Mommies Who Drink

Yesterday's Observer Woman magazine (well I always manage to read the colour supplements, the tv guide...) had extracts from Brett Paesel's new book 'Mommies Who Drink'- it sounds fantastic and I'll certainly be getting a copy. Brett's honest account of bringing up kids (the boringness of it, the need for wine involvement, her experience of post partum depression just seeming a sensible reaction to having to look after a person 24/7 who screams all the time) is right up my street. I shall also be buying it for all my "mommy" friends this Christmas!
see article: http://observer.guardian.co.uk/woman/story/0,,2202294,00.html

Ban the Bratz!!

Just been on the phone to Joni at Planet Boo HQ and we've been ranting about the hideousness that is the Bratz. Joni has two daughters, aged 8 and 6, and has never allowed the mini-skirted tart toys through her front door. That was until a relative bought her youngest one a doll and now she feels they are invading her household without her control. These whore figurines have only recently entered my parental stratosphere in the last few months and I am horrified. Sadie actually got bought a baby bratz doll last christmas but I didn't even know what it was and it's so small I never worried about it. But now, after witnessing their DVD recently, with its emphasis on vanity, boys and shopping, they are officially banned from our humble abode. Sadie will probably hate me for this, but I will just explain my reasons and hope she gets into the Care Bears instead. Hopefully, by the time she is 8 the f*****g money grabbing men who design these stupid toys will be out of a job.
This subject sprung to mind after I went out last night and saw the worst dressed young girls I have ever seen. There they were, queueing up for a bar in the centre of Brighton wearing nothing more (yes I know I am starting to disturb myself by my motherly ways) than suspenders, thongs and a waistcoat!! We walked down the road behind them as their little (what looked like) pre-pubescent buttocks were just THERE for all to see- and there were plenty of people looking. Judging by their faces these girls were no older than 16!! I nearly cried. I wanted to wrap them up in my big fluffy cardigan and take them home and tell them a few home truths about men and what they want when they see that much flesh, and how little they would get respect, and how they are beautiful and probably lovely girls who should be giggling with their friends, not walking around like prostitutes. But I didn't. I just left them to the lions.
I wondered if they were Bratz fans when they were little, or whether they regularly watched MTV music videos. They had obviously been brainwashed into thinking that walking around at night in your underwear was a normal and sensible idea.
Christ, when I was 16 (in my day) I used to think Chrissie Hynde was an icon, and the skimpiest thing I would be seen wearing was a tight Elastica tshirt.

Soundtrack: Spice Girls- Say You'll Be There

Quietness and Rubble and Bollocks

Day to myself today- it's very unusual for me to be on my own for 24 hours and it's rather nice, although I wouldn't want to do it too often- I am a social creature...
So after enjoying a lie-in and then being able to read and bake and dance about to loud music, I was craving some human life.
Had to visit Taj stores to buy tamari sauce for my dinner, which wasn't really necessary for tonight's cooking- the soy sauce in the cupboard would have done the trick- but I needed PEOPLE. I thankfully bumped into a girl I'd met when I used to go to the Buddhist centre in the days when I was trying to find a meaning (I never did- I just relaxed into the nonsense) and chatted away to her about bollocks (not literally of course;that wouldn't be very zen of me) for about five minutes while her boyfriend looked fed up. That got some of waffle out of my system.
I've also had the neighbour's builder over to inspect the damage they are doing to our ceiling by converting the flat upstairs. He looks like a younger Peter Cook so I went a bit faint and invited him in for a chat (or rather I talked bollocks again) and to inspect my ceilings.. Well- I needed the company. He's given me his number in case it gets worse...I do hope I don't end up under a pile of rubble. He might have to rescue me. (God poor Andy- he's only been away since yesterday and already I'm flirting with gawky looking handy men- I must be hormonal again).
Probably meeting Nat this evening for cocktails and catch up for some more human interaction. She's been on the pier today releasing balloons to advertise Brighton Visitor.Com. Would have gone to have a look had I had my bike...the BASTARDS!!!!
Did some studying but kept getting gravel falling on my notes so only did a couple of hours.
Off to giggle at Peep Show and have a cheeky beer...

