mamahog 'n the lets

if you've yet to read the first part of my fascinating (pah..) curriculum vitae, click! if you've got the t-shirt, then read on :)

..ok, i missed one job in my first installment. not really important, but i did do a little bit of seasonal potato, and daffodil picking whilst at secondary school too.
there were however no good points to that work. the pay was pants, it hurt your back and the sap from the daffs killed your eyes and skin as it got in the inevitable cuts on ones hands. big ouchy.
i do not recommend it ever. to anyone. it doesn't even strengthen character... hell i even banished it from my memory. but luckily it was never for more than a few days at a time.

ok now episode two...

singlehog has finally left art school. now i can get a daytime job, and stop having to work evenings and weekends as well as all day at college to somehow get by. and i'll finally stop having to hear all those people calling me a lazy layabout student, and start paying off the loan i still needed to take out despite all the night and weekend jobs.. YIPPEEE!!! funnily enough as i did a stupid art degree i never actually earnt enough to pass the minimum wage for compulsory re-payment, though the loan company changed their rules and forced me to repay anyway. fabulous system.... i'm still repaying it today as slowly as i can just to piss 'em off. i've only got a couple of hundred pounds left. but to my credit, i've never had a single other debt :)


10th job:
aged 22: bookseller at dillons arts bookshop.

low points:
my boss.
boredom.
bombs.
being told to turn elvis (both) down.

high points:
cheap and free old books.
getting to choose what we stocked.
meeting a (not yet) famous actor while he worked on his first big film and sharing a brief and very romantic love affair. yummy.
listening to the juliet letters by elvis costello very loud.
getting to find old out of print stuff for people and see them smile.
*

11th job:
aged 24 (and again with only 1 child, whilst studying massage years later): daily nannying for 2 families at once with 4 kids aged from 4months to 5 years.

low points:
seeing a dummy shoved back in the 2 year olds mouth as soon as he was picked up every day.
poo.
once losing sight of the 2yr old for 30seconds while i looked at his sisters art project and finding him at the school gates.
being projectile vomited at by the baby.
early mornings.

high points:
the lovely lovely yummynummy kids.
kicking leaves in the park and playing up conkers.
cooking while listening to radio four and laughing.
getting the 2 year old to live happily all day without his dummy in 2 days.
being called super nanny.
dancing to 'wake up boo' in the front room before school.
*

12th job:
aged 25 to 27: teaching english to rich turkish kids.

low points:
spoilt violent unhappy children.
spoilt wimpy unhappy parents.
being dumped in a shopping mall on my 2nd day in turkey with a strange child who spoke no english and had met me only hours before, with $10 for 4 hours.
getting snowed in at one families house for 4 days and being expected to amuse the poor bored babe for 4 days with no paper or pencils, and not being allowed to go outside in case she caught a cold! and only getting paid my usual £50 for the hour and a half booked.
being forced to eat courgette (zucchini) stuffed with mincemeat.
knowing i was crap at my job.

high points:
being in a foreign country.
after shouting "NO", and then being screamed at by her parents for using the "No" word, when a four year old child was about to leap from the back of a sofa onto a glass dining table, i then told her to "ok then, please get back up and do that. that'll be fun!", and left the room.
chasing the same girl's granny around the flat with my bare foot in the air after she hit me for tickling her daughter with my foot. because feet are apparently "unclean" (i'd had a bath about half an hour before... and i'd already given in my notice incidentally)
*

13th job (s):
aged 27 to 28: running a playgroup of 8 2yr olds and then teaching a class of 16 4yr olds.

and then again aged 33 to 34: running a morning playgroup for 8 18month olds in my home and then a class of 12 2yr olds in the same school i worked at aged 28.

