Stephanie Connolly's Blog
September 6, 2011
Judging me, judging you.
With the exception of Mary Poppins, (and perhaps Jude Law) there are very few people on this planet that can claim to be practically perfect in every way.
Sure there are those whom think themselves pretty close to perfection, the types who, when being interviewed for example will respond to the question, 'What are your negatives?' with a genuine blank, sincerely at a loss for an adequate answer.
Then there are those who try much too hard to portray an air of perfection. Wanting so to appear perfect, sexy, funny, clever, wealthy... and being completely oblivious to the blatant transparency of their boastful ways.
Some of us work hard to build barriers, giant brick walls around ourselves, in order to prevent anyone from coming close enough to glimpse imperfections or insecurities and thus we try to portray only the positives to the outside world.
But the kind of people I'm really drawn to, the kind I love the most, are those to whom I can relate. The real, 'warts and all' human beings. Those who may be striving for perfection? Those who are not even bothered. Deliciously and realistically flawed.
Because nobody is perfect, no-one! (Not even me!) And you know? Sometimes I think those imperfections, insecurities, vulnerabilities, weaknesses even? They can be your most endearing assets.
This is why when it comes to bearing my soul I am as naked as the day I was born. My heart on my sleeve and my flaws practicably visible for the entire world to see.
So just for the record, in case you have yet to discover any of these flaws (because it's not uncommon for others to be completely dazzled by the wonderful attributes I possess! (Sarcasm being one of them!!)) allow me to draw your attention to some of my unflattering bits.
1. I'm stroppy. Brat-like sometimes, especially if I've had little sleep and you're my Mum. I throw embarrassing teen-like tantrums. And I roll my eyes. A lot :-/
2. I hold grudges longer than... well... really long things. Can forgive. But I will never ever forget.
3. I'm unbelievably scatty and whilst I have good intentions and think of nice things, I almost never get round to doing things, like sending birthday cards or thank you notes.
4. I can be extremely lazy, and at times idle. If you come to my house I shall probably make you a cup of tea once in our lifetime. After that you know where the kettle is . :-/
5. And the heaviest flaw I carry, the one that causes me the most heartache, is that I'm ridiculously sensitive. Like a sponge, soaking up emotions and problems from everyone around me, unable to switch off and acutely concerned with how the world judges me.
And for a bunch of imperfect humans we sure are judgemental bastards sometimes.
'May he without sin cast the first stone...' God knows I'm not a religious gal, but this quote from the bible really strikes a chord with me.
It's so true. Unless you are a saint, eating your five-a-day, washing behind your ears, always making the right decisions and taking the right paths, then you really have little right to judge others.
We're all guilty of course, of judging a book by its cover, of hastily forming opinions, our minds narrow, our fingers pointing, yet most of us, myself included, cannot abide being the object up for judgement.
I'd love to flick a cheeky finger to those that provide an uninvited evaluation of my life. I'd love to say I don't care what others think. But that would be a big fat lie, because I really do care.
In my own little life bubble, with my husband and my children I am deliriously happy. I feel content knowing that, whilst I'm not perfect, my heart is in the right place. I'm aware of my screw ups and I'm proud of my achievements. And I'd very much like things to stay that way. Yet when your soul is open wide you inevitably find one or two overly opinionated leeches drifting in ready to criticise your every move.
Being overly sensitive means that it genuinely hurts when someone does make me their object of discussion. It knocks me sideways in fact. Even if I don't care for or even think highly of them I find it hurts. It makes me doubt myself in every aspect of my life. I begin to wonder whether I am a good person? A good mother? A good friend? I can drive myself crazy with constant analysis.
I'm a 'cup is half full' kinda girl, I like to see the best in everybody, I don't like to believe that some people can just be 'bad,' I always try to find an excuse for them. To justify things.
And I spend my life trying to eliminate the guilt that we, 21st century women seem to carry with us. Life can be shitty enough, without each of us bitching about the choices we make.
I like to reassure others, to fill them with confidence and make them feel good about themselves. That's ultimately my goal, to make people feel content in their own skin.
Remember in my book I told you that in the battle of the sexes I am very much a 'girls girl?' Well that's still the case. I'm still yearning for that secret society of sisterhood.
We're all too quick to judge one another as women, on everything, our choices in men, the choices we make as mothers, the decisions we make in our careers. Still there are those that point fingers and criticise us, as though it's going to make them feel better about their own lives. But I don't think it will. Nope, I fear in the long run that constant judgement of others, when we should be concentrating on our own lives, will simply result in a lot of cynical and lonely old women.
This unattractive tendency we have to bitch about one another has got to stop. We should be supporting each other, standing tall in our stilettos and celebrating the fact that whilst we're not perfect, we are ourselves, each with the born right to choose our own paths and destinies. We each have the right to fuck up from time to time, and then to stand, dust ourselves down and try again. Life is not a competition. So please no more judgement.
Steph Xx
Sure there are those whom think themselves pretty close to perfection, the types who, when being interviewed for example will respond to the question, 'What are your negatives?' with a genuine blank, sincerely at a loss for an adequate answer.
Then there are those who try much too hard to portray an air of perfection. Wanting so to appear perfect, sexy, funny, clever, wealthy... and being completely oblivious to the blatant transparency of their boastful ways.
Some of us work hard to build barriers, giant brick walls around ourselves, in order to prevent anyone from coming close enough to glimpse imperfections or insecurities and thus we try to portray only the positives to the outside world.
But the kind of people I'm really drawn to, the kind I love the most, are those to whom I can relate. The real, 'warts and all' human beings. Those who may be striving for perfection? Those who are not even bothered. Deliciously and realistically flawed.
Because nobody is perfect, no-one! (Not even me!) And you know? Sometimes I think those imperfections, insecurities, vulnerabilities, weaknesses even? They can be your most endearing assets.
This is why when it comes to bearing my soul I am as naked as the day I was born. My heart on my sleeve and my flaws practicably visible for the entire world to see.
So just for the record, in case you have yet to discover any of these flaws (because it's not uncommon for others to be completely dazzled by the wonderful attributes I possess! (Sarcasm being one of them!!)) allow me to draw your attention to some of my unflattering bits.
1. I'm stroppy. Brat-like sometimes, especially if I've had little sleep and you're my Mum. I throw embarrassing teen-like tantrums. And I roll my eyes. A lot :-/
2. I hold grudges longer than... well... really long things. Can forgive. But I will never ever forget.
3. I'm unbelievably scatty and whilst I have good intentions and think of nice things, I almost never get round to doing things, like sending birthday cards or thank you notes.
