I see you stumble......

I am going to have to start another, anonymous blog where I can actually say what happened this weekend. Belle Du Jour I am not, but I am teetering on the brink of becoming a bit of a lady of the night of late. And I am loving it. It all started off innocently as ever and then inevitably spiralled into a hedonistic twirl of tongues, mod haircuts and my old school uniform. And I will never see Thomas the Tank Engine in the same light again. Oh my lord. Hormones have a lot to answer for. And lager.....
I am listening to far too much local radio at present, since the ex gained custody of the digital radio. Gone are the days of listening to the fantastic and ever-tasteful 6 Music. Now I spend most of my days having to be subjected to '80s Hour' or just soppy chart singles by the likes of Duffy and Rhianna. Bros's 'I owe you nothing' is on now tinkling in the background as I am about to do a marathon session on The Book. This is not good. My creativity will be completely pissed upon by those Goss brothers. I'm off to put on a John Peel compilation and get on with some proper writing......

Fishfinger sandwiches, facepacks and froot!

I have just spent the majority of this week with one of the best human beings on the planet: Miss Lucy Bullen (or The Bullencia as I have always preferred to call her). She is a sparkling star in a sky of mere twinkles and it has been a pleasure having her to stay and to show her around the quirkiness of Brighton town. We supped enough pints of Harveys local brew to sink a posh yacht in the Marina, ate fishfinger sandwiches at Bills, wore chocolate flavoured facepacks so we looked like pigs in poo, and giggled like sun-crazed indie chicks over the course of 48 hours. I cannot wait for her monthly postings of burnt CDs of her favourite music. It's about time I rekindled my indie roots a little more. I am getting far to into mainstream pop these days....And I am now off to Sheffield for my 31st to hang out with her and her gang of young, guitar-playing friends. I will be back to the old Cathy in no time....

And now, having waved The Bullencia off back to the home of Kendal mint cake at the train station yesterday, I am back to planet earth with a bump as I spent an hour last night bent over the bath, sifting nits out of Sadie's hair. Oh the glamour of parenting. But it's all part of the fun, and Sadie's hair has never looked so shiny and detangled! Poor little lamb. She has a stripe across her face too from running through a thorn bush. She looks like a mini version of Adam Ant only with a glossy bob

Soundtrack: New Royal Family- Anyone fancy a chocolate digestive?

Weddings, waxworks and vampires.....

Well after Friday's nightmare of a date (that turned out to be only marginally less scary than the hideousness that was the dark stinking freaky waxwork Robin Hood museum in Nottingham yesterday) this weekend was one of the fluffiest in a long while. Joy and Geoff tied the knot in Nottingham's picturesque Holme Pierrepont Hall on Sunday afternoon. Sadie was their bridesmaid, which in itself was enough to open the floodgates for a soppy lush like me, but the ceremony had me in tears. I was one of those annoying wedding guests who keeps sniffing loudly with my shoulders jittering, like a dried up old maid who can only experience true love vicariously through her couple friends. Nah- I'm not that bad- I am just a sucker for romance and Philip Larkin poems. And Joy and Geoff are so cute together. They really are meant to be, god love em....
The best man's speech made me think I was living in a chick flick again. For a split second I thought I was hearing things when he decided to announce to everyone at the end of the speech that he and another of the best men (there were four incidentally) rather like me. And then he sat down. This was how he ended the speech. After going bright purple from embarrassment (my best friend Jo who had been sat next to me gaffawed so loudly she had also gone red), I glugged back some champagne and went and thanked him for this information. We have decided amongst the three of us that rather than begin some sort of weird love triangle, I will share them both intermittently as and when it suits. The best man did suggest daily commutes down from Nottingham to Brighton but I think he was being a little unrealistic (and probably a little drunk). Oh what fun. And hark at me- I'll get a big fat head at this rate!
Sadie and I then had an hour to kill before our train back home yesterday so I thought I'd take her on an educational visit to the Robin Hood museum. After entering it became obvious we were the only visitors (it was a Monday morning). I now know why. It all started off great as a very handsome man dressed as Robin Hood came a chatted to us, and, having tried to unsuccessfully entice Sadie from her shy, finger-biting stance, led us into a pitch black room where loud male voices boomed around us. At this point Sadie started screaming and I wondered whether we would actually ever come out alive. Then it got even worse. A door opened into a dark, pretend cavern, and we entered to find 6 creepy waxworks in loin cloths standing staring at us. We couldn't get out until the automated doors opened for us and to be honest I was absolutely bloody petrified. I actually thought Sadie might pass out she was shaking and crying so much. This went on from room to room for about 45 minutes, until we exited completely shell shocked and feeling as though we had just surfaced from the fires of hell. What this hammer house of horrors taught us about Robin Hood I will never know. Sadie will now think that Sherwood Forest is a torture chamber. But at least, as opposed to my date with Ginge, I didn't end up with gigantic teeth marks on my right buttock and a love bite in the middle of my cleavage. I kid ye not. I was almost eaten alive.

