Posts (page 2)
Perhaps good is putting it mildly. It was one of the best Christmases I've had, from being an elf at the school fair to treating my dad to a slap-up Christmas dinner. The family spreads were ace (my mulled beef was legendary, though I say so myself), it was all fun, fun, fun at Butlins (or But-ul-ins as Eliott likes to call it) and the hotel there is fabulous - indulgent even. Who'd 'a thunk I'd be saying that about Butlins? NYE was lovely, I raided the TopShop sale and got a new Matthew Williamson (at Debenhams, so don't get too excited) coat for £50 and, best of all, I managed not to even turn the computer on for over a week. Bliss, bliss.
I still hate the first week of January, particularly today, but this year a couple of nice commissions and an encouraging response on my first pitch of '08 has made it a little more bearable. I'm also obsessed with Flight of The Conchords (I love Bret - obviously, he's got a beard), which has given me something other than the doom and gloom of a huge tax bill and impending snow storms to focus my mind on.
Taking of my love of Bret, Matt announced on New Year's Eve that he'd finally worked me out. Apparently, I watch a TV show or film, spot someone with a bit of talent, good hair and nice shoes (beard optional but desirable), and then decide 'I'd like to do the sex with him'. Actually it's more like 'he's nice, if I wasn't married I'd like to go for a nice drink and noodles with him', but let's not split hairs. Anyway, it's nice that Matt has finally got the measure of me. He's even decided (after a decade of loyalty, a wedding and a child) that he is going to start buying bigger boxes of condoms as I'm unlikely to go anywhere now and it will be a sound investment. I'm not sure if I should hug him or hit him - maybe both.
I'm off booze until my birthday again this year, that's eight whole weeks of sobriety. Day two and I don't care yet (turning 34 is a sobering thought) but I'll be craving Pina Coladas come Sunday.
Last night I wrote a list for the fridge door (everything goes on my fridge door) of all the things we are doing for the rest of the year. It makes me feel tired just looking at it. It blew Matt's mind. Allegedly, I've finished work now, so it's all about getting the house organised, doing bits and bats of DIY, hosting parties, constructing spreads, drinking, eating, baking, going to Butlins and (after a round of lurgy and chicken pox in the house) fending off any more illnesses.
Tomorrow evening, myself and some friends are doing a photo shoot for a feature I've got running in Spirit & Destiny magazine next year. Although getting seven of us in one place at one time has been something of a challenge, it seems apt, after the terrific year I've had work-wise, to be doing something very fun and involving friends to round things up.
I'm really proud of the things I've achieved this year and hope that more success is around the corner - although admittedly I've learned that it's got less to do with 'hope' than hard work, long hours and sheer bloody determination. Hopefully, I can be a bit more savvy with my work/life balance in 2008, because the boys have occasionally been sidelined this year when I desperately needed to meet deadlines and take on huge projects. But we've all benefitted in the end and I've been rehearsing the line 'thanks for thinking of me, but I'm really too busy at the moment', for next year.
Eliott went to school dressed as a Transformer this morning and was delighted to hand a gift to his teachers. He's so at home there. One of his friends came round for an early lunch before their nursery class party on Monday afternoon and I think he is definitely classed as a real mate now, not just 'someone from school'. Being an elf at the school fair last week turned out to be a fantastic experience for me; not only did I get to wear a costume (I'm as bad as my son), I also got to meet loads of children and parents at the school and felt really involved in a team effort for the first time in years. I was at school most of the day, lugging boxes, labelling prizes, sorting out 'brick a brack' for the stalls....even a shocking hangover couldn't stop me. Working from home on my own suits me down to the ground, but that doesn't mean I don't occassionally miss the buzz and energy of sharing a project and being a part of something. I always knew I was a ripe candidate for the PTA and providing El gets into the school, I'm sure it will continue to be a big part of my life. The deadline for school applications is in January, and I have a foreboding feeling that the whole process, and the results of it, may put a spanner in the works with regard to our current state of stability and happiness (we live over 1000 metres away from the school gates - hundreds of miles in London terms). But as everyone keeps telling me, I must think positive. And pray.
