A Small Thought

I don’t have a favourite colour. I never have had one. I just tell people its blue, but when I picture blue in my mind it doesn’t please my guts.

Lately I have been saying it is metallic pink. Everything I own now is metallic pink. Even the shoes I am wearing. Deichmann, 19 quid.

I don’t particularly like metallic pink but it pleases my gut, so there must be some sort of spark there.

I think some children are embarrassed to talk about marriage and children. It’s a strange phenomenon. An eight year old boy I was teaching was trying to explain storytelling through the generations, and he said, ‘When I’m, well, when I have a child of some sort. Well, a small cousin of some sort, I will probably have a lot of stories to tell too.’

I chuckled at that. I was like that. I told my mum flat out that I would never get married. Ever. That it was a ridiculous notion and intolerable to me, at age eleven. Secretly I was crushing hard on my now-husband. He was fourteen and quite dashing. Did I tell anybody? Of course not. And I was quite cruel to him too. He must never be allowed to find out. I even prayed that when I was older, he would want to marry me. I actually got on my knees and prayed.

I said, ‘Oh dear God, please let me marry him when I am older.’ Every day for two months. I didn’t even say, ‘please let him be my boyfriend.’ I wanted something more solid than that, I suppose. Something in writing. 

Then I forgot, of course. Or it didn’t matter to me so much. My attentions were drawn elsewhere. Life. Exams. Stories to write and read. Exciting social events. Friends. Everything took over.

I even deviated a little and lead myself astray by mixing with some Bad Folk. Let us not tread those waters.

But at eleven, I prayed for him. So weird.

Seven years later, though, I married him. I guess prayers are answered. I married him after only four or five dates. That is weird. But I so wanted to. And I still want to. And I would do it all over again and get really excited to.

I have also never told anybody this. I fear I will appear a fool.

If I ever get to be old, I want to be old with my husband. I want to sit on a bench and stare as the world rumbles by. I believe it will be rumbling by then, not screeching as it is now. My hearing shan’t be as clear as it is now so that might contribute to the rumble.

Who knows.

All I know is that we are here on earth, and earth is fleeting. The people we meet and live with and accompany will leave us, will die, will be separated from us.  All I know is that we are still whole, with or without our loved ones, and that one can love wholly and completely without giving a piece of oneself away.

And that is what I am trying to do.


I didn’t SORN my car.

I only have forty minutes left to do something productive. Writing this blog post is as productive a thing as any, eh?

In four days it will have been an entire month since I have left work. I have not done much since then. I have slept a lot and have vamped up my fitness regimen, but I still haven’t pumped my bike wheels (I keep leaving the pump at my mum’s house which is two hours away) and I still haven’t joined the gym. I wrote 5600 words in my ‘novel’ and I baked plenty. I also applied to plenty of jobs but nobody is hiring so I will inevitably have to wait forever and just keep trying.

I am being extortionately lazy and unproductive.

It’s becoming a little desperate.

I put off SORNing my car for so LONG that now I have to pay £50 in addition to filling out the SORN form. My front tyre is BUST and I can’t pump it up because there is no petrol in it and it is not insured so if I am caught driving it (which I can’t because the TYRE IS BUST) I will be fined £1000. Also have six points taken off my license, right? Oh I don’t know. Bad things will happen.

I kind wanna blame my husband, though? Even though it’s my car?

Listen, before you get all angry and het up about my ‘men-mysogyny’, here is why:

  1. He forced me to cancel my insurance because he was going to insure me on his car.
  2. He decided he didn’t want to insure me on his car, and refused to let me drive my own car home saying it’s too dangerous since I have only done motorways thrice.
  3. I had no car so I gave him two options, 1. either sell my car or, 2. let me pay for insurance and just drive home.
  4. He said he would sell it, but failed to do so.
  5. He said I shouldn’t insure it because he was selling it, BUT HE DID NOT SELL IT. So I didn’t SORN it thinking it would be sold. BUT IT WAS NOT.
  6. It is all his fault

Now he will be mad at the fine because it was my responsibility to declare my car off road (SORN) but HOW COULD I DO THAT WHEN HE SAID HE WAS SELLING IT?

See? So confusing.

