Black cross day...

There should be a black cross across our door this evening.

One by one the hobbits have fallen this week to a sickness bug, and last night Spider-Man succumbed to it with a vengeance. Starting about one this morning, and finally stopping mid morning today.

It is truly horrid to see your children unwell. They get scared and of course there is nothing you can do to stop the vomiting and the pain that comes with retching.

That may sound a little melodramatic and that is not my intention, but they look so vulnerable when they are ill.

By this evening he looks less peaky and the real Spider-Man is on the rise again, for what hopefully will be a sunnier weekend.

However in the last few hours, another problem has arisen...and alas Mummy is not now doing so well...having succumbed to the inevitable as well.

Wishing you all a healthier weekend...

Evening plans...

I am being taken out for dinner tonight.

I am rather looking forward to being wined and dined, with good company and hopefully a nice meal.

A friend has offered to take me out and spoil me a bit, away from the bustle of hobbits, Britain's Got Talent on the television and some adult conversation.

How could I refuse?

Have a good night all...catch you tomorrow. :-)

Nina Simone...

I have a secret friend.

He is pretty much unknown to many of my friends; they have never met him, never seen him...but he has been there for quite some time now.

He is my secret.
He is always there when I need him. He has, on more than one occasion called me without being aware that I needed to hear his voice, listen to his kindness and enjoyed his insatiable desire to flirt with me.

He is the man who I rarely see...but I know he is always there. Just in the wings...carrying on with his own life, as I do mine...but we catch up probably more often than people know.

He always believes in me. He has this complete and utter belief that I am lovely. (However in truth, it is him that is lovely,) he never throws me a rotten tomato and he empowers me in a gentle, unassuming way and once again I count myself lucky to have him as 'my friend'.

I wish you all knew him; but then if you did, he wouldn't be my secret friend anymore. He is intuitive and would look equally as good in a Fez as Suggs does, and I would still like him even if he was a nomad living under the stars or a goat herder.

He often checks in on me, making sure that I am not behaving myself but I am at least looking after myself. Tonight was much the same. A cheeky smiley emoticon and I know he is there...just checking up on me.
"Tell me about your day..." He asks most of the time, and he is genuinely interested.
"Good, very good," I reassure him... "In fact an excellent day today." I like telling him good news, he has been worried about me lately.

In fact...I feel like I have let him down lately. I have not been the person that he met all those years ago. I have been stressed, anxious and often been found to be metaphorically beating myself with a truncheon. However, things are changing and I don't feel that anymore.
It is great to say to him and to others, all is good...and mean it.

I told him this evening that I would blog about him...so he dared me to fit in certain words that meant something only to him...which I have done...it is a nice way to dedicate something to him.

Thank you for always being there my friend, and after too many years it is time we met for that drink again.

I had a very good day...things came into my life today that I didn't see coming yesterday.

So in the words of Nina Simone..."...and I'm feeling good."

Wine online...

J has been exposed to the beauty that is online food shopping.

She is ecstatic beyond belief. The experience has kept her busy for an hour or so now.

"This is fantastic," she says like a child, "I am never gonna step into a supermarket again. Why would I need to?"
"Well, you might need to buy milk one day. You can't order just milk."
"Oh my god, " she squeals, "I can get wine delivered."

She is in heaven...
"They are even recommending wine to me, how can I not buy it? They are actually recommending wine!" She says slyly.
"How on earth do they know you?"
"I don't know...but I am buying it, they said so...they recommended wine and Branston Beans."
"You my dear, are a marketing man's dream."
"I," she says, "am a classy bird. I am having my wine delivered to my door. To my door!" She is really that excited.
"Babe, it is Asda, not Harrods."
She glares at me, the only way J can, "I am having recommended wine delivered to my door. They will knock on my door..." She pauses...
"With wine," I finish. "In an Asda bag."
"Just because you're not classy, don't mock the rest of us who are."

I concede defeat, I am not classy...I can not compete with the classy friend who sits opposite me at my dining room table.

The most excited I get about my food shopping online experience is when I keep the bill under sixty quid...and no, I don't get wine delivered.

"Wine online," She mutters to herself smiling while paying her bill, "every week. To my door."

My classy friend is happy.

Morecambe & Wise...

Pootle and I are in bed. Watching a film and drinking tea.

This is quite normal after a few glasses of wine, however we are now doing this sober.

The boys are having a sleepover so it makes sense. We have become the Morecambe & Wise of our town. Sitting watching Bridesmaids (again), putting the world to rights (again) and discussing our itinerary of New York (again).

The itinerary is now finalised. We have set down exactly what we are doing and when, with some spare time to flirt with New Yorkers and hang round a few bars. We have been reliably informed that transatlantic men are among the finest, so we have high expectations.

Just eighteen sleeps to go for what aims to be one of the best experiences of our lives...we can not wait.

Enough said...

Times are a changing...

An excellent night of Poker and similar games was had last night. I am definitely enjoying being part of the 'dad' group, and I feel that I am finally beginning to hold my own in the game.

I also like the fact that there are no demands made from these guys; apart from laying or raising my bet. It is very chilled and the conversation is easy...

In fact someone reminded me yesterday that that really is how friendships and relationships should be. Of course there are occasions that as a friend you will need to support another, or even give an opinion that someone won't like; but essentially the relationship should be easy. Not demanding; not like trying to navigate your way through treacle and certainly not so emotionally draining that you have no energy to do the rest of the things that you love.

Easy. Like a Sunday morning.

There is also something about the joy of being single and I have given this a great deal of thought this week.
I actually like being single.
I like the fact that I make the rules; I see who I want to see and when; I don't have to answer to anyone else except my hobbits and my conscience; I make all the decisions.

