tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82066257384234452492024-03-14T14:52:21.105+00:00I miss 1985Getting dumped and then getting a life.Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-16604229384874693252011-02-14T23:04:00.003+00:002011-02-14T23:09:18.252+00:00Say it with....Go outside now.<br /><br />Find a big rock, preferably a cold, hard one with unappetising facets. A rock that is an uncomfortable and unprepossessing shape.<br /><br />That rock is definitely going to be warmer and more cuddly than me. Significantly warmer and cuddlier.<br /><br />Today is Valentine's Day and I have not got a single quantum quark of romance about me. I have never been arsed with the nonsense that is Valentine's Day and I'm not about to change now.<br /><br />My boyfriend turned up with a thoughtful card and a special note inside.<br /><br />My card to him said 'Happy non-specific day in the middle of February'.<br /><br />Sometimes I'm a bit of a shitbag.Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-17248642484246939202010-09-12T11:23:00.008+01:002010-09-12T11:54:46.065+01:00The psychological is the politicalIn my teaching job I've just started to teach A level Psychology which has required me to start studying Psychology for the first time. My first lesson was on evolutionary theories in Psychology and that all population-wide behaviours in humanity are adaptive; i.e. that they helped us survive in the Stone Age, get with more hot Stone age dudes and have more babies, passing our adaptive genes and behaviours on to them. Sorry for lifting that wording straight from 'On the Origin of Species'.<br /><br />It's made me think hard about choices in this society and what we consider as normal and abnormal. Firstly, relationships. The received wisdom is that you get married for life and that separation or divorce is an aberration from the norm. However, historically people simply didn't live as long as us,life was brutal, work hard, disease rife, hunger ever-present, quite apart from the likelihood of dying in childbirth. We have an assumption that we are marrying for life, but that 'life' is far far far longer than any human population before us. So maybe a behaviour like Judaeo-Christian marriage that was born out of late Iron Age requirements to pair up for mutual survival is a ridiculous strategy in a world where you could be together for upwards of fifty years; a lifespan unimaginable at the time the behaviour developed (unless Methuselah was real).<br /><br />This is one of the instinctive feelings I have about marriage. I know my boyfriend's avowed wish is to marry me and I'm totally resolute that I don't want to. Not that I don't love him but that I don't believe in the institution of marriage. I'm happy to commit for seven years or so, which, rather non-scientifically, appears to be the period for which most of my friends' marriages managed to last. But not with a wedding ring on my finger because extricating oneself from a legal marriage is far too long and expensive. If I'm asked, I'm honest. The friends who are getting married soon I wish a lifetime of bliss and marital felicitation to, but wishing that and believing it will happen are rather different things. I just think that what I think is 'I hope you're really happy for about a decade and then move on in a mature and non-acrimonious way if that's what happens'. And, remember, that decade was probably a 'lifetime' in aeons gone by.<br /><br />Due to the improvements in medicine and diet we live longer and so, thankfully, do our children. They are fewer in number and we don't ever imagine the ever-present horror of times gone past that we could lose them. But, I'm assuming that throughout history people ended up bringing children up on their own as a lone parent when disease or famine or war or accident took the other partner away. I know that at the end of World War 1 and World War 2 there would have been thousands and thousands of mothers bringing children up on their own. Bet they weren't called single mothers and treated with contempt. Mr fury was raised by this <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/sep/10/coalition-cuts-poor-tuc">article </a>in the Guardian that said that the cuts will take an average of £1012 per annum away from a couple and £1880 from a lone parent. When I mentioned this on Facebook I got a familiar response about lazy bastards living in their council houses with tonnes of kids and living it up on benefit. I don't doubt they exist but I don't know any lone parents like that. The lone parents I know are like me, Jen, Emma, Zena, Caroline, Kathryn, Claire, Kelli, Teresa, Michelle, Spencer, Debbie, Sarah, Liz, Louisa, Anne, Nadine and Shirley who all work really hard. We hold down jobs and do practically all the childcare bringing up well-balanced and happy kids. At most we have maybe 3 kids. Only of us is on welfare and that person is a PhD who is overqualified for all the jobs she applies for. As lone parents we are due to be punished by an additional £800 being taken from our pockets than couples. We have to support TWO people on ONE salary and more money is being taken from us than couples. This is sold as a crackdown on welfare scroungers. Well, thanks. I work bloody hard. I don't scrounge and I'm being financially punished because my ex scarpered. <br /><br />The answer I am given to understand is that they should 'get a job'. Well, I have one so it's not the greatest answer for me. Also, people fail to see the problems with being a lone parent. Somebody has to look after your child whilst you work. If you are on your own this pool of people is frighteningly limited. You can put them in nursery but you are looking at £800 per month upwards. From studying Psychology I took in Bowlby's theory that attachment between mother and child is very important up to the age of two when the child has an instinctive need to be with the mother for most of their time. Throughout history this was possible: the mother would work with the baby strapped to her. I'd like to see my school's reaction if someone brought their baby with them every day in a papoose. Instead the babies are dumped in daycare where, at best, they are cuddled a couple of times a day. It's brutal and if babies are not securely attached to a person in babyhood it affects their ability to form relationships throughout life. It could be argued that by forcing women out to work by labelling them scroungers you are psychologically damaging their babies for life. Great. If I regret one thing, it's that my son went to nursery as a baby instead of me staying home with him.<br /><br />There's a famous 1970s feminist slogan: 'the personal is the political'. I take the ConDemNation choices as a political campaign that personally harms me. It also psychologically harms me as a lone parent. All of my sorority and brethren are tarred with the 'welfare scrounger' brush despite that practically none of us are. And we are financially punished for transgressing against Stone Age partnership expectations.Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-91621264548300435462010-08-09T23:39:00.001+01:002010-08-10T00:08:52.927+01:00The happiest day of your lifeI got married once, as this blog suggests. And I remember spending months and months obsessively planning for it. Bridal magazines were pored through, colour schemes chosen and important decisions taken on menus and discos and table decorations. At the time the endless chatter about napkins frustrated my (male) colleague so much that he unguardedly said 'fucking weddings!' in the week I wrote the invitations and promptly got himself left off the list.