4. I can be extremely lazy, and at times idle. If you come to my house I shall probably make you a cup of tea once in our lifetime. After that you know where the kettle is . :-/
5. And the heaviest flaw I carry, the one that causes me the most heartache, is that I'm ridiculously sensitive. Like a sponge, soaking up emotions and problems from everyone around me, unable to switch off and acutely concerned with how the world judges me.
And for a bunch of imperfect humans we sure are judgemental bastards sometimes.
'May he without sin cast the first stone...' God knows I'm not a religious gal, but this quote from the bible really strikes a chord with me.
It's so true. Unless you are a saint, eating your five-a-day, washing behind your ears, always making the right decisions and taking the right paths, then you really have little right to judge others.
We're all guilty of course, of judging a book by its cover, of hastily forming opinions, our minds narrow, our fingers pointing, yet most of us, myself included, cannot abide being the object up for judgement.
I'd love to flick a cheeky finger to those that provide an uninvited evaluation of my life. I'd love to say I don't care what others think. But that would be a big fat lie, because I really do care.
In my own little life bubble, with my husband and my children I am deliriously happy. I feel content knowing that, whilst I'm not perfect, my heart is in the right place. I'm aware of my screw ups and I'm proud of my achievements. And I'd very much like things to stay that way. Yet when your soul is open wide you inevitably find one or two overly opinionated leeches drifting in ready to criticise your every move.
Being overly sensitive means that it genuinely hurts when someone does make me their object of discussion. It knocks me sideways in fact. Even if I don't care for or even think highly of them I find it hurts. It makes me doubt myself in every aspect of my life. I begin to wonder whether I am a good person? A good mother? A good friend? I can drive myself crazy with constant analysis.
I'm a 'cup is half full' kinda girl, I like to see the best in everybody, I don't like to believe that some people can just be 'bad,' I always try to find an excuse for them. To justify things.
And I spend my life trying to eliminate the guilt that we, 21st century women seem to carry with us. Life can be shitty enough, without each of us bitching about the choices we make.
I like to reassure others, to fill them with confidence and make them feel good about themselves. That's ultimately my goal, to make people feel content in their own skin.
Remember in my book I told you that in the battle of the sexes I am very much a 'girls girl?' Well that's still the case. I'm still yearning for that secret society of sisterhood.
We're all too quick to judge one another as women, on everything, our choices in men, the choices we make as mothers, the decisions we make in our careers. Still there are those that point fingers and criticise us, as though it's going to make them feel better about their own lives. But I don't think it will. Nope, I fear in the long run that constant judgement of others, when we should be concentrating on our own lives, will simply result in a lot of cynical and lonely old women.
This unattractive tendency we have to bitch about one another has got to stop. We should be supporting each other, standing tall in our stilettos and celebrating the fact that whilst we're not perfect, we are ourselves, each with the born right to choose our own paths and destinies. We each have the right to fuck up from time to time, and then to stand, dust ourselves down and try again. Life is not a competition. So please no more judgement.
Steph Xx
March 18, 2011
Love Thy Neighbour Ep. 3
HD, 4OD, 3D? Try 1D. One dimensional, that is :-)
Because when I thought we had to throw caution to the wind and invite the entire nation to judge us, in order to have a shot at securing a family home, I was a little confused. Of course what we were really doing was inviting you all to judge the Jay and Steph that Ch4 showed you last night. You know, Jay the wideboy sleazy salesman and Steph the shopaholic (ha, I should be so lucky!) shoeaholic airhead.
You see? One dimensional, pre-defined characters that were easily moulded to tick the box that Studio Lambert needed filling.
So in other words I'm Steph and I'm an unpaid actor, ('Where's my agent, get me my agent! Haha!')
Strictly speaking, (and believe me I am admitting this shame-faced) I wasn't 'acting' exactly. There is a part of me that likes to shop. And wear make-up. And buy shoes. (That would be the part of me that is FEMALE ;-) lol) But for the majority of the 48 minutes that we appeared on your TV screens last night, the other Steph and Jay, the one's you all know, were masked behind the couple C4 wanted us to be. ('Wymingtons answer to Posh & Becks'?! My goodness! I can't stand posh and becks! If I'm anything like her you might as well just shoot me down now... Can't say I'd necessarily kick him out of bed for making crumbs though! haha)
You've all been so lovely. So many lovely reassuring messages and kind comments and once again I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I am surrounded by so many truly wonderful friends and such a supportive family, I'm glad it appears we didn't let you guys down, but I'm still a *tiny, weeny bit cross with how the programme was edited to include only the stupid things that I said...
Where was my book? Where was the hour of footage they captured of me feeling like a plonker, sitting in my office typing rude things on my laptop? (I don't normally write rude words of course, it was just that rude words were all I could think of when they told me to start typing 'something, anything.') Where was my website? :-/ Where was the graphic-designing, video editing, audio recording cyber-chick Stephie?
Where was the footage of Jay outside with our chickens and ducks and bunnies? Where was the laughter and the cheeky comments we made to show that, when we were talking about colour co-ordination, fake tanning and such, it was all in jest?!
Naughty Channel4. Silly Steph & Jay.
That week, during which we were props in a show that calls itself 'reality' but instead is completely surreal, was one of the toughest experiences I have ever endured. And I've had some tough weeks. When they asked us why we wanted to win the house we told them we'd had a really shitty past three years and were desperate to secure a decent future for our family in a SAFE place that could help us restore our faith in community and human kindness. Instead they showed you all the clip where I said I liked 5* Hotels and Jay put two thumbs up and grinned his boy-band smile at the camera. Yep. Thanks for that.
Everytime you saw me crying on camera, (which actually made me cry to watch back! Soppy sod that I am!) I was crying because I'd been asked to divulge every single one of my innermost insecurities to the shows producers. 'Why don't you feel safe Steph? Are you worried your house might get broken into again Steph? Why do you think the villagers don't like your family Steph?'
It was like being back at school. Sitting next to the class stirrer, who smirks as she plants seeds of doubt, worry and anxiety into the minds of the most vulnerable kids in the playground. The bitch.
My entire core was exposed during that week, as was my husbands. We might as well have been naked for all we had on display. They pecked, and pecked and pecked away at us, questioning us for hours and hours until we crumbled and gave them more or less what they required to make an 'entertaining' show.
They asked me lots about Douglas Road and losing Harrison. But they didn't use any of it. Just the tears I couldn't stop crying, which looked a bit shallow without a valid explanation.
And poor Jay. His character was totally defined by his current job title. He sells things. He might as well have stood up and said he kills baby animals for the stick he got. No mention of what a wonderful father he is. How brave and strong and broad-shouldered he is. How he is the reason I didn't throw myself from any bridges back in the day, (it's okay, you can laugh, I'm practically 'sane' again now I promise.) I feel fiercely loyal and defensive when it comes to Jay, if he's upset I feel like my world could come crashing down. And just because he's from London and earns his crust by selling products doesn't mean he doesn't get upset by things.
