I have decided to bare my soul and offer you an introduction to my writings, that I hope one day will develop into a book. I wondered if I could be cheeky and ask you, the reader of this blog, for some honest, constructive criticism. I thank you all in advance…. Now I am going to vacate the area to chew my nails and visit the lavatory on numerous occasions for a nervous wee awaiting feedback :)…….
CHAPTER ONE- intro
Her hair flowed majestically in the wind just as it depicts in the typical opening movie scene where the beautiful young twenty something throws herself in the arms of the epitome of toned masculinity. Their lips meet in a sweet lingering kiss, she feels the sensation of butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach and she ….. STOPPPPPP……… hold up and reverse right now , where are the toilet facilities please? Seriously, where are they? …… NO I mean it now, where the hell are they?………………… hold it …. Hold it ….damn buttons , I knew I shouldn’t have worn this. SHIT….. anyone have any spare knickers please? This 50 year old is now moist for all the wrong reasons!
Her hair flowed wildly, into a tangled creation of ‘dragged through a hedge backwards’ resemblance, with flecks of silver grey where she had missed with the plum coloured hair dye. The attempt to cut and style her own bonnet to produce soft bangs that elegantly framed her face, as demonstrated in the Youtube videos she had closely absorbed, only resulted in an uncanny likeness to the 1980s ‘Motley Crue’ heavy metal band. All was not completely lost however, as she placed her phone on re-dial until her long-suffering childhood nemesis of thirty-seven years answered. The friend, trying desperately to swallow her laughter, provided a guided tutorial – technology in its finest, enabling the catastrophe to be averted somewhat. Everyone knows that once the friend had clicked off her phone, she would be hysterically squealing in laughter with tears running down her face, informing her family, “she’s done it again, go look at her on Insta”. Okay, so hairdressing clearly was not her forte and all further attempts should certainly be debated before being executed and scissors hidden from temptation. Moving on……
Her face, no longer taut with natural spring youth, seemed somewhat exposing a ‘lived in’ look. She had contemplated applying ‘Annusol’ to her facial wrinkles to see if they would lessen the visual blow to others however, she was hesitant to use the tube she had seen hidden in the bathroom cupboard behind the towels (Now I bet you are all attempting to be Inspector Clueso, who has the piles?). She had been offered Botox and fillers by one of her children, to which she had eloquently declined, once she had composed herself and ignored the internal voice screaming – You is olddddd mother! She came to the conclusion she was to grow old gracefully or disgracefully, whichever the case maybe, avoid chemicals and invest in some monster cellotape which could stretch out the wrinkles. She had acquired the idea of adhesive measures from being an avid follower of ‘Nadia Sawalha off the telly’s, Youtube channel, although Nadia did purchase the real deal and not tesco cellotape like this old trendsetter had. Seemingly ever the ‘make do queen’, cellotape, if applied with precision so it does not adhere to the hair and rip it out at the roots, does provide the desired effect of youth, if only for a few seconds. Go on, run to the bathroom now and have a go!
Her eyes glisten marble green as she squints through the scratched lenses of the age-old spectacles, too frugal to get them replaced and not ready to face the optician again. On the last and as yet, final visit to sort her vision, the optician was sent scurrying for tissues as her customer sat sobbing loudly in the chair incoherently stating she was so happy that she could see the letters now. The optician looked on bemused whilst trying to engage empathetically as she was forced to listen to the joys of menopause. In all fairness to our protagonist, at least she spared the optician her menopausal bladder issues. There is no doubt that the optician, no older than twenty-six, drove home after her day at work, cracked out a huge bottle of wine, downed a glass in one and thought ..OMG I am NEVER getting like that. And we all know, the ones of that certain age know, YOU WILL GET LIKE THAT! You will cry at adverts for persil, find grey hairs where they should not dare to tred, laugh hysterically until you hear the words in your head…’you’ll be crying next’, and yes, there you are, the flood gates open and the death stare is perfected to all who enter the three metre radius. She had spent many years, following the creation of her little humans, implementing the traditional mummy death stare. The tilt of the head forward just a fraction, raise the eyebrow ( always more effective if you have glasses so one eyebrow can be clearly observed above the frame), stare directly at the little human, who is presently smearing poop up the walls, try to make your eyes pop (without the magic of makeup) and do not smile. The silent words of “Really?” emit into the air, bouncing off the walls. That’s the one, the mummy death stare, it also works on partners, pets and any family member who dares to cross the ‘not funny’ line. Who would have guessed that it was the stare that would last a lifetime and become multi-purpose. If you consider its usages, it should have been on the education curriculum, “Right ladies (yes it was sexist in the 80’s), today you will learn the death stare. This can be used to deter your offspring from eating your last chocolate cookie when you are about to menstruate and provide warning to your partner that they are not funny for feeding your children sweets before lunch or hinting at the idea of copulation”.
