A glimmer of hope...

A woman is open, honest, kind and bubbly...and she enjoys the company of men equally as much as her female friends.... yet some men see this as a 'come on'...why?

This question has arisen this week and consequently an open and honest debate has ensued at my house this evening...thankfully, you will be pleased to hear not with the Hobbits.

If a man is open and honest about any subject that you can care to think about - he is seen as modern man...a bit of a holy grail....but a woman, who knows her own mind and clearly knows what she likes and wants, is seen as potentially someone who is too independent; slightly intimidating and for others is seen as an opportunity...
...and not always in a good way.

Don't get me wrong - I would advocate honesty over anything and having a man that is equally as honest and kind is truly something to hold onto...J will tell you that.

So what am I trying to say here...clearly something is playing on my mind.

Hmm...well I have had the pleasure (ahem) of a few different dates recently...and conversations with a few different men. Some, read my blog...some don't. Some have known me for sometime and know who I am, what I believe in etc - whilst others have made assumptions and judgements...often wrongly.

However I can not control what people think or indeed feel about me. On the surface I can pretend to be the person who they want me to be, but for those who take the time to find out - there is more going on underneath than simply a conversational blog about vibrators.

Underneath is what is important - not my take on the latest sex toy...if that is the only thing that interests you about me, then you are missing out on my latest opinion of current affairs or indeed my inner most fears and thoughts, essentially getting to know me and I you...does that make sense?

I wouldn't want a male companion who didn't care about those things, who considers that those surface conversations are relevant - cos they truly aren't. Having a discussion about sex with someone doesn't mean that I am game...or indeed available; please don't make that assumption about me.

It just means that I am happy to talk about things in a general way - but trust me, there is far more to learn if you bother to take the time.

Thankfully where some men can not be bothered to take a closer look, there are men out there who will...as I am beginning to find out finally...so Pootle, there may just be a glimmer of hope for us after all...

The grieving process...

"Good evening, Mercedes-Benz helpline, how can I be of assistance?"
Distinct soft crying is heard...
"Hello? Can I help you?"
"Hello...I need help."
"Of course madam," says the young girl softly, "what seems to be the problem?"

A big sigh, followed by some more sniffling, "I have to give it back."
"Sorry, I am not quite with you." She says, confusion in her voice. "You have to give what back?"
"The Mercedes..." I say, my voice full of despair.
"Oh Madam, I am very sorry to hear that. What appears to be the problem with the vehicle?"
"Oh there is no problem...I love it; But someone lent it to me and I have to give it back."

"Oh," she stutters. "I see the problem. Who lent it to you?"
"A friend."
"A very good one, " she says.
I nod as though she can see me..."I am not sure if I can cope without it, I think I need a phased returning of the car...some sort of counselling or support group to get me through the loss."
"I completely understand Madam, however it is very rare that our customers lend out their cars...so we don't have a group. Have you considered the Samaritans?"
"Yep. Already rung them. They told me they couldn't possibly understand what I was talking about. There were suicidal people out there, and I was upset over just a car."
"Just a car? Oh god, I am sorry. The Mercedes is not just a car."
I nod again...she understands.

"Madam, where are you ringing me from?" Her voice is kind and sweet.
"The drivers seat."
"Are you using Bluetooth?"
"God yes," I almost cry in pain and I shift in the seat making a small sound.
"What was that noise?"
"The chains." I inform her.
"What chains?"
"I have chained myself to the car...I thought it would be ok."
"Oh..." She says, now with a considerable amount of worry in her voice. "I understand it is difficult."
"I feel bereft. I will no longer be complete."
"It takes time Madam. First you will experience denial that the car has gone, anger...but finally acceptance. It is the grieving process."
"Really?" I am not cheered, but I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.
"Yes, you have to go through each phase...but the pain will eventually pass."
"Oh good, when?" I ask her.
"When you buy a Mercedes....that will help."
"Oh," I say deflated. "That could be a while."
"Yes, the grieving process does take time." She pauses, "thank you for your call anyway. Your feedback is important to us."
"You're welcome." I say, the chains around my waist chafing a bit. "Goodnight."

Lord, won't you buy me...