We were sent one or two nasty messages after the show aired, from strangers who had been rooting for Kate and Corwen to win. (Kate and Corwen were, by the by, absolutely lovely people, we didn't think of them as our 'rivals' but instead the only other people who knew the intensity of the what we were all going through!) - The messages were really hurtful, but I guess I can't blame them, they merely fell prey to clever editing. I might have thought we were a bit shallow and materialistic too had I been watching through the eyes of a stranger.
I'm not going to have any regrets. Because apparently they don't work. (According to Robbie anyway) - I'm just going to embrace my husband and my children, pick myself up, dust us all down, keep calm and carry on.
So long as those of you, whose opinions we really value, still
Love to all, Thanks for reading!
Your Stephie x x x
Because when I thought we had to throw caution to the wind and invite the entire nation to judge us, in order to have a shot at securing a family home, I was a little confused. Of course what we were really doing was inviting you all to judge the Jay and Steph that Ch4 showed you last night. You know, Jay the wideboy sleazy salesman and Steph the shopaholic (ha, I should be so lucky!) shoeaholic airhead.
You see? One dimensional, pre-defined characters that were easily moulded to tick the box that Studio Lambert needed filling.
So in other words I'm Steph and I'm an unpaid actor, ('Where's my agent, get me my agent! Haha!')
Strictly speaking, (and believe me I am admitting this shame-faced) I wasn't 'acting' exactly. There is a part of me that likes to shop. And wear make-up. And buy shoes. (That would be the part of me that is FEMALE ;-) lol) But for the majority of the 48 minutes that we appeared on your TV screens last night, the other Steph and Jay, the one's you all know, were masked behind the couple C4 wanted us to be. ('Wymingtons answer to Posh & Becks'?! My goodness! I can't stand posh and becks! If I'm anything like her you might as well just shoot me down now... Can't say I'd necessarily kick him out of bed for making crumbs though! haha)
You've all been so lovely. So many lovely reassuring messages and kind comments and once again I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I am surrounded by so many truly wonderful friends and such a supportive family, I'm glad it appears we didn't let you guys down, but I'm still a *tiny, weeny bit cross with how the programme was edited to include only the stupid things that I said...
Where was my book? Where was the hour of footage they captured of me feeling like a plonker, sitting in my office typing rude things on my laptop? (I don't normally write rude words of course, it was just that rude words were all I could think of when they told me to start typing 'something, anything.') Where was my website? :-/ Where was the graphic-designing, video editing, audio recording cyber-chick Stephie?
Where was the footage of Jay outside with our chickens and ducks and bunnies? Where was the laughter and the cheeky comments we made to show that, when we were talking about colour co-ordination, fake tanning and such, it was all in jest?!
Naughty Channel4. Silly Steph & Jay.
That week, during which we were props in a show that calls itself 'reality' but instead is completely surreal, was one of the toughest experiences I have ever endured. And I've had some tough weeks. When they asked us why we wanted to win the house we told them we'd had a really shitty past three years and were desperate to secure a decent future for our family in a SAFE place that could help us restore our faith in community and human kindness. Instead they showed you all the clip where I said I liked 5* Hotels and Jay put two thumbs up and grinned his boy-band smile at the camera. Yep. Thanks for that.
Everytime you saw me crying on camera, (which actually made me cry to watch back! Soppy sod that I am!) I was crying because I'd been asked to divulge every single one of my innermost insecurities to the shows producers. 'Why don't you feel safe Steph? Are you worried your house might get broken into again Steph? Why do you think the villagers don't like your family Steph?'
It was like being back at school. Sitting next to the class stirrer, who smirks as she plants seeds of doubt, worry and anxiety into the minds of the most vulnerable kids in the playground. The bitch.
My entire core was exposed during that week, as was my husbands. We might as well have been naked for all we had on display. They pecked, and pecked and pecked away at us, questioning us for hours and hours until we crumbled and gave them more or less what they required to make an 'entertaining' show.
They asked me lots about Douglas Road and losing Harrison. But they didn't use any of it. Just the tears I couldn't stop crying, which looked a bit shallow without a valid explanation.
And poor Jay. His character was totally defined by his current job title. He sells things. He might as well have stood up and said he kills baby animals for the stick he got. No mention of what a wonderful father he is. How brave and strong and broad-shouldered he is. How he is the reason I didn't throw myself from any bridges back in the day, (it's okay, you can laugh, I'm practically 'sane' again now I promise.) I feel fiercely loyal and defensive when it comes to Jay, if he's upset I feel like my world could come crashing down. And just because he's from London and earns his crust by selling products doesn't mean he doesn't get upset by things.
We were sent one or two nasty messages after the show aired, from strangers who had been rooting for Kate and Corwen to win. (Kate and Corwen were, by the by, absolutely lovely people, we didn't think of them as our 'rivals' but instead the only other people who knew the intensity of the what we were all going through!) - The messages were really hurtful, but I guess I can't blame them, they merely fell prey to clever editing. I might have thought we were a bit shallow and materialistic too had I been watching through the eyes of a stranger.
I'm not going to have any regrets. Because apparently they don't work. (According to Robbie anyway) - I'm just going to embrace my husband and my children, pick myself up, dust us all down, keep calm and carry on.
So long as those of you, whose opinions we really value, still
Love to all, Thanks for reading!
Your Stephie x x x
March 14, 2011
Lights . . . Camera . . . (Almost!) ACTION!
4 Days to go. And if I had a pound for every message I've received informing me of this fact I'd be *surrounded by Jimmy Choo's shoes by now. (*Sort of.)
It's not like I need reminding, I've been trying to forget. But it seems that the rest of the nation is quite excited by our TV adventure, considerably more so than I am. :-/ And to think I thought none of you would care.
I guess I'd be excited too, if it was one of you I mean, alas none of you are quite as naive and silly as I am. :-/
Don't get me wrong, I'm anxious, but I'm not suicidal or anything. I'm not wanting the ground to open and swallow me whole, (though I probably will on Thursday.) In fact sometimes I experience a teeny tiny sensation that could almost be described as excitement, but then I hear a little voice in my head and a whole bunch of rocks appear in the pit of my stomach and bring me back to reality with a bit of a thud.
'Well she's very attractive and quite glamorous et cetera . . . But that doesn't count for much round here.'
Of course If I were a boy I'd probably be quite chuffed with this comment from one of the villagers of Grassington. I'd probably grin, shrug and be quite satisfied with the thought that someone said I was attractive on the telly. But I'm not a boy. I'm a girl. (Yes I am.) And everyone knows girls don't focus on the positive things people say. It's not in our genes to do so.