low points:
mornings.
the noise.
writing reports, and doing lesson plans.
(in the last job specifically) having to drag my babies out of the house by 8am to deal with 12 young kids all morning then come home and find the energy to play with mine, and still give massages to make up for crap wages.
packed lunches, both making and eating.
being asked to close my eyes and put out my hands by a group of 6 year old girls who gave me presents of drawings and stuff everyday (awwww :))... to find they'd collected a pot of woodlice andearwigs and they'd emptied that over my hand instead. (ROOOOOoaaaaaaar)
being slagged of by one turkish parent of a 2yr turkish boy because i hadn't 'even' begun to, and then refused to, teach my class the english alphabet despite the fact that her son and most of the class still couldn't ask to go to the toilet yet in english or turkish. ugh.
the owner of the school's lover and music teacher taking a dislike to me and being so rude to me consitently in front of the children and other staff that i finally (after many attempts to talk and get along) told her where to go and walked out.
green snot.

high points:
one day our 2yr old irish twins who had their own language and fought constantly had yet another 'clash' . i, (being slightly hung over at the time) simply shrugged and rolled my eyes at chloe -a french/turkish girl who had started the playgroup a month previously and never uttered a word of english in her life thus far. chloe glared at me, put her hands on her hips and announced in a loud clear voice "WILL YOU TWO CUT IT OUT?? YOU ARE DOING, MY, HEAD IN!"
taking them all to the park down the road and kicking leaves about. (that's a recurring theme that i like :))
scaring all the kids by dressing up as a witch and making a spider pinyata.
getting the 2 year olds to do yoga and relax after and breathe while i stretch them and give them short massages.
knowing i was good at my job. (most of the time)
*

14th job:
aged 26 to 30 and still very very occasionally: modeling/acting/costume design for commercials. fashion editing for cosmo magazine. ooh and international espionage :)

low points:
being forced to wear make up.
getting my hair done.
sitting around waiting for HOURS on end.
having to dress people badly.
being forced to dress badly.
being aggressively pursued by a billionaire and having his security guards warn my boyfriends off.
having the art director at cosmo colour 'correct' our perfect photos at the printing stage in a bid to get me discredited so his friend could get the job. (i wasn't fired but i quit in disgust)
having to lie.
almost being shot. (sorta)

high points:
very few mornings except when on set.
flying in luxury weeny aeroplanes.
falling on the floor laughing when a pop stars wig got blown into the sea by a helicopter filming us.
free pedicures.
getting to dress people well.
shooting in la and joshua tree with a fabulous group of friends and being told it was one of the best shoots the magazine ever had.
being allowed to lie :)
adrenaline and excitement when you have to do your part (in all the above jobs).

*

15th job:
aged 29 to who knows...: massage therapist.

low points:
table shaggers. idiots who don't know what massage is and others who call wanting prostitutes, and some who know what i do and still make lewd advances even when my children are in the house.
dirty feet.
unreliable pay.
having good clients fall for me. so i end up losing them as customers
having to pretend to feel wonderful and project good 'energy' when all i wanna do is hide in a cupboard with a bottle of vodka and a pack of fags.
having to comfort others and make them feel great at times when no-ones comforted or touched me for ages.


high points:
working for myself at my own pace and having to answer to no-one but myself.
making many people feel wonderful. and helping other people to release pent up sadness or anger and help them begin to feel better about themselves.
making myself feel better even when i don't feel like it because it's physical and quiet and calming (a bit like a work out... for mind and body)
discovering that thing i always thought people were crazy talking about called 'energy' actually existed :#)

*

16th job:
aged 31.... and forever more: mother.

low points:
crap pay.
poo.
mornings. (if it's pre 8am. after that they are joy. except when i'm suffering from........)
....hangovers.
having to send them to school when they say no-one plays with them or will laugh at their clothes.
worry.
guilt.
more poo.
having to still get up and care for them even when i'm sick, or can hardly move my shoulder/head, or when i'm so heartbroken or depressed that i just want to sleep all day.
'nnuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAA'.
having to put up with my ex for the rest of my life.
anticipating even more heartbreaking crushes than the one the lovedove has for luke skywalker now, in the poor teenagelets future.

