Mrs Bumble

 

Tonight I'm cooking pasta. Yes, you read that right. I'm going to eat carbs and not think about the consequences. It's nearly Christmas, you see. Last night I munched down huge amounts of cheddar accompanied with at least six cream crackers and washed down with hot Ribena (consumed standing up by the kitchen counter, still wearing my coat). What is it about this time of year that makes me behave like a pig? And it's not just about eating junk per se but a significant lowering of my own personal standard and a total change in outlook. My usual rule is few white carbs or sugar and no processed food. Somehow, I've managed to have all three in the past twenty four hours.

Milky way? Maltesers? No problem. Marks and Sparks All Butter Twists? Yum yum. Mince pies? Can't get enough. These are some of the things that I have eaten in the last week that would never usually pass my lips. I mean I don't even like Milky Ways so what the hell am I doing?

I don't want to sound anal here but for the last few months I've been trying really hard to not eat crap and I know that not eating bread or wheat of any kind has made helped me lose quite a bit of weight. It seems a shame that I'm going to undo all my good work over the festive season and I'm not even going to try and stop myself. I'm sure the inside of my stomach currently looks like the tube on 'Supersize vs Superskinny' that the fat person's food is dropped down, when it forms that yucky pile at the bottom. I've probably consumed a similar amount of calories recently. The only difference is that I don't have to stand shivering in my underwear whilst being bollocked by Dr Christian. Actually, maybe that would be a good deterrent? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be so happy to stuff myself if I knew that I would have to face that in the New Year and then have it broadcast on national TV.

But hey, it's Christmas. It's only a couple of weeks, right? I say that every year until it's time to try stuff on during the January sales and realise that I shouldn't have eaten that fourth mini pork pie the day before. That's definitely not fun. Yuck... even the thought of seeing my body in that state fills me with dread and there still a couple of weeks of hardcore gorging to go. The thing is, all that lovely snuggly knitwear that we tend to wear over the festive period camouflages all the body hang ups that come to be so glaringly obvious to us in the spring (or in the changing room of Topshop on Boxing Day). I also love the fact that one can wear a party dress and tights in the winter – they cover up cellulite quite nicely. Last night I went out in a sparkly black dress, heels and thick tights (you know, the elasticated Shape 'n Tone kind that finish just under your boobs). They held my thighs in a treat....genius.

At this time of the year, I always feel at my least attractive. On Christmas Day, I feel like Mr Bumble in 'Oliver!' – you know, the fat guy in the workhouse who says 'Moooore?' At the beginning of the film, we see him sitting at a table groaning with meat and cheese and then stuffing it greedily into his mouth. That's me at Christmas – gluttonous and sweaty. I did try to combat this one year with a session of festive yoga. However, I'd forgotten that I'd already had an Amaretto or two and it wasn't a success. Lets just say that the Downward Facing Dog made me feel incredibly nauseous. My yoga mat still smells like regurgitated sage and onion stuffing.

This slipping of standards doesn't just apply to food. It also applies to social etiquette, drinking and general work ethic. It's a big break from the rules that we impose on ourselves for the rest of the year. At no other time of the year could I watch three films back to back whilst shovelling Bombay Mix into my mouth and not feel guilty. I just don't usually have time to lie on the sofa and do nothing. It's not the question of the calories I'm consuming, its more that I'm allowing myself to wallow there, with greasy hair, totally enjoying 'The Sound of Music' in my pyjamas guilt free.

Nor do I consider it acceptable at any other time of the year to flirt with my little brother's friends. Not cool. I'm pretty sure that that will be going on again this year. Never mind that they're all at least five years younger than me, flirting with boys who were born half way through the eighties is fiiiine at this time of year. Expected almost. It's the equivalent of eating the last coffee creme out of the box of Quality St. You wouldn't normally do it and its generally considered not quite right but as it's Christmas, its acceptable. (I could insert a pun here about putting something mindlessly in my mouth but I won't because that would be disgusting).

This type of inappropriately flirty behaviour usually occurs on the night you find yourself drunk, stumbling down the street in your sparkly dress and Shape n' Tone tights like someone from one of those police programmes about arrests in Britain's town centres. To be fair, its been a good few years since I've behaved like that (Two). But the same recklessness is there, that same 'What the hell, it's the party season' attitude that makes us all act crazily at this time of year.

Recently, my productivity at work has dropped dramatically. I have been given, in the last week or so, to spending periods of time staring vacantly ahead of me when I could be getting on with marking or other stuff that I will now have to do in the New Year. I just can't make myself do it. Maybe it's because my brain has been fried from an overload of mince pies and other seasonal delicacies. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I've just had too much mulled wine. Maybe its a combo of all three.

At the end of the day, I think one has to surrender to the festive spirit, whatever the consequences. Better to be flabby and hungover than end up looking like an Old Scrooge. So grab that Bombay Mix and lie yourself down on the sofa. Eat cheese til your heart's content. With Christmas cake. Just don't moan come January.

My Significant Other(s)

I've decided that I'm not writing about men any more. I've truly had enough of how rubbish they are. This decision has stemmed from a painful conversation with Hot FB Guy on Monday night which ended with me finally finding my self-respect and deleting him off my friend list. I have decided that once and for all I need to get him out of my system. I need a hetox. (Sorry, couldn't resist!)

Well, what to write about then? People have commented on the fact that I never write about work. That's because I don't have anything to say about it. It's a job. I don't consider it interesting enough to blog about....

So if I'm not writing about men or work what else is there?

Love. Empathy. Having fun.

Friendship. Now there's a worthy topic.

On Sunday, which was my 31^st birthday, I truly realised how important my friends are to me. My friend J had arranged a lunch for me that day and I spent the afternoon with four of my closest friends, eating, drinking and laughing. We laughed so much.... and I returned home with that warm glow that you only get after spending time with your favourite girls.

I arrived into school on Monday to find my pigeon hole stuffed with beautifully wrapped gifts and cute cards with loads of love us and kisses on. How lucky I am. How lucky I am that my friends think so much of me. Friendship, I'm sure, is an essential ingredient for a long and happy life. In fact, I'm certain it's no coincidence that the periods when I have seen less of my friends (for example the three years I was married for) have been the most depressing of my life. At the moment, I tend to see my friends every weekend. They are the essential ingredient in my generally hectic life.

