Stop saying bell end to the Sky man!

***Disclaimer: this post contains mild smut.  Those of a weak disposition may wish to avert their eyes***





You're still reading aren't you?  You saucy minx!

Ok, my husband says I have "no social filter", that's just a posh way of saying that I don't know when to shut up. He's right of course. Apparently the second time we met I asked if he was gay. I based my assumption on the fact he was wearing a set of wooden beads and that he had slightly camp hands. Ridiculous stereotyping, I know. You see, it would have been far more sensible to think it, but not say it, but it seems I'm just not capable of that.  I may also have had a couple.....I'd had a couple the first time we met as well, so many couples in fact that I don't actually remembering meeting him at all. He likes to make a big deal out if this fact, saying he obviously wasn't very memorable. But at least I didn't say anything ridiculous that time, my life could have turned out very differently.

My mouth tends to run away with me when I get nervous. For some strange reason I somehow ended up doing an impression of a person falling over at the school gates earlier, I don't even know how it happened, one minute I'm having a sane and rational conversation, the next I'm wobbling around like a delirious clown.  My mind panics while I think "I don't know what to say, I don't know what to say, say ANYTHING, make 'em laugh and it'll be fine"  and then it comes out.  Usually the worst possible, most inappropriate thing I could possibly say plops out of my mouth whilst silence falls and the eyes turn towards me, oh god the eyes....

Before we moved here I had a bizarre conversation with my Dad. He rang me, fairly early in the morning, and  we had one of the strangest conversations I've ever had in my life. At the time he was obsessing about where the Sky dish would be placed once we'd moved into the house we now share.  He was about to get the exterior walls painted and was concerned about the wiring being visible.

During this conversation my dear old Pa said "bell end" at least six times.  I'm not sure if the term bell end is universal, but just for the avoidance of doubt, we're talking male anatomy here.  Willies.  Specifically the ends of willies. Oh yes.  The first time he said it I let it pass, thinking he'd made some sort of conversational balls up (excuse the pun), the second and third time I was dearly hoping he just wouldn't say it again.  From then onwards I was so mortified that I hadn't said something sooner I couldn't bring myself to point it out.

He was using it as a term to describe the end section of our house, where the overhanging roof meets the walls.  Now it may be the correct term for this area, I don't know, but that's not the first thing any ordinary person thinks of when someone says bell end.

It felt like a ticking time bomb was about to go off, my Dad was INTENT on instructing the Sky engineer to strap any visible wiring under his bell end so no one could see it.  The Sky bloke was then going to think my Dad was either a nut case, or a pervert, probably both and then punch him, quite hard, in the face.  It was the golden shower conversation all over again (another story, it involves old ladies, rose bushes and being told that nobody is that disgusting and I have an overactive imagination, still a sore point, nuff said).  I HAD to stop him from having that conversation or he'd be a laughing stock.  Eventually I decided the best course of action was to consult my Mother, I located her delicately perched on the sofa in a room filled with builders, electricians, painters and the like. I cautiously and (as politely as I could) explained the situation to her using language that she could understand (no graphic imagery), she nodded sagely, and from her seat bellowed at the top of her voice "Kate says you mustn't say bell end to the Sky man - it means a man's penis"

No social filter, it's genetic.  Not my fault.

Ever happened to you?  Please say yes....

My last day of freedom...

I'm going back to work tomorrow following nine months of maternity leave.

I liked being pregnant, not just because of the tiny weeny little baby inside me, but also because it was a good excuse to be really bloomin' lazy....

Bulbous tummies also make excellent coffee tables, why get up if you don't have to?

I've just been hit with the realisation that not only have I got to leave my little tinkers tomorrow, but also that I'm going to have to keep working for the next thirty years. At least. Ugh!

I'm quite excited at the prospect of doing grown up stuff for a day, like buying posh coffee in a lidded takeaway cup rather than a juice drink that I have to share and eventually give up on when it turns into crumb filled small child soup.

I'm going to miss yapping to my friends on the school run, the Crime & Investigation Channel and eggs for breakfast. But mostly I'm going to miss gummy smiles, dribbley bibs and a kid that shouts "PRECIOUS!" and carps on about dinosaurs a lot....

Now I just have to scrape back together whatever is left of my half witted mummified brain and try and remember what it is exactly that I do again.  Oh yes, and I wonder what my was password was....?