Recently my respective other gifted me a book entitled ‘Midnight Library ‘ penned by Matt Haig. I have not indulged myself in the luxury of reading for a while as instead, I have consumed my mind with other trivia to while away Lockdown 3. Alternative recreation has included a vested interest In ‘Below Deck’ and ‘Below Deck Mediterranean ‘, a candid insight into the lives of crew on luxury private cruises. Previously I have never grasped the intention of reality TV however……. seriously I am addicted to the highs and lows of the cast, sadly even retaining their names. Will Kate ever grace the ship with a smile, will Ben find true love, will there ever be a long lasting, happily ever after relationship with at least one couple??? Honestly, it is ridiculous, never have I ever found myself absorbed in something emitting from that rectangular object seated on a retro sideboard. It has actually aged me mentally, maybe even physically due to the extremely late/early morning viewing times I have adopted, but mentally, it has made me experience pangs of “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, I am old, I am no longer swelth, or in my prime of life”.
Yes thank you ‘Below Deck’ I hold you accountable for my reflective, self loathing, oh whyyyyyy am I getting old, pity party. You are all welcome to join my pity party if you so wish, I have balloons, streamers, party fireworks and Kleenex tissues to dry the tears. SO, what about the book I hear you cry in desperation and intrigue. Well my friends, ‘Midnight Library ‘ takes your being into a pensive state of ‘what if’, a deep introspective journey of yourself, through the experiences of the protagonist. I do not wish to spoil the narrative for anyone who wishes to read it, therefore i will leave it on that cliff hanger in regards to the publication. My experience of it, ( and I am only mid way through the text) it has consumed my brain cells with a plethora of third degree questioning. Would I have done this, should I have done that, why did I not do it this way, what the hell was I thinking, what can I do now, should I do this, or that, or OMGGGGGG what the hell is this all about. I am 51 years of age, soon to be 52 and one book has rendered me gaga. I am questioning every minute decision I have ever made in my time on this planet, not only causing a reflective mind field, moreover, what is the next step of my life. I certainly cannot jump on a charter boat and become a stew at my age however if I am only here for a minute, hour, day, week, month, year or another twenty years… what can I achieve so I no longer have regrets. How can I prevent fear, self doubt, self- loathing and physical ailments from impeding my journey of life? I have a quest, oo I sound like a knight in armour, I have a quest to find ME, the me I wish and crave to be.
The me inside this ageing frame is far from what I show
The me inside this ageing frame has bravery, pep, get up and go
The me inside this ageing frame still wishes upon a star
The me inside this ageing frame dances like the wind
The me inside this ageing frame feels gleeful, joyful, fun
The me inside this ageing frame travels to absorb beauty all around
The me inside this ageing frame still dreams of rainbows and butterflies
The me inside this ageing frame awakes eagerly with each fresh day
The me outside this ageing frame stares solemnly in the reflection
The me outside this ageing frame consumes her mind with what ifs
The me outside this ageing frame builds barriers to all experiences
The me outside this ageing frame spends a colossal time fearing all around
The me inside this ageing frame wishes to take heed of how precious life is
How time is ticking and the countdown is on
The me inside this ageing frame wants to overshadow the me on the outside
and LIVE, LAUGH and LOVE
The me on the inside, if she reaches a ripe old age, does not wish to look back with if only, experiences missed, places unseen.