How empowering is that?
I don't want to give that up...not yet and I don't want to give that up for anything less than easy. By making a commitment to a partner I would have to start considering someone else in the equation; and while I am more than capable of doing that and would even consider that I am someone who is quite generous with their time and friendship, choosing to have someone in my life on a permanent basis would mean giving up a large element of my independence.

I have realised that I am not ready for that and someone who walks in to my life would have to be pretty damn special in order for me to do that.

Like a Thunderbolt; but an easy one.

So it appears that I am veering off the path of looking for that one and I am genuinely looking forward to a different journey. I have come to a crossroads and would actually like to take the path of being single; having fun; going on dates without any commitment and being totally independent.

The times they are a changing...and I am happier about that far more than I realised I would be.

Lucky...

Two out of three hobbits were in a play today.

A very important message to be fair...all about looking after our planet, being more economical and closing the doors and lights out...if only they put into practice what they preach.

They were excellent...but then I would say that, I am their mum.

Batman was a train driver and Superman part of the recycling team. Lots of singing, and the children did an absolutely fantastic job of all their parts.

I was very proud of them strutting their stuff on the stage.

I am very lucky.

Law of the Stag...

My friend L has just returned from a long weekend away.

It was a stag weekend so I called him today, just to make sure he wasn't still tied to a railway track somewhere...(however if he was, I am unsure if he would have been able to answer.)
"So? How was it?" I enquire.
"Really good," he answers me still with half a throat missing...voice like gravel.
"The fact you have no voice suggests it was more than good...what did you get up to?" Ever the curious.
"Oh no," he says, "what happens at the stag, stays at the stag."
Indignant I end up changing the subject, however I am not surprised he doesn't want to tell me...he knows it could end up in a blog. Nevertheless something else he says does indeed end up being a focus of conversation later with Pootle.

With all boys fed and watered we share a spag Bol and a cuppa...she tells me about her day, and I tell her about mine...we are happy to acknowledge that we are becoming like an old married couple.

"What is it about misunderstandings between men and women?" She mentions through mouthfuls of spaghetti.
"Funnily enough, L mentioned something like that to me today...and I mentioned it to the mum's at the school. There is something about the way men speak to the way women converse."
"Men are more literal?" She suggests.
"Exactly. They need to be bloody mind readers to understand women...whereas we need to understand that for the majority of the time, what they say is what they mean."

In fact he gave me an example; when women want picking up from the airport and they agree to meet you in the car park...actually they don't mean that at all, they mean meet me at the gate with flowers...regardless of whether or not they actually said; 'yes I will see you at level 3, blue car park at 5.'

The mums at the school concurred..."god yes, if my husband asks me if something wrong and I say 'nothing' regardless of my sarcastic tone that goes with it, he will accept it. Whereas if he has an issue he just comes right out and says it."

Hmm...the art of communication, eh?

Pootle expands a little on the issue of communicating, "you know I had a message from that German man again, his messages even sound German...broken English."
"Were you expecting them to sound Russian?"
She smiles, "but he is so typically German, I would bet he even draws a little map for the position with the maximum love making potential."
I consider this, "they do make good cars, excellent engineering and all that...it could be a good thing."
She shrugs as if considering this a little more herself. "I wonder if different nationalities are different?"
"More than likely. Certainly the Spanish like to be mothered," I say with a wry smile.
"The English like it with the lights off in case we have less than perfect bodies."
"Italians?"
"No idea...but I have a good friend I could ask."
"Hmmm," says Pootle with a grin, "what about Americans?"
"With Stetsons and room service of MacDonalds?"
"Or health freaks with yoga positions?"
"Well, if I come back to the room and there is a Stetson on the door I know to make my way back to the bar, eh?" I suggest.
"Absolutely, after all...to quote L, what happens in New York, stays in New York."

Superhero mums...

Considered fun...

I apologise H for the late blog tonight...I know you like to read it before you go to bed, but I have had other priorities this evening.

A bit of cleansing therapy was required...so I did what any normal person does...I painted stuff. Namely walls, but I confess I also managed to paint my shorts, my shirt and my hair...thank god we don't have a dog!

iPod on and hobbits asleep I have happily painted my bathroom and downstairs toilet this evening. Quite chuffed with my achievement actually...I have found a use for excess adrenaline today, so if anyone needs me to whip round a bit of skirting board just give me a shout. I don't charge.

I am a little unsure as to why I have had this boost of energy today, or perhaps I am but am reluctant to say...nevertheless, one is getting too old for doing random stuff until midnight.

I had a similar conversation with someone today and we reflected on how things we did as young adults we simply wouldn't dare do now. In fact we were amazed at how we, by more than luck than judgement, got away with some of the scrapes we got ourselves in to...(not together I feel I must add).

As we get older do we get more nervous of having silly moments? Do we need to risk assess everything that we do? The antics we got up to in our youth we probably wouldn't dare do now, is that because we know the consequences of our actions or because we have become a little boring? Is that what happens when you get older?

Seems a shame, yet it is true. When learning the motorbike the guys informed me that the younger guys would just get on without worrying about safety, yet older adults learning to ride worry more about the safety of them and others around them.

Does this stop us from trying? If there was something that we had the urge to do, would the possibility of an injury to pride or body stop us....I think it may do.

However as this person informed me today, they still had fun, it is now just more considered fun...fun with considered consequences.

I like that. Considered fun is still fun after all...

Whistle for a cab...

Just 26 sleeps to go...

I can do that now we are less than 30, it makes the count down even closer to the dream that is New York!

