I got engaged determined that I wouldn’t turn into one of those Bridezilla-types and so far I think I’m doing okay.
Don’t misunderstand me, I’ve been to plenty of weddings to know what I would and wouldn’t like to have on ‘my special day’ … good god that phrase alone is enough to make a sane person want to hurl… but planning a wedding is like walking through a minefield of choices.
Boyf and I often talk about what we’d like, sorry, just realised I’m not allowed to call him Boyf anymore. The plethora of websites, magazines and wedding forums inform me that he is now to be referred to as H2B. Yes really. As in Husband-to-be. Anyone need a bucket yet? Good, then I’ll continue. So H2B and I … nope, can’t do it. He’s Boyf and that’s how he’ll stay until he graduates to Husb. Right, Boyf and I have discussed cakes, flowers, cars and all the usual stuff and you think you know what you’d like until you read a magazine or go to a wedding fair or log onto a brides forum and find out that nooooooo, you can’t possibly want a beautiful simple wedding with tasteful décor and your favourite people all around you. You don’t really want a nice wedding ceremony with music that means something to you followed by wine, food and dancing interspersed with your friends saying nice things about you both.
Apparently this is all wrong. What you really want is a wedding that people will talk about for centuries to come. A service with real passion and meaning, oh, and tears. Gotta have readings to induce tears. And vomit-inducing vows. What the hell is wrong with ‘for richer for poorer’ and all that? Okay, so I’m not so keen on the ‘obeying’ lark but I think they let you leave that out these days.
What you also really want is the releasing of doves (oh lord kill me now), chocolate fountains, photo booths (I kid you not) and colour co-ordinated EVERYTHING. Your invitations must match the reception décor, which must, in turn, match the shirts of your wedding band. The favours should be meaningful eco-friendly offerings made in a fair-trade commune on the Isle of Skye and delivered to you by carrier pigeon.
You will dance the first dance of your life in front of cheering friends and family, for which you will have spent a fortune receiving lessons from the camp/slutty/boisterous* one off Strictly Come Dancing (*delete as applicable depending on your budget) and whilst it seems great at the time, the wedding DVD will indicate that it was actually the most cringe worthy 3 minutes of your entire life… even if you live to be 100 years old.
But what worries me most is that all these magazines are making me believe that I should be doing all these things even though every bone in my body is screaming not to.
I’ve ordered a dress that I fell in love with the minute I saw it. It’s not your usual long flowing bridal dress. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been to a wedding and seen anything similar to it ever. It’s a bit different and a bit quirky, still very weddingy but just a bit more suiting to my personality. I’ve tried on cage veils as I’m not really a long veil person and they look fabulous. But 3 weeks on I’m being brainwashed into panicking that I’ve really screwed up quite badly. This is my chance to look like a princess, to wear something I’ll never wear like this again in my life. I’m supposed to ooze sophistication, class and be trussed up tighter than I can possibly imagine rather than be comfortable and a bit different. I’m having a real crisis – I’m not sure if I like my dress and I’m damn sure I don’t like the jacket I’ve ordered. Why the hell did I do it? Apparently this is normal (according to the forums of mental brides I have trawled) but I didn’t sign up for normal!
And then there is my chosen scent for the day. The special scent I will remember forever to remind me of the day. What the heck?!?!? I’ve never heard anything so mad. Yes ladies, according to the magazines (which are every bride’s bible over these coming months) you should have a special scent, a complete makeover, a hairstyle that will add 5 years onto your face and a groom so scared of looking scruffy he looks like he has a broom handle inserted somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.
I don’t want or have any of those things. I want to wear my usual perfume. The one I know smells good on me and not like some tarts boudoir. And our first song, well it’s just one we both really like. It’s not necessarily romantic and it certainly doesn’t appear on any ‘first dance’ list I’ve seen. I don’t want to obsess about what colour napkins will match the centerpieces and I don’t want glitter curtains dangling behind the top table. So does that mean I’m not really into my wedding? Does that mean Boyf isn’t the one? What am I doing? Should I be getting married at all? If I’m not an obsessive Bridezilla then am I a proper bride at all?
I guess I’d better log onto the forums and consult my bible to find out…
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Something to look forward to...