After a night of Never Mind the Buzzcocks and the Mighty Boosh, my subconscious spent the entire night indulging me in Noel Fielding-steeped erotic dreams. I woke up in a cold sweat (which can only have helped the rapid weight loss plan!) feeling no less tired than I was before I went to sleep. Oh, Noel...
Later, I'm off to see The Darjeeling Limited and will no doubt spend tonight dreaming about....
And as a special 'Eliott's-out-at-nursery-I-can-play-Echoes-Silence-Patience-and-Grace-at-bleeding-ear-level' treat, I'm currently worshipping at the altar of...
Where's Spunky Hunks when you need it? Happy Friday all x
Gash darn it. I'm tired. One more big deadline to see off on Monday and then the decks are absolutely empty. For the first time since I went freelance (five years ago on Sunday, don't you know?) I can't wait! I used to dread a week with no highlighted, capitalized article title and FEE IN BOLD in my trusty diary to motivate me, but right now it looks blissful. And I know I have a stack of ideas to pitch, invoices to issue, new story opportunities to explore and a ton of personal correspondence, decorating and pre-Christmas mania to get stuck into anyway, so I'll hardly be twiddling my thumbs.
I do need a rethink after Christmas, though. So far, El's being at nursery part-time hasn't made that much difference to my silly and unsustainable working hours. It's ageing me, man. But now we're in a bit of a no-mans-land because I'm not sure what kind of extra childcare we could employ to take the pressure off in the afternoons so I could have the odd evening off. The juggle never gets any easier, do it?
On the much brighter side, El loves school and is doing very well, I think. The speech thing lingers, but we'll talk about that another day. Minks asked me this week if he could use a PC mouse and I honestly didn't know. My OCD demon isn't great at letting sticky, suspicious-smelling fingers loose on my equipment. Turns out he can do it with aplomb, so either he practices at school, or kids these days have special microchips in their heads that connect them to computers from infancy. I wouldn't be surprised. He can also write his name! A skill that is often beyond me these days, particularly after a Foo Fighters concert, several pints of cider and Smirnoff Ice (not in the same glass) a trip to the LA2 and a night of clubbing surrounded by teenage boys dressed as grannies and girls dressed as Su Pollard. I kid you not. Anyway, Eliott's doing grand and I love school too. I'm manning a cake stall on Friday and dressing as an elf for the Christmas Fair. If they don't give Eliott a place in reception class I might just put the costume back on and beg in it.
I'm desperately trying to finish Gary Barlow's autobiography before I go to see TT with Auntie B next Tuesday (what a way to mark the passing of deadline city). If you haven't read it, read it now. It's hilarious. I never knew he was playing organs in working men's clubs at 13 (13!!) and in duos with names like "Karisma" and "Stax". It explains a lot. I loved his anecdote about playing a WMC in Yorkshire and halfway through his rendition of "Love on the Rocks" the compere walked on stage, grabbed the mic and announced: "Pies 'ave come." The audience all sodded off for their pie and pea extravaganza immediately. You cannot make this stuff up. It makes me slightly homesick. Or maybe just sick.
Talking of feeling sick, I do. I put on about 3 or 4lbs (Ok, Ok, it's not a lot but I'm a midget and really feel it) during the work frenzy thanks to being glued to my desk and eating a lot of take away delight. I started a seven day diet on Monday and have lost the weight already, but also the will to live. As usual, the lack of carbs has made me so despondent I'd rather eat nothing than "steamed veg and a generous portion of green salad" - even poached eggs aren't floating my boat. You should have seen me on the Atkins. I lasted two days! I can't wait until Monday when I'll be free and down the Dinner Box like a rat out of a trap. If I'm still alive and the diet doesn't put me off food forever.
Before I "leave" (ahem) to do the rest of the Christmas shopping online I thought I'd ask if anyone has seen the advert for WKD, where the woman is having a nice, relaxing bath and her fella bursts in for a nice relaxing poo? "That's never happened to us in all the years we've been together," I mentioned to Matt. "I wouldn't dare," he said, adding, "anyway we've got two toilets." "So what would you do if it happened now, while the downstairs loo is still out of service, and if you were really desperate?" "I'd go to the Rose*," he replied.
