Agony Aunt series; Online Dating
24 September, 2019
I was recently asked about online dating. To protect the identity of the person, I’ll paraphrase it.
“Dear Agony Aunt, I’ve been single for at least 5 minutes and I’m desperate to find somebody, somebody, somebody, somebody; can anybody find me, somebody to love? Please can you share some top tips?
Unlovable, Hull.
Dear Unlovable Hull,
Have you tried the Queen fansite? I expect they must have a dating page, because no-one, except other Freddie fans, are going to date you. Sorry if it sounds racist, it’s not, it’s music-ist and maybe the truth hurts. No die-hard Queen fan is going to get any action, unless it’s with one of “their own Think of it as a unlikely as Freddie Mercury being straight, or Elton John getting married, Tom Cruise having kids, Madonna having friends, or William Shatner shagging some sexy cat aliens*.
*William Shatner did actually shag a couple of alien cat-women sisters in the film “Star Trek; Into Darkness”. This immorality got the Starship filmed banned by a Pastor Swanson, who clearly didn’t appreciate Shatner setting his phaser to stun. Pastor Swanson (for he was sired of man, but born of a swan), was so outrage by this storyline that he banned himself and his children from seeing it, on the grounds of, wait-for-it, bestiality and inter-species sex. Interestingly, in Pastor Swanson’s bible, Jesus has no problem with threesomes and/or sister-on-sister incest, before or after marriage. Well, I think we can all guess who’s behind that bit of sexual liberation, wink, wink. Ole Mary Magdalen, obviously teaching Jesus a trick or two, (but even she said no to cats). Pastor Swanson, the scion of Man-on-Swan loving, knew from the pain of personal experience that mixed marriages don’t work. Perhaps when young, he struggled to adjust to alternate weekends; having the freedom of the river one week and then, the confines of a 1-bed apartment in Detroit the next? Perhaps, he was the proverbial “ugly duckling”, swimming in armbands behind Mummy, (or “Hiss” as he called her)? Whatever happened back then, we’ll never know, but it all came flooding back to haunt Pastor Swanson when he heard about Sexy Cat Aliens. He took a stand, like a middle-aged man Greta Thunberg, and he said, “Stop”. I wonder what the sexy-cat-aliens said.
Sexy Cat Alien: “Purrrr, you were inter-galactic last night baby”
Swan: “No, I was drunk, god, I regret that. I wish I couldn’t remember it. Is that what you people call normal? Because that sure aint “normal” on my riverbank. I’ve a good mind to tell the Queen on you, she’ll chop off yer head, what to speak of yer bollocks. Prince Philip, now there’s a man who know how to woo a swan; he’s so charming and funny and so, giving. The breadcrumbs he brings, all Duchy Organic, nothing finer, what a gent? Oh, I’m like putty in his hands. So, back to you, then Galaxy-boy? How ‘bout you just feck off into a black hole somewhere, you Space Pervert? I’m off to sit in the weir and wash those memories away.”
So, back to online dating. I’ve compiled a 10 point check list, to help women become more successful, at online dating. (I may write one for the chaps, later, if I’m asked);
1. Put on your profile, you are looking for “Mr Right”, to have sex with.
2. Lower your personal standards; then lower them some more.
10. Er, that’s it.
If you need help with a problem that you, (or a “friend” of yours), are facing, get “them” to write in the comments box below.
Xxx
Havening; a new treatment for trauma
20 March, 2014
Look! I’m on an advert for something awesome. I didn’t even photoshop it and make it up at all. I know, I know hard to believe. Find out all about this incredible type trauma therapy at Havening.org (or just read the bit I’ve written below the picture).
(Top row; I’m in the green cardi on the right.)
The first thing you should probably know is that I had to give up my job as a playground supervisor for this. I didn’t want to leave because I loved being a playground assistant. The problem was just that the deputy head didn’t understand that I subsidised my two hours working in school with a second income (known as my real job) as a hypnotherapist. So, when she refused to give me those 2 hours off to go to New York for a week and get certified in Dr. Ruden’s ground breaking Havening technique, I faced a difficult decision. Should I stick with my job working for £14 a week in a rainy playground? Or should I fly to New York in a heat wave, spend a few days at an inspiring conference on trauma, certify in the latest techniques, meet the inventors, their families, have a few days off browsing and boozing in the big apple with old friends? It was a tough choice, worsened by the fact that the deputy head had just offered me a third lunchtime hour each week, yes, she explained if I played my cards right, £21 a week was waiting right there for me.
