Religion/Motivation

I have made many a light-hearted jibe about Christianity  (or religion in general) on this blog.
I cannot bring myself, though, to say I'm an Atheist.. Mainly because I'm under-educated.

I choose not to read books which suggest the Bible is full of shit, because any book can be full of shit, including a book suggesting the Bible is full of shit (and I'm guessing that the enlightened among you are thinking that makes me highly ignorant for saying that, and you'd be right).

When I was around 12 years old, I went through what must have been a pre-teen crisis. I decided to seek out attention in a variety of ways, one of which was to be baptised. My mother purposely chose not to have my brother or me Christened as babies.

Anther attention-seeking activity included spraying my hair with 2 bottles of Sun-In (peroxide) turning it a rusty-iron colour. Team that hair colour with a giant blue shirt belonging to my dad, a marker-pen thick slick of eyeliner, and a very tight, very long black skirt, and I'm ready for my school photo.

The baptism was an anti-climax. Bible study classes were boring, and any questions I asked the vicar were answered with "read the Bible - you'll find all the answers".

I did read the Bible, it's a good read, I wrote down a lot of the quotes and still have the book. Alongside crude drawings of  dresses I had designed, are quotes like "I will bless those who bless you, and curse those who curse you".
I suppose a lot of what appealed to me at the time centred around 'love'. I've yet to meet an Atheist who believes love doesn't exist (outside the survival of the human race realm).

Sitting on the fence with regards to religion is not something I'm proud about. Having said that, I struggle to commit to anything because I challenge every fleeting thought, suggestion by others, idea, action, feeling....

Get a group of people together in any setting, and a loud-mouth control freak with an army of followers, a rebel, and a quiet outsider will emerge.

In the workplace, there will always be someone who talks a good game, captivates everyone, but does very little else. What motivates people to shy away or follow?


Religion aside, I found this video interesting. If you can bear to spare ten minutes, I know that is a MASSIVE amount of time in internet terms. Maybe like a six hour shift at a components factory with no toilet break

Deep question, perhaps...but, what motivates you to perform well?

Blogging?
Money?
Religion?

I would put my motivtion down to a quest to find 'the answer' and I know I'll never find it. Even though I don't doubt for a second that the answer is 42. yes,  Sarah - you said it best.


Who judges whether or not we perform well?  Think about those clever little bankers....

And NOTHING Happened

The clock ticks are all I hear.

Boys all upstairs, Rob asleep on the sofa ( he's poorly). I've just finished my dinner, some of it landed on Liam's hoodie, I was cold, so put it on straight from the washing line - back in the wash basket it'll go tonight.

Twilight, between daylight and darkness, I've yet to switch on the lamps. My eyes itch, pollen and mascara falling out with each other. I still have my shoes on, I'll keep them on because the bathroom floor is still wet and I hate soggy socks. 

I'm thinking about the robbery which took place at the corner shop last night. The shopkeeper was forced to hand over cash at knife point, a second robber was brandishing a hammer. I'm also thinking about my greasy hair, I  feel about as attractive as Olive from On The Buses lately.

Olive, that's me, that is

The living room was just bathed  a lime-green glow, as if a filter had been put on a giant torch.  Quite soothing. I wonder if I'll ever have a 'sitting room' or a 'drawing room'. Standing only in this room, I'm afraid, and don't even THINK about doodling in any of my rooms. Lounge is an awful word, just like 'turbo' and 'greet'. I overheard a lady in IKEA say that she wanted a "chayze LOUNGE" once. I never wet back to IKEA.

I'm off now, I was so very bored. I typed loads of stuff and deleted it. Too personal.

Sometimes you spend all day looking forward to some peace and quiet, and when you get it, it deafens you.

Has anybody got anything interesting to share!?

In defence of daytime TV

I have a confession to make. During the wet, cold miserably grey days this past fortnight, I have succumbed to the horror of daytime TV. 

For 3 days each week, I looked after my niece and left the TV on from The Jeremy Kyle Show, through to This Morning and then, horror of horrors Loose Women. 

For those not familiar with these shows (don't live in Britain; too educated/middle class/got better things to do [like, work]) I'll try to briefly explain the formats of these shows...

The Jeremy Kyle Show - short-arsed former gambling addict, Kyle, uses his narcissism and overblown self-righteousness to deride, ridicule, anger and embarrass unfortunate people. 

Kyle's guests are usually unemployed, young, have poor communication skills and zero self-esteem. 

This Morning - 'national-treasure' Philip Schofield and 'the girl everyone wants to be' Holly Willoughby,  pretend to be interested in a variety of has-beens/minor celebrities' latest book or project (I'm looking at you, Denise Van Outen and Terry Wogan). 

