Tradition

My childhood was full of funny little traditions:

• Santa likes his whisky with a little bit of water.
• Rudolph prefers chocolate to carrots.
• Tooth fairy rates do not increase with inflation.
• On Christmas Eve we will go down to the pub, get merrily drunk and stagger to Midnight Mass no matter what condition we were in.
• Christmas presents are not to be opened until about 3 in the afternoon (after late breakfast, a trip to the pub and before the meal in the evening).
• Easter is a day for chocolate and church. Your egg will be on the table with breakfast and you may eat it then and there as an accompaniment with full fry up breakfast. You will then go to church.
• At the end of the school year you will take a thank you present to your teacher.
• Bread and butter letters will be sent after staying with someone.
• Home made cards are best.
• No matter what the weather, you will go for a walk on a Sunday.
• Saturdays are for going into "nearest large town to the village". We will meet at 11 o'clock at "random small coffee shop".
• All pets will have random swahili names.

It makes me a little bit sad that N doesn't seem to have had all these types of traditions. If we get married and have children it'll be up to me to make sure that, 20 years on, they're sitting remembering their childhood with fondness and having a little giggle.

As old as the woman you feel

A wise man once said "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?" And, as it's coming up to my birthday (gosh, I'm going to be so old), I got thinking.

How old would I like to be?

0 - 2 years - No stress. Sit. Lie down a little. Cry a bit. Play. Eat. All your needs are dealt with, no responsibility. Now that's a life I could get used to. Much like a cat I would be ruler of my own universe, know I was right in all circumstances and would be able to turn my affection on and off at whim.

6-7 years - I have few memories from this period but I do remember endless summers. I always seemed to be playing, even when at school. Friends could be made and dropped in an instant. There was no pressure to look good or to wear the right things. If you were teased you were safe in the knowledge that your mother had dressed you so therefore, it wasn't your fault. Food seemed nicer at this age. Maybe because everything was new.

Teen years - Surprisingly idyllic. Is this because I was living in a hot country with few distractions apart from horses and sport? Could it be that I just didn't care what people thought? Still?

30 - 40 years - For some reason I think this will be the best time of my life. I should have my own home. I should be married. I should have children. I should have enough money to see me through. Should.

90+ years - I would have great fun pretending I were slightly mad. I'd put irons in the fridge. I'd make my 10 cats wear different hats and seat them round the table at dinner parties. I would delight in squeezing the cheeks of people younger than me. I would attempt to grow plants in people's shoes and I would make everyone refer to me as "Your Majesty".

What about you?

Pah! Kids today...don't know they're born

"In my day we used to walk to school, 15 miles in the snow, barefoot and with an anvil strapped to our back."

We've been suffering from server problems at work for the last couple of days. No email. No internet. No nothing. (No email days are obviously not a new thing but I don't think I've heard of many companies that have them here in the UK? On purpose at least.)

As I'm sitting on the edge of my desk thinking about getting something done which doesn't involve technology the age-old question popped into my head "how did we manage without computers?".

I started blogging (and therefore was first really aware of the wonderful world of the world wide web) when I was...er... maybe 18 and I remember that I got my first computer (Commodore 64 if you must know) when I must have been about 6. That means that for nearly 20 years, people have have easy access to some form of computer. That scares me.

Do you think life BC (before computers) was less frantic, less stressful, more interactive? It's so easy nowadays to ping off a quick email to someone you've never met and work on a project together without even talking to each other. Blackberries and mobiles mean my boss has access to me all day, every day (that is if I didn't turn the damn thing off).

Just for one day I'd like to spend the time without a computer, without a phone, without the television and just have a bit of peace and quiet. I could actually... talk to someone... finish reading that damn book I started ages ago...

Of course, knowing my luck, the day I choose to be incommunicado will be the day that Rupert Penry-Jones dumps his exceptionally beautiful and lovely wife and puts out an all-broadcast plea for me to whisk him away into the sunset.

