St Valentine's Day Preparations

The more I thought about auntie gwen's post of 7th February, the more I began to feel that, quite often, the only way a girl can ensure that she gets what she wants on St Valentine's day is to organise everything herself!

I've already bought my dress! What do you think?

I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea, of course, so I'd better own up to the fact that I'm not a natural blonde!










Here is a picture of the style of boots I've bought to wear with my new dress. They've arrived just in time for the next fall of snow, I think. They'll certainly keep my legs warm and toasty!








I've ordered a special Valentine's meal to be delivered, on Saturday, just in case we have time to eat.










I've bought some bubbly,









but I wasn't sure whether that would be enough, so I bought a couple of bottles of wine, too.













I'm having a beautiful bouquet of red roses delivered












and a teensy weensy box of delicious chocolates

and I think that's me just about set up!

Oops! Just a minute. I forgot that I'd ordered one more essential item.

It's amazing what you can get on the internet, these days, isn't it? There's only one drawback, though. He's not self-inflatable!


How about you? Got any plans?

A Little Treat

I fancied a brisk walk into town and back, yesterday morning, but, unfortunately, it was pouring with rain. I didn't feel like walking in such miserable weather, so I decided, instead, to spoil myself with a long, luxurious bath, as opposed to my usual shower. I thought that I would do the housework first, whilst in my night clothes, rather than afterwards, so I didn't start preparing for my little treat until about 10.30am.

I began to collect together various products to pamper myself, as well as mixing up some olive oil and honey, so that I could moisturise my neck and face, whilst I soaked in the bath and relaxed. I lined up some 'decadently creamy, foaming bath soak', 'intensive, conditioning body lotion' and 'softening foot cream with shea butter' on the bathroom shelf, then went downstairs to make myself a Cappuccino. As soon as it was ready, I took it up to the bathroom, along with a Choco Leibniz, my digital radio and a new paperback.

After undressing, I stepped into the warm, foamy water and lowered myself into the bath, but just as my eager bum cheeks hit the surface of the water, the doorbell rang. I felt slightly irritated, but, assuming that it was the postman, even though I wasn' t expecting anything, I leapt out of the bath, threw on my dressing gown and raced downstairs to open the door. The postman thrust a fairly large parcel, addressed to my son, into my wet hands, followed by a pen, as he needed a signature. I ignored the rather meaningful, but disgusted glance he shot in my direction, as he realised that I was still wearing my night clothes at 11 in the morning, whilst he had been hard at work since 6. He turned abruptly, after retrieving his pen, dashing back towards his van, as if to convince me that his life was filled with a purpose, which mine evidently lacked. On my return to the bathroom, I smiled and lowered myself back into the bath, wincing slightly as my ample posterior bypassed the, by now, rather cool bath suds, to sink, once more, into the all-embracing warmth of the sweet-smelling water.

I brushed the honey and olive oil onto my face and neck, before reaching out for the chocolate biscuit, allowing my mouth to water, just a little, as I anticipated the smooth chocolate touching my excited tongue. The chocolate and crumbs combined into a delightful mixture, as I ate, but, regrettably and all too swiftly, the Choco Leibniz was gone. I reached for my coffee, then, just as I closed my eyes to savour the delicious, incomparable taste of the frothy Cappuccino, the telephone rang. I felt quite irritated, tensing for a moment, before deciding that the caller would have to leave a message, if it was anything of importance.

After draining my Cappuccino, I picked up my book with the intention of settling down to enjoy a good half an hour's read, but something caught my eye, before my glance fell upon the page. Hmm..... From my sitting position, I could see that the skirting board needed a coat of paint, as did the door. I'd forgotten that I hadn't had time to finish painting the woodwork in the bathroom, before I tidied everything away, when we had visitors at New Year. I felt very irritated.

I tried to return to my book, just as something else caught my eye. In the light from the window, catching the shower fitting and the wall tiles, I could see some limescale, which needed to be removed and some mildew, on the grouting. I began to feel exceedingly irritated. Averting my eyes, I attempted to focus, again, on the first page of my book, but I couldn't relax. My eyes darted from side to side, as I glanced around the room. From this particular angle, I could see the pedestal supporting the sink and the waste pipe behind. Both needed wiping. The floor tiles would have benefited from a good vacuuming, too. By this time, I was feeling exceptionally irritated.

I finished the rest of my bath, in record time, towelled myself dry, applied body lotion, foot lotion, dressed and immediately set about blitzing the bathroom, with a potentially explosive mixture of Limelight, Viakal and Dettol mould remover. I raced downstairs and back up again with the heavy, cumbersome vacuum cleaner in tow, then vacuumed the bathroom, followed by the other rooms, whilst I was up there, then finished with the stairs.