Here is what I will inevitably have to do:

  1. SORN my car.
  2. Pay the damn fine.
  3. Smile at my husband  and pretend it was not his fault. Also don’t tell him because he will have a fit. EVEN THOUGH IT IS HIS FAULT.
  4. Sell my own goddamn car regardless of my husband’s controlling protests about my incapability to do it to his standard of perfection *rolls eyes*.
  5. Buy a better car and refuse to listen to my husband’s protests about insuring me on his car (Which he won’t do because he doesn’t trust his WIFE with his PRECIOUS). *ROLLS EYES HARD*
  6. Feel relieved that I now have my own car and don’t need to keep wasting money I am no longer earning on those damn trains.

My Boss

So I had an awful spat with my boss.

It all started around a few weeks after we started working together. Previously we were mere colleagues who rarely saw each other, but with a sudden change in management she was put in charge of me. She had more experience in the teaching profession, but none in the subject we were teaching. I know how to speak the language and have been speaking it and also studying it from birth; she doesn’t.

She didn’t delegate, she micromanaged, she was negative about everybody and continuously found fault with other staff members. She had some excellent attributes but I just don’t like her anymore.

Her teaching methods were based on somebody who was speaking first language english, not second language Arabic. So I disagreed with her. She kept putting phrases in like ‘research shows certain things’ despite the fact that this research was not conducted on the subject we are teaching.

She said “I am afraid I will have to put my foot down.” when I suggested a change in the syllabus she had drafted up because it really was pointless. She kept arguing that it was what the management wanted regardless of the fact that the management had said nothing on the matter and have no expertise. In fact I am the only one with expertise on the subject but God forbid I put anything forward and have it accepted.

I felt resentful because I am parrot teaching children vocabulary so old that they will never use it, when I know better ways to teach them a language I grew up with and she knows nothing about.

Still, I bit my tongue. I held it in. I let it slide.

I let a lot of things slide. Time passed and I moved to another city, which meant a three hour commute to work and giving up my car. This made my journey harder, so I quit. I gave in my six week notice.

I told the management why I was quitting, and that there would be times when I would have to be late but I would always let them know prior to my arrival when I would be late. They said this was okay.

More time passed, and my boss started driving me nuts. She was so uptight and nitpicky about everything I did. I would come in saying ‘Oh that was a wonderful lesson we really made progress-” and then I would go on to detail why. She would frown and say, ‘hmmm, Lenora, I think you’re not allowed to do that. Ofstead want to see paperwork etc.”

Which, fair enough, might be true, but teaching is not about what a teaching board will say about how much paperwork your students do. My students are learning, their grades show as much. They are also steadily improving, and I have had good reports from plenty of other staff/teachers about my methods.

I just feel like if something is positive, need it be draped with so much ‘red tape’? Can it not be recognised as such?

Anyway, as time passed these little nuances of hers started really grinding on me, making me more and more annoyed. So I started keeping my distance, being as polite as I could but refraining from being too friendly.

So I gave in my six week notice but am staying an extra week because they really needed me. I agreed to help them out. I was under no obligation to do so. Also, other teachers have quit and they were allowed to leave without giving any six week notice; I felt that was extremely unfair. But, I wanted to help out.

Anyway, with this exhausting commute, arriving at work at the contracted hour was proving harder and harder. Train times were not always perfect and I relied on somebody to give me a lift in the mornings because of my heavy bags; walking for 30 minutes in the freezing cold with heavy bags after travelling three hours since 4am was just too difficult, and no job is worth that much pain. So I kept letting my boss know beforehand if I was going to arrive late.

I am ALWAYS there fifteen minutes before teaching actually begins. I am NEVER late for my students. Contracted hours begin 30 minutes before the first lesson.

She would always look at me and purse her lips when I arrived late even though I always told her I would be arriving late, which would annoy me. And it was only 5-10 minutes.

So yesterday I sent a text at 7:50 saying sorry but we have to drop the child to school so we will be late; (we have started to do this and it has affected the leaving time). She sent a text back saying:

Although I empathise with your predicament, we still need you here at the agreed time. This is the third time in two weeks and it will now need to be escalated.