My new find, Norm, has been asking his readers who their favourite English language authors are. For me, it depends who I'm talking to. With some people I could probably be completely honest, with others, I'd make something up, just to please them.

Anyway, it got me thinking about writing and writers and then about Jane Austen (I was actually thinking about Sense and Sensibility - oh Edward - although I got there from writers, I don't know) and anyway... then I wondered... is there anyone living today with the same way with words as she had? Don't worry, this isn't my cue to turn into one of those scary Americans who dress up in funny clothes and quote endlessly. Although...

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, talent. There are very few modern authors that I read who have the easy style with words like Austen (or Dickens or Trollope or ... cont pg 84). I'm not saying that modern books are bad or in any way worse than their predecessors but I just wonder whether the modern day has affected the quality of literature we're offered. It seems that anyone can now become a published author, just because they have some form of notoriety - and, I would imagine, more often than not, the writing is not a fiction with characters and plots and themes, but a literary regurgitation of self-indulgence.

With the writing standards of our children continuing to fall and more and more "celebrities" wanting to push their stories out to the impressionable youth, will England ever have any standard of writing to be proud about again?

Normally quite a bit would have been drunk by the time we got round to it.

My mother and father would glance at each other, a twinkle in their eyes, small grin showing a slightly red tongue, tinged with red wine.

Out would come the cards and the cutlery. Space would be made on the table, all the unimportant things pushed to one side or taken to the kitchen. The spoons would be laid out reverently in the middle of the table. The cards would be dealt. All would be calm. And then...

... mayhem. Cards flying to the left, being picked up from the right. Watching, watching, waiting for a slight movement from the other players. Then suddenly everyone dives for the middle of the table, grabbing and grasping. Triumphantly you would brandish your spoon. A winner!

Until, at last, there was only one.

One of the things I remember about Christmas Eve in our house.

Once upon a time I had time to do this. One day soon in the future I will again.

Until I move house and get my new computer, however, I'm going to have to close the blog. Temporarily you understand. And not like you'll notice since I haven't updated in oooo.... 2 months!

I move on Saturday and should be computered up by next month. I'll see you all then.

me: I have no odd quirks whatsoever
her: yes, dear, you go on believing that. We'll just point and laugh
me: you're metaphorically patting me on the head, aren't you?
her: maybe...

I might have been lying. I am sure that somewhere underneath this very complex (yet stunningly beautiful) being that there are elements of weirdness. I just can't think of any.

I mean, come on, I had a happy childhood, my parents are still together, I don't have an axe murderer for a boyfriend (although this is yet to be proved. Another day with me might turn him, you never know).

I am moderately intelligent (despite the bad spelling) I got a solid drinking degree. I am of average height, average (ish) weight, brown hair, brown eyes. The only distinguishing feature is a scar on my arm where I had an injection.

When people met me, what do they think? Do they remember me or am I instantly forgettable? I think it's probably the latter. This is a very odd position to find myself in.

I have friends who, no matter what the subject, they can have something amusing and witty to say or write about it. Me? I struggle to pull a sentence together. (and yet I'm the one who insists on blogging. Oh the irony)

Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if someone else lived it for you?

Gosh, this has turned into a hate-fest that I never expected it to...

I committed the cardinal sin. I went back to the past.

By use of the Internet Archive

I went back and looked at my history. It's a bit weird re-reading it all.

I read the day that I first met N when I was pissed off that I hadn't met anyone. I was in the midst of a dating phase bought on my a mad Australian friend of mine.

I read a couple of days later when I was a smitten kitten, skipping around in the first haze of lust.

I remembered the time when I caught him playing Jenga with my housemate and she took off all her clothes. I remember how much I hated her for it.

I remember the time we both first realised we loved each other.

I don't know if this reminiscing is a good thing? If I read further back, before I met N, I read about the hideous love life I used to have. How I was a complete idiot and let men walk all over me. I read that I used to fall heavily for men, for no particular reason. Somehow believing that if I gave them everything they asked for, they would want me, too.