Whilst browsing t'internet yesterday for some suitable reading or other for Boyf and my pending nuptials, I stumbled across this. I'm sure that many women would be appalled that this kind of literature still exists in print, I, however, think it's bloody brilliant!
A little part of my would quite like to have a go at this, but I fear my quick temper and inability to keep my mouth shut would have made me a most unsuitable wife during the 1950's. Shame though, they had great frocks then.
From 'Housekeeping Monthly' in May 1955
1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.
5. During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
6. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
7. Be happy to see him.
8. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
9. Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
10. Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
11. Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
12. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
13. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
14. A good wife always knows her place.
A little part of my would quite like to have a go at this, but I fear my quick temper and inability to keep my mouth shut would have made me a most unsuitable wife during the 1950's. Shame though, they had great frocks then.
From 'Housekeeping Monthly' in May 1955
1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.
5. During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
6. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
7. Be happy to see him.
8. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
9. Don't greet him with complaints and problems.
10. Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
11. Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
12. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
13. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
14. A good wife always knows her place.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
this weeks ponderings...
Ponderings this week include….
1…the story in the paper suggesting that the ‘we buy your gold’ adverts are misleading… and that they don’t offer you the true market value. SHOCK HORROR!! Really? Who’d have thought that a company asking you to put your unwanted or ‘spare’ gold in a little paper envelope and send it to a random address would not offer you the same as the Gold Exchange? And anyway, who has ‘spare’ gold? If you have spare gold then you don’t need the £5.50 someone will offer you in exchange for your Elizabeth Duke clown necklace….
2…Jedward. Yes I might sound like a snob but c’mon Cowell, even Mr Blobby and Robson & Jerome sang more in tune and in time than those pair of idiots. Nuff said.
3…apparently the NHS is not putting enough money into obesity surgery operations (gastric bands etc). Why should they? This is not cancer or heart failure. As much as we all hate to admit it, the simple solution to obesity is cutting back on your calorie consumption and not sitting on your arse watching telly. Being overweight is not the fault of Mr Kipling and Ronald McDonald, the fault lies solely with the individual. Yep it’s hard, yep it’s really boring but it is a simple equation: too many calories = bigger clothes. And those of you who know me know that I’m not being a high and mighty skinny-minny – far from it. I know how dull it is and also that I am completely rubbish at sticking to diets. BUT *any* surgery has it’s risks, why take them if you don’t have to? There are alternatives… join Weight Watchers or if you truly have a problem (which I admit some people do) then seek a counsellor who can help treat your eating disorder properly. Leave the NHS budgets to pay for Leukaemia treatment in children…
4… I’m very conscious of the fact the beautiful deep blue nail varnish I have been sporting for a few days has stained my nails so badly that it looks as though I am a cross between a lazy slut who has very badly chipped nails and someone with pretty severe frostbite. Neither are good options and felt a right prat on the train this morning. Note to self – paint over it tonight with ANY colour. This look is not a good one.
5…the Evian skating babies advert. Weird not cute. Creepy in fact. Nuff said.
6...Inappropriate crush of the week - Dane Bowers. Please don't judge me.
1…the story in the paper suggesting that the ‘we buy your gold’ adverts are misleading… and that they don’t offer you the true market value. SHOCK HORROR!! Really? Who’d have thought that a company asking you to put your unwanted or ‘spare’ gold in a little paper envelope and send it to a random address would not offer you the same as the Gold Exchange? And anyway, who has ‘spare’ gold? If you have spare gold then you don’t need the £5.50 someone will offer you in exchange for your Elizabeth Duke clown necklace….
2…Jedward. Yes I might sound like a snob but c’mon Cowell, even Mr Blobby and Robson & Jerome sang more in tune and in time than those pair of idiots. Nuff said.
