My Photo
Location: United Kingdom

Yes...this is ALL about me, and mine. Marvellously self indulgent, feel free to tell me how splendid I am, leave comments, nice ones please, I have little kids and teenagers who can do the rude stuff. I am a grandma, to the glorious Joshua, I'm allowed to look frazzled and weary, I earned it. The older I get, the more I see that hanging on and being patient is worth it! They ( whoever 'they' are) are so right when they say you never know what is around the corner, it isn't always an articulated truck! It is vital to make the time for making memories, friends are the greatest treasure, I love mine. I am rich!

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Facts of a frivolous and unimportant nature.

I was thinking today about the many things that make me me. Like the fact that I would really very much like to be remembered for smelling nice. I'll take not smelling bad but I love nice smells, I love fresh smells and am always momentarily stopped in my tracks by a good smell. You know those commercials where a person stops and sniffs as another person walks by and then behaves in a bizarre and irrational way? That's me, in my head. I have been that woman that follows a man and snogs his face off because he smells so bloody glorious ( in my head, if only I had been brave enough to actually do it)
I am the person that buys bread even if we have plenty because ahhhhhh they just baked it and that smell is irresistible to me.
Coffee, though I never drink a drop, that smell makes my mouth water and I feel great things when I walk past a real coffee shop, the old fashioned kind with rows of wooden boxes filled with every kind of fresh coffee.
So then I would love to be that woman that freshens a room just by walking into it, the one that you hug and can't help but say " oh you smell so lovely" it has never happened and I use lovely smelling things, I wash often and well, I use perfume a little ( can't quite bear to smell like a harlots handbag but a whiff of something lovely never hurts. ) I think I just must not have that lovely girlie kind of skin. Old leather and hard wearing that's my kind of skin. Bother it.

Today I was moved to tears by the fact that lately, everytime I get into my car, I love it. Imagine that. Such a crap heap it is ( according to Jordan) an embarrassment to be in. The thing is, it works and that is such a bonus to me. Not only does it work but it is such a tank. It has moved enormous furniture, gravel, people, boxes, fridge freezers, bikes, rolls of carpet,more gravel, the list is endless. The seats get pulled out the back door opened and it gets jammed full of heavy stuff and it still works ( if it reads this post and dies on me I am having it scrapped, mark my words! It does that, I just remembered, too late, that whenever I write about how it just keeps going against the odds, the damn thing dies on me. ) It is battered to hell and back, not a side or part of it that hasn't got bangs, scrapes, dents, rust, scratches and marks on it but it doesn't care. It is due for its M.O.T in april and I know, in my heart that it will have to be replaced, the plan is that I just take over my mums tiny little car that will squeeze us in and cost threepence ha'penny to run. I can tell you that as much as I have whined about my car, I will cry, real tears, when I have so say goodbye to it. The last 3 years it has cost us on average £600 to get it through that test and it ain't getting any newer! It isn't worth spending that kind of money on anymore. I won't miss spending £60 a week on petrol to do the school runs. Petrol is pretty much a £1 a litre, I put £10 in and it takes me 26 miles. That is insane and criminal I can't do it for much longer.

For the first time in over 22 years I almost no longer care that I am fat. Almost. I hate having fat hands, that bothers me because I used to have beautiful hands and now they are like butchers hands, not pretty anymore. The rest? How much more life should I waste hiding and cringing, feeling inferior because I am fat. None. I have come to the conclusion that I am never going to be thin, I am sure that I could be much slimmer, I know I can do it, but I don't.
I love food, cooking it, smelling it, serving it, feeding people, eating it. I love to entertain and cook and enjoy the whole experience of food. I actually pity people whose life is filled with watching and worrying and resisting food. I see many women in their lycra, holding water bottles and pounding the streets and winding roads as they run and exercise and I just don't get it. I know all about the rush that comes from exercise ( I read, I know stuff people!!) but none of these people look happy, they look like they hurt and could have so much fun sitting with friends and enjoying some good food and a laugh.
I think of all the things I haven't done because *gasp* I am fat. People I haven't met up with because I am fat, I have never yet, in my life, met a person who meant less to me because they were fat, or thin, or black or white or ugly or beautiful . Not one. I am a bit scared of tiny people. Purely because standing next to tiny people makes me feel so gigantic and ungainly and I worry I will squash them if I were to suddenly and inexplicably lose the ability to stand up and fall on them. If there is a soul on the earth that would think less of me because I have a wobbly belly and a huge arse.....well I hope I don't meet them and if I do I will feed them egg and chips with thick bread and butter to make a butty and dare them to not like it. With cake for dessert. So, when I come to America in 5 weeks and 3 days time and I maybe meet you ( Y, from ( I tried, a clever and cool link just would not work..have to do it the old fashioned way, sorry!)
who actually says we should get together and I might just die of excitement, or laughing or shyness. Or Elise from who may be in LA being posh and buying for her boutique,where I want to work and watch mad people steal things so I can catch them and be a heroine for her, answer the phone to people who want reservations at the eatery next door and answer requests for ornaments she doesn't sell) or am reunited with you ( Marilyn) be ready to see that I am indeed fat but remarkably unashamed about it these days, imagine that.
I wish I could organise a blogging party in my hotel wonderful that would be. I just am hopeless at telling myself that people would actually come and then I would be 7 again at the birthday party that no-one came to, no-one but Josephine who popped in to say she couldn't come and gave me a pen with a sailing boat in it that 'sailed' from one end of the pen to the other and then left. I never want to feel THAT again so I'm not inviting anyone. Also,my kids will be there and they are very loud so we wouldn't be able to hear each other anyway. It would be fun though, if you are in LA , wouldn't it?

I sort of wish I wasn't known for being loud. I am loud, I have the kind of voice that carries, especially when I don't want it to. I can read a story, without shouting, just in my regular voice and be heard in Seth's room AND the little boys bedroom that are at opposite ends of the hallway.
I have had people say things to me like " Oh..I heard you in town last week" not " I saw you in town" oh no, they heard me.
I am heard wherever I go by everyone that didn't spring from my loins, if I gave birth to you I can't be heard. At all, especially when I shout, unless there is food involved, I can whisper "anyone want chocolate?" and they come running from 2 miles away, anything else..forget it. . I was made for public speaking, in the days before microphones.
So, some completely unimportant facts that make me who I am.



Blogger LosingSanity said...

Lovely read. And I wish I were going to be in or near LA when you come, but I am on the other side of the country. Thanks for sharing more of yourself!

11:59 pm  
Blogger TheAlbrechtSquad said...

So is your car still running after this blog???

And I like to eat too, you can come visit me and we can be fat together!

And I'm not loud but my husband is, I'd be interested to be in a room with the two of you just to have the experience. My husband is the type who swears he can whisper when in fact he cannot and never has been able too, I've told him this for the past 11 years. Sadly, my 9 year old has the same problem, I wonder how long it will take me to convince him that he too cannot whisper, perhaps a lifetime!!

Come to TX...I'll take you just as you are, and you can feed me all you want!

9:15 pm  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home