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Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Some things never change.

Yet importantly some things do. Change is good. Change is progress. Change is opportunity. Change is new beginnings. Change is a chance to put things right. Change is only ever life moving forwards and as sad as it might be right now, the smile will appear and the reason for the sadness will be obvious. Change is growth.

Some things never change but importantly some things do.

Monday, 21 July 2014

With slight excitement..

I am putting myself on the line here. I am going to give myself a small pat on the back (larger one will come when it is certain) but.. last night, sitting outside with the silence and the peace, I realised that I felt ready. I picked up my laptop and I opened 'The Book'. 

I have returned to writing it. So, if you'll forgive me for keeping this short this morning, and as much as I would like to write all about the beauty and the peace surrounding me, I did that yesterday. I am going back to Ted in the cottage kitchen who has just looked at Maud wanting to kiss her..

The block has been lifted. I am writing again..

The view.

I am trying to post a photograph of what I can see before me. But, for some reason, I am unable to do so. I will resort to old fashioned description which already I worry that my ghastly A level English teacher, Miss Blackler (wonder what happened to her after 1989) would scrawl a thick red line through the entire script and write (in appalling hand writing by the way you bitch) 'Waffle'. I am smiling now at the memory because she had probably no idea what a detrimental effect her constant abuse had on my confidence aged 16. Repeatedly being told how crap you are at something truly isn't education although my ability shone through when the results came out. It was one of the very few times in my life that I remember my mother being incredibly proud of me. I, on the other hand, waited for a second letter to arrive admitting that there had been a terrible mistake in the posting of results and rather than the awarded A, I had, in fact, achieved the expected U. The letter never came and I have kept hold of my grade A at A level English ever since. It was the biggest surprise of my life to date. But to be fair to the skinnier than skinny Miss Blackler, I do waffle and talk shit a lot. Fair point to make but perhaps not on every assignment.

Beautiful red roses in full bloom with lavender in a vase sit on the glass table as the sunlight begins to warm the grass on the lawn in front of me. Dogs bark in the distance. Birds sing a good morning and the pool hut makes a charming whirring noise as it refills for the day ahead. It is still. Everything looks clear and as the light starts to get warmer, the colours in the trees make me wish I was a painter.  The terracotta floor tiles are no longer chilled from the night and except from my children behind me, there is very little activity. It appears that no one else is awake. If they are, I have no idea about them. We are completely secluded and although very private, it is far from lonely. The smell from the trees and flowers is nothing but a joy to the senses. The dawn is my favourite time of day and it is moments like this that I question why I am sitting here alone. Not alone completely but without another to share these privaledged times. I reach up and stretch, more tension dissipates from my weary limbs and I realise that I have been completely on full throttle for months. Time to relax. For real. I can think of no other place right now I'd rather be.

I must walk barefoot to the outside washing machine to retrieve my nightie to hang on the line for the party tonight which, for all good intentions, is held by me, with me and my plus one, also me. I shall sit, as I have done since my old boyfriend once remarked, by about 7pm in it and love the fact that I can. He loved that about me. I love that about me. My mother laughed about that about me too. I have always been very comfortable in my nightie. What's not to like?

Good Morning!

Sunday, 20 July 2014

Silence.

I find it amazing how quickly we are able to switch from frenetic, noisy, busy and demanding to peaceful, still, slow and calm. I have just done my sun salutations in my nightie before the sun rose and before my children wake. I could only hear the early morning sounds of birds and the occasional barking dog. I can feel the stress and pressure leaving my body like the air from a punctured tyre. It is almost too good a feeling. But I am lucky that I can switch. I taught myself years ago to zone out and drop down a gear or two when things got tough.

I am surrounded by the hills and fields, farming apparent, a railway line with a train that when it passes, you feel like you want to wave and when you do, the driver pulls the steam. I am not being poetic. This is what happened yesterday afternoon as we watched the train pass. It wasn't an intercity blurred fury of urgency, it was gentle and friendly. Or that's how I saw it. Maybe that's the thing? How we translate each movement, each look, comment and feeling?