3…apparently the NHS is not putting enough money into obesity surgery operations (gastric bands etc). Why should they? This is not cancer or heart failure. As much as we all hate to admit it, the simple solution to obesity is cutting back on your calorie consumption and not sitting on your arse watching telly. Being overweight is not the fault of Mr Kipling and Ronald McDonald, the fault lies solely with the individual. Yep it’s hard, yep it’s really boring but it is a simple equation: too many calories = bigger clothes. And those of you who know me know that I’m not being a high and mighty skinny-minny – far from it. I know how dull it is and also that I am completely rubbish at sticking to diets. BUT *any* surgery has it’s risks, why take them if you don’t have to? There are alternatives… join Weight Watchers or if you truly have a problem (which I admit some people do) then seek a counsellor who can help treat your eating disorder properly. Leave the NHS budgets to pay for Leukaemia treatment in children…
4… I’m very conscious of the fact the beautiful deep blue nail varnish I have been sporting for a few days has stained my nails so badly that it looks as though I am a cross between a lazy slut who has very badly chipped nails and someone with pretty severe frostbite. Neither are good options and felt a right prat on the train this morning. Note to self – paint over it tonight with ANY colour. This look is not a good one.
5…the Evian skating babies advert. Weird not cute. Creepy in fact. Nuff said.
6...Inappropriate crush of the week - Dane Bowers. Please don't judge me.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Things that have made me ponder this week….
1 - I watched a mother and daughter (both able bodied and aged around 30 and 14) wait 10 mins for a bus to complete a journey of 2 stops (less than 2 minutes journey) and less than an 8 minute walk) and then proceed to walk back towards the first bus stop meaning that the 1/3 of a mile bus journey would have been even shorter if it had been walked! I had felt lazy taking the bus for the 4 stop journey (12 minute walk) but qualified it as it was 10.30 at night and it would have meant walking alone in heels down some quiet roads. If I had been with a friend, the question of getting a bus would be laughable.
2 – my quite sensible and proper (but quietly outrageous) mother has decided at the age of almost 60, that she would quite like a tattoo. I don’t even know what I should think about that but am quite amused at how much it would irritate my father.
3 – Whilst I have no time for racists and bigots, I do think the British public need to grow a new sense of humour and perspective. Also they should acquire some new ears in order to listen to the context of every comment rather than jump on the Daily Mail ‘Shock Horror’ bandwagon. Please note that if we are to adhere to this ridiculous state of Political Correctness, I no longer wish to hear the words ‘Yank’, ‘Pom’, ‘Aussie’ or ‘Kiwi’ on the BBC.
4 – I think I have an inappropriate crush on David Cameron. . So long as he doesn’t speak, I definitely would. Oh dear Lord, what have I said.
5 – My crush, however, is nowhere near as big as the one I have on Daniel Craig after catching the final hour of ‘Layer Cake’ on TV last night. Maybe that’s why I woke up in such a good mood this morning.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Cleaning out my closet
Boyf and I are having a clear-out...of everything. We need to get fitter and clean up our act health wise plus we have to stop being such chronic hoarders.
I started it a couple of weeks ago by emptying out the wardrobe whilst he was away for the weekend. 2 huge bags of rubbish went along with another bag for the charity shop. If that's what I can find in one wardrobe I dread to think what we can do with the rest of the flat!
After almost a year, we finally got round to putting up some new pictures this weekend. Last year we lovingly framed some prints and pictures and decided where they should go... and then left them propped against the spare room wall until this Sunday. Since then, I've added about a dozen items to ebay and have a pile of even more to go to the charity shop.
But the major cleaning up of our acts has to come in the smoking department. Yes, Boyf and I are part of that socially revolting group of smokers. Shock horror!! Ridiculous really. I like to think we're reasonably intelligent folk, we watch what we eat (to an extent but dear god I love food), we try to keep fit (albeit begrudgingly) and we don't drink to excess so why do we persist in shovelling this poison into our systems?!
I should have no problem giving up - I smoke less than 5 a day, often go two days without a cigarette but can happily polish off 20 a day if I'm in a social situation. Boyf, however, is a teensy bit more difficult. Since his 20's he has reduced his intake from 30 to 20 a day. Still not great. Every stop-gap he encounters requires a fag. Drive to work - fag, get to work - fag, morning coffee break - fag (maybe 2) and so this continues throughout the day. I must be honest, even as a smoker it drives me insane. I have no problem going 12hours without one but I know that most smokers cannot - particularly Boyf. Whenever we've travelled by plane the preparation of timing has been ridiculous - checking-in but not going airside until the last minute so a final ciggie can be smoked and then once we touch down the lighter is out of the pocket in readiness for the moment we walk outside of those airport doors. Grrrrrrr!