Soundtrack: Gabriella Cilmi -Sweet About Me

Ten thousand nights of chunder

Still in an internet cafe which is never the same as freely typing away in my "office" ( a rather more glamorous name for the corner of my bedroom) listening to indie pop, and I have been feeling guilty about posting at work. I have managed to persuade Sadie to have a bobbed haircut and I am so chuffed- she looks absolutely adorable and just like Amelie when she was a little girl at the beginning of said film. And speaking of French things, on the way home today I cycled past the French market, which often frequents the Hove lawns at this time of year. I was ravenous from pushing those pedals against the wind so when I spied the freshly made baguettes and the pain au chocolats I had to pootle over there to grab myself some much needed carbs(even though the wind barely let me and I nearly fell off my bike). It was really silly though as the woman serving at le boucherie was French so I thought I should talk to her in a really crap half-french, half-english way and the conversation went something like this...
Me: 'Hello. Bonjour. Could I have one of those baguettes please, s'il vous plait'
Her: 'Ca? Oui...'
Me: (being passed the baguette)' Thanks. Merci Beaucoup. Thanks yes. And could I have a carrier bag please. S'il vous plait. Merci beaucoup. Thanks'
Oh dearie me.
Off out with my ginger nightmare tonight. Spoke to him on the phone last night to arrange where to meet him and all he said was 'Yeah' in a halfhearted way to everything I said. I have concluded that he was a)feeling shy and overcome with nerves that such a fox was ringing him and couldn't think of anything to say, b)has nothing to say or c) had a naked lady lying next to him and couldn't muster up the words "yes that would be really nice to meet you. Would you like me to take you to dinner? Yes? Can't wait. Bye" without being smacked in the face. I basically had to force feed him the idea of me....and him...in a pub....at 7.30pm...- was that ok? "Yeah".
God help me......

Soundtrack: Alphabeat- 10,000 nights

Sunny D makes you pee and late nights give you a fat neck obviously

My boss has told me to stay at home today as I have a fat neck from swollen glands, and look exhausted. I have been enjoying going to work more than being at home of late as it gets me out of the house. I have coped well. Had a free breakfast on the seafront with Rachel and Fraser and have then spent the rest of the day lying on the sofa eating home made chicken noodle soup (recipe to follow when I'm not in an internet cafe)and watching the wondrous Juno: one of the best films I have seen in a long time. I realised I hadn't even previously mentioned going to see the Sex and the City movie the other week, but this kind of film just sort of washes over you. I loved SATC but Juno is a stayer, really funny and sad, and what a fab soundtrack. I had the seven inch of the Moldy Peaches 'Anyone Else But You' years ago and am glad it's finally being recognised as a beautiful tune.
I have also been drifting in an out of sleep in a delirious manner. Hope I will be normal by Sunday as it's Joy and Geoff's wedding day. If you are reading this youse two lovelies- hello! only 3 days to go!!! You are the Juno and Bleeker of the hour (but without the car crash irresponsible behaviour and bad shorts) x

