29th November, 2007 (2:45 pm)
The Bit With the Walking Cliche (6)
I met a walking cliche today.
The woman sitting before me in an education conference had suede patches on the elbows of her jacket. Yeah. Seriously. Hasn’t she heard of a stereotype? And as if that weren’t bad enough, the jacket was sky blue and the patches brown. I shit you not.
It takes some balls to wear a jacket that hideous.
Comments: (6)
25th November, 2007 (7:29 pm)
Note to Self #23 (5)
Notice that your sciatica’s come back? And your skin is getting dry? And that you can’t focus properly after only a couple of drinks? That’s nature’s way of telling you to SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, you silly mare. You are too old for this hectic a social life; now act your age and have an early night.
Comments: (5)
23rd November, 2007 (10:18 am)
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18th November, 2007 (12:30 pm)
The Day With All The Partying (10)
I’m going out tonight for the third night in a row. I’ve done dancing and eating and flirting and drinking and talking and then a little more drinking. It’s been awesome in a Oh-My-God, I’m-Too-Old, Christ-This-Is-Expensive, My-Knees-Can’t-Take-It kind of way and I’ve spent the weekend feeling magnificently beautiful, for once having the clothes and the hair and the make-up all coming together in a big cosmic explosion of Rightness. Trust me, that doesn’t happen all that much in Vixxsville and it’s an odd sensation, confidence. I don’t have all that much experience of it. It’s kinda nice.
Comments: (10)
11th November, 2007 (1:39 pm)
The Day It Was Armistice Day (3)
This morning at 11am, I asked S to stop what he was doing in order to honour the two minutes silence for Armistice Day.
Following a discussion earlier in the week about why I was wearing a red flower on my coat, he was aware that it was a ’special day’, and that we needed to be really, really quiet in order to think about the people who died fighting to make where we live safer. It was heavy stuff, and honestly not something I’d ever expected to have to explain to a little person, but S has an almost insatiable need to know how things work and why things happen, and I refuse to be one of those parents that creates stories and fabrications to shelter their kids from the truth. He already has (albeit tenuous) concepts of life and death and because he’s my son (and inevitably wired the wrong way) he fired off an assault of questions about war and fighting - fighting that - shock - didn’t even involve Spiderman - after which we sat for in excess of fifteen minutes (a long time when you’re four-years-old), talking about the wars, past and present, and why it was very, very important that we didn’t let ourselves forget the sacrifices people like Great-Grandad had made, and continue to make, for us.
He told me that he loved the people who had died to make us safe. And then I realised that I possibly have the most socially-aware four year old on the planet.
He’s going to hate my guts when he grows up.
Comments: (3)
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