Wednesday, 3 February 2010
08:48 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
I awake at 3.30 to sounds of loud revellers wishing each other good night.
A word pops into my mind, it's menopause. I run the word around my mind meno pause. Meno, mens Greek for monthly. Pause, pausis cessation. The time when 'a womans monthly pauses'. Odd. Peri meno pause the time before the time it ends. Peri, around about. Nothing definate then, around about the time your monthly pauses. It all makes sense.
At 13 my mother prepared me for times to come. She gave me a mirror and suggested that I take a look at myself, I thought it strange but complied and looked into the round shaving mirror. She laughed, no down there. Down there was my vagina. She wanted me to not only look at it, but to also put my fingers in it and feel around. Her logic was sound, if you know what it looks and feels like normally, then you will know if there are any changes.
It made sense, so I did. Years later, when I ran a fertility company I was to advise women to 'put their fingers inside themselves' this was to check where the cervix was as this is one of the signs for ovulation, along with temperature and cervical mucus.
Mucus another word that you wouldn't use in polite conversations. Along with the mirror exercise I was horrified at the 'mucus' that appeared around about the time that the monthlys began. At 13 I had no idea what it was. Of course I now know that the fantastic machine that is my body, was preparing me for pregnancy.
Not only did she give me a mirror, but mum took me to one side and showed me a belt and a packet of things called sanitary towels, big thick wadges to stuff in my pants - when the time came. These were put away in my top drawer.
The top drawer day soon arrived. On coming home from school one day I discoverd it had started. I remembered mums conversation with me, so feeling confident I proceed to fit my new pink device. Sitting on the bed I pondered if they had really arrived, so I took it all off, packed it away and sat quite still to wait for her to come home. Only then when she confirmed it would I know - I was on my way to womanhood.
Years have passed, no children came and now I am slipping into the third age of woman, I am becoming a crone (thats a wise women BTW). Just when I thought that I have endured all that fertility creates, I must now face all that menopause brings.
A word pops into my mind, it's menopause. I run the word around my mind meno pause. Meno, mens Greek for monthly. Pause, pausis cessation. The time when 'a womans monthly pauses'. Odd. Peri meno pause the time before the time it ends. Peri, around about. Nothing definate then, around about the time your monthly pauses. It all makes sense.
At 13 my mother prepared me for times to come. She gave me a mirror and suggested that I take a look at myself, I thought it strange but complied and looked into the round shaving mirror. She laughed, no down there. Down there was my vagina. She wanted me to not only look at it, but to also put my fingers in it and feel around. Her logic was sound, if you know what it looks and feels like normally, then you will know if there are any changes.
It made sense, so I did. Years later, when I ran a fertility company I was to advise women to 'put their fingers inside themselves' this was to check where the cervix was as this is one of the signs for ovulation, along with temperature and cervical mucus.
Mucus another word that you wouldn't use in polite conversations. Along with the mirror exercise I was horrified at the 'mucus' that appeared around about the time that the monthlys began. At 13 I had no idea what it was. Of course I now know that the fantastic machine that is my body, was preparing me for pregnancy.
Not only did she give me a mirror, but mum took me to one side and showed me a belt and a packet of things called sanitary towels, big thick wadges to stuff in my pants - when the time came. These were put away in my top drawer.
The top drawer day soon arrived. On coming home from school one day I discoverd it had started. I remembered mums conversation with me, so feeling confident I proceed to fit my new pink device. Sitting on the bed I pondered if they had really arrived, so I took it all off, packed it away and sat quite still to wait for her to come home. Only then when she confirmed it would I know - I was on my way to womanhood.
Years have passed, no children came and now I am slipping into the third age of woman, I am becoming a crone (thats a wise women BTW). Just when I thought that I have endured all that fertility creates, I must now face all that menopause brings.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Christmas is over, the party frocks with spaggetti straps are away. Arms are back in warm winter woolies.