Have you watched the film 13 Going on 30? The teen who is magically projected into her future self and then transported back so she is able to rewrite history the way she should have initially. Over the course of the past two months my brain has been dragging me back to some dark periods in my life which I would have happily kept locked in a box however, for some reason my being deems it necessary for me to relive them. Adding insult to injury… it is all in technicolour and not just in dream state. There I am, just mindlessly washing the pots and BAMMMMM a memory that I would have loved to stay a distant one, reveals its ugly head. Have you ever been in a situation, like when I span my car, and life passed infront of my eyes- has that ever happened to you? Well, this is the scenario now, luckily the danger element such a spinning cars is not the trigger but the re-runs are flowing in thick and fast. Some of the visions are taking me right back to being a baby and others to when I became a mother. I am seeing all the mistakes others made around me and the errors I also made. What am I supposed to be doing with them? Do I confront my demons ? Do I now ask all the questions I need answering? If I did ask questions I am positive that I would only create upset and that is not my goal. SO what can it be all about? I will be honest, I was thinking “OMG this is it..my mind telling me that I am coming to the end of my journey and here you are…. this was your life”. Even as I am typing this post, I am still attempting to answer the questions but answers are not forthcoming.
Oh well, I just thought I would tell you what my little random mind is up to this evening …. should I have done things differently? Do I have regrets? Can I do anything now to alter the past?
Answers :- Yes, Yes, Not really.
Therefore, to conclude… I should focus upon the positive events of my past and realise no one has the perfect fairytale. HOWEVER, why is my mind being so trippy? Maybe it is a 50 somethings norm’
PPPPPSSSSSSS:- ten minutes later I add this footnote..
Now this is rather strange… here I was writing this post above and thinking I was writing something unique to my present time… Oh but no, I have just re read my previous post “Bread & Jam”……. I apologise now … This is a repeat… I AM IN Groundhog Day
It is the bewitching hour, 02.00AM, and here I am scoffing down some good old bread and jam. It is a staple comfort food that I was raised on however, I cannot remember the last time I craved some. And before rumours are invoked… no I am not with child, especially not at my age, although if it were possible, which it is not, I would love another one. Presently my little dogs have become my substitute babies and my adult offspring are periodically given the Spanish inquisition over Zoom as to when I may be given the title of ‘Moomar’. I coined the name ‘Moomar’ for my future grandchildren to call me as it has a iconic ring to it. My children do not agree that the term is grandmotherly or even iconic, they deem it one of my crazy dream states, running through fields of golden corn with my little grandchildren shouting a name that is on par with ‘Doodoo’. (I am having a dramatic pause moment while you all visualise me gliding like a free spirit through the fields whilst hearing the melodic “MooMar” “MoooooMarrrr”. See it sounds rather hip do you not agree?). Rewind to the start of this post, ‘bread and jam’, is this your staple since a child? Taking a bite, the texture, the aroma, it transports me back to the times when I was an infant, a toddler, an adolescent, a teen. It conjures images of my father lovingly preparing it, my mother baking bread, the smell of dough rising, the first bite when the slice is warm. It creates a sense of calm, comfort and introspection. Of late, I have been experiencing vivid flashbacks to various moments in my life. Initially I adopted the catastrophic stinking thinking, “OMG I am about to die and that is why I am remembering all this” but lucky for me I am still breathing 🙂 phew! So, why then? Why all this visual time travel back to events in my life? Does everyone do it? IS it the curse of being in my 50’s? Is it the realisation, brought on by a huge pandemic, that life is fragile like a crystal glass that could shatter into a million pieces spontaneously ? I do not have a conclusive answer so I will keep masticating the bread and jam until I have a eureka moment.
I will let you into a secret, I am attempting to write a book. I actually commenced the journey to being a world famous author last year. In my inner mind the book was/is, to be full of wit, humour, rather emotive and certainly engaging. WELL, that was just too much pressure to place on myself in reality as I am not really witty, funny or even slightly interested in being famous. That being said, I have started one, maybe one day I will finish it just to say I have written a book……. I would love to imagine someone reading it while eating their bread and jam.
Perspiring, I was following the broadcast within an inch of my life, now I am here, in bed, in pain, bloody EXERCISE. There I am feeling euphoric and smug that I can actually do one semi press up without falling onto my face and then I receive a stark reminder that I am indeed, unfit. My hip has decided it does not wish to play ball, it is refusing to allow my frame to weight- bear upon it and the trusty old crutches have been retrieved from hibernation. I was clearly too enthusiastic with Elle Macphersons 90’s routine, at least I did not adon the lycra and wore a respectable lounge suit. Now that is an item of attire that 2020 will thank ‘Mrs Hinch’ for in the history books…. ‘Lounge wear’.