Thankfully, you can never go back and change the past. And, in a deeply philosophical ending sentence, you can only learn from it.

(you have my permission to throw up now)

What's in a name?

1. I am named after a Shakespearean heroine who dressed up as a boy
2. I have 2 middle names - Frances and Rebecca
3. I live in London with my saint-like other half
4. I still don't have any brothers or sisters
5. 2 other people have lived with my family (instead of their own) for one reason or another.
6. I have an unhealthy obsession with gin and tonic, red wine, port and cheese
7. I started smoking when I was 13
8. I started drinking about the same time
9. My father is an orphan
10. He was one of the first people to be adopted in Ireland
11. My perfect threesome would be Mark Cueto and Ben Cohen
12. I have an un-natural obsession with crap cheesy pop
13. And am quite happy to admit I know most of the words to most songs
14. It annoys me when people try to sing along but don't know the words
15. If I could live at any time period I would live in the late 1800's and I would be very rich
16. I love flirting with people
17. It doesn't matter if they are good looking or not
18. I hate letting people down
19. But I sometimes do it
20. I always complain I am getting old even though I am under 30
21. I hate the fact that my parents must know I am not a virgin anymore (virgin' on the ridiculous)
22. I can translate latin given enough time
23. I have known some people from the internet longer than I have known some of my closest friends
24. I can be a complete bitch if I want and I don't care who knows it
25. I could speak Husa (Nigerian dialect) before I could speak English
26. I then moved onto Spanish when I was 2 1/2 and my English was rudimentary
27. I now have a degree in English and can't speak languages to save my life
28. I don't really have any deep dark secrets
29. I play rugby
30. That does not make me a lesbian
31. Sometimes I worry about nothing, just for the sake of worrying
32. I am not a career woman - never have been
33. I can't wait to be able to settle down in a nice house in the countryside
34. I don't understand what N sees in me
35. I'm getting old before my time - sometimes I'd rather stay at home with a good film and a glass of wine, rather than go out with my friends
36. I want to be popular
37. I'm very argumentative when I'm drunk

EDIT: UPDATED NOV 2007
EDIT: UPDATED FEB 2008

Housemates are strange people. I should know, I've lived with a couple.

One who sticks in my head is a girl, S. S was nice enough - she wasn't my friend, she belonged to another member of the house. She did have one disturbing obsession though.

In a fit of girly giggles we had stuck attractive, half naked men up the stairs (posters of, not real, worse luck) just to brighten up what was, essentially, a dossy student flat. Imagine our suprise when returning home one day (in time for Countdown, naturally) when we saw a new picture on the stairs.

A picture of S's dad.

A signed picture of S's dad.

Does anyone else think that's a little bit odd?

My neck aches. My brain hurts. My eyes strain against the artificial lighting.

For someone in Marketing, I’ve been doing an awful lot of number work today.

Numbers are not my strong point. Ask me what 9 x 7 is and I will fumble around for the calculator. Ask me whether it should be its or it’s, affect or effect, on the other hand, and I’m a veritable style guide.

And then we get to Countdown. Back in the halcyon days of Richard Whitely when I was a student dossing my way through an English Literature degree, weekday afternoons were usually spent with a mug of too-sweet tea, a packet of ten Marlboro Lights.

Slumped on the sofa, no doubt with a mild headache and a guilty thought that I should probably be working, 3:30 would come along and my mental exercise for the day would start.

Clever Countdown type: "I’ll have a vowel Carol… and another… and a consonant…"

Carol: "A E B F O E S T G R"

Nuttycow: "Er... best… fest… oh dammit, pass me the ashtray"

The clever people on the television sit through their 30 secs, picking their nails, cleaning their glasses.

Clever Countdown type: "Yes, I've got a 9 letter word Richard"

Nuttycow: "Dammit"

Then the numbers bit…

Clever Countdown type: "I’ll have one small one and you choose the rest Carol"

And here’s the odd bit. No matter what numbers they came up with, no matter how unlikely the result, I always managed to solve the numbers quiz.