This text was sent knowing that I am LEAVING in five days. Also knowing I caught two trains and two buses and have been travelling three hours to get here, to help THEM out, even though I did not need to do this and could legally have just left.

I was very annoyed.

Ok. No problem.’

I replied,

Please let me know when and with whom.

She did not reply. So when I saw her I asked her when this would be escalated (I AM LEAVING IN FIVE DAYS, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? WHY ARE YOU SO PETTY?).

She said she had reported it to management (it’s done, see?) and I would have to wait and see what they say, that they would ‘be in touch.’

I told her that I was disappointed that she had reported me, given that I had already explained to them that I would be late and I would always let them know prior. I explained that I am leaving so how can this be escalated.

I even added, ‘Will they fire me?’

She said, ‘I don’t know, we will have to see.’

How malicious is that? When somebody has already quit and is doing YOU  a favour by staying extra, how the heck does it make sense that you ‘report’ them and ‘escalate’ matters?!

She said she did not like my tone. I was not shouting, but she just didn’t like the fact that I called her bluff. How the fudge nugget are you going to escalate things if I won’t be here? What you going to do, fire me?

She is a control freak and didn’t like knowing that I was ‘getting away’ with it, in her books. Which is stupid because I had already EXPLAINED WHY I WOULD BE LATE SOMETIMES SIX WEEKS PRIOR TO THIS.

This woman made me so mad. She then rushed to the head to tell him what happened; and literally ran back to tell me he wanted to see me. AFTER she already reported the issue? Clearly wanted to get dibs on his favour. She was smirking too, which really grated on me. She was also panting, because of all that self righteous running.

He didn’t penalise me, by the way. He was very diplomatic and nice about it. He explained that he didn’t want my last week at work to be negative, and that the welfare of the staff is of equal importance as the welfare of the students.

He did not ‘escalate’ matters. He did not say anything about that at all.

I just. WHY. Why would you ‘REPORT’ me when I am leaving?! I mean, I didn’t get into trouble but it is the PRINCIPLE of the matter.

She basically ruined my last week at this school. I love this school, I love the kids, I love the staff. But my last week feels negative and miserable because of her backstabbing goody-two-shoes Miss perfect attitude. She can do no wrong but everybody else is incompetent. I just really don’t want to go in in the mornings. I never felt like this before. My memories feel tainted now.

RESEARCH SHOWS this, people. RESEARCH SHOWS THIS. Never mind what bloody research shows it. If I hear ‘research shows’ one more time I am slamming my head against the wall. In fact, no. I will say, ‘What research, exactly?’ and smile at her. Because you can’t keep quoting research without referencing said research properly, otherwise it’s just bullshit. And she won’t be able to ref the research because a. it probably doesn’t exist and b. it is not related to our subject matter.

I hate school now because of her. She has made it nasty and uncomfortable. And if I get a crap reference this travelling will not have been worth it.

The End.


So No One Told Me Life Would Be This Way

I know it’s a comedy, but you know what REALLY annoyed me about Friends season 1 episode 2, when Ross, his ex wife and her girlfriend were at the first baby scan!?!?

It made me so MAD.

It was the fact that his ex wife and her girlfriend had already talked about baby names, and decided that the baby was to be called ‘Willeck-Bunch’ after the two mothers… despite the fact that the ex wife became pregnant WITH ROSS’s BABY, and the baby was not planned with or had anything to do with friction Susan!!

And Ross was just there stuttering and making agreements and Susan acted like she had a SAY in the whole matter?!

She didn’t, and it made me so angry to see her there so entitled like she did have a say. Susan is the OTHER WOMAN. Ross’s ex wife CHEATED ON HIM with Susan, and just because she is a lesbian does not make it okay. Why should SUSAN’S name be part of the child’s name?

Okay, maybe she will have a big hand in bringing the kid up, but still. Come ON.

If I was Ross, and my wife cheated on me with another woman, then told me she was pregnant with my kid, I wouldn’t want the other woman to have a say in the kid’s name or the kid’s life. I wouldn’t!

It’s not petty, is it?

Anyway. That made me mad.



*roars internally*

I am pissed off at my husband because he is a grown ass man who doesn’t know how to take care of himself and HE IS PISSING ME OFF BECAUSE WHAT TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD MAN DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO FRY AN EGG.