There's definitely a code for correct friend behaviour. I believe that being a good friend is a very serious responsibility. Being understanding and supportive is really important. I fully accept that a friend of mine might make tentative plans with her new boyfriend and that I am her plan B if it falls through. Not a problem. I've blown off a friend before because I had a hot date. (I don't mean on the day, it was a week beforehand, to do it less than a few days before and leaving her in the lurch at the last minute would have been unacceptable and very bad form) My friend was totally understanding about that. She understood that she would probably have done the same thing and made different plans accordingly. We rescheduled for the week after. Knowing your friends and their quirks is what makes for a good relationship. You need to accept them and love them in the same way that you accept and love a partner. You should admire and respect them as you do a partner. There also has to be chemistry. You have to spark off each other and make each other laugh.

However, the same kind of problems that can ruin a relationship can occasionally crop up in a friendship as well. Inattentiveness, being inconsiderate or being lazy can split up a friendship. Lack of effort is, for me, a deal breaker. One ex-friend of mine moved to America and then declined to make contact with me except for a round robin that told everyone how amazing she was. Delete. Same for the friend who didn't come to my wedding because she was helping her boyfriend move house. Deleted her soon after. Sometimes we do put up with shoddy behaviour from our friends. We're used to being shafted by blokes (in the metaphorical sense) but find it hard to accept that women are capable of it as well. On the few occasions that I've been let down by a female friend (and there really hasn't been many)I have been so much more upset than after being let down by a bloke. I've come to realise that making an effort with those people who are worth it and keeping in touch with your true friends is absolutely essential.

I have so many good friends. Take my friend F. She has such a good sense of humour that she keeps me in constant hysterics. She can have an in depth conversation about poo, orgasms or whatever without flinching. She gives good talk. I've survived two months in Cuba and one horrendous bout of food poisoning with her. Try spending a week cooped up in a hotel room, vomiting at regular intervals with only one other person and VH1 for company (I'm sure we watched 'TLC Behind the Music' at least 50 times – I still can't hear 'Waterfalls' without wanting to chew my own arm off) When you've seen someone use the bidet and toilet simultaneously whilst groaning in agony I think it's safe to say that there can no longer be any secrets between you. If you still want to hang out with that person once you're better, then it's true (friend) love. Like F and I.

F also buys fab presents. She thinks so hard about what I would like or what I need. That's the mark of a true friend. For her part, she told me last time I saw her that she has has divided her friends into two categories – the 'safe' friends and the friends that she knows she will get into trouble with. I, I am pleased to say, fall into the latter category. I really think that's the biggest compliment anyone has ever paid me.

Friendship can create such joy. I can vividly remember standing on a beach on a balmy night in Turkey, ankle deep in the warm water with my friend J. I remember hugging her so hard and thinking this was the most perfect moment. J and I being on holiday together (and the prospect of a whole week filled with all you can eat and drink) filled me with supreme happiness. J is also great in that I treat her house like my house. She lives in town and so when we go on a night out, it's a given that I'll be staying there. I'm as comfy in her bed as I am in my own, happy to be snuggled up next to her.

My friend N took me in when I called her crying after my ex-husband had thrown me out. I had a car full of stuff and literally nowhere to go. She picked me up off her doorstep, plied me with wine and told me how stupid he was and how he didn't deserve me. I actually ended up having a kind of mini holiday at her house. She turned a hideous period in my life into something bearable. My friend M came straight round when she heard what had happened and gave me the longest hug. Without them, I would have been lost.

I believe that it's significant that my longest ever relationship only lasted five years, but my longest friendship started when I was a toddler and is still going strong. I also have two close friends who were in my class at secondary school. They know all my deepest, darkest secrets and we have a shared history. They knew me when I had NHS style glasses and bad acne. We supported each other through adolescence and we survived five years of school together. I can click back into conversation with them and we can chat as if six weeks or six months or whatever haven't gone by since we last spoke.

So, at the risk of sounding cheesy, pick up your phone and call a friend – someone who you love but maybe haven't spoken to for a while for whatever reason. Don't let your friendship slip away. Put some effort in. Because one day you will need her more than anything. And she'll be there.

14, 599 Words

 

Since starting this blog, I have written 14,599 words. And I still haven't found a man to go out with. It will be interesting to see how many words I write before someone who isn't an emotionally unavailable screw up, an ex from ten years ago or someone who is just normal makes an appearance in my life. I have loads of men hovering around – Used to be Toxic Ex calls every few days (and calls me 'baby' – not sure how I feel about that) and I do usually have some interest from blokes when I go out of an evening. But nothing seems to be happening. If my life was a film, these men would have cameo roles. I'd like a leading man. Maybe for just a few weeks. Come to think of it, if my life was a film, it would be a lot more interesting. And I'd have better hair. And a bigger, loft style apartment in New York. Obviously Sandra Bullock would play me....

Last weekend at my cousin's friend's party, I got chatting to a lovely man but five minutes into the conversation, it became obvious that we had absolutely nothing in common. He seemed to be a nice guy, but I might as well have been talking in Swahili – by the bewildered expression on his face I deduced that he had no idea what I was talking about (I should never have started on about experimental theatre....always dangerous after a few cocktails....). Anyway, as I got up to leave, he said 'Well, I really like you and I would take your number but there's no point. You and me, we'd never work in the real world.' I nodded regretfully, knowing that he was right. He was really cute though....

It's so hard to find someone who you have stuff in common with. I've got a feeling that its going to take me at least 50,000 words. I've realised that I need someone creative, not necessarily in a creative job but someone who approaches life in a creative manner and has a weird off the wall sense of humour. Truly creative men are quite hard to find. That's why my relationship with Used to be Toxic Ex lasted so long – he was totally bonkers and dodgy in a creative way. I've been out with so many guys who were just dull as. To be fair, some of them probably thought that about me or more likely just didn't get what I was talking about at all, like the guy I met last weekend.

To be honest, I think the reason that I'm going through a bit of a dry spell is down to Hot FB guy. I still like him but he is, as ever, elusive. If he is interested, it's going to take him the equivalent of War and Peace to actually make a move. (460,000 words if you're interested, in the Russian version) I've got a long wait ahead. But it's been three months godammit!