Pootle and I have sat in the sun today watching the boys run ragged in the park discussing the important things in life. Like what to wear on the plane, what magazine will make us look cool, what clothes to take, where we will go, who we might talk to (Pootle is dreaming of a hunky American in the piano bar) and the most important thing....how to whistle for a yellow cab with fingers!

We have even You tubed it and have been practicing. It is imperative that we whistle in the correct way when hailing for our cab to saunter to Times Square in...it has taken some practice, but when we got it the pair of us nearly drove the boys mad with our constant sharp whistles (and our squeals of excitement).

She does it with four fingers and I am proud to say that I can now do it with one finger and a thumb! The trouble is as Pootle does it with both hands it doesn't really leave her with much to then signal to the cabbie that she wants him, as I at least have my left hand...so she's just gonna have to go with the flow and stick her leg out to really ensure the cab driver stops.

We are ready to mingle with our American cousins; we want to blend in with the Manhattan folk; we want to eat bagels in Central Park Cafe and order our skinny latte's with an American twang.

Ok, so it is more than likely that we will stand out like a sore thumb, but it is gonna be a blast and we are getting very excited now.

Our itinerary is set (with some minor flexibility), we have booked our visa's and are planning champagne on the plane for breakfast. Pootle has even checked the prices out for the lounge at the airport on the way back, should we decide to wander around and look cool in our sunglasses and trawl for Billionaires; Sorry...potential new friends...

Hobbits have informed me what they want from New York, New York (so good they named it twice)...and we even have little shopping lists of our own, (not as big as you would think).

We are going for the memories...and of course for the chance to whistle for a cab, like they do in all the Hollywood chick flicks...

An award winning pie...

Based on a true story...

As I walked into work yesterday morning I catch a glimpse of J's face...

It has the telltale signs. One eye is closed, one is barely open...hair slightly ruffled and she has a very large coffee in her hand.
"Booty call?" I ask her.
She nods with a slight grimace, "1 a.m. this morning."
"Nice."

"Hmmm....very nice." She agrees.
"You are getting good at this." I say...
"It all started at the dentist..." She starts, while I look at her rather oddly...really? The dentist?

"Well, actually it all started Monday night when I was eating a pie at the football." She started again.

Ok, now I am really confused. Whilst I appreciate the tension behind a good football game that could produce some seriously good sex, I am a little unsure about the sexual tension behind a pie (unless her fella is a feeder) and the dentist...

So I just look at her...with one eyebrow raised in a questionable manner hoping that she will fill in the gaps.
"While I was eating the pie, an award winning pie I will have you know, my new tooth fell out."
Confusion clearing slightly in my mind...
"The earliest dentist appointment I could get was Thursday and when I arrived, knowing how nervous I was, the dentist asked me to relax and think of things that relaxed me; that I enjoyed...things that could make me feel calm."
"Ok. You do know that this is the point people think of calming waters; sunny beaches...being massaged by an Italian Stallion?" I suggest.
"Hmm...yes, any normal person yes...but I thought of other things. Got relaxed by thinking of D soaping up in the shower..."

I look at her quite amazed that she could even summon that thought whilst in the dentists chair...I am so frightened of dentists that it is all they can do to get me to sit down and open my mouth. No pun intended...

"So?"
"Well, it was such a good image that I had to go home and you know, calm myself a wee bit...so sent the man some messages and hey, by midnight the booty call was booked."

Wow...now that really is an award winning pie! Think of the marketing value in that...they could sell it in the aisles while showing the new Fifty Shades film...

However, lying in a dentist chair and getting erotic thoughts is, I believe, beyond me to be honest with you...nevertheless I have booked a check up in the near future to at least try...a different subject matter though J...I can assure you!!!

IKEA storage...

"I dream't I murdered someone last night," I say to Pootle over tea this morning.

"I don't know who, but I am fairly sure that there was a shot gun involved...and we had to all regroup at the local supermarket for our alibi."
She at least nods to show her interest...
"I wonder who it was? I just recall that we did it as a group and it was in the woods..." I sip my tea, desperately trying to remember who I killed..it is there in my mind, I just can't quite recall the memory, "it is always weird how some real life intrudes on a bizarre dream."

"I have dreams like that," Pootle finally says..."however sometimes I wonder later on in the day whether I really have killed someone. Do you?"
I cock my head at her, "no, not really...no."
She continues..."but then I realise I am in touch with most of my ex boyfriends, and they are still alive so I am fairly sure that I haven't actually killed anyone and buried them in the woods."
There are occasions that I truly worry about Pootle...

"Probably not a good thing to talk about on your first date this afternoon?" I suggest to her. Pootle is finally meeting D...first date nerves are abound.
"Oh god, I am getting nervous. I can't even think about eating."
"Ahh, and thus it starts..." I say.
"This is really hard isn't it? What if I don't like him? Or I like him and he doesn't like me? Or we both don't like each other?"
"Or, god forbid, you actually both like each other?"
"But when you think about it, that is such a slim chance isn't it? Of all the options, of all the chances that you will actually meet someone you like immediately..."
"True, but it can happen...look at D and J? You could meet him this afternoon, and it could be the start of something amazing...or just a bit of fun for a while, or absolutely nothing..."
"Scared." She says. "Nervous, feel sick."
"I know...but don't be scared of something that could be great. It doesn't matter if it doesn't work, it matters if it does...this could be your last first date. I will be left here with the cats and the IKEA storage facilities while you get taken off into the sunset..."
She looks even more scared...

However Pootle, you are warm, spontaneous, huggable, loveable, funny, intelligent and more than slightly quirky...just be you....and everything else will fall into place.

Good luck xxx

Sleeping on the edge...

Last night I slept in the middle of the bed for the first time.

It was a conscious decision. I haven't yet moved on to doing it without thinking, however I think this is a very clear step of me taking control of my life.