high points:
ugh... so many.... ummmmmmmmm..
feeling the kicks inside my tummy.
seeing them for the first time.
holding them and breast feeding them until we all fell asleep.
cuddles, kisses and sitting together watching star wars.
hearing them tell me i'm beautiful. hearing them say most things except 'nnuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAA'.
watching them learn and grow and smile.
hearing them laugh.
being reduced to a giggling wreck in public and having a brilliant excuse.
having to still get up and care for them even when i'm sick, or can hardly move my shoulder/head, or when i'm so heartbroken or depressed that i just want to sleep all day... because once i'm up they will force me to laugh, and cry, and feel better and want to do better just by sheer cuteness and force of life frankly.
feeling proud not only of how my efforts help them, but how fortunate i am to know and be able to spend my life with such amazing, beautiful little people.

hmmmmmmm...

so it's been a bit of slog, though my mildly obvious ADD at least kept me moving every year or so which has kept my working life interesting if not lucrative in the slightest. hence i suppose the hole in the bathroom vinyl.

oh well only another 30 odd years to go until i fester pentionless at the mercy of my daughters. i'd better stop posting embarrassing photos of them on the loo i guess.

or get my arse in gear and find some more work.

now what to do?...

and the biggest question of all..... if i was a potential employer... would i even hire me??

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Labels: istanbulundercover, questionable past lives, the wonderlets

i'm sticking my neck out here.

instead of carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders

it's time to throw my head back and laugh.

to flex my muscles, turn myself around, stand up straight and follow my nose.

and come up with some new lines.

these old ones aren't getting me anywhere.

it's time this mamahog put her mouth where the money is.

so her poor daughter won't feel she has to use her own, as a piggy bank.



happy half neck'd thursday sweetpeeps.

goosestep over to the sidebar to see more half nekkidness.
and don't strain anything ;)

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Labels: hnt, the wonderlets

mamahog is skint. which hasn't obviously helped my mood these past weeks. but i'm on it. sorta. i've been drumming up some stuff..

but while avoiding doing that, despite the huge hole in the bathroom flooring that i can't afford to replace even after 3 months, and as i'm still not quite up to another eulogy yet, i've been thinking about all the jobs i've had before i got here... you know, sitting on my arse avoiding work by playing shops and i spy, and writing pointlessly at you guys.

it's a rather a long list, but i think quite telling... i am apparently a jackie of all trades and mistress of but one.. if that.
i'm going to post it in 2 installments due to it being ummm.... weighty. and i promise i'll check in with pretty pictures and other nonsense in between :)

1st job:
aged 12ish until 18ish on and off: kitchen helper/dishwasher/and finally silver service waitress, at a lovely small hotel/pub/restaurant a few miles from my house. i was fired when it was sold, but those silly buyers left (because we took all the regulars with us :) 6 months or so later and re-sold it to another couple of couples who were lovely and re-hired all the old staff.

low points:
walking 3 miles there and home down country lanes in the dark.
having a daddy longlegs fly up my skirt whilst carrying four full plates of food.
listening to the disgustingly miserable les miserables soundtrack in the bloody kitchen.

high points:
earning my own money for the first time.
working christmas day.
learning from another 50yr old waitress that her friend was divorcing from her husband even though they were still completely in love because his penis was too big. (i was 15.. this kind of information was mind expanding!)
making and eating brown bread ice cream, and licking the pan that had been used to make vermouth and tarragon sauce for fish.
breaking an awful lot of plates after the interim silly owners stupidly told me just before i finished my shift that they 'no longer required my services', and saying "oops. silly me. butterfingers"
hanging out with strapping rugby players.
*

2nd job:
aged 14: papergirl. (i lasted about 3 months if that)

low points:
mornings.
geese.
evil st bernards and other dogs.
mud.
not having a bloody bike.
mornings.

high points:
meeting a fox who crossed my path everyday, until finally he let me stroke him one morning.
*