Spring is coming...
Womens arms will be back in public view and I am shocked at the display. I gasp in horror, how can’t they see the wrinkly fat flappy things that are attached to their bodies?
Women of all sizes and shapes have these things that just hang at their sides, screwed into their shoulders like shapeless slabs of meat. When they hold them up to wave hello or goodbye they jiggle.
Exposed in the latest top some of them are white and blotchy, some have extra folds like elephant hide, some look like they could take off, its shocking.
I call for women of the armed world to unite against these ghastly beasts. If you have fat flabby arms don't go sleeveless.
Spring is coming...
Womens arms will be back in public view and I am shocked at the display. I gasp in horror, how can’t they see the wrinkly fat flappy things that are attached to their bodies?
Women of all sizes and shapes have these things that just hang at their sides, screwed into their shoulders like shapeless slabs of meat. When they hold them up to wave hello or goodbye they jiggle.
Exposed in the latest top some of them are white and blotchy, some have extra folds like elephant hide, some look like they could take off, its shocking.
I call for women of the armed world to unite against these ghastly beasts. If you have fat flabby arms don't go sleeveless.
Saturday, 23 January 2010
I didn’t know it at the time, but the weekend I fainted in Linda’s’ Gran’s flat in Shard End, would be my last weekend as a school child. Shard End had an empty second floor council flat, a record player, 2 beds and no grown ups. Each weekend since we had discovered that her grandparents had gone to Scotland to manage a caravan park we hitch hiked there, usually in lorries with greasy fat men, took the key from its hiding place and spent it in wild party mode, lying to our parents about where we were. It was easy; they didn’t care where we were as long as we weren’t bothering them.
That last weekend feeling, adventurous I found some tablets in the bathroom cupboard, which cried ‘take in the morning’, so I did, all of them, but with no food in me, it was no wonder, a short while later whilst having my hundredth wee, I fainted. My little experiment made it hard for us to get home, but we did. What I couldn’t have foreseen was that when we got home, Lynne’s father, tall, rather well fed, his fat tummy poking through his untucked shirt, stinking of fags, a company director with an air of self importance would tell us both that we had been found out, something about the loud music and a neighbour complaining.
He demanded that I ‘fessed’ myself up to my parents. He scared me, especially as Linda and I had recently, inadvertently found pictures in his brief case of a naked woman, legs wide open, in his bedroom who wasn’t his wife. Why we didn’t blackmail him there and then I don’t know. Feeling ill, I did as I was told.
Later that week I got something else I wasn’t expecting, expelled from school. The class registers of both myself and Linda had been compared and it was discovered that we had both missed an entire term. Being the one with the most to lose I was expelled whilst she was allowed to stay, I put this down to her dad being a ‘director’ and mine was just a sergeant in the RAF. This time I couldn’t face my father, so I called him at work, expecting the usual telling off, the sting of his words, ‘are you mental or what?’ wrenched my heart. I held back the tears and swallowed hard, he simply put the phone down on me.
Dad had a philosophy on life; you could do whatever you liked as long as you didn’t get caught. And caught I duly was, twice in one week. I was certainly my fathers’ daughter, a rebel, I think he quite liked it, but equally hated the fuss when he had to deal with my games. Mental, no, naughty, yes, bored, yes, ignored, yes. No one talked or looked at me that week, a nobody, whilst, I slightly unconcerned, relished my new found freedom. During the day I visited the beach, the pub for games of darts and pool, and trips to Cardiff. At night I sat in my room and plotted my escape, freedom from these unhappy people who didn’t acknowledge me, freedom at last to be me.