It felt a little odd, I have to confess...all this space either side of me, however I discovered that there is no dip in the middle of the bed, that you can do star shapes with ease and if you get too hot there is space the other side to cool down with.

What else can I tell you about my new experience? Ah....the different views of the room. Always worthwhile getting a different perspective on how the room looks...it certainly looks bigger from the middle of the bed, however I can also see where I need to repaint which won't do at all.

I suppose all new experiences are bound to have a negative side to them as well. Isn't that what makes  us decide whether or not the positives out weigh the negatives?

Hmmm...I am not sure if I like being in the middle of the bed as there is a part of me that makes me feel that it is an even lonelier experience, so sleeping on the edge makes me feel less alone.

Like everyone, I quite like cuddling up to someone and on this occasion for once I am not talking about hobbits, although their cuddles have to be about the best thing on tap that I have. No, I am actually talking about the warmth of someone else...someone who you can share the bed with, roll in it with, stay in the middle with...jump up and down with...or share breakfast with...

...so until I find that... I shall continue to sleep on the edge, where I fit just perfectly...for now. 

Saturdays...

Ok, how is it that I go from very little to blog...to an abundance of blog material in one day?

I feel like I need a deep breath before I start tonight's blog...

Pootle and I are drinking wine, this is fatal on its own and we have already run out...twice.

"Shall I go and get more?" I ask struggling to pull my boots on.
"I think so...do you want to take the bottle so you know which one to get?" She says waving an empty bottle at me.
"No, I'll find it." I look at her, hoping that she will stay still. "Do you think I am too drunk to drive?"
Pootle wanders over to me and shoves my shoulder, I wobble like a weeble for a wee moment then start laughing.
"Yes. You failed the test...you have to walk."

So I stagger to the supermarket for supplies. While I am walking I can't help but think about some advice someone gave me today. In fact that there have been several things today that came into my life, that I felt would make a blog...And because I can not blog about them all, or indeed explain every conversation I am going to bulletin point my thoughts and opinion...feel free to join in.

1) You can never either be too old for stockings, or been married for too long to wear them. Why would you presume that you are past all that just because you have been married for a few years? No, no, no...please I implore you. Enjoy wearing them for the way they make you feel, not necessarily for anyone else...although a little bit of teasing goes a long way.

2) I would like to say thank you to the person who emotionally informed me today; That he savours every day after what he has been through. That he genuinely notices what is happening around him, recognises that today is a different day and makes the most of it. He knows that anything truly can change in an instant...so he doesn't waste a moment....none of us should.

3) I realised that in just four weeks time, I will have my first real holiday in 13 years. We worked this out carefully...and now I am even more excited than I was yesterday.

4) For my friend who is scared to commit...no shit Sherlock? Really? We all are...but hey I am trying to live by number two, so you should too...take the step, live each day and enjoy...what have you got to lose? It isn't who you want to spend Friday night with...it is who you want to spend all day Saturday with...good luck.

Hello Dave...

I confess I have been in bed for the last 36 hours...more or less.

Alas, it wasn't a marathon sex session (although there was a lot of sweating), but the fever was accompanied with some coughing, spluttering and sneezing...attractive I wasn't.

"I think I may have SARS." I say to Pootle via text... "Please make sure you tell the children I love them, and you can have my DVD's if I die."
"Do you think you are maybe embracing the man role a little bit too much?" She replies, without a trace of sarcasm.
"Am I not dying then?"
"Nope, you have a cold....suck it up, sweat it out...drink juice and get up and shower."

Harsh...but true...so it appears that a cure for the common cold is; Lemsip, Sleep, Shower and Hugh Jackman in Australia....

Pootle and I have sniffed our way through the emotional parts, watched Hugh get sweaty in the outback and perved over the bits where Hugh gets wet in the rain...corrrrr!!!!

So apart from a rotten cold, things are good...nothing much is happening really, eh Pootle?  Apart from a morning in court listening to two men discussing their latest knife victim; a cute lawyer with a comb over and the new catchphrase... 'Hello Dave..."

I really can't explain...it would take too long and to be honest it is probably safer that you don't know...

No numpties please...

Life, it turns out, can be a pathway of missed opportunities...

Don't they say, expect the unexpected?

I have finally closed my Internet dating profile and we have now introduced Pootle to the world once again. I have to confess there is a part of me that is sad, but only purely for the entertainment value that is in them.

As I attempt for the third time to fix Pootle's laptop she plays with her new profile and messages on my iPad...
"Ooh, I have a message...from Fat Boy!" She says in a less than excited tone.
"Is he really called Fat Boy? Hardly going to pull the girls with that is he?"
"No, I called him that...look..." And she shows me fat boy's profile.
"Oh...I see where you are coming from."
"Why do I get the guys who can't speak English, are fugly or look like Shrek?" She asks in a pained tone.
"We all get them...you just have to filter them out. I always get the old guys." I tell her dismissively. "The eighty five year olds with no teeth..."
She looks at me seriously, "that's cos you is old."

Ah, boosting my self esteem once again...to be fair I did once tell her that she looked like one of those doll trolls, so I deserve what I get really.

I show her my profile before we action the delete button..."see?" I reassure, "I get the same. You just have to remember that it is like sifting through sand, you may just a find a golden grain...or at least one who can spell would be a start!"

So here we are again, deleting the ones who can only say Hi...rushing past the photos of blokes in mirrored reflections, who have no information on their profile...and those who don't know the difference between their/there or your and you're....no numpties for Pootle if you please.

We have set her a little challenge...thirty dates before her next birthday. Which thankfully is in December, anything earlier would be a tall order the way she is deleting them from her message bank.

