I had a really awful day yesterday. Nothing dreadful happened, but I got myself into something of a state first thing over a relatively minor issue and felt like death warmed up all day. I was irritable, short-tempered and borderline weepy and all that had unsettled me was the fact that I had accidentally picked up K’s Blackberry rather than mine. Ridiculous as it seems, when K called me I was on the train to work and dug down into my bag to find it nestling next to mine, and a wave of stress washed over me. He wasn’t angry, he didn’t overreact but I couldn’t apologise enough and desperately tried to think of things to do (train home, courier) to rectify it. All the way to work thereafter I kicked myself and all morning I was in a foul temper and on edge.
K called me back at lunchtime as I had sounded stressed about it earlier and once again I kept tripping over myself to say sorry. Something very trivial and in no way majorly problematic sent me over the edge. I know it’s not about the bloody machine. It’s his personal one so he could work quite happily without it. He received one message in a day and it was from his sister just saying Hi. The issue was not the phone but it inspired such hand-wringing angst that I had failed/messed up/caused stress (albeit not major) that I know there is something badly wrong with me that I need to sort out.
Last week I put a lot of effort into my self-improvement programme. I enrolled on courses: a massage one this Sunday coming, a Thai cooking one in September and an upholstery course in October. In fact, I spent so much online that my bank did a security check on my card (called the wrong mobile number) and stopped it!!! I also went to East London on Thursday evening to meet a jeweller who takes old rings and creates new ones – remodelling and blending. He has some wonderful ideas for my engagement ring and I really enjoyed the process as well as embarking on something related to the wedding. On Saturday I visited my old friend Dixie (a former colleague from Parliament) whom I hadn’t seen in at least 5 years and it was a real pleasure, not only to do something I’ve been procrastinating about for yonks but also spend a day in rural Suffolk. I felt pretty chuffed with myself on Sunday as I had even done a 4 mile run and seen a couple of friends last week as well as all the above.
So Monday was like a huge black cloud hanging over me. None of my recent achievements seemed to register and my only feeling was of disappointment, uselessness and stress. This wasn’t how it was meant to be!!! I am not daft, however and know full well that the blackberry mistake was a minor issue, magnified by my own underlying angst about something much more significant, namely my parents. It can’t go on. It is neither a workable nor acceptable situation for anybody. I can tell from speaking to my aunt that she finds it a strain and my brother is particularly bothered by it now that he has a wedding planned. He sent me an email last week and asked me nicely to get in touch as he thinks they may be in a conciliatory mood. I doubt that’s the case, but that’s not the point. He wants them to make peace with me so badly that he is hoping that if I hold out the olive branch they may be surprised enough to accept it.
Part of me feels relief from having been apart from them for so long and has no desire to go back to the place I was mentally at the outset. Also, my non-drinking stance will have a huge impact on where we go from here. I can’t imagine meeting them and not drinking in their company and them accepting it, but that part is non-negotiable for me. But I hate the anger inside me that bubbles up every so often, as I am reminded about how judgemental, condemnatory and hurtful they can be. I feel like it is time to draw a line under it all and give them one last chance to agree to disagree or forever hold thy peace. Hopefully then I can stop beating myself up over other stuff that is unrelated to the real problem and move on. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Monday, 19 July 2010
Bingo!
At last I’ve got it. It took me some time, but I have decided to embark on a new project entitled ‘my year of self-improvement’. This is not, I must say now, one of those finding yourself type exercises, where you get your chakras felt/read/realigned or whatever and embark on a spiritual/soulful/exploratory journey. Bollocks to all that. My mission (which I have devised and therefore accepted) is to stop procrastinating. Nothing more complicated than getting off my arse and doing all the things I talk about doing but never do and boy is the list incredibly long. I also want to improve my skills and learn about all the things I enjoy in life but haven’t yet tackled or in some cases, mastered.
It’s a classic issue amongst my female friends. We all want more hours in the day to cram things in, we’re forever busy and rushing around, cancelling meet ups, rebooking, cancelling again, promising to make dates and then totally forgetting and yet forever looking back at things and thinking ‘where does the time go’ with that handless, fatalistic expression suggesting we can’t and don’t control any of it.
I’m 36 years old and feel like a Janet of all trades, mistress of none. I’m clearly not stupid, as I have a degree and a good job. I am fluent in a language, have run a marathon and can turn my hand to lots of things from drawing to cooking and even a little DIY. What still feels wrong is the sense that I am missing out on other things that I can’t do and am never willing to do much about the things I can half do as I have such a huge fear of failure. I can’t drive. I really, really want to start driving lessons but am frozen with fear. My friend Gema did them a few years ago and since then has barely driven as London is no place to learn. So what’s stopping me learning in Rye when we are down for the weekend? Or going on an intensive course? I know the pitfalls but rather than find a solution I keep reciting the excuse. Because I can’t drive, K and I remain limited as to what we do at the weekends. He’d love to learn to drive now (like me, he didn’t do it at 17 and never got round to it thereafter) but can’t because of his eyes. The only thing holding me back is pure and simple fear. I usually trot out the excuse that I have poor spatial awareness when asked why I don’t drive, but that’s just a lie. I could learn if I wanted to but it’s been easy to say can’t rather than won’t until now. Now it’s holding me back and that’s what I identified as the one thing about me that I am drastic to change.