Let’s talk about Havening. Ok, it’s really simple (no surprises there if I’m teaching it right?). So what you do is basically rub someone’s arms and their trauma goes away and doesn’t come back. I know, sounds dumb doesn’t it? There is actually a bit of science behind it, wanna know?
So, if you think of trauma being a red line memory at the back of the brain. It sits there sometimes quietly dormant, but doesn’t go away. Sometimes, it sits there noisily interrupting everything in your life, popping up in your thoughts all day despite your best efforts to subdue it. The idea is that this trauma is rooted in the amygdala area of the brain. To undo it, you flood the amygdala with your body’s own natural serotonin – by rubbing your face, arms or hands. It’s very simple. Sometimes, people also need to do other things such as hum tunes and count. This is done to distract the more conscious, working memory and to prevent people from getting too overwhelmed if their remembering the bad ole times.
Some of the problems I have treated with a couple of sessions of Havening in my clinic include; rape, assault, shock of discovering a dead body, bullying, a variety of phobias – (dental, height, spiders, jealousy). Blushing, IBS, child abuse – sexual and emotional, drinking, sex addiction, coping with suicide, bereavement, trauma from giving birth, facial tics, physical pain, upsetting childhood memories, abandonment. The list could actually go on and on, I’ve worked with so many different problems with this on adults and children.
The idea is that if someone comes with a range of behaviour that they’re unhappy with – be it feeling low, eating too much, remembering very sad times etc, Instead of treating those things as the presenting problem, you see those things are symptoms of a more fundamental problem (underlying trauma). The skill is in finding the root cause of the problem, which can sometimes be something quite innocuous to us as adults, but may have felt traumatic in our childhoods. If that root cause is treated, with Havening, then the symptoms cease and the person returns to a “normal” sense of well being.
You can do it on yourself too. I don’t recommend you do big traumas without a trained person to help guide and protect you. Sometimes the memories can feel incredibly powerful and overwhelming. But if you feel a bit stressed, then try this. Just rub your arms from your shoulders to your elbows saying “calm, calm, calm” in a gentle voice, but out loud, as you do it.
Ok, gotta go, my kids, I mean My Public, await.
H x
The Doyenne of Divorce
6 February, 2014
Michelle Young, (let’s call her ‘Shelle) wasn’t expecting a divorce, nor was she expecting her husband to claim bankruptcy. An unfortunate coincidence? That’s not how she saw it. He ran, she chased, cleaver in hand. And that’s basically how things progressed, as the Youngs battled in the British courts’ most expensive divorce case. Seven years of wrangling, raising a legal bill in excess of £6.5m. They settled (her unhappily) this week at £20m, + £5m in costs.
Both sides have made mistakes. Mr Young did accidently, tell a few completely prefabricated lies to the Judge – and got caught. (Oops). He was given two custodial prison sentences for failing to comply with the Judge’s orders to fully disclose his finances (Oops), he served one and never fully disclosed his finances. He “forgot” what happened in a few of those years (Oops). He got mentally unwell and had to go to the Priory, at £10,000 a week. (Ouch). And, probably most regrettably of all, he gave an old computer to his daughters. on which, his wife’s forensic experts found a deleted file where he listed his assets at a value of £319 million. (Oops).
“Distraught & ashamed”, Scot Young is comforted by his friend. “I can’t eat, I just drink a few flutes of vintage champagne each day & force down a few mouthful of Beluga caviar. All I do is sit in my counting house, counting out my money. My ex wife is like a blackbird, constantly trying to peck off my nose.”
Mrs Young made mistakes too. The judge described her as verging on paranoid, making wildly unsupported accusations about loads of famous rich people. (Shame). She was quoted slandering Simon Cowell saying;
“Always round my house for dinner he was, that Simon Cowell. Y’know, he never brought nothing with him. Phillip Green, what a gent. He always brought me a vintage bottle of Lambrusco and sometimes he’d even bring them Ferrero Rocher chocolates too. That’s class, that is. Stingy Simon, that’s what we called him, not even a bunch of daffs from the cemetery round the corner.”
