A HOLE Lotta Trouble !!!

This Blog comes from the safety of the conservatory, I am trapped in here until the pungent smell of gas has disappeared from the rest of my house and I can walk around without feeling high.

Let me take you back a few days.

Monday morning began as normal but by lunchtime I had a hole…no wait, I need to think of a better word than hole…..a void, a gorge, a cavity right outside my house.

The men in yellow coats came some time ago you see and rather like an annoying case of earache are still hanging around. Their purpose, to replace our gas pipes. It can’t be the gas pipes I thought to myself, why would they be smoking whilst digging, but what do I know!

Today I have been informed that my gorgeous front garden will be undergoing a touch of landscaping i.e. not 1 not 2 but 3 holes being dug in my lawn HOW ATTRACTIVE. Any more holes and I will have my very own moat; I may even install a drawbridge with turrets.

I have watched with great interest how 4 grown men can while away so much time looking down into a hole in the ground nodding like those little dogs you see in the back of cars. Today was particularly fascinating when another clearly more important man turned up with a clipboard (and we all know how important a clipboard looks) and placed 12 cones around himself, his van and THE HOLE. He then put on a pair of safety goggles, a hard hat and attached a torch to it. “OOO” I thought “he’s going in, goodbye little man with clipboard”. To my utter amazement he peered into the hole (for anyone with a somewhat mucky mind I said peered not peeed), then nodded, wrote something on his clipboard, lit up a fag then tidied up all the 12 cones and left. WHY? WHY? WHY?

Health and Safety gone bonkers. Who actually sits and decides how many cones are appropriate in these situations, who decides that its OK for pedestrians to walk round these holes taking their own lives in their hands but not for a man with a clipboard. I wonder what would happen if a mere mortal like me were to step within the boundaries of the circle of cones, would I disappear forever or catch the nodding disease of the men in yellow coats. We shall never know.

As much as I moan about the before mentioned holes it got me thinking about all the times in my life where I would have been very grateful for a hole opening up beneath me and swallowing me . My earliest memory of this immense feeling was when I was about 13 years old (you remember how that was don’t you CRINGE!!). Well on this occasion it was my Northern Mother who introduced me to the feeling of shame that you had actually come from her womb. It all stemmed from her passing her driving test at the ripe old age of 33 and my Father buying her a car, not any old car a baby blue, old, rusty VW Beetle which back in the 80’s was anything but trendy. The car which she lovingly named Bertie was a whole heap of….well you can fill in the blank! Every Monday morning she would offer to drop me at the station as it was in her words “on my way”. The problem was that as it hadn’t been used all weekend it would never bloody start, she would then enlist the help of the Dustbin Men to push her down our very exclusive road. As if the shame of this wasn’t bad enough they would let out a rather loud “HOORAAYYY” as Bertie spluttered to life and roared of down the road sounding like a tractor with The Northern Mother waving cheerfully out of the windows. God Bless Her!!!

It was at this stage I used to attempt to make a run for it, grabbing my bag and coat and shoving a piece of toast in my mouth as I went. The problem was that in my haste to get the toast she had driven back round the block and was now sounding the horn wildly to let me know she was back and ready to go with the delightful sounds of Barry Manilow blaring from the tape player.

I in turn would do a type of Starsky and Hutch manoeuvre which involved checking for onlookers then diving into the back seat and laying full length while we drove off. My friends who would be by now waiting at the station cheered loudly as The Northern Mother once again sounded the horn in appreciation. Oh the shame!!! My friends thought she was immensely cool and I just wanted to find out how I started adoption proceedings.

I remember quite clearly with the opposite of fond memories her picking me up from school one day, not as a surprise but because she needed to go to the hospital which happened to be at the end of the school road. She had you see managed to blow herself up on the cooker, as she stood before me with no eyebrows, lashes, fringe and a bright red face that looked like she had been blow torched, I wished for that hole again to open up. My Father who now lives in Australia and I love dearly ( I must add he doesn’t live there because he nearly killed my Mother) worked for the gas board had assured her that the slight smell of gas that seeped from the oven was perfectly safe and could wait until the weekend to be looked at. Unfortunately as she lit the pilot light what she encountered was anything but safe as it exploded in her face and blew her across the kitchen. To say she was slightly annoyed was a bit of an understatement only made worse when she finally reached my Father who was playing golf and carefully reminded her that she was still alive and that he would definitely take a look at it once he had finished this round of golf. Whoops bad move Daddy!!