I discovered on the cake decorating course that my inability to ‘let go’ means I take a while to learn, but once I get it I am off like a train! Breaking through the fear barrier is the major part and as I’ve got older, rather than getting better at it I’ve become more adept at avoiding it. When I was a teenager and baulking at something, my mother would know full well and shame me/force me into it. This had the effect of a) making me do it and b) leaving me scarred such that I would avoid ever doing it again! She in turn spent her life cowering away from anything challenging and saw my participation as ‘making sure I didn’t make her mistakes’. I was effectively her ‘go to’ girl from an early age – hell I can remember being instructed aged about ooh, 10 to tell the Chairman of the local rugby club where my mother thought he could stuff her pay raise for doing the teas after the game. He was none too impressed at having his character read out by a child and I still burn with shame at the memory.
So I have spent the last 36 years ricocheting between being too shy and nervous to venture forth and trying to tackle these things head on, either because I want to or because someone has insisted I do so. I still make huge to do lists of things I need to deal with and people I need to call. Each thing stays on there until one of a few things happen as follows:
It could be left so long that it becomes a matter of urgency, in which case I pick up the phone deal with it and, more often than not, put the phone down and think ‘what was I stressed about?’
If I really can’t summon up the courage and it’s optional, I usually strike it off the list after it’s lingered there for a while. Cool – scary thing gone and another thing off the list. Result!
If I get offered a way out by someone seeing it needs doing and volunteering their services, I almost flatten them in my haste to pass the buck.
Whatever the outcome, nothing goes on and off the list in 24 hours. If it’s easy, it never even makes the list!!
What’s so bizarre is that many of my friends are utterly oblivious to this. They only know me as the person who emails with a dinner reservation, tells them the latest news from the events I’ve been attending and surprises them with a charitable act or somesuch which forms my latest challenge. If I told them how scared things made me they’d tell me it was bullshit. None of them know what courage I need to work up to get to these points and doubtless figure it just comes naturally.
Take arriving at restaurants/cafes and bars. I hate being alone. I end up feeling utterly self-conscious and never know what to do with myself (glance around at folk and outstare them, check my blackberry, fiddle with my glass and pretend to read a text message or newspaper oh God, what to do) and yet I hate being late, so, given that most people are not as ultrapunctual as me, I usually end up in this situation from my own making – ha ha. It never gets easier. Even when I’ve been somewhere a thousand times, all it takes is one person to make me feel uneasy and I am finished.
As for getting on and dealing with stuff – sure if it is for my boss I can tackle anything. Holidays, complaints to suppliers, travel plans, shopping, you name it I’ll do it. When it’s for me you can guarantee that I will put it off until the very last moment. Flat renovations, ISA applications, cleaner references all bring me out in hives. Each week I have a new To Do List. I try working from the bottom to clear some long-term stuff. If it’s been there a while, I’ll probably score it out and forget it. If it has a deadline I will see if it can be extended! The latest thing at the top is never going to be done on day one, so I can ignore that. If I am lucky by end of play Monday it is one thing less and I can consider that week’s list done!
So, time’s up. No more dragging it out until the problems are so ancient that they have solved themselves! Along the way I hope to create an informative blog of things I’ve done/am doing and how they’ve helped me fill my time since sobering up. They will all help me pass the time more constructively than when I used to fill it with drink. I’d like to include visits to museums, cool cafes and the like and plot the various ways of ‘filling in the blanks’. Here goes – nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?
It’s a classic issue amongst my female friends. We all want more hours in the day to cram things in, we’re forever busy and rushing around, cancelling meet ups, rebooking, cancelling again, promising to make dates and then totally forgetting and yet forever looking back at things and thinking ‘where does the time go’ with that handless, fatalistic expression suggesting we can’t and don’t control any of it.
I’m 36 years old and feel like a Janet of all trades, mistress of none. I’m clearly not stupid, as I have a degree and a good job. I am fluent in a language, have run a marathon and can turn my hand to lots of things from drawing to cooking and even a little DIY. What still feels wrong is the sense that I am missing out on other things that I can’t do and am never willing to do much about the things I can half do as I have such a huge fear of failure. I can’t drive. I really, really want to start driving lessons but am frozen with fear. My friend Gema did them a few years ago and since then has barely driven as London is no place to learn. So what’s stopping me learning in Rye when we are down for the weekend? Or going on an intensive course? I know the pitfalls but rather than find a solution I keep reciting the excuse. Because I can’t drive, K and I remain limited as to what we do at the weekends. He’d love to learn to drive now (like me, he didn’t do it at 17 and never got round to it thereafter) but can’t because of his eyes. The only thing holding me back is pure and simple fear. I usually trot out the excuse that I have poor spatial awareness when asked why I don’t drive, but that’s just a lie. I could learn if I wanted to but it’s been easy to say can’t rather than won’t until now. Now it’s holding me back and that’s what I identified as the one thing about me that I am drastic to change.