Cardiff was fun, shops to wander around, clothes to try on and people to gaze at. Who were they, where had they come from, where were they going, were they free? Even the odd looking man who came to talk to me outside C&A seemed fun, despite his boring drab clothes and wiry ruffled yellowy blonde hair that seemed to sit on his head like an unruly thatched roof. He had the remnants of a secretly scoffed chocolate bar around his mouth, shiny blobs caught in the corners, making him look almost clown like. I talked to him; I talked to anyone, did and still do. At the time of course, I didn’t know he was on the streets looking for bored aimless young people, so when he invited me for ‘a nice cup of tea’ with some other friends I went along. My antenna, that thing they call instinct switched off.
The bright blue plain door above the shop opened to some steep stairs and a sitting room. Lulled by the tea and chocolate, I was invited away for the weekend, no cost, just lots of others like them, having fun. I am not sure I really knew what they were, right at that point, all my young ears heard was ‘weekend away’. With no-one to question my decision, that Friday just 3 days after leaving school for the very last time, I was sitting on a mini bus, with the aliens. Bemused and confused, I took furtive looks at them, they all had a distant look in their eyes, their clothes had no colour, they had no colour, no personality. They opened their mouths and catchy little songs about god flowed forth. But apart from that there was nothing.
It was part way along the journey to Stanton or Norton Fitzwarren or wherever we were going that I started to get that funny feeling in my tummy. Perhaps I wasn’t free, perhaps the aliens were going to eat me or kill me or something worse. As wild thoughts spilled wildly and madly around my brain, the songs were beginning to filter through, why were they singing the same songs all of the time, nothing made sense so I gave trying to work it out and added my small voice to theirs.
Sometime later, we arrived at a beautiful farm, more aliens and other waifs looking just like me, all mingling, grey smiles glued to pasty faces, more songs and somewhere a guitar being strummed. Wandering aimlessly around, looking for signs of life, I let them herd me to my dormitory, then to large wooden table for prayers and food. Great food, fresh from the farm, real food, brightly coloured vegetables contrasted against the dull people sitting around me. Then more songs. I welcomed the early bedtime and wondered how I could escape. Cocooned in my bunk bed, an over active fertile mind retraced my steps, out through the door, through the muddy tractor tracks into the lane, but which way? If I ran surely they would know and capture me, then what?
The following day I woke up, felt myself, yes I was all still there. After washing we had another great meal, fresh food from the farm you couldn’t beat it, and yet more prayers and songs. I was still on another planet. Imagine my surprise when after the delicious if somewhat tuneful breakfast, we were herded into a classroom. Cream walls, 2 windows with views of the countryside, lots of wooden chairs, there must have been at least 50 people in that room and at the front a grey teacher with a flipchart.
The next two days were hell on earth, trapped once more in the classroom, with no unescorted time to myself. Richard my yellow haired new best friend by my side. Lectures from early in the morning to late at night, interspersed with food and more of those catchy little ditties. This was worse than school! The drone of the lecturers’ voice kept sending me into a lull, tales of Christ and his reincarnation boring me. As my mind drifted in and out of the room I was shocked to hear that Reverend Sun Myung Moon was indeed the second coming of Christ. So that’s what we were here for, the aliens wanted to turn us into moon children! My heightened senses told me, I must escape, I must escape. These people were nuts and I wanted to go home to face my punishment. My dad was right I was mental.
Surprisingly, they let us go. Back in Cardiff, I was taken to a private room and asked what I thought. My disdain for the whole weekend poured forth, no mercy here. I rabited on whilst the looks on their faces grew ever more concerned. No said yellow top you are not right for us, you can’t come back. With the weekend I left school over, I went home once again to tell my tale. Home sweet home, angry parents, no money, no job, no qualifications. Being made an example off seemed so much better than an arranged marriage and a life of walking the streets looking for others to brainwash. I was free.
Copyright : Jacqui Malpass : 2008
That last weekend feeling, adventurous I found some tablets in the bathroom cupboard, which cried ‘take in the morning’, so I did, all of them, but with no food in me, it was no wonder, a short while later whilst having my hundredth wee, I fainted. My little experiment made it hard for us to get home, but we did. What I couldn’t have foreseen was that when we got home, Lynne’s father, tall, rather well fed, his fat tummy poking through his untucked shirt, stinking of fags, a company director with an air of self importance would tell us both that we had been found out, something about the loud music and a neighbour complaining.