<br /><br />The day dawned and it was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. And it wasn't. I was nervy and difficult with my bridesmaids. And I remember waiting for the meal thinking 'is this it?'. Something was missing in that day and, whilst it was fun, it wasn't the transcendental experience promised. It was just another wedding. Big dress. Bridemaids. Ceremony. Eat. Cut cake. Dance. Eat. Dance. All activities I enjoy but not the life changing experience ushering one into a whole new world that I was promised. The worst thing is, I felt like that at my own wedding. <br /><br />Now, I'm a total snob and refuse to watch soaps or Big Brother and sometimes (shamingly) respond to other people's statuses on Facebook in Latin. So you wouldn't think I'd watch 'Four Weddings' on Living, but I do. I like the predictability of the show which usually has four very different weddings but which usually follow the same formula:<br /><br />Wedding 1 will be phenomenally expensive. The bride will be gorgeous and bitchy in the extreme. Her dress will be practically transparent in the boob region and the size of Rutland in the skirt area. It will sparkle a lot.The wedding will include loads of guests in very bright dresses and a groom who is tanned to a deep mahogany table colour, and insists on taking his top off during the dancing to show his pecs. The other brides will look around in fear because they can't afford to compete. However, they are intrinsically nice girls and score fairly meaning this wedding will win. Despite costing £50,000. And then the horrendous bride and groom will get a free holiday that they blatantly could have afforded themselves.<br /> <br />Wedding 2 will be a Nice but Poor couple from The North. The dress will be cheap, their toddlers will be bridesmaids and the do will be in a pub. The other brides will try hard to say positive things without actually allowing the words 'she deserves a free holiday a lot more than any of the rest of us' out if their mouth. They will, instead, complain about lumpy gravy. As the wedding will be inexpensive it will score lowly for food and overall experience and thus the people who deserve a free holiday won't get one.<br /><br />Wedding 3 will be the comedy Goth wedding. The voiceover will be extremely satirical and never in the least bit patronising i.e. 'hahaha, she got dressed in black and had pumpkins as table decorations. Loser.' This one is doomed. Particularly if the groom looks like a zombie. The other brides will complain that it wasn't 'weddingy' enough even though it was a wedding.<br /> <br />Wedding 4 gets squeezed in at the end and is usually the traditional British wedding. Small service in church. Middle class and faintly mousy bride. Meal somewhere nice. Dancing. This one often scores poorly for 'overall experience' as Bitch with Cash Bride thinks it's too predictable and Goth Bride bemoans the lack of inventiveness as there's no fake blood and the vicar wasn't dressed like a character from Rocky Horror.<br /><br />In the end it's invariably the person I liked least who will win and the sweet, penniless couple never do. But in their final piece to camera every bride says that she believed her wedding was the best and that it was the happiest day of her life.<br /><br />Well, my wedding wasn't. The best day of my life wasn't even the day my son was born because motherhood ain't all it's cracked up to be either. No, it was 5th December 2009 when I took my son to Lapland for the day to see Santa. It was perfect in every way. <br /><br />Having been married once I know the excitement of planning a wedding and being a bride. Some of the people I love best on the planet are doing it next year and I'm really excited for them. I suppose for many people it is the happiest day of their life but I can't believe it would be for me. I've done it once and it wasnt so much that I married the wrong person, more that it was the wrong ceremony for me. This doesn't however stop me considering in idle moments what would happen if I were to go on 'Four Weddings'. My daydream would be to a contestant simply so I could sabotage the scoring and thereby ensure the lovely people who actually deserve a free holiday win it. And then say in my final piece to camera: 'yeah it was ok I suppose, but Lapland was better'. <br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br /><br /><br /><br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-57017813615142759242010-08-01T18:26:00.001+01:002010-08-01T18:26:13.933+01:00I'm not your friend anymoreMy main motivation in life is knowing that, at most, I only have to work eight weeks in a row before I can go on holiday. Most people I know look forward to spending huge chunks of their free time painting their homes a different colour and matching soft furnishings. I march to a different beat and believe it doesn't really matter that my house hasn't been repainted in a decade because I'm basically only ever in it to sleep or to pack for my next trip. This addiction to travel is well served by my parents who live in a stunningly beautiful part of the Algarve and whose views from their balcony are:<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/08/01/1431.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/08/01/s_1431.jpg' border='0' width='280' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />And<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/08/01/1432.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/08/01/s_1432.jpg' border='0' width='280' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />It makes a bit of a change from my house in Leeds, where my front room looks on to a wall of leilandi and from my attic eyrie I have an unparalleled view of a gas holder. <br /><br />I also love coming here as it gives me a yardstick to measure my son's life by. Last summer he was just starting to swim and in deep dread of the deep end. This year he can snorkel and throws himself in the deep end with wild abandon. Last year he was too shy to play with other kids, now he has spent the afternoon splashing and screaming with other boys.<br /><br />Well, until a new 'friend' turned around and informed him 'I don't want to be your friend anymore'. He was just devastated as I think this might be his first experience of those poisonous words. He was very tearful and wanted to leave the pool for the sanctuary of Nana's sofa and CBBC. He's very sad because he doesn't think he's done anything wrong. We've all told him that tomorrow it'll all be forgotten and they'll play together happily. But right now he's feeling rejected and dejected.