So, I must give the Boyf a huge round of applause. He's now been cigarette-free for 84 hours, that's 3 and half days to you and me. He's insistent that I don't have to give up - this is something he has to do for himself, particularly since he had notification of getting a place in the 2010 London Marathon. Something tells me that managing that with a 20 a day habit could be quite difficult... He may not 'need' me to give up too but I think I should. I have had 3 cigarettes in those 3 and a half days but I have none left and need not buy any more. If he can do it, so can I. My problem is now CHOCOLATE! His view is that if he can lose the cancer-sticks then I can cut down on the chocolate. Bugger. I wish I'd said I'll give up breathing. It would be easier....
I started it a couple of weeks ago by emptying out the wardrobe whilst he was away for the weekend. 2 huge bags of rubbish went along with another bag for the charity shop. If that's what I can find in one wardrobe I dread to think what we can do with the rest of the flat!
After almost a year, we finally got round to putting up some new pictures this weekend. Last year we lovingly framed some prints and pictures and decided where they should go... and then left them propped against the spare room wall until this Sunday. Since then, I've added about a dozen items to ebay and have a pile of even more to go to the charity shop.
But the major cleaning up of our acts has to come in the smoking department. Yes, Boyf and I are part of that socially revolting group of smokers. Shock horror!! Ridiculous really. I like to think we're reasonably intelligent folk, we watch what we eat (to an extent but dear god I love food), we try to keep fit (albeit begrudgingly) and we don't drink to excess so why do we persist in shovelling this poison into our systems?!
I should have no problem giving up - I smoke less than 5 a day, often go two days without a cigarette but can happily polish off 20 a day if I'm in a social situation. Boyf, however, is a teensy bit more difficult. Since his 20's he has reduced his intake from 30 to 20 a day. Still not great. Every stop-gap he encounters requires a fag. Drive to work - fag, get to work - fag, morning coffee break - fag (maybe 2) and so this continues throughout the day. I must be honest, even as a smoker it drives me insane. I have no problem going 12hours without one but I know that most smokers cannot - particularly Boyf. Whenever we've travelled by plane the preparation of timing has been ridiculous - checking-in but not going airside until the last minute so a final ciggie can be smoked and then once we touch down the lighter is out of the pocket in readiness for the moment we walk outside of those airport doors. Grrrrrrr!
So, I must give the Boyf a huge round of applause. He's now been cigarette-free for 84 hours, that's 3 and half days to you and me. He's insistent that I don't have to give up - this is something he has to do for himself, particularly since he had notification of getting a place in the 2010 London Marathon. Something tells me that managing that with a 20 a day habit could be quite difficult... He may not 'need' me to give up too but I think I should. I have had 3 cigarettes in those 3 and a half days but I have none left and need not buy any more. If he can do it, so can I. My problem is now CHOCOLATE! His view is that if he can lose the cancer-sticks then I can cut down on the chocolate. Bugger. I wish I'd said I'll give up breathing. It would be easier....
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Mental or just a bit 'creative'?
At first I smiled in amusement at the teenager on the station platform this morning on her way to work. Plugged into her ipod, and oblivious to the other commuters, she wailed away along to the music.
She was pretty bad too. I was being kind when I called it wailing. So I plugged myself in and drowned her out. It did me a favour really as 'my' part of the platform remained people-free so it meant less people could get on at 'my door' when the train arrived. My amusement turned to slight annoyance when The Wailer continued her vocal workout on a fairly busy train whilst standing about 4 inches from me. Turning up the volume and pushing the headphones further into my ears I tried to block her out whilst watching the bemused faces of the my fellow passengers.
I tried to work out her motivation for this. We've all heard of people being 'discovered' busking or singing to themselves but please believe me when i say that this girl had no hope of being signed by Simon Cowell (and he liked Susan Boyle and Paul Potts...) It took all the self-control I could muster to stop myself enquiring if she was in pain and required medical attention.
