Tuesday, May 02, 2006

clive alive

what i liked about him (let's call him clive shall we? what with it being his name and all) is that he was exactly the Wrong Type Of Boy. Ferret notwithstanding.

He was a high school dropout. He didn't have a job. He smoked. Everything he could lay his hands on. He had long, lank hair. He wore flannos and jeans. He shoplifted. He was - in Canberra parlance - a Hood.

I was none of the above. Though on reflection I could probably have washed my hair more often. I was in college (I was 16 - it was like 6th form college only of a hippier persuasion - I got to study social psychology, and short literary forms, and eight different drama units and sod all else really). I came from a nice middle class family with high expectations and massive dysfunctions kept firmly swept under the persian rug. I was attractive in the sense that all 16 year old girls are attractive. I rode horses and did long distance running and achieved. Just generally. Achieved.

Clive did not Achieve.

It was perfect. A match made in Cooma.

He was looking for his ferret on the land that my parents had bought near the snowy mountains in NSW. They bought it to make up for the fact that they had uprooted 4 kids from a big rambling house with stables and a field in country northern ireland and dragged us all kicking and screaming to a government issue shoebox in suburban canberra. To be fair I think they hated it as much as my siblings - I was only seven and not much bothered. So 160 acres with a mountain and a river and an old farmhouse with no electricity or running water was the pay-off. And every friday evening we would pile into the car with the dogs and seventeen boxes of food and drive 2 hours for our weekend away.

Did I mention it was the seventies?

It all went perfectly until the eighties, when my dad, realising he was no longer in the decade of family love and digging a hole to shit in , discovered he was in the decade of success, wealth and doing what the fuck he liked as long as it made him happy. He left. Which apparently made him happy. It pretty much screwed up the rest of us. Still, what are families for?

So our farm at Cooma fell into a Coma.

Then my older siblings began staying there. Then their druggie friends. Then their druggie friends' druggie friends. Then their druggie friends' druggie friend's younger brother. Avec ferret. And finally me. Not all together - no one can dig to shit for that long. So by the time I started going down regularly with my mates, my siblings had long vanished along with the first two generations of druggies.

And there we were on a hillside with a ferret to find. And there was my mother at home praying this moment wasn't about to happen.

It lasted 3 months. He didn't DO anything. Every afternoon he would be at the school doors to meet me and take me back to my house. We had to hitch as he had neither a car nor a license. Or any bloody other thing to do. Often he stayed over at my house, crammed into my single bed. My mother thought that was preferable to me being Out somewhere fearful. And I'm sure she was right, but towards the end of the three months I wished she'd say he couldn't stay.

She didn't, so in the end I had to. There were many tears (his) and bored stares (mine - 16 is a cruel age). And finally, many months later, he stopped calling and begging me to take him back. Which was a blow to the ego, but it was due a bit of denting by then.

I've never forgotten our first proper kiss though - on the banks of the murrumbidgee river, on a piece of land that is more home than anywhere else in the world, a cold winter night with a startling moon.

Pretty bloody romantic. No wonder he couldn't live up to it.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

a few more than 3

Alright, having decided I couldn't possibly inflict cbeebies on any non-toddler-owning parents, i will instead inflict upon you more than you could possibly want to know about the Men I Have Shagged. Only I'm too tired to start tonight (Josephine) so will say only that shag #1 (and I'm doing this chronologically) began on a hillside in rural australiawith us both trying to find his ferret, Lady. i swear on all known gods that that is true.

and while we're on the topic...i read in the guardian, so it must be so, that the average sexual partners for a woman in her Entire Life is between 2-4 (that'd be 3 then but the Guardian is not one to commit itself to definitive facts). Now, I've never thought of myself as a slapper but it'd be a pretty short series if that was the case.

more to follow.

back to work tomorrow after lovely stay at home and do nothing holidays. i think it has drained the will to live from me and i am off to bed without my dinner.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

this and that

i've been a bit remiss on the blogging front of late . this is because all i can think to blog about is either a. a series on Men I Have Shagged or b. a series on Cbeebies Programmes.

it's a wierd and worrying combination and I must be careful not to get the two mixed up (chris from doodle do not withstanding).

i'm sure i used to think about more things than my erstwhile sex life and the theme tune from balamory.


Wednesday, March 22, 2006

to be

Things I have been:

1. oh all the obvious, mother, sister, daughter, partner but i'm not talking about that, i'm talking about fun things like miss orange county 1985 (that might be cameron diaz, not me)

2. a bridesmaid - that was cool though the dress was not. it was the product of a complicated and arduous relationship between bride, her mother and a dressmaker who was somehow (remind me, bride) connected to the mother. anyway, floral with bows on the shoulders. top being bridesmaid though. at bride's second wedding i got to read something too, so it almost counts twice.