It is not like he gets along fine.

He does not. He will starve (literally) or eat packets of crisps. Every single day. For weeks.

Why am I bothering to be angry.

Then he has the audacity to be mad at me for getting mad because I care.

Why do I bother caring. Why am I so angry about this.


I mean, alright, you don’t know how to cook and nor do you care for cooking, that’s fine. It isn’t for everybody. BUT CRISPS!? REALLY!? At least buy salad or a healthy takeaway. At the very least. Or even instant noodles with frozen veggies thrown in. Or a healthy ready-made microwave meal.

Also, why do mothers encourage such ridiculous behaviour. Or excuse it and laugh it off or get offended when I mention how ridiculous it is. OFFENDED? REALLY? I refuse to worry about what he is EATING when he is away from me. He is not TWO.



There. That’s out of my system.

Ugh. I love that guy to a thousand pieces but sometimes, honestly. I will probably regret this fury later. Or maybe laugh about it in a few years. I hope I can laugh about it. That would be fantastic.

Why is Everybody so Butthurt?

Ohh, blogosphere. This is a terribly controversial subject, but I am here to address it because I have an opinion on it.

So, nowadays, on the internet, there is something called a ‘trigger warning’, that a lot of people get very het up about. This ‘trigger warning’ causes arguments and misery and general unpleasantry.

What is a trigger warning?

It is a warning on any content (especially video content) published on the internet about the contents of said content. It could warn about sexual abuse, self harm, hair pulling, suicide, harassment and a number of other issues that the content may cover. The warning is present to protect the people viewing the content who may be affected by the images or words, especially if they have suffered those issues and don’t want to be reminded of it.

At the surface of it all, it just seems like a genuinely nice thing to do. Oh, hey, I am posting a video that contains some imagery of self harm, so beware if that sort of thing ‘triggers’ you.

Triggers you?

You know, gives you a panic attack or makes you spasm or makes you feel sad or depressed or triggers a bipolar or schizophrenic or psychotic episode.

I am not being sarcastic, honest. I do know that a lot of people suffer with these things. Why do you think they have warnings before a movie if there are flashing lights? To prevent epileptic episodes in people who are epileptically prone. That is important, of course. It’s important for people who are truly mentally ill.

But I am talking about triggers for things that would probably cause mild discomfort at best, exaggerated wildly by some bored teen with large opinions on feelings sitting comfortably behind their laptop. What. So now EVERYBODY has ‘severe anxiety’?

It may also be true that there are plenty of people out there who like to seek attention by complaining in the comments of videos that they were ‘triggered’ and telling the video makers off for making the video. Some of them, especially the younger and more impressionable ones, write that they are shaking and feeling terrible because of the video and shame on the video makers for not putting a trigger warning on it.

Then you have the angry realist army marching in with comments like, ‘there is no trigger warning in the real world.’

Which may sound a liiiiitle harsh, but to be honest, there is a sound point there.

There ARE no trigger warnings in real life. Controversial, painful, hurtful, cruel things happen in the real world on a daily basis, and going around with your eyes shut, shouting, ‘TRIGGER WARNING’ is childish at best.

Making videos to spread awareness of abuse and suicide is helpful to the population. Sharing experiences allows other people to recognise when they are in danger, and to know they are not alone. However, when does it become too much? Too much angst, too much feeling sharing, too much irrelevant anger and regurgitating the past over and over again, complaining about being triggered, arguing about triggers, telling everybody off on camera for not putting trigger warnings on their material.

If we all put trigger warnings on material, I am sure, in order to cover all the triggers out there, we would fill an entire page. Which is just impractical. People need to deal with their triggers and realise that the world is not going to be a safe place, ever. You need to make it safe, you need to do your bit, and you need to help yourself. Strangers on the street are, sadly, not going to help you.

When I was a young and impressionable girl, I allowed a much older man to manipulate me, rape me, convince me of unimaginable things, lower my self esteem, and make me feel pathetic and horrible. I was immensely depressed. I thought that was ‘love’. However, I escaped his evil clutches, and yeah, sometimes, when I see a video or read a book, I am severely reminded of what happened and it is certainly not pleasant. Despite this, however, I don’t think it is necessary for people who write about sexual abuse, or make videos about it, to put a ‘TRIGGER WARNING’ so I can be spared some depression.

