, his children and his career but once you run out of boxes to tick you are just left with yourself.

And that is not my problem. 

Normal service will resume shortly

I think I may be the only person in the country not to have heard Susan Boyle sing and this is something I am very proud of. Susan Boyle has now become the flesh version of crocs and I didn't want any part in those either.

My bottom is not big enough. I know this because I agreed to go on a bike ride with middle child and now there are parts of me that normal painkillers do not reach. My knee is also quite painful and at the moment officially stuffed. With the possibility of another operation I have agreed to go to lots of Physio - I am rather hoping they will not insist on a bike or the compression may continue.

Middle child is bike refreshed after his lovely mother getting him a new one. Technically speaking it isn't new as we hauled it out of a skip but he didn't have it before, I gave it to him and so to him - it is new and I am a very nice skip tramp. Nothing but the best and all that.

Why would anyone throw a perfectly fine Raleigh bike in a skip. Middle child rather pleased and not in the slightest bothered by its pink hue. This is good because even if he had been, he would still have got the same bike.

The evenings are becoming a little taxing as everyone wants to go out on bikes. Rather lovely but I have had to come up with time saving methods. my best yet is to attach a slightly insane Weimeraner to the handlebars via a lead. It works a treat, she goes like the clappers, I don't have to peddle and when she suddenly bolts after a rabbit - it is quite an excilerating experience.

'It' has still failed to pay last months mortgage. Several emails, several texts and still a bounced payment. Expected but a little alarming as there has not been a full payment since he marched. I may start looking at tents on EBay.

Further alarming moments include children coming home very excited by the 18 rated film they got to see. The small one, apparently asleep on the sofa declared with glee that he had seen army men that were blown to bits. A conversation ensued with 'It'.

'It was fine, it was on in the day'

"Yes, but it was only on in the day because you recorded it from the night before"

"Fine, I won't let them record anything again" he says

It is becoming more clear that we are in fact, existing on different planets. I may as well give up AA Milne and read them the David Van Thal Horror stories. I would ask who on earth would want their children watching 18 rated movies but alas, I know the answer. I think my idea of an Enid Blyton childhood is now being pick axed.

So having decided that this was not an issue I could side step, I said my piece and left it. Until that is, a parent at school advised me the next morning that they had come across the little ones in the park whilst 'It' was in deep slumber. The hubby was all for marching up and saying something. How I wished he had because everything I say is taken with yet another dose of hatred. Clearly having two very young children playing with a kite, with an open gate onto the road would not make a great advert for parental health and safety and the problem with acrimonious separation is that you are unlikely to call and say

'You know you did a great job the other day, the children came back in one piece'

The teenager is surviving his GCSE's well. Very exhausted today as he had 4 exams, including an AS all in one day. I am not convinced that having 4 minutes between a 2 hour exam is guaranteed to get the best but we shall have to see. I once told him that you should find a way of relaxing, he found his by simply not revising. It seems to work well, at one point I was suffering from parental stress transference disorder but i too gave up. There was simply no point.

Yesterday the teenager, my half child (He is not but is part of the furniture and so named) and I, went for a picnic by the river in BoA following yet another GCSE. It is moments like this that I feel very lucky. For two towering teenagers to be willing to sit and picnic with Mummy is a real achievement. At this age, I would have rather chewed toe nails than go sit in a park with my parents. It was lovely and I know that the box of cakes had nothing to do with it

So much wit and wisdom to add but it is gone midnight and I am still trying to get through the washing.

Two high points though. Today 'It' got a new nickname. I once trained in copy writing and at the time, I thought I was pretty good. See, the art of copy is to come up with a catchy little name or phrase that symbolises the product and sticks, rather irritatingly in ones brain. Having struggled so much with 'It's' lack of emotion and continued lying, I found myself humming to a well known children's film character and then I had my Eureka moment:

'Pinocchio'

Now I cannot stop singing:
'Pinocchio, Pinocchio - why are you made of wood'?' in a voice worthy of an UmparLumpa.

If you knew 'It', you would know that this is indeed the perfect new nickname and so I now officially rename him.

I received some fashion advice from a good friend today. Aapparently wearing shorts with wellies is a big no no. He is a man. I am a woman walking a dog. I disagreed and pointed out that the day I start dressing to please a man is the day I may as well shoot myself.

Ranting about this pre-feminist advise to a friend this evening, she duly nodded at all the appropriate moments and then said;

"So what about the time you dressed up as a maid"?

And look where that got me. I have a virtual hole in my foot

Enough with self pity, I have dipped my toe into the murky waters of despair and it is rather hideous - so I decided to quit.

There was no magical cause - I do this. Get utterly indignant at something, then despair out of frustration and cry. Then I decide that the lying on the floor approach is bad for my karma and I get back up.


I need sex. I haven't had any since the Berlin wall came down.