So, did she think she was fantastic and a little bit of an exhibitionist? Is she a teensy bit mental? Or is she simply the sort of person who (deep down) we'd all quite like to be: the person who just doesn't care what anyone else thinks and is happy in her own skin. It made me feel a little bit bad at judging her as a loon. Looking at her again, she actually looked no different to most of the people I knew at youth orchestra - not conventionally trendy, almost a tiny bit geeky and somewhat 'creative' . You know what I mean - back in the 80's it involved DMs, neck scarves, long skirts and huge jumpers - this girl was just the 'noughties' version.
So now I feel a bit like a bitch and also a bit old. As a teenager I never wanted to be one of those girls who conformed and who wore exactly what all the other cool and popular girls at her school did. No pringle jumpers and 'casual' skirts for me, no dodgy clubbing and listening to Radio 1. I was there going off on music courses and listening to Indie bands, dying my hair bright red and wearing leggings with DM's. Wailing girl could be doing far worse things - she could be in a gang, she could be getting knocked-up by a total loser but she's not. She's just doing her thing and singing on a train. Good for you.
Alternatively, she could just be a nutter.
She was pretty bad too. I was being kind when I called it wailing. So I plugged myself in and drowned her out. It did me a favour really as 'my' part of the platform remained people-free so it meant less people could get on at 'my door' when the train arrived. My amusement turned to slight annoyance when The Wailer continued her vocal workout on a fairly busy train whilst standing about 4 inches from me. Turning up the volume and pushing the headphones further into my ears I tried to block her out whilst watching the bemused faces of the my fellow passengers.
I tried to work out her motivation for this. We've all heard of people being 'discovered' busking or singing to themselves but please believe me when i say that this girl had no hope of being signed by Simon Cowell (and he liked Susan Boyle and Paul Potts...) It took all the self-control I could muster to stop myself enquiring if she was in pain and required medical attention.
So, did she think she was fantastic and a little bit of an exhibitionist? Is she a teensy bit mental? Or is she simply the sort of person who (deep down) we'd all quite like to be: the person who just doesn't care what anyone else thinks and is happy in her own skin. It made me feel a little bit bad at judging her as a loon. Looking at her again, she actually looked no different to most of the people I knew at youth orchestra - not conventionally trendy, almost a tiny bit geeky and somewhat 'creative' . You know what I mean - back in the 80's it involved DMs, neck scarves, long skirts and huge jumpers - this girl was just the 'noughties' version.
So now I feel a bit like a bitch and also a bit old. As a teenager I never wanted to be one of those girls who conformed and who wore exactly what all the other cool and popular girls at her school did. No pringle jumpers and 'casual' skirts for me, no dodgy clubbing and listening to Radio 1. I was there going off on music courses and listening to Indie bands, dying my hair bright red and wearing leggings with DM's. Wailing girl could be doing far worse things - she could be in a gang, she could be getting knocked-up by a total loser but she's not. She's just doing her thing and singing on a train. Good for you.
Alternatively, she could just be a nutter.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
So when did shoving gak up your nose become so socially acceptable? When did not wanting to shove gak up your nose make you part of the minority?
About a year ago I began to think that i had led an extremely sheltered life. I've never been exposed to drugs in a big way and have never had to make that 'do I? don't I?' decision. Aside from a little bit of the old waccy baccy at university I've never been offered anything or had any friends that were really into anything stronger. There were one or two people at college who enjoyed pills when they went clubbing but that was very much the minority. Someone let a 'dealer' into a big party in our final year and when caught lining up his wares on the kitchen counter with his Tesco Clubcard he was forcibly removed!
So I'm asking myself, am i really boring and do/did I have a terribly unadventurous bunch of friends growing up? NO! Is the resounding and truthful answer. We went clubbing, we got drunk, we did ridiculous things and we had a really good time doing it. I don't remember my student days regretting the things I didn't do or wishing I'd had a better time. I had a good time and aside from the Archers, Vodka and Marlboro Lights, I did it without the aid of artificial stimulant.
I've never really liked the idea of drugs much. Clearly I was that child whom Zammo's smack experience in Grange Hill really did scare enough to not bother going down that route! Seriously though, I've never really seen the attraction and if I'm really honest, I'm a bit of a control freak so being completely out of control in drugs doesn't really appeal.
