Nobody move, nobody gets hurt

Despite what my ex suggests I rarely read Heat magazine. I don't like all the carping about too thin/too fat/too thin/ewww, cellulite /bad frock stuff. I just think it's really counterproductive to women's images of themselves. But I do know that there's a secret compulsion to see evidence of people who really should know better behaving badly. As I've mentioned before I work in a school and I really need to be careful to preserve the mystique of who the kids I think I am versus who I am really. However, last Saturday some of the kids saw me out, totally blootered, and they've been lovely about it. There are some pictures circulating of the event (the worst ones, thankfully, are no longer in the public realm) and one of my colleagues pointed out that we're just like celebrities: the kids love to see us falling out of taxis, drunker than a skunk.

Thankfully, some of the worst excesses were well beyond the sight of the kids. I'm a bit of a nightmare when I'm drunk and I believe myself to have powers I patently do not have. The first is that I believe Terpsichore, the muse of dancing, has blessed me and I need to prove it to the world. On Saturday that manifested itself as me ordering the DJ to play We are Scientists 'Nobody move, nobody get hurt' my current favourite song. The only issue being the lyrics. Listen to 'em. Hardly suitable for a last 30s mother, are they? Fatally, the DJ then put on a Pulp song and I'm genetically programmed to dance like the girls from the 'Common People' video.

Also, I developed an unreasonable belief that despite drinking rose wine then white port then gin then sambucca (repeating the last two many times), I was sober enough to stand on one foot in six inch heels. I wasn't. I didn't move, but I did get hurt as I plummeted to the floor, spraining my ankle in the process. You don't even want to hear about nicking drinks with a random roofer and trying to crash another club. Even Heat magazine would stop somewhere. As another We are Scientists song goes 'I'm blacking out, but it's been fun'.

Tuesday Night is Curry Night

Tonight Velouria and I had a lovely credit crunching cheap curry by the fair hand of ASDA. And marvellous it was too. As the end of January is fast approaching, Rio and Velouria felt it only fair to bring up the thorny issue of New Year's Resolutions. Clearly, anyone we like would have broken all of theirs by January 4th at the outside. Therefore, we offer these potential resolutions to people who have probably been too busy to create their own.

In an online blogtastic lovefest we are joined electronically by Highwaylass via the medium of Skype.

The resolutions we suggest are:

1. Natasha Bedingfield to embrace silence.
2. Kate Moss to have a sandwich (with butter but no coke)
3. Barack Obama to not get shot
4. Madonna to dodge leotards and super-glue her ankles together
5. Russell Brand to burn in hell
6. Chris Moyles to shut up and fuck off (courtesy of a guest appearance by Highwaylass).
7. Doctor Who to attain puberty
8. Jimmy Carr. Just don't.
9. Anyone who says 'in terms of' to disembowel themselves with rusty spears
10. The Ting Tings to learn a new song
11. Katy Perry to munch a rug and like it
12. Jodie Marsh to stand near to a candle and melt into oblivion
13. Angelina Jolie to buy a white child
14. Tyra Banks to be president of the universe
15. Orange cokeheads not to be shagged by sour sheep

Your turn: what resolutions should be made, and by whom?

A new lease of life

It might not be a surprise to you that I am a diarist. Since 1989 I've written a diary every day of my life. It's not really Samuel Pepys or Anne Frank, but thankfully it's not Bridget Jones either. I favour five year diaries so in six lines I have to summarise my entire day: it doesn't leave much space for navel-gazing. Indeed, the omissions in it are blatant: there are very few references to arguments with my ex, despite the fact that they were practically daily. He definitely read it on one occasion and I'm not certain whether he read it frequently. I'd like to share a few entries with you, which have been edited for privacy and traceability reasons:

January 16th 2008, looked terrible today - puffy faced and tearful after last night. Went into (work) but came home during (afternoon)... Then had a mercifully quiet night.

January 17th 2008, (my ex's name) went out with (his friend) last night so wasted most of today on the sofa asleep

January 21st 2008, (my ex's name) got a lease in the post.

January 22nd 2008, Exhausted today - found the whole experience at (work) difficult and am unable to function properly. Tonight I was so frightened that the lease would have been signed but had a quiet + kind evening.

January 23rd 2008, Up at 3am talking and then in (work) on time - but bloody knackered with it. In afternoon went mental.

January 24th 2008, A quieter day at (work) but then this evening was awful. (Ex) has signed the lease and I walked out for a wander but, brilliantly, he didn't even notice.

January 26th 2008, Just another sad day. Changed my facebook status to 'it's complicated' but in reality it's very simple... Really having a hard time.

January 27th 2008, Another sad day. (Ex) told his parents today and I tried to pluck up courage to tell (our son) but I just couldn't. I did manage to get his kite flying so maybe I'm not completely useless. Less than a week now.