Nevertheless, she is at least looking and is attempting the chat...trying this relationship malarkey back on again...which is an improvement.

So in the words of Thunderbirds....Pootle is go!

Get cracking...

Well we knew the mojo wouldn't stay hidden for long?

I have made lists with sub headings today; cleansed the house (yes cleansed courtesy of Pootle); cleaned the hobbits rooms (shudders); Superman discovered a love for the Opera and I have started writing....all good here.

We visited a local musical and arts festival this morning to watch Pootle's hobbit dance, back flip and get on down to some serious music...it was all I could do to stop myself from joining in. However, a middle aged woman attempting to do a back flip is not a pretty sight...even if the Red Cross were on hand...

Local music bands and artists were singing, which is where Superman discovered a new passion. The last thing I thought he would be interested in was a young woman singing opera, however he was insistent. She sang a piece from Madame Butterfly...and it was quite lovely watching him gripped,   watching her intensely and almost spellbound. Hobbits still have the ability to surprise me.

So I am back on track. Five more weeks to finish the list...better get cracking eh?

Pootle and me...

My relationship with Pootle summed up by Bree...

Return to sender...

I have hit a wall...metaphorically.

I feel utterly wretched and overwhelmed by everything today and have found myself sitting on the stairs wondering what the hell I am doing on at least two occasions.

Any single parent will tell you how tough it is and I am not bemoaning the fact that I am a single mum; in one respect I am very lucky as reminded by a good friend. I make the rules and I can break the rules if I want to; I don't have to answer to anyone else and indeed there are far less arguments in the house than before.

However...I feel tired of trying to keep all the plates spinning today. There are just too many things to do, to think about or actively take some action on. The house is a mess and needs serious attention; there are envelopes to open, chairs and bikes to fix, hobbits to answer to and in general just where the hell is my life direction?

I am aware what each one of these things and more need, I know what I have to do...but my surplus energy has packed its spotted handkerchief and buggered off down the road to a festival of sorts. It has abandoned me and left me in a little heap.

It won't last; this feeling of wanting to pack me and the hobbits in the car and disappear over the horizon....I normally find my mojo again, and invariably it is hiding under the fridge with the accumulation of dust and dirt I haven't cleaned up. But today, just today, I have permission to wallow.

I have been reliably informed that this is ok to do sometimes. That and make lists.

So after at least cleaning out the fridge and other mundane jobs, I am now wallowing. I will make lists later, because wallowing was on the top of the list and that is at least proactive and I can tick one off.

I have also been told to write down each annoyance, irritant and general worry on tiny pieces of paper and stick them in balloons to set them free. So I apologise now, if a brightly coloured balloon arrives in your garden with my handwriting on it...I will try not to swear in case a child finds it.

Just pop the balloon and throw my worry away where you feel is best...because I certainly don't want them sent back; Return to sender...

Embracing my manhood...

The room was dark and a thick layer of smoke hung above the heads of the nervous players; Each of them held in their hands their own destiny... The man in the dark shirt rolled a chip through his fingers, staring steadfastly at the banker beside him...who would fall first?

Ok...so my first taste of the boys poker night was not quite as dramatic as that, but it was an experience at least.

I have become an honorary dad.
I thoroughly enjoy my nights with the mums at the school, however I was recently asked if I would like to join the dad's in either poker or quiz night, and I confess I loved the idea...so J organised it, S brought the chips, T the music while I provided them with pizzas and strawberry laces...what a team.

Alas I am beginning to realise that I am truly terrible at Poker. I think I have it and understand it...but then I fail myself. I did have a couple of cracking hands, but was beaten by the luckiest of peeps, S....who was just onto a winner last night.  So when that happens, I doubt myself and then make mistakes...I am hoping with further practice my card bluffing skills will improve, certainly J was a very good teacher.

We also played a game that should have its own copyrights to...as T introduced us to a game called 'Black Jack'....but wasn't actually the black jack, something entirely different. Took me about an hour to get used to that, and then they changed it again...

Nevertheless it was a great evening...every female should do a boys night out at some point. Things are far more straight forward, and the conversation is more direct;
"Beer?"
"Yep."
"Pizza?"
"Yep."
There is no fuss about what is being presented to them on a plate...it is food and beer, they eat and drink it. What could possibly be the issue?

Unless there is a serious disagreement...then a serious competitive debate will ensue...
"I understood the house stayed at 17"
"No, according to casino rules...."
"Fairly sure that I am right...that is how we have always played it."
"No, I am. I have been to Las Vegas and I know about these things."
Not quite the conversation...but you get the drift, and it became quite serious and testosterone driven after five minutes.

...and their best advice and solution to any problem for a female is quite simply, just flash your boobs. That may not get your problem solved ladies, but it will make the man you are talking to feel infinitely better...apparently!!!

So after a week of mowing lawns, making fire on a BBQ and now poker...I feel that embracing my manhood is just really the next step surely?

No regrets...

I met someone very interesting today.

She deserves a blog all of her own...

As I stood in the queue for my lottery ticket, (of which I won absolutely bugger all) she stood in the queue in front of me. She turned back to me and the conversation, went more or less like this...

"You have a lot of shopping..." She remarked at me, surveying the trolley in front of me.
I nod, "three boys eat a lot of food."
"Three boys? Wow...did you never want a girl?"
"Nope, never regret what you have...I am hoping my boys will look after me in my old age."
She looks at me, "I never had children. Was never that type."
I shrug at her, "I never thought I would, but hey things happen."
"Maybe, I just knew that I didn't really do children. Men, however were a different thing." With this she smiled at me wickedly, "a lot of men."
The lady behind me in the queue starts coughing...a lot.