It has been a quiet blogging week...

I haven't seen J, C or randomly chatted to strange men to find out some little anecdotes to tell you...I have been too busy driving the beast that is the other half of C's car...are you really sure you want it back J?

It is a bit like having car sex for a week...it is that good. (It really suits me too, Pootle said so.)

Even my dad was in awe of it this evening when he came over to see us...very impressed.

I love the satnav, the stereo, the boot that opens automatically, the seat belts...the engine sound, and so much more...I have even downloaded a specific song to leave for J to listen to when he returns and switches the engine on.

Anyway...enough of my car porn...I can tell that you are bored already, and I can't even see your faces...

So, I am afraid it is a bland blog tonight...but I was aware that I hadn't written for a few days...amazing how times flies when things are good, eh?

Out of the blue...

I just love the sun.

Pootle calls me a lizard or gecko, because as soon as it warms up you can normally find me lying on a wall or a bed of grass, or propped up against the fence with my feet dipped in the paddling pool soaking up the rays.

I love the warmth, the way it makes people feel happier and being able to have a reason to drink more Pimms....as if an excuse was ever needed.

What I don't normally like are surprises however.

You have to be very good and keep it very secret, because if I get a whiff that something is up I start to feel a tad uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, this weekend has been full of them. Surprises that is and all good ones.

This morning I had arranged to take C and J to the airport. Arriving at their house I started to unpack the boot of my car to get their suitcases in, when J hands me his car keys.
"All done." He says, "already loaded up."
I look at him for a moment and then look at the key in my hand.
"I am driving your car to the airport?" I ask.
"Yep, and you have it for a week. You are fully insured. Enjoy."

It takes me a moment, but a touch later I squeal, jump up and luckily J catches me; (I confess I am impressed he does this, because C is only a tiny slip of a thing and he is really not used to larger women leaping up at him.)

The car is a beauty. A Mercedes off roader...(I would tell you the exact name if I knew...but hopefully J or C will comment and give you that information).

Nevertheless, who cares...it is the hulk of the road...I feel like I am driving a big beastie that can crush anything in its path...I have absolute power...
...well, almost absolute power.

Automatic with rear view parking, the seat belt automatically corrects itself around your waist, to the point that initially it took me by surprise...then I confess I quite enjoyed the squeeze; the hobbits are totally into the inbuilt DVD player at the back and suddenly no longer have the urge to sit up front...and I have bluetooth...so if you ring me over the next week, I may actually answer you when driving.

As I dropped them off at the airport and to C's horror, J explained the off roading buttons I needed...should I indeed choose to go off piste....(that is piste and not pissed, you can trust me J)...hmm, now where can I go?

J and C - thank you so much for trusting me with this absolutely awesome car...I love it...and on reflection I have decided that I do enjoy surprises...including the other one I had late yesterday evening.

Funny how some people never surprise you...but then out of the blue, someone else does....

Ten year old pillows...

My friend J has amazing breasts...

Seriously - she does. Her man would more than likely concur with me about this, and Pootle, J and I discussed this recently as she is considering having a breast reduction...

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" I ask her, inevitably over a coffee.
"They are too big." She moans and looks down at them just to check they still are as she remembers.
'They are quite amazing though...I confess to being a little bit envious of them." I tell her, and for a brief while all three of us stare at her breasts trying to take in the greatness of them..."and a little scared of them too." I add.

They are very big.
"You see?" She reiterates her point, "Too big."
"Can breasts be too big?" says Pootle.
We shrug...size is relevant to the person I suppose.
"They can certainly be too small." I say, and everyone stops starting at J's breasts and look at mine. "At least you have plumpness and cushion like ability...in fact they are pretty much top of the range pillows; like memory foam." I add.
J preens herself a little hearing this news.

Pootle herself also has excellent Silent Night types and between her and J, I can't imagine you wouldn't get a good night sleep on those puppies.

Mine however would probably give you a head ache...

"Oh, yours aren't that bad." Says Pootle, "If you pushed them together they could make a pillow of sorts; like an old favourite pillow that you have to fold over," and she kind of demonstrates this with her hands in front of her...
J nods in agreement, "Yeah, like a ten year old pillow that has lost 'featherage'. But you are still quite fond if it."
"...that has lost its stuffing and is a bit stained and flat." Pootle continues.
"Girls," I look at them, "please don't hold back. Tell it like it is."

