Hullaballoo

I went to the running club on Wednesday. It didn't go well. We did the warm up of a brisk walk and a couple of short runs and I chatted to those around me. They seemed nice enough, although as soon as we started 'running,' folk started asking me what my goals were (???) and boasting about going for marathons. This was the BEGINNER'S running club right?

I managed three and a half minutes running in total (with breaks in between, obviously) before the skinny arsed fanatics took off into the distance without me, leaving me behind without so much of a backward glance. It was not the best thing for my running esteem. Soon, I was jogging on one side of the park, and they were on the other, so I gave up and sneaked off.

From this, I have formed some irrefutable conclusions:

Running is unnecessary, insane, otherworldy and slightly confusing to me
I am NOT a runner
I never will be a runner

Perhaps a 'brisk walk and a bit of a chat club' would be better?

This post was inspired by Glory von Hathor's witty comment on my last post. Thanks GVH, you are a gem.

Always be polite to practice nurses, because they are the ones who do the smear tests and you don't want to combine surgical tongs with a poisonous vendetta. Remember, even in these days of advanced technology, smear tests are still performed with raggedy, bottom of the range cooking tongs. Be prepared.

It's bad enough that they lie through their teeth:

"This may be a bit cold" = These tongs have been in my chest freezer over the weekend.

"This won't hurt" = Dissociate now, the pain will be unbearable and the lasting shame even worse.

"Just relax" = Stop being so neurotic, once you've had babies, your woman bits are half way to belonging to the medical profession.

"The results will come through shortly" = Either we will lose them or pretend we haven't lost them and ask you to come again as not enough (insert here whatever it is they collect) was harvested.

Last week I went into a running shop for the first time. What a scary experience. It was full of wired up skinny people trying out new trainers in the most focused way I have ever seen. As I said, scary.

And now, with my new trainers and heart rate monitor, I have told myself that I will join the beginners' running club. What am I thinking? I am not a runner and never will be? It will be full of skeletal bods with tighly fitted licra shorts in lurid colours. Yeuchhhhhhhhh!

And I'm going, oh yes I am, right after I motivate myself, kinda. Oh dammit, who am I kidding?

OS and Bobo are poorly with colds this weekend, so they spent the better part of yesterday afternoon huddled up together compiling a rule sheet for a wizard, undead and orc battle. Our massive dining room table, has become the focus for heated debate over who has more craft than who and how the battle may be won.

After a hearty roast chicken lunch, OS happily took me on in a crafty battle this afternoon and won hands down. Perhaps I too should be reading the rules, but am more fired up by burying my head in books. My current favourite is the 'Magic Mountain' by Thomas Mann.

My first week of cycling after years of walking everywhere has been very invigorating, despite the chilly weather and icy paths. Now, my aim is to stay well and not catch the cold lergy which is lurking in the rest of the family.

Today, I was reminded of the delicate aroma of man scent, those alluring phero-wotsits men give off. I was using an office after a male colleague and was struck by the aroma, not sweaty, smelly or unpleasant. Just man, caveman in a modern form. Do you get what I mean? And far be it from me to remove that charming whiff with anything as obnoxious as plug in air fresheners, even if they didn't give me a headache. Of course, with three males in the flat, there is also man scent at home, which is pronounced in boy bedrooms and enclosed man spaces.

Sorry I haven't been blogging for a while, I am busying around getting fit, studying, working hard, mummying and fitting in not quite enough quality Bobo time and family time.

Do-be-do-be-do-be-do is the master plan I have come up with so far.

And apart from seeing the Obama family mounting a train last weekend, I have been far too taken up to watch the news and am generally curled up asleep on the sofa by then.

Life gets in the way of good intentions. Or do good intentions get in the way of life? I don't quite know and feel I have no time to philosophise about it.

Nest week, I return to belly dancing and hopefully a gentler, more rhythmic and nurturing way of living my life.

This week's word is faux; faux pas and faux fur. I spent yesterday afternoon resisting the feeling that my new faux fur collar was going catch me off guard and attack me. I am learning what to do and what not to do.

It doesn't need a glass of milk
It looks funny on my head
Sometimes it flaps around a bit on my neck but is better than a boring old scarf.

The same thing happened when I first wore a (oooooooh) pashmina. At first I couldn't quite tolerate how it insistently fluttered around on my back in a shawl like fashion, then my friend reassured me that it was meant to be like that.