At this point Cowell’s lawyers threatened her with legal action and she deleted her tweets. (Shame). She was given a paultry one million pounds support for the first year (Shame). She sold some baubles worth £180,000 (Shame) and put £3m towards the court costs herself (Shame). Then she moved into a slummy little house, only able to afford a £100,000 a year in rent, (Shame). Given these dire circumstances, she was understandably unable to ring-fence any money to help her daughters complete their A-levels in their private schools (Shame). Later, forced to move to even worse accommodation (Shame), she and her daughters ended up renting barely more than a stable with a manger, for £42,000 per annum. (Shame). Then she claimed, wait-for-it, benefits (wtf? Shame). She managed to scrounge back £1,300 a month in Housing Benefit (you are kidding me? Shame). The rest of the rent being paid for by an anonymous “friend”.
Ms Young; “We can’t afford chairs anymore. Often I sit on the carpet and stare out the window at the neighbour’s chairs. They’re pretty and remind me of happier times. Yes, I do get white carpet fluff stuck on my noir Versace jeans, everything is so hard right now.”
So, who is that anonymous friend? I hear you cry. She knows a lot of important people in the public eye, and yes, my exhausted research has uncovered the three most likely candidates. They are;
- Her butler, Paul “my rock” Burrell.
- The notorious gangster, Bugsy Malone.
- A grant from Mother Theresa’s orphanage in Calcutta.
Now ‘Shelle, I don’t know how bad things have been fighting your ex, but let me assure you, that that experience is going to feel like unwrapping presents on xmas morning if Housing Benefit find out about this. Any single mum caught topping up her rent by £26,400 could spark off an investigation, anytime. My advice is don’t publicise what you’re doing, keep it really quiet, cos ‘Shelle, you could get done.
“Everytime I see another woman go through the same kind of thing it makes me think it’s worth it”
“Shelle Young, the Doyenne of Divorce
I question that ‘Shelle. Some of us choose do it other ways, many of us have no choice. Many of us go back to work, with the burden of children in tow and we build new careers, out of nothing. You had funds behind you, you have contacts and connections, how many doors could have opened for you, if you’d told him to shove it and had the guts to go for it? How much respect would you have garnered from us if you’d put your daughters education and esteem ahead of bickering over your bank accounts? Oh Young Ones, in your myopic race to be the wealthiest one over the finishing line, you flung your daughters aside to jump for the maritial jugular. Do you really think it’s worth it?
We, the rest of the world get similar treatment. We are their extras in life, the supporting cast to their leading roles. In summarising the divorce proceedings, the Judge made the following comment.
“The court has to allot to each case an appropriate share of the court’s resources. It is difficult to see how 65 preliminary hearings followed by a final hearing lasting 20 days, can possibly be a fair allocation of this court’s limited resources on one case.”
It’s the sort of narcarcissicm you see in teenagers and toddlers; when the believe that they are the only ones who really exist and behave accordingly. The Youngs have been openly contemptuous of our judicial system, our laws and of our benefits system. All just accessories to their latest single-minded want.
Young Ones, you have waged your war. Was it worth it? Are you happy now?
Empowerment Parenting
6 July, 2013
I’ve been thinking a lot about differing parenting styles, apparent in children in the playground and at parties. Sometimes it feels like we’re inundated with the selfy-helpy world of how-to-bring-up-your-kids. Having spent thousands of hours on facebook, er, researching child rearing, one day it struck me, I finally realised where I had been going wrong. It was one of those “aha” moments, that changes your life forever. Having tried my new approach out on more than two children, I can honestly say it’s totally amazing and it will change your life too. I call it the GeddityerselfTM method.
There are only two rules in GeddityerselfTM parenting. But they must be followed at all times. They are:
- Say no to “no”. Yes, that’s right we say no to saying no and we say yes to saying yes. We never ever say yes to saying no. No, we’d never do that. So if your child asks for something, you always say “Yes”. You can choose to that with an endearing term such as “darling”, “sweet child of mine,” or for a teenager, “mummy’s lickle lamb” (always goes down a treat).
- The second rule is that you always follow that “yes” with our second foundation mantra; Geddityerself TM.
This works with children of all ages. Here are a few examples;
Child: “Mum, can I have a drink?”
Mum: “Yes darling. Geddityerself TM”
Teenager: “Mum, can I have a car?”
Mum: “Yes, Geddityerself TM.”
Child: Can I have lunch?
Mum: “Yes, my love. Geddityerself TM.”
Child: “Can I have an allowance?”
Mum: “Yes, my lickle lamb. Gedditoffyourdad.”