3. a favourite aunty. oh yes i am. and my nephew who is now far too old (21) to admit to such things still happily proclaims it. alright, with just a little bit of prompting. so sucks to my sisters and my nephew's enormous irish-side-of-the-family who aren't favourite auntys.

4. lord i'm struggling and i've only come up with two things - how depressing.

5. can i put stuff like winner of a golden quill award when i was 16? that's clutching really isn't it. and about 3 people in the entire world will know what i'm talking about so not really very impressive.

6. alright, i might move onto things i have never been.

7. a bride. though i came perilously close once. we had the date booked and the dress ordered and everything. i thank the entire pantheon of gods, and all the minor deities and even those roadside shrines they have in india that i managed to extricate myself in time. also bride and real husband. i thank them too as they gave me a place to escape to when lunatic ex-fiancee went mad in the car and smashed the windscreen with his fist while i was driving with 2 year old 1stB in the carseat. one day i may tell this story in more detail. it seems i am still traumatised by it.

8. a bride. really this should be number 7 as the bride i might have expected to be was to 1stB's dad, a good 2 years before lunatic fiance. we were never engaged. at least not to each other. he (1stB's dad) was engaged to someone else the whole time we were together. you know those women who go on Trisha and confess to being duped by a conman who was living a double life all the time and you think what fucking idiots they must have been not to have suspected that their erstwhile partner who is away at least 3 nights a week and has a new gold watch days after his birthday when you gave him a cuddly sheepskin coat and then he pretends he never had a watch on and you must have imagined it and you think oh how strange i've taken to imagining gold watches and then never give it a second thought... well, that was me. fucking idiot.

9. a godmother. alright. you have the opportunity to help me out here. or some of you do.

10. a girl guide. i was a brownie for a bit but me and Susie Brown got chucked out for fighting all the time. It was play fighting. We just got so bored standing round in sixes endlessly waiting to have our shoes inspected. or whatever goes on in brownies.

11. i was in the girls brigade for a bit though. it's the heavy duty christian equivalent of the guides and even more uber-conservative. i left because in the summer (in australia) i wasn't allowed to wear sandals without pantyhose (that's what they called it - i can't say the word without sniggering). how dumb is that?? anyway, it was boring and i was too old to have to wear their faggy little cap thing.

12. i'm in woodcraft folk now. well you have to be if your kids are because its all lefty cooperative pacifist socialist hippyish so parents have to be members too. and we have to run sessions. and go on camps. and sing the stupidest song in the history of creation at the end of each session. but we're a bit of a stoke newington breakaway faction so we don't sing the song any longer - and 1stB (who's been going since he was 6) is way too old and cool to be expected to sing "we all sing together in one happy throng". reese's peanut butter cups to anyone who knows another song with the word "throng" in it.

13. miss orange county 1985. also all other years. never have been, never will be. in fact i've never been to orange county but i don't think i can blame geographical distance entirely.

14. there's so many things i've never been it's doing my head in just thinking about it.

15. given my options i think the things to be in the future are

16. a nobel peace prize winner (sounds good doesn't it?)

17. a reader's digest £250,000 prize winner. according to frankenmum, this year's rune stone has foreseen great financial gain for me possibly through chance or accident (i may be paraphrasing for personal advantage). i am happy to keep sticking shiny labels on different envelopes and posting within SEVEN DAYS if it wins me lots of money.

18. retired. and free to potter about as i choose. but not on the current state pension.

19. pals with chris on doodle do. i've got a bit of a thing for him. it's that dry, ironic manner amidst a sea of overexcited patronising wannabe actors who run themselves ragged on cbeebies.

20. miss orange county 1985.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

just give me the wings

You are Angelic

amusingly, it seems i am an angel. i think it's because i put that i identified with michael palin, and he's as angelic as they come. i only did it though because my oldest friend (i was 7, she was 8) did it on her blog and she came up as pure evil. hee hee hee. that's pay-back for stealing my ruler in year 3 and getting me in trouble with mr osmotherley for eating jelly crystals in the toilets in classtime!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

thank you dancing morgan mouse for introducing me to the term "sexually insatiable female morons" (oh look i'd do all the link stuff if i could but i'm a bit of a fm myelf - once si, now sd* what with 2ndB and work and all).

it's a good 'un though. those americans eh.

*sleep deprived.

and dancing morgan mouse is a blogger.

and google sexually insatiable etc - lord knows what will come up, but you may find the article - it's in something called salon.

in fact i may google it now, just to see what depths of depravity i get to trawl through.

crikey moses.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

guilty secret #81

sometimes, when it all gets a bit much, instead of a bath i have a quick once over with a handful of baby wipes.

it's cathartic this guilty secret thing.
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