A post at 4am: Magnetic Feet Go Warm Turkey

You may believe, dear readers, that I have been coping with the meltdown of my relationship to the father of my child remarkably well in the last couple of months. I thought so too, but now I understand otherwise. I am happy to have come to the decision, but in the meantime I have been hiding my pain and grief behind a candyfloss smokescreen of regular alcohol consumption, casual sex and naked swimming (when my off-duty-from-motherhood hours permit me to do so of course…). Once you eliminate these hedonistic past times from the equation, and discounting the healing time I have spent with friends, I am actually pretty darn miserable.
Don’t get me wrong- I am enjoying myself much more that I had envisaged. I imagined I’d be walking around with grey looking skin, having lost loads of weight and wearing a variety of black outfits for the next 12 months, like some sort of bereaving widow. As it is I am actually able to have lots of fun (and have put ON weight), particularly on the man front which has been a most pleasant surprise (did I mention internet dating? An exaggerating friend of mine said I hardly need to bother with cyber encounters as at the moment it seems all I have to do is step out of my front door and the men start forming a small queue- she said it’s almost like I’ve got man magnets in my shoes! Poor deluded cow..).
No- it’s more the habit of anaesthetising myself that worries me most. It’s ironic to me that I ended a relationship that was bad for my health, only to get more heavily involved in another toxic love affair. It is time to face the pain without numbing it as it won’t go away that easily, which is why I have decided to attempt to seriously cut down on the booze (and not go cold turkey as this would be like ripping a dummy from a baby’s mouth), despite having a wedding reception this weekend and my impending ‘Champagne and Bling’ party in a few weeks (‘Elderflower Cordial and Bling’ party doesn’t sound quite as much fun…..).
As for casual sex and mini love affairs; I’m just going to ride (fnar) that one out for a little while longer. It is giving me a healthy taster of things to come, and at least I will be now having sober, casual sex. Naked swimming has served it’s nipple-freezing cathartic liberating purpose but I will be sticking to my polka-dot bikini from now on.
It is time to try and start again properly this time. My therapist left me with a very poignant quote to ponder on yesterday:
“If you always do what you did
You will always get what you got”
Here’s to trying to change the habits of a lifetime………

Bicycles, near death and camembert breakfasts

It's the beginning of National Bike Week today and I am looking forward to my prize for being someone who cycles to work, of a free breakfast at the Meeting Place cafe on the seafront in Hove this Thursday from 7.30-10am. You just turn up with your bike and claim some food. There are a few of these going on this week, so even if you don't cycle much, borrow or steal a friends' bike and go and get your free fry up! Mind you- the Meeting Place cafe is an amazing location, but awful food, so it's not that great a gift for being carbonless and fit. Here they somehow manage to make everything taste and smell vaguely of cheese. And this is no good at all, especially if you're eating a bacon sarnie.
Sadie wanted to join in with NBW too and insisted on cycling up the hill to school today wearing her daddy's medal from the London to Brighton bike ride yesterday. It took us 15 minutes to get to school as opposed to 5 and she whinged all the way, but she did her bit and I am proud.
Have had a bit of a tiring weekend, but marvellous all the same. Friday night was slutty night, where a group of us girls dressed up in our sauciest outfits and hit the town (god I really am behaving like a singleton). In inevitable sods law fashion, I only got attention from roofers who looked like Phil Mitchell, or 12 year olds wearing suits who thought I looked like I was up for it (I was of course- but not with underage accountants). I'll be sticking to jeans, a t-shirt and heels next time as this always works wonders. There's nothing worse than looking like you're advertising yourself for the cover of Nuts magazine. And I do tend to look a bit uncomfortable in a first-time-out-of-the-closet-transvestite-like way. It's just not me....but fun was had nevertheless, despite being so drunk at one point that I nearly fell out of a window. Ho hum. I am alive so let's just live and learn(lesson being not to just walk up to big windows in 9th floor appartments after 4 hours of drinking as they might well be open).
Saturday was the lovely Joy's hen night. We ate scrummy food in Food For Friends (always a winner) and then headed to Northern Lights restaurant for a private do (where I appear to have bagged myself a ginger admirer- remember the other blog recently? It just goes to show- be careful what you wish for...) and then onto the Funky Fish where we strutted our stuff to northern soul classics and drank to Joy's impending future as Mrs Westby. And incidentally I'm meeting up with the ginger cave man this week for a date (he's redheaded in a Shaun Slater-esque way rather than a Bradley Branning sort of way so there is hope for the species after all..)