He demanded that I ‘fessed’ myself up to my parents. He scared me, especially as Linda and I had recently, inadvertently found pictures in his brief case of a naked woman, legs wide open, in his bedroom who wasn’t his wife. Why we didn’t blackmail him there and then I don’t know. Feeling ill, I did as I was told.
Later that week I got something else I wasn’t expecting, expelled from school. The class registers of both myself and Linda had been compared and it was discovered that we had both missed an entire term. Being the one with the most to lose I was expelled whilst she was allowed to stay, I put this down to her dad being a ‘director’ and mine was just a sergeant in the RAF. This time I couldn’t face my father, so I called him at work, expecting the usual telling off, the sting of his words, ‘are you mental or what?’ wrenched my heart. I held back the tears and swallowed hard, he simply put the phone down on me.
Dad had a philosophy on life; you could do whatever you liked as long as you didn’t get caught. And caught I duly was, twice in one week. I was certainly my fathers’ daughter, a rebel, I think he quite liked it, but equally hated the fuss when he had to deal with my games. Mental, no, naughty, yes, bored, yes, ignored, yes. No one talked or looked at me that week, a nobody, whilst, I slightly unconcerned, relished my new found freedom. During the day I visited the beach, the pub for games of darts and pool, and trips to Cardiff. At night I sat in my room and plotted my escape, freedom from these unhappy people who didn’t acknowledge me, freedom at last to be me.
Cardiff was fun, shops to wander around, clothes to try on and people to gaze at. Who were they, where had they come from, where were they going, were they free? Even the odd looking man who came to talk to me outside C&A seemed fun, despite his boring drab clothes and wiry ruffled yellowy blonde hair that seemed to sit on his head like an unruly thatched roof. He had the remnants of a secretly scoffed chocolate bar around his mouth, shiny blobs caught in the corners, making him look almost clown like. I talked to him; I talked to anyone, did and still do. At the time of course, I didn’t know he was on the streets looking for bored aimless young people, so when he invited me for ‘a nice cup of tea’ with some other friends I went along. My antenna, that thing they call instinct switched off.
The bright blue plain door above the shop opened to some steep stairs and a sitting room. Lulled by the tea and chocolate, I was invited away for the weekend, no cost, just lots of others like them, having fun. I am not sure I really knew what they were, right at that point, all my young ears heard was ‘weekend away’. With no-one to question my decision, that Friday just 3 days after leaving school for the very last time, I was sitting on a mini bus, with the aliens. Bemused and confused, I took furtive looks at them, they all had a distant look in their eyes, their clothes had no colour, they had no colour, no personality. They opened their mouths and catchy little songs about god flowed forth. But apart from that there was nothing.
It was part way along the journey to Stanton or Norton Fitzwarren or wherever we were going that I started to get that funny feeling in my tummy. Perhaps I wasn’t free, perhaps the aliens were going to eat me or kill me or something worse. As wild thoughts spilled wildly and madly around my brain, the songs were beginning to filter through, why were they singing the same songs all of the time, nothing made sense so I gave trying to work it out and added my small voice to theirs.
Sometime later, we arrived at a beautiful farm, more aliens and other waifs looking just like me, all mingling, grey smiles glued to pasty faces, more songs and somewhere a guitar being strummed. Wandering aimlessly around, looking for signs of life, I let them herd me to my dormitory, then to large wooden table for prayers and food. Great food, fresh from the farm, real food, brightly coloured vegetables contrasted against the dull people sitting around me. Then more songs. I welcomed the early bedtime and wondered how I could escape. Cocooned in my bunk bed, an over active fertile mind retraced my steps, out through the door, through the muddy tractor tracks into the lane, but which way? If I ran surely they would know and capture me, then what?