If I lived my life afraid of being ‘triggered’, if I went around shouting at people who didn’t make sure I wasn’t ‘triggered’, I would be in a sorry state of affairs. In fact, I would probably be a mental cripple.

The point is, there ARE no trigger warnings in the real world. People have to deal with their issues, and get on with it. And it may be harder for some than for others, but we have to understand that this world is vast, and cruel, and harsh. And not everybody will bow down and respect your broken feelings. In fact, they may make them worse.

It’s a Tumblr generation thing, to find everybody and everything so problematic. It’s a self righteous, butthurt attitude spawned by teenagers, taken on by tweens, and spread around the world because teens now have a platform on which to vent their feelings. Which is fantastic, of course, but it causes a lot of problems.

Five, six years down the line they will step back and realise that perhaps they were being a little too het up about it all. Or maybe, as it becoming increasingly apparent, this attitude will be enforced by others, creating a generation of weak little weevils, too afraid to step out their front doors for fear of being ‘triggered’. The world owes you nothing. You are not special. There are millions out there suffering worse things and are not ‘warned’ before a gun explodes in their small little faces. Grow the heck up. I’m sorry.

People need to grow up.

And, I guess, life is about learning to deal with that, and sticking to the nicer people who lift you up instead of put you down.


The Darker Side of Parents.

Because I tutor children, there are some things I have realised about different mothers (who are generally the primary dealers with me).

The main thing, of course, is that they do like to talk about their kids. The thing is, you see, I really am not interested in what Aaron ate for lunch last night, or how late Peter went to bed (theoretical names).

I genuinely DO NOT CARE. I care how much your son knows or if your daughter has done her homework, but all those little details about how good they are… I don’t care.

A mother’s opinion is highly subjective, of course. I know lots of mothers who take it too far. For example, my mother in law, doesn’t like it when anybody else highlights anything bad about her kids even though some of them are right brats. RIGHT brats, I tell you, and it really annoys me. They aren’t perfect just because you birthed them, you know. And they genuinely are horrible and mean, e.g. one of my bro in laws is pretty mean to my little brother so my mum doesn’t want them to mix as much.

Even with D, if I say something, even if its so small like ‘Oh, D couldn’t cook to save his life’ (because I always cook and a girl gets sick of that you know? And he can’t cook but you could darn well learn to, even if you hate it, and help your wife out a little. He acts like such a baby when it comes to cooking I swear) she will say ‘awww but he’s my baby, he’s such a good boy, his heart is in the right place.’

Um, I’m married to him, I know how he treats me sometimes, it’s like he is a massive child and it’s because he is constantly coddled. I won’t mother him. And I will secretly really seethe when you coddle him and treat him like a child, because that just makes him act like one with me and lately, after living here for a good four months now, it’s getting worse. Gah. I need to move out already.

Anyway, so some mothers like to say how good their kids are and how well-behaved etc etc… BUT I REALLY REALLY DON’T CARE.

I will be the judge of that, thank you, based on how they behave with me. A lot of mothers just can’t accept that their son back talked me or their daughter keeps disrupting the class.

‘Oh but he’s such a good boy he can’t….’

He jolly well can and if you aren’t going to take responsibility he will grow up an arrogant fool and nobody will like him.

For example, a student was late for his lesson and his mother texted that he couldn’t wake up, and it’s fine, of course, sometimes people can’t wake up because they need the extra sleep. So I said,

‘Ok, that’s fine. We can resume next lesson.’

There. End of.

But then she goes on to say, ‘Andrew wakes up at night, he struggles to wake up, and he has poorer health than others. He ate cereal last night and it didn’t agree with him, I think it’s the milk, maybe I should start giving him fruit if he wakes up hungry.’ [this is the literal text, by the way]…. ON and ON and ON.

I get that you want me to understand that he isn’t being spoiled and there is a genuine reason for his tiredness, but spare me all the details.