Merry December and long live Ned Bender, Ty Hawkstone, Christopher Mishomotohama and Davy Grolton - if you know what that means, I do honestly love you x
*You have to know us for that to be funny - sorry strangers!
Possibly. Work-wise, everything has gone mental. I have finally achieved one of the things I have slogged my guts out over for the last five years - work is coming to me, thick and fast. It's amazing. In the last two weeks I've interviewed some truly interesting people and worked on some brilliant copy writing assignments.
The downside is the stress. It's a new kind of stress, granted. I'm not worried about anything apart from my next deadline. I can't think beyond my desk. I haven't got any career dillemas to work through, or money troubles, the house is finally a real home and the people around me are (largely) healthy and happy, so it's not the kind of stress I've experienced in the past. I can only liken my current mania to Phoebe Buffay's in the Friends' episode, 'the one that could have been' , where she's a heart-attack suffering stock broker. I tend to think my health is unimportant, but then I have a marriage to manage and a child to care for, so if I work myself to death, it's not only going to impact on me. Juggling the family and the career surge is the biggest challenge yet.
It doesn't help that I make overly-ambitious plans. Constantly. Last weekend we were at the Legoland fireworks and stayed the night at the Oakley Court Hotel. Eating gorgeous food, having desert delivered to the room and being wrapped in fluffy dressing gowns after a luxurious soak in the tub is the up-side to the madness, spending the rest of the week in a frenzied catch-up isn't.
Then there were gigs to go to, more work on the house to do, my first PTA meeting (don't even ask me what I've volunteered to do), a Halloween party to host, the office to organise in time for my very special overnight guests and in typical 'me-style' a 55-minute round-trip to Oxford Circus, two hours before the party kicked off, on Saturday lunchtime (aka tourist-hell time) to buy new Ugg boots and a Kate Moss dress. It's important to be stylish at a children's tea party, I feel. As I said to Matt this morning, I'm rewarding myself for working around the clock - even if I'll never find time to actually wear my goodies outside of the house.
Talking of my overly ambitious plans, no news on the book yet. I'm not sure if a positive result will be the icing on the cake, or the straw that broke the camel's back.....
There are many reasons I love Matt. Some of his most endearing qualities are the things that would probably affront other women.
Examples; yesterday he came home laden with bunches of beautiful white flowers. I was gob smacked when he thrust them into my arms! As I was unloading them into vases he causually said: "Lovely aren't they? They were having a funer...erm function at the pub I was working in and ordered too many." I'll let you guess what kind of function we're talking about.
In the evening he was reading through some copy I'd prepared for a new client. He was so affronted by some of the quotes my interviewees had given me he was highlighting sentences with the cursor and shouting them out at the top of his voice. It made me laugh.
In spite of doing grown-up things like spending several weeks' wages on a new carpet (that bounces!) he also splashed out on a display cabinet for his superhero models. We discussed this for several hours. I remain steadfast in my opinion. I mean, in what universe does this not look mental....
Still, I loves him.
The rate at which Eliott is growing is terrifying me. One minute I had a toddler, the next I'm out shopping in Croydon with some kind of street dude who is well over half my height, calls people 'man' and wants to buy newborn babies red, patent leather shoes because, 'they rock'. When I refused to buy him an all-singing, all-dancing Iggle Piggle, he tutted and said: 'You're killing me, Mum,' before sauntering out of the shop singing 'I am the Walrus' under his breath.
How did this happen? Well, nursery school has made a huge impact. Beyond the endless stream of correspondence that flows between us and the school (ballot papers for new parent governors, parents' evening timetables, Jeans for Genes paraphernalia...) and Eliott's obsession with the plastic book bag they gave him, his confidence has soared as a result of making new friends quickly and having a world of play opportunities at his fingertips every morning. I see before me a confident, sociable lad who has burst out of his shell kicking and screaming (and shouting, 'I love being a turtle!')