3rd job:
aged 13 to 18: babysitting.

low points:
getting trapped in a living room by a huge spider guarding the doorway and having to climb out of the window in order to check on the havoc the boys were causing upstairs.

high points:
getting paid for sitting around playing with funny kids and then eating, drinking and watching telly.
*

4th job:
aged 18: shop girl at mary quant in london (full time for my first summer in london then weekends for a year or so)

low points:
making so much money consistently for the business when my bestist friend kirtsie and i worked together, that they stopped the tradition of buying champagne for the workers if you made over £1,000 a day. so we only got it a couple of times despite selling stacks more than a measly poncing grand.
seeing the demise of an early heroine of mine, mary quant, as a label.
our stupid arsed manager.
getting locked in the shop and threatened by a guy who was stalking me.
getting spat at during my lunchbreak by a gross teenage fan of a stupid pop band just because i was stuck in the shop with him and his bodyguard wouldn't let her in.

high points:
meeting my future bestist friend kirstie and getting drunk on my 1st day.
discounts and borrowing clothes.
playing neneh cherry loud and prancing about.
new england ice cream tubs, coffee flavour and lemon meringue flavour.
watching and living neal street and carnaby street life.
getting a good yank of the afforementioned gross teenager's hair, and then being wooed and given tickets to go and see the stupid pop band in a big concert at wembly. climbing down to the arena over the wheelchair section as that was the only way out of the vip bit we got put in (which was deathly boring) to go let some other teenagers who were not quite so gross, sit on our shoulders while we boogied joyfully with delicious irony to debbie gibson et al.
*

5th job:
aged 18 to 19: dancing at raves on a pedestal.

low points:
ummm......?
bad health care plan?

high points:
getting paid imaginatively to do exactly what i wanted to do.
only having to work until i could find some other drugged up raver to take my place.
*

6th job:
aged 19 to 21: market trader on a stall at camden market every weekend.

low points:
mornings.
the shit i had to sell.
winter mornings.
winter.
mornings.

high points:
ummmm... it sounded cool?
the first cup of hot tea after your hands had frozen putting up the bloody stall?
ooh i got one.. taking acid one night with friends and forgetting i should be at work until 5 am one sunday morning. the whole gang came with me to work as they were too afraid to be without me and i set up while they sat about being weird and paranoid and making me laugh.
hot cider by the dock almost thawing me out.
watching each others stalls while we went on little breaks to check out the rest of the market.
nice summer afternoons and the smell of moroccan food.
*

7th job:
aged 20: waitress at peppermint park on charing cross road.

low points:
having to wear white shorts or short skirts and a bumbelt.
serving crap food to stupid people for too many hours for crap basic wage so having to do stupid stuff for tips.
...like dancing to grease lightning.
trying to get home at 3am if i couldn't find a policecar.

high point:
making over £300 one night in tips.
being offered a credit card by a party of bank workers that i could spend until 10pm the following day. (i didn't accept)
following an obnoxious and obviously wealthy american outside to the theatre he was queuing at and dumping all the pathetic coppers he'd left as a tip into his hand and telling him he obviously needed them more than me.
wearing wigs as an experiment to see which hair cut/colour garnered more tips.
cadging lifts home in policecars.
*

8th job:
aged 21: checkout girl in harrods foodhall for the summer.

low points:
only being allowed to buy the left over food at a 5% discount. (pathetic)
throwing out tons of food each day and knowing they locked the bins just so the homeless couldn't forage.
being told i was inappropriately dressed because i wouldn't wear make-up.

high points:
yummy wild mushrooms and alpine strawberries.
getting offered a gold couts & co. card by some sad old bloke who wanted to 'help' me. (i didn't accept that either obviously)
dodi's dad one day telling me i was doing a great job despite my lack of make up. (he had no idea.. just passing through doing pr for himself)
sunbathing topless in hyde park on my lunch break.
*