At this point she gets called to the till, and I call after her, "you and I need to talk more."
After obtaining our purchases she waits for me in the aisle. "It was always the men I loved dear," she states, "many lovers, many friends."

I can not believe that this woman is confessing to me in the middle of a supermarket...she is really on a roll here.
"My last love affair finished when I was 47... An American, who used to fly over to see me...I used to wear those baby doll nighties that were all the rage then." She said, reminiscing. "It was amazing."
"Why did it end?" I ask in all innocence, and she smiles again....
"Oh I had a call about midnight one night...from his wife."
"Oh."
"Yes...unfortunately I only ever saw him one time more. Shame really, we were perfect for each other. I often think of him."
"So no one since? "
"No, no one since...many before him, but no one since. No one else compared."
"That seems very sad. Don't you worry about being alone?"
"No," she laughed at me, "I am very independent. I just turned 87, and my favourite thing is a cigarette with a glass of wine.  I am very happy, and like you said...one should never have regrets."

Isn't it incredible that some people walk into your life, tell you their life story and it makes sense? Angela was actually an adorable looking elderly woman; fantastically interesting...and empowering.

No regrets.

Awkward silences...

I have a friend who is the life and soul of the party.

She loves chatting to people....when there is a group. However when it comes to one to one, mainly with the opposite sex...her nerves get the better of her.

She finds it...well...awkward.

"I just find I have nothing to say, I don't know what to say when I start a conversation."
"But isn't that normal?" I suggest to her.
"Well, you always know what to say...look at the workmen yesterday?"

Ahh, the workmen yesterday. We watched from my bedroom window...dirty men, in holes doing men stuff...it kept us amused for at least ten minutes.

I even bribed them with cups of tea and biscuits so that they would wolf whistle Pootle when she got home later that day.

"But that is just banter...anyone can do that." I reassure her, "But if you meet someone who you feel attracted to, you get tongue tied. I also get the feeling that what I have to say isn't of interest to them, that I am boring the pants off them...and asking them about their day and feeling comfortable with day to day conversation comes in time."
She sighs, "If only I could get over that feeling of awkwardness...then perhaps, I could actually start dating someone properly."

Hmmm....I mention this to another friend today, and we have set our friend a challenge. We have set her up on a date, with another couple so that she doesn't feel too threatened. Within this date she has to come back with five clear facts about the guy she is paired with....and she can not drink while she is out.

It is a tough challenge for her...call it therapy, a slow introduction to getting back out there.

I am not allowed to go as it is entirely possible she will talk to me all night instead...so I am on babysitting duties, while she goes out and faces her demons.

So remember babe, awkward silences are normal in the beginning...it is part of the process. Yes, there should be banter and a sense of humour...but until you really get to know each other, it is ok to be unsure of what to say.

Go forth...and chat!!!

Slow dancing...

Tonight I slow danced in my kitchen by myself.

I can't imagine that it was an attractive look. I have my old pj bottoms on, my nightshirt and a blue hoodie.

However, a little bit of imagination, a little bit of hope, wishful thinking and some excellent dance moves can do wonders for ones self esteem.

Perhaps one day, someone will want to slow dance with me...

Life begins at forty one...

"Ok, now bear with me...but, do either of you two find a sweaty man attractive?" Says J while sipping coffee in my back garden this evening.

"Is he dirty too?" Asks Pootle.
"No."
"Are his clothes dirty, like he has been labouring and toiling over some dirty digging work?" I ask.
"No."
"So just dripping with sweat, nothing else? No dirty clothing, no boots, no big boy van? Just sweat."
"Yes."
Pootle and I look at each and say simultaneously, "no."
"Oh." J is disappointed. "Just me then."
Pootle shrugs, "yep."

"Why the question? Who has been profusely sweating in front of you and why?" I ask, and she explains... "Well that would be why, wouldn't it? You fancy the pants of him anyway...the sweat just enhanced the pheromones."
"I remember calling out my mechanic to have a look at my car once," Pootle explains dreamily, "when he arrived he had been scrambling so was dirtied up to the eyeballs, was sweaty and hot. He got out of his van and I think I may have just given myself to him there and then had he asked."
"In fact," she continues, "I really hope no one was watching me as he pushed himself under the car, cos I actually mouthed OH MY GOD to myself...he was that hot."

"Your car so needs to break down again babe," I tell her.
"It so does...a lot of things need to break down, eh?" She replies.
"Especially if we get a deluge of hot, dirty, sweaty men to assist us with fixing things...eye candy." I agree.

"You know," says J after Pootle has gone home to bed, "I wish I had done a blog of my year of forty like you."
"Well, in theory you have - you are in a lot of it." I tell her.
She shrugs as if to say, true.
"It has been quite a year, hasn't it?" I say.
"Yes, a hell of a year. To be honest, they say that of course life begins at forty...but for you, I think that isn't true."
"Oh?"
"Yes, I think yours will begin at forty-one."
"Really? Maybe that should be the new blog...Life begins at forty one."
J smiles, "Now that, I can't wait to read. I want to know what the ending will be."

Don't we all babe...

Simplistic...

I feel in a pensive mood this evening.

I confess, I am unsure if this is a good or bad thing...it is certainly not a great thing to over think a situation or mood, but perhaps it is the long weekend giving me time to reflect...

Pootle and I have toiled hard this weekend. I barely recognise my back garden and it has taken me two days, several cups of tea, two lawnmowers and left me with very sore hands to get it back to some sort of decency after the winter months.

The sun was out today, in full force...I think I even got a bit of colour as I wandered around the garden with weeds and a spade. Eventually, as the sun started to set we commenced the BBQ and the gin, to admire my work and discuss the weekend in general.