The following day I woke up, felt myself, yes I was all still there. After washing we had another great meal, fresh food from the farm you couldn’t beat it, and yet more prayers and songs. I was still on another planet. Imagine my surprise when after the delicious if somewhat tuneful breakfast, we were herded into a classroom. Cream walls, 2 windows with views of the countryside, lots of wooden chairs, there must have been at least 50 people in that room and at the front a grey teacher with a flipchart.
The next two days were hell on earth, trapped once more in the classroom, with no unescorted time to myself. Richard my yellow haired new best friend by my side. Lectures from early in the morning to late at night, interspersed with food and more of those catchy little ditties. This was worse than school! The drone of the lecturers’ voice kept sending me into a lull, tales of Christ and his reincarnation boring me. As my mind drifted in and out of the room I was shocked to hear that Reverend Sun Myung Moon was indeed the second coming of Christ. So that’s what we were here for, the aliens wanted to turn us into moon children! My heightened senses told me, I must escape, I must escape. These people were nuts and I wanted to go home to face my punishment. My dad was right I was mental.
Surprisingly, they let us go. Back in Cardiff, I was taken to a private room and asked what I thought. My disdain for the whole weekend poured forth, no mercy here. I rabited on whilst the looks on their faces grew ever more concerned. No said yellow top you are not right for us, you can’t come back. With the weekend I left school over, I went home once again to tell my tale. Home sweet home, angry parents, no money, no job, no qualifications. Being made an example off seemed so much better than an arranged marriage and a life of walking the streets looking for others to brainwash. I was free.
Copyright : Jacqui Malpass : 2008
I wonder what the teacher from my primary school thought she was doing when she told my dad 'your daughter will never go to University'. I hadn't remember this negative statement until this morning when lying awake in the early hours, my thoughts wandering around my mind maze uncovered a few forgotten things. I went on to pass my 11 plus.
School bored me, the rules enraged me, long skirts and flat Clarkes shoes. I razored the shoes and hitched the skirt up. The irony, I wear Clarkes now! I never realised how poor my parents were or how hard they saved to ensure that my feet were clad in the best shoes. Sorry guys!!! And thank you, I have good feet or in the words of a not so nice acquaintance 'you have young feet' eh?
The teacher was almost right. I ended up getting expelled from school. On returning to the UK, I insisted that I went to a comprehensive as the local grammer school was girls only, I was a tomboy and I wanted male company. When batman chucked me out, my dad said ' are you mental or what' I went with gritted teeth to night school with my mum to get 5 'O' levels and later an 'A' level. They said ' you can get a nice job in the civil service'. 5 mind numbingly years in the inland revenue was not a nice job.
Let me take you on a tangent. Whilst thinking about school I remembered my friend Linda C. Linda and some other friends would skive off as often as possible, she and I would hitch to Birmingham and pretend to our parents that we were staying with each other. Silly and dangerous, but such fun. Of course we got caught and Lindas dad made me grass myself up to my parents. Then came the expulsion.
I had forgotten that just a month before we had gone looking in her dads briefcase for the logo I had designed for his company newsletter. Whilst delving we found photos of a woman naked with her legs open on the marital bed, clearly not her mum. A sharper person would have kept the evidence for emergencies.
Fast forward to 1991, I, after years of being told I was stupid, I started and gained an MBA, they even put my dissertation in the library. So the teacher was wrong I did go to university after all.
Now a sucker for punishment I began a relentless search for knowledge and studied a wide range of things, crystal therapy, human nutrition, reiki, life drawing, creative writing and god knows what else. Every time vowing I wouldn't take any more on.
2009, when I needed a change of direction and distraction, I enrolled on the ILM level 7 certificate in coaching and mentoring and NLP practitioner. Why did I do them together I ask myself as the pain of constant studying and writing assignments slowly diminishes? It was strangely cathartic.