I really don’t care, lady. It irritates me because then I have to REPLY to it, and I really don’t want to because I didn’t want to know the details about Andrew anyway. He is so rude to me, honestly, and gets really pissy when I correct him, even though it’s my job to, and when I try to explain to him where he went wrong he just grunts at me. Which is rude for a 12 year old boy. But his mother brushes it off saying his cereal put him in a bad mood, or ‘he takes his study so seriously and gets really upset when he gets it wrong.’

Son, you are going to get it wrong plenty of times so learn to deal with it and move on. So I roll with it and smile and nod and say ‘good job’ while inside I am just really wishing I could tell him to stop whining and get on with it.

She also has to bribe him to have lessons, by promising him sweets. Makes my blood boil. She is basically bending over backwards to make him out to be this angel when really he is disrespectful and is too big for his boots, and needs a slap.

Some mothers think that other people have no right to say their kid has done wrong, even if said other person is dealing with their kid for hours and hours a day, even if said person is MARRIED to their kid. No, only you can decide if your kid is being naughty. I think that is very wrong.

My mum’s friend told me she saw that her daughter was being told off by her class teacher at school and suddenly she was gripped with this rush of anger making her hurdle down the stairs so fast to intercept it.

What? I said, But surely the teacher has a right to do that? How else will the teacher maintain discipline in the class?

The lady wasn’t having any of it, though.

Oh no. Not to my baby. She’s an angel, she would never do anything naughty, nobody else can tell her off but me!

I really, really have had it this morning. It’s a combination of lack of sleep, D acting like a big child and being moody with me (because, I dunno, my hair’s a mess?), his whole family in the room last night at 10pm when I just wanted to go to bed because I have been awake since 5:45am and need to get up at 5:45am again tomorrow, and my head pounding like a thousand Thor hammers creating a racket in there, but no, they can sit around and chill while I am blatantly waiting to sleep, his mother babying him (if I hear one more ‘awww my baby’ I will explode!), and all these mothers making excuses for their rude little children.

If I spoke to my teacher like that (I wouldn’t dare to, out of respect), my mother would nip that in the bud quicker than I could blink. She would march me over there and make me apologise, and forget watching movies or having treats for a good week (which is AGES in child time).

Well. Who knows what I will be like when I am a mother. Hopefully I will be sensible and recognise when my child has done wrong, rather than make them think they are angels walking on this earth.


The Naughty Boy – George Bernard O’Neill

Hey Jude

By the Beatles.

Is one of my favourite songs. It’s soft, and subtle, and sweet. It reminds me of cycling along stretches of country road, as the summer wastes away into autumn, as the breeze is not so cold yet, nor warm enough for bare arms. It reminds me of tight black jeans, a blazer thrown on top, hair long and tightly knotted at the back, pristine for an interview. It reminds me of the tunnel to escape. Not long now. A week or two, I’m out of his clutches. It gives me a heartache, but not an unpleasant heartache.

Oh yes, it’s called nostalgia.

It reminds me of people I used to know, friends I used to have, could have beens.

It reminds me of my old self.

Maybe I was more happy, bubbly, bright. Maybe I was more interesting. Maybe I didn’t make it so bad, I took a sad song and made it better.

I did, though. I took all the sad songs and smiled through them as I sang along, cycling up hills and down hills and through fields of cotton and thistle. It was my cycling song. Through the sun and rain, panting, red, hot and happy.

Hey, Juude

Don’t make it bad

Take a sad song, and make it better


To let her into your heart

Then you can staa-art

To make it better

That was my happy song. Now I don’t have a happy song anymore. My bike gets left for months, whereas before we were together everyday, exploring the suburbs, going further and further. My painting is cold. My journeys are less. My social interaction has stopped. I am like an old and battered train slowing to a halt.

I shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t be feeling heavy because my husband doesn’t appreciate me. I shouldn’t be trudging daily in the same old boring routine. I shouldn’t be settled.

I am not settled. I am married, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to be settled. I realise now that everybody reckons I need to be settled. They don’t understand my need to escape and be free. With or without my moody husband. He can come along if he promises not to be such an adult about things. And not expect me to be the adult. If his mother doesn’t expect me to mother him, and make sure he’s eaten and rested. He can do that for himself. And not to think bad of me if I don’t do that. Because I don’t need to. He relies on it now. He expects it. What started as a kindness on my part has turned into a drudgery.