So I guess the villagers of Grassington had me down as just a pretty face? They should see me chasing my chickens, in wellies and PJ's, hair scraped back, mud flying . . . haha.
It's not really a big surprise to me that I've been portrayed as a bit of a ditzy bird. Because, (here's where you're supposed to feign shock!) I can be a little bit ditzy. (I messed about with bleach far too much as a teenager.) I hope people don't assume that that means I don't have a brain though, because if they do make that assumption I shall probably spend the rest of my life trying to prove otherwise, (which, let's face it, for a ditzy bird might just be a little too much effort . . . !)
The other day I had another random flashback, of my trying to navigate through Grassington square, negotiating, (badly) some kind of relations between my (very beautiful) stilettoed boots and the (also very beautiful) cobbled village streets. I think, though I cannot be sure, that I stumbled quite impressively, at least twice. On camera. (Okay ground, now you can open.)
I should stop moaning though, cos I'm not getting half as much grief as my darling husband Del Boy is. ;-) (It's okay Mum, Dad, it could have been worse. I could have married a 'Trigger'?!) hahahahaha!
Oh dear family and friends, please do accept my sincerest apologies in advance for what you are about to see. I hope you'll still love us come 10 o'clock on Thurs eve? And I hope we don't embarrass you too much.
And dear residents of Grassington, especially those of you who were really, really nice to our faces, if you have reason to believe C4 may have caught you accidentally slating Del and I or bitching about us behind our backs please do speak now...
Waterproof mascara and fluffy pillows at the ready. . . here goes nothin'!
Love to all
Stephie x x x
It's not like I need reminding, I've been trying to forget. But it seems that the rest of the nation is quite excited by our TV adventure, considerably more so than I am. :-/ And to think I thought none of you would care.
I guess I'd be excited too, if it was one of you I mean, alas none of you are quite as naive and silly as I am. :-/
Don't get me wrong, I'm anxious, but I'm not suicidal or anything. I'm not wanting the ground to open and swallow me whole, (though I probably will on Thursday.) In fact sometimes I experience a teeny tiny sensation that could almost be described as excitement, but then I hear a little voice in my head and a whole bunch of rocks appear in the pit of my stomach and bring me back to reality with a bit of a thud.
'Well she's very attractive and quite glamorous et cetera . . . But that doesn't count for much round here.'
Of course If I were a boy I'd probably be quite chuffed with this comment from one of the villagers of Grassington. I'd probably grin, shrug and be quite satisfied with the thought that someone said I was attractive on the telly. But I'm not a boy. I'm a girl. (Yes I am.) And everyone knows girls don't focus on the positive things people say. It's not in our genes to do so.
So I guess the villagers of Grassington had me down as just a pretty face? They should see me chasing my chickens, in wellies and PJ's, hair scraped back, mud flying . . . haha.
It's not really a big surprise to me that I've been portrayed as a bit of a ditzy bird. Because, (here's where you're supposed to feign shock!) I can be a little bit ditzy. (I messed about with bleach far too much as a teenager.) I hope people don't assume that that means I don't have a brain though, because if they do make that assumption I shall probably spend the rest of my life trying to prove otherwise, (which, let's face it, for a ditzy bird might just be a little too much effort . . . !)
The other day I had another random flashback, of my trying to navigate through Grassington square, negotiating, (badly) some kind of relations between my (very beautiful) stilettoed boots and the (also very beautiful) cobbled village streets. I think, though I cannot be sure, that I stumbled quite impressively, at least twice. On camera. (Okay ground, now you can open.)
I should stop moaning though, cos I'm not getting half as much grief as my darling husband Del Boy is. ;-) (It's okay Mum, Dad, it could have been worse. I could have married a 'Trigger'?!) hahahahaha!
Oh dear family and friends, please do accept my sincerest apologies in advance for what you are about to see. I hope you'll still love us come 10 o'clock on Thurs eve? And I hope we don't embarrass you too much.
And dear residents of Grassington, especially those of you who were really, really nice to our faces, if you have reason to believe C4 may have caught you accidentally slating Del and I or bitching about us behind our backs please do speak now...
Waterproof mascara and fluffy pillows at the ready. . . here goes nothin'!
Love to all
Stephie x x x
February 22, 2011
Of Twitter and Telly
"Think it's my birthday tomorrow though can't be sure. To be sure I'd have to know what day it is today. Which I don't. #sleepdeprivation :-/ "
- www.twitter.com/slc84
I'm hoping you'll forgive me, not only for paying you very little attention and not blogging for these past few weeks, but also for the inevitable lack of amusement or wit that I fear I will have to offer you in this blog post.
(And if this is your first visit to my little blog, you should know that normally I am obviously much funnier, wittier and generally more charming than the following ramble shall demonstrate. *Obviously. ;-) )
You see even with the addition of my brand new (very, very) smart phone, (which was an early b'day pressie from Mr. C – see, told you it was my Birthday sometime soon . . . ) I have yet to master the art of juggling my life into something a little more manageable, something that isn't whizzing by in a haze of, erm, 'blurriness.'
I'm not very witty at the moment, I can barely string a sentence together, my vocabulary is pants (for want of a better word,) and my brain is a little bit numb. So I ought not to waste too much of your time this evening.
My third and final Bambino, baby Mason Joshua, (or MJ as he's known to us,) is, as you've probably gathered, here at last! And boy was he worth the wait. I've recorded you guys a little vid, by way of introducing you to the new man in my life, hope you like it! (Ignore the commentary by the way, I hadn't realised how deranged I sound when talking to him. Lol)
His arrival was, thankfully, a very speedy one. Born here at home, on Mummy and Daddy's bed at 1:50am on Jan 13th, Mj was a respectable 9lb 4ounces, back-to-back, and yet the labour was probably the easiest of the three. (Feel free to send medals, or shoes!) The whole experience of homebirth was everything that I'd hoped for, and much more! But I won't rave about it today, (primarily because I'm typing this entry with a teeny-tiny person balanced on my knee and can't type one-handed) – perhaps I'll cover it at a later date? Or perhaps you'll have to get your mitts on a copy of my new book for all the gory details!
Of course in order to read my new book, (The Real Girls Guide to Growing a Baby,) I understand I shall have to actually finish writing it. (I don't know who's idea it was to write a book and grow a baby at the same time, but clearly it hasn't gone quite to plan.) So I'm being sensible. I'm taking a little official Maternity Leave, but I shall crack straight on again in a few weeks. I'll make the deadline. I promise.