I discovered on the cake decorating course that my inability to ‘let go’ means I take a while to learn, but once I get it I am off like a train! Breaking through the fear barrier is the major part and as I’ve got older, rather than getting better at it I’ve become more adept at avoiding it. When I was a teenager and baulking at something, my mother would know full well and shame me/force me into it. This had the effect of a) making me do it and b) leaving me scarred such that I would avoid ever doing it again! She in turn spent her life cowering away from anything challenging and saw my participation as ‘making sure I didn’t make her mistakes’. I was effectively her ‘go to’ girl from an early age – hell I can remember being instructed aged about ooh, 10 to tell the Chairman of the local rugby club where my mother thought he could stuff her pay raise for doing the teas after the game. He was none too impressed at having his character read out by a child and I still burn with shame at the memory.
So I have spent the last 36 years ricocheting between being too shy and nervous to venture forth and trying to tackle these things head on, either because I want to or because someone has insisted I do so. I still make huge to do lists of things I need to deal with and people I need to call. Each thing stays on there until one of a few things happen as follows:
It could be left so long that it becomes a matter of urgency, in which case I pick up the phone deal with it and, more often than not, put the phone down and think ‘what was I stressed about?’
If I really can’t summon up the courage and it’s optional, I usually strike it off the list after it’s lingered there for a while. Cool – scary thing gone and another thing off the list. Result!
If I get offered a way out by someone seeing it needs doing and volunteering their services, I almost flatten them in my haste to pass the buck.
Whatever the outcome, nothing goes on and off the list in 24 hours. If it’s easy, it never even makes the list!!
What’s so bizarre is that many of my friends are utterly oblivious to this. They only know me as the person who emails with a dinner reservation, tells them the latest news from the events I’ve been attending and surprises them with a charitable act or somesuch which forms my latest challenge. If I told them how scared things made me they’d tell me it was bullshit. None of them know what courage I need to work up to get to these points and doubtless figure it just comes naturally.
Take arriving at restaurants/cafes and bars. I hate being alone. I end up feeling utterly self-conscious and never know what to do with myself (glance around at folk and outstare them, check my blackberry, fiddle with my glass and pretend to read a text message or newspaper oh God, what to do) and yet I hate being late, so, given that most people are not as ultrapunctual as me, I usually end up in this situation from my own making – ha ha. It never gets easier. Even when I’ve been somewhere a thousand times, all it takes is one person to make me feel uneasy and I am finished.
As for getting on and dealing with stuff – sure if it is for my boss I can tackle anything. Holidays, complaints to suppliers, travel plans, shopping, you name it I’ll do it. When it’s for me you can guarantee that I will put it off until the very last moment. Flat renovations, ISA applications, cleaner references all bring me out in hives. Each week I have a new To Do List. I try working from the bottom to clear some long-term stuff. If it’s been there a while, I’ll probably score it out and forget it. If it has a deadline I will see if it can be extended! The latest thing at the top is never going to be done on day one, so I can ignore that. If I am lucky by end of play Monday it is one thing less and I can consider that week’s list done!
So, time’s up. No more dragging it out until the problems are so ancient that they have solved themselves! Along the way I hope to create an informative blog of things I’ve done/am doing and how they’ve helped me fill my time since sobering up. They will all help me pass the time more constructively than when I used to fill it with drink. I’d like to include visits to museums, cool cafes and the like and plot the various ways of ‘filling in the blanks’. Here goes – nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Yawn!
You know the silly summer season is upon us when it becomes a struggle to find things to do to fill up the days. As much as I like the fact that my job is without stress and the hours are very much reduced on what I am used to, it can be very tiresome when there’s not a lot going on. Admittedly, I have more time to blog but a part of me is still reticent about the whole process and wondering whether or not this is the best outlet for my thoughts after all. It’s the same old question about being self obsessed that keeps raising its ugly head, as I can’t see why my points of view would be of interest to others. Like everything in life, if I can think of someone doing it better than me, I leave it to the experts rather than make a ham-fisted go of it.
I fear that all this talk about me is just self-indulgent and would rather produce something interesting, funny and useful. Something that would have meaning for readers (and hey, I might even tag key words if it did and make it visible!) and that would give me a purpose. I thought about posting pics of the cakes I decorated but the first thing I thought was ‘who cares; they aren’t even that good’. Maybe a photo from the 10k I did would be good, except when the charity does upload the ones of me crossing the line I imagine I will be all red in the face and puffy; so not a good look! I know all this negative thinking is daft and that there are other, far more amateur blogs out there than mine, but it’s what puts me off doing so many things and I have to break the pattern. Where to start?