The sceptics amongst you might be thinking, but does this really work in real life? Here are just a few of the many thousands of letters I receive everyday, from ordinary people, just like you. The one thing they have in common is they have changed their lives, and the lives of their children, for the better using the Geddityerself TM method.
“We were on our way to leave our seven children with social services one weekend, when we heard about your Geddityerself TM parenting method. Your blog was a turning point in our lives. These days, we all live as one big happy family. Honestly, we can’t thank you enough.”
John & Olivia Walton, West Virginia, USA
“GeddityerselfTM parenting is a work of great emotional depth. It challenges the holes in the fabric of redundant ideals of the western parental system. I am in no doubt that I have been a better parent to little Sergey, Tatyana, Ilya, Leo, Marya, Petya, Nicholas, Varvara, Andrey, Michael, Sascha and Alexis since studying it. Oh, and my wife, Sacha is getting on much better Timmy, my illegitimate child now. (Although, she’s still a bit frosty with his mother).
Leo Tolstoy, Russia
“Fantastic! You deserve a prize.”
A. Nobel, Stockholm
“Your gas bill is now overdue and requires immediate payment.”
British Gas, FTSE 100 Company, UK
Buy the Geddityerself TM Approach today for £199.99
While stocks last!
“The pressures of parenting and money meant my husband and I were both working second jobs, to make ends meet. We couldn’t cope. With the help of Gettidyerself parenting, I gave up my evening job as a prostitute and my husband stopped dealing crack on weekends. Instead, we spend our free time running happily through flower meadows, like other families. Thank you so much.”
Disclaimer: Due to unprecedented demand, the Gettidyerself TM method has, er, completely sold out in all leading bookstores and on Amazon.
Copies are still available at the Wednesday market in Witney. (Cash only)
Stranger Danger
28 June, 2013
The kids got “Stranger Danger” education at school this week. Making sure no one gets into a car with a stranger, or worse still, accepts any sweets. We discuss this type of thing quite frequently at home. This is in part, probably due to my job. I encounter, on a far too frequent basis, the results of childhood sexual abuse. And also the fact that they spend a lot of time away from me at weekends, often in situations which I’m not terribly happy about – at pubs and parties with people I don’t even know.
There are only estimates for the number of children sexually abused in the UK. It’s largely unreported, in fact, I can’t even remember ever having a client who has reported it to any authorities – other than maybe telling a parent, who ignored them. Estimates put the figure for girls at 1 in 4, and for boys 1 in 6. Sad-to-say, but it sounds about right to me. The incidence of abuse rise with added risks of alcohol, drugs and multiple partners.
I have a friend who worked with a group of pedophiles. (I should probably point out she was a social worker). They told her an interesting thing. That when they’re hanging-out around the schools, it’s not the kids they’re looking at. They’re looking for the vulnerable parent who is going to give them access to a child. Feel vulnerable? To be honest I used to, especially as a single parent, but this made me feel a whole lot better about it. Not being the vulnerable parent, with the vulnerable kids – yeah, that one I could manage. So my children’s education began at a fairly early age. We have frank discussions about all sorts of things. We talk about situations, strangers, so-called “friends”; we discuss tactics and have a good laugh about it too. But, I always teach them how to deal with each situation. So they’ve been armed with responses, rather than trapped in the headlights of blind panic.
But, I also put perspective in there. I don’t let them listen to the news, with it’s terrifying stories about children being abducted or killed. I’ve always thought it’s scaremongering. There were 72 child abductions by strangers, in the UK last year (er, that’s about 64 more than I thought, actually). But, more frighteningly, there were 375 attempted abductions by strangers. A lot more than I thought. However, let’s compare this total number, 447, to the overall rate of abuse of our young people. Let’s say, (purely) for numerical sake, abuse happens between the ages of 6 and 15. That would be an estimated 750,000 girls and 500,000 boys being sexually abused right now, in the UK. The 447 child abductions are clearly the extreme, visible end of the problem; but not the predominating perpetrators.
A client once said, “When are we going to face up to the fact that our children are at most risk from someone we know and trust, not strangers.” Her words stayed with me, because she was right. Collectively, we’re still in denial about who abuses our children. And in that respect, we continue to fail them. When are we going to really educate our children how to speak up if a grandfather, step dad or brother enter their room at night, when mum is asleep? Are we going to teach them how to cope with threats of everyone knowing “the dirty things you’ve done”? Will our children get an assembly on that? There is very little on the internet when it comes to talking about family abuse, but massive resources to protect from them from strangers. Are we teaching practical measures for children with this problem, other than, “tell someone”. Surely, we can find more ways to help rid these children of their nightmares?
