Not drowning but running

Over the last few months I've found something that I can get as much of a buzz out of as the old liquor. The buzz is in fact better as it makes me feel alive and the feeling stays that way, whereas with my old buddy the bottle, it makes me feel euphoric and then very gloomy, sometimes even half dead, especially if I have too much.
I have started running along the seafront- I try to go every other day, and now that my mornings are free and the sun is shining it's the perfect time to get a fix of those endolphins (sic), some vitamin D and lower my risk of heart disease at the same time. The only downside is I have to show off my camel's hoof in my tight running leggings and end up looking like Phil Mitchell I'm so beetroot red.
Have just got back from a 20 minute run in the autumnal sunshine and sea breeze. The men who are working in my street digging up the sewers, who for some reason always say "Hello babe" when I go past (I've always attracted the classy type), always ignore me when I'm on my way back from a jog, hair scraped back and my face all shiny. It's yet another bonus to this exercise malarkey- scare off the leary roadworkers.
The wonderous Lucy Bullen and I are planning on doing a half marathon next year- watch this space...

Thank you for leaving us gizzly

We've just discovered that Sadie's grandad, the late Prof Wally Spector, shared a mistress with Fidel Castro! How mad is that? Wally died 20 years+ ago .. Shame Sadie won't ever meet her pathologist grandad - he sounded like quite a character and was apparantely a very gentle and funny man. His legacy to us is the word 'gizzly' which we use at home to describe the jelly-like substance found on slightly under-cooked eggs...

Booze Glorious Booze

I love the stuff but I'd like not to love it so much. It must be in my genes. I recently finished Alex James' autobiography and he was a right pisshead in his twenties, but when he hit his thirties he became a tee-totaller. How the flip did he manage it? I know he was a terrible drunk, which you see- I'm not, I'm a rather charming one. Monsieur James reckons once he did give up the bottle he got so much more done which is the main reason I want to quit the dopamine fixes. I turned 30 two months ago and have drunk more since then than I had planned. Of course the plan was to quit completely, like I suddenly did after 10 years of inhaling dirty Benson and Hedges, but I can't seem to do it. They do say mothers are the worst. Alcohol is the complete antidote to a day with children. Sadie goes to bed- I crack open the Cabernet Sauvignon. Sadie goes to bed - I crack open the Shiraz. Sadie goes to bed - I crack open the Merlot. And so it goes. Trouble is my man isn't even much of a drinker so I end up necking about 7/8ths of the bottle. Sad really. I suppose I'm what health experts refer to as a ' female binge drinker'. If I was going out every night I probably wouldn't notice it, but as we're now parents and we're staying in it seems a lot more tragic somehow. Especially if you combine the heavy wine drinking with late night tv. It leaves one feeling rather empty and depressed.
I'm now sitting here at 9.30am necking cup after cup of nettle tea to ease the catholic guilt.

10.40am: I really shouldn't laugh but I can't believe a pot of burning chillies caused a terror alert. And the Thai man who runs the restaurant is quoted as saying "I'm confused". Poor bloke.

Soundtrack: Maximo Park - Our Velocity

My god she's growing up

I can't believe it. I'm sitting here tapping away, doing what I like, twiddling about and taking my time, and my little Sadie is playing on her own in her room. After four and a half years it's happened- I am getting my life back bit by bit as she's needing me less and less. Scary but wonderful at the same time.
So what am I going to do with all this regained freedom? It's like being born again I tell you! Well, apart from starting a blog, I have just signed up to a copy editing course to help eventually contribute more financially to my little nest of three. I'm also planning on getting some more articles published (probably in parenting mags as that seems to be my most broad area of knowledge now- and to think there was a time I wrote for More! magazine about blow jobs....). I'm also scarily broody as hell, but can't 100% decide whether to have another sprog. It would be lovely and beautiful and everything, but they are SUCH f@*+ing hard work (no that's not an email but the computer thinks it is). We shall see. I also need to work on The Book.
ONe of my latest article ideas is connected to this decision making and is related to Post Natal Depression (i'm not going to tell you the whole idea- someone might steal it!), which I am scared of happening to me a second time. I now know that I had it but my GP failed to notice, despite me liturally falling apart both physically and mentally in front infront of her very ignorant eyes. The plan is to go and see a midwife to have a chat.
Best go and finish making hungarian goulash a la Annabel Karmel. She's the best.