A friend had been round earlier in the day and I mentioned this to Pootle...him and his wife are unhappy together, but they stay together for the simple reason that it is safe.
"Why do people do that?" I ask Pootle over the rim of the lemon floating in my gin..."why would you choose to stay with someone, when you still have maybe thirty, forty years left of your life?"
Pootle agrees, "scared of the unknown. But I agree, if both of you are unhappy, have no ties why not just let it go? Essentially it is your life, you don't belong to anyone else...so live it happy, either with someone else or alone...but be happy."

Simplistic?

I can not understand why you would choose a path that means you will remain in a loveless relationship for the rest of your life. Why you would choose safe over the chance of being with someone who really cares about you, or even just the single life and simply being happy doing your own thing.

Perhaps that is why I am so deep in thought this evening...

The muffalo...

My house was full to bursting last night...

Head count of nine at one point and that wasn't including the hobbits, who were safely ensconced upstairs watching a selection of superhero films. Nine people in my house makes it quite busy, I don't have a mansion...

They were all there to meet Eddie Morgan. A medium.

I booked him many weeks ago, and he had come with a high recommendation and allegedly messages from the beyond for us. (Knowing where the secret bank account was stashed would have been a good one!)

He was actually very good and spent individual time with everyone, I myself was quite surprised by what he revealed.

Whilst my guests met with Eddie the rest of us chatted, drunk tiny drinks, nibbled on snacks and gossiped.

"Not long until New York ladies," says one of my guests to Pootle and I.
Pootle and I look at each other with a mixture of excitement and fear.
"Aren't you excited?" They ask.
"Oh god yes," says Pootle..."we are totally flipped out...just still a bit poor."
"We are considering taking on extra jobs to save some more money." I concur.
"Or selling our house hold contents." She adds...planning her boot sale this weekend.
"We had considered doing those sex telephone lines." I add jokingly.

The lovely L (female version) turns to us, "I saw a program on that, those women make really good money on that. There was one just doing her ironing and chatting away to this guy on the phone while he, well, you know."
"I know," says Pootle, "it is very lucrative, I have told her (me) to do it...she could be flipping the hobbits eggy bread in the morning and earning £10 a minute."
"I think the oil sizzling in the pan might put him off." I suggest.
"No, you just explain that is you..hot for him baby."
"Ewwwww."

"I would suggest," says another guest, "that if you do it, that you don't do it in front of the children."
Pootle and I exchange looks, really? Was there ever any danger of that happening...can you imagine?

"Oh my god, bed time reading would never be the same would it? Hey boys, bear with me while I take this call...don't worry this is the new version of The Gruffalo."
"It's called the Muffalo...it is very educational."
"Yep, no more you'll taste good on a slice of bread, but you taste nice lying on my bed..."
"...he is down in the woods eating Muffalo pie."
"...he had horrible knees, and turned out toes and was covered in whipped cream all over his hose."

Maybe we shouldn't go into telephone lines...but changing popular children's stories into adult porn could be an option...

Boy Scouts...

Ok...now there is something that needs to be said.

If you decide to take out my Pootle on a date...do not when she arrives, abandon her at the bar to park your fat bum in a seat while she buys her own drink. You offer to buy her a drink and offer her the seat first...twit!

That was your first mistake...and a rookie mistake as our friend L concurred.

Really? Was my retort...really? Just before I called him a pillock.

She came home early last night, with the date not having gone as well as expected. So she arrived at mine with a shared takeaway and we watched Dirty Dancing and swooned over Patrick Swayze's muscles...aaahhhh.....
"Is it bad that all I wanted to do was come back, get into my pyjamas and watch TV with you?" She asks me through a mouthful of rice.
"Nope. I have been wanting to discuss the G spot with you since you left."
"Ok cool...yep, a much better discussion to be had here. Tea?"

When we mentioned this conversation with L today over dinner and gin, he asked us to repeat it.
"Sorry ladies, but did you have this conversation once you'd gone to bed?"

Pootle and I are known to share a bed at a weekend...ok, it really isn't that dodgy. If I have her boys for the night, she is likely to have a few drinks and more often that not comes back to mine to share the details of the night and yes....we end up in bed with a cup of tea and a biscuit or two.
Purely innocent...however in the mind of L he would prefer for us to lie and suggest that it wasn't....

"What conversation?" I ask
"The one about the G spot? 'Cos if you did...please lie, and tell me the details very very slowly."
Pootle looks at him, "yes, I found hers, she found mine and then we did it all again...does that help?"
He smiles..."yep."
"Predictable L, very predictable..." I tell him. "More importantly, why is that men think there is only one place to excite a woman?" I look at Pootle, "last nights date couldn't even find his bloody wallet, he wasn't gonna find anything more important was he?"
"Alas no," she says sadly, "but not many do..."
"Do you know where the man's is?" Asks L.
"In the bum" we say together...
"Oh...ok...you do."
"You know this information is freely available on the good old Internet, why don't men prepare?" I ask. "Why is this not a badge in scouts? "
"That would be far more interesting than taking old Mrs Jones' dog out for a walk." Says Pootle.

Thankfully, some men do prepare and know exactly what to do and where things are...but gentlemen if you are expecting us to have the knowledge then really it is time you did your homework too.

Chivalry is not just about buying the drinks, offering a seat first or opening the door...but also knowing exactly what buttons to push and when...

Now be good boys scouts...and go prepare!!!

Yoda, Chewie and Hans....

May the fourth be with you...

That is all.

A handy tool...

I am home alone...with five boys...Pretty Woman on the DVD and a bag of peanut M&M's...is this my future? If only the five boys were over eighteen I'd be onto a winner, eh?