<br /><br />As the days tick forward to my decree absolute and my divorce becoming final I can understand his feelings only too well. I remember the astounding rejection of being dumped and then the tears. For a while I sat in resentful silence and then was vociferously angry on this blog. But the silence which fell over this blog for months was because I'd stopped feeling hurt and my ex and I are on really good terms. When he came over last week to get me to sign the consent order for the divorce he said "this doesn't mean anything to you, does it?" and I honestly answered that it doesn't. I feel nothing: no relief, no resentment, nothing. It carries no more emotional weight than changing my gas provider. <br /><br />Over two years ago my ex said he didn't want to be my friend anymore. At the time it hurt like hell. But time passed and oddly now we are more friendly than we were for much of our marriage. My son will feel a bit sad tonight until he's eaten a big Sunday roast and had a sleep. And tomorrow he'll be friends again. And I might buy him a huge and fantastic inflatable toy to make him irresistible to other kids at the pool. I think the past few years have taught me you make your own luck. <br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-23036743857981831502010-07-26T18:21:00.001+01:002010-07-26T18:21:28.359+01:00That modern worldHello. I'm blogging from bed on my iPhone which makes me all louche and modern, doesn't it?<br /><br />This weekend marks a year or so since I met my boyfriend. We actually met on the 17th July 2009 but it was a much more important event - the end of term do for the 6 week holidays. And this weekend school broke up for an unacceptably shortened 5 and a half weeks. Having been together a year I felt it time to undertake the most perilous journey a couple can take: a mooch round Ikea on a Saturday. The objective was to get a new bed as we were sleeping in the world's tiniest 'double' with a mattress that was undulating and downright bumpy. We are both 6 foot tall and whenever one of us wriggled in slumber the other's quiet rest was severely compromised. So therefore we went off to Ikea to buy a bed. <br /><br />3 hours and the best part of a grand later we'd chosen and ordered a huge superkingsize bed with memory foam mattress and bought new duvets, pillows, sheets. The whole caboodle. And it was all done without any stropping or sniping or downright arguing in the aisles. He even laughed when 10 minutes drive from the store I 'remembered' that I'd forgotten to buy fitted sheets and had to return (alone. He sensibly went to the pub instead).<br /><br />On Sunday my boyfriend undertook the Herculean task of constructing said massive bed whilst I took my son to a pop festival. And then I came back home to a lovely new bed and a surprisingly unstressed boyfriend. As he said to his parents on Saturday night, we've never argued yet. This is because he's sensible and backs down and I've learnt from my past behaviours to avoid being provoking and not to sweat the small stuff.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/07/26/1101.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/07/26/s_1101.jpg' border='0' width='280' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Today I made another small but significant purchase - a DAB clock radio with two docking stations: one for my iPhone and the other for his iPod. That's very symbolic, isn't it? <br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-45159681621574664642010-06-30T10:00:00.000+01:002010-06-30T10:00:04.817+01:00Cupboards abound in old poemsVelcro Feedback<br />(to her son starting Reception)<br /><br />Forensic examination:<br />What, where, why, when,<br />How, who?<br />Is he happy?<br />Never an answer.<br />Glimpses of a new life:<br />Shards of experience - <br />Assembly (quiet music).<br />I reconstruct from hints:<br />Stickers. And stains.<br />Half-sentences.<br />Velcro is a harvester of<br />All life's business.<br />Dry grass, carpet threads<br />2:43 story time on carpet.<br />New shoes, secretly scuffed.<br />Velcro feedback.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-44280965285392139632010-06-30T09:53:00.000+01:002010-06-30T09:53:00.143+01:00Other poems found in cupboardsClutching on to metal<br />Fingertips gripping,<br />Clinging, the comforting<br />Coolness dissipating into<br />Familiar unwanted warmth.<br />Corners to trap fingers and<br />Resistance of valves.<br /><br />The taste,<br />Testing batteries for charge<br />Hesitancy as you wait<br />For a faint shock but<br />Tasting like an old spoon from<br />Nan's pantry drawer.<br /><br />On playing, the image<br />Of the person now unmelodied<br />Plays in the mind of<br />The listener. Almost beyond<br />Reach. Like a shadow<br />Flitting past a window.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-81815135859653933972010-06-30T09:46:00.001+01:002010-06-30T09:46:00.929+01:00Poems found in cupboardsKatrina Jazz<br /><br />Unable to hear the sea<br />Ever-present, unnoticed<br />Until the deluge.<br />Below the surging brine<br />A disintegration of the American Dream<br />Diluted. Dissolved.<br />What should be a trumpet blare of rejoice<br />Now a Last Post.<br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-69803196183015769182009-11-09T22:08:00.001+00:002009-11-09T22:08:00.159+00:00Let's stay friendsTwo blogs on one night? I'm spoiling you.<br /><br />So, I just got off the phone with my ex as we were supposed to be discussing arrangements for our son's birthday. But he couldn't talk long because he is putting up an exhibition. <br /><br />My ex is an artist and he's had a commission for a big show for 2 weeks. But he hadn't told me. I have to say I felt disappointed because I thought that we had stayed on friendly terms. But apparently not. Whilst I don't expect, or want, an invite to the private viewing I am sad that he didn't tell me at all. We have a shared child and I thought that would mean we would discuss our successes and failures.<br /><br />Apparently not.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-70989899413309088772009-11-09T20:26:00.001+00:002009-11-09T20:26:07.689+00:00Malicious and deliciousMy blog has been rather light on content of late as my steam-powered laptop takes far too much time to fire up and I can obsessively check my Twitter and Facebook from my iPhone. But, until tonight, I had not blogged from it.<br /><br />However, as the ad would have it 'there is an app for that' and so I can tell the world how my world has changed.<br /><br />Firstly, I met my ex's girlfriend. Maybe a year ago I would have been hurt that he left me for her, cos she's short and quite old. But since I am now 4 clothes sizes smaller, in a good job and loved up I kept my feelings under control and warmly shook her hand. Thinking all the while 'nice anorak'. Malicious but delicious.<br /><br />Secondly, I now own my house 100% and am an independent woman. I like the fact that I am beholden to nobody and I have an asset to myself. I am getting divorced in February and I await the opportunity to be truly independent with anticipation. And I am planning a big divorce party to celebrate that phase of my life starting.<br /><br />Finally, I have become aware that a couple of my friends are separating from their husbands. And, whilst I understand the pain and the heartache, I can promise that the grass is greener on the other side.<br /><br />I am unrecognisable as the person who first started this blog. And it's a wonderful feeling.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-65495572417871527792009-10-26T09:14:00.002+00:002009-10-26T09:25:39.312+00:00Smell the flowers while you can<span style="font-family:verdana;">I take certain things for granted. That as soon as term ends I'll be on a plane to somewhere warmer; that I cannot ever tell what mood year 11 will be in; that when I go to sleep, that I will wake up. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">However, on Friday night one of my friends went to sleep and she will never wake up. Aged just 38, with a little baby and a young son she just died in her sleep. She wasn't ill, there was no warning. It is utterly confusing. Her Facebook page is filling up with shocked eulogies saying what an amazing person she was. And she was.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It's at times like this that you take stock. You kiss your child fiercely. You look at old photos. And you look forward. On Saturday I met my ex husband's girlfriend and I was really friendly to her. I bear her no grudges and I have to admit she did me a favour. Maybe a year ago that first meeting would have been more fraught but now I know that life is going on for all of us. And, for me, life is far better now I am single. Today, I am going to smell the flowers whilst I can.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This song is a eulogy for Julie. Bless you.</span><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnXQS6oetQk&feature=fvst">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnXQS6oetQk&feature=fvst</a><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-48287763046010508992009-10-12T21:36:00.002+01:002009-10-12T22:04:55.653+01:00History is not over<span style="font-family:verdana;">Hello, remember me? Single mother. Obsessive. Spends inordinate amounts of time online. Used to have a husband, now has an ex-husband and a boyfriend. Nice to see you again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I was prompted into action by anonymous who asked, perfectly reasonably, whether this blog had ended. Mainly, I suspect, because I haven't written anything for nearly 6 weeks. I'm hoping the answer to that question is no, because I am immensely fond of this blog and like showing off. There are many reasons why I haven't written much recently: I have been busy with an actual human being on many evenings when otherwise I would be home alone loafing about the net, I have had a promotion at work and have been doing actual work, I had the dreaded school inspectors in a couple of weeks ago and I got an iPhone. Now that I have my iPhone I have very little reason to ever fire up my laptop as I can satiate my net addiction with virtually no effort and that gorgeous slidy interface makes typing seem, well, clunky.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But I think there's another reason that I haven't been blogging. And it's that I have something precious with my boyfriend that I worry about analysing. I don't really want him to see our relationship held up to the internet's light and checked for holes and stains. I enjoy the sense of being a new person with him and try not to allow to much of my previous life to sully that. I learnt the hard way with my ex about the dangers of being too upfront about one's past. I think the 'more than Princess Diana, fewer than Madonna' answer is the way to go. Forever my ex was haunted by the spectres of other men who, in his perception, I compared him to. I didn't. Well, not much. Ok, not every day. All right, I did. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">And I do compare my new boyfriend to my ex. There are some similarities: I think people have a type, even if it's unconscious. For example, the first time we woke up together I had a jolt when I looked across and saw my ex-husband's tattoo - they both have the same football club tattooed in the same way on the same shoulder. There are differences: my boyfriend is taller than me and, whilst I didn't acknowledge it, I was self-conscious about being taller than my ex-husband. My boyfriend is part of a huge group of friends and my ex wasn't (this should have been a warning sign...) My boyfriend and I are about the same level of personal attractiveness and according to psychologists this is an important factor in human attraction. Finally, this time I've met someone secure and well-balanced and uncomplicated. And when you've got that you don't want to complicate matters by bleating on about it online.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Whoops, too late.</span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-49490430862993539772009-09-02T21:10:00.002+01:002009-09-02T21:26:34.546+01:00Honesty and Policy<span style="font-family:verdana;">Hello dear readers, you may have felt it possible that I fell off the edge of the planet over the past month and that is why silence has reigned but the simple reason was I fell in love.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Now, at some point in early July I kept remembering Dorothy Parker's words: 'I shudder at the sight of men / I'm sure to fall in love again'. This is exactly what happened to me. I decided to remain a little crystalline single girl and then I went on a date and he kissed me. And at that moment I knew the game was up and I'd fall for him harder than one of those Sudoku quiz thingies on the back of the Guardian. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I am, quite simply, perfectly happy at the moment.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">And so now I hit the quandary. I'm really proud of this blog and my writing. But there's darkness here and echoes of how hard the road had been over the past 18 months. I don't want anything to sully just how wonderful it is to be a semi-new person with a wholly new person. Half of me wants to tell him the address of this blog so he can hear my inner voice and experience this part of me and the other, selfish, part wants to keep it private so that none of the darkness here seeps out and stains my beautiful glowing present. I think of my soul as predominantly my writing voice so keeping it hidden seems somehow mendacious. And I'm an honest and upfront and upright person.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Tread softly, for you tread </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">on my dreams.</span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-46850840918449373052009-08-03T20:28:00.003+01:002009-08-03T20:33:28.332+01:00A poem what I wrote<strong><span style="font-family:verdana;">Escalator, without dog</span></strong><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everywhere there are too many</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">rules.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Dogs must be carried on the escalator.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But what,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I think,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Do I do?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I don't have a dog:</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Must I use the stairs?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You must not chew or</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">spit or heavy pet</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Divebombing is out</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Luggage must be attended.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">No entry. No U-turns.