Will I be going back to university???
Damn right! I am already in discussions for the next round of pain and discovery.
To the teacher and to everyone who opens their stupid mouths to tell someone that they wont amount to much, they are stupid or can't do something. STOP. Engage your brains. Say something positive, motivate and encourage. If you can't, then say nothing at all.
And thank you to all of the negative, controlling people who did open their mouths, you inspired me, one of the greatest pleasures in my life is doing what you said I couldn't do!
The teacher was almost right. I ended up getting expelled from school. On returning to the UK, I insisted that I went to a comprehensive as the local grammer school was girls only, I was a tomboy and I wanted male company. When batman chucked me out, my dad said ' are you mental or what' I went with gritted teeth to night school with my mum to get 5 'O' levels and later an 'A' level. They said ' you can get a nice job in the civil service'. 5 mind numbingly years in the inland revenue was not a nice job.
Let me take you on a tangent. Whilst thinking about school I remembered my friend Linda C. Linda and some other friends would skive off as often as possible, she and I would hitch to Birmingham and pretend to our parents that we were staying with each other. Silly and dangerous, but such fun. Of course we got caught and Lindas dad made me grass myself up to my parents. Then came the expulsion.
I had forgotten that just a month before we had gone looking in her dads briefcase for the logo I had designed for his company newsletter. Whilst delving we found photos of a woman naked with her legs open on the marital bed, clearly not her mum. A sharper person would have kept the evidence for emergencies.
Fast forward to 1991, I, after years of being told I was stupid, I started and gained an MBA, they even put my dissertation in the library. So the teacher was wrong I did go to university after all.
Now a sucker for punishment I began a relentless search for knowledge and studied a wide range of things, crystal therapy, human nutrition, reiki, life drawing, creative writing and god knows what else. Every time vowing I wouldn't take any more on.
2009, when I needed a change of direction and distraction, I enrolled on the ILM level 7 certificate in coaching and mentoring and NLP practitioner. Why did I do them together I ask myself as the pain of constant studying and writing assignments slowly diminishes? It was strangely cathartic.
Will I be going back to university???
Damn right! I am already in discussions for the next round of pain and discovery.
To the teacher and to everyone who opens their stupid mouths to tell someone that they wont amount to much, they are stupid or can't do something. STOP. Engage your brains. Say something positive, motivate and encourage. If you can't, then say nothing at all.
And thank you to all of the negative, controlling people who did open their mouths, you inspired me, one of the greatest pleasures in my life is doing what you said I couldn't do!
Thursday, 21 January 2010
From being awake since 4am, I have managed to only have 1 cup of tea and invite the now snoring smelly dog to my bed.
My dilemma with a battery (computer and I) that is slowly fading is, do I get out of bed and showered to go to a networking event which is fantastically close to the house or do I stay in bed?
In reality of staying in bed is not an option. There are the girls to let out, who will be clucking madly by 7am and trying to beat me to the back door once I pull back the latch. Then there's the Ferds who needs feeding and walking. He however is still snoring, snorting and sighing.
mmm.....
Lazy womans option methinks.
Birds out, dog fed and let out, shower, choose clothes, network. Then walk dog.
Happily my short story is manifesting itself, more ideas invade my brain and I think a few more tweaks and it will be done. Happy days.
6:32 and time is running out.
My dilemma with a battery (computer and I) that is slowly fading is, do I get out of bed and showered to go to a networking event which is fantastically close to the house or do I stay in bed?
In reality of staying in bed is not an option. There are the girls to let out, who will be clucking madly by 7am and trying to beat me to the back door once I pull back the latch. Then there's the Ferds who needs feeding and walking. He however is still snoring, snorting and sighing.
mmm.....
Lazy womans option methinks.
Birds out, dog fed and let out, shower, choose clothes, network. Then walk dog.