After putting the vacuum away, I stood in the hall, for a few seconds, to catch my breath. Phew! I was so hot and sticky, after expending so much energy, that I really needed a shower..........

Bloggers Make The Bestest Friends!

Aims published a post, on the 4th February, which referred to an article, about blogging, entitled Dangers Online. I read the article and found it quite interesting, if rather too much of a generalisation. I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of horror at the suggestion running throughout, however, that it would be better for all bloggers to return to face-to-face conversation, rather than continuing to interact through the medium of blogging. What an idea! I can hardly bear to consider it! Online friendships are infinitely preferable, in my opinion, for the following reasons:

My cyber friends never stare in disapproving disbelief, if I hit the bottle before the sun's over the yardarm and start slurring my comments.

They don't point and laugh cruelly, when I'm blogging and miss my mouth, whilst knocking back the Gordon's, or when the mayo oozes out of my lunchtime sandwich and trickles down my chin.

They don't appear to mind, in the least, if I tuck my paper napkin in the neck of my jumper, slurp my soup, or wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, whilst commenting on their posts.

They're not in the least bit bovvered when I realise that I probably can find room for a hot chocolate with whipped cream, after just downing a 12 inch pizza, all to myself, followed by a sticky toffee pudding.

They never blink an eye, if I giggle, whilst quoffing a bottle of bin end bargain, spraying droplets of gnat's pee and saliva all over my immediate surroundings, when I'm reading their posts.

My bloggy friends allow me the absolute freedom to scratch whatever I want, as frequently as I wish.

I can be anyone I want be, when I'm in their company - but don't panic, bloggy friends. Fortunately, I've never wanted to be anyone other than myself. No, really.

They never make me feel guilty, if I'm still blogging in my Dora The Explorer PJs, when they call in to comment, at lunchtime.

I don't have to get up off my lazy arse to make them a cup of coffee, if they do call by, or offer to share my last chocolate Hobnob.

It doesn't matter if they pay me a surprise visit when I'm waxing my legs, or soaking my feet.

They never count the cobwebs, or criticise the decor.

I don't have to drive, walk, or even get out of my cosy bed to interact with my bloggy friends.

They don't wince, or whip out their sunglasses, when I wear the hideous orange top I bought from Primark in the sale.

They never stare in shock horror, when I tell them I buy some of my clothes from Primark.

They never ask me to lend them a tenner till payday.

They never interrupt me, or shout me down, when I'm in the middle of a post.

They never ask me a question, then hi-jack the conversation again, before I've made my point.

I can moderate all of their comments.

Their eyes never glaze over, when I start to get boring.

They never laugh, when I forget the point of my story.

Now, why did I start relating all of this? Hold on. It'll come to me, in a minute........ You're not laughing, are you?

Do You Have Dry Winter Skin?

Well, I hope you're not suffering as much as the lady on the right, but I do bear a vague resemblance to her, at the moment, every time I venture out into the icy weather! Fortunately, unlike the brazen lady in the portrait, I always wear a coat, when going out, in winter, so only my face is affected.

I had no problem with my skin, until I was 13 years old. Quite suddenly, I developed spots and plenty of them. I worked my way through many products, before I finally realised that my skin was sensitive, as well as prone to spots. Any medical treatment for spots was generally too harsh for my skin and I was in my late teens, before my Doctor was finally able to prescribe something, which actually helped my condition.

After a lot of trial and error, I found some skin care products which suited me, but a couple of years later, the range was discontinued and I was forced to go through the whole frustrating process, of finding some suitable alternatives all over again. This pattern has been repeated throughout my life and it has caused a lot of expense at times.

My skin improved gradually, until my late twenties, when I became pregnant. Once more, I developed a lot of unsightly spots, but, after switching to Elizabeth Arden products, the condition of my skin improved considerably. Fortunately, many years passed by, before part of the range I used was discontinued and then, after floundering for a while, I found that I could use some of the Boots No 7 range, instead. I'm rarely sure exactly what causes my skin to react, of course, but, for anyone who seems to suffer in a similar way, I have compiled a list, below, of the products I can use, which seem to suit my sensitive skin:

Cleanser - Boots No 7 Soft & Soothed Gentle Cleanser, normal/dry skin.

Moisturiser - Elizabeth Arden Daily Moisture. (It's great but it costs more than I want to pay, even when I buy it from Superdrug.)

