Smidge

Whilst i’ve been having an internal debate about where to take this blog next (its currently a grave yard of all my depressing thoughts, which needs to change) i’ve sadly noticed that it’s not all sweetness and light everywhere else either in blogland. Despite summer being around the corner it seems that depression is high on people’s agenda, as is the point of blogging in the first place.

So in the spirit of summer, feeling the sun and enjoying life and in a bid to get you all thinking about what you are thankful for, this is my ‘grace in small things’…

• My first cigarette of the day with a proper cup of espresso coffee, a crisp, freezing cold Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, or a Millers Gin and Tonic , pink fizz and shots of slippery nipples,
• The Cicle (acoustic) by Ocean Colour Scene, Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones, Pink Moon by Nick Drake, Bright Side of the Road by Van Morrison and anything by the Counting Crows,
• Cooking a Sunday roast, sucking the chocolate off a Crunchie bar (or a Kit Kat), Chocolate milk, Magnum Temptation Ice-creams, Frazzles crisps, Galaxy chocolate, broccoli and stilton soup, and stuffed vine leaves,
• Friday at 3.15pm, Flexi-time, presenting really well, going back to university to do a MSc in September,
• Lilies, daisy chains, rolling fields and dry stone walls, fields of Oil Seed Rape, walking on a wind swept beach in winter,
• The Greek Islands, Scandinavia, The Arts Factory in Byron Bay, the Yorkshire Dales, Arran and Loch Lyon,
• Fits of hysterical laughter, especially when the kitten falls in the toilet,
• Edinburgh’s private gardens in the sunshine, the Botanical Gardens, the Zoo, remembering to appreciate the Castle once in a while and the Festival too,
• Going clubbing, seeing gigs and discovering new musical loves, dancing until dawn,
• Being appreciated for the crazy bitch I am, never being judged and always having a ready smile, and,
• Neal Stephenson, Alisdair Reynolds, Peter F Hamilton, and Dan Simmons amongst others…

But my favourite small thing is…saying “I love you” and really, truly meaning it.

What are your favourite small things?

Kx

Once upon a time there was a little girl in her £80 dress that didn’t care what they drank, or what the first song was, or what flowers she carried or the cake they ate. There was a sparkle in her eye that blinded her to the guests, on lookers, well wishers and even the vicar. She only had eyes in one direction.

But for all her belief in love, she was naïve. She was stepping off down a long road, which despite twists and turns and ups and downs would never come to a fork, a t-junction or a dead end; but she’d been blinded by the sparkle and never saw how rough the road really was.

Very quickly the sun went in, the dark clouds descended. The ring it seemed had begun to tighten around her new husband’s finger; he cried like it was around his neck instead. The little girl focused on playing house whilst he played away and was rewarded by broken plates and broken bones.

At Christmas, it wasn’t all snow that was white or wine that was red, at Easter it wasn’t only Easter eggs that had to be hunted for. In summer, the front door was always open, but no one ever came through it, came home. By winter she was left alone to frighten away the cold. The little girl learned that money and pain and fear and heartbreak was all there was left, that pain was real and clung on once the respect was gone.

But then the day came, with the help of another, that she realised that she could walk away, broken, miss-led, ashamed, but alone. When the light finally began to creep back in, and she could let go of that friends hand, she realised she had only taken one thing with her, one lesson to move on….

And today, that little girl, despite being so naïve, knows that in marriage, only one thing matters – that love is never enough – and if you find your best friend, you’ve found the one.

Kx

P.s Even overlooking his misogynist tendencies, Nietzsche still might not be the obvious philosopher upon which to base an opinion of marriage upon, but you have to agree he has a point.

In such an expansive language as ours, there are few words that beat the word ‘cheat’ for venomous synonyms (a charlatan, conniver, enticer, masquerader, or rascal?); Our language paints such people as double-dealers that scam, screw (literally) and fiddle (literally, mark 2) their way through life and that for this there is no acceptable excuse.

It may be a truth universally acknowledged that some people have significantly more self-esteem issues than most, but can cheating ever really ever be “it’s not you, it’s me”? Can someone’s low regard for themselves drive them to see such behaviour as a part of themselves; that cheating is just an old habit that would die very hard? Whilst a lack of self esteem is today accepted as a common cause of a multitude of human misdemeanours, using it as an excuse for being sexually unfaithful is not.

I guess this post is a kind confession, for I was that person; a cheat who never took responsibility for the fact that the person she was with just might not have been the right one and blamed it on ‘issues’ instead. Yes, I did say was; for this might have been a weekend filled with smiles and sex and hopes for anniversaries to come, but it also marked the passing of a secret milestone; an old habit I’m happy to have died hard.