9th job (s):
aged 22: all part time and during the same period... childminder, teaching assistant doing art therapy with refugee kids in an innercity school, life model (though i had also done this sporadically throughout my college years) and cleaner.

low points:
finding poo behind the sofa.
stiff joints.
itches. when and where you really don't need itches to be happening right at this precise moment thank you very much.
children needing to wee. when and where you really don't need weeing to be happening right at this precise moment thank you very much.
heartbreaking situations with very troubled children which i could do little about.
toilets.

high points:
playing, dressing up silly and prancing about with a lovely 2yr old angel.
communicating with scared children without the use of language and seeing them smile.
being paid for being starkers and (sort of) medidating standing up.
telling the artists they'd drawn my tits too big.
seeing the results (and i don't just mean how i'd look with a c-cup).
*

bloomin nora! so i's already had 9 or 10 jobs by the tender age of 21. phewww no wonder i'm knackered.

i was in school and college throughout these years too. so i was working evenings, weekends and holidays..

i'll thrill you all with my easier/normal working hours in the next installment. (don't laugh.. this is my underpants and i'll bore you if i want to. and look, stop complaining, i got already naked and everything!)

next time you'll hear about love affairs with soon to be famous actors and international espionage.
now who could resist??

i ask you. try to do your job well.... there's still always some smart arse..... mummble hurrumpffffeggrrrdlmmmtrailsofftogetacupofteaandwatchafternoontelly...........

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Labels: questionable past lives

time to write. and time to lighten up with some silly extreme ranting i think... just to counteract all the oh so serious loveyness we've been having a lot of around here recently. (though i really do still appreciate it, thanks.)

anyway, thanks to the ever fabulous shakespear's sister this was brought to my attention recently:

kids banned from playing 'it' at school.

now this comes just a week or so after i heard that schools were also banning break times or recess.

can i just say "what a load of pantsy bollicking arse!"
thank you i feel a bit better now.

i will continue...

now before i get stuck in i'd just like to point out that yours truly is in fact a bit of a wuss herself. i was a bit of a loner, hated team sports at school, have never skied and frankly cry if i break a nail (even if i bit it off myself). so i'm not naturally inclined to climb stuff, swim to islands to tie up sailing boats or hurtle down icy roads on lilos. but i do it anyway. because i learnt to try. i learnt to embrace my fear and as long as it doesn't seem totally suicidal i'd give it a go.

and because i learnt to give it a go i've actually become reasonably agile, and have on occasion been able to feel rather proud of myself and have the cool knee scars to prove it.
speaking of which, what kid didn't love picking those massive scabs off ? pure joy :)

which leads me to my point...

though i am tempted to be completely overprotective of my darling heartbreakingly fragile beautiful angelets, it is NOT the right thing to do.
it is right to avoid car accidents by teaching road safety. it's right to avoid burning by teaching them that the oven is bloody hot and that only mamahog can move saucepans of molten chocolate sauce, and a myriad of other death and plastic surgery prevention measures.

but kiss chase and 'it' are an integral part of childhood and they are games children want and need to play. or if they really hate then, then learn to avoid. on their own!

i know most of the reason for banning them is the schools don't want to held liable but that's only because stupid pansy arsed parents are making them liable.

and that pisses me off.

monkey bars (from which my nephew only recently fell and broke his arm) and roundabouts and metal slides and swings and hopscotch and arm bands for learning to swim are all becoming extinct. while we are at it should we ban horses? after all that's how yashi yum yum fractured her arm. and though i have a deep distaste for all things equestrian i encourage her to ride still, be it occasionally. i am not in favour of a banning ponies. or gates (causing black eyes and concussion) or money (swallowed, got stuck in colon, have great x-ray which i will edit in when i find) or tables (big cut over left eye), or even overcoats (which pulled loveday's shoulder out of joint when she twisted to put it on jeeeeez!).