January 31st 2008, an odd day - calm and confidence has descended, despite the fact that my marriage ends tomorrow.

February 1st, 2008, So, it's the separation day. (My ex's) parting shot hurt: "you're yesterday"... In evening went to seek sanctuary at (my best friend's house).

Ouch. It makes difficult reading, doesn't it? However, it doesn't stir any emotion in me as I'm pretty certain it is now completely out of my system. Last year I was terrified that the lease to my ex's flat would be signed, this year I have a new lease of life.

Maybe I need to find something else to write about on this blog. Readers, I'm no longer getting a life. I've got one.

Plastic Fantastic

Oddly, when 1960s TV programmes imagined the 21st century all the inhabitants flew about in sky cars, wearing silver clothing and white lipstick and having everything at home done by a robot. The one thing that they didn't envisage is the online world. I got through my degree without ever emailing, using Wikipedia, Googling or moaning about deadlines in my Facebook status. Nowadays I get a bit shaky if I haven't been online in a few hours and often find myself surreptitiously checking the net on my mobile. It's an addiction.

Being a single mother I am home alone. A lot. In particular, on weekday evenings I have to stay in when my son is in bed. This gives me a few hours alone. I could use this time profitably doing some work, or reading all those novels I haven't read, or taking up an improving and impressive hobby. Instead, I sit in front of my laptop for hours blatantly time wasting.

Now it will not be a surprise to you, dear reader, that the internet can fill in a space where a life should be. There's Facebook to be stalked, blogs to be written, Youtube to be chortled at, all sorts of spangly lovely things to be bought, Wikipedia to be idly flicked through, whilst checking back on to your emails every half an hour or so. Hours of your life can pass like that.

Over the past year I've indulged in a spot of online dating. I've emailed quite a few guys and chosen to meet two separate blokes for a real date. The problem is the real world just doesn't live up with the online world. Online, guys are always handsome (because you see only the good photos); email conversations tend to be great as if you can't think of an appropriate response you can disappear off for a potter about until inspiration strikes and the witty rejoinder can be typed up. Online guys are 6 foot and funny. In real life they can be 5 foot 10 at best or rather too overweight or a mite sweaty or a bit dull. It's most annoying.

So, of course this post is a circuitous way of saying that I'm in the middle of an online thing again. It's cool because he ticks the boxes really well: tall, absolutely beautiful, musical, artistic, and erm, 27 ;-). Online it doesn't matter if his feet smell or he's a serial killer because he's my construction of perfect. The problem is in real life he's almost certainly not perfect and so if we chose to meet up I'm going to be a tad disappointed. But I might not be. But then when you can have online perfection, why trade?

New Year's Solutions

Welcome to Divorce Day. No, I'm not getting divorced but this is the day that, traditionally, family lawyers do their best business as failing relationships sputter to a halt over Christmas and then refugees from domestic heartache seek divorce advice on the first working Monday of the new year. Certainly, this time last year felt like Divorce Day for me as I returned to work after the Christmas break and everyone cheerily said to me: 'Good Christmas?'. Well, no. I got dumped on New Year's Eve and cried constantly for four days. However I was in such a state that I couldn't admit to many people what had happened and just dumbly nodded, afraid that words would bring the waterworks on.

A year later I'm happy. I'm not feeling any negative emotions about this time of year and I can look back with a level gaze and see that I'm better off for being alone. However, it is time to look full-square at my life and find some New Year Solutions. Everyone knows that New Year's Resolutions tend not to last (although I did once give up chocolate for a year), so I'm looking to find Solutions to things that need attention.

The first is my size. I recognise I'm overweight and I resolutely refuse to follow traditional diets for a number of reasons. Firstly, I had extremely disordered eating throughout my early twenties and was severely underweight. The photos of me from that period make scary viewing. Secondly, I know that dieting makes you fatter in the long run. Therefore, I'm going to try Paul McKenna's system. His Golden Rules are:

1. When you are hungry, eat.
2. Eat what you want.
3. Eat consciously.
4. When you are full, stop eating.

I'm not dieting but before I even watched the programme tonight it struck me how I bolt food quickly in front of the TV. I'm going to eat at the table, with the TV and laptop off, and enjoy what I eat. I'm going to savour it. And I'm not going to empty my plate: I'm going to try to learn when I feel full.

Second solution: my life. I'm going to continue what I started last year: getting out and about and being with friends. This makes me a lot happier. I'm going to get out with my son more too: we went for a countryside walk the other day just the two of us and had a great time.

What about relationships? Well, the ones I have with my son, my friends and my family are much better now than they've been for many years. I'm going to concentrate on that instead of thinking about what I don't have. Hey, and maybe this time next year I'll be ready for my own Divorce Day.