The thing is they are right, however, we can't all have memory foam and we can't all have the body of David Beckham or Kelly Brook...it doesn't work like that in real life, yet there is an expectation on the dating scene that anything less than perfect (in our eyes) is not on our list to try.

Someone said to me recently that they couldn't go out with a female who was anything but slim; that is fine as most of us have a criteria of what we find attractive initially...however, are we being too picky? Are we missing out on the voluptuous femme fatale on the other side of the room just because of our preconceived ideas about what we want?

I have dated in the past both men who are slim and men who are on the larger side...it wasn't that that specifically attracted me to them. It was what they had to say. But the trouble with getting older is that we are using our experiences to tell us what we really don't want, therefore some potentials are being missed out on our radar purely because they are a few pounds heavier...or their face is too thin.

What am I trying to say here?

I suppose there is an element of us that wants the whole package; the looks, the conversation, the banter...the thunderbolt; but what I am learning is that the thunderbolt doesn't normally mean long term.

Meeting someone who has the ability to reduce you to talking b**locks on a first date, doesn't necessarily mean they have the ability to hold your attention span once they start talking...whilst someone who doesn't create fireworks initially, may just ignite a spark once you start getting to know them and may be longer lasting.

Meeting a man who is shy may well put me off...however, I could be walking away from someone who once I got to know actually has a great deal to say, but I never gave them the chance.

Certainly a few of my friends would agree. When they met their partners there wasn't a thunderbolt; there wasn't a firework display behind their retinas...but with time, they became attracted to them and accepted them for who they were...warts and all....

Now, they wouldn't change them for the world...including their ten year old pillows...

My other half...

I have some news to announce.

People have been asking Pootle and myself a couple of questions with the same theme lately;

Are we sisters?
Are we a couple?
Are we likely to run off and live in a mud hut together and grow veg from pots?

Well, the quickest answer to all of the above is No, but I can not vouch for Pootle and the mud hut thing - it is entirely along the lines of something she would do...

No, we are definitely not sisters...I am sure my father would have noticed...nevertheless I think my dad would be quite happy to welcome another daughter to our team. Also, I find it hard to believe that siblings really get on as well as Pootle and I do; My actual sister and I barely see each other throughout the year, let alone go on holiday together or share a bottle and a goss over dinner.

Are we a couple? Hmmmm...define couple...
We are a couple of idiots that get the fit of the giggles, does that count? But, are we an actual couple? Both Pootle and I can tell that some people are just dying to ask us...we get on well, are pretty much always around each others houses, depend on each other, share crap stories and happy stories; buy each other flowers to cheer the other one up...and miss each other when we don't see the other...

So yeah...we are a kind of a couple.
However, neither of us are about to change our relationship status on Facebook, or indeed embrace the restaurant downstairs...but we are a couple enough that we care; will cook each other dinner; think of the other when out shopping...or bring a favourite coffee back...

In fact...our relationship has just taken that next step...

Pootle and I have talked, just discussed mind, moving in together.
Gulp.

It's a big step - I know we haven't been seeing each long, just over a year, but we feel that we may be ready. We are starting to have 'that' conversation...it just seems to make sense. Get big house; six bedrooms - and well, you know...pitch in and raise the kids together.

Why not?
Well, essentially we can't afford a house that big...not until I get a big advance for my novel, but then we are really considering that actually getting a house together may be the way to go.

We get annoyed with each other on occasion, but far less than a man annoys us. We are far more considerate to each other than any man has ever been to us, and whilst neither of us fancy each other - let's be honest, if sex is what you need, you can get sex anywhere...

Am I being too brutal? Really? How many women out there would seriously consider living in an all female commune? To abandon the idea of living with their husbands and raise the kids in an environment that is more chilled?

Ok, gents - maybe I am being unfair to you. There are many of you that make excellent fathers...and a few out of the billion on this planet that make great husbands...but you know what, (and I am prepared for the backlash) *whispers*...men you just aren't cutting the mustard when compared with what a female will and can do...