But we really get on. We have banter...... proper laugh out loud funny conversations. I love spending time with him. As I said above, it's rare that I meet a guy who I find really interesting. He makes me laugh. I get him. And I fancy him so much that just looking at him gives me butterflies. I know I really like someone when I start to feel very insecure. It means I really want them to like me back. I feel like that now.

I've worked really hard to get over him over the last couple of weeks. Work has been crazy and I haven't had time to think, which has helped. I had even started wearing my glasses to school (!!!) so confident was I that nothing would ever happen between us and so it wasn't worth me making an effort. I'd toughened up and got on with things, resigning myself to the fact that it was never going to happen. Then he appeared in my room on Friday afternoon and announced that he is moving temporarily to my area and we should maybe get together sometime. Since then, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. I know its ridiculous but I can't help it. Next I'll be exhibiting scary psycho type behaviour - boiling his bunny, putting prawns in his curtain rods and stalking him home wearing a blonde wig and sunglasses (proper real life stalking, not the cyber variety, I do that already). Needless to say, since Friday I've started wearing my lenses again and am back to hiding in my office, touching up my make up in case he happen to swing by my room. I've found that applying gloopy lip gloss and marking GCSE coursework are not two tasks that should ever be performed simultaneously.

If I was my best friend, I'd give myself a bloody good talking to. I know that I'm behaving like a love sick teenager but I can't stop. It's like I've been possessed by an all powerful, overwhelming, weird emotion that makes me behave like a crazy woman. It makes me want to break all The Rules. In fact, my flatmate told me to shut the f*** up last night because I've been talking about Hot FB Guy all weekend. I don't blame him.

But hang on.......I'm a thirty year old woman living in the twenty first century, not a Victorian spinster waiting for Mr Right to appear and ask for her hand in marriage. I hold down a demanding job and make my own life choices. I do The Rules and have an interesting, mysterious, chequered past. I've been out with lots of different guys, been married and divorced and come out of every failed relationship stronger. I've travelled loads and worked abroad. I am a strong, independent person (sometimes). Never mind that I have a silly little crush on someone. Well, maybe a big one...

Ok, I admit it. Never mind that I'm crazy about Hot FB Guy. Never mind that every time I see him my stomach jumps.  Never mind that I think about him all the time. I need to sort myself out and approach this situation rationally, in an intellectual manner and start behaving like an intelligent person, instead of a simpering 13 year old. I must be strong. Tomorrow I'm wearing my glasses to school. And no lipgloss.

15,983 words...

The Rules

I visited my cousin last weekend and on the Friday night, we went for dinner. Whilst waiting for our food to arrive, we chatted about relationships and I filled him in on Hot FB guy and the situation with my used to be toxic ex-boyfriend. “Well” he said “Seems like you've got a lot of interest”.

Well, not really. In fact none at all. There seem to be lots of men in my life, but none actually making a move. (Actually, tomorrow night my friend S is setting me up with a friend of her husband's, watch this space....) But over the past two weeks, since Hot FB guy told me he wasn't interested, things have been pretty damn quiet. In the absence of any hot male action to write about, I have decided to elaborate on a subject close to my heart - 'The Rules'.

What are 'The Rules'? They are a code for dating that have been made into a book (authors Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider) and, in my opinion, all women should read them. My lovely friend F introduced me to this useful publication and I'm really very grateful. Basically the gist of it is that the woman should never make the first move, initiate contact with a guy, or call him. This way you don't waste time on guys who aren't really into you. They have to do all the running. And if they aren't interested, they won't. If they don't, then you say 'Next!' and move on. The bit I really like is that you should make yourself seem really busy and unattainable, that you have this fabulous life even if you're at home watching X-Factor on a Saturday night (see previous post). I'm all for manipulation and misleading men to get what you want. Why not? We should use every tool at our disposal.

I'm still single. 'The Rules' haven't magically made me meet my perfect guy (I don't know if he exists anyway). They have made me change my behaviour around men though. If I had chased Hot FB guy then I could have ended up looking really stupid. I didn't initiate anything with him and so when he backed off I was able to pretend it didn't matter. In private and on this blog, I obsessed over him. But on the surface, I acted cool. I'm so glad now that I did.

'The Rules' may seem a bit prescriptive, but they help me feel in control. Chasing a guy can leave you open to rejection. And that's when you end up feeling really crap about yourself. I know that although I did protect myself to some extent by never initiating anything with Hot FB guy, I could have saved myself a lot of time by not responding to his cheeky messages on FB.

I think that although 'The Rules' are old fashioned (the words 'disco' and 'bell bottoms' do make an appearance in the book), the main ideas are still applicable to this day and age. It can just be so confusing sometimes. In my opinion, we need a new version that covers text and FB. Technology has evolved to such a degree that there are many different mediums we can get ourselves into trouble with (anyone ever updated their FB status after half a bottle of wine? Not a good idea...)

Women need these rules. I'm not saying that we are weak or feeble or anything like that. Quite the opposite. It's just that most women I meet are lovely. Many of us are by nature are nurturing, kind, and polite. Let's face it, there are many men out there who are none of these things. Many of us are also under-confident about our abilities or the way we look. If we go on a date with a guy, believe them to be our soul mate and then they don't call, we sometimes think something bad has happened to him. Or he's having an awful crisis or has lost his phone (poor him). Then we call him, just to check everything is OK or because we don't want to seem rude.

Generally, I would say that women love to chat about themselves and their feelings, hopes and desires. When we really like a guy, many of us tend to open up and try to get emotionally close to him. This leads us to getting hurt by men and may cause you to end up with a situation where  you spend all evening lying on the sofa alone, staring obsessively at you FB page, or sobbing into your pint of wine whilst having the inevitable 'all men are pricks' conversation with your best friend (Why? Why didn't he like me??? He doesn't deserve you, you're way out of his league. Really?? Yes babe now just forget about him, you're too good for him anyway....) obsessively checking your phone and then finally, picking yourself up at the end of another failed attempt at a relationship. We should try to be more like men (although obviously we're cleverer than them - ever watched a man try to get a duvet in a duvet cover?) We should toughen up and play the game to the best of our ability. We have feminine wiles - lets use them!