For this weekend marked one year that I stopped saying “it’s not you, it’s me”, and started accepting the real reality – “it’s not me, it’s you”.

And that for me is a very large step forward.

Kx

I promise i’m not becoming a cat blogger but this I had to share…

One of the delights of having a pet is obviously the interaction you get with them, but what is often funnier is the interaction between pets. My guinea pigs used to follow each other around the garden obsessively, my goldfish nibble each others tails joyously after they are fed and well, well my cats fight.

Oh, I know that a kitten’s raison d’être is to terrorise, but I’ve never before met a kitten that does it with such dogged (catted?) determination. My tomcat is being run ragged by 1.2kg of kitten; and it’s rather funny to watch.

Now the kitten’s best trick has been nicknamed ‘Eddie the Eagle’ and you’ll see why. It involves the kitten finding the highest place in the room to crouch on (top of the TV, halfway up the curtains, on the mantelpiece, on the radiator) and waiting there until the tom strolls past on his way for breakfast, dinner or a nice quiet sleep on his favourite chair.

On getting the tom in her sights, the kitten then launches herself into a death-defying leap at or onto the tomcat, which then results in him jumping a foot in the air and running squealing from the room in fright.

The little terror either darts after him, getting a few swipes in at the tail for good measure, or just sits there nonchalantly giving herself a nice clean like nothing has happened. (and metaphorical pat on the head – I can see it even if no one else can).

But this morning the tomcat got his own back. The kitten must have launched one of her sneak attacks earlier than usual as at 6.30am the tom came belting into the bedroom meowing in a plaintive angry voice. After checking that the kitten was still puffing up the stairs, the tom jumped on the bed and after a quick head butt (“mum, shhhhh!”) he climbed under the covers, curled up against me and went very still and quiet.

Seconds later, little miss evil climbs up the duvet onto the bed, squeaking in excitement and stands directly on top of the tom and starts searching for him. Of course she can’t find him and he wasn’t going to reveal himself in a hurry. Two minutes later the kitten jumps of the bed in frustration and goes off to hunt him down somewhere else.

Seconds later I feel another little head butt (“thanks mum”), a very loud purr and then the tom settles himself down to sleep. Victory for the moment was his.

Kxx

*buzz buzz buzz, buzz buzz buzz*

*click*

…Hello?

….Erm, hi, it’s me…

….No…

…Yes I know I sound like her, but it’s not your daughter…

….Who is it? Well, maybe you should be sitting down….

….No?

….Are you sure?

….Ok, well it’s you calling, well me, ok, us. We are the same after all…

…Well….

…Well, I’m just calling to see how you are. To see how you are getting on without me….

…Yes, I know you left me behind a long time ago. Yes I know you have moved on; but I haven’t. I’m still stuck here…

…No, you haven’t left me yet. I was hoping you could tell me when you did it….

…No? Ok. Not even a little hint? This year? Next year?

….Ok Ok. But you are ok aren’t you? It all worked out for the best didn’t it?

…yes, right. So how does it feel?

…what do I mean? Well, don’t you remember the old you, don’t you remember me?

…yes, the hang ups, the insecurities, the lack of self-esteem….

…yes, I know this must feel like ancient history to you, but…

…alright, maybe like a lost limb?

…but does it itch? Do some of the feelings every come back?

…No. so you are happy? Settled?

…oh good…

…you have to go?

…ok…

…thanks…

…bye…

*click*

This is a prompt from Twenty Something Writers – a letter to your future self. I just thought id give myself a call.

What would you say to your future self?

Kx

In the last year i have learnt…

1. If you are at the bottom of the wheel of fortune there is only one way to go, and that’s up;
2. But you can fix something that you’ve broken – with a little work and a little patience;
3. Its better to take honesty over platitudes every time. Straight up, black and white “I just don’t see a future” is better than “it’s not you, it’s me”;
4. A small effort goes a long way with people you thought you had nothing in common with, if only to make the person you are with happy;
5. Agent Provocateur underwear isn’t sexy if you have to spend an age getting it on, let alone off. But a bit of squidge around the waist gives you extra on the boobs, which gives something to appreciate and grab a hold of;
6. Small men aren’t necessarily small all over;
7. Practise makes perfect – whatever this may be;
8. Have something to aspire to, to not just go with the flow, to not hold yourself back, to actually go out and get your dream, your life, to not just be a part of someone else’s – at the end of the day this makes you far sexier than all the other cookie cutters out there;
9. People can change, but you can’t start a relationship with a clean slate;
10. Do not estimate the lengths boys will go to on valentines day, if only to get into your knickers;
11. Make sure you find that look in someone’s eyes that tells you they can catch a dose of your crazy and love you for it; and at the end of the day,
12. Men just don’t get shoes like women do.