They talk about the soaps, taste a meal cooked by a celebrity chef (it's always 'gorgeous' or 'amazing') and a fashion expert will host a feature on this season's MUST HAVE dresses/shoes.
"This costs just fifty-two nine-nine". 

What's wrong with 'ninety-nine?'

Loose Women - OK, my blog name is a take on the phrase - I apologise.

 Four women off the telly discuss topical news items, let minor celebrity guests promote things, and offer  'hilarious' insights into life. 

The four women 'celebrity' hosts will invariably be very sarcastic about men, look past their best, and are inexperienced regarding the topics they discuss. Like Kyle, they'll be brimming with a sense of self-importance:

"I'd NEVER choose drugs over my kids"

Maybe, but you'd get your jugs out on a low budget reality show in a pool with a bloke half your age?

Why watch them then? Er, I don't really know...

...I was moved to tears by one story on Jeremy Kyle. Two men met online and got very close over a period of a year. 

They met, fell madly and deeply in love (they lived quite a distance from each other) and formed a relationship.

It turned out they were half brothers. The heartbreak, shock and devastation was clear to see:

On This Morning I was fascinated by Tourette's sufferer Jess Thom.

Excuse the Daily Mail Link but you can hear her Radio 4 interview (and the obvious Tourette's symptoms) by clicking on it. 

Her website brilliantly celebrates Tourette's Syndrome.

I loved her self-depreciating humour and positive outlook. Despite continuously punching herself in the chest and saying 'biscuit' at least twice in every sentence, she's engaging and articulate (unlike Kyle's usual guests).

Highlights of Loose Women? 

Realising there's still a bit of time to enjoy myself before becoming an over-eye shadowed embittered thrice-divorced whining boiler (finger's crossed).

Grammar School

Friday, I remember when Fridays meant the working week was over.The week doesn't really have a beginning or end these days. Mondays and Fridays are 'free'  (between 9 and 3) but I usually have to fit in shopping, ironing cleaning and crap things like that on those days.

Today, I joined 3 friends (Helen, Meryem and Gail)  for lunch at Wetherspoons (pub chain). I have a sinus and chest infection, and didn't want to go. It's so dark in there, and the food isn't worth bothering with, if you ask me. I'm happy to just drink tea.
When we arrived, I was overcome by fresh paint fumes, it reeked and tightened my chest further.

The customers were either ageing chaps with mild to severe alcohol dependency and a penchant for sportswear   teamed with Elizabeth Duke jewellery, or young ladies with babies and bloated toddlers.

One baby looked as though he'd been born that morning, smaller than any of my children were at birth. The mother sat texting and knocking back pints of coke, rocking the pram with her foot every time the baby whimpered.

I enjoyed the conversation, we discussed the decline of literacy skills in today's youth.Keshling shared her thoughts on the matter recently too.

Last year, Gail set up a project to help high school students improve their writing skills, and is now employed by the education department to deliver the scheme.

It appears that lot of teachers no longer demand proper use of grammar and punctuation. I'm not sure where I stand,  but I do get irritated by this kind of thing (it's not very clear, but there's an apostrophe after every word; Banana's Potatoe's etc) :

Lucy Stare's at Clare's Pear's 

Poor grammar is unacceptable when its on show to the general public.Definitely. Poor spelling doesn't bother me too much, unless the wrong word is used 'their' instead of 'they're' for example. 

I refuse to get hung up on poor spelling, punctuation and grammar because my basic arithmetic skills leave a lot to be desired. Both my mum and oldest son struggle with spelling, but both have excellent mental arithmetic skills. Maybe our brains are faulty on opposing sides.

At the bar in Wetherspoons, a horrible man who knows my parents approached me. I only know he's horrible because an ex-partner of his told my mother she'd been dragged around the room by her pubic hair by him during one of his violent rages. Appalling.

 'Charm' personified, he touched my arm (urgh) and asked lots of questions. I felt like swatting him away like a fly. As a parting shot, he asked about a mutual friend of my dad and his - 

"I haven't seen him in ages, I've had a few textses off him though" he said.

TEXTES? TEXT'S? TEXTSIS? 

How do you spell a word that doesn't exist. Maybe if you're going to be a bit over-zealous with apostrophes, you should be using them in speech. "I've been to Marks's for my trifle. We'll have a few wine's later and watch Eastender's"

One of my best friends, Rosa, is responsible for sending me the most hilarious text messages. Though she cannot spell or punctuate to save her life, her typed messages to me perfectly convey the chaos and drama which her life is always filled with.   