Now, after reading 'The Rules', I am more likely to think 'Oh well, he was just not that into me.....' and move on. This is, after all, much more likely to be the case than the other scenarios listed above. It's made me a lot more pragmatic and matter of fact about the whole dating process.

'The Rules' are part of my hard shell, an armour that protects me. I don't apply them perfectly all the time and to be honest, my shell is rather thin and easily broken. I know that Hot FB guy was able to manipulate me into revealing more than I should have done (in conversation, I mean, not in a physical sense, if only...!) But after reading 'The Rules', I don't call men and I certainly don't chase them. It also helps that I can act, that even if I'm dying inside I can project a happy front. This is a skill I have deliberately cultivated.

A friend of mine bought 'The Rules' on my recommendation and got very angry because in her opinion, they're sexist. I don't think they are. In fact, 'The Rules' are feminist – you don't wait around for men and you basically put yourself first. I like that idea. However, my favourite bit of 'The Rules' is that you should trust in the abundance of the universe and believe that a man who is crazy about you will come along. It's ultimately optimistic. I believe that... not that 'Mr Right' rubbish but that eventually someone who truly likes me will appear. Someone who will do all the running.

Saturday Night Fever

Last Saturday night, I watched the X-Factor live finals for the first time in this series. I have managed to be out on a Saturday night for the past two and a half months. That's good going. In fact, I have made it my mission NEVER to be in to watch the X-Factor, and certainly not in on my own. Last Saturday, I was at a friend's house, drinking wine and slagging off men. Always fun. I rolled into bed at about one, and woke early on Sunday morning with a sense of confusion, a dry mouth and a sore stomach from the huge quantities of sour cream flavour tortilla chips, pizza and popcorn that I managed to put away (Let me off the wheat and dairy free regime for one night and I just go crazy!)

Remember the scene from Bridget Jones when she's wearing those red pyjamas and singing 'All By Myself'? It scares me. We laugh at that scene, but actually, I find it deeply horrific. It could happen to any of you, the director is saying. So get married and have kids, quick, before you end up drinking a bottle of Chardonnay a day and sitting in on your own.

The majority of my friends are, at the moment, all in relationships. The effect of this is that they no longer want to come out on a Saturday night as they are all doing romantic couply-type things with their other halves. The knock on effect is that obviously I don't want to go out on my own, and therefore, at the moment, I have limited chances of meeting somebody. We used to get dressed up and hit the town for cocktails, but now they tend to spend Saturday nights curled up with their other halves. I'm not resentful of their happiness at all, in fact I'm very glad for them but their blissful coupledom makes me feel more like I need to git me a good man. Or at least a short term fling.

The weekend is a veritable mine field of unexploded loneliness, waiting to flare up at any moment. Once a single girl manages to get over the emotional hurdle of Saturday night, there is still Sunday afternoon. Sunday is a day made for couples – brunch, reading the papers in bed (matching white bathrobes optional) and a cosy home cooked roast dinner. For me, the reality of Sunday is marking, ironing, cleaning the bathroom and other tedious jobs that I always say I'll do on Friday night but never get round to after my post-school glass of red or two. When I was on my year out from university and living in Florence, Sunday was the only day when I ever felt lonely. I would walk past houses from which delicious smells would be coming, and watch families get out of their cars, back from church, dressed in their Sunday best and about to eat a huge lunch together. Sunday can be dangerous if you're single. It's best approached with care (and three large glasses of Chianti – preferable at lunchtime).

To be honest, my gloomy frame of mind is probably caused by the fact that hot FB guy, after flirting on and off with me for the past two months, told me the other day at work that he doesn't want a relationship (with me). I put those brackets in myself because a) as you may have noticed, I like brackets and b) I am certain that if he thought I was his soul mate, he would want a relationship, regardless of the timing. When he told me, I just pretended that it didn't matter and said it was fine, I knew all along that he didn't want a relationship and so there was no big deal. Actually, my poor unsuspecting Year 11 class got the brunt of it. I was horrible to them.

Last weekend, although I cleverly managed to avoid a red pyjama Bridget Jones type situation, I had a bit too much time to think. I've vowed not to make the same mistake again. So next weekend I will be out. All weekend. I'm going to visit my cousin and I'm sure a change of scene will be good for me. Apparently he has hot single friends and I'm definitely up for meeting some new people. Maybe I could even take loads of pictures of me with a random hot man and put them up on FB? No, that's not sad at all!

Not everyone feels this weekend loneliness. Some people, I'm sure, are perfectly happy to spend it on their own. They must be incredibly well adjusted and secure. A single colleague told me on Friday that she was actually planning to watch all six Harry Potter films back to back over the weekend. On her own. I guess this proves the old saying that there's always someone worse off than you.

Choices

When I feel alone and afraid, I remind myself that this is the choice I made – everything that has happened in the past few years has been my choice.

I chose to get divorced. I may have been partly forced into it, but at the end of the day I made the final decision. I chose to buy this house, to settle in this area and stay in this job. Therefore why do I moan about it? We make our life choices – maybe they're not always the best ones - but we should be grateful. We don't live in a dictatorship, generally we are blessed, generally we have enough to eat, generally we are fulfilled, therefore should we not be happy?

I wrote about New Year's resolutions in a previous post. Well, I'm making mine now and it's to stop moaning. I'm a lot better than I used to be. Moaning can become a way of life. My general outlook is 'I can't wait until the weekend'. Surely that can't be right? The weekend is only two days a week...so am I going to spend the rest of my life like this? I shouldn't. We shouldn't!

I am extremely proud of my northern heritage. I love my very slightly northern accent. And, I must admit that I do play it up a bit here in the south. However, I do partly blame my occasional melancholic episodes on my Yorkshire ancestors. My Grandma was known to comment when she was in her sixties that she wouldn't 'get the wear' out of a new hat she'd just bought for someone's funeral. This was the same lady who didn't believe in Christmas. She was definitely a 'glass half empty' person.