Fortunately for me Bertie the beetle came to a rather untimely end when the next day due to the large sunglasses my Mother was wearing to hide her singed hair and eyes didn’t notice a lorry pulling out and reversed in to him. As you may or may not know the engine is in the boot where a Beetle is concerned. So that was that Goodbye Bertie and Good riddance.

 Mum was fine by the way, which was more than my dad was once he had got home.

I guess that there are times in everyone’s lives where that old saying “I just wish the earth would of opened up and swallowed me” are used. At least I can look back and laugh at these moments with fondness.

Which is nothing to how much my Mother laughs at The Teenager now being totally embarrassed of me and The Husband?

I think the word I have heard her whisper is KARMA!!!

Lots of Love

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Spandex and Custard Creams. x

As January leaves us (good riddance) and February arrives how many of you have kept up any of those New years resolutions........lets face facts, we make them with complete conviction of keeping them, we actually believe that we can uphold them all year but in stark reality none of us really, truly, hand on heart can say that by next January we have stuck to them.

As for me well I am no different, I promise myself that I will eat less, drink less and have more patience but already I have eaten too much, consumed far too many bottles (sorry glasses) of wine and my patience has been tested by several day to day incidents that quite frankly Mother Theresa would of lost her temper with.
The only thing I am sticking with so far is to try and get to the gym 3 times a week, the problem in that is a purely psychological thing. In my brain I think that if I have been 3 times a week and worked very hard that it then entitles me to eat anything I want on the gym free days, thus resulting in no weight loss and very sore legs.

Take today for instance, once the kids are all packed off to school I start to pack my very large gym bag which contains a variety of sports related junk. My bag has a special section for toiletries which all looks very nice but I keep a packet of custard creams, a spare drink and some form of fruit in it (just in case my gym instructor friend looks in there).You see already I am thinking of that moment when I have finished and am in the solitary confinement of my car when I can eat all the calories I have just burnt off. Quite frankly if I didn't think it would get squashed I would keep a cream cake and a burger in there too.
Anyway bag packed. trainers on, sports bra on holding my large boobs in traction, tracksuit on and hair in a high ponytail (which in my head makes me look instantly sportier). A quick 5 minute drive and I'm there, once parked you can quite clearly see if its busy or not thanks to the huge full length glass windows. Its a bit like being at the zoo and watching the monkeys performing for the crowds, the difference being that I am about to become one of the monkeys.
Once in you then have the very latest in technology, a fingerprint scanner. I often feel like something from Mission Impossible (which to be fair is how I see my weight loss). I sometimes get the urge to scan my thumb then roll across the floor trying to avoid those laser things you see on TV.

Before I know it I'm in and doing the long walk of shame from the door to the running machines which are very annoyingly placed at the furthest end of the gym. It really is a case of head down trying not to catch sight of yourself in the full length mirrors and just get to the end.
Depending on which day you go depends on the type of gym bunny you meet. Sometimes its all skinnys with their gorgeous non wobbly bottoms placed inside their spandex, sometimes its all non skinnys who all look on gratefully when another larger lady comes into their vicinity, and sometimes its a bit of a mixture. Well that was today, a real mixture of wobbler's and non wobbler's. You tend to find the other wobbler's have an unsaid code that spells out "I hate being here but hopefully I will look like the non wobbler's soon". A subtle smile says a thousand words for us. Don't get me wrong I admire those women who obviously work extremely hard at having a lovely figure, what I don't like is being sandwiched between 2 of them on the running machines, while I do my 30 minute fast walk they are running like gazelles in the wild (thank god we are not in the Serengeti as I would be eaten on a daily basis due to the fact I cannot run very fast). I also take great offence to the ones who look and snear at you like they have just stepped in something nasty. I can guarantee they have never had weight issues or kids that stretch your once tight skin.
The thing I have noticed is a certain solidarity within many of the women there, a smile here and there and the odd funny remark about things they shouldn't have eaten but have. We all watch in awe as the POWER aerobic class sweep through the gym following their extremely fit 6ft barbie doll instructor, a hush falls over the gym as we all wish we were part of their elite group. An hour later they don't so much as sweep but crawl back through with tangled hair and massive sweat patches. It suddenly dawns on me that they are just like us really, trying to get fit and making the best of what god gave us, boobs, bums, hips and tummy's.
Back in the changing rooms we are all the same, chatting and laughing, showering and putting that all important face cream on. I wonder if I shouted "who wants a custard cream" would anyone be offended or would I have a herd of hungry women charging at me, well we shall never know as there is no way on gods earth I would ever do that, I mean..... share my custard creams...... I don't think so. They are there for my wonderful solitary moment in my car when its just me and only me.


Lots of Love


Me xxxxxxxxxxxx