As for me, nursery has given me the breathing space I so desperately needed to crack on with my work. And what's the first thing I do when I have a bit of time? Yes. Fill it. And so I duly sent a non-fiction book proposal to a publisher I worked with earlier this year and they are interested - so this could well be my last blog of the year - ha! It's early days but I have a good feeling about it and feel I've come a hell of a long way since my first attempts at writing a book back in the lean old, mean old late 90's. Gosh I'm old, and as Eliott would say, 'It's killing me, man'.
The Police at Twickenham - I'll never forget the moment they did "Every Little Thing" - or dragging Matt down an alley (it's not what you think)
Having my dad to stay (he's an excellent DIY-er) and dragging him to Brixton to see Matt's band play
Christopher Eccleston in Heroes (and Hiro saying "Great-o Scott!")
Prince at the O2 - when he did "U Got The Look" I'm sure I nearly experienced heart failure
My second piece for Grazia
Taking El to the dogs for the first time ("run, doggies, run!")
Foo Fighters on the telly in approx two minutes....
There are times when everything in my life/home seems to revolve around ridiculous obsessions with celebrity.
Over the past week I have been obsessively worrying about Owen Wilson. I felt partly responsible for whatever happened to him because the night before I'd been thinking about Luke Wilson and wondering which brother I would cop off with first, given the choice (Owen won, hands down). Even though I'm a mother from Tooting, I felt my mental powers had somehow tipped him over the edge. And I'm the last person who should believe anything that comes out of Courtney Love's hole (ha), but I still found it hard to watch Saxondale last week. 'I feel like he's got Owen's blood on his hands,' I spluttered, over-dramatically. 'You're an idiot,' Matt replied.
Then I got outraged by the 'beauty and the beast' inferences in relation to Sienna Miller and Rhys Ifans' alleged relationship - she ought to think herself lucky (if indeed he is doing more than crashing at her flat).There's something lovely about Mr. Ifans - I'd rather be with him than Jude Law, given the choice. I won't ever be given the choice, but I still like to spend a disproportionate amount of my time mulling this, and other conundrums (Seth or Ryan? Ryan. Ziggy or Liam? Ziggy. Noel or Julian? NOEL! etc)
On Thursday, I bought two tickets to see the Foo Fighters. On Friday I made an involuntary noise (something along the lines of "PWWWOAR!") when Dave Grohl popped on the telly for a nano second and now Matt is refusing to go because it's all too 'annoying'. I might take Eliott instead. He's too young to get annoyed by my Grohl-love and is embroiled in his own 'celebrity' fixations, moving seamlessly from his Yoda impersonations to casting Harry Potter spells, before dressing like a teenage mutant ninja turtle and shouting "Cowabunga!" as he karate chops his way around the flat.
Reading this post back it doesn't even make sense to me.
All together now... (and do we think that Dave and Taylor discuss how long their hair and beards will be for each album or is it purely coincidence????)
Keep you in the dark
You know they all pretend
Keep you in the dark
And so it all began
Send in your skeletons
Sing as their bones go marching in... Again
The need you buried deep
The secrets that you keep are ever ready
Are you ready?
I'm finished making sense
Done pleading ignorance
That whole defense
Spinning infinity, Boy
The wheel is spinning me
It's never-ending, never-ending
Same old story
What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?
You're the pretender
What if I say I will never surrender? (x2)
In time our soul untold
I'm just another soul for sale... Oh, well
The page is out of print
We are not permanent
We're temporary, temporary
Same old story
What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?
You're the pretender
What if I say I will never surrender? (x2)
I'm the voice inside your head
You refuse to hear
I'm the face that you have to face
Mirrored in your stare
I'm what's left, I'm what's right
I'm the enemy
I'm the hand that will take you down
Bring you to your knees
So who are you?
Yeah, who are you?
Yeah, who are you?
Yeah, who are you?
Keep you in the dark
You know they all pretend
What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?
You're the pretender
What if I say I will never surrender? (x4)
So who are you?
Yeah who are you?
Yeah, who are you?
[The Pretender lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]