Similarly, I once had a 'friend' who was the most negative person I've ever met. She used to sigh down the phone at me and make me so depressed that I would want to end it all after two hours in her company. I know that everybody goes through periods of despondency or self doubt. I know that in life, things sometimes go wrong. And I would like to think that my friends can come to me for help when they have problems. But this 'friend' gave nothing to the relationship. She was bad for me. She dragged me down and made me doubt myself. She has since moved away and I'm so relieved. I used to spend time with her because I felt sorry for her, but I've since found out that she was known to be a person that other people at work avoided like the plague. I have vowed not to spend time with people like that any more because they are bad for me. I have also deleted her off Facebook.

This negative attitude is everywhere. I have a colleague who constantly moans about everything – why has she been at the same place for twenty eight years then? Why does another colleague, every time she sees me, wink and say “Only five days til the weekend?” If she hates it so much then why is she still there? I then find myself entering into this 'isn't life crap' banter and I've begun to find these conversations incredibly tedious. If my life is crap then it's only me that has made it like that. I need to sort it out.

However, I need to be careful here. I always act impulsively, on instinct and I wonder if this is the best plan when making life choices? Snap decisions are not always a good idea but then neither is sticking with a hopeless situation. We make our choices and a choice that can seem unimportant at the time can affect our lives to a huge degree. We need to make smart choices and not moan about what we have chosen.

I can't spend my whole life in my current job doing something that I find highly stressful. I can't spend my life wondering What if ? Therefore, as I said in my first post on this blog, at the end of this academic year, I'm going to make a smart choice and make myself happy. I'm not sure what that choice is going to be yet but I know it should include these points:

No more lusting after stupid men who aren't bothered about me

No more moaning about how crap life is

No more thinking about travelling but not actually doing it.

At the age of eighteen, my Grandma (her with the hat) went for an interview for nursing college. When the Sister who was interviewing her asked her what her father did for a living she said “Mind your own business, you're interviewing me, not him!” I love that fact that she was feisty enough to say that. A couple of years later, once she had finished her training, she was involved in nursing the casualties of the D-Day landings and it looked as if she would have promising career. Then she met and married my Grandpa, gave up work and stayed in Yorkshire for the rest of her life. She never travelled outside of the UK, and rarely did anything other than the housework. Trying to scrape together some interesting information about her life for her funeral last year was really difficult and I remember thinking about her wasted potential, and the choices she  made. If she had been happy with her life then I would think she had made the right choice but I know, from the amount of moaning that she used to do, that she wasn't.

I don't want to have regrets when I'm old about all the things I haven't done. I don't want to realise, at the age of eighty, that all I've done so far with my life is moan. I need to be more positive and change my outlook. I need to change my situation if I'm not happy. And it's up to me. It's my choice.

Fatal Flaws

'Yesterday' are running the whole series of Pride and Prejudice today. Its just been the episode where Lizzie Bennett sees Mr Darcy's house for the first time and realises that actually, she just might fancy him. I'm so jealous of Lizzie Bennett – because I know that in two hours that she is going to get herself a rich, sexy husband who owns a massive estate. I'm pretty sure than Mr Darcy would be dynamite in bed too. Although we don't know what happened afterwards – maybe he has various unsavoury habits – maybe he leaves the toilet seat up, or leaves wet towels on the floor, eats with his mouth open or picks his nose? Maybe he keeps his socks on? We already know that he is proud and somewhat stand-offish on occasion but then I've always been a sucker for a strong, silent type.

That's the thing – you never know what his fatal flaw is. Every single guy I've ever been with turned out to have a massive problem of some kind. That makes me sound really picky – I'm actually quite tolerant of minor flaws such as those listed above. Everybody has faults after all. Being tolerant of the other person's issues is what being in a mature relationship is all about.

So what is the deal breaker in a relationship? One guy I went out with last spring booked a romantic weekend away for the two of us, and then on the third night proceeded to inform me over dinner that actually, he didn't like me very much, that he found me stubborn, opinionated, and narrow minded. I'd just thought we'd had a couple of lively debates that I'd quite enjoyed. It didn't bother me that we didn't agree on everything, however he couldn't cope with it. Maybe it wasn't me that was narrow minded?

That incident was particularly disappointing because I'd really thought he was a good one. He was the first guy I'd been out with since I'd got divorced and I really liked him. I'd noticed his annoying habits such as singing tunelessly under his breath and not considered them to be serious. However, the fact that I had my own opinions on, well, everything, was his deal breaker. He obviously didn't want a woman who answered back.

If you're with someone who has a huge fatal flaw, what do you do? By 'huge fatal flaw' I mean something really serious, for example, an alcohol problem, a tendency to cheat or be violent, to be chronically unreliable or inconsiderate. Women are notorious for taking useless men and 'training' them. Taking on that role can be problematic however, and, as I have found out to my cost on a few occasions, this can lead to resentment on both sides. And why should we have to anyway?

I'm so cynical. Every time I meet a guy, I just look at him and wonder what his fatal flaw is. What is it about him that will make him, at the end of the day, a disappointment? What is he hiding under that veneer of normality?

After all, most people are just projecting an impression of confidence and capability. Most people I know have a host of insecurities that only surface once they allow themselves to become comfortable in a relationship. That's usually when the problems begin. One guy I had a very serious relationship with turned out to be fighting a losing battle with alcohol. He had managed to hide it for two years but eventually I just got sick of the secrecy and the way he treated me when he was drunk. By the end of the relationship, I had been forced into taking the role of his mother, picking up after him and sorting out all his mistakes. He did inform me at one point that I behaved like his mother but actually, he got on better with her than he did with me! Nice.

Another was a compulsive liar and had neglected to mention that he was in fact married (for immigration purposes but still!) The list goes on. And before I descend into an 'all men are pricks' rant why is it that so many of them seem to be hiding something? Hot FB guy (him from last Friday night) projects and air of absolute confidence, but his problem seems to be that he is totally indecisive, chronically shy and unable to make the first move. Not sure that this is actually as bad as a fatal flaw, but it's definitely annoying.

Mr Darcy doesn't seem perfect when he is first introduced to us as a character in the Assembly Rooms at Meryton. In fact, Jane Austen portrays him as totally obnoxious. It's only later on in the book when we realise he is actually the good guy. Many films and books start like this, with the two main characters hating each other and then realising that, actually, they're soul mates.