Soundtrack: Kooks- Naive

Andy is 17 years older than me- which you wouldn't know to look at us- me ageing rapidly from motherhood and alcoholism, and him having some crafty gene that keeps him looking 35 forever. The age gap has its advantages and, of course, like any relationship, its crap sides. I have always been partial to the older man; I always found it refreshing to hang around with males who've lived a little and have their years of wisdom to share with me.
Older men are also a lot more likely to hang around longer as they've probably done the one night stand fling thing and are looking to settle down a bit. So lucky me got what I wanted and bagged myself an older man 7 years ago, with his interesting stories and his want for a serious relationship (he sure got it- I was pregnant a year later), but unfortunately I also got someone who seriously verges on the patronising when I don't know every ounce of information he has stored away in his 17 extra years of brain matter. I know I'm not the brightest master mind in the building, and there are plenty of gaps in my knowledge of the world, but, as Sophie Ellis Bexter once sang when she was singer with The Audience 'I know enough'. And I really can't stand being patronised. That's my dig at my other half over.....
The lovely Nathalie Gomez de Vera and her son Joe (great lad) joined us last night for another twist of pumpkin delights (we had a Celia Brooks Brown recipe of butternut squash roasted with garlic cloves and sage, and then baked with cubes of gruyere cheese- see her fab website for yummy vegetarian stuff at celiabrooksbrown.com/real.php)and chit chat. Nat has just moved to Woodingdean, near Brighton, and is one of Andy's old clubbing crowd. She's a great lady and I hope to be joining her for a few drinks this weekend at the Koba. She also works for new Brighton mag 'brighton visitor.com'- it's a guide to this wondrous city - have a look at www.brightonvisitor.com or pick a copy up when you get off the train at Brighton on your way to visit me!
Off to do some coursework and try not to fall asleep this time.
Rachael- I know you are reading this... spotted any grammatical errors yet? Thanks for the night time jog btw x

Titleless prattle

Hurrah- Sadie has befriended a lovely little girl at school called Lottie who has invited her over for tea with me on fireworks night to watch the cricket ground display from their lounge window (best and warmest seats in the house!). What is extra great about this is that her mum is ace and we seem to get on like old mates, which is such a relief, after all the awkward moments at the school making small talk with blank faces. It's funny how as much as you want your kiddie to make lots of friends you have to think of your own friendships too, and some of the parents you are forced to smile and be polite with, you'd rather never have to see again. I will be turning up on the 5th with a bottle, as Lottie's mum Fiona seems like my kinda gal.

Soundtrack: The Cribs- Men's Needs

Halloween freaks

Happy Halloween!
I feel it appropriate now to comment on how Brighton really is full of Nut-nuts. Yesterday when I was going to my shrink, I walked past a man in Saltdean (and bear in mind this is on the edge of Brighton, in an area full of posh white haired people) who was singing 'Here Comes the Sun' at the top of his lungs as he walked towards the cliffs. As we passed each other I couldn't help but smile, as the sound of singing such a song at 8.30am cheered me up somewhat, which caused him to pause mid song... 'Here Comes the- Hi there- Sun'........
Then today on my way for an early morning jog, a man across the road shouted 'Happy Birthday' to me. I ignored him (well- it's not my birthday you see) and he then shouted 'HOW OLD ARE YOU TODAY LOVE?'.... I carried on walking... 'I SAID HOW OLD ARE YOU TODAY???'.... at this point I took advantage of my jogging attire and just ran off.
Best go and do some proper writing now....

Rice Cakes and Late Night Giggles

I know my health guilt has started to kick in again when I hungrily nip into Holland and Barratt on my way to picking up Sadie from school to grab a bag of lightly salted rice cakes; dried items that would fail to satisfy even the immature tastebuds of a toddler. I know it's even more serious when I accept the shop assistant's offer of purchasing a copy of H&B's 'Hypochondriacs Monthly' publication 'Healthy' Magazine. Do you know I was once stupid enough to pitch an article idea to them about hypochondria itself? Of course, they ignored my idea for a piece on a serious anxiety disorder, as the condition is what sells their waffle in the first place.
Onto more serious issues, my bike got nicked over half term while we were away. This has pissed me off severely. What kind of prick steals a bike that has a child's seat on the back? Ok- so Andy originally found the bike abandoned outside Brighton Station two years ago, but having phoned the police and found out the bike hadn't been reported stolen- we kept it. Perhaps the rightful owner spotted it after all this time and sawed my lock off. It was a bugger not having it as it meant that when I took Sadie to her weekly swimming session today we had to walk to the pool, which is only 1/4 mile away, but took an hour there and an hour back (with bedraggled wet locks). I have a big problem with my patience when it comes to dawdling four year olds. It is not a pretty sight, especially when I combine my crossness with the soggy drowned rat look.
Went to a stand up comedy night tonight in Hove at The Forager, with Joy and Geoff- our old mate Steve Saul was there and his refreshing quirkiness shone like a beacon in the mist of mundane joke-telling wannabes. Also- Zoe Lyons was absolutely ace- why is it that lesbian comedians are so funny? Can anyone enlighten me? The last night we went to the only women who made me laugh were gay- what's that about?
next night is last tues of Nov; visit www.myspace.com/peoplevstandupcomedy