Juggling three children, too many animals, a small business and the biggest writing project I've ever attempted, is no easy task, so I'm discovering. Especially when one of my babies has been knocked sideways by a bug from hell. Poor Leo, I'd never seen him look so rough; pale, skinny, dark circles under his eyes. He was unable to keep anything down, nothing at all, and subsequently several trips and overnight stays in the Childrens Ward were made last week.
It's heartbreaking to see children poorly, but thankfully he's fine now, our cheeky charmer. He's back toddling around the house, chattering away in his own little language and helping himself to all the food in the fridge whenever he feels inclined. God I love him. I love them all.
Lorelei goes to theatre school now every Saturday, and she loves it! She returns with new songs to add to her repertoire of tunes that she currently belts out at the crack of dawn for all to hear, (until I yell at her and ask her to sing elsewhere,) and she struts around in high heels (that's my girl) and various home-made costumes, speaking in an American accent and saying things like, 'Come on Leo, teeth-brushed, bot-bot and bed. Because that is how we roll.'
I think she's destined for stardom. That's where she appears to be heading anyway. Either way she always shines in her Mumma's eyes. J
So it would seem, what with Jays ambition to become a TV presenter, (is 30 too early to experience a mid-life crisis?! Haha!) that I'm the only one in this household that isn't destined for fame. And that's fine by me. Except that it might be a little late to suddenly declare myself the shy and retiring wall-flower-type.
I just saw an ad for our TV show and nearly wet myself. I'd sort of forgotten we were going to be on the telly. Until I just sat getting my Fairy Gok Mother Fix, as I do every Tuesday, and suddenly saw a whole bunch of people I recognise, in HD on our tv in our living room. Oh god.
The series starts next week on Channel4. That means that next week people will be able to add it to their Sky+ planners if they wish. And they'll be able to series link it. And then people, all sorts of people, will be able to watch it. And people that I don't even know will probably see me cry on telly. Bugger. It's going to be like that scene from Bridget Jones, when she slides down that Fireman's pole and knocks the cameraman out with her arse. Oh the shame.
Of course our episode isn't on for a few weeks yet, and it's the only one I don't want to watch. I'll definitely tune-in to see the experiences of our fellow contestants, we made some wonderful friends of both the other families and the villagers of Grassington, so I'm looking forward to seeing familiar faces on our screens. Yet when it comes to our own episode I'm not so keen. In fact I'd quite like to forbid family and friends from watching it, to save us from the embarrassment. Alas I know they won't pay any attention. Naughty bunch that they all are.
Instead Jay and I have decided to throw a little Premiere party and invite a bunch of our nearest and dearest over to watch the show with us. That way, we figured, they won't be able to poke fun at us behind our backs, and we can get the whole ordeal over and done with nice and quickly, like pulling off a plaster.
I'd love to tell you that I'll write again before the show airs, but that's probably not true. Not unless I receive a maid for my birthday or something. I'm just not able to find the time at the mo. But that doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you, sweet blog.
Please do keep in touch with me though. I'm a twit. That is I am a Twitterer. You know, I tweet and stuff. So you can follow me if you like? (Go on! I'll tweet funny stuff, i promise!) and of course you can catch me on Facebook too!
I'll be 27 by the time I blog next. So expect very mature stuff in the future ;-) Haha or perhaps not :-/
Love and best wishes to all,
Steph x
- www.twitter.com/slc84
I'm hoping you'll forgive me, not only for paying you very little attention and not blogging for these past few weeks, but also for the inevitable lack of amusement or wit that I fear I will have to offer you in this blog post.
(And if this is your first visit to my little blog, you should know that normally I am obviously much funnier, wittier and generally more charming than the following ramble shall demonstrate. *Obviously. ;-) )
You see even with the addition of my brand new (very, very) smart phone, (which was an early b'day pressie from Mr. C – see, told you it was my Birthday sometime soon . . . ) I have yet to master the art of juggling my life into something a little more manageable, something that isn't whizzing by in a haze of, erm, 'blurriness.'
I'm not very witty at the moment, I can barely string a sentence together, my vocabulary is pants (for want of a better word,) and my brain is a little bit numb. So I ought not to waste too much of your time this evening.
My third and final Bambino, baby Mason Joshua, (or MJ as he's known to us,) is, as you've probably gathered, here at last! And boy was he worth the wait. I've recorded you guys a little vid, by way of introducing you to the new man in my life, hope you like it! (Ignore the commentary by the way, I hadn't realised how deranged I sound when talking to him. Lol)
His arrival was, thankfully, a very speedy one. Born here at home, on Mummy and Daddy's bed at 1:50am on Jan 13th, Mj was a respectable 9lb 4ounces, back-to-back, and yet the labour was probably the easiest of the three. (Feel free to send medals, or shoes!) The whole experience of homebirth was everything that I'd hoped for, and much more! But I won't rave about it today, (primarily because I'm typing this entry with a teeny-tiny person balanced on my knee and can't type one-handed) – perhaps I'll cover it at a later date? Or perhaps you'll have to get your mitts on a copy of my new book for all the gory details!
Of course in order to read my new book, (The Real Girls Guide to Growing a Baby,) I understand I shall have to actually finish writing it. (I don't know who's idea it was to write a book and grow a baby at the same time, but clearly it hasn't gone quite to plan.) So I'm being sensible. I'm taking a little official Maternity Leave, but I shall crack straight on again in a few weeks. I'll make the deadline. I promise.
Juggling three children, too many animals, a small business and the biggest writing project I've ever attempted, is no easy task, so I'm discovering. Especially when one of my babies has been knocked sideways by a bug from hell. Poor Leo, I'd never seen him look so rough; pale, skinny, dark circles under his eyes. He was unable to keep anything down, nothing at all, and subsequently several trips and overnight stays in the Childrens Ward were made last week.
It's heartbreaking to see children poorly, but thankfully he's fine now, our cheeky charmer. He's back toddling around the house, chattering away in his own little language and helping himself to all the food in the fridge whenever he feels inclined. God I love him. I love them all.
Lorelei goes to theatre school now every Saturday, and she loves it! She returns with new songs to add to her repertoire of tunes that she currently belts out at the crack of dawn for all to hear, (until I yell at her and ask her to sing elsewhere,) and she struts around in high heels (that's my girl) and various home-made costumes, speaking in an American accent and saying things like, 'Come on Leo, teeth-brushed, bot-bot and bed. Because that is how we roll.'
I think she's destined for stardom. That's where she appears to be heading anyway. Either way she always shines in her Mumma's eyes. J
So it would seem, what with Jays ambition to become a TV presenter, (is 30 too early to experience a mid-life crisis?! Haha!) that I'm the only one in this household that isn't destined for fame. And that's fine by me. Except that it might be a little late to suddenly declare myself the shy and retiring wall-flower-type.