but it doesn't seem to matter as we wont be letting the little dears out to freetime play soon anyway.
we'd rather have them spend 6 hours a day in the classroom, then ship 'em off to dance, or music or cottonwool sculpture class before beddybyes really.

i've nothing against creative after school classes actually, but our children spend so much time in structured teacher led classes already. the buggers need to run about a bit, and fly about a bit, and dammit fall about a bit too. that's what kids do!
it's only by falling on our arses that we learn to get back up.

the hoglets are pansy arsed wusses too. born that way. so it's taken a lot of diligent teaching-by-example-and-making-a-total-plank-of-myself to the mirth of the park mum mafia, to get them to risk their own peachy posteriors in the playground. but i know it's all for a good cause.

and in this respect, oh the joys of living here in turkland!
we still have those burny metal slides.. and in the summer when its 38degrees celsius they are wide out in the open, not a tree in sight for shade. (actually that can be rather annoying but whatever... that's what cool boys combat pants are made for)
and monkey bars 8ft high. yippeeeeeee.
it takes a lot to train a couple of big gurls blouses to climb up 20yr old fraying rope to monkey bars and along to the molten metal slide but dammit i'll do it if it kills me. (it won't kill them as i'm always under them just in case. and they are learning to hold on and assess the risks themselves.

i've managed to get them immune to sewage and most bacteria with the "sure babe, no-ones trodden in it yet so just blow the fluff off and pop it back in yr mouth' rule. and i'm proud, because my toughlets are almost never sick. tag is what happens naturally with twins whenever i'm looking the other way, so that's pretty much taken care of too.

and anyway in my experiance the doctors in er are usually so sexy.... i'd miss those visits if ever they were to stop. (i'm only half kidding)

but i do like those new fangled padded floors. and not just because you get a better bounce when they fly the g force merry-go-round and boing on up to the monkey bars, but also because they are often made from recycled stuff. i like dual purpose innovation, its cool.

i wont force my offspring to do anything dangerous or make them feel bad if terror defeats them, but i will encourage them to run, climb and muck about. they need the release, they need the exercise and they need to know how to deal with other hurtling wildlets. even if they decide to just jump out of range.
they need free time to find what they can and can't do. what they want and want not to do. and what they can do instead.

when the concrete floor of our old playground and the bloody fractures which sometimes resulted, and the dreaded warts on stephen millers hands put me off the whole idea of kiss chase, i learnt to play a mean charlies angels instead. or to come up with silly rhymes for my classmates to better the 'keeda weed her peed her pants' tag i'd been lumbered with.

so dammit i want my children to have as many if not more of the freedoms i had. not less.

so there.

stick that in yer cakehole and eat it.

and stop getting yer knickers in a twist you big fat cry baby scaredy cats.

and my mum can take your mum on anyday!

well not your mum. actually she's quite cool. actually. ummmm. missssssssssss......

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Labels: istanbulundercover, rantlets, the wonderlets

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Labels: hnt

i am sorta without words.
yeahhhhriGHT. i hear you say.

it's true.

i don't know what to write. i've tried to write a post about my old jobs, but its too long. and not funny enough. and i know it can be dammit. so i'll save it till my funny comes back. and yes... probably forget i even started the damn thing...

for now, i just want to thank everybody who kinda know's me for all the lovely comments these past weeks. you are sweet. and it's much appreciated.

i am ok. having littlelets, one is forced to be i find.

so here are some pictures, some nice, some boring, of what we've been up to. i've been playing with my new nikon coolpix. he's SEXAY. i don't quite know him well enough yet. but i'm enjoying learning.

for now... enjoy the musicalets at my friend ozlem's, our beloved fatboy, me making woopee with my new digital love, our front room through the cracked dancing mirror, jelly fish from the bosphorous and let art. and funny face lovedove.