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This way only.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And then there are the other rules -</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Unsigned, unlaminated</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">But coldly enforced.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not too fast, not yet</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not on the first date.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not if she's older</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Not if he's younger</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Be careful, be prudent</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Wait a month at least.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Well I don't have a dog to carry on the escalator.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Unleashed</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I choose my own rules</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My own timescales</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And, to be honest,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Fate rules me</span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-32121986405324003912009-07-26T09:28:00.003+01:002009-07-26T09:36:31.949+01:00First the promotion, now....<span style="font-family:verdana;">Ok, I've discovered that saying you don't want a promotion and that being single is perfect with you will result in two things: getting your perfect job and meeting a lovely boy. I am, I think, in the process of becoming un-single, even though it's only been a week. The reason I think this is that I'm writing poems again.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br />Wikipedia needs to redefine 'romance'<br /><br />Romance is not this:<br />a smouldering glance<br />a smoochy dance<br />Not even a meeting by chance<br />It certainly lies not in<br />frantical removal of pants<br /><br />It is truly this:<br />two snatched kisses from<br />a boy delivering cola bottles<br />to a girl dressed in hot pantsRiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-43743755438350542752009-07-23T14:55:00.003+01:002009-07-23T15:04:33.844+01:00Sometimes suddenly in summer...<span style="font-family:verdana;">The sun shines and even the rain isn't such a problem.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You sit and talk and talk and talk until the early hours of the morning.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">There's a smile on your lips and a faraway look in your eyes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Songs have far greater significance and you listen to the same album endlessly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">02 are going to be very happy about your mobile bill.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">You delete pointless numbers from your handset.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Someone kisses you the way you kiss them.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Sometimes suddenly in summer.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-22873633472541824492009-07-05T22:36:00.003+01:002009-07-26T09:08:38.780+01:00Dresses and Successes<span style="font-family:Verdana;">Bare legs used to frighten me. I was always a girl who wore tights or trousers. But this week the ridiculous temperatures in my classroom lured me into a linen dress and wedge sandals. And, man, what a reaction. I must have been told by about 25 people that I looked lovely in the dress; my favourite comments being 'Miss, you look <em>hot</em>' from a Sixth form girl to the female head of HR at work pointing out that if she had legs like mine she'd show them off too. It was immensely gratifying and enjoyable. On Friday my ex hesitantly asked if he could comment that I looked pretty these days. Well, of course. All people would rather be told that they look good, wouldn't they? </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This dress book-ended a bit of suit wearing on Wednesday. I had an interview for a promotion for a job at work. After saying a few weeks ago that I'd decided not to chase promotion my perfect job came up and I was persuaded to apply for it. And, you know what? I got it too. The feedback from my interview made me glow with pride. From September I'll be Queenie and I'm looking forward to it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Over this weekend my actual baby sister and our adopted baby sister came to visit me. I wore a hot dress on the night out and was amazingly successful as I did all the things I set out to do. Have a girlie night. Do a Cinderella and stop drinking by midnight. And I managed it all. I had a really wonderful night.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">And finally, today I went across to Manchester to act as god-mother to my friend's baby. I managed to be early for the service (thanking heaven for sat nav) and having a lovely, lovely time with her friends and family at the party afterwards. It was a total honour to be asked to be god-mother and to be part of their day. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So, this past week has been a total high. I've had success after success and most of them have been achieved wearing a cute dress. I do believe that you have to change: whether it's as simple as being bare-legged in a summer dress or as major as having a big career change. This week will apparently also be warm. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">More dresses? Hell yeah. More successes? I can but hope.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-23954132634495474242009-06-29T20:47:00.010+01:002009-07-26T09:10:17.369+01:00Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind<div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>Like a circle in a spiral</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>Like a wheel within a wheel</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>Never ending or beginning</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>On an ever-spinning reel</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>As the images unwind</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>Like the circles that you find</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:verdana;color:#663366;"><em>In the windmills of your mind</em></span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><p><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I might not have been tilting at windmills this weekend but I have to admit to an outbreak of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqvrn1hBbu0">windmills in my mind</a>. Whilst there is certainly progression and I've really moved on in a number of ways I still find myself repeating certain patterns endlessly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The first 'wheel within a wheel' was that I ended up at Debehams buying underwear again this weekend rather like I did <a href="http://imiss1985.blogspot.com/2008/04/uplifts-and-downturns.html">in this post</a> from last year. This year I had to get a new bra because Paul McKenna has done a rather good job of making me thin and as my 36FF assets are now 34E assets I need new lingerie. True to form I handed over a Debenhams gift card that didn't work. And I thought, I've been right here before. There were some very familiar bleeping noises emanating from the till and a whole lot of card-rubbing-on-tops-by-sales-assistants. However, this time Debenhams recognised it was their fault and allowed me to buy the bra. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The final repeating pattern is that my ex has got back with and then split up with his girlfriend again. Which has led him to telling me that he misses me a lot. I might repeat the same patterns, mistakes and fashion choices many times. But there's one person I'll never repeat my mistakes with. And that's my ex.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></p></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-45883111863146794632009-06-21T10:01:00.003+01:002009-06-21T10:33:44.761+01:00Innocence and Experience<span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm trying to learn not to under-estimate and I haven't under-estimated how difficult that can be.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Yesterday I took my six-year-old son to see <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr9fPuG03hk&feature=related">'His Dark Materials' Part 1</a> at our local theatre. If you've never read <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/His-Dark-Materials-Boxed-set/dp/1407104160/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1245576034&sr=8-1">Philip Pullman's trilogy </a>you have denied yourself of a wonderful and potentially life-changing experience. In short, Pullman has rewritten Milton's 'Paradise Lost' with a modern many-worlds slant. It is utter brilliance and all about whether you should choose to Fall: to choose experience over innocence. The consumer information was that the play was suitable for 11 and over. So I felt a little concerned when I took a six-year-old. However, he sat in rapt attention for the whole of the matinee performance. Then I asked him whether he wanted to wait for the evening performance of Part 2 so he could see how it finished? This would mean a further three hours (on top of three hours of matinee). The worst part being that it was the last night of the run, the performance was fully sold out and we'd have to wait until 7pm (his bedtime) before finding out whether we'd get seats. He told me, quite simply, <em>'what's the point in only seeing half of it?</em>' and I had to concur. We queued, we got tickets, we sat through a wonderful play and I left feeling that I was proud that I hadn't under-estimated my son.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Right now I'm trying not to under-estimate myself too. After years of not applying for promotions at work I applied for one this week. I have had real issues about my motivation for doing this and if it is merely vanity as I've had quite a few senior management check whether I've applied, and they've told me that I'd be perfect for it. However, I'm not sure I am. I'm quite chaotic and no matter how many times people tell me that organisation is just a matter of writing lists and then crossing things off, I've been on this planet long enough to know that I'm the sort of person who forgets to write the list or loses it five minutes after writing it. The worst part is I think the other candidate is amazing and that they'll give her the job and I don't want to cope with the rejection. I've had enough rejection recently and I don't desire any more. I'd rather not try than fail. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But, I'm pretty far away from innocence these days and my path over the past year has been one of experience. Maybe I ought to learn the lessons of the past and try not to under-estimate myself.</span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-7994855342190238612009-05-11T22:58:00.004+01:002009-09-02T21:06:18.098+01:00Guiltless secrets<span style="font-family:verdana;">There are things that people don't admit to. I guess I shouldn't admit that when I'm peckish I pour a blob of brown sauce onto my hand and lick it off (or mayo or thousand island dressing). I ought not to admit that I spent the entire of my son's bedtime story tonight sniggering because it's 'The Faraway Tree' and in just one chapter there was Dick, Fanny and the queer folk of the Enchanted Forest.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Other things people that people might not admit to include the fact that I've totally decided that I'm not going to go for any sort of promotion in the foreseeable future. There are better jobs elsewhere and the potential for higher remuneration in my current organisation but I don't want to do more work. In fact, I'd rather do less work. It feels a bit maverick to admit that you don't want to move up the greasy pole as I think most people are expected to try to develop their career. But I don't want to.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The really guiltless secret is that I've decided that I want to remain single. I think I've realised that I'm a bit of a cranky lone wolf and I like things done my way. Over the past few weeks I've been revelling in my OCD and have done things like ensuring all the hangers in my wardrobe are black plastic. Tonight I went to Ikea and bought furniture so I can sort my room out and make it 100% clutter-free. Whilst my ex lived here the clutter was of Steptoe-esque proportions and I revel now in the complete emptiness of my house. Last night I was online at midnight tracking down a jewellery tree just so I can organise all my necklaces.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Obviously having come to the decision that I want to remain single has one major ramification. Ever since I decided that I don't want to play with boys I've had the opportunity to pull more than a barmaid at Oktoberfest. On Friday alone a doctor or dentist or something added me as a favourite on Guardian Soulmates. Then in town I got chatted up by J who was the world's shortest but funniest man. Shortly after a right fit man decided, somewhat randomly, that I was the girl to recreate that Uma Thurman / John Travolta 'Pulp Fiction' dance with. Finally, in a club 6 foot 5 of amazing dark handsomeness took a shine to me and I told my friend (for I was wholly shitfaced) that <em>'sometimes it's all about the ones you turn down'</em>. And you know what, I resisted temptation ALL evening. I didn't want to kiss randoms so I didn't. I just stayed out with my friends and danced and enjoyed myself. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Now, it might be a bit odd to want to be single, but it's working for me. </span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-31924496983736226002009-04-30T19:53:00.008+01:002009-04-30T20:19:14.211+01:00How I love now<span style="font-family:verdana;">There's a poem that I haven't taught for three years that I had to teach today. Last time I taught it I was with my husband and I didn't really understand it. Today, I do.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em><strong>Love After Love</strong><br /><br />The time will come </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>when, with elation </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>you will greet yourself arriving </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>at your own door, in your own mirror </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>and each will smile at the other's welcome,</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em><span style="color:#ffffff;">.