I just saw an ad for our TV show and nearly wet myself. I'd sort of forgotten we were going to be on the telly. Until I just sat getting my Fairy Gok Mother Fix, as I do every Tuesday, and suddenly saw a whole bunch of people I recognise, in HD on our tv in our living room. Oh god.
The series starts next week on Channel4. That means that next week people will be able to add it to their Sky+ planners if they wish. And they'll be able to series link it. And then people, all sorts of people, will be able to watch it. And people that I don't even know will probably see me cry on telly. Bugger. It's going to be like that scene from Bridget Jones, when she slides down that Fireman's pole and knocks the cameraman out with her arse. Oh the shame.
Of course our episode isn't on for a few weeks yet, and it's the only one I don't want to watch. I'll definitely tune-in to see the experiences of our fellow contestants, we made some wonderful friends of both the other families and the villagers of Grassington, so I'm looking forward to seeing familiar faces on our screens. Yet when it comes to our own episode I'm not so keen. In fact I'd quite like to forbid family and friends from watching it, to save us from the embarrassment. Alas I know they won't pay any attention. Naughty bunch that they all are.
Instead Jay and I have decided to throw a little Premiere party and invite a bunch of our nearest and dearest over to watch the show with us. That way, we figured, they won't be able to poke fun at us behind our backs, and we can get the whole ordeal over and done with nice and quickly, like pulling off a plaster.
I'd love to tell you that I'll write again before the show airs, but that's probably not true. Not unless I receive a maid for my birthday or something. I'm just not able to find the time at the mo. But that doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you, sweet blog.
Please do keep in touch with me though. I'm a twit. That is I am a Twitterer. You know, I tweet and stuff. So you can follow me if you like? (Go on! I'll tweet funny stuff, i promise!) and of course you can catch me on Facebook too!
I'll be 27 by the time I blog next. So expect very mature stuff in the future ;-) Haha or perhaps not :-/
Love and best wishes to all,
Steph x
January 11, 2011
F.A.O 2011, Love Steph x
Dearest 2011.
What a pleasure it has been, becoming acquainted with you these past 11 days. Granted my sense of enthusiasm and excitement may have not been immediately apparent to you, because I must confess I have been, what you might call, a miserable bitch for most of this new year. Alas I'd just like you to know that my generally stroppy disposition is by no means a reflection on how I feel about you. I promise.
I didn't greet you the way that I usually greet the New Year. Usually, I would have wobbly welcomed you, toasting gleefully with a bottle of bud in one hand, and someone to kiss, (usually my husband) in the other. I would have cheered loudly and attempted a little leap of joy in heels purchased especially for the occasion. And then, like everybody else in the country I would have sang the mandatory 'Old Mans Eye' song, without any idea what the actual lyrics are, (despite my singing it annually for at least 15 years or so.)
Later I may well have thrown up a little, confessed my undying love for a taxi driver and then vowed to give up something that I seriously had very little intentions of quitting. Like eating or breathing, or shopping. And I would have tumbled into my bed where I would have stayed until lunchtime on New Years Day at the very least.
When you arrived however things were extremely different. I woke, for example not with a hangover but with a feeling of ultimate anticipation.
And every day since then I have woken feeling the same.
'Will today be the day he chooses as his Birthday?' I wonder. And this thought is swiftly followed by, 'is it possible to die from impatience?!'
Because, (and I'm hoping for lots and lots of sympathy with this next statement, preferably in the forms of chocolate, money and shoes,) the latest addition to our little brood is officially 2 whole days past his due date and never before has my patience been tested so.
You see, 2011, I hadn't expected my body to still be housing our creation under your reign at all. I'd had so many signs and signals that 'L' day was fast approaching, that I seriously would have bet my last Rolo on this little bundle being a 2010 baby. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I'd still be sat here, with a bump like a bowling ball and a squirmy, wriggly little person bobbing about upside-down in there.
My naughty body has teased and tormented me for the past 3 weeks with all the signs under the sun. And it's got to the point where I now feel exhausted, tortured and beyond sorry for myself. And this show hasn't even begun.
I'm trying to be positive. I try to remind myself of how lucky I am to be awaiting one of the most magical moments a woman can ever experience. I think about how many women would kill to be where I am right now, about to meet one of the most precious human beings that will ever touch my life. Some people wait a lifetime, I've got just a week or so at the most.
Well I am counting my blessings, I promise I am. Yet that doesn't mean I'm not entitled to have a little moan. After all I am a pregnant woman, and moaning kinda comes with the territory.
So here we are, my little family and I, once again on the brink of another life-changing scenario. It seems so surreal, but so exciting all the same.
Actually I have a sneaky suspicion that you're going to bring many changes to our lives this year. By the time you leave us, our world will probably once again be in another dimension. Who knows where we'll be?
I'm bracing myself, but I'm not scared. On the contrary, I'm kinda getting used to the adventure that's also known as, 'Stephs life.'
It's pretty obvious to me now, at nearly 27, that it's doubtful I'm going to get the simple, laid-back, run-of-the-mill, 'normal' life that I've always craved. I'm just not that kinda person. Some people go through life existing on the correct amount of oxygen, requiring little more that the ability to breathe evenly, in and out. I'm the kinda girl that often needs reminding how to breathe properly. ('In through the nose, out through the mouth,' Jay often has to tell me.)
I think I'll probably always be in pursuit of the kind of security I've craved since I was a little girl, and life will probably always keep me on my toes, (though hopefully those toes shall always be adorned in gorgeous shoes!) But I have my man and my babies, and a gal really can't ask for more than that can she? (Especially when said man and babies really are adorable!)
We had such an adventure at the end of last year, my family and I. I think it was possibly the only adventure we have ever consciously and willingly volunteered ourselves to face. I've wanted to blog about it for months now, I'm dying to document it all, to capture the intensity of our experience on paper in my own words, before it escapes my mind and I forget exactly how crazy the entire experience was.
But for fear of being thrown into Reality TV jail for being in breech of contract I can't spill just yet. (I don't like to be naughty and orange really isn't my colour!)
I don't know whether it was an act of bravery or just a phase of foolishness, that we, Mr. C and I (with lots of encouragement from our little lady, whom it would seem is destined for stardom anyway,) opted to put ourselves forward for a TV adventure. But some opportunities just need to be grabbed, and we would have undoubtedly regretted it if we'd declined the chance.
By the time it was all over though I felt like the most exposed being in the world. Like a nudey-dudey plucked chicken, stuffed and oven-ready and feeling a little bit silly for strutting around these last few weeks being so cock-sure.
It was like I'd had layer upon layer of my character removed, scrubbed and analysed, until my very core was left cold and vulnerable for the world to see. I'd cried away my dignity, pushed myself to the limit, leapt far from my 'comfort zone' and invited the world in to witness the entire ordeal under the façade of 'Entertainment.'