And sometimes I am reproved for not doing it. For not putting his clothes away. I know, he works hard. I KNOW. I didn’t agree to living in a tiny room where I must keep all my possessions that were once in a big house in order. It’s hard to do that when you have one chest of drawers between you. I know, there is always a solution. I KNOW THIS. BUT MAYBE I DON’T WANT TO FIND THE SOLUTION. I DON’T WANT TO ALWAYS TIDY UP AFTER YOU, AND LISTEN TO YOU COMPLAINING ABOUT ALL THE TINY DETAILS.








Well neither did I, Damian. But I am. I am putting up with it because I love you. Sometimes it’s hard to show it. It’s hard to love a man who only sees what he wants to see and calls his wife clumsy. IT’S HARD. BUT I DO IT. SO STOP TELLING ME YOU LOVE ME AND START SACRIFICING AND ACTING LIKE IT.

Maybe I married a child. Sometimes it feels like that.

I didn’t agree to this. I demanded we get our own place. I didn’t agree to move willy nilly depending on his job. Yes he is the main breadwinner, and I.. don’t… know.. why.. I agreed to that.

I guess I just want to experience my age. And I am not doing that right now. I feel like I am somebody’s mother. I feel like I am being controlled by another mother. Do this, go here. Oh, you’re back at 9pm, isn’t that late? Did your mother tell you off? No she didn’t, but you sure want to.

I want to be out till late. I love being out till late. Is it unsafe? Maybe, but I can’t live my life in constant fear and protection. I will not be cotton woolled.

I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t want to feel guilty because I woke up at eleven in the morning on a Sunday. I don’t want to feel bad because I didn’t get to clean the bathroom in time before my MIL cleaned it. Every scrape of the brush on the floor sounds accusing to me. I don’t want to have to think about my every move, every word I say. I don’t want to live under somebody else’s roof and I DON’T want to order my shopping on your online shop!!! I know this sounds plaintive and petty, but my goodness, I just wanted to cycle to ASDA and get my own things. I know you meant well, but insisting that I do it online with your shop just makes me feel controlled and not free.

My chest is tight, my thoughts are cold, I feel annoyed and closed in. So closed in.

I know they care. I know they want the best for me. I know I am part of their family now.






My husband is being a cold fish to me.

He wasn’t always like this, folks. I know what he is truly like. But hard times are pressing on both of us, and he always comes out worse for the wear. I smile through it. Sometimes I have a cry, and then I get on with it. I try to make jokes. Make a funny. Smile, give kisses, cheer myself up by doing impressions. But not he. He withdraws into himself, and becomes moody and selfish.

So I am getting in my car, and driving three hours to the beach, and spending the day there. I will walk for miles, I will feel the wind on my face, I will shiver with cold, I will breathe. Then I will decide what I want to do with my life, and I will do it.



On Friendship and Betrayal.

I’m ticked off.

I know, it’s Tuesday morning. Surely I would have more positive things to write about. But no, I’m annoyed, and this is my rant.

So I have a ‘friend’ who I used to be pretty close to up until recently when she stopped returning my calls and texts and was being just plain rude. I didn’t confront her about it because I know she can get lazy with things and plus I secretly knew why.

You see this friend doesn’t like my mother in law or my in laws in general. When she found out I was going to marry D she was incredulous and said, “But isn’t he pious!?”

I admit I laughed in her face because D is anything but pious, not that there is anything wrong with being pious but she knows me and I can’t stand ‘piety’ because ‘piety’ means hypocrisy where we come from. But she didn’t know D like I did, and so was going by what she assumed.

But there you see that’s where it all began. She (let’s call her Madam S) was already judging. She was judging my Significant Other without even knowing him. She reckons my mother in law is judgy and that is why she doesn’t want to associate with her, which is all very well, but now she doesn’t want to associate with me because I am now part of my MIL’s family, so therefore I must be ‘judgy’ by association.

I’m sorry but that just isn’t fair. It’s judgemental to assume somebody is ‘judgy’ without giving that person a chance. She hasn’t given me a single fudging chance. Not one. She assumes things about me, and talks to another ‘friend’ of ours who is also hating on my MIL, about my MIL, and this makes her assume things about me meaning she no longer ‘trusts’ me.