</span> </em></span></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>and say, sit here. Eat. </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>You will love again the stranger who was your self.</em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>to itself, to the stranger who has loved you</em></span></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#ffffff;">.</span></em></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>all your life, whom you ignored </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>for another, who knows you by heart. </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, </em></span></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#ffffff;">.</span></em></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em></em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>the photographs, the desperate notes, </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>peel your own image from the mirror. </em></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>Sit. Feast on your life.</em></span></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#ffffff;">.</span></em></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Derek Walcott </span></div><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My class didn't understand it and for one dangerous moment I felt the tears dancing behind my eyes as I read it. Because this poem speaks volumes about who I am these days and how I live now. This blog is over a year old but the original posts - the first steps towards catharsis - date from this time last year. At that time there were suggestions from my ex that he might want to come back and I was very confused. I would never have believed the prophesy that 'The <em>time will come'</em> that I would feel at one with myself. That this would feel like my house, and mine alone, with no ghosts hovering.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I wouldn't have known that I can <em>'love again the stranger who was your self'</em>. I've changed so dramatically in that one year: I'm confident, I'm a lot more attractive and, heck, I'm sexier too. Metaphorically and physically I've taken <em>'down the love letters from the bookshelf, / the photographs, the desperate notes'</em>. I've thrown it all out. It doesn't clutter my home, my life or my psyche.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">If you are someone who is on the first steps towards experiencing love after love, or if you are faltering on your path, I can tell you that this poem is full of truth and power. You will <em>'give your heart back to itself'</em>.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Sit. Feast on YOUR life x</span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-4944849142409071662009-04-12T20:32:00.006+01:002009-04-12T21:10:17.224+01:00In Amalfi with no Pradas<span style="font-family:verdana;">When I was a student my favourite film adaptation was <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJbtMYhI6o8&feature=PlayList&p=0F00A16CEEFFF1E8&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=1">'A Room with a View'</a> and my favourite chapter title was <a href="http://forster.thefreelibrary.com/A-Room-With-A-View/2-1">'In Santa Croce with no Baedeker'</a>. In the chapter Lucy loses her chaperone, Miss Bartlett, and ends up in the cathedral, Santa Croce without a guidebook to advise her which are the very important Giotto frescoes and which are not. There she has the start of an unsuitable romantic encounter.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">E.M Forster's description of the foibles of Edwardian travellers in Italy has crept into my mind a few times over the past week as I am in Italy too. I'm not in Florence but in Sorrento. However, I'd love Forster's archness when writing about British tourists here. They are all discernible by their dress: why is it that as soon as a Briton leaves the country they believe that they need to wear khaki trousers with a multitude of pockets and ugly walking shoes? Just to walk round a city? And why must their handbag be traded for a rucksack and a litre of water in one hand? The rebellious part of me has chosen a gorgeous and impractical blue Italian handbag for the daytime and I've been wearing cute sparkly sandals and proper clothes. Do I look Italian? No. Do I look like I should be on safari rather than walking down a shopping street? I sincerely hope not.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">But travelling in Italy is sometimes quite like becoming single again. There are a lot of reverses and alterations which you just have to deal with. One day we set off to visit <a href="http://www.tours-italy.com/img/Rome/tours_amalfi.jpg">Amalfi</a> and instead visited <a href="http://www.easitalytours.com/public/upload/image/positano_02.jpg">Positano</a> and then came back. Yesterday, we planned to visit Amalfi but there were 300 people queuing for a bus that carried 67 so we wandered Sorrento and sunbathed instead. Today we planned to visit the <a href="http://marcheo.napolibeniculturali.it/">Archeological Museum of Naples</a> but when we got to the station all the trains were cancelled so we ended going up to Amalfi finally. Due to the notorious nature of Naples we had emptied our bags of mobiles, cameras, credit cards and cash and were only carrying the bare minimum. However, our diversion to Amalfi meant I turned up in one of the most chic locations on earth wearing 5 euro sunglasses rather than my beautiful, and thoroughly cherished, <a href="http://www.prada.com/">Prada</a> sunglasses (I'm not telling you what they cost - suffice to say BOTH of my last cars were traded in for a substantially lower sum...). I'd pictured myself wandering around Amalfi in my fit black dress, sparkly sandals, gorgeous handbag and Pradas. But that was not to be. However, I have to say that life is what you make it and I completely loved the town even if I was in Amalfi with no Pradas, which is just a modern version of being in Santa Croce with no Baedeker.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-1913410565144853632009-03-23T22:06:00.005+00:002009-03-23T22:32:24.925+00:00When I grow up...Are you a grown up? I think I am, finally. I've had the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">accoutrements</span> of being a grown up for many years: a husband, mortgage, career, child, stretch marks, a dislike of most of the Top 40 etc. But in my head I wasn't a grown up. I was always a bit frightened of what people thought about me and constantly sought approval. I often didn't dare do things.<br /><br />This weekend I found out that I'm not like that any more. On Friday night I went to my high school reunion which involved meeting up with a whole load of people who I knew 20 years ago but who I was always a bit wary of because they were cool and popular and I wasn't. And do you know what? I was totally confident and able to talk to them. In fact, I have to say that I've weathered a lot better than all of the men and I'm looking pretty fit these days. I never felt hesitant or silly once all night. I never used to be like that. In fact, for many years towards the end of my marriage I used to get really uptight and tearful when meeting with close friends because I simply wasn't happy. Socialising with people I hadn't seen in two decades would have been inconceivable.