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Labels: istanbulundercover, the wonderlets

as life swirls on, around and about me, ebbing and flowing, coming and going, many tides will wash over my skin.

it seems that is what it needs to do. right now

the waters of my past sometimes submerse me in their depths. but...

i can bathe in sorrow a while. as is right.

and then i will unfurl. nourished with the power of ages, which cares little for me alone.

so i'll shake my cramped body from its rigid frame. wiggle my stiffened fingers and toes, and break free with my memories of life at its kindest.

and step out again knowing that i was, and am loved.

and can still love in return.


*


happy hnt darlings. thank you for all your soft words of support.
i'll do swimmingly. thanks :)
nothing lasts forever. even bad moods.
i love ...stuff.

roll over to the sidebar for more half nekkidness with a sexier twist.
and have a beautiful weekend.

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Labels: hnt

so much for making promises about happier postings. (sob)

my nanny just died. (sniff)

i will be in a bad mood with sobs until further notice.

i hate ...stuff.

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who'd a thunk it but we were invaded the other day by a creature from the posterior....


luckily he seemed tired and was pleased with the offer of a plastic wobbly sea urchin/poy lunch.


after which he became rather tame. and dare i say it... jolly cute :)



disclaimer: no fatcat or plastic poy toys were harmed in this production. in fact fatboy didn't even notice due to his arse being so large it's practically on a different continent to his head. that, and that he's asleep throughout, as usual.

i must also add that this wasn't our idea either we nicked it from bobealia, who in turn half inched it from antonia. thanks girls.

but i think the theivery was justified. the cheekylets had a blast :)

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Labels: the wonderlets

...a few years down the line and i'm about 4 or 5. i'm still cute, and stubborn. seriously.

i'm hunkered down in the sand dunes near our chalet at gwithian towans. i've run away from home to hide, and the dunes are perfect. they are vast. miles and miles of soft green and long cutting-your-shins grasses. with sand bunkers. some little, some large. this one's a few metres wide, a couple deep and a with a big overhang, and soft golden sand to lie on. there are old concrete gun shelters left from the war too nearby, but they are cold and damp and scare me. and stink of piss. so i'm happy where i am.

i've heard peoples voices calling my name for a while now. occasionally. i can't quite remember why, but i don't want to be found. i like it here alone. and i'm cross with someone.

i've counted all the pellet shaped rabbit droppings in the area. and i've picked a few pink thrift flowers to pretty my bower up. i've found some shells buried in the sand and i'm wondering if i have the guts to stay here all night.
i watch the clouds.

i hear footsteps, or maybe i feel them through the ground. that's more likely given the terrain. i squeeze back under the overhang and hold my breath.

two feet drop down over the side, and a man sits. 'hey' he softly says. 'you want a toasted tea cake?'

they are my favourites. those and the pink shrimp ones, that taste vaguely of coconut. good old 70's corner shop sweets.

'ok, but you won't tell anyone i'm 'ere will you?'
'no, not if you don't want me too'

and we sit and eat our way through the quarter bag.

we don't talk much. uncle dave never does. he's a shy type. a little awkward. i feel sorry for him. everyone seems to. when they're not pissed off with him for doing something stupid, or unreliable. but then they are all a bunch of hippies. too stoned to go out and see the brilliant sunsets across the sea. that could even be why i'm pissed off again today. but it could be something else. maybe i'm just testing to see if they notice. and i like that they do. but like it here in my hidyhole too much to give in now.

when the sweets are gone he tells me it'll get cold soon. and he's right. i wish i'd packed a scarf with supplies on the end of a stick like the pussy cat who went to london to visit the queen did. i didn't really prepare myself very well.
he doesn't talk me into anything. thats not his style. but even so, i pull myself out of my hideout and walk hand in hand with him back across the dunes. listening to the crickets begin their evening chorus all the way.


the last time i saw my uncle dave was when i was about 11 or 12. we went to visit him in bristol or was it bath? he had a little boy. tim. tim was a total cutie. soft and baby smelling, only about a year old. we had a lovely day together. my mum, my half sisterlet and my uncle dave and tim. walking around town. sitting on grass in parks.