**runs off and cowers**

I am not saying every man, but the guys that will think about what their wife would like; or care about how she feels; thinks of her while shopping...text's her that special message or leaves it in the fridge behind her favourite bar of chocolate...understands that she may need a sausage sandwich after her night shift...yes those guys....well, hell, they are rare.

I am prepared for the comments...I suspect that those guys probably number around four in the world, and all possibly read my blog...but can you genuinely say that you think like a woman?

Ok, so women are certainly not perfect. We can get grumpy for no reason, and say we are fine when actually a 'I am completely bloody pissed off today' would be a far more appropriate answer....and I am sure that there are many other examples you can think of where we are a right pain in the arse...but be honest; women think of the extra bits...those things that can make a difference to your day.

Pootle is my other half really...she fits every criteria that I have ever put out to the universe...and quite frankly, is without a doubt better company than any male I have had in my life for a very long time. I need a male version of her....actually no I don't, I already have her...and in the words of Bridget Jones, 'I like her exactly the way she is...'

Why the hell, would I need anything else?

PoF...

This evening's blog is from my far from Penultimate friend....thank you for this, I loved it...and with his permission he has allowed me to share it with you guys;

Abandon all your hope all ye who enters here! (Take 1)

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
all of them with hopes.
Carefully scripted adverts,
to charm available blokes.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
None of them dismayed.
Photos selected, uploaded
and prominently displayed.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
anticipate replies.
Some are short and snappy,
others full of lies.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
have arranged a date.
Will he like my dress sense,
should I turn up late?

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
the date was not to plan.
The photos not too recent,
he was a fat old man.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
the dates they come and go.
Some are better than others,
but mostly it is NO!

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
it’s been a year or more.
And still they keep on checking,
for what might be in-store?

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
all their hope has gone.
Their profile’s been deleted,
they’ve upped and moved along.

Abandon all your hope all ye who enters here! (Take 2)

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I won’t go out in sun.
Don’t want nothing heavy,
still live with me mum.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’m gonna take it slow.
Got a second mobile,
wife don’t need to know.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’m genuine, sincere.
I like a good night out,
and 15 pints of beer.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
profile rit myself.
As if u wldn’t no it,
I wont b on the shelf.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
photo 2003.
I haven’t really changed much,
Gut and bald you’ll see.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’d like a serious date.
A cuddle, kiss and fumble,
she’ll hand it on a plate.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve got a right one here.
Sent a lovely email,
NSA it’s clear.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
Date goes wrong I’m bored.
She’s keen on underwater,
National Snorkelling Award.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
frustrated and forlorn.
Glad my wife is home in bed,
Keeping it all warm.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
a date out in a bar.
She’s got an adam’s apple,
I’ll slip off in my car.

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve had a lucky date.
Been to the GU clinic,
condom? Bit too late!

Forward the PoF hopefuls,
I’ve learned my lesson now.
I should have stayed at home,
Or had a quick half in The Plough.

         The Cynic

All good...

I am aware that there hasn't been a hobbit blog for sometime and I wanted to correct that...

You will all be pleased to hear that they are well; the usual scraps, strops, colouring pictures with 'I love mummy' on are still abound...however I am noticing that they are changing and growing.

Perhaps I am feeding them too much; as this growing lark means that they have stroppy testosterone moments, eat even more food and clothes are shrinking...

They are turning into young boys. They are really growing out of that toddler stage, which saw tears over the stealing of a toy. These days they are more likely to punch each others lights out and resolve any issues the quick and the hard way; if another dares steal the latest Lego figure...bam...problem solved.

Ah my boys, my hobbits...I am unsure if they keep me sane or insane in a mad world, but nevertheless they are my world.

I am also not sure if it is a mixture of emotion and pride that I felt this morning, or absolute disgust when one of the hobbits excitedly informed me that their brother can now 'underarm' fart with both hands...certainly they were very congratulatory of their brother with cheers of "hey man, you did it!!!"

Amazing what qualifies for a hearty slap on the back in hobbit world.

So they are good, I am good, we are good...however, check back on me at the end of the summer holiday. I may well be practicing that underarm fart myself...

