Flushing Princess Pink

I was enjoying a ‘cheeky’ Costa the other day… yes, crap word, but I’m trying to lose some excess baggage here, so the Costa was a bit cheeky…

…whoah digressing, I’m not talking baggage today.  Aaaaand back to the subject…

… so there I sat enjoying my cheeky Costa, relishing the peace of my own company and skimming through a discarded newspaper. An indulgent bit of time out. Me time. But of course situations always change. Someone decided my attention needed to be caught.  Someone would not be happy until I threw my attention her way.

I could feel her eyes on me.  A small hand waving, waiting to catch my gaze.  I looked up, we locked eyes… she grabbed! Well caught!

“I’ve got hot chocolate, what you got?” she asked.

“Coffee.” I replied, asking “Is your hot chocolate nice?”

Her affirmative response was proffered by a lick of the lips and a nod, accompanied by a long savouring “mmmmmmmmmmmm”.

She was around 4 years old. Crazy curly hair. Wearing that multi-coloured mish mash of patterns and stripes that only kids can get away with.

“Have you seen my picture. I drewd it.” she said, waving a napkin at me covered in an array of pencil squiggles and dots.

“Its brilliant” I smiled, “tell me about it”… always the best response when you haven’t a clue what the picture is. Followed by holding your breath, just for a moment, hoping the reply isn’t a curt “can’t you see?” It wasn’t… and breathe! Phew!

Her pet rabbit eating a carrot, and her cat killing a mouse (nice!).  Poor things, no ears, two eyes between them and no legs, but being polite I didn’t mention that her pets seemed to missing some of their body parts and may need a trip to the vet at some point.

As she chattered to me, I sensed something in the way she was looking at me.  Her eyes, her expression seemed to hold an unasked question. She would quieten, then start to edge towards me, then step back; excited chattering resuming. Then she would edge closer again and quieten, watching me.

Kids can’t hold things in. If there is a question to be asked, it has to be asked. No messing now, no holding back, she looked me in the eye, grabbed my hair and out it came… “Is your hair real or is it pretend?”

Mum gasped, ready to tell her off, to which I quickly mouthed an “It’s OK.”

I laughed.  In fact I lol’d!  And if you are wondering about my wig, no I don’t have one, although I do believe there are some stonking syrups out there.

“It’s real” I replied, “Look, its attached to my scalp”. My comment clearly being an offer  to verify my statement and give my hair a yank, whilst I bravely held in a wince.

“But its pink?!” she questioned. Ah that was it.  She was simply taken by the colour of my hair.  I find it hard to believe she had never seen anyone with pink hair before, or maybe she had never had the opportunity to speak to a rose head.

“Oh!” I understood now.  “My hair is real, but the colour is pretend. I coloured it in myself.”

“WOW!” she squealed.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“Yes, its Princess hair! Princesses have pink hair. Are you a Princess?”

“Erm, no” I laughed “Just a lady with pink hair I’m afraid.”

“I think you are a Princess and its beautiful hair.”

“Thank you very much” I smiled “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me today.”

She looked very pleased with herself, grinned at me, then contentedly went back to her hot chocolate and continued her napkin doodling.

And the Princess?

Well throughout this exchange, the 53 year old Princess in her tatty jumper, old leggings and Doc Martens had been flushing, sweating and fanning herself, as women of a certain age often do!

She carried on fanning herself as she finished her coffee. Holding her cup with her little pinky sticking out, because that’s what Princesses do. And she smiled to herself.

We all have a Princess inside and last Thursday that little girl spotted mine.


What more could an old girl ask for?

There’s a new man in my life.

It started off pretty casual, an on / off thing, around last Spring. You know, the odd meal, a quick snatched fifteen minutes now and then… sometimes twenty… if I could fit him in.

But I just wasn’t committed.  These things take thought and careful consideration. However recently, lets just say things have moved on.