he hadn't changed then. was still withdrawn but sweet. quiet. kind. we all felt sorry for him again. he always seemed a little sad, though things were ok.

when i was about 18, and my grandad died, i went back up for the funeral. i don't remember him. though he must have been there.

and our family being odd as it is, little feuds all over the place, and me having lived abroad for so long, i've not seen him since way back then. 17 or maybe even more than 20 years ago.

a couple of years ago he got into trouble. i don't know all the details, and those i do are too convoluted and sad to share. he was finally diagnosed as being psychotic. when my dad went up there, to try to help sort out their elderly and equally psycho mother, dave tried to kill him. though to be honest my dads almost induced those kind of feelings in me on occasion. i however, have yet to act on them.

dave couldn't be helped by anyone it seems. he wouldn't or couldn't communicate. people were scared to get close to him. or didn't see the point. he holed himself up in my paternal grandparents old house and got weirder.
he stopped taking the pills he'd been prescribed.

i almost forgot about him. as you do distant family that have never lived near you and who have never been a real part of your lives. we don't do birthdays or christmas. we drift.

when i got back from my trip last week i got a text from my stepmum. i called back accidentally on my dads birthday. typically so rubbish at remembering that kind of thing.

uncle dave. died.

he was found decomposing in the bath at that old house. been dead a couple of months before anyone found him. the police were called in because of a strange smell.

'just thought we should let you know really'.
'yes. thanks. i should know. ugh. horrible. so sad.'

what can you say? what can you feel when you are already so distant?

not much really.

horror. shock. sadness for the loss of something you never really knew, or had. guilt that you had not been closer. had not been able to help.

resignation that there is not much any of us can do in the end.

apparently (though they can't be sure due to the severe decomposition of the body) the police say he probably died quickly. heart attack or stroke they say. in his early 50's.

he never seemed very happy in life. so lets hope he is now. peaceful.

harder for my dad. his brother always, despite recent history.
my mum was upset too. so many memories from when i was little. grown up memories sting more.

i just have this memory. and its a happy one. a fittingly peaceful one. and something that will remain beautiful.

the quiet comfort of a (be it time-specific) kindred spirit. hiding out a while. not needing words. and resigning ourselves to walking back across the dunes to rejoin the crowd.


thanks for the toasted tea cakes unku dave. can you hear the crickets? and watch the moons bright path across the ocean with me? i will always love that. and those old quarters of 70's sweets.

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Labels: questionable past lives

i've been a bit slack these last few weeks. due to well, slackness, being dumped by my fuji, absence, and more slackness.

it's time to get my house in order once more.

so here you are. a little flesh. and my favourite petticoat/nightie/slip/whatever. this slip has been a trusty friend for many many years. at least 15. it looks sexy when it needs to, and matronly too when combined with stripey long socks or legwarmers and a shawl. its nipped out to the shops under tracky bottoms and sweatshirts, and held me together under sheer dresses. its seen lots of fun 'sack' action and lots of curling up an the sofa with a cup of lemsip/tylolhot.


and yesterday it finally passed away. murdered in cold blood by an iron weilding moldovian 'helper'. just why lingerie needs ironing is something i have yet to work out. its something i have expressly forbidden to happen time and time again in this house. its not the first causualty of overzealous maids. and nor i'm sure will it be the last. sadly. but it will always hold a special place in my heart.

so rest in peace dear cream one. you will be missed. i cried for you. i did. (sob). your figure hugging, silky presence saw me through some wonderful times, and some sad. through many men, and many sniffles. through childbirth, and through moving to foreign lands. you will be harder to replace than the fuji, and just look how the new nikon loved you.

goodbye old friend.

and happy hnt new friends. slip into something comfy and revive and appreciate the old faithful togs, as we will never see their like again. cosy down and smile. and have a beautiful thursday and through the weekend darlings. :)

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Labels: hnt

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