Back to “Stranger Danger”;
Me: “So what did they say? Don’t take sweets from strangers?”
Sami: “Yeah. Showed us a video. But, of course we’d all take the sweets, we just wouldn’t get in the car.”
Amba: “Yeah, grab ’em and run, really fast.”
Me: “Er, I think when you put your arm out for the sweets, that’s when they grab you.”
Sami: “Really! They didn’t tell us that. Everyone in my class is gonna take the sweets.”
Amba; “Yep, my class too.”
The elderly man in red was suspected of giving children expensive gifts to gain access to their bedrooms.
(This blog does not support vigilantism)
Shopping in the Free World
25 June, 2013
I read a report on Women’s emotional responses to retail therapy today (K. Pine, University of Hertfordshire). They sent the survey forms out in a trendy women’s magazine and then branded the results as “Sheconomics™” (gettit?). I found the report pretty fascinating, but probably not in the same way as K. Pine did. According to the results, here are the top reasons that women go shopping.
I want to cheer myself up 79%
I want to treat others 75%
I feel I’m looking good 61%
I’m feeling a bit low 61%
I’m feeling happy 53%
Brilliant. So, 61% of women go shopping because they’re feeling a bit down, and 53% of women say they go shopping because they’re feeling a bit up. Now, maybe I’m wrong about this, but this looks to me like pretty inconclusive proof that anything much is a happening when women go shopping. Other than they’ve got:
a) got nothing better to do.
b) er, that’s it.
Interestingly, none of the respondents cited “getting something I genuinely need”, as a reason to go shopping. If I spent long enough on t’internet I could probably find a research project where some student got a £130,000 grant to study her own serotonin levels when she went in and out of Top Shop and we might have some more conclusive evidence, but obviously, I’ve got better things to do.
The “Sheconomics™” survey then probes more deeply into the underlying causes getting respondents to ask themselves, “Why-oh-why do I do it?” (Let’s have a look shall we?)
Sheconomics asked over 700 women to finish the following question:
“I would spend less than I currently do if:…
I had more self-control 70%
I understood how my moods affect my spending 55%
I had other ways of cheering myself up 55%
I had more hobbies and interests 45%
I could break the shopping habit 41%
I felt happier with my life 38%
I felt happier about the way I look 38%
I didn’t worry or get anxious 34%
I had a more fulfilling job/role 32%
I didn’t experience cravings 28%
I was thinner 22%
Love this. There are a couple of things about this that really stand out for me. The first is the tone of the questions, so freakin’ dependent. Just go back up to the list and insert “Oh, if only..”, said in a resigned tone, in front of every question.
“Oh, if only ……I had other ways of cheering myself up.” Look lady, where do you live? Are you chained up in a department store? Do they give free frontal lobotomies with your facial now, or what? Haven’t you heard of a “t’internet search?” Yep, you just type in the place where you live, or work and then write next to it, “what’s on?” Then, (if it’s after 5.30pm and the shops are shut), you can just go along. Honest, it’s true, I’ve read in glossy magazines about people who’ve done it.
“Oh, if I only…..I had more hobbies and interests.” Yep, shame that avenue is completely closed off to you, isn’t it? Don’t forget, the amount of clothing and equipment you’d need to buy if you take up a new hobby though, especially if it involves exercise. Feeling a little more motivated now?
The last one that I’m going to draw your attention to is this little beauty.
“Oh, if only………..I was thinner”. Sorry, Katie Price, did you write this survey in English, this century? Or is this a study from another era, like when Reuben was alive and chubby water nymphs were all the rage? So, women answered this survey saying if they get thinner they’d shop less? Right, they’ll get all slim and then decide to wear all their fat clothes, the ones they felt so awful in. Really? Ladies, have you answered this survey completely honestly?
There are a few questions I would like to add to the end of the survey, just for purposes of clarification.
Has a partner (gay/straight/bi/hermaphrodite) ever described you as;
1. Dependent?
2. Boring?
If your partner (gay/straight/bi/hermaphrodite) “agrees strongly” with either of the above, you’ll need to immediately buy yourself a “life”. (Prices can vary; from £29.99 in Hull, to £9.7 million in the Bahamas).