Friday 13th and tiara celebrations

I've just arranged to have a 'Champagne and Bling' party (thanks to my pharmacist doppelganger for the suggestion- she needs an excuse to drink champers and wear her wedding tiara again so I thought I'd oblige) at mine in a month's time. I've been meaning to have a gathering since becoming single, but felt a pang of guilt at the idea of celebrating my new found freedom. That is until My Ex had an all night party last week of his own. So now I have changed my mind and am inviting friends over for some drunken,dancing-around-the-living-room antics.
The interest in Sign Shop Man has resurfaced. My daily trips to the internet cafe opposite the Sign Shop have meant I can now catch his eye as I exit from my emailing spree. I think I am going to ask him out, but the question is... HOW??? And... AM I MAD?
I could just walk in there and ask him, but this would be a)embarrassing and b)out of context. What am I supposed to say? That I need a sign and can he give me one? (a la 'Baby Hit Me One More Time'?). No no no.. this needs more thought. Doppelganger thinks I should write him a note with my number on it and go in, say hi (blush like a radish) and hand it to him. Readers- I need your help on this one... Do I go for it, or I do I leave him in his cosy bubble in the Sign Shop where I can just strut past from time to time and get an ego boosting glance my way, never speaking to him and never risking making a total arse of myself?? It is Friday 13th after all and this would be a time doused in ironic bad vibes, when a gargantuan arse is be likely to be made.

Soundtrack: Mystery Jets-Two Doors Down

A technophobe talks from the heart

Quite a few of my single friends keep insisting I should try internet dating. This rather cold way of meeting people has never really appealed, but as a single mum who doesn't get out as much as she'd like, perhaps I should give it a go. I'm quite old fashioned in many ways- I only learnt how to use a microwave this year, and have only had a mobile phone for 2 months. I survived quite happily without a mobile throughout my twenties, and now, although a useful means of communication, it has become the bane of my life. I am forever checking it to see if I have any messages from any of my men of the sea, and my entire mood can be swayed by either the gleeful arrival of an ego massaging text from someone of the opposite sex or, as on most days, a depressingly empty inbox gathering cobwebs. My worry is that entering into cyber flirtations will only exacerbate this problem. I am clearly in need of some attention, after opening Pandora's box of man folk recently and having a taster session. Rather than move from the starter to the main course, I'd quite like to tuck into the eat-as-much-as-you-like buffet for a little while longer, if you catch my drift.
Yesterday I began entering my details on a dating site, only to get so frustrated half way through that I closed the whole thing down. I'm not very good at summing myself up in an appealing manner. And I am certainly not photogenic. How on earth is any man going to have any idea about me from a webpage profile? I will just be filtered through their scouring as they read I am a ginger single mum who is quite poor, drinks too much and likes mashed potato and Woody Allen films.

Soundtrack: The Ting Tings- That's not my name

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside....beside someone else....

Living by the sea at this time of year is brilliant. Last night a mum friend and I took our girls to the beach for our dinner. We headed off about 5pm as it was too scorchio before this to venture out without melting, and went and found ourselves a spot right next to the water. I brought freshly roasted lemon chicken, potato salad and a bottle of chilled rose. My friend bought avocado and watermelon and we tucked in. As we chatted whilst sunbathing in our bikinis (well- she forgot hers so she just sat there in her lacy undies), the nudey girls played by the water, running in bravely as the tide went out and screaming loudly as the waves chased them back to the beach. I had a quick swim in the surprisingly clear waters and we got home around 7.30pm in time to tuck the girls up in bed, ready for school the next morning. How ace is this a way to spend an evening with your child? I am one lucky woman. I live so close to the beach that it is practically my back garden.
Now that the weather is so amazing I have also got into the wonderful habit of cycling to and from work. As I live and work close to the seafront (am I annoying you yet?) I get to cycle all the way along the promenade to work, with the sea to my right and the traffic jams of carbon spurters to my left. I now manage the journey in 10 minutes, as opposed to half an hour on the bus. My legs are already starting to change shape after 3 weeks of whizzing along. This is all good.
However, I have no one to show off my newly toned legs too. After May's fruitiness June is turning into a man drought. I knew I shouldn't have bought those condoms. Every time I optimistically buy a packet of them, I get to use one and then the rest sit around in my bathroom cabinet festering in their spermicidical juices, only to be out of date the next time I happen to need one. I once wrote an article entitled 'The Jinx of the Johnny' for a website about this problem. Many women commented that they have exactly the same experience. They don't tell you this in sex education classes- it's all very well teaching children about safe sex, but they should also inform us that buying condoms will always lead to safe sex as it will ensure you never have nookie again.
Mind you- this Friday night I'm out with the girls for a cocktail night. I am wearing my red mini dress and fishnets and if I don't get any action wearing this ensemble I will give up forever......