Do you have any items of clothing that you have had to teach yourself how to wear properly?

I have just been watching the Blast documentary, when particle physicists went up north to some cold place to launch some balloon thingie to find pretty magenta particle physics pictures. Last night I watched it with Bobo, and after napping on Bobo's tummy through the first 20 minutes, decided it would be good for the kid's education to see it. So, we are watching it, and I am drinking a bottle of Leffe blonde beer to get me throught it. Is that so wrong?

Today at the petrol station, I misheard a special offer with the gold car wash. "Can I have my free two litre bottle of petrol with it?" I asked hopefully.
"That'll be free two litre bottle of Pepsi madam!" The assistant was very tactful, although he did suggest I return in a week, when they would be offering free Molatov cocktails.

Oh dear, that's really quite a corker. I think it rates along with my description of an articulated lorry as having 15 wheels. Part of me never wants to go back into that petrol station again. I could put it down to nerves, because I had never put the car through a car wash before; the great big roller hairy brushes looked way to scary to survive.

"I am the densest point of all the concrete world. I am a tomb; I also am the womb. I am the rock which sinks itself into the deep matter. I am the mountaintop on which the Son is born, on which the Sun is seen, and that which catches the first rays of light." (Esoteric Astrology, pp. 432-433)

It's a full moon tomorrow. And the good news is, it's happening all over the world. So get in touch with your inner Green Man or Wemooon and actualise all those glorious plans you have been brewing.

This week I have learnt how to wear ear muffs correctly. People smiled at me on my first trip out in my new ear muffs. Awww, I thought, I am glad they are happy. Then I caught sight of myself in shop window, and realised I was wearing them with the wire thingie crossed over and tangled on the top, like a manic telegraph operator.

Now I have become naturalised to ear muff wear, I am quite enjoying them. Bobo says that, because of my dark hair, ear muffs just make me look like I have Xtra furry ears lol. If it stays this cold for much longer, maybe we will all grow furry ears.



I have also learnt that, no matter how baltic it gets, I will always look like a numpty in a sherpa hat!

I have been in a sunny mood all day, since having my hair cut this morning. I love it, it is all swish, swirly and very, very straight.

The boys and Bobo 'don't like it straightened up,' so I played a wee trick on them and told them mum's hair was Xtra curly no more, forever. There was much panting and flailing and gnashing of teeth as they grappled with the grief and loss of mummy curls. I only revealed my secret hand once their bottom lips began to quiver. Ohhhh the power lol. Now they are plotting how to get me back.

Suburbia has given Bobo and me and award for sometimes being soulful. Well, I can do soul whenever I wish. The down tempo lounge music, funky lights, new york cheddar crisps, iced pop and revels that comprise our hullabobo Saturday night prove that. Oh yeah, and did I mention the 90s dance anthems we are bopping about to? Beat that! It's like having a club AT HOME with lots of space on the dance floor and no long walk home at the end of the evening.

Apparently, people who are less tall, are more inclined to jealousy. Researchers from the Universities of Groningen and Valencia conducted a study which involved 549 men and women from the Netherlands and Spain.

When asked to rate what made them jealous and how jealous a person they were, it was found that taller men were generally less jealous than shorter men. Do you find this true in your relationships? The explanation given was that taller men are generally more popular with women and so have less reason to feel threatened. Does that mean that an unattractive tall bloke is more attractive to women than a hansdome pintsize? Is this why Tom Cruise wears high heeled trainers?

What do you think?

Every time I wish someone well for 2009, I have decided to use a different phrase. This is because I think that the pharse 'Happy New Year' has lost its meaning through over-use. Oh yes indeedy, may the year be full of joy but in a new way which is meaningful.

So...........

May 2009 be unctuous and yielding
May 2009 satisfy your tootsies
May 2009 slide softly over your senses
May 2009 be lavishing and smooth
May 2009 run like dark hot chocolate over your tongue
May 2009 be generous and kind
May 2009 help build bridges

Why do you get a unicycle and a monicle?
Why don't you get a monocorn and a unilogue?
Are the two interchangeable?

Bobo and I were chatting about this yesterday, hurling in examples of how words could be moved around.

Then Bobo came up playing Uniopoly and speaking in a unitone.
"I've said that,"
"when?" he replied
"In my head."

Female logic always wins out in the end.