Y’know, it’s crossed my mind on more than one occasion; if the suffragettes could have seen womankind 100 years on, would they really have bothered?
What if instead, they’d just said, “Fuck it, we’re going to the haberdashers.”
“Oh, Agamemnon, I’ve got nothing to wear!”
Bye x
Take a Break
20 June, 2013
I was reading about the top selling magazines in the UK. I mean,I don’t actually read any of them, unless I’m at the Doctors or somewhere like that. I tried to read one in Specsavers at the weekend, it was on technological advances and they did a list of their top 40 fav products on the market. So there’d be a picture of say, some speakers. You know the type of thing, doesn’t look like a speaker, that’s half the joy of being technologically advanced isn’t it? Having things other people don’t know about. Anyway, next to the speakers they wrote; Capabilities: does an x4r with a JBNK and has 2rpb which makes it unique. Honestly, I just couldn’t understand a thing. I felt old. Then, I went in for the eye test and it was confirmed.
So, I was reading about magazine sales, c’mon, see if you can guess the top five selling magazines in the UK? I’ll give you some ideas shall I? You’ve got Cosmo, Vogue, House and Gardens (pretty, pretty), Brides, Nuts, TV Times, Health and Fitness. Any ideas yet? Ok, here’s a little clue – it’s none of them. Think of the magazines you read, maybe? Ok, I’ll put you out of your misery:
Top 5 selling paid for magazines in the UK
1. TV Choice
2. What’s on TV
3. Radio Times
4. Take a Break
5. Saga (retirement)
Now, I personally don’t watch TV and part of the way I’ve brought that into the children’s lives is to ensure we never have a TV guide. Yep, they have unlimited access to the telly, but they never have a clue what’s on. Of course, they could go use the TV itself – it has an electronic programme guide on it. But, they seldom do. I think actually they’ve just forgotten we’ve got one.
The other surprise in there is Saga Magazine, which, I think is subscription only. My mum used to get it and I always read it because it was well written and they didn’t make all the articles up, unlike some other magazines. But the biggest shocker on the list, for me anyway, is Take a Break Magazine. Have you ever read it? Own up now, it’s got a circulation of 740,00 copies a week? Someone is buying it.
For now, I’m going to assume you don’t read Take A Break very often and give you a little look at the uplifting stories they publish. This week they are offering insightful commentary on a range of real human issues (with photos):
The headlines on last week’s front page were:
*Finace nicked my cash to wed secret lover
*Was he lying or dying?
*Caught on camera: Rape at eight months pregnant
*Big day shock: I had my wedding without my groom
*Our beautiful prom queen: Why I couldn’t tell her the truth.
Nice isn’t it? The fourth best selling magazine in the UK. So, with this in mind, I’m going to start re-working this blog to include a bit more sensationalism, drama and violence, in an attempt to move it into a more commercial market. The story (below), is about a stabbing in our kitchen (please don’t read on if you’re squeamish).
“We were a happy family, just myself and my three children after my husband had left. Yes, things didn’t always go our way, but we kept a cockney cheer about us. Often, you’d find us out in the streets where we lived, spontaneously performing complex choreographed song and dance routines with the bin men and passing strangers. Hard times, but my, they were happy times too.
Things were tough, but we always made time for a song and a dance (routine).
I had no idea at beneath that cheery grin, how troubled my beautiful little girl was. I never sensed what must have been building like a volcano inside her. Perhaps things weren’t going well at school? Although I’ve searched for an answer, I’ve never got to the bottom of it. But, I’ll never forget the day it all happened.
I’d just cooked tea, no matter how tight money was, I always made sure the kids ate well. They were halfway through their tottiglioni arabica served with organic rocket salad and a hazelnut and fresh pomegranate molasses vinaigrette, when it all began. Without any warning at all, Amba picked up her fork and started stabbing her food. “Stop it, stop it!”, I pleaded with her, but there was no stopping her. She just kept on stabbing it, like she was possessed or something.
An artist’s impression of the fork.
I’d never seen her like that before, the boys and I were shocked and appalled. I felt sick watching her, could this really be my beautiful angel? I don’t know how long it lasted, it’s hard to tell, it was like time stood still. Eventually, something inside me just snapped and I shouted, “For god’s sake Amba, just put the fork down!”