Whirled peas...

"I am making an 'erb garden" says J to us at lunchtime.

We are out celebrating the fact that she has worked here (here being the place we all work) for ten years to the day...and a select few of us are sharing a drink and a pie at a local establishment.

"Pray, tell me what is an 'erb garden?" I ask...keen to discover in case it is something I have seriously missed out on in Biology at school.

She tuts at me, "You know. A garden. With 'erb's."

"Of course...I know exactly what you are talking about." I reassure her.
It is terrible, I shouldn't mock the afflicted who can't say their 'h's...In fact, I am sure I saw a helpline number just the other day for it; although it may have been an 'elpline...one doesn't recall.

So we are discussing the beauty and wonder that is, an 'erb garden...J is making Basil, perhaps some Chives but definitely not mint...can't see the point in growing mint.

"Good to throw in the Pimm's," I suggest.
She looks at me as if reconsidering the mint growing element.
"Is broccoli an 'erb?" she asks...
Needless to say no one answers, because if it isn't...everyone feels that it should be.

"You know what I can't stand?" she says, and her nose crinkles up in disgust at the mere thought of it. This is gonna be good....

"Mushy peas." She looks at us around the table, waiting for someone to back her up..."I mean, what is the point. You don't mash peas."
"You need tiny mashers to do it though." I offer quietly.
"You need proper peas." She says defiantly, standing up for the humble pea.
"Let me guess," says S, "Bird's Eye?"
"Oh God yes," she agrees, "Petis Pois...classy peas."
"Not minted then?" I suggest.
J shakes her vehemently, "Never. Minted peas? God no. Bird's Eye, Petis Pois."

Classy Peas for a classy lady...

Happy 10th Anniversary J...a class of her own. A formidable woman at work, respected and loved...and often teased. Here's to the next ten....

Responding to the masses...

Last night I received a text...
'Where is the blog? Are you dead?'

Ok, so it wasn't quite that direct, however this evening J looked after the hobbits for me when I went to meet a client, and when I return she says much the same thing - even though clearly, I am not dead.

"Why aren't you blogging? I am not happy. People are not happy." She says through slurping a very large mug of coffee.
"People aren't happy?" I look at her, "I hardly feel that the depression of the general population is my fault because I haven't blogged for a few days."
She looks at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say, actually it is.
"People aren't happy." She repeats with more force.
"I think that is more likely to be David Cameron's fault than mine, but however enlighten me?"
"Well, I have checked every day since the last one, and nothing. I am disappointed what is going on?"

I explain to her, as I explained to my friend last night, I never had any intention of writing a daily blog with the new one...it was an 'as and when I feel like it' kinda blog.

J flares her nostrils at me, as only she can, "Well, quite frankly it isn't good enough."
"Oh ok." I say meekly. One is always a little unsure how to respond to hearing that you have failed the masses.

You see the thing is, I am writing now. *Celebratory dancing around the dining room table*; and I am really enjoying it. I have my draft, I have my first line of the 'novel' (of which I have been waiting for three weeks for) and I am off...

Last night I wrote 2,000 words and was in my flow when I suddenly realised that a) I hadn't eaten and b) it was midnight. Does that make me a real writer? Perhaps as I progress I shall slowly wither away to nothing, a mass of unkempt hair, old coffee cups and half a dried up sandwich lying on a plate?

Consequently blogging and concentrating on another type of writing hasn't mixed. I have needed two types of imagination in order to write the 'novel'.

However...the people are not happy according to J. I think it is more likely to be a select few, but thanks guys as always for being so positive about what I write. I am a little unsure why you are so positive and generous with your feedback, but according to J it is because it is a good read...nothing to do with being nosey then?

So - there you go - tonight's blog. A bunch of words that probably give you an insight to my incapabilities of time management more than anything...but allegedly the people have asked for something and that is pretty much all I have this evening...

Unless you want the conversation about flat tummy's, liposuction and tummy tucks...but hey, some of you may have already eaten this evening and I really wouldn't want you to have a disturbed night...

Nevertheless that reminds me...I still haven't - now where did I leave that sandwich?