Happy anniversary baby!

Kx

The clean out of bad memories is moving apace, but it mustn’t slow; the work must go on. I’m beginning to wake up to the possibility that my life has verged, changed, moved on from where i saw it to be 5 years ago; but then then thoughts about my home full of memories of the ex, of what wouldn’t be, of what couldn’t be, are still holding me back.

I know it takes time to wash a slate clean, wipe away the past, to begin to dress the future. But i’ve been locked up here tight for too long; it’s time for me to step out of the muddy waters that swirl around my door. There is a ray of sunshine peeking through.

But I can’t open the door on a completely new home, not yet, so just for now i’m making small changes that will make the big one seem insignificant after a while. A home might seem solid around you, but life is transient, letting go is just the start.

Kx

Ok, I’m a bit stuck right now for posts so I’m plagiarising topics (it’s ok if you admit it isn’t it?), anyways, clicking through to Lora’s blog i found a link to a project by Mara where every week she is “going to post a compliment to myself and a compliment to a friend” as, as she puts it, there is this “sad fact that there are so many wonderful, beautiful and competent women who suffer from low self-esteem”. But, whilst I’m giving them both props for the idea (i think its a great idea) I’m a little uncomfortable praising myself, its too American for my English sensibilities, a little Oprah.

Maybe I’m missing the point, that my so called self esteem issues wont let me see the good in me, let alone write about them. But i’m going to give it a go, see where it takes me. But instead of taking up Mara’s challenge (i’m crap at following through) I’m going to follow Lora’s lead and try for just 5. Just 5 little compliments. After everything i’ve been through recently i guess i deserve them.

1) I know my own body to the point that i can make any man i fancy give me an orgasm. I might be on the wrong side of 30 but there are benefits of time passing, of getting older. Life is far too short not to enjoy yourself in bed. (if you haven’t read the full story of this, head over to the Secret Lady Garden, you can find the story of my enlightenment here, and p.s i no longer need props…)

2) I make an excellent parent. So what that I’m a parent to two cats (whilst not being a cat person, i just couldn’t see Fin the tomcat i adopted going to a cat home) or the fact that i’m so not ready for the real thing, but I’m proud that they are happy, healthy, loving and still alive. Unlike every house plant I’ve ever owned and the fact i seem to have an inability to maintain long term relationships (yet).

3) I’m honest. With myself, with friends, with my parents, with boyfriends. It might take me a while to be honest in terms of telling something to their face, but i’m always honest in my actions towards them. This is very much something i have learnt over the years; people can change to be honest in their actions and for this im proud of myself.

4) I don’t play games. To me, game player are the worst form of low life. For what end do you need to play games? To confuse, to disappoint, to shame in the end. Like honesty, not playing games leads to an openness that in life is rarely achieved. If i like you, i like you, i don’t need to waste time pretending i don’t.

5) I’m pragmatic. What’s done is done, what’s real is real, what’s black is black, what’s white is white. Maybe my pragmatism comes from the honesty and the lack of game playing and maybe it means i never sit on the fence, but it means you always know where you are with me. There are no grey areas to me.

Maybe some of these positives have a negative, everything in life does. You can’t walk out on your path and expect everything to be perfect. These traits make me, me. They give me my quirks, my personality, they make me the person that has doubts, that gets scared. But i can always come back to this post, to look at this starting point, the point that i can now move onwards and upwards from.

Kx

I’ve seen this meme floating around on a couple of blogs recently (check out blogging barbie and Brandy for a couple of examples, and in the spirit of being a bit more positive, it made me happy to think of all the ‘perfect’ things described below. It’s not a tagging memo, but feel free to do it and link back to me…

This is all about perfection…

The perfect outfit: As I’m generally pretty rubbish with fashion (I am a tomboy after all) this is usually converse and baggy jeans, but I do have one favourite outfit – 4 inch stiletto Michael Kors ‘Promo’ boots, Ted Baker boot cut jeans, a low cut black vest (a fashion staple of mine) and my AllSaints leather jacket; which always makes me feel sexy. Yes, I do wish I was a proper biker chick.

