Just not funny

So this happy and content thing is all very well but it is making me quite dull. I have nothing witty, ascerbic or entertaining to write anymore. Life is a bloody bowl of cherries god damn it. My life now consists of working 3 days a week doing something I have been doing for years and getting paid about the same amount of money for when I was doing a 5 day week working a 12 hour day. I am unable to write up the stuff about the ex spouse and why I left as I am not remotely biter about it (what goes around ALWAYS comes around). I have all these excellent gossipy stories I could tell but actually if I write them then the skeletons might attack someone and my bowl of cherries might start to rot. Oh my god I am now talking in analogies! With exclamation marks! Why would my children want to read this. Today I typed up an interview with the director of medicine for the deanship of Warwick -, then I wenbt home and cooked the boyf's dinner and ironed his shirts and was happy to do so. Yeuch. I could give up the prozac which might help with the prosaic but then I might also kill my very nice boyf (the latent bitch who wants her own way is still in there - just latent of course).

I really must go and find something to bitch about - nice blogs aren't funny.

Old

Went with the mother to St Pauls today. She now has a special card showing that she's over 60 - wouldn't have bothered admitting it myself as she only got 50p knocked off the entrance price.

Such a beautiful building but the crypt is full of dead people who appear to be famous for killing lots of other people. All war heroes we had never heard of who had had massive pieces of alibaster sculpted into arty pieces of themselves. The vanity and expense alone is enough to make you not care at all who these people were. Florence Nightingale, Christopher Wren and Wellington were the only names we recognised and Wellington was the only one of teh three with a massive memorial.

So then we followed a million small people up the steps into the whispering gallery. Oddly none of them were whispering so we moved on rapidly to the higher towers where the mother had a vertigo attack and left me to get to the top on my own. Needless to say I haven't bothered with a session on the stair master this evening. Got Gavin yet more cufflinks with St Pauls on, not as impressive as his much cooler ones that the boys had chosen for him but is a nod to where he works I suppose.

Went to Borough market and fought the urge to spend all of Gavins money on food (again) but did get a scrap book to start collecting the things we find in the papers and magazines that will help us buiild the house we want one day.

So a lovely day for me but a rather dull one for anyone reading this.

I start a new job in Holborn next week - 3 days a week for more money so am going to spend a day a week trying very hard to wrte up the stuff that this blog was supposed to be about. Watch this space. Oh and friend L has broken up with her boyfriend so is moving in here until she can get a deposit together so she can get somewhere with other Brighton friend also plannig a move to London. Gavin and I very happy that we will get to see more of them. Going to drag L into being a city girl in 6 weeks. Will have someone to drink too much with now and Gavin will have 2 heads to hold when we get home.

Condemned

OH Dear god I appear to have condemned my children by taking them back to Lowestoft, and not to a life of chavdom, getting underage girls pregnant and drinking cheap cider in the park either (that will happen over my very very cold dead body).

The avian flu has hit Suffolk and more specifically Lowestoft (the place Norfolk won't admit too). Obviously they are healthy teenage boys and I am secretly hoping the step monster gets it (and this is why God has made me work as a receptionist).

We passed a couple of red signs on the way back to chaville last night, we think they are trying to confuse the majority of suffolk so as not to cause panic by calling it avian influenza. Ben asked what it was and we suspect that most of Lowestoft has the mentality of a 13 year old boy so it stands to reason they wouldn't know either.

Other than 'possibly' my commiting my children to being confined with the stepmonster for months on end and not being able to see them we had a good weekend. We climbed at Toad Rock in Tunbridge Wells, ate out in Colchester and the boys hit a couple of 150 drives at the driving range.

Everyone happy - except me of course.

In the beginning there was the word

...and apparently it was Philip. Seriously, I was scarily obsessive. I hate to admit it but I guess thats the point. Poor Philip didn't have a chance.

To clarify up to the point this story begins and get the boring bits over with... I was a fuck up at school, not remotely academic and thought I wanted to be a nanny (when really it was just because my mother was pushing the art thing and then threw my portfolio to the bin men - tut). I was too obnoxious for that and failed my interview for the NNEB (they could obviously tell mothering wasn't my strongpoint, and it was too late to apply for any course of any value, so I went to college and did something in social work. A little ironic now don't you think given I am so very unsociable. On the other hand I am now so very atriculate and pain in the arse clever I annoy myself sometimes but it means I have very interesting friends (and still maintain the old ones that always knew - bless them both).

Whilst at college I made a few (really - a few) friends and started mixing with their group of friends. Philip was the first person who had shown any real interest in me but this was because I was the only one to laugh at his VERY bad jokes (not funny bad just drawn out twaddle – I just liked the attention really). Also I was always attracted to men I couldn't have (in psycho babble this is probably because of my low self esteem and my father leaving when I was 4 but to be honest I think it was because I liked the chase), and Philip had a girlfriend, my "best" friends sister. She didn't put out, I did (after quite a lot of alcohol and a bit of a sob story which would be unfair to go into as the sob story involves people who aren't part of this story and have one all of their own to tell).

So after 2 years of shagging Philip when he got drunk (another thing hindsight does - he wasn't very good but he was my first so I wouldn't have known this at the time - I did make up for this but more later), and his girlfriend still refused to give up her precious chastity, I eventually got pregnant. Rather annoyingly this came at a time when I had conceded defeat and was happily getting over Philip and growing up and away. I really did just fancy a shag that night. I had sorted my 'plan' for the next 10 years and was doing my nurses training to be able to work in 3rd world and war torn countries (how very noble of me), but I was pregnant and gave it all up. Obviously with hindsight I shouldn't have panicked and given everything up but hindsight is only useful for learning lessons after the event. So I gave up my chances of working with WHO or Red Cross and I had a baby. Philip stayed with his girlfriend (my "best" friend had now disowned me due to conflicting loyalties) and I quite happily pottered along as an auxiliary nurse. I had my lovely baby boy (from now on referred to as Child the elder - or Christopher) and was moved into a mother and baby home with a self righteous elderly virgin who clearly needed to have been laid and never had so was very bitter about being surrounded by lots of girls who so very obviously, rub it in your face, had. Child the elder and I got ourselves a small 1 bedroom flat from the councilin Hampden Park outside Eastbourne, just round the corner from where Philip was living with his parents and when Adam was 7 months old I let him move in. This was a HUGE mistake and everyone kept telling me so (much like they did when I told them I was keeping my baby - how very Madonna. I really did say to my father "don't bloody preach" too. Idiot).

So there was baby 1 and I grew to love him. I have to be honest here, as that’s the point, I didn't instantly love him. He was very cute and I enjoyed his company. I used to sing to him a lot and his godmother and I used to amuse him with the shoop shoop song, but love was a long way off. Slowly it dawned on me (I was quite slow on the uptake then) that I had screwed my life plan and this small thing was now more important than me. It wasn't him and me against the world it was me fighting for him all the way. And it was a fight. So lets move on....