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.

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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.

Coffee, friends and… me

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Getting nowhere fast. It’s one of my few talents. And today, I excelled. The washing hasn’t been done, the cat is crying for food, the dishwasher needs emptying and reloading, and as for tea… well the takeaway menus are in the bottom drawer.

Actually no, today I multi-tasked (well I am a woman!), today I got somewhere, albeit slowly. I am here and you are with me. I have written my first blog. Much of my day has been consumed pondering this, typing this, editing this and questioning my own sanity as to what the hell I’m doing.

So at this point in the day I have a blog that I am pretty chuffed with, even if I do say so myself, set against a backdrop of washing, a shrinking cat, a starving family and dirty dishes. If I get any earache for this situation, I will adopt a childish whining tone and cry… “It wasn’t me, it’s not my fault”.

So, who’s to blame?  Someone, something has to take the blame surely?  We live in a blame culture these days, so I need to blame someone or something for the messy house, the laundry piles, the starving family and cat.  And, trust me, I have no qualms in calling to the dock the guilty parties for this current state of affairs…

Coffee.  Without question it’s the devil’s work.  Don’t give me that stuff about gin being a mother’s ruin. Coffee – thick dark, bitter and laden with the evil called caffeine… that stuff takes control and makes you excitable, gives you ideas, makes you want to write a blog.  Trust me I’ve never wanted to write a blog after a few gin and tonics.

Weekday mornings, I opt for an Americano (cue a burst of Holly Johnson… ok that was Americanos – humour me people)… and water down my daily Italian roast espresso. But this morning was different, I opted for the hard core, bring it on, full strength between the eyes caffeine hit. Hardly half a cup through and my mind was taken over… a voice… my own voice asking me, nay telling me “You want to write a blog H. Don’t you?” I should have moved on to tea right there and then. But no! There was more coffee in the pot. I couldn’t just chuck it, there are starving children in Africa who’d kill for a strong Italian roast espresso.

So after two cups of toe curling Italian roast this morning, I found myself with a WordPress account, dipping my stubby little toes into the waters of the blogging world. I can only blame it on the coffee. No other explanation. OK there is also another possible explanation…

Friends. My closest friends with whom I have weekly group intercourse (stop sniggering) … verbal, typed intercourse… via email… *rolls eyes* … where was I?  Ah, yes, … in the midst of an email flurry as we call it, one of my girls might say, “I love your emails our Nells, they always make me smile.” Often followed by six words.  .. “you really should write a blog”. In my head I’d say those famous, and probably paraphrased, words of Travis Bickle “You talkin to me?” … then continue reading said email and reply without comment.

… so as stated… here I sit logged into WordPress and dipping my stubby little toes into the waters of the blogging world. I can only blame it on my best friends, whose words activated the caffeine which affected my brain.  It’s their fault. No other explanation. OK there is also another possible explanation…

Me. I love the written word; it’s simplicity, it’s complexity. I admire writers, authors who conceive worlds, lives, characters and can evoke  emotions, by the infinite arrangements of 26 letters formed into a myriad of woven words. Through their words I build my version of their creation, visualise that world, give faces to their characters  and claim them as my own. I have never wanted to be a writer, an author; I possess neither the skill nor imagination. I am happy to consume the end product. But I do love to spew my thoughts now and then… in emails to friends, the occasional tweet, a random Facebook status, in messaging and texts.

… AND sometimes I have said to myself “You should write a blog H.” In mind that it  could be cathartic, a simple brain dump, a way to articulate my thoughts via a different medium, find my own voice and simply communicate.

… so as stated… here I sit logged into WordPress and dipping my stubby little toes into the waters of the blogging world. And… well I can only blame it on myself really. No other explanation. I am going to have a go at blogging simply because I want to.

The coffee?  Well that’s kept me going all day whilst doing this. My friends, well, their occasional “you really should…” has turned in to “I have…”; because they know me well and knew I would quite like to put pen to paper, or, as we are in the 21st century – fingertips to keyboard. So girls you had better read this or I will go all stiff!

Right, here I go… it’s a start and practice makes perfect!

My second blog is in note form and leaping around between my synapses. So another will be posted soon.  It looks like getting nowhere fast will continue, so lets see how many dishes I can pile up, how skinny the cat will get and how high a laundry pile I can build…