The perfect meal: It has to be a roast dinner. I actually love cooking, but the only day of the week I make a serious effort is a Sunday. Whether its roast beef or chicken, it has to have all the accompaniments, French style garlicky green beans, daupinoise potatoes, honeyed carrots, stuffing of some kind, sauces, onion and red wine gravy and of course my favourite food stuff on the planet – Yorkshire Puddings.

The perfect hangover cure: Irn Bru. Full stop. There is no competition to this sugary, caffeinated drink in beating a hangover apart from just getting drunk again. And they make the best adverts ever.

The perfect road trip: has to involve a trip to Tebay (Westmoreland) Services. Best service station ever.

The perfect facial feature: Eyelashes, I’m a sucker for long eyelashes on boys. It’s what suckered me into snogging my man 30 minutes after i met him anyway.

The perfect drink: a perfectly made GnT with Millers gin (NOT Gordons), lots of ice, full fat tonic (NOT slimline) and lime (NOT lemon).

The perfect song: For rocking out ‘Gloria’ as sung by Patti Smith, for contemplating the future ‘Goodnight Elisabeth’ by the Counting Crows and for the perfect end to a night clubbing ‘You got the love’ by Candy Stanton.

The perfect sign of affection: Someone taking your hand when you least expect them to.

The perfect afternoon: deckchair, bbq, friends, sunshine, a couple of dogs, a kite or two, music (live or not) and copious amounts of wine.

The perfect vacation: this is a tough one as whether i’m in a hostel, a tent, a 5 star hotel or kipping in the back of a car i’m happy as long as i’m doing some kind of traveling.

The perfect invention: The ‘Bullet’ vibrator.

The perfect type of wedding: as it would be my second I haven’t really thought about this, but my little sisters wedding under Sydney Harbour Bridge was the closest to magical i’ve every experienced, clichéd, but magical. I guess at the end of the day, the perfect wedding only needs the perfect man.

The perfect album: August and Everything After by The Counting Crows.

The perfect accent: I guess I have to say Scottish, but strangely i’m a sucker for a dominating /sarky /intelligent Aussie ones too.

The perfect date: Dancing or an intimate meal, something where we can share food, picnic style; either tapas or sushi.

The perfect weather: Wild, windy, blustery blue sky, perfect for walking on a (British) beach.

The perfect party: as long as it ends up with dancing till dawn then i’m happy

The perfect sport: Football (soccer to you Americans). Despite being a girl I love football, support 3 teams (little english, big english and big scottish).

The perfect thing to say: right, what shall we do today? I’m also a sucker for a man with a plan. Any kind of plan, unless its sitting on the sofa. That is reserved for Sundays only.

The perfect day of the week: as i said above, Sunday, the only day I feel I don’t have to do anything.

Mwah. Kx

Happily the black cloud that has been hovering in my head for the last few days has abated somewhat. I’m not entirely sure why it appeared, but I do know that it delivered some rather freezing, but refreshing rain which, whilst depressing for both anyone still reading this blog and me, formed the required grieving process for the friendship slash and burn I so dramatically carried out a couple of days ago, but refrained from blogging about.

Cutting friends from your life is never going to be easy (even if these days it only requires a few mouse clicks) and for someone like me whose insecurities arise from a lack of perceived friendships turned out to be emotionally harder than you’d think.

Even if I had had closure in real life, I was finding it almost impossible to stop myself from spying into their lives online (for someone who can’t let go, something like facebook is akin to the habits of rabbits). But once I started to remove people, I found I couldn’t stop. Click. Goodbye. Click. Senora. Click. You haven’t spoken to me in 6 months. Click. Do I even know you? Click, click, click; nearly 30 people later I felt rather liberated, rather proud of myself. A little ‘high’ if you will.

Of course that was never going to last. Yesterday was the come down, the realisation that over the last year I’d lost nearly 30 people from my life, 30 people who had moved on and forgot about me, 30 people that wouldn’t even notice if I deleted them from facebook. And yes, that made me a little sad. I guess it would make anyone a little sad.

But then it hit me, a new follower on twitter sent me this message today: “I have to say, you sound a lot more chipper on Twitter than your blog bio would lead one to believe…”

That’s because it’s true!

But this blog has become a place for me to wallow, to moan, and to feel sorry for myself. So, It’s time for me to reclaim it back again. Break the writes block that has me stuck on ‘blue’. Life for me is not all doom and gloom, in fact quite the opposite and this blog should reflect that.

Kx

P.s and hopefully some of my readers might come back again (if I haven’t made them hang themselves already…)