I am taking my children to Ronda where today, being Sunday, I am told it is calm and peaceful. There is a fruit and veg market. I will sit and drink coffee and watch passers by. Then I shall return here to roast a chicken with garlic and rosemary as I often do on a Sunday and we will all sit outside at about 3pm and eat it with salad, bread and potatoes cooked and tossed in olive oil, basil and rock salt. The children can play on the grass and swim. I will lie in and out of the sun and watch them through half closed eyes. I am able to let go. I am able to switch off. I am allowing myself a fortnight of peace before the reality of my life kicks back into fifth gear and I drive on.

I am blessed. My children are fit, healthy and able. To have them here so that I relax completely without worrying about them is part of my ability as their mother but at the same time it allows me to give them opportunities that one day they will hopefully remember and smile. It's all I can wish for, it's all we all want I think.. But whilst I'm creating memories, I hope I'm providing my children with the ability to realise that packing a bag and hopping on a plane is easy and possible. To take time out is crucial. To laugh until tears run down your face seems easier without the strains and pressure of home. Today I have laughed so much at my children (with, obviously) for not caring a jot that they are butt naked doing cartwheels, jumping in and out of the pool and dancing on the grass.

Tomorrow, I might even join them..

Monday, 14 July 2014

Do you want to date?

Taller than tall Tim asked for my number so I gave it to him. I'm a grown up and I don't scare easily. Can't do much damage surely with my mobile number? Not like the 'finger in socket' electrician who sadly didn't drop his phone in the bath tub as he took his translation of a selfie. That's an image I won't forget in a hurry. To be honest, I gave it a good once over after the initial shock of receiving a real life penis on my screen. They're not pretty are they? Whatever age they are it seems. Quite revolting and ugly. And I expect the closer the phone is to the object, the bigger it looks. I guess I should be grateful that I'm a girl. Amen.

So Taller than tall Tim (fact- he is 6 foot 7) nearly a whole foot taller than me but I didn't want to be put off by size yet again so I allowed him to call me. A real life conversation with a potential date. ('Now we're getting somewhere' I hear my shrink from 6 years ago say in my ear) but we got nowhere. A brief chat, a lot of laughter, more nervous than humorous but he was funny. They're all funny to start with though and then it wears off to be irritation and dull. (oops I've done it again, I've become an anti man talker not stalker, small mercies et al) keep up or look up? I'd get neck ache with a man that high and trust me, I've known high men. So..

"What do you miss most about not being in a relationship? he asked me in a kind of west country accent but it could have been a little more Tim nice but dim too (truth not humour) and I replied, "Errr.." and for about the longest 10 seconds of my life I thought, "SHIIIIT! Think of SOMETHING!" but I couldn't. I feebly attempted a "Friendship?" in a small voice but as I said it, my head was saying, "That's Bollocks! You have friends" and again, I wonder what I am doing on a website looking for a boyfriend. Nell, aged 9 and a half, asked me yesterday when I was clearly annoying her, "Oh Mummy, WHY aren't you looking for a boyfriend?" to rid me away from her movie. I harrumphed out of her home cinema area and sat my sorry arse back in front of my screen to 'search'.

There's Dug. He seemed nice but what's with all the facial hair suddenly? Every man seems to advertise their testosterone levels by not shaving. Apparently, many men don't shave through out the week. I would have thought it should be the other way round. Take the weekend off and become a tad Robinson Crusoe but don't grow a full facial so that by friday you look like a member of the apostle. Dug called me. Dug also text me six times yesterday asking why I hadn't replied to his messages. My new iPhone is playing up and I hadn't received one let alone 6. Poor Dug. I can understand why he was wounded but to ring me up? He left me a message..

"Hi Rose! It's Dug here" he sang down the phone no doubt having listened to advice from someone saying, 'Make sure you sound happy'. He sounded insane.

Then there is John from Worcester. John who sometimes gets called George. He really does sound nice except I haven't heard his real life voice yet. He's been looking for a car for his son online (as well as a partner for himself) so I hope he doesn't get confused and ask me about my chassis, bodywork, MOT and if I'm a good runaround. I could reply but I won't.