Moisturiser for cold weather - Elizabeth Arden Visible Difference Refining Moisture Cream Complex. (Even more expensive, but good.)

Foundation, face powder, eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick - Boots No 7. (I couldn't wear the mascara or lipstick every day, however and the lipstick does make my lips a bit dry!)

Lip balm - Vaseline Petroleum Jelly.

Deodorant - Vaseline Intensive Care (not the one with aloe vera) and Sanex dermo sensitive.

Shower Cream- Sanex dermo sensitive lactoserum for sensitive skin. (Not the others in the range.)

Hand and body lotion - Vaseline Intensive Care. (Not the one with aloe vera.)

Mouthwash - Dentyl.

I've suffered so many reactions to different cosmetics, in the past, that, for the last few years, I have sometimes turned to natural treatments instead. I've tried out various treatments recommended in magazine articles, or books and a few of these, which have proved effective for me are detailed below:

A tablespoon of honey, mixed with 2 of olive oil has proved a lovely moisturiser for
my neck. I brush it on with a soft brush, leave it for anything from 10 to 30 minutes, then rinse off with warm water. I have also used it on my decollete and face. I have never left it on my face for longer than 10 minutes, however and always avoid the delicate area under my eyes. I also find that the mixture is wonderful for dry hands, when massaged in and left for 10 minutes. This treatment shouldn't be used more than once a week.

A mixture of honey and yogurt makes a good face mask for my skin. I use half a carton of plain unsweetened yogurt and mix in 2 teaspoons of honey. I leave it on for 5 minutes, then rinse off with cold water.

I sometimes use a banana face mask for sore, dry, winter skin, which nothing else will soothe. The mask consists of a mashed banana mixed up with a teaspoon of honey and a little cream. I apply it to my face and leave it for about 10 minutes, before rinsing off with warm water.

An avocado mashed with a banana and 1 tablespoon of thick cream has proved an effective dry skin relief, on occasions, for my lower legs. I usually leave it on for about 10 minutes.

If you fancy trying any of the treatments mentioned above, for yourself, don't forget to bear in mind that my skin is mature, as well as sensitive. It would probably be best if you don't test out any of them the day before going out somewhere special, just in case they don't work for you. I know what it's like to wake up covered in spots on the day you're supposed to be going to a wedding or some other big event. I'm sure I hardly need to mention, either, that these treatments can be a little messy and are best applied in the bathroom! Don't forget to let anyone else in the house know, that you don't want to be disturbed for at least half an hour!

Do you have sensitive skin? Have you discovered a product range, which suits you? The products I currently use are bound to be discontinued eventually, so I would be grateful of any suggestions of others I could try, particularly if they are cheap! Do you have any favourite 'beauty' tips, you would like to share?

Note to Grumpy Old Ken: I do apologise for publishing such a girlie post, but it covers a subject, which is very close to my heart, particularly in winter. Please let me know how you get on with the banana mask!

Revisiting An Age-old Problem

Put cotton in your ears and pebbles in your shoes

Pull on rubber gloves

Smear Vaseline on your glasses

And there you have it; instant old age

Quote from Malcolm Cowley

I'm currently revisiting a problem I only thought I had about 12 months ago when a friend told me that she had bought concessionary tickets for our imminent theatre visit. It turned out that she was winding me up, but I did get a bit worried about the whole thing, because I was 6 years short of 60 at the time and some people had said that I didn't look my true age. (No, they didn't mean I looked 74! Cheeky! Or did they? Hmm...)

Well, this time she's gone and accidentally done it. She was distracted whilst booking the tickets over the telephone and now, I suppose I have a choice. Pick up my ticket from my friend and ring the theatre to explain the mistake, or hope that no one asks me for proof of my age, when I finally present my ticket at the theatre.

I'm considering putting cotton in my ears and pebbles in my shoes, to make myself appear older, for my theatre visit, but my dilemma has also led to me thinking about a few other things, this week, that can generally emphasize the more mature woman's age, or make her look older. So far, I've come up with the following:

1. Listening to Mario Lanza or Russ Conway on her MP3.

2. A toy boy.

3. Clubbing with her daughter.

4. Sending her pocket-sized packet of Rennie soft chews flying across the dance floor, whilst rummaging in her handbag for her embroidered handkerchief.

5. Possessing an embroidered handkerchief.

6. Exposing decollete and cleavage, which would benefit from frequent basting with half a pound of goose fat.

7. A fat face, or fat knees, arising from displacement, caused by prolonged use of her vice-like, but super-slimming bodysuit.