Soundtrack: Kinks- Lazing on a sunny afternoon

Bit of a blur...

I write this through stinging, slightly blurred eyes. One of the curses of being a redhead is that when the weather is blue-skied and hot, as it is in Brighton at the moment (god I love living here- I get so much more sunlight than I ever did growing up in rainy Lincolnshire and then smoggy, shaded-by-the-council-blocks London), I have to smother myself in suncream on a daily basis. The stuff is greasy enough to annoy me being on my skin at all, but I am one of those fidgets who often rubs their eyes at work (as I am often tired from an early morning wake up call from Sadie) and now I have the stuff in my eyes. How bad is that? My poor pupils will be poisoned for ever. I keep meaning to buy myself some "alternative", more natural suncream (of which there must be an abundance in a place like Brighton which houses, allegedly, the healthiest and most alternative people in the UK- remember pomegranate molasses? Case proven)but each year I forget and quickly nip into Boots in a panic on my way home as the hot ball of fire in the sky takes me by surprise and I suddenly feel as thought the freckles on my arms are singeing into small, black smoke holes. I am terrified of getting skin cancer but blindness isn't much cop either. I must invest in something less harsh and chemical based. Any suggestions for creams/oils that work but are not nasty on your bod and peepers?

Boredom is inevitable, suffering optional

I was a little disappointed this weekend as Haruki Murakami was in the Guardian's Weekend magazine with extracts of his book on running- I was very excited about this (and being able to read the Saturday papers at all- this is becoming a new luxury for me on my weekends off from Sadie) as as he is my favourite writer and I love, well rather quite like, running, so I skipped to and from the newsagents on Saturday, poured myself a cup of herbal and tucked into his words, expecting to be blown away. Thing is- I got bored halfway through and had to stop reading it. I kept going back over it in case I had missed the point but no- I was glazing over. There is only so much someone can say about running and I think he said too much. I shall not be buying this book, but I still love him as a novelist despite his ramblings about marathons and pain. He is clearly obsessed (he is currently in training for his 24th marathon) and a lot of what he said about how it feels to run makes sense to me and I can relate to it, but enough already! Running is hard work but it makes you feel good. That is all you need to know.
I went for my first run in a while last night on the seafront in the early evening sun. Again- this is all you need to know. The shoreline was packed with people, even right up into Hove which is usually the quiet end for revellers. I think I was the only person who was actually stupid enough to be moving this fast in the heat- I didn't spot another jogger at all, and there are ordinarily quite a few of us virtuously panting our way along the prom. I still can't quite believe that I managed to pull a bloke on one of these jogging outings. I looked like a cherry tomato on a stick when I got home last night. Maybe running is the new cruising. Maybe not. And if it was you would think in all his endless musings, Murakami might have mentioned this.
He sums up his relationship to running in the last paragraph of the Weekend article;
'I may not hear the Rocky theme song, or see the sunset anywhere, but for me, this may be a sort of conclusion. An understated, rainy-day-sneakers sort of conclusion. An anticlimax, if you will. Turn it into a screenplay, and the Hollywood producer would just glance at the last page and toss it back. But the long and the short of it is that this kind of conclusion fits who I am. What I mean is, I didn't start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn't become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run. Simply because I wanted to.'

Well- go and run then and write another novel please!

Soundtrack: Nancy Sinatra- Sugartown

Eeek!