Pootle is on a date tonight hence the extra hobbits.

We have done tents and a barbecue, whacked up the music and had almost a mini festival in the garden. Had to be done on an evening such as this...it almost feels like the start of summer.

We have motivated Pootle...she is looking hot tonight, and in the words of Pretty Woman she is working it tonight. Nevertheless, she is nervous.
"You know in the future, there will be a crystal ball app on our mobiles...that will be able to tell you whether the potential date is going to be an arsehole." She says to me whilst pacing nervously in my kitchen. "You'll only have to enter certain information and you'll get pie charts on potential, aptitude..." She looks at me with a wink, "credentials."
"Percentages on the likelihood of him being a complete pillock." I suggest.
"A little mood-o-meter that tells you when is the right time to call him."
"And a vote predictor that tells you if when you finally fall in love with him, if he is gonna piss off and leave you."

"That would be so much easier," I agree..."if we had one of them, we would know by 9pm whether there was any point in continuing with the date."
"Save money, time and emotions." She says.

A potential date app...there must be someone out there who could create such a thing? Think of how useful that could be?
A very handy tool that at a touch of a few buttons on your phone, you would know whether he was even worth shaving your legs for...or wearing the best underwear for.

However I suppose until someone invents something like that, we will have to do it the old fashioned way...and bluff our way through the nerves and burn through the pain...

Lego rustling...

Like most people, when I have things on my mind I find sleep is the last thing my brain wants to do.

I say my brain, because actually my body is normally quite happy to wander off into dream land but of course the thoughts and processes won't stop and won't allow me to relax.

Thankfully J is much the same when it comes to sleep, and suffers from insomnia 90% of the time when she sleeps alone.  We are often found to be texting each other at three, four or five a.m...putting the world to rights, chatting about our days or just checking who is doing the coffee run in the morning.

Either of us will randomly message each other and you would be surprised how often the other will respond almost immediately no matter the time.

Pootle on the other hand is like a new born. She will sleep 23 out of 24 hours if she could...

So having had a night full of conversation with J I was a little bit disappointed to hear the hobbits wake very early this morning and start their usual chatter and games. I could hear them slamming doors to keep the noise down so they didn't wake me, and going through boxes full of Lego looking for that specific piece that they need to put together their next creation.

I call it Lego rustling...any parent will know that sound. Tiny hands moving hundreds of pieces of Lego around in a random way trying to find that bit that will make everything work...

Much like insomnia really...

Tattoos and bikes don't mix...

Ok, so the lesson learned today children...don't go out on a motorbike just after you have had a tattoo....

I am pretty sure that the majority of you out there wouldn't be quite so foolish as me, but hey, a lesson learned and shared is a kind thing to do.

So, as you reading this you will know that I have ticked another thing off my list for the year. My tattoo has been completed this morning.  I am now adorned, marked, branded for life with my hobbits initials...alas, I didn't have enough room (or the pain threshold) for Spderman, Batman and Superman...so I went for the first letter of their real names...L, A and M.

I have had this strategically placed on my left hip/stomach...not because I feel I have an attractive tummy in any way, but after discussion with my hobbits we decided it was the best place to have it as this was where they once were...in mummy's tummy. Cool, huh?

Ok...so for those who say it doesn't hurt...let me beat you with the latest tattoo magazine now...it was bloody agony!!!!! The lady who did it did tell me just as the needle was nearing my stomach that the skin there is very thin, so was going to hurt more....no shit Sherlock!

It felt like a tiny scalpel cutting across my skin...and I had a real problem with my breathing capabilities and just tried to think of sunny flowery things, while my father looked on in interest. Thank you for coming dad...I appreciated the support.

Half an hour later and shaking like a leaf I left the shop with a bag of chocolate for shock....any excuse for a kitkat eh?

I then, foolishly went out on a motorbike...now whilst I genuinely enjoyed being out on the bike with my dad today, who pottered behind me very nicely making sure I was supersafe, I have to say I did feel quite wobbly still...so no, tattoos and bikes don't mix...don't say I didn't warn ya!!!

But it is done...just a tractor and a little bit of off-roading and we are done...well, until the next list!

The art of wooing...

After working late tonight I arrived at Pootle's with Tonic and lemon....this is becoming a regular thing, Mothers ruin I believe...

She has been looking after my hobbits this evening while I toiled, so it seemed only fair that I produced something to say thank you.

Whilst I have been away however, she has been up to shenanigans herself...culminating in a date this Friday.

The potential date is trying very hard to say the right thing, but not quite coming up to scratch...he isn't Hugh Jackman....and she has clearly been spoilt by bad boy Hugh.
"Woo'd." I tell her, "we need to be woo'd."
"We so do..." She says defiantly and text's the potential date ...I wanna be woo'd...now....and told to shut up in an assertive way on occasion.
Thankfully he says he is up for the job, and promises her a good night this Friday...her boys will stay with me, and we have decided that we can share Friday nights - one week all at hers, one week all at mine.  
Sounds like a plan eh?

Why is that men find it so hard to 'woo' a potential partner? Why do they have to be told that this is what we need? Do you really think that we should be doing all the work?

What ever happened to chivalry? What ever happened to these men who want to fight for us...are we not worthy enough? Don't be complacent guys...

Sorry but it is time that we starting believing that we are worthwhile enough for someone to want us, really want us...and start showing us that.

Do I sound annoyed? Perhaps I am a little bit...this potential date of Pootle's needs to up his game a little bit if he really wants her.

He shouldn't need to be told that wooing someone is a desired trait, that treating her in a special way is paramount...he should know these things.

So guys, if you know what you want...bloody fight for her....Hugh Jackman would and so might someone else...