Anyway, I digress (for a change...). On a very early outing with Boyf and his friends, I was shocked when one of his girlfriends told me that she was giving up coke. It took me a split second to realise she wasn't referring to something you consider during the Pepsi challenge. I won't deny it, I didn't even try to act cool. My eyes were like saucers - at 35 I'd never actually [knowingly] met anyone who took coke. I should have taken this conversation as a warning.
About 9 months later Boyf came home from a stag do and said there had been some white powder flying around. Clearly I wasn't impressed. I made it clear to him then that I didn't like it and I didn't want to be around anyone who did. I didn't know if he had participated in the action but I told him that I was not interested in a relationship with someone who took drugs.
It took well over a year of being with Boyf for me to realise that a significant proportion of his friends took a different view to me. Scoring gak was part of the preparation for an evening out. All of a sudden I was well outside my comfort zone. I chose to ignore it when the conversation went in that direction and never actually saw anything taking place so I could pretend that it hasn't happening.
That was until I became part of the group in my own right rather than just Boyf's girlfriend. Nothing was hidden and I began to get offered some. This was ridiculous! 35 and being offered drugs for the first time... by a similarly aged mum of two. Since then I've noticed that it's constant. There is no party or other social occasion when it doesn't make an appearance. I kid you not, some was brought to my house by friends coming for Sunday lunch with their 3 (yes you read that correctly - THREE) children. They had the manners to say that they knew I didn't partake but wondered if I minded if they did... what am I supposed to say??? I know, I know. It's my house and I should stand up for what I believe in but seriously, you put yourself in that situation. It's tough.
Boyf had the grace to look uncomfortable and politely decline when offered some and our guests retired to the bathroom to powder their noses.
Believe me when I say this is just the tip of the iceberg - your hair would curl if told you some of things I've seen. Last night we went to a really nice BBQ - quite a small affair but for some reason the conversation always came back to gak or pills or something of that description. There were one or two people I didn't know who were in the group and I was embarrassed that they might think this was my way of life too.
The problem I have is that, on the whole, I really like these people. I don't understand them, but I do like them. I keep wondering what they would think if their children were taking drugs or what they would do if they didn't clean up as thoroughly as they thought they had and the baby found some remnants and ingested it. The girls, in particular, I just can't identify with. It's as if they haven't got over the student way of life. The culture that involved far too much drinking, staying up all night and generally behaving badly. We're all hurtling towards 40 now and an awful lot of these guys have children. When will they get over it? Are their lives that boring that it needs pepping up with artificial stimulants? (perhaps somewhat rich from someone with a Marlboro Light habit)
Each time I sit on my hands and bite my lip I'm ashamed of myself for not standing up and saying what I think. Ashamed that they think I'm okay with this and it's normal behaviour. It's not normal, it's really not.
So, you probably think that I'm surrounded by wealthy city types (I mean, it is their kind of thing isn't it) or bored posh idiots. No, I'm not. These are all people who have ordinary jobs, ordinary lives and live in ordinary houses. The kind of people who don't go on flash holidays or run expensive cars. These people shop on the High Street and favour Primark and H&M over Prada and M&S.
My friends look at me in horror when I tell them these stories - which makes me feel better. They're not just doing it for that reason, they too don't move in those kind of social circles. And the irony of that is that some of them are wealthy city types, some of them do come from more privileged families and the best part is that a lot of them are musicians and arty types who traditionally are very much into that culture.
So, what do I do? Keep schtum and say nothing? One day I know I'll have just one or two glasses of vino blanco too many and it will all come out. I was close last night so I switched to soft drinks. When that day comes, my friend, there will be fireworks.
About a year ago I began to think that i had led an extremely sheltered life. I've never been exposed to drugs in a big way and have never had to make that 'do I? don't I?' decision. Aside from a little bit of the old waccy baccy at university I've never been offered anything or had any friends that were really into anything stronger. There were one or two people at college who enjoyed pills when they went clubbing but that was very much the minority. Someone let a 'dealer' into a big party in our final year and when caught lining up his wares on the kitchen counter with his Tesco Clubcard he was forcibly removed!