Take 'When Harry met Sally'. At the beginning of the film, she finds him totally repellent, but after a couple of chance encounters, begins to care about him. Ten years of frienship later, at the end of the film, he  makes a speech (see below) in which he lists all the things he loves about her. The speech is all the more poignant because some of the things listed could be considered, by an outsider to be quite annoying.  He cites her faults as reasons why he wants to be with her. Now that's sweet.

I suppose that with these two (fictional) relationships, each character's faults were instantly visible and therefore there was no disappointment later on. This to me seems far preferable to thinking that a person is perfect at the beginning of the relationship and then realising that he is in fact a misogynistic egotist two months in. There's definitely something to be said for being friends with someone first (and being a character in a Jane Austen novel).

I truly believe that if a guy has one of the problems above, it's better to simply walk away and leave him to it. As I've got older, I have become less I'm willing to put up with somebody who treats me badly or who has major issues. There is enough unhappiness in life, without inflicting more on yourself. That's probably why I'm still single. But having seen so many people in truly bad relationships, I figure that I'm happier like this until I meet a man who will treat me as I deserve.

I'm holding out for a Mr Darcy. Or a speech like this...

"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

I'm hopeful.

The Fear

Fear. It's a fundamental part of being a human being and forms a huge part of our daily lives. After all, without fear to keep us in line, we wouldn't think of the consequences of our actions. Fear can be a good thing, in that it keeps us safe. But fear can also be crippling, inhibiting and restrictive. Sometimes we are afraid of things that we really shouldn't be. If we could get rid of some of this unnecessary fear, wouldn't our lives just be a lot simpler?

Fear can take so many forms. Many of the fears that we have are unfounded. I know that many of my fears are of my own invention, rather than being based on anything sound. For example, when I was in secondary school, I had an irrational fear of eating in public. So I stopped. I used to eat nothing all day and then, when I got home, devour the contents of the pantry. What was I so afraid of?

My friend L is currently splitting up with her boyfriend of ten years. He initiated the split, not her, but is now dragging his feet and not allowing her to move on with her life. They're still living together. If it was me, I would have told him to leave a long time ago but she has the fear of being alone and being without him. If she could face that fear head on, then she could move on, but instead she is caught, frozen between the past and the present, crying herself to sleep every night in the spare room. I know that my personal fear at this stage in my life is that every relationship I ever have will go horribly wrong and I'll get hurt more than I did the last time. However, that is a fear that I usually manage – if I didn't I'd be a hermit who was too afraid to have any interaction with men.

Anyway, I got on to thinking about fear because hot FB guy (as mentioned in previous posts) came over on Friday night. Cue more confusion and mixed messages. I know I said I was over him but now I like him again. Just when I'd begun to forget about him (thanks to the ex) and get on with stuff, he texted and asked to come over. Actually, that's not true. It took an hour and a half of cryptic text banter (twelve messages to be precise) and some gentle prodding and hinting from me before he asked if he could come over.

Previously that evening I had been lying on the sofa, Friday night stylee in a pair of trackies, with greasy hair and no make up. I was actually feeling a bit sorry for myself, in the way that you sometimes do when you're watching 'Traffic Cops' on your own. I had convinced myself that a) everyone else was either on an amazing night out to which they'd forgotten to invite me or b) everyone else was with their other halves feeding each other oysters in a romantic restaurant. So when the text (s) came, it was just at the right time.

I then performed the biggest ever make over in history – showered, washed and dried hair, put on nice underwear, swapped trackies for jeans, touched up toe nail polish, covered up spots. He arrived, we flirted/chatted politely and he left at one in the morning, leaving me wondering... what am I doing wrong? We were sitting on my sofa, my feet in his lap, chatting easily for three hours straight, then he got up and left. ?????? Strange. I was too afraid to come out and state the obvious... but why should I have to? It was almost like instead of saying what we both wanted to say, we were looking at each other across a wide chasm of weird emotion. After he left I got into bed and lay turning the evening over and over in my mind. Did I do something wrong? There was wine, low lighting, music, and overt flirtation so what happened?

'The Rules' would suggest never to be the one making the first move so I'm not going to. I need to protect myself because the last time I asked him straight out what he wanted I got rejected (see 'The Undo Button'). I can't risk that again. Am a bit annoyed that my matching undies never got an airing as well.

My flatmate B has suggested that he is afraid. Of what exactly? Am I really that scary? My cynical side says again 'He's just not that into me...'. But then why would he come round if not for a booty call? Answers on a postcard please....

Maybe I'm just so cynical and battle-hardened that I think men are all just after sex and if they don't jump on you straight away then there must be something wrong with them. Maybe he really wants to 'get to know me?' But I've been 'getting to know him' (if rather sporadically) for the past two months. Maybe he wants to do things the old fashioned way and spend six months in polite (ish) conversation? I don't know if I can cope with that. Personally, I think there's too much thinking going on and not enough action...

Now it's Sunday and there has been no contact since he left on Friday. Nothing. And I have a feeling that it will be another month until I see him properly again. Part of me wants to delete him from my FB page and tell him not to contact me any more, just so I can stop thinking about him. Now he has my number there is another way that he could contact me. I'll now be obsessively checking my phone as well as my FB page.

If he is afraid, I wish he would just forget this fear. I wish he'd just get over any issues that he's having. I wish things weren't so complicated and that as humans we could shake off our emotional baggage and mental hang ups and bravely just tell each other how we feel. I wish we could just be straight with each other. Sod 'The Rules' and playing the game. But I'm too afraid to relinquish that control. Maybe the reason there has been so much FB chat/flirt action is because it's a safer form of communication. Maybe me sitting next to him on the sofa smiling invitingly is too real, too immediate, to scary?

I've just realised how many question marks there are in this post. Sorry about that... it's just a reflection on my state of mind. All I've been thinking since Friday night is ???????????????????????????????

Autumn

From my position on the sofa I can see golden red leaves. The beech tree in my garden will bury my lawn in leaves this winter. But I don't mind – I can look out and pretend I'm sitting in Central Park in New York.