A very close friend of mine is getting married at the end of August and has just asked me to be Best Woman and do a speech. I am chuffed to smithereens about this and actually loudly wept when she asked me. Only thing is, she seems to think that because I write and I make her laugh, that I will somehow rise to the occasion and do a wonderful, hilarious stand up routine about her, our 20 years of friendship and her lovely new beau. I am absolutely SHITE at standing up infront of people and speaking. I go red, I mumble and speak so quickly to get it all out of the way that my meagre witticisms are lost on everyone due to their bad timing. This being how it all went for me back in the days at Uni when I did a presentation. And I haven't had much practise since. I also absolutely SHIT MYSELF beforehand, to the point where I spend about a fortnight beforehand having sleepless nights and if I do get to sleep have anxiety dreams where I do the talk but with food on my face and without remembering to put any clothes on. I have done the Best Woman thing once before, at a friends' Civil Partnership ceremony, but he put together a reading (a la Bridges of Madison County- the cheesemeister that he is) for me which was nervewracking, but at least I wasn't showcasing my lack-lustre, shakey handed technique for wowing a crowd. It actually went ok, but now to have to write something tasteful and funny at the same time is a challenge and usually isn't my bag. As you may have noticed readers I do have a liking for the cruder side of humour. This poor girl doesn't know what she has let herself in for, and as for me- bring on the valium!

These boots are made for walking...and dancing and a bit of naturism too.....

The weekend was a frivolity of dancing, nude swimming (again- I must get out of this strange and quite frankly freezing habit), snogs, and dining out with friends. I really am starting to enjoy being single at last. And I know I am a mother but every now and then I feel it's important for me to be a little childish too. On Friday a gang of us went to the Honeyclub on Brighton's seafront for Adrian's birthday. I hadn't fancied it until a friend of mine lent me her 4 inch heel kinky black boots and that was it-I was in vamp land and no one was going to stop me showing off my now very long legs! (I have stumps ordinarily) I danced my arse off to hard house, which I usually detest, but being continuously dry humped in a Patrick Swayzee kind of manner by a gorgeous young man sure helped proceedings. He had only just learnt to walk again after a motorcycle crash had left him in a wheelchair for 4 years, and I have to say he was doing swell. After the club, he and I ran into the sea starkers and screaming in homage to Merman. Trouble was his best friend had followed us in, and suddenly there we were the three of us, all far more sober, completely in the buff and standing in the sea as the sun just started to come up (see pic for bit of the sea we plunged into before the light appeared- thanks Tatiana for the beautiful pic before it all turned rather naughty). I hope I am not on You Tube somewhere and god- I am behaving like a bit of a trollop at present but who cares? I sure don't.
Saturday night after a sumptuous Thai meal with the soon-to-be-wed cuties that are Joy and Geoff (19 days to go guys!!!) and their photographer Harry (who to practise for their big day followed us around all day like the paparazzi- it was quite surreal but exciting in a look-at-us-having-our pictures-taken kind of way), we braved the tacky Horatio's Bar with a few friends to see a covers band called The Ginger Flowers. They were actually really good and threw in a few indie numbers for the kids, and we danced barefoot on the sticky carpet with one of the eccentric senior nurses from work who we happened to bump into. She was off her trolley and Harry took some great piccies of her that I will put on here soon.
Sunday I was invited to a taster session at the opening of a friends restaurant. The friends in question are Finnish and they have started a Scandinavian themed eatery in town called Northern Lights. The deal was that I, along with a load of their friends, go along and try their menu for a fiver and make comments. It was fantastic-lots of fish-based foods of course so I was happy, and very rich flavours. I would thoroughly recommend it for an alternative night out in Brighton to all you locals, and there are some great veggie dishes too. Plus Manu and Paula are great, gregarious hosts who love to meet new people and drink and be merry so go along for a great night out! Northern Lights is on Little East Street near the Lanes and is next door to Mama Cherries of Kitchen Nightmares fame. (I did promise them a plug but I genuinely loved it).
Back to work now and reality. But I tell you what- if all my weekends off from my mothering duties are half as much fun as this one was, I think I am going to be just dandy.