And actually, now that I've typed all that I feel a bit of a wally for taking part in the first place.
I'm a total reality TV junkie. I love it! I find human beings and the way we conduct ourselves, communicate and interact with one another absolutely fascinating. So I watch them all, but I especially love the shows with 'normal' people and not just celebs.
I've always said that I would never want to be famous, because I'd never want to be judged. Or rather I'd never want to be judged and subsequently disliked, for whatever reason. But I'd never given a minutes thought to the fact that whilst this show will doubtfully catapult us into the world of the rich and famous, somebody out there will probably watch, and much the same as I would, will probably spend the entire programme judging us. And therefore somebody, somewhere will probably watch, judge and conclude to dislike us. And that thought makes me sad.
We have no idea how we're gonna be perceived. We don't know how the show will be edited. And so I find myself constantly replaying scenes back in my head, trying to find the angle from which the shows producers will take. I hope they don't include the scene where I slipped in the mud and fell on my arse on the dales. Or the bit where Jay had to gut a rabbit and bring it home to me. Or the time when we had a 'discussion' in the pub and Jay started to really piss me off, so I tried to send him telepathic messages telling him to shut up, but he didn't, because he just doesn't have the magic powers that I do. J
We don't know how many people will watch our adventure either? Other than our friends and family I mean. It could go unnoticed? Or be viewed by the entire country? We could be in 'Heat' magazine? Or be invited to Elton John's 'White Tie and Tiara Ball'? Or be given our own show like Richard & Judy? (Oh dear! Think I'm getting carried away again!) Ah well, whatever happens I'm going to try not to regret it. Instead it shall be an experience that I shall file away under the term 'Character-building,' with all the other strange things I've done in my life.
This time last year I created a list of aspirations, of things that I wanted to achieve in 2010. They were mostly normal things, like losing weight, being healthier, helping to look after orang-utans in Borneo, sponsoring a roundabout. That kind of thing.
One of the things was to audition for the 'X-Factor' (not that I'm a fan of the show, I'm not really, just have this bizarre ambition to be in receipt of one of Simon Cowell's legendary winks.)
I didn't do it, (though my gorgeous Lorelei auditioned for Britains Got Talent in Dec (we'll find out the results in Feb/March time)) but if you'd have told me that instead I'd be taking part in a reality TV show for C4 I would have laughed and told you not to be so daft.
Likewise if you'd told me that I would be beginning 2011 not-so-patiently awaiting the impending arrival of my third child I would never have believed it. We weren't planning on having any more babies. We didn't want to push our luck. Yet here we are, eager and excited and desperate to meet the little person who will one day call us, 'Mumma and Dadda'
You see 2011, your predecessor proved to be quite the little trickster. So what, pray, will you have hidden up your sleeves?
Only time will tell J
Love & Best Wishes to everyone reading!
Steph x
What a pleasure it has been, becoming acquainted with you these past 11 days. Granted my sense of enthusiasm and excitement may have not been immediately apparent to you, because I must confess I have been, what you might call, a miserable bitch for most of this new year. Alas I'd just like you to know that my generally stroppy disposition is by no means a reflection on how I feel about you. I promise.
I didn't greet you the way that I usually greet the New Year. Usually, I would have wobbly welcomed you, toasting gleefully with a bottle of bud in one hand, and someone to kiss, (usually my husband) in the other. I would have cheered loudly and attempted a little leap of joy in heels purchased especially for the occasion. And then, like everybody else in the country I would have sang the mandatory 'Old Mans Eye' song, without any idea what the actual lyrics are, (despite my singing it annually for at least 15 years or so.)
Later I may well have thrown up a little, confessed my undying love for a taxi driver and then vowed to give up something that I seriously had very little intentions of quitting. Like eating or breathing, or shopping. And I would have tumbled into my bed where I would have stayed until lunchtime on New Years Day at the very least.
When you arrived however things were extremely different. I woke, for example not with a hangover but with a feeling of ultimate anticipation.
And every day since then I have woken feeling the same.
'Will today be the day he chooses as his Birthday?' I wonder. And this thought is swiftly followed by, 'is it possible to die from impatience?!'
Because, (and I'm hoping for lots and lots of sympathy with this next statement, preferably in the forms of chocolate, money and shoes,) the latest addition to our little brood is officially 2 whole days past his due date and never before has my patience been tested so.
You see, 2011, I hadn't expected my body to still be housing our creation under your reign at all. I'd had so many signs and signals that 'L' day was fast approaching, that I seriously would have bet my last Rolo on this little bundle being a 2010 baby. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I'd still be sat here, with a bump like a bowling ball and a squirmy, wriggly little person bobbing about upside-down in there.
My naughty body has teased and tormented me for the past 3 weeks with all the signs under the sun. And it's got to the point where I now feel exhausted, tortured and beyond sorry for myself. And this show hasn't even begun.
I'm trying to be positive. I try to remind myself of how lucky I am to be awaiting one of the most magical moments a woman can ever experience. I think about how many women would kill to be where I am right now, about to meet one of the most precious human beings that will ever touch my life. Some people wait a lifetime, I've got just a week or so at the most.
Well I am counting my blessings, I promise I am. Yet that doesn't mean I'm not entitled to have a little moan. After all I am a pregnant woman, and moaning kinda comes with the territory.
So here we are, my little family and I, once again on the brink of another life-changing scenario. It seems so surreal, but so exciting all the same.
Actually I have a sneaky suspicion that you're going to bring many changes to our lives this year. By the time you leave us, our world will probably once again be in another dimension. Who knows where we'll be?
I'm bracing myself, but I'm not scared. On the contrary, I'm kinda getting used to the adventure that's also known as, 'Stephs life.'
It's pretty obvious to me now, at nearly 27, that it's doubtful I'm going to get the simple, laid-back, run-of-the-mill, 'normal' life that I've always craved. I'm just not that kinda person. Some people go through life existing on the correct amount of oxygen, requiring little more that the ability to breathe evenly, in and out. I'm the kinda girl that often needs reminding how to breathe properly. ('In through the nose, out through the mouth,' Jay often has to tell me.)
I think I'll probably always be in pursuit of the kind of security I've craved since I was a little girl, and life will probably always keep me on my toes, (though hopefully those toes shall always be adorned in gorgeous shoes!) But I have my man and my babies, and a gal really can't ask for more than that can she? (Especially when said man and babies really are adorable!)
We had such an adventure at the end of last year, my family and I. I think it was possibly the only adventure we have ever consciously and willingly volunteered ourselves to face. I've wanted to blog about it for months now, I'm dying to document it all, to capture the intensity of our experience on paper in my own words, before it escapes my mind and I forget exactly how crazy the entire experience was.