I visited New York this time last year on a school trip. I can't remember it in much detail, and much of the week is a blur as we tramped frantically around the city trying to fit in visits to all the 'must see' spots. However, the thing I remember most about that time is the pattern of the russet leaves of Central Park, criss crossed with black branches across the blue grey sky. It was an emotive time for me, as I had, only two days before, just moved into my first ever house and had finally come to terms with the fact that me and the ex-husband were never going to get back together. But the red gold colours of New York in autumn made me so happy. Also the fact that I could have a different flavour bagel for breakfast every day helped, I must be honest...

When I was living in the Middle East, I missed autumn. It's definitely my favourite season, which is strange because I hate being cold. I missed the colours mostly and the yellow, slightly faded sunshine in the afternoons. Autumn, to me, always feels like a new start, maybe because I associate it with the new school year, new exercise books and stationery (my own school days) and a whole new set of faces in my own classroom. I always think we should make our New Year resolutions in September, rather than in January, when everyone is depressed and full of self-loathing after consuming thousands of mince pies and kilos of Quality Street. Who can think rationally when surrounded by the debris of the holiday season and battling a horrendous Tia Maria induced hangover? Definitely not me. In fact, when you think about it, the whole New Year resolution idea is totally counter-productive when done in January because resolutions always arise from the indulgences of the holidays in the first place rather than being based on any meaningful reflection, eg 'I will lose 3 stone' (because of all the cheese you've eaten over xmas), 'I will stop spending so much' (because of all the money you've laid out on presents that will probably go to waste), 'I will stop smoking and become teetotal' ('cos of all the fags you've smoked and wine you've drunk while partying over xmas), and my personal favourite that lasts all of two hours before I'm reaching for the leftover Yule Log which is 'I will go on a detox'. You get the picture.

Anyway, back to my favourite season. Another reason why I love autumn is the profusion of interesting knitwear. I love jumpers. And cardigans. And woolly socks. And interesting novelty tights. And Dr Who Scarves. I blame it on the advertising...well I am susceptible...

Each year, every women's magazine in the Western world has a fashion spread featuring knitwear on a scantily clad model. Typically, she is wearing some kind of petticoat with long socks, fetchingly accessorized with a woolly hat and a hot boyfriend with washboard abs (just seen underneath the reindeer patterned red cardigan, worn in an ironic way of course). I fully buy into this fantasy, and every year I am hopeful that I will pull it off as I forget how cold the British winter does actually get. Purple quivering thighs are really not sexy and I do usually abandon the look by Christmas. But autumn is perfect for some fashion forward knitwear experimentation. No matter that I never get it right and have a tendency to overdress at the beginning of the season, ending up resembling a sweaty bag lady as I attempt to do 'trendy' layering. No matter that I always forget that Primark knitwear is, price per wear, not good value. Anyway, without the half naked hottie in a reindeer cardy, the look doesn't have quite the same impact.

Autumn is a month that appeals to the senses. The smells, tastes, colours and textures all affect me in the way no other season does. Sure, I love the heat of summer. But autumn is something else. Many of my childhood memories centre around autumn in the countryside– mushroom picking, looking for conkers, and the most vivid, Bonfire Night.

When I was little, Bonfire Night was so exciting. I loved the toffee apples and sparklers and hot dogs (which we were never usually allowed). That forbidden taste of the white bread, cheap sausage, ketchup and onions was worth waiting all year for. The sticky, tooth breaking crunch of the toffee apple (I only ever ate the outside, the normal apple bit was boring). The fireworks I was never so interested in, it was more the ritual of the whole family being together, putting our wellies on, driving down to the local park and being able to stay up late. There was a family in our village who never went to the actual celebration, they would just watch the fireworks from the nearest hill. We used to pass them parked up on the way, sharing a flask of tea. I would glimpse the white faces of the two boys as they miserably watched everyone else driving past, off to eat junk food and play with sparklers. I used to feel desperately sorry for them as it seemed to me they were missing out on the best bit – after all the fireworks were secondary - and wish we could invite them along. Not being allowed to go to Bonfire Night seemed to me a fate worse than death.

Nowadays, the idea of clumping around in a muddy field in the cold doesn't really grab me and I would much rather celebrate Guy Fawkes' stupidity in a warm pub with an open fire. But even now, the smell of hot dogs and wood smoke takes me back to Bonfire Night and to my childhood, just as the taste of cinnamon bagels reminds me of New York.

Autumn is memories. Autumn is emotion and restlessness and the feeling of change. Autumn is decay and hopefulness, and ending and a beginning. It's a new wardrobe and a new start. That's why I love it.

No Going Back

Finally I'm over hot Facebook guy. I've accepted that it's never going to happen and I'm sick of him being so flaky. Will he message me, or won't he.... the suspense! Well, I don't care any more. Am so over it. Granted he is in a tough situation, but I don't have time to wait for him to get his head together. And a few days of girly catch up with F in the city last week gave me time to get some perspective on the situation.

Actually, I'm lying. That first paragraph makes me sound far too virtuous and together. To be honest, I have something else to think about now. Something that has provided a welcome distraction. Namely an ex of mine that I ran into at salsa. I was caught completely off guard, thinking of nothing in particular, surveying the dance floor, and then he was suddenly standing in front of me looking, I have to say, really hot. Hugging him, I noticed that he felt and smelt exactly the same. We spent all night chatting and dancing. Since then I've been feeling very weird.

This ex is (was?) bad news. When I was with him ten years ago, he was the definition of toxic. He screwed me up so completely that after two years of being with him, I was a wreck. We have such heavy duty history that I get extremely emotional every time I even think about him. When I saw him last Wednesday, he did apologize for his behaviour and spoke of the regret that he feels now about the way that he treated me. But I'm sure that he's still opinionated, possessive, hot tempered and stubborn. He's probably also still passionate, generous, loving, ambitious, and strong – some of these qualities I have not found in a man since, and our relationship finished nearly a decade ago....

I've changed as well. Me at 30 is so different to how I was at 20. I know that he treated me really badly. But I'm sure that I did my share of screwing us both up. The last time I saw him, he was crying uncontrollably because I had decided to end it. At the time, I was a party girl who went out every night and would call him dead drunk after spending the night out with my friends and a group of Italian hotties (I was living in Florence all the time). As a Muslim, that must have been quite hard for him.