Somehow, I’d finally gotten through to her. Her frenzied attack slowed, soon she’d put the fork down. Later, we worked out, she’d stabbed her tottiglioni over 20 times. Even more shocking though, she acted as if nothing had happened. She looked up at me and just said;
“I’ve finished. Can I go out and play? Amy is waiting for me.”
I was choked up and appalled. I couldn’t reply, it broke my heart to think of her with such awful table manners. How could I let ever allow her to go for tea at someone else’s house again; when I knew what might happen?
Since then, fortunately, we’ve moved on as a family. We don’t discuss that day, we’ve put it behind us. And I never make Tottiglioni Arabica with pomegranate molasses vinaigrette anymore, too many painful memories. Even now, sometimes when she picks up her fork, a sense of utter panic comes over me. I’ve often asked myself, where did I go wrong? Yes, of course, I blame myself for what happened. What mother wouldn’t?”
We eat more simply now, cooking brings back painful memories.
Bye x
Planet Organic
19 June, 2013
Last weekend saw the Festival of the Chariots go through London, from Hyde Park to Trafalgar Square. It’s a traditional hindu festival imported to London from Puri, a city in the State of Orissa, on the North East Coast of India. The festival revolves around three huge brightly decorated chariots being pulled by ropes along the streets. A deity sits on each one. The meaning of Ratha-yatra, is fairly literal. The Journey (yatra) of the Chariots (ratha). Ok, maybe it should be called Yatra-ratha, but it’s not, ok?
Rathayatra London. If you think this is busy, you should see it in Orissa
Stupidly, one time I must have mentioned to the kids that there is an Indian myth that if you die beneath the wheels of one of the chariots, you will attain liberation. I can’t remember telling them this, but god do I wish I hadn’t. All day long, I got this sort of thing;
Amba: “Oh, I can’t look, has someone died yet?”
Me: “No, no one is going to die.”
Sami: “If someone fell and died under the wheels, would everyone be happy for them cos they’re liberated or sad that they’re dead?”
Me: “No one is going to die under the wheels, it doesn’t happen, ok?”
Sami: “But if they accidently fell near the wheels and didn’t get up in time, and the wheels crushed them flat like a pancake. Would their family be happy or sad?”
Me: “Neither. No one is going to fall under the wheels, it’s doesn’t happen, do you understand? It’s just a nice family day out, at which no one ever dies.”
Asha: “When are they kill someone under the wheels, do we all get pancakes?”
Me: “There’s no dying and no pancakes. Do you understand me?”
Asha: “That is so rubbish. Sami, when’s the killing bit on?”
Rathayatra in Orissa. Did anyone die? Who knows.
The festival came to a close and we went back to the car in Queensway. Sami waited with our friend, Sri, while I took Amba off for a desperate wee. She was running out of time, I dodged round a couple of skinny chicks in designer jeans, strolling in front of us, and ran across the road into Planet Organic (PO) with Asha following behind me. I found the loo for Amba, then browsed the Organic Pizza Tofu Fillets (£2.99) with Asha, while we waited for her. At this point, the two chicks in skinny jeans passed us. Unexpectedly, one of them launched into a tirade about what a shite parent I was. Apparently, I’d crossed the road and accidently left Asha on the busy street outside, when I rushed Amba in. She made it clear that people like me shouldn’t be raising kids, because we’re too stupid (and I suspect a bit too “high street”). It was a full-on sneery bitchfest, with a “I’m so much better than you” undercurrent. Initially, I was just shocked, not at what she said, just at the nastiness that it came with. I brooded over it, as I considered the Green Spelt and Hazelnut Cutlets (£3.39). It required a response, I considered chucking a Dr Hauschka Deoderant (£11.99), at her. But it was too risky, they might make me pay for it. I considered coming back with a devastating put down, but the real problem was she was right, I wasn’t watching him properly. Ok, it maybe a reoccurring theme in his life, but hell, she didn’t know that and she’d been a total bitch about it. Then, I remembered the festival. I remembered that in conflict the spiritual position is to use humility to disarm the ego. I was still wearing a sari after-all. So I went over to them, I drained all irritation from my face and anger from my body; and with all the sincerity I could muster, I said “Thank you”. She was more than shocked and tried again to tell me what a crap parent I was. So again, I listened and just said “Thank you.” Nothing more. Then the other one had a go too, but she was a bit nicer, so I gently put my hand on her arm and said, “Thank you so much.” I left them wide eyed and totally speechless, as I walked off to find Amba in the loos. Oh yeah, top-that bitches, I thought.
