Welcome to Valentine hell

As anyone who knows me knows, I am a single woman.  This is my choice.  It is how I choose to be. I have two great kids, fantastic friends and a wonderful and loving family.

Today is Valentine’s Day, the most romantic day of the year.  So they say.  I’m off work this week.  It’s only Monday as I write this and already I’ve had to sit through endless programmes and adverts showing everything from dramatic wedding proposals to romance courtesy of M&S for only 20 quid. Heck, even google are at it.  Check out the cutesie-wootsie little video on their homepage.

Now please don’t get me wrong, I’m not unromantic.  In fact I can be quite a little sweetie-pie when I choose.  I love romantic things. An unexpected little note that says “I love you.”  Sitting together with that someone special on a beach as the sun goes down.  The light touch of the person you desire on the small of your back.  Even a look across a crowded room between just you two that makes the proverbial butterflies take flight and do loops in your stomach.  These things can make me melt like butter.

But the awful, forced romanticism of Valentine’s day makes me want to poke myself repeatedly in the eye with a rusty old fork.

ImageRomantic

I used to work in pubs many moons back and on VD (as I’ll call it from now on) I’d see men who miserably propped the bar up week in, week out or, worse, spend every Friday night leering lasciviously at any young girl who came within twenty yards.  To celebrate VD, these self-same men would turn up with their wife or girlfriend in an attempt to romance her for one night of the year.  They’d have been down the Tasmi Balti for a nice meal and would round the evening off with a pint of Wobbly Bob, a Malibu and pineapple, and a rose that he bought for a fiver from a man with a bucket.  How romantic.

My best friend, after being single for all of 37 seconds, has recently found herself a new man.  This chap makes my friend giddy to such an alarming degree that I’ve taken to calling her Maria Von Trapp, so twirly and sing-song-y is she about him.  I can only sit agog and watch as she gushes like a busted water main about the joys of enjoying their first VD together.

I wish my friend and her chap a lovely day together.  As I do for all the loved-up, blissfully happy couples out there.  I wish them joy every single day of the year.  Just don’t ask me to buy in to a day decreed romantic by Hallmark and Marks & Spencer.

Now excuse me while I down a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 and wail along to an old Del Amitri cassette.  “Be my downfaaaaalllll………be my undooooing, be my slow road to ruin, tonight” Hic!

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One Direction to Wembley (and back again)

Life’s not easy when you’re Mrs Harry Styles’s mother

You know when you’re pregnant with your first child?  Once the joy of finding out there’s a new life growing inside you, the horrible realisation dawns that you need to go through childbirth in order to meet him or her?  Well, last weekend I went to Wembley and back in a day and it felt kind of like that. The happiness at getting there followed by the horror of realising you have to get back afterwards.

So what was I doing going on a 440 mile round trip to Wembley?  Well, I went to Wembley and discovered the nightmare of the North Circular Road, the end-of-the-world style traffic heading for Brent Cross shopping centre, and to learn that a trip to IKEA can be akin to a trip to hell when said store has its own 5,000 place multi-storey car park, before giving in and going to sit in the car park of a local retail park for 5 hours. Continue reading

Quotes of the Year: Part 4

Part 4 of some things that I found amusing this year

Convos

Jay: I’d love to be on the dole in this weather.

Lezzer:  I’ve got a letter to go for one of those over 40s health checks.
Jay:  Are you going for a genital test?

Lezzer discusses office cleaners:  They all look the same to me.

Hol’s first day back at school: How small are year 7s?  I almost trod on one.

Dolly: Steve once took a special needs group to see The Matrix.

Jay to Alex: Just cos you have smiley faces and turkey aeroplanes when you get home.

I often forget what I was planning to say: Hol are you going to eat these shoes or what?

Alex: We’re the last sane generation.

Dolly to Alex: I’ve got no knowledge of computers and you’ve got no common sense.

Lezzer: My friend did Greg a few years ago at Bankfield.

Lezzer: You need some of that – what do you call it – slippy slappy?

Karen: Isn’t it funny how you look at funerals now?  I’m starting to grade them…judging the quality of the coffin, the food…

Jay: Monks are always attracted to me.

Alex: Is that the one whose face got ate off by a monkey?

Alex: The Irish age faster.

Jay: Is that someone’s real name – Ed Balls?  What a knob. Continue reading

I love you, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do

Seventh time lucky!

I’ve just had one of those over-the-garden-fence conversations with my next door neighbour that brought to mind something that famous clever clogs Samuel Johnson once said

“Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience”

I can testify to the truth of this, having been someone’s second wife in a marriage that was ultimately doomed.

But, having been a second wife, I can understand the feeling of optimism that this time it’s all going to be alright as you swan down the aisle to make your vows that this one will last forever and ever. Amen. Continue reading

“You’re next!”

A guy I know who’s been single for many years following his second divorce has recently fallen in love.  He’s like a giddy teenager and has started telling people they may need to buy a big hat.  It’s lovely to see.  It really is.

It’s also been very unfortunate for me.  This is because it’s prompted people to start looking at me with a knowing look  and saying, “Oooh, you’re next!” as if there’s a conveyor belt of older, single people that I’m on and I’m next to be processed. Continue reading