Soundtrack: Kylie- Love at First Sight

Be My God

My hero Stephen Fry is everywhere at the moment and it's heavenly, to steal a word that Nigella uses to descibe chocolate fondue . He's turning 50 the old gem and it seems he really is a national treasure these days. Our evenings have been taken up with various 'best of Stephen' moments.
I'm half way through his book'The Ode Less Travelled' (and have been since Christmas) but I feel compelled to complete his 'How to' guide to poetry forthwith as it really is a wonderful guide to writing ditties. This man has been a comedian, a writer, and actor, a director, a presenter- he is a genius of everything, except perhaps competing as an Olympic athlete. When I was 15 I had a homage to him on the back of issue 3 of Beaumont Fee, my self-obsessed fanzine. It had a picture of him photocopied from The Liar with the words 'Be My God' written underneath (words taken from a very early -circa Justine and Brett era- and very amateur Suede single)....and to this day, 15 years on, he still is an iconic figure in my life. There aren't many chaps like Mr Fry about, but then again if there were he wouldn't be such an enigma. What I love is that he's so unpatronising in his intelligence. I know a lot of people who are far cleverer than me (not a difficult trait to find) but use it to humiliate and toy with "lesser beings" (not my term, it's just something I feel patronising people must see others as), but Stephen Fry is generous with his knowledge and language and makes it accessible. There was a fantastic quote on tv the other night, I think it was from Phil Jupitus, that what Stephen Fry does is make you want to learn more, to read more and to be more like him.
I'll sign off now to do some reading of 'The Ode.....'
x
Soundtrack: McAlmont and Butler - Yes
Other heroes include: Peter Cook, Kenneth Williams, Derek Jarman, David Bowie, Rick Stein, Eddie Izzard, Morrissey, John Hegley, Martin Parr, Mike Leigh, Simon Pegg
Heroines: Dusty Springfield, Nancy Sinatra, Jane Grigson, Francoise Hardy, Linda Smith, Polly Harvey, Jane Tomlinson, Audrey Hepburn,

I'll pass on the fizz thank you

Hectic day of making too many meals and not enough sustinence. Spent morning cycling along seafront buying locally caught fish to make a pie with, and then popped to a supermarket to get the extra posh nosh to go with like dill leaves and dijon mustard. Had an argument with the man in the fishmongers about how to make fish pie. Message to fish man: I make it very nicely thank you (as Anna will vouch today as she joined me for lunch) despite your views on how to poach cod. Fner.
Having got little Sadie to bed this evening with her best mate Minoo who is having a sleepover, I've been browsing the Pocketbooks website. My lovely friend Em is their singer and they are great- very Belle and Sebastian-esque. See http://www.pocketbooks.org.uk/ to have a listen. I'm very proud of my Em. Many years ago we shared a flat in Shoreditch and would chat for many hours over a pint and a fag in the Rosemary Branch (http://www.rosemarybranch.co.uk/) about our dreams and aspirations. Hers was to be a singer and she's doing it. Mine was to be a writer and I'm doing it. Hurrah.
Andy's completeed on the house which is great news- only problem is I'm too jaded this evening to join him in a glass or two of fizz. We will have to celebrate another night...
The weekend is here. I just want to sleep.....
Oh but before I do- I can't believe I dind't mention in my rambling yesterday about how much I love Brighton so many other things, but mainly the goddamn sea being at the end of my road. Autumn brings with it a wonderful mixture of wind and sunshine which makes the sea it's most beautiful.
Soundtrack: Pocketbooks - Cross the Line

Brighton and Hove we love you

Went past a supermarket on the Lewes Road in Brighton today. I have a very clear reminder when I go past here of what it is I love about no longer living in London. In my first week in Brighton (nearly 4 years ago) I went to this bland, giant shop to purchase bland products, and at the checkout was taken aback by a young man asking my how my day had been. I could not believe it. I realised I had previously spent 9 years of my life surrounded by mute checkout people, bus drivers, shop assistants..you get it. Moving to Brighton reintroduced me to communication with strangers (something I was very familiar with growing up in the Midlands).
However, with all this Madeleine McCann business I have become ultra paranoid mum, and felt it appropriate, a few months back, when all mums everywhere were feeling sick at the thought of being inside Kate McCann's head and heart, to do the "don't talk to strangers" chat with my four year old daughter. Since then she no longer says thank you to bus drivers and sometimes ignores her uncles if she hasn't seen them for a long time. Very sad.
God being a parent is hard. And as Philip Larkin rightly said 'they f**k you up your mum and dad'.
Spent today near the Lewes Road, as mentioned, as we are doing up a house in the student area to rent out. I got very dusty and patronised by all the porky electricians and carpet men, as I swept and scrubbed the last remaining grub away. As much as I hate their stereotypical comments about women being the best cleaners and giving the place "that feminine touch", I have to say I agree. It was only when I laid a finger on the place did it begin to resemble a home. Andy is very good at making it look all flashy and stylish but I feel I give it some warmth.
Anyway. hark at me- I think I've had a few too many glasses of merlot this evening.
Best go and write some of The Book before That Mitchell and Webb Look. I hope they do the 'Dun dundlyun dun dudlyun de de de de deedla dedla de de duuuuuur' sketch with the pissheads. It always reminds me of my lovely french friend Celine who's just moved to Bath. She is not a habitual drinker unlike me, it has just become our clumsy stumbling soundtrack. We stumble a lot you see..