If you think I'm dressing up as a biker or a cowboy you've got another thing coming....

I've lived in a fair few places in my time, up north, down south. Slap bang in the middle of big towns and right on the outskirts looking in.

I've lived in big houses, pretty little cottages and tiny, damp little flats. I've owned my own house and I've rented a fair few times as well.

I've lived in this village longer than I've ever lived anywhere else. There are a lot of plus sides to village life, you get to know people, faces, from all walks of life. It throws people together, forms groups and friendships that otherwise just might not happen.

One of the things I like most is that to me it feels like we've been stuck in time a little, in a very good way. If you leave your empty pram outside the Post Office, it will still be there when you've finished buying stamps and having a chat. If your baby decides to eject Sophie the Giraffe from her pushchair without you realising, some kindly soul will pick her up and put her on a low wall for you to find when you return in a panic.

A quick dash to one of the only village shops always takes longer than expected because you meet people on the way, catch up and check how they're doing. It saddens me to think that there are some places where these sorts of things just don't happen any more.

A friend of mine broke both her wrists last summer in the craziest camping accident I have ever heard of. It's difficult enough to manage without the use of your hands, but this lovely lady also had young twin boys to look after. On top of which she'd been told not to go anywhere unaccompanied in case she fell, as she wouldn't be able to use her arms to steady herself she risked further injury. It warmed my heart to see people, without question, taking care of her and her family. Rotas were arranged, visits were scheduled. Her washing was taken away and returned clean and pressed, her dog was walked, her meals were cooked, her house was cleaned. The boys were accompanied to school and back every day. She needed help and her community jumped up and gave it. It was amazing.

Now, I'm not trying to imply that I live some sort of charmed life, don't get me wrong, I don't. There are a fair few things I'd change, it's just that this isn't one. And it's not all rose tinted, but even the bad isn't really so bad. There's the occasional fall out and bit of scandal, but life would be dull without them. And a juicy bit of gossip can get around here at lightning speed.

It's also more than slightly bonkers around here sometimes too. We went for a walk by the river yesterday afternoon and, no word of a lie, a chap rode past us on his unicycle.....

From a very new person's perspective, I've found blogland to be a little bit similar to village life, although obviously in a less physical way.  It's lovely to see people offering support and advice, to otherwise complete strangers. It's nice to think there's a place where you can actually say, "hey, I'm having a hard time" and find that you're not the only one, there are others who know EXACTLY what you mean and even have some helpful advice following their own experience.  I've followed some blogs for so long that I sort I feel like I know their writers, though obviously I don't in the slightest.  I once waved at Cassandra from Only Fools and Horses when I saw her in a Carphone Warehouse, I recognised her so I assumed I knew her, oh the shame!  At least she was sweet enough to half wave back and look a bit confused at me...It could have been a lot worse, I have a habit of making a complete tit of myself in this sort of situation.

I suppose my point is that I'm not naive enough to think that blogland is purely a charmed and wonderful place only full of sweet natured people, though this has been my experience so far. I know that there are the other kind of people out there as well, and it does worry me slightly that I'm setting myself up for a fall by being here, being new to it all and not really knowing what I'm doing. That my naivety is going to bite me back. Really flippin hard!

So I guess what I'm asking is, is there a big blogger 'NO list' out there of things you'd be barking mad to post about? How do you stop yourself from getting it wrong or from giving away too much? Or don't you?  Do you deal with potential negativity by ignoring it and carrying on regardless?  How do you know if you're doing something that, to others, is completely bloody bonkers?

You'd tell me right? ;)

This is my friend Kate, she's mad!

I've been introduced to people this way more than once. It makes me want to slap the person doing it and shout "Oh f**k off!" I don't like feeling under pressure to be funny. I'm not a performing poodle and it definitely doesn't work like that.  I can tell an amusing story with the best of 'em, but only if there's one to actually tell.

My life isn't perfect, but I try really hard to be positive. I hate it when all people do is moan. Every now and then, when life deals you a crappy hand - fine, you're welcome to have a good complain. If life deals you a series of crappy hands, fair enough, keep going, you're entitled. I'll do what I can for you, to come up with something, anything, that might be helpful. But moan ALL the time about the tiny little details of your life, that you could easily change and I switch off. You're crying wolf. I don't know when you need a friend and when you don't.