I had an idea, a bit like a kind of news column which would be helpful, funny and interesting at the same time. You know, thought for the day, recommendations, top tips, that sort of thing. Of course, something like that needs a purpose and an audience and again, I need to appeal to a group of people who share my eclectic taste and random ideas. In some ways, I think I am tired of life and the stuff that people do for pleasure. I have this feeling that I need to re-ignite mine and find those elusive things that make me happy that, truth be told, I never have. I did really enjoy the cake decorating, especially as I had to truly concentrate for such a long period of time. I’ve also rediscovered my running mojo so that’s a start and I am keen to go on another cooking course soon. Maybe what I need is a project, a sort of ‘fix my head ‘n body’ type of thing. Trying out ways to live a happy and fulfilling life, because giving up the booze often results in this lethargy and an inability to stand/cope with mindfulness. Also, there are so many things in life to do that don’t involve drinking but aren’t the clichéd things like theatre, film etc that I am sure this would prove more fruitful and productive than rambling on about ‘stuff’. Another thing I’d like to post about is where to go to meet friends of an evening in London in non-alcohol centric places. That, some recipes, some running tips, I dunno, a mish mash really of ways to keep busy when you no longer get trashed! Let’s call it a work in progress, eh?
I fear that all this talk about me is just self-indulgent and would rather produce something interesting, funny and useful. Something that would have meaning for readers (and hey, I might even tag key words if it did and make it visible!) and that would give me a purpose. I thought about posting pics of the cakes I decorated but the first thing I thought was ‘who cares; they aren’t even that good’. Maybe a photo from the 10k I did would be good, except when the charity does upload the ones of me crossing the line I imagine I will be all red in the face and puffy; so not a good look! I know all this negative thinking is daft and that there are other, far more amateur blogs out there than mine, but it’s what puts me off doing so many things and I have to break the pattern. Where to start?
I had an idea, a bit like a kind of news column which would be helpful, funny and interesting at the same time. You know, thought for the day, recommendations, top tips, that sort of thing. Of course, something like that needs a purpose and an audience and again, I need to appeal to a group of people who share my eclectic taste and random ideas. In some ways, I think I am tired of life and the stuff that people do for pleasure. I have this feeling that I need to re-ignite mine and find those elusive things that make me happy that, truth be told, I never have. I did really enjoy the cake decorating, especially as I had to truly concentrate for such a long period of time. I’ve also rediscovered my running mojo so that’s a start and I am keen to go on another cooking course soon. Maybe what I need is a project, a sort of ‘fix my head ‘n body’ type of thing. Trying out ways to live a happy and fulfilling life, because giving up the booze often results in this lethargy and an inability to stand/cope with mindfulness. Also, there are so many things in life to do that don’t involve drinking but aren’t the clichéd things like theatre, film etc that I am sure this would prove more fruitful and productive than rambling on about ‘stuff’. Another thing I’d like to post about is where to go to meet friends of an evening in London in non-alcohol centric places. That, some recipes, some running tips, I dunno, a mish mash really of ways to keep busy when you no longer get trashed! Let’s call it a work in progress, eh?
Monday, 12 July 2010
Blowing away the cobwebs - new beginnings?
Wonderful weekend away. We registered our wedding on Friday morning at Woolwich Town hall and then spent Friday afternoon travelling down to and then moseying round Rye stocking up on supplies – the dearth of fizzy water down there is becoming something of a problem. Saturday was Hastings (again!) on the beach and in the Old Town and Sunday was a lazy day in Rye doing our usual haunts. Perfect.
Got red eye train back to London this morning and have been mulling something over all day. The thing is, I have started to feel like a ghoul. It started gradually but I had weaned myself off some of my worst habits over the last few years and was quite pleased that I had made progress. I used to occasionally buy gossip mags and red-top newspapers as an indulgence, but have long since given that habit up. I still flick through a News of The World when I can, but never pay hard cash. I also still log on to the Daily Hate Mail website at work but that too seemed casual. I was kidding myself but I thought that watching trash from time to time helped show that whilst I’m in touch with things, know the names of celebrities and the latest scandals etc, I’m not an actual full-on consumer of such filth. Reality is, I am rubbernecking and watching with mouth wide open and a look of distaste as if I am somehow better for being a bystander than a participant. I am not better than any of the people who buy armloads of Hellos and OKs and settle down to Britain’s got Talent of a Saturday eve. I am like an alcoholic trying to kid themselves that one wee drink isn’t a relapse, and can honestly say that I am heartily sick of myself.
I had a think about the hours that I must have wasted spectating rather than doing. The time I spend reflecting on other lives, dissing them, sneering at and criticising others, voyeuristically charting progress and claiming to be keeping abreast of current affairs. Ha! It’s a sham and I know it.