8. Breathing in, but not out.

9. HRT patches accidentally transferred to her face.

10. Matt black hair on the over 65s.

11. A dark tan on wrinkled skin.

12. Lurid make up only usually seen on the ugly sisters during the panto season.

13. False talons varnished bright red.

14. A belly bar or an eyebrow ring.

15. Wearing so much bling-bling that the manager of the local H Samuel stands eagerly on the doorstep of his establishment, whenever she is in the high street.

16. Earrings better suited to hanging from high, drawing room ceilings, rather than ears, combined with large specs.

17. A leotard.

18. Skinny fit clothes designed for supermodels on a diet of cocaine and crumbs.

19. A headscarf.

20. A little scarf, worn under her coat, to keep her neck cosy.

Now, just a minute. Mario Lanza, Rennies, handkerchief, matt black hair, dry skin, lurid make up, bling-bling, headscarf, little scarf. Yay! I'm nearly there! The only thing I'm short of is a toy boy! Any offers?

Silence can be deafening, you know. ;0(

I'm sure that none of you 'more mature' lady bloggers are guilty of any of the above, but feel free to fess up, if you are. There's no one else to hear. I'll admit to listening to Mario Lanza and loving my cosy little neck scarves. Oh, and then there's the belly bar of course and a few of the other things.......

Does anyone want to give me any advice about my dilemma? What would you do? Cough up the extra money or take no notice? How would you choose to look older?

Shock Poll Reveals What Women Mean!

An exclusive poll, conducted by Mean Moody Middle-aged Mom, based on telephone interviews with a remarkably small number of female adults, recently uncovered some shocking facts. Apparently, a tiny minority of women don't necessarily say what they mean in certain situations, when conversing with their partners! A teensy weensy number of the women polled even admitted to neglecting to mention niggling little details, which they considered unimportant and less than one woman openly admitted to the odd white lie!

The reasons behind this sort of behaviour varied considerably, in accordance with the woman's mood, the poll revealed, but included such things as a desire to appear virtuous, or to help her husband become more considerate, a reluctance to upset her partner, or a wish to avoid conflict. Below, in bold, are a few examples, gleaned from the poll, of the sort of things women might say, in some situations, which could have hidden meaning and a few light hearted suggestions of what they could mean in italics.

Going Out:

I'm nearly ready! I'm nowhere near ready.

I'm not ready yet. It's obvious that I'm not ready, yet, because I'm still drying my hair. Sitting in the car, on the drive, with the engine running won't make my hair dry any faster.

Would you check the doors and windows, before we go out, please? If you're sitting twiddling your thumbs and I'm obviously not yet ready to go out, why don't YOU check the doors and windows, instead of leaving it to me.

Shopping:

I'm just going into Accessorize to buy a pretty scarf for your sister, for her birthday. I'm just going into Accessorize to buy a pretty scarf for your sister, for her birthday and 2 for myself, whilst I'm there.

Don't buy that for me, for my birthday. It's far too expensive. I'll be absolutely thrilled if you buy that for me, for my birthday, in spite of the fact that it's so expensive.

I like both outfits. I can't decide which to have. Could we fast for a week, so that I could buy both of these outfits?

At Home:

Would you mash the potatoes, please? Don't stand doing nothing, in the kitchen, whilst I am running around like a blue arsed fly, trying to do 3 things at the same time.

Would you take the garden rubbish to the tip, please? It's supposed to be your responsibility to take the rubbish to the tip. It's been sitting there for about 4 weeks and it's starting to smell. You can see it and you can smell it as well as I can, so why do I have to nag, before you will do something about it?

It's OK, thanks, I can plug the lawnmower in. It's supposed to be your responsibility to cut the grass, whilst I look after the rest of the garden. If I decide that I ought to cut the grass, because you've not done it for 3 weeks, don't plug the lawnmower in for me. It's infuriating. If you do it again, I shall make you swallow the plug.

Can I have a glass of wine, now, please? When I said, half an hour ago, that I didn't want any wine, I didn't mean that you could instantly knock back the whole bottle, without pausing for breath.

No, I'm not blogging again. I'm just checking my emails. I was blogging, until you interrupted me. Now, I'm checking my emails.

Unavoidable Conflict:

There's nothing wrong. There's something wrong. I can't discuss it with you, yet, because I'm still simmering, but, believe me, I will discuss it, when I come to the boil.

I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry I said that out loud.

It's OK. I know you didn't mean it, when you said that I was an ugly old cow. I'm having a headache, later, so don't bother suggesting any hanky panky. I haven't decided how long it will last, yet.