Happily my short story is manifesting itself, more ideas invade my brain and I think a few more tweaks and it will be done. Happy days.
6:32 and time is running out.
Friday, 8 January 2010
I guess that a 2 year old dog, previously homed in Fulham, has possibly never seen snow before.
Wednesday I dressed up warmly for the deep white stuff that surrounded our house and coaxed a unhelpful Ferdy into his lead.
He gingerly stepped out into the snow, then sniffed and sniffed, bounded and ran head long into it.
The walk to the park was littered with Heel Ferdys and a look on his face that said but mum its snow, me play me play!!! And very probably you old cow.
In the park I let Ferdy free, it was such fun watching him race around in the fresh untouched snow, galloping towards me, skidding to a halt, turning around and dashing in another direction.
The best bit was playing snowballs. He chased and leaped at every snowball and the look of total confusion on his face when is 'ball' disappeared was priceless.
So much fun, wish I had filmed it.
Wednesday I dressed up warmly for the deep white stuff that surrounded our house and coaxed a unhelpful Ferdy into his lead.
He gingerly stepped out into the snow, then sniffed and sniffed, bounded and ran head long into it.
The walk to the park was littered with Heel Ferdys and a look on his face that said but mum its snow, me play me play!!! And very probably you old cow.
In the park I let Ferdy free, it was such fun watching him race around in the fresh untouched snow, galloping towards me, skidding to a halt, turning around and dashing in another direction.
The best bit was playing snowballs. He chased and leaped at every snowball and the look of total confusion on his face when is 'ball' disappeared was priceless.
So much fun, wish I had filmed it.
Its 5:09 and I have been awake since 3:39. When I tried to sleep thoughts wandered aimlessly into my mind.....
Outputs for today's meeting, things to improve the spreadsheet, will the house contracts be ready today, what's on the news, I must stop eating crap, how can I stop eating crap, I need a swish, should have bought my gym kit to the hotel, better do some Pilates later, should I go to Pilates on Sat before I head to Bridgend, shall I give Tuesday to Simon or wait for Mike and Debbie to reply, better bring the scales back to Newport, and on and on.......
To stop the brain whirring and crashing I got up and turned on my computer to tackle my priority, prep for today's meeting, that's now completed. Other emails are sent and now I am tired and bored, however there is brightness in my life, I have remembered that I have Earl Grey tea in my purse. I have no idea why. It makes me happy to know that I don't have to wring out the dregs of the Tetleys that has been left in my room.
When my mind zig zags into chaos there is always EGT.......................
Its the simple things in life that bring so much pleasure to me.
Later when I get home there will be a wagging tail with my slipper grasped with intent in his slobbery mouth. He will run around like a loony eventually racing upstairs to await me. Then and only then can I get my kiss and cwtch from my man.
A cup of tea, we will chat.
Simple things.
Outputs for today's meeting, things to improve the spreadsheet, will the house contracts be ready today, what's on the news, I must stop eating crap, how can I stop eating crap, I need a swish, should have bought my gym kit to the hotel, better do some Pilates later, should I go to Pilates on Sat before I head to Bridgend, shall I give Tuesday to Simon or wait for Mike and Debbie to reply, better bring the scales back to Newport, and on and on.......
To stop the brain whirring and crashing I got up and turned on my computer to tackle my priority, prep for today's meeting, that's now completed. Other emails are sent and now I am tired and bored, however there is brightness in my life, I have remembered that I have Earl Grey tea in my purse. I have no idea why. It makes me happy to know that I don't have to wring out the dregs of the Tetleys that has been left in my room.
When my mind zig zags into chaos there is always EGT.......................
Its the simple things in life that bring so much pleasure to me.
Later when I get home there will be a wagging tail with my slipper grasped with intent in his slobbery mouth. He will run around like a loony eventually racing upstairs to await me. Then and only then can I get my kiss and cwtch from my man.
A cup of tea, we will chat.
Simple things.
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