So I'm asking myself, am i really boring and do/did I have a terribly unadventurous bunch of friends growing up? NO! Is the resounding and truthful answer. We went clubbing, we got drunk, we did ridiculous things and we had a really good time doing it. I don't remember my student days regretting the things I didn't do or wishing I'd had a better time. I had a good time and aside from the Archers, Vodka and Marlboro Lights, I did it without the aid of artificial stimulant.
I've never really liked the idea of drugs much. Clearly I was that child whom Zammo's smack experience in Grange Hill really did scare enough to not bother going down that route! Seriously though, I've never really seen the attraction and if I'm really honest, I'm a bit of a control freak so being completely out of control in drugs doesn't really appeal.
Anyway, I digress (for a change...). On a very early outing with Boyf and his friends, I was shocked when one of his girlfriends told me that she was giving up coke. It took me a split second to realise she wasn't referring to something you consider during the Pepsi challenge. I won't deny it, I didn't even try to act cool. My eyes were like saucers - at 35 I'd never actually [knowingly] met anyone who took coke. I should have taken this conversation as a warning.
About 9 months later Boyf came home from a stag do and said there had been some white powder flying around. Clearly I wasn't impressed. I made it clear to him then that I didn't like it and I didn't want to be around anyone who did. I didn't know if he had participated in the action but I told him that I was not interested in a relationship with someone who took drugs.
It took well over a year of being with Boyf for me to realise that a significant proportion of his friends took a different view to me. Scoring gak was part of the preparation for an evening out. All of a sudden I was well outside my comfort zone. I chose to ignore it when the conversation went in that direction and never actually saw anything taking place so I could pretend that it hasn't happening.
That was until I became part of the group in my own right rather than just Boyf's girlfriend. Nothing was hidden and I began to get offered some. This was ridiculous! 35 and being offered drugs for the first time... by a similarly aged mum of two. Since then I've noticed that it's constant. There is no party or other social occasion when it doesn't make an appearance. I kid you not, some was brought to my house by friends coming for Sunday lunch with their 3 (yes you read that correctly - THREE) children. They had the manners to say that they knew I didn't partake but wondered if I minded if they did... what am I supposed to say??? I know, I know. It's my house and I should stand up for what I believe in but seriously, you put yourself in that situation. It's tough.
Boyf had the grace to look uncomfortable and politely decline when offered some and our guests retired to the bathroom to powder their noses.
Believe me when I say this is just the tip of the iceberg - your hair would curl if told you some of things I've seen. Last night we went to a really nice BBQ - quite a small affair but for some reason the conversation always came back to gak or pills or something of that description. There were one or two people I didn't know who were in the group and I was embarrassed that they might think this was my way of life too.
The problem I have is that, on the whole, I really like these people. I don't understand them, but I do like them. I keep wondering what they would think if their children were taking drugs or what they would do if they didn't clean up as thoroughly as they thought they had and the baby found some remnants and ingested it. The girls, in particular, I just can't identify with. It's as if they haven't got over the student way of life. The culture that involved far too much drinking, staying up all night and generally behaving badly. We're all hurtling towards 40 now and an awful lot of these guys have children. When will they get over it? Are their lives that boring that it needs pepping up with artificial stimulants? (perhaps somewhat rich from someone with a Marlboro Light habit)
Each time I sit on my hands and bite my lip I'm ashamed of myself for not standing up and saying what I think. Ashamed that they think I'm okay with this and it's normal behaviour. It's not normal, it's really not.
So, you probably think that I'm surrounded by wealthy city types (I mean, it is their kind of thing isn't it) or bored posh idiots. No, I'm not. These are all people who have ordinary jobs, ordinary lives and live in ordinary houses. The kind of people who don't go on flash holidays or run expensive cars. These people shop on the High Street and favour Primark and H&M over Prada and M&S.
My friends look at me in horror when I tell them these stories - which makes me feel better. They're not just doing it for that reason, they too don't move in those kind of social circles. And the irony of that is that some of them are wealthy city types, some of them do come from more privileged families and the best part is that a lot of them are musicians and arty types who traditionally are very much into that culture.
So, what do I do? Keep schtum and say nothing? One day I know I'll have just one or two glasses of vino blanco too many and it will all come out. I was close last night so I switched to soft drinks. When that day comes, my friend, there will be fireworks.
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