I try and spend time with him at least for a brief session five times a week.  This month we have pre-arranged assignations every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I’m a pretty good cook, but he helps me in the kitchen too! What a star!

He leaves me hot and sweaty. He leaves me replete.

And I feel so good about myself!

What more could an old girl ask for?!

Let’s just say, there’s more to come on this subject…



A Parasite Called Complacency

Determination is back in da house!

Complacency can find a new gaff to dwell in. Notice has been served and she’s out on her ear. Evicted!

Parasitic complacency. Slowly absorbing determination, growing by the day. Trust me, you don’t know you have a parasite until you see the effects. Determination all absorbed and digested, complacency is sated as she settles under the skin… wrapping herself around the waist, hips, thighs.

Without a doubt I have taken my eye off the ball.  Actually I think I may have eaten the ball, and definitely all the pies, cakes, crisps, chocolate…

Oh yes, its that old chestnut (yep I ate those too)… my weight. Those of you who know me will groan… yes I can hear you from here; but you will know this is a constant struggle for me. And boy I could go on and on and on about it.  At some point I am sure I will… write about the weight demons weighing me down… oooooohhhhh see what I did there? HOWEVER now is not the time, now is a time for positivity…

… determination.

And this is not about New Year’s resolutions… I don’t ‘do’ New Year resolutions.  I believe there is a moment when you know things need to change, take control or take back the control. That moment can be at any time of year.  That moment sometimes takes a long time to find it’s ‘moment’. And sometimes…

… your jeans are a bit too tight on 31 December and you say enough is enough, grab a pen,  write that eviction notice, hand it to the parasite and boot her out.

What’s in a name?

Why… Don’t Touch The Pen?

In the age of the keyboard and touchscreen, we hardly need to touch a pen?  The world is at our fingertips. Reaching  out to people at the touch of a button, the swipe of a finger or a tap.

So actually there is no need to touch the pen, a pen. Why did I not call my site… No Need For The Pen or The Keyboard Over The Pen.

For me those just don’t work.  That statement is important. My site name has meaning and I mean it… trust me I’m serious folks – DON’T TOUCH THE PEN!

Sorry I didn’t mean to make you jump!

Although you may back away, when you read on… okay how do I put this without sounding unhinged?

I will no doubt write in the future about my love of a certain band.  My obsession with that band. But that’s for another time.

Back in February 2013, 19th February 2013 to be exact; I was in a state of euphoria at being one of the privileged few to attend the London premiere of a documentary made by the front man of that band. The premiere being followed by a Q&A with the man himself. MY HERO!  I was a nervous wreck. He was so close. Right there in front of me. I was shaking. 

Anyway, before leaving, and with crossed fingers, I popped photograph into my bag, one I’d taken of him at a gig a couple of years before and a Sharpie I found in the drawer.  Just in case…

…And just in case happened. Somehow I managed to get a scribbled autograph, on that photo, with THAT pen, just as security dragged him away and out of the door.  I was lucky, very lucky… we also wish we’d been rude and gone to the loo during the film… but I can’t go into that misery… lets just say we were too polite to leave the showing despite needing to pee and it’s one of the biggest regrets of our lives!

So there I was. I had an autograph. I’d touched his hand (I was tempted never to wash it again… but I had to be practical). However, I had a pen HE had touched.  What was I to do? I had to treat it with reverence… I mean there’s DNA on it!  I could clone myself my own hero!

Only one thing to do… go home put it in a snappy bag and seal the bag and put it safely away.

So in a drawer, no I’m not telling you which one, I have a Sharpie pen in a snappy bag. No one is allowed to touch the pen. Not even me. I get the bag out sometimes and look at it. I sigh, then put it back in the drawer safely.

And that is my inspiration for my site name.  It has meaning and works.

Yes, I am slightly bonkers, but in a cute way… that’s also why I’m known as the Crazy Pen Lady… maybe I should change my blogging name too?