Now my MIL is a lovely, well intentioned lady who always tries to be as good as she can and as kind as she can to others. Sometimes this can be overbearing, and sometimes people can get the wrong end of the stick. I mean, I used to as well. But I’ve lived with her now and I know she only means well. When it gets too much for me I have a little moan and get on with it, because she is my family and the mother of the love of my life. She does care about me, a lot, and is always making sure I am happy and comfortable, which I think is lovely. Others don’t know that, but they are exaggerating things that have happened and are going around saying horrible things which are only falling back on me, because I am now part of that family. Also it is insensitive to talk about others when you really don’t know the full picture. It is inconsiderate and not very wise.

For example when one of our mutual family friends was divorcing her husband, my MIL may have said something along the lines of ‘You should be sure you are making the right decision because of your kids etc’. Now that lady’s daughter is telling Madam S that my MIL ‘blamed’ the divorce on her mother (the lady who is getting divorced). Which isn’t true at all, and a slanderous accusation based on presumption, not fact.

The girls who are saying those things are girls like me, in their twenties; impressionable young ladies who generally like to make mountains out of molehills. Yes, I make mountains out of molehills. I can be selfish sometimes, I can be moany and irritating. I admit it, but I also give people the benefit of the doubt!

Some of them have gone through some rough patches, like parents getting bad divorces and family members having nervous breakdowns, so naturally they will lash out at small things and get the wrong end of the stick.

But this Madam S who used to be one of my best friends is being, I am sorry to say, a little bitch. She KNOWS me. So if she doesn’t want to associate with me purely because of assumption then I am sorry, I have better things to worry about.

I have run after her enough times, suggesting outings for us and inviting her to places and calling her and asking about her health and even telling her a hilarious story about wonky boobs which she replied to but then nothing. Silence. Blank space. Nada. Zilch.

So I am done. I think she needs to grow up.

And if she calls me or texts me you can bet your life I am not replying. I am too hurt, and I think she doesn’t deserve my friendship.

So, dear reader, if you have made it this far, what are your thoughts? Have you had a friend betray you before? How did you deal with it?


“Happy Birthday Rihanna: See her best ever looks”

Now I am no fan of Rihanna. Don’t get me wrong, she does have talent; her voice is deep and powerful and her tune is pleasing. However she just doesn’t do it for me musically. I don’t like the content of her songs, and the themes she alludes to. I am not comfortable to listen to what she has to say, it doesn’t fit in with my moral standards and it depresses me. There.

However, all that doesn’t deny the fact that she is successful and she must have got there due to both talent and hard work, which is admirable to say the least. So, in commemrotating her birthday, why does MSN feel the need to celebrate this woman by highlighting all the times she looked her best?

Here is the article, if you can call it that:


Surely they would celebrate a famous singer’s birthday by listing their most successful albums, or the times they reached a new level in their ascending career? By talking about the hard work and effort they put in, to achieve success at a young age? There is no denying that Rihanna is a beautiful woman, but really, is she only to be characterised by her stunning looks? Are her ‘best looks’ the only thing she has achieved in all her years as a famous celebrity?

People could argue this until they are hoarse but it doesn’t diminish the fact that by honing in on somebody’s looks, the media and its followers are making society more shallow and materialistic by the day. They are making it clear to the younger generations that Rihanna’s ‘best looks’ are what is important in this picture, not the fact that she worked her ass off and probably didn’t have it all handed to her, that she seized opportunities and put herself out there, and pushed for what she got. In this world of immediate gratification it is easy for a young person to think that they can judge somebody so easily based on what they look like or how they dress. It signifies that this is okay.

I know it’s the norm for some news outlets to publish these things, but because these types of articles are so numerous (it doesn’t take that much brain power to come up with a slideshow which focuses on a woman’s outfits – you can get all you need from google images!) and scattered all over the internet and are therefore so accessible to people nowadays (I saw this article when I logged out of my hotmail account!), it’s definitely going to be seen by a lot of impressionable people and contribute to making our society more empty and shallow than it already is.

This isn’t even journalism. This is an excuse to scrutinise another person by her physical accomplishments, rather than her hard work and effort to maintain her success. This is superficial bullcrap.