I forgive you. I'll remember what you did and bring it up in every argument, from now until dementia sets in.

Extra Marital:

Why are you so late home from work all the time? Are you having an affair?

No, I don't mind in the least if you go to watch the match, on Saturday and spend all day Sunday playing golf. I'm having an affair.

Mean Moody Middle-aged Mom would be interested in hearing from anyone, who has had first hand experience of such unscrupulous women. Perhaps your sister, or best friend suffers from such tendencies. Please leave a comment. Mean Mom would like to know.

Male readers please note: In no event will Mean Moody Middle-aged Mom be liable for any arguments or injuries arising, or divorce proceedings instigated, either directly or indirectly as a result of belief in the content of this post.

Memory Lane

I was listening to Brian Matthews, last weekend, when he suddenly played Catch A Falling Star, by Perry Como. I hadn't heard this song for many years and I was immediately transported back in time, to the living room of my parents' terraced house, in the Midlands, where I was brought up. My gaze was directed downwards. I was wearing my favourite dark blue trousers, hand made by my mother, on her old Singer sewing machine and pulling a plastic tipper truck along behind me. I recalled a time of safety and security, a time of open fires, outside toilets, linoleum and ice on the inside the windows in winter.

After a little research on the internet, I discovered that my flashback most probably went back to 1958, when I was just 5 years old. I found some interesting websites, whilst carrying out my detective work and came across some other songs, which also brought back vivid memories.

My parents bought me my first Dansette record player a few years later. We crowded around it, in the living room, on the day my father brought it home. By then, I must have been 9, because the first 45 I ever played was Lovesick Blues, by Frank Ifield and, apparently, it was a hit in 1962. In the following months, amongst others I added to my collection, were Venus In Blue Jeans, by Mark Wynter, Return To Sender, by Elvis Presley and The Night Had A Thousand Eyes by Bobby Vee. (If you have a few seconds to spare, the Bobby Vee video is quite comical!) By the time I bought Return To Sender, however, I had been banished to the draughty 'front' room to listen to my favourite pop singers.

By 1964, Liverpool had become the capital of popular music and I enjoyed the Mersey Sound as much as anyone. The Beatles' songs have been played so often, that, on the whole, they don't evoke many memories of the 1960s, for me. Other songs do, though, such as Anyone Who Had A Heart and You're My world, by Cilla Black. Whenever I hear these songs, I immediately recall my bedroom, in the same terraced house, back in 1964. The wallpaper has been completely obliterated by posters extracted from Fabulous, one of my favourite 60s magazines, but there is some evidence that my childhood hasn't been totally left behind, as my Tressy doll sits on the shelf, by the side of my bed, wearing clothes I have designed and hand sewn for her.

Many songs released in 1966/67 bring back bitter/sweet memories. Songs such as You Can't Hurry Love, by the Supremes, Reach Out I'll Be There, by the Four Tops, Hi Ho Silver Lining by Jeff Beck and Whiter Shade Of Pale by Procul Harum. I was 13/14 years old. It was a time of moods, tears, crossing boundaries and arguments with my father. A time of secrecy, first discos, first kisses, first dates and first cigarettes.

A lot of my recollections of 1968 are to do with traditional seaside holidays and day trips, with my best friend and our families. Songs such as This Guy's In Love With You, by Herb Alpert and Do It Again by the Beach Boys remind me of sun, sand, bikinis, transistor radios, knickerbocker glories and formica topped cafe tables. 1968 was a year of Dusty Springfield eyes, the ever shorter skirt, fun fairs, roller coasters, missed curfews and first real relationships.

My best friend and I often went out with our first boyfriends in a foursome. I can still recall the surprise I felt when she confessed that she felt Young Girl, by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap had been written especially for her. Contrary to the lyrics, however, she wasn't intending to run away from her situation. I couldn't believe that she was contemplating having sex, with her boyfriend, at fifteen, but she was and she did. I must have been a late developer.

My first relationship lasted 18 months. My friend married her first boyfriend, against her parents' wishes, at the age of 19 and had her first baby at the age of 21. I lost touch with her, at the age of 18, when we both left school, but I caught up with her news, a few years later, when I had a chance meeting with her next door neighbour. I sometimes wonder whether my friend is, now, a proud grandmother.

There are many other songs, from the years I have mentioned and subsequent years, which evoke strong memories, for me, but none as piercing as those I have just described. They were special years and special times, which have remained vivid in my memory, partly due to the popular music of the period.

Are there any songs, which cause waves of nostalgia to wash over you? Are you old enough to remember any of the songs I have mentioned? Do they bring back any memories for you?