Friday night was the turning point. K had gone to bed and, rather than join him, I decided to channel hop until I was really tired. Truth be told I could have gone to bed with him but have got used to what I call my ‘guilty pleasure time’ - from when he goes to bed for about another hour or so - , when I can indulge myself and watch pure trash. My pleasure is therefore at the expense of other peoples’ misery. K got up to get a glass of water and I was glued to Sky News, spectating on the gore-fest surrounding the capture of Raoul Moat. When I told him excitedly that they were showing live footage his reaction was the opposite of mine. As he pointed out, watching a mentally ill man choose decide whether or not to commit suicide ought not to be entertainment. I was shocked – not at his comment but at how I’d been sucked in to the whole thing to the point that I could no longer divorce my own delight at seeing the coverage from my equal amount of puzzlement that the locals should describe the town as having a carnival atmosphere whilst Sky news explained their helicopter wasn’t up due to a flying exclusion zone. My heart was telling me this was wrong – a man is on the brink of killing himself and potentially others and the Sky anchors are grinning like it’s the final of big brother – and yet my head was telling me to keep watching it as it was ‘gripping.
K went back to bed and I was left to think about this. It was and still feels totally wrong, but at the time I had no concept of this fact. That is not to suggest that I consider myself innocent in the whole episode. I knew full well what I was doing but had clearly buried all the moral concerns such news raises. I was too keen to indulge myself to think about it. OJ Simpson being pursued by the LA Police Force struck me as sick, at the time. Why was this not even more disgusting to view? Had I really become so divorced from such events as to consider them entertainment now?
I am not about to solve this dilemma today, but I will have to return to the subject again because something has to change. I can’t carry on as I currently am, sneaking a peak at the ‘news’ before discussing it in depth with friends and colleagues whilst still claiming to know nothing. It’s deceptive, duplicitous and devious. Either I am a consumer of these things or I am not. Like everything I do I need to be proud of it, or not do it at all. The minute that shame comes into the equation then something is very, very wrong.
Got red eye train back to London this morning and have been mulling something over all day. The thing is, I have started to feel like a ghoul. It started gradually but I had weaned myself off some of my worst habits over the last few years and was quite pleased that I had made progress. I used to occasionally buy gossip mags and red-top newspapers as an indulgence, but have long since given that habit up. I still flick through a News of The World when I can, but never pay hard cash. I also still log on to the Daily Hate Mail website at work but that too seemed casual. I was kidding myself but I thought that watching trash from time to time helped show that whilst I’m in touch with things, know the names of celebrities and the latest scandals etc, I’m not an actual full-on consumer of such filth. Reality is, I am rubbernecking and watching with mouth wide open and a look of distaste as if I am somehow better for being a bystander than a participant. I am not better than any of the people who buy armloads of Hellos and OKs and settle down to Britain’s got Talent of a Saturday eve. I am like an alcoholic trying to kid themselves that one wee drink isn’t a relapse, and can honestly say that I am heartily sick of myself.
I had a think about the hours that I must have wasted spectating rather than doing. The time I spend reflecting on other lives, dissing them, sneering at and criticising others, voyeuristically charting progress and claiming to be keeping abreast of current affairs. Ha! It’s a sham and I know it.
Friday night was the turning point. K had gone to bed and, rather than join him, I decided to channel hop until I was really tired. Truth be told I could have gone to bed with him but have got used to what I call my ‘guilty pleasure time’ - from when he goes to bed for about another hour or so - , when I can indulge myself and watch pure trash. My pleasure is therefore at the expense of other peoples’ misery. K got up to get a glass of water and I was glued to Sky News, spectating on the gore-fest surrounding the capture of Raoul Moat. When I told him excitedly that they were showing live footage his reaction was the opposite of mine. As he pointed out, watching a mentally ill man choose decide whether or not to commit suicide ought not to be entertainment. I was shocked – not at his comment but at how I’d been sucked in to the whole thing to the point that I could no longer divorce my own delight at seeing the coverage from my equal amount of puzzlement that the locals should describe the town as having a carnival atmosphere whilst Sky news explained their helicopter wasn’t up due to a flying exclusion zone. My heart was telling me this was wrong – a man is on the brink of killing himself and potentially others and the Sky anchors are grinning like it’s the final of big brother – and yet my head was telling me to keep watching it as it was ‘gripping.
K went back to bed and I was left to think about this. It was and still feels totally wrong, but at the time I had no concept of this fact. That is not to suggest that I consider myself innocent in the whole episode. I knew full well what I was doing but had clearly buried all the moral concerns such news raises. I was too keen to indulge myself to think about it. OJ Simpson being pursued by the LA Police Force struck me as sick, at the time. Why was this not even more disgusting to view? Had I really become so divorced from such events as to consider them entertainment now?
I am not about to solve this dilemma today, but I will have to return to the subject again because something has to change. I can’t carry on as I currently am, sneaking a peak at the ‘news’ before discussing it in depth with friends and colleagues whilst still claiming to know nothing. It’s deceptive, duplicitous and devious. Either I am a consumer of these things or I am not. Like everything I do I need to be proud of it, or not do it at all. The minute that shame comes into the equation then something is very, very wrong.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Seaside here I come!
I’m off on my monthly visit to Rye tomorrow – am so pleased it’s come round so quick! 3 days of total bliss and relaxation. To say I can’t wait is an understatement. However, before that I am attending an evening masterclass with my friend S, to ice cakes. Yup, royal icing, piping and palette knives here we come. It’s A Women’s Institute Member’s wet dream and at the end I will have 4 (probably badly!) iced cakes to keep K quiet for at least, oooh 5 minutes!