<br /><br />On Saturday I went to a family party and I spoke really easily to everyone there. Until recently I would have felt old and awkward talking to the under 20s and naive and awkward talking to the over 40s. Those in the middle? I'd just be awkward. But, I had a lovely evening and spoke to nearly everyone.<br /><br />In the morning I read <a href="http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/celebrity/article5923581.ece">this article</a> in The Times Style magazine where Emilia Fox was talking about after having a very difficult year she is now far more confident and the final words really chimed with me:<br /><div align="center"><em>I’m wondering what the secret is — divorce? Therapy? Getting older? — when she hits it on the head. “Put simply, after all this, I care less about what people think of me these days. I think that’s the trick.”</em> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">And I think that's the trick I've learnt too. If people like me, good. If they don't, it's their loss. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Tonight I've been a true grown up: over the past week I stood my ground with my ex about not having a contentious divorce but instead taking the decent and non-corrosive option and having a consensual divorce. And do you know what? He not only agreed but we sat down and agreed every term of our separation agreement without any rancour or disagreement. In fact, it was a very good humoured process. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I think I'm going to steal the Times' words to sum up how I feel tonight: it’s odd how the shock of my marriage break down has made me much surer of myself. Maybe getting divorced, rather than getting married, is the ultimate in growing up. </div>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-45467468998928624472009-03-11T21:43:00.007+00:002009-07-26T09:15:50.283+01:00Cosmic Ordering<span style="font-family:Verdana;">Noel Edmonds cosmically ordered himself a career. 'Hello universe, I'm a rebarbative twat. Please can I have a box-orientated gameshow where I hang out with a total banker'. And lo....</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">There are websites that offer <a href="http://www.advancedcosmicordering.com/cosmicordering/?pu=false">cosmic ordering</a> but I reckon imiss1985 is just as valid a part of the cosmos as them and therefore for this post only I'm opening the blog as a cosmic ordering conduit. Feel free to order what you desire.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>Rio's cosmic order for a boyfriend:</strong></span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>age</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as it falls within the 26-and-a-half to 28 years range)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>height</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as over 6)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>education</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as he's a post-grad, preferably with a degree in Physics - particularly quantum mechanics. Dig those clever science boys)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>music taste</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as he's an indie boy who hates Westlife and Queen and understands that Coldplay are NOT indie and neither are Kaiser Chiefs - but must recognise that Duran Duran are gods)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>appearance</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as he's fit, cute and has hair that falls in his eyes and requires flicking out a lot)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>Humour</strong> unimportant <em>(as long as he understands the importance of punning at every available opportunity and laughs at this joke uproariously: 'what's brown and sticky?' a stick)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><strong>Other</strong>: Must be willing to never live with me or take up too much of my actual time and be happy to take third place after my friends and gin.</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Ok, phew. That's done. Just have to sit back and wait for him to be cosmically delivered. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#3333ff;">Whilst I'm waiting why don't you pop your cosmic orders on the end and we'll cut down on delivery charges?</span></p>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8206625738423445249.post-84194317107829152572009-03-09T20:01:00.005+00:002009-03-09T20:24:23.428+00:00The Angel in the House<span style="font-family:verdana;">Throughout my late teens and twenties I would have fulminated against Coventry Patmore's poem 'The Angel in the House' as patriarchal sexist gobshite, particularly nonsense such as: <em>Man must be pleased; but him to please/ Is woman's pleasure' </em>My feminism was fairly scattergun, I used to copy huge tracts out of <em>The Female Eunuch</em> and <em>Sexual Personae</em> onto my school file. I was <a href="http://images.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://www.vizprints.com/lowres/47/main/1/148963.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.vizprints.com/image.php%3Fid%3D148963%26idx%3D4%26fromsearch%3Dtrue&usg=__agYYA-PgHE_rP1HXA_E4pA6Yxdo=&h=428&w=299&sz=86&hl=en&start=1&um=1&tbnid=a66A_J0QiXD-MM:&tbnh=126&tbnw=88&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmillie%2Btant%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1">Millie Tant</a> and I was proud.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">However, these days I'm not an angry young woman any more. I'd still class myself as a feminist and I get a bit depressed about young women who totally reject the term feminism. I do hope that they know that they deserve equal pay for equal work and that it is more important to be valued for who you are than what you look like. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This weekend I might not have been an Angel in the House, but I have tried to be a good mother. And it's been immensely rewarding. On Saturday I took my son on the train to York and I gave him new experiences: we ate tapas in La Tasca and then went to the Jorvik Viking centre. I do advise my readers that the viking centre smells like a viking city - open latrines and leather tanning and all, and that eating a mound of patatas bravas and tortilla before visiting is somewhat foolhardy. On Sunday I cooked us a traditional Sunday lunch and then we went for a long walk around a lake. This weekend has been very different to recent activities as it didn't involve booze, dancing or bringing the wrong coat home. But it was really rewarding and I enjoyed it. Especially as my son said 'Mummy, I love spending time with you'.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I do believe that women are valuable people who deserve to be judged on far more than their housekeeping and parenting skills. But, sometimes, being a good Mum is its own reward.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span>Riohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02807324671397475591noreply@blogger.com2