New Year, new you….

5 Jan

I don’t know what it is about January that makes people think they can change themselves and the people around them.

Count how many people you see jogging at 6:00 a.m on a dark January morning (if you are up at 6:00 am, that is). There are more joggers in cold, dark January than there are joggers for the rest of the year. It is as if come the start of the year, we can cast off our old selves and morph into something thinner, fitter, stronger, more attractive.

I dare say one can become fitter and stronger (if not thinner and more attractive) if one keeps it up, but by the second week of January, the body cannot live on satsumas alone. It craves great thick chunks of white doughy toast, smothered in butter and topped with sugar.  A glass or two of red wine at the end of the working day (good for the heart, you know) becomes more than just an absolute necessity. Above all, we go back to work and life gets back to normal and somehow pressing the snooze button becomes a great deal easier than jumping out of bed and running outdoors in the quest for fitness.

And so this year, I won’t be running but instead will watch everyone else run around me, and try not to be too smug.


The year of the Sheep

1 Jan

2013 is apparently going to be a sub-optimal year for those of us who are, according to the Chinese calendar, Sheep. It is of course the year of the Black Snake, so you can see how being a Sheep may be a bit scary. One big bite and you’re dead.

As a 1967 child, I am apparently a Sheep. I find that quite unattractive, given that I tell my children not to be sheep when crossing roads. Funnily enough, the Boyfriend of Four Years is also a Sheep, so he will have a sub-optimal year also. There is some comfort in that.

I would of course, not have know that either of us were Sheep had he not amused me with the Daily Mail online this morning. Try it.  It makes anyone reading it feel so… well, smug (i.e. you have not been caught with your knickers down by a police camera, or arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour in Trafalgar Square, or even worse, had your extra marital affair exposed by a Daily Mail Reporter who has found out that your girlfriend is the exact image of your wife… and oh, he is just about to tell her.)

“If I am going to have a sup-optimal year,” I said, “then so will you. That said I am not intending to have any sub-optimal moments. Not this year, anyway.”

Happy New Year!

Acknowledgment: Photo by Stefan Powell,

Rules are different for boys

19 Nov

The ex husband has a new girlfriend. I am very pleased for him – truly.  It has been nine years and about time he found someone and settled down. Not that I have, but that is another matter. He is the sort of man who needs to have someone darn his socks and roast him chickens for supper. I was never much good at either so it is unsurprising that we never made it past seven years (well, that and a million other reasons.) Sometimes marriages just don’t work, despite your best intentions. So when the children said they thought it was okay for daddy to have a new girlfriend, but absolutely not not okay for me to have a boyfriend, I did have to quiz them. After all, why one rule for him and another for me?

“We live with you,” said child number one. “And we don’t want some man in a dressing gown in our kitchen eating chocolate croissants.”

“We don’t eat chocolate croissants,” I replied.

Child number one rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he said. “The dressing gown bit.”


“And anyway,” added off-spring number two. “Why on earth would you need one of those.”

“One of what?”

“A boyfriend. You always say you have too much to do. You don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

Double oh.

On reflection, perhaps I am not quite ready to introduce the boyfriend of four years just yet.

Is it really Monday tomorrow?

18 Nov

Work tomorrow. Again. The weekend has flown by and so I sit on the sofa at 10.20 pm wondering which of the five work outfits I own I should wear for the delight that is Monday. Work clothes being incredibly dull, it is hard to plan too far ahead

I know some people relish all that getting dressed for work nonsense, though. Take for instance the two I teenagers I overheard discussing their morning routine on the way to work one morning. Given that both had hair that had been straightened to within an inch of its life and skinny jeans that probably needed an hour lying on the bed to zip up, it was of some interest that one of them said that she used a white board to plan her weekly wardrobe. Apparently, every Sunday night, she wrote exactly what she was going to wear and, presumably how long it took to get on.

Since I have never owned a whiteboard and have no intention of ever owning one, I am going to shut my eyes and put on whatever I pull out first. So if you see me wearing that dress with those boots and looking a little misguided, you will know why.