It’s nice to have that mix of apprehension and pleasure that you get when you have something to look forward to that will challenge and be enjoyable in equal measure. God knows I am an old hand when it comes to the emotion of being just challenged…and the subsequent flip-flopping I’ve done over the years from will I, won’t I to going and hating it or cancelling.
I’ve got a lot coming up as it happens, that I have planned and booked myself in the spirit of genuine pleasure. It’s a strange feeling looking at the diary and seeing things that I want to do stretching ahead of me, rather than a whole load of obligations. Had I been single still, and involved with my parents, the next 3 months would have involved the following:
- Being cajoled into a holiday with them in the South of France. After being battered down with requests I would have gone for a week, spent half of it being marched round the sights and the other half comatose on deckchairs arguing outside a villa of their choosing with a whole load of empty bottles.
- If I had been strong enough to refuse their invite I would have had them down for the weekend preceding their trip and on their return. My mother would have lined up DIY jobs (on MY flat!) for my dad to do, which he would have squeezed in using stuff purchased from either the B&Q sale rack or their local market. It wouldn’t be finished off as he’d run out of time and either she’d berate him for being useless or I’d get it in the neck for expecting it to be done. All along said DIY would have been her idea….
- Used up my savings to attend my cousin’s wedding in Canada. Don’t get me wrong, P is a lovely bloke and I have a lot of time for him. However, given the distance, we’ve met on about 5 occasions over the course of our lifetime. I went to my cousin K’s wedding a few years back and had a very nice time but, even though I met a very nice man at the time, whom I went on to date, I can’t say my life would have been any less enriched if I hadn’t gone. It was nice to see everyone but the drinking began on my arrival and never stopped. We went from one party to the other and my knowledge of Toronto (where we stayed) is minimal. In 10 days I saw the city centre twice, both times after dark and went to Niagara once. I saw all my relatives but the fact is, we have little in common. No disrespect but that’s a fact rather than a judgement. I have no yearning to return to Canada (unlike my brother who is very happy visiting and has just come back) but would have been persuaded otherwise by my parents and ended up guilt tripped into attending. As it happens, I had an email 2 weeks ago to tell me that the wedding has been postponed to next year. My parents would doubtless have already bought flights so the holiday would have gone ahead anyway and my resentment would have been even greater.
Instead of the above I will be going to 2 concerts and one comedy night – all of my choosing. Visiting my old colleague from Parliament, a sweet old dear whom I haven’t caught up with for 10 years. Making another trip to Rye, popping down to Reigate to see the nephews, taking a boat trip down the Thames with one set of friends and doing brunch with another. I have my cake class tonight and am juggling dates to start a massage and an upholstery one. Hell, no-one will look on my life with envy at the social whirl but do I care? What matters is that these are MY choices. I read a really interesting article yesterday about how facebook status updates are narcissism and the only reason people need to do them is to validate themselves. Yes, yes, I know the argument (what’s this blog then?) but the blog is essentially a diary as so few people know about it. I couldn’t care less if it was read as it is here for me to vent my spleen. In fact, quite the opposite. I’d rather not have people scrutinise my every word for meaning and pretension and be left to ramble on rather than justify my every thought. That’s not to say I would be offended if someone read it but I’d rather it was read in the spirit it is intended – not to draw attention to me but to allow my random thoughts to be shared with others who may or may not care less.
And so endeth my lesson for today – ha ha. Am sure I will have tons more to share next week as it should be quiet and calm now that the schools have broken up and everyone’s off on their hols. Well, everyone except non-breeders like me who are getting away before the mass exodus as I have no desire to share my time off with families and want peace, perfect peace!
It’s nice to have that mix of apprehension and pleasure that you get when you have something to look forward to that will challenge and be enjoyable in equal measure. God knows I am an old hand when it comes to the emotion of being just challenged…and the subsequent flip-flopping I’ve done over the years from will I, won’t I to going and hating it or cancelling.
I’ve got a lot coming up as it happens, that I have planned and booked myself in the spirit of genuine pleasure. It’s a strange feeling looking at the diary and seeing things that I want to do stretching ahead of me, rather than a whole load of obligations. Had I been single still, and involved with my parents, the next 3 months would have involved the following:
- Being cajoled into a holiday with them in the South of France. After being battered down with requests I would have gone for a week, spent half of it being marched round the sights and the other half comatose on deckchairs arguing outside a villa of their choosing with a whole load of empty bottles.
- If I had been strong enough to refuse their invite I would have had them down for the weekend preceding their trip and on their return. My mother would have lined up DIY jobs (on MY flat!) for my dad to do, which he would have squeezed in using stuff purchased from either the B&Q sale rack or their local market. It wouldn’t be finished off as he’d run out of time and either she’d berate him for being useless or I’d get it in the neck for expecting it to be done. All along said DIY would have been her idea….