But for fear of being thrown into Reality TV jail for being in breech of contract I can't spill just yet. (I don't like to be naughty and orange really isn't my colour!)
I don't know whether it was an act of bravery or just a phase of foolishness, that we, Mr. C and I (with lots of encouragement from our little lady, whom it would seem is destined for stardom anyway,) opted to put ourselves forward for a TV adventure. But some opportunities just need to be grabbed, and we would have undoubtedly regretted it if we'd declined the chance.
By the time it was all over though I felt like the most exposed being in the world. Like a nudey-dudey plucked chicken, stuffed and oven-ready and feeling a little bit silly for strutting around these last few weeks being so cock-sure.
It was like I'd had layer upon layer of my character removed, scrubbed and analysed, until my very core was left cold and vulnerable for the world to see. I'd cried away my dignity, pushed myself to the limit, leapt far from my 'comfort zone' and invited the world in to witness the entire ordeal under the façade of 'Entertainment.'
And actually, now that I've typed all that I feel a bit of a wally for taking part in the first place.
I'm a total reality TV junkie. I love it! I find human beings and the way we conduct ourselves, communicate and interact with one another absolutely fascinating. So I watch them all, but I especially love the shows with 'normal' people and not just celebs.
I've always said that I would never want to be famous, because I'd never want to be judged. Or rather I'd never want to be judged and subsequently disliked, for whatever reason. But I'd never given a minutes thought to the fact that whilst this show will doubtfully catapult us into the world of the rich and famous, somebody out there will probably watch, and much the same as I would, will probably spend the entire programme judging us. And therefore somebody, somewhere will probably watch, judge and conclude to dislike us. And that thought makes me sad.
We have no idea how we're gonna be perceived. We don't know how the show will be edited. And so I find myself constantly replaying scenes back in my head, trying to find the angle from which the shows producers will take. I hope they don't include the scene where I slipped in the mud and fell on my arse on the dales. Or the bit where Jay had to gut a rabbit and bring it home to me. Or the time when we had a 'discussion' in the pub and Jay started to really piss me off, so I tried to send him telepathic messages telling him to shut up, but he didn't, because he just doesn't have the magic powers that I do. J
We don't know how many people will watch our adventure either? Other than our friends and family I mean. It could go unnoticed? Or be viewed by the entire country? We could be in 'Heat' magazine? Or be invited to Elton John's 'White Tie and Tiara Ball'? Or be given our own show like Richard & Judy? (Oh dear! Think I'm getting carried away again!) Ah well, whatever happens I'm going to try not to regret it. Instead it shall be an experience that I shall file away under the term 'Character-building,' with all the other strange things I've done in my life.
This time last year I created a list of aspirations, of things that I wanted to achieve in 2010. They were mostly normal things, like losing weight, being healthier, helping to look after orang-utans in Borneo, sponsoring a roundabout. That kind of thing.
One of the things was to audition for the 'X-Factor' (not that I'm a fan of the show, I'm not really, just have this bizarre ambition to be in receipt of one of Simon Cowell's legendary winks.)
I didn't do it, (though my gorgeous Lorelei auditioned for Britains Got Talent in Dec (we'll find out the results in Feb/March time)) but if you'd have told me that instead I'd be taking part in a reality TV show for C4 I would have laughed and told you not to be so daft.
Likewise if you'd told me that I would be beginning 2011 not-so-patiently awaiting the impending arrival of my third child I would never have believed it. We weren't planning on having any more babies. We didn't want to push our luck. Yet here we are, eager and excited and desperate to meet the little person who will one day call us, 'Mumma and Dadda'
You see 2011, your predecessor proved to be quite the little trickster. So what, pray, will you have hidden up your sleeves?
Only time will tell J
Love & Best Wishes to everyone reading!
Steph x
January 7, 2011
Bambino Numero 3
[image error]To view this photo slideshow you need to have Flash Player 9 or newer installed and JavaScript enabled. This photo album was created with PhotoSnack.~Maternity Photoshoot December 2010~
September 23, 2010
Letting the Cat outta the Prada
My gorgeous friends, family and followers,
I've been a tease. And for that I apologise, but you see really it was impressive that I didn't just blurt out my big secret months ago, after all, you know what I'm like with secrets. (I can't be trusted with them, because even with the best of intentions I find I develop some kind of strange form of truth-tourettes whereby I accidentally divulge all secret information with such childlike enthusiasm and spontaneity. Honestly I think I used up a...
I've been a tease. And for that I apologise, but you see really it was impressive that I didn't just blurt out my big secret months ago, after all, you know what I'm like with secrets. (I can't be trusted with them, because even with the best of intentions I find I develop some kind of strange form of truth-tourettes whereby I accidentally divulge all secret information with such childlike enthusiasm and spontaneity. Honestly I think I used up a...
July 28, 2010
Three is the magic number
Just a quick post today to update you all and thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your kind messages, thoughts, love and support over this past week or so.
I'm shattered right now, totally drained, so I'm gonna keep this short 'n; sweet :-)
Firstly we are absolutely delighted to let you all know that this afternoons scan revealed a very happy and healthy bubba in our oven!
Bambino numero three is totally PERFECT!
With 8 fingers (2 thumbs!) and 10 toes and a precious little face...
I'm shattered right now, totally drained, so I'm gonna keep this short 'n; sweet :-)
Firstly we are absolutely delighted to let you all know that this afternoons scan revealed a very happy and healthy bubba in our oven!
Bambino numero three is totally PERFECT!
With 8 fingers (2 thumbs!) and 10 toes and a precious little face...
July 21, 2010
Pissing on Fireworks
Everyone who knows me knows I can be very sentimental. (N.B Sentimental not Slightly Mental, though the latter is quite appropriate at the moment.) I always have been and I imagine I always will be.
Tokens of my past, old gig tickets, photographs, christmas cards and newspapers from decades ago lay standing the test of time in boxes and boxes that I've accumulated over the years. Anything that reminds me of something, anything that means anything at all to me, is preserved never to be...
Tokens of my past, old gig tickets, photographs, christmas cards and newspapers from decades ago lay standing the test of time in boxes and boxes that I've accumulated over the years. Anything that reminds me of something, anything that means anything at all to me, is preserved never to be...
June 23, 2010
A little news :-)
I remember time ago our tale had just begun
With a union of two hearts, soon to beat as one.
When Cupid struck and took aim to fire
Upon a Girl and Fella,
And pupils locked and hands entwined
With a union of two hearts, soon to beat as one.
When Cupid struck and took aim to fire
Upon a Girl and Fella,
And pupils locked and hands entwined