Basically, a pair of comfy PJs renamed to sound less slobbish. If I am wearing my ‘lounge wear’, I will be a productive, cool and edgy individual that has got their shit together in 2021. PJs is more along the lines of, laid on the sofa with snacks watching every episode of Grace and Frankie, having the odd sneaky snooze. Last Thursday I was sent a said termed ‘lounge suit’ from a dear friend and I was so grateful to at last be in with the ‘Jones’s’ of 2020/21. I have worn it a few times and I can confirm it is soft and comfortable- ergonomic if you will. HOWEVER, I just ventured with my crutches across the landing and caught sight of myself in them….my mind has taken solace that due to lockdown, no one apart from my significant other, has been subjected to the spectacle that was bestowed on me today. Did you know lounge wear was quite transparent? Well I affirm with you, from my humble experience and the product I have been gliding around the house in, they display your wares!!!!!! Now if I was a dynamic young trend-setter I just may get away with it but come on…. at my age? (Do not answer please, it is a rhetoric question only). All I can see is a middle-aged woman in see through PJs wearing scabby old underwear that is far, far too small for her. It is a sight to put you off your supper I can reassure you.
So, there you go… my intellectual, informative, post for today….. if you are wearing ‘Lounge wear’.. check in the mirror please. And, if you are just venturing into the secret world of fitness, take your time, pace yourself and wear Lycra…….hmm maybe that is where I went wrong.
And in the blink of an eye, a sniperty jibbert, its February 2021. Have I got the day correct? Each day appears to merge into the next and I award myself a star on the ‘you did great today’ chart, if I can actually state the day of the week I am presently on. Do not ask for the date and the day combined though, that would be pushing the boat out a little too far. Furthermore, how rapid is time thinking it should be operating? It has seemingly taken on a fast track course to 2022 in my humble opinion. I awake, partake in measures to fuel and nourish, before you know it, out pops the moon and It is time for slumber. Where did the day go? Seriously, no longer do I know the day of the week, the month, moreover now ‘Time’ has taken on a new identity. This is ground hog day on hallucinogenic medication.
I have made a positive step I will mention, I have erased my nemesis. No longer will it invade and render me into a blissful altered universe. The cupboards are no longer filled with its sweet aroma that enticed me in. Affirmative……. the chocolate has left the building. Au Revoir it was nice knowing you however it was time for us to go our separate ways. Life is alittle easier crunching on celery… it does have a similar taste… it does….really it does…… IT DOESSSSSS……… Distraction is an amazing tool for cravings hence, I have immersed myself in You tube watching allotment and garden tours… how to grow celery from seeds. Can you grow chocolate ?(I did not say that, I did not write that… ).
I awoke today, nearing midday, my body clock has altered its pattern completely. The day appears to now commence at a respectable, albeit late hour and I retire back to slumber in the early hours. My human form no longer wishes to sleep however, it does seem to want to devour everything slightly edible from the cupboards. My waist line has increased ten fold, my wrinkles deepened from lack of substantial sleep and my mind has become perched on the edge of a precipice awaiting the next film to start. Since March 2020 I have found myself immersed in the motion picture coined “COVID-19- on the edge of reason”, naively assuming the film would cease by July 2020. HAHA well how wrong was I ? Here we are, January 2021, lockdown in our homes, masks drying on the airer, the rancid aroma of bleach filling the air and a growing trepidation to even step outside the front door in fear of the consequences. We enter the sequel drama as the COVID-19 mutates into a greater virulent form, the virus has rounded its troops, prepared novel tactics and whoosh ……. its attacking from all sides. The question of our mortality and fragility of our time on this planet has been brought to the forefront by this unseen enemy. The hot topic of the day appears to be ‘to take the vaccine or not to take the vaccine’. Society at loggerheads with one another surrounding their own human right of choice… if you want the vaccine then do, if you do not wish to take it.. do not… either way it is choice and no one should judge the other. You are your own judge and jury NOT someone else. In this unstable era it is paramount that we all join together in support of life. Respect others, love others, agree to differ?
Happy New year to you all. Time may be arduous at present, however, in the bigger picture, if you delve into history.. we face hard times and we eventually see the light, it is a cicular event. This too shall pass xx