To me "Just Pirouette and Carry On" means something. It's how I hope I react to life's setbacks. Pick myself up, dust myself down and not only move on, but move on fast and with good grace. I don't want to feel held back from posting if I don't feel like I'm being amusing enough. That's just faking, nobody is bouncy all the time. Sometimes I'm a silver lining girl, and sometimes I'm a grumpy old bat you'd cross the street to avoid. But I don't tend to feel that way for too long.

So, my dear, and very much appreciated  readers, just so you know, if I complain, it's because I feel I really need to. I'll try hard to make each post a good one. Sometimes I might be feeling scintillating and eloquent and I might just pull it off, but sometimes I might be a bit flat. But I'm posting anyway! I'll tell you what though; when I'm on fire, hooooooo mumma I'm on FIRE! :)

 Love, love

2/52

A portrait of my children once a week, every week in 2013.

A week of firsts....

2/52 This Baby plays on the swings for the first time.

2/52 That Baby's first ballet lesson.

The Sordid Confession of a New Blogger...

I wanted to change my profile picture to one that I liked a little more.  Yesterday evening (during Lewis) I faffed around adding filters, effects, text and all sorts of (probably unnecessary stuff) but I was having a lot of fun.  More fun than Lewis, I can't even remember who dunnit....

Then I uploaded my new picture, and somehow deleted the photograph on every comment I'd ever previously made.  This sent me into a frenzy.  I crossly tapped on the computer for ages, but I couldn't get it back.  I went to bed and tried hard to resist doing the same on my phone.  I couldn't.  I wasted another hour.

Eventually I went to sleep.  Only to be awoken by an unhappy baby at four in the morning.  I hushed her off to sleep.....

....then, to my great shame, nipped downstairs like the bloke in the old R Whites advert in his pyjamas for another go at sorting out my irritating problem. I sat in the dark, furtively googling.  I felt like a pervert!  Nothing so rock n roll as looking up rude stuff on the internet for me, no siree, I wanted my picture back, dammit and sleep wasn't going to stop me trying!

Thankfully I came to my senses and realised that I was being completely bonkers, turned the computer off and went back to bed.

I haven't sorted it, but I give up now.  On principal because I'm getting obsessed.  I'm already planning to comment on this post myself to make sure my picture shows up in the future......

I have to try and put a lid of this craziness. Gosh I'm tired.





P.S if anyone can shed any light, let me know.  Or perhaps it might be better not to, I might end up in therapy.

Like Calendar Girls only slightly less sexy...

Well, I've been....

• Doing a spot more blog hopping. Thought I'd have a mooch around The Friday Chaos Blog Hop this week. Check out my new (irritatingly massive, can anyone tell me how to shrink it a little) button. It's going to take me an age to work my way through so many new blogs and decide which are for me.

• Dealing with a baby with (suspected) chickenpox. She's not happy, poor love. It's not fun. Get well soon little wiggles x

• Joining the WI, otherwise known as the Women 's Institute. A monthly meeting of ladies of all ages with a different topic each time. Think Calendar Girls only slightly less sexy. Until I joined, obviously! Last night featured a speaker discussing how people married in the UK prior to the current marriage act. It wasn't the best topic in truth, difficult to make it really scintillating, but it was interesting. Next month's speaker sounds AMAZING, can't wait for that. I'll do a separate post over the weekend going into a bit more depth about the organisation. But I got a cake, a cuppa and a canvas bag! Not much more a girl needs in life is there?

• Getting stroppy with the husband. The other night I told him I was popping to the loo, five minutes later he shouted for me like there was some sort of major emergency kicking off. I dropped everything (well, actually pulled everything up) and ran. He wanted me to know a new series of Lewis had started and we'd missed the first episode.....grrr.

• Blogging for over a week. It's an obsession right now, but I think I'm finding my way. Enjoying it so much. It feels like the world just got bigger!

The ironing.  With perspective cleverly provided by a small, poxy baby 

• Ignoring the ironing. It's now epic in proportion. It's going to take me the whole weekend. Surely, if technology has reached the point where we now have computers the size of a bar of soap SOMEONE can invent crease-less clothes? Don't look at me, I can't even shrink a button....

That's pretty much it. Have amazing weekends...