Amba had made it to the loo, just in time. If the last person in there had only left the seat cover up, not down, then there it would have worked out so differently for her. It was flooded, there were no staff around and no mops. So, I held my head high, passed the bitches again and swooned out of there, sari swishing, Amba’s shoes sloshing. Self esteem in pieces.
We got back to the car, found Sami and Sri, and said our goodbyes. Amba made me promise not to tell Sri what had happened.
“Is she coming back to our house?” Asha asked as we drove off.
“No, she’s getting the train to the airport, she’s going home now. “ I replied.
“No. “ said Sami, “She’s going to use the loo in Planet Organic first.”
Planet Donut
Bye x
Coffee
17 January, 2013
An average trendy coffee shop makes about £3,000 a day. Amazing isn’t it? I mean there used to be one coffee shop in Witney a few years ago. I remember taking a friend there and her laughing at its hard wooden dining chairs, it was a café not a “coffee shop”. In the past two years the market for designer coffee has grown exponentially here and across the UK. We now have Costa and Café Nero, both bursting with relaxed chatty caffeine-fuelled customers. Plus four independent ones, that’s not counting the likes of M&S opening them instore and various pubs also selling posh overpriced coffee. This is big business and it is an entirely created need.
They used to run a coffee shop in the Church on the corner. I went in there once with the kids, I couldn’t face dragging them back across town to Costa. I remember watching a disabled woman on sticks walk up to the door, when we got there behind her, she held it open for us. Sweet eh? The coffee shop was in the church hall, square formica tables with table cloths, laid out with little flower arrangements on each one. There were even some toys out for the children to play with. The other customers were older, some disabled, some disenfranchised and those ever-so-kind churchy ladies bustling about. I remember I ordered 1 coffee, 3 juices and 3 large slices of sponge cake. I handed my tenner over and there was a flurry of anxiety behind the tea hatch, as two grey haired ladies looked in the pale green saucer they called the “till”.
“We really sorry, but we don’t have nine pounds in change”, they said.
Ten seconds later, when my mind had processed I was being charged £1 for all that, I offered to leave and get change to pay them. By this time though, the kids were halfway through their cakes and starting to bicker over who was going on the ride-on tractor first. It wasn’t going to be easy to get out.
“Don’t worry, bring it next time.” They said.
As I turned to sit down, still incredulous that I could get all the free cake I wanted, so long as I never came back. I realized that the disabled woman on sticks was still waiting patiently behind me. And when she paid for her cup of tea, she handed over an extra pound and paid for our coffee and cakes too.
You know, that never happened to me in Costa.
Getting dressed can be difficult when you’re on crutches.
Reputation…………
16 January, 2013
I’ve forgiven you, Mr Ex, for your abandonment. It’s ok, you went and we are both happier that way.
I’ve forgiven you for not caring when I was pregnant with your third child. Others were there with support and real love.
I’ve forgiven the time I asked you for £20 a week for food for me and the children, you couldn’t afford it. Someone else stepped in and saved me from the abyss.
Ha, or that time when I was in labour and asked you to collect the kids. Remember? You said no, cos you were going out with your girlfriend that night. It’s ok, I’m not holding on to that one, water under the bridge now.
It doesn’t matter to me that you left with thousands of pounds of debt, which I’ve managed to slowly clear over the years, even though you were working and I wasn’t. It’s ok, life’s not about the money.
That you lied to the Child Support Agency and paid £7 a week for your three children. You spent more on coffee on your way to work. But it’s ok, I really don’t care anymore.
That you’ve broken Sami’s heart so many hurtful times, I’ve picked up the tearful pieces and repaired his love for you. He’s ok, a deeper, more thoughtful person for it. I understand you’ll never know what you’ve done to him.
That you didn’t watch our 2 year old on the riverboat and took the kids to drug fueled parties. It’s ok, guardian angels were on hand to tell me what was going on, I was lucky. I accept that part of you that thinks that’s ok.
I accept that you side against the children with Mrs Ex., instead of protecting them from her bias opinions. I forgive you, you have a relationship to manage, it’s ok.
But, Mr Ex, I had only the one thing left. You’re tearing it to pieces, deliberately. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Reputation; just another attachment – one I didn’t even realize I had.
I forgive you for bringing me back to the sad, angry place.
Only I can set myself free.