- Used up my savings to attend my cousin’s wedding in Canada. Don’t get me wrong, P is a lovely bloke and I have a lot of time for him. However, given the distance, we’ve met on about 5 occasions over the course of our lifetime. I went to my cousin K’s wedding a few years back and had a very nice time but, even though I met a very nice man at the time, whom I went on to date, I can’t say my life would have been any less enriched if I hadn’t gone. It was nice to see everyone but the drinking began on my arrival and never stopped. We went from one party to the other and my knowledge of Toronto (where we stayed) is minimal. In 10 days I saw the city centre twice, both times after dark and went to Niagara once. I saw all my relatives but the fact is, we have little in common. No disrespect but that’s a fact rather than a judgement. I have no yearning to return to Canada (unlike my brother who is very happy visiting and has just come back) but would have been persuaded otherwise by my parents and ended up guilt tripped into attending. As it happens, I had an email 2 weeks ago to tell me that the wedding has been postponed to next year. My parents would doubtless have already bought flights so the holiday would have gone ahead anyway and my resentment would have been even greater.
Instead of the above I will be going to 2 concerts and one comedy night – all of my choosing. Visiting my old colleague from Parliament, a sweet old dear whom I haven’t caught up with for 10 years. Making another trip to Rye, popping down to Reigate to see the nephews, taking a boat trip down the Thames with one set of friends and doing brunch with another. I have my cake class tonight and am juggling dates to start a massage and an upholstery one. Hell, no-one will look on my life with envy at the social whirl but do I care? What matters is that these are MY choices. I read a really interesting article yesterday about how facebook status updates are narcissism and the only reason people need to do them is to validate themselves. Yes, yes, I know the argument (what’s this blog then?) but the blog is essentially a diary as so few people know about it. I couldn’t care less if it was read as it is here for me to vent my spleen. In fact, quite the opposite. I’d rather not have people scrutinise my every word for meaning and pretension and be left to ramble on rather than justify my every thought. That’s not to say I would be offended if someone read it but I’d rather it was read in the spirit it is intended – not to draw attention to me but to allow my random thoughts to be shared with others who may or may not care less.
And so endeth my lesson for today – ha ha. Am sure I will have tons more to share next week as it should be quiet and calm now that the schools have broken up and everyone’s off on their hols. Well, everyone except non-breeders like me who are getting away before the mass exodus as I have no desire to share my time off with families and want peace, perfect peace!
Friday, 2 July 2010
Running, jumping and batting balls!
Blimey! Another week has gone past and yet again I am coming to my blog late in the day. It’s a good sign, as writing regularly tends to mean that my workload isn’t demanding enough and I’d actually rather be running around madly than sat yawning and clock watching!
I was still babysitting for my colleague on Monday and then on Tuesday I went to Wimbledon. Woo hoo!!! So, me being me I had already formed a very comprehensive opinion of Wimbledon in my mind. I was adamant it was ‘not my thing’ whenever anyone mentioned that I would probably get some tickets as a thank you from my boss. Pah. Who, me? Grace the grand arena for Sloaney Ponies, West London Wankers, public schoolboy inbreds and Septic Tank wannabes? I don’t think so.
Anyway, when D (my boss) came back from his latest holiday, speeding round Italy in a classic Ferrari (as you do!) he was on top form and clearly wanted to show his appreciation by offering me a ‘gift’. Well if you can count asking me if I used a filofax as proffering a gift, to which I promptly replied, no, the pda and handheld have long since made them things redundant. He slunk back into his office/lair with the beautiful Italian leather one he had in his hand that he’d been given by the racing team he’d been with. Shucks, thinks I. Yes it was a freebie but he did offer and now he’ll think me an ungrateful bitch.
About 10 minutes later he emerged and said ‘you in on the 29th’. To which I replied ‘of course’ so he said ‘fancy taking Miss D [my colleague] to Wimbledon?’ How churlish would I have been to have said no, I hate tennis! Of course, says I, fixed grin at the ready and that was that. As a debenture holder he had prime seats, opposite the Royal Box and the whole shebang included car parking, 3 course lunch in their best restaurant and afternoon tea.
Anyhoo. Miss D and I set off from the office about 10.40 and had a traffic-free glide down to the ground. When we got there and parked up they even sent a golf buggy to ferry us to the main gate which was most definitely superfluous (it took 5 minutes to walk) but fun all the same!!! When we got in to the ‘compound’ we headed straight for lunch and had a hilarious conversation with the head receptionist who had moved our table so that we weren’t sat next to ‘that vile John Mcririck’ for which we were both very grateful.