Writing this, I've realised how screwed up we were together. But I have a feeling that he might be interested again. He sent me a lovely message on Facebook, something about my eyes and smile taking his breath away. And then messaged me his number. As a Rules girl, I'm not going to call him. However, I feel a weird sense of destiny, like I'm being slowly drawn towards him, like a magnet. The question that I'm pondering is 'Is it possible to go back...?'

A poll of my closest friends has produced a mixed response. My flatmate's friend is currently engaged to her childhood sweetheart who she met again after twenty years at the funeral of a mutual friend. My friend N has warned me of the possible consequences, saying that no good can ever come of going back. Suprisingly, F, who couldn't stand the sight of him last time, is quite positive about the situation, commenting on how together he seemed. (He was working at Starbuck's ten years ago but is now doing an MA)

Could I? Should I? Probably not. Maybe the past should stay in the past. Carrie and Big managed it though. Unfortunately, I also have a superstitious and slightly stupid belief that everything happens for a reason. And it's definitely not going to happen unless he contacts me again. But something tells me he will.

What I really need to do to take my mind off him is to find someone else to flirt with/fancy, preferably someone I don't work with this time. I've learnt this lesson from my flirtation with Hot FB guy. He has an annoying habit of appearing at the worst possible moment - when I am wrestling sweatily with the photocopier five minutes before a lesson or running to get a cup of tea from the staff room at break time, cramming a cereal bar (sideways) into my mouth. It's made it harder for me to forget about him as he keeps popping up everywhere.

Right. That's what I'll do. Find someone new. Or not. I must remember that there is nothing wrong with being single. I wonder - if I was in a happy relationship at the moment, would I still be thinking the ex? Probably not. That says it all really, doesn't it?

Superheroes

One of the most enjoyable parts of going out is, for me, the process of getting ready, the preparation for the night ahead. It starts with the long luxurious shower with exfoliation and some improbably named shower gel, shaving my legs with long swooping strokes, then rubbing in a gorgeous smelling body butter and painting my toe nails a cheeky shade of red, taking a swig of wine in between each toe. Drying and straightening my hair, patting on my Lancome foundation, and applying my 'clubbing make up' with smoky eye shadow in each eye socket and a thick application of mascara. Next, surveying my wardrobe and carefully laying out an outfit on the bed, adding a selection of jewellery. Then, after dressing and finishing my make up, a spritz or two of perfume and finally putting on a pair of sexy heels...even better if I have a friend or two to share the process with...unless I'm having an army boots situation (see previous post)

I want to look attractive when I go out and I'll happily spend a good couple of hours trying to achieve that. I suppose this excessive preparation is a reaction to rushed week day mornings when I get up ridiculously early and rough dry my hair upside down, applying a quck coat of mascara whilst gulping down scalding porridge. I love the fact that on a Saturday night, |I'm barely recognizable as the girl who woke up that morning with greasy hair, stubbly eyebrows, spots and a fetching quint as she peered through her milk bottle bottom glasses.

In a recent conversation with the hot guy I currently fancy ( I mean the guy I'm currently Facebook stalking) we started discussing the differences between girls and boys and why girls take so long to get ready. I went through the process step by step and he couldn't believe the level of commitment and organization that it took. Military operations have taken less time to plan and execute.

Why, therefore, would I want to go to a fancy dress party wearing something that makes me look silly? Or worse still, ugly?

Maybe I lack a sense of humour when it comes to appearance – I have been told that I take myself too seriously. And it's a shame that I don't like dressing up as I am one of only two people who hold the keys to the costume cupboard at school. Being a drama teacher, I should enjoy that process of becoming another person. But if I'm not actually taking part in a play or playing a character then it doesn't interest me.

I recently went to a party where one had to go as either a superhero or a school girl. I went as myself. In a pair of new, tight jeans, huge heels and a very low cut top. To be fair to me, I didn't know it was a fancy dress party til that afternoon but I was really glad that I hadn't known before, as I had a valid excuse for not dressing up. Granted, the outfits that night did provide an endless stream of conversation. Maybe that's why people have fancy dress parties – so their guests will always have something to talk about?

In the hosts' living room, a bizarre scene unfolded. A six foot (and very hairy) guy who was wearing a school girl outfit with an enormous pair of fake tits posed for photos with his friends as they pretended to fondle him. It was moderately funny, in the way that it always is when big gruff men wear girls' clothes. Across the room, a man in a Batman outfit swigged from a pint glass of red wine before attempting to 'fly' off the sofa. In another corner, a drunk girl who was, for some reason, wearing Lederhosen and an Australian Bushwhacker hat complete with corks demolished the contents of the buffet table. For a moment, it was as if I'd stepped back out of myself and looked at the scene for what it really was – a group of people trying to escape the tedium of everyday life by a creating a pointless if vaguely amusing diversion. I then realised that if one starts thinking like that, it's a slippery slope to pondering the meaning of life and whether any kind of social activity has a point to it. However whilst philosophizing to myself I realised something, which is....

I suppose that one could say that the kind of outfit I usually wear on a Saturday night is the most elaborate disguise ever - almost like a mask. It's my crutch, my confidence and without that smoky eyeshadow or that bright red lipstick or that spritz of Narcisso Rodriguez, I would feel naked. Therefore, why should I judge others who wish to dress up? Aren't we all, to some extent, playing a character every day? I'm playing fun, single girl about town who is confident and secure. Never mind that the actual reality is very different.  I actually heard the host of the party say to another guest that the guy dressed as Batman was normally very shy. However, with his polyester padded superhero outfit on, he also seemed masterful and dynamic, chatting easily to a ring of girls who were all taking it in turns to feel his (false) biceps.

Anyway, I've been invited to a Hallowee'n party tomorrow night and as it's being thrown by a close friend and I've known about it for ages, I've really got to go in costume. So I've been to the costume cupboard at school and found a Victorian style white wedding dress. I'll put my hair in a bun and make a veil out of some white netting and I'll be Miss Havisham out of 'Great Expectations'. The outfit makes me look dramatic and slightly tragic, like something out of a period drama. That I can cope with. I have actually practised speaking in old fashioned language and tried out 'Oh. Mr Darcy' in front of the mirror a few times (wrong period I know but I couldn't think of another phrase). If I'm going in costume, I figured, I might as well do it properly.

Who knows, I might meet a hot vampire......