So what do I miss about being in a relationship? Truthfully? Absolutely nothing at all. I like wanting a relationship far more than being in one. I like cooking for one more than I like cooking for 2. I like going to bed and watching telly, reading last weekends newspapers or drinking wine as I sip noodle soup way more than I miss shagging. There are certainly times (for about a week each month) when I would almost chew my arm off with longing for the male touch and some proper affection but to trade in my peace, clean sheets and early mornings without a duet of bad breath? No thanks. As you can tell, it is not my 'ravage me and savage me' week. That will take place when I am barefoot in Spain and with a cocktail of sunshine, oil and sangrias and I truly hope that Pedro or Juan doesn't give me the Spanish equivalent of the "I'm up for it" signal which is, let's be honest, all anyone online is doing. I don't want a 'naughty' man or a 'cheeky' man or a 'cover you in oil or nutella' man. Neither do I want a 'full of shit 29 year old man' who suggests that he wants to settle down but still lives with his mother. I wonder if his mother knows exactly what he's doing in her bathroom with his feet down by her scented candles with her loofa and her L'Occitane bath milk?

I will persevere and keep an open mind. I have to be positive but I will not hold my breath that my Prince Charming is lurking behind a screen searching for his princess in the same way. Onwards and upwards. Just maybe not as high up as 6 foot 7?

Thursday, 10 July 2014

NO!

Is a simple 'Hello' enough to break the ice? asked Dave from Reading. 
"Hi There Sexy" typed Matt from Witney.
"Gorgeous xxx" wrote Phil from Swindon but my all time favourite was from HammerHead, a 5 foot 6 man from Cheltenham who described himself as 'A genuine funny little man' (alarm bells ringing loudly to all women out there) and who wrote this, "Would you like to go out and have some fun with me?"..

Bless his teeny tiny feet but a complete no fucking way in the silent form will do. I ignore about a zillion messages a day (slight exaggeration, I might get three if I'm lucky) but since the 'penis in the bath' shot from the sexy but stupid, male, 29 that was so keen to meet me and eat olives and salami but in fact, I don't think could drive let alone owned a car, I have become rather comical (sceptical) and realistic (one asked me yesterday after about an hour of back and forth messaging) "Do you actually ever get any free time to go out on dates?"

SHIT. I am an utter idiot. No, I don't. But mainly because if I do get a chance to go out, I go to the local pub with my friends or myself or my children and secondly, if I don't get a chance to go out, I go running, alone. With my music. I don't really want to date if I'm honest. I really don't. All that crap of whether you like each other or not, then if you do, who will lunge first, then forgetting all that bad sex (probably, until you talk it though and let's be honest, what woman ever wants to start a new relationship by saying, "Actually, I fucking hate your tongue anywhere near my ear, nipple, front bottom"- delete as necessary or if you're me, tick all three) or "You're really heavy, hot (not in a good way) or hairy" (ditto). Maybe I'm just over it. Maybe I'm simply meant to be this, me, just me with my friends who make me cry with laughter over their latest Amazon order when they've smoked too much weed or when they've gone into the garden in the morning to fart so their husband doesn't hear the breaking of wind as the kettle boils? Oh the freedom to admit it.. So in answer to your question, "Is a hello enough to break the ice?"

"No, it really isn't but it's not personal. It's simply because there is no ice to break. This maiden is fair and romantic and open to possibility but only if you walk into my path with the sun shining and don't smell, don't have a hairy back and don't expect me to worship your every move. To quote my 9 year old  daughter on her bedroom door of RULES, 'Don't ask too many questions'.

And to bed I go. Alone. Bliss. Seriously, I mean it. It's Heaven.

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Nosey Parker.

The builder (ex the one who wanted to marry me without my tongue) has made claims that he has a 30 year old girlfriend. Already? It's only been a week since he proposed. Of course not. He's lying especially as the real give away is her age. A teeny weeny bit uncanny that I have been writing and flirting with a fella aged 29 and even though we (the lad and me) both decided to step away from temptation, carefree fun and a seriously casual relationship, it amuses me as well as making me feel a bit grossed out that he (the builder) has copied. Sad. 

I might be wrong. He might indeed have a 30 year old bird on his arm and she might think he rocks. I might be being rather sceptical and sarcastic because I am an adult and I know how a jealous man behaves. I hope he isn't lying.  Either way, I am still very happy for him (the builder) and me and the young lad (even though we aren't a 'we') because what I have is real. Shame, for him. Cool, for me.