Lunch was superb – served by the sort of late teens that are spewed out by the minor public schools, whose parents don’t think themselves too grand to have decent manners and are therefore incredibly sweet and polite. After stuffing that lot down we went straight to Centre Court and, thanks to Miss D bringing binoculars for us both, set about people-watching. Oh what fun I had! The Majors were bang opposite us and Norma sat regally, like the Queen through a whole afternoon of tennis. Either she’s on some sort of tranquilizer, John really is that deadly dull or she had spotted Edwina Currie and was plotting her revenge. The tennis itself was good and we watched two ladies’ matches (Serena Williams has nails the like of which I have only ever seen before down Lewisham way), a men’s doubles and then a couple of games of Navratilova and other veterans before heading home. When we popped off for afternoon tea we also did a tour of the grounds and saw all the famous bits like Henman Hill and the champagne bar. Miss D has been going for many years and was the font of all knowledge, so I couldn’t have asked for a better escort. The extra bonus was that we got back to her car just in time to listen to The Archers whilst we sat in the traffic leading out, and had a fine journey back to Chelsea.
So, aside from eating all the fish, cake and scones that could be thrown at me, I also had to eat my words. Wimbledon was great. I got really into the matches, loved watching the audience and managed to only get mildly irritated with the other folk on a handful of occasions all day. It was a genteel, refined and grown up way to spend a day and I admit that I would have loved to go back today to see Murray v. Nadal. It’s not often that my preconceptions are totally and utterly quashed, but this was one of those rare occasions.
Anyway, the weekend beckons which means an early start tomorrow and a trek across London to the start of my 10k that I’ve been working towards. I’ve managed to get a really decent amount of sponsorship this week so the pressure is on! That said, I need it to make sure I don’t turn over in bed and go ‘fuck it’ so I’m very glad.
I was still babysitting for my colleague on Monday and then on Tuesday I went to Wimbledon. Woo hoo!!! So, me being me I had already formed a very comprehensive opinion of Wimbledon in my mind. I was adamant it was ‘not my thing’ whenever anyone mentioned that I would probably get some tickets as a thank you from my boss. Pah. Who, me? Grace the grand arena for Sloaney Ponies, West London Wankers, public schoolboy inbreds and Septic Tank wannabes? I don’t think so.
Anyway, when D (my boss) came back from his latest holiday, speeding round Italy in a classic Ferrari (as you do!) he was on top form and clearly wanted to show his appreciation by offering me a ‘gift’. Well if you can count asking me if I used a filofax as proffering a gift, to which I promptly replied, no, the pda and handheld have long since made them things redundant. He slunk back into his office/lair with the beautiful Italian leather one he had in his hand that he’d been given by the racing team he’d been with. Shucks, thinks I. Yes it was a freebie but he did offer and now he’ll think me an ungrateful bitch.
About 10 minutes later he emerged and said ‘you in on the 29th’. To which I replied ‘of course’ so he said ‘fancy taking Miss D [my colleague] to Wimbledon?’ How churlish would I have been to have said no, I hate tennis! Of course, says I, fixed grin at the ready and that was that. As a debenture holder he had prime seats, opposite the Royal Box and the whole shebang included car parking, 3 course lunch in their best restaurant and afternoon tea.
Anyhoo. Miss D and I set off from the office about 10.40 and had a traffic-free glide down to the ground. When we got there and parked up they even sent a golf buggy to ferry us to the main gate which was most definitely superfluous (it took 5 minutes to walk) but fun all the same!!! When we got in to the ‘compound’ we headed straight for lunch and had a hilarious conversation with the head receptionist who had moved our table so that we weren’t sat next to ‘that vile John Mcririck’ for which we were both very grateful.
Lunch was superb – served by the sort of late teens that are spewed out by the minor public schools, whose parents don’t think themselves too grand to have decent manners and are therefore incredibly sweet and polite. After stuffing that lot down we went straight to Centre Court and, thanks to Miss D bringing binoculars for us both, set about people-watching. Oh what fun I had! The Majors were bang opposite us and Norma sat regally, like the Queen through a whole afternoon of tennis. Either she’s on some sort of tranquilizer, John really is that deadly dull or she had spotted Edwina Currie and was plotting her revenge. The tennis itself was good and we watched two ladies’ matches (Serena Williams has nails the like of which I have only ever seen before down Lewisham way), a men’s doubles and then a couple of games of Navratilova and other veterans before heading home. When we popped off for afternoon tea we also did a tour of the grounds and saw all the famous bits like Henman Hill and the champagne bar. Miss D has been going for many years and was the font of all knowledge, so I couldn’t have asked for a better escort. The extra bonus was that we got back to her car just in time to listen to The Archers whilst we sat in the traffic leading out, and had a fine journey back to Chelsea.
So, aside from eating all the fish, cake and scones that could be thrown at me, I also had to eat my words. Wimbledon was great. I got really into the matches, loved watching the audience and managed to only get mildly irritated with the other folk on a handful of occasions all day. It was a genteel, refined and grown up way to spend a day and I admit that I would have loved to go back today to see Murray v. Nadal. It’s not often that my preconceptions are totally and utterly quashed, but this was one of those rare occasions.
Anyway, the weekend beckons which means an early start tomorrow and a trek across London to the start of my 10k that I’ve been working towards. I’ve managed to get a really decent amount of sponsorship this week so the pressure is on! That said, I need it to make sure I don’t turn over in bed and go ‘fuck it’ so I’m very glad.
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