"My father lost his teeth in ponty he dunno if he took them out to eat his fish or if he never put them in at house. I'm runnin round town lookin for teeth and I gotta go to the hospital to see my friend who broke her leg. Some fuckin weekend I'm avin. Ow are you luv?"

I love it because that's how she speaks, it's instantly recognisable. 

My mother sends quite long text messages now, things like "what are you doing today?". When she first started texting, it was mainly to let me know where she was with Liam when I was leaving work. They would be one of the following:

PARK

HOUSE

MINE
TOWN

Not as good as my friend's father, who didn't know how to put spaces in text messages:

How+are+you+hope+to+see+you+soonx

My text messages frustrate some people because they're so long-winded. I don't abbreviate anything, use loads of brackets and dashes (like my blog posts) and often forget to add the obligatory 'kiss' at the end.

I can't think of Rosa without remembering the funniest (in my opinion) insult EVER.

Rosa has a real love-hate relationship with her older sister, and they're both very glamorous. 

About 12 years ago, Rosa went to Ibiza with a friend, spent the week drinking and eating, and had put on a tiny bit of weight. She didn't have a boyfriend at the time, and had a very deep tan. During an argument with Rosa about a stretched t-shirt, Tina exclaimed "Fuck off you fat orange LESBIAN".

All texts to Rosa start with "how are you, my fat orange lesbian friend?".

Her husband has tired of the joke.

Hope you all have a great weekend. Feel free to try and top that insult, and point out my errors.

I am OK

I decided against asking a doctor for help to stop me feeling sad. I guessed I'd eventually feel sadder for taking tablets. I'm pretty sure I'm not clinically depressed. It's my lifestyle getting me down. Eating too much, exercising too little, few interests outside the home...

I sat with Clare on Sunday morning and wrote a five-year plan. It pains me to admit it, sounds like something I would laugh at.
It wasn't a pointless task, as I thought it may have been. I realised how many things were in my reach. How many small steps I can make to improve my 'well-being'.

On Saturday morning, I was delighted to receive a surprise package from Curtise. The scarf reminds me of the blog header. The turquoise bangle is the missing twin of my black one - how sweet. There were also purple tights in the package, which I wore today with my 'new' granny shoes. Don't you just love it when someone describes your outfit, or a meal you've prepared as 'interesting'?
That's what I was told about both recently. "Shit shoes and unpalatable meal Lucy". That's whatyou WANTED to say, isn't it?

Thanks Curtise - you got my weekend off to a brilliant start with your kindness.

So, this week, I started to clear my wardrobe.My wardrobe rail had buckled with the weight of all my coats, I was forced to get rid of 50% of my clothes.

 I will be giving lots of these clothes away very soon - I'll photograph some of the items and my readers can have first dibs (what does 'dibs' mean?).

I spoke to a blogger who has been following me since the start - she was as lovely as her blog. Swore more than I imagined, but in a posh voice (!).

I volunteered my services at the local Women's Aid.

I started a short story for a magazine competition. I baked a lot.

Most importantly, I resumed running after a sedentary fortnight.

I wore a light rain jacket, it belongs to Liam. It's a garish garment, I look awful in it, but with the exception of trainers and lycra trousers, I refuse to shell out on special running clothes.

Vicky and Charmaine are graceful, dainty ladies who wear size 6-8 clothes. We met up to run together.
They wore coordinated lycra running clothes and looked every inch the fit, lithe sporty type.
I was dreading the run, I knew I'd wheeze and struggle, and imagined every passer-by thinking "look at that poor fat lady  trying to keep up with those skinny girls".

We ran along a cycle track, dodging dogs and their turds, inhaling the odd gnat,  commented about it being nice to get out of the house, escape the children for a while.
By the time we were back on the main road, after about a mile and a half, Vicky spotted a former running partner of hers, he stopped to talk. I don't like stopping when I run. He told us about   completing the London marathon, introduced his girlfriend, who looked less than pleased about running with him, and about talking to us.
She seemed to warm to me, the most - probably because I looked unfit and scruffy.

Once we resumed running, we quickly picked up the pace. I needed my asthma pump. Unbeknownst to me, a few pea-sized pieces of pocket debris had collected in the mouthpiece of the pump. These made their way straight into my respiratory system, causing me to choke, splutter, cough and spit. I was unable to take a deep enough breath to speak, and explain what had happened.

I ran for another five minutes, and took a short-cut to my house. I felt a right idiot. As I sit and type this, my chest still hurts a bit.


Now, I feel better. A lot better.

Get a booth!

'Technical difficulties' with the train added an hour and a half to our journey to Bath yesterday.

During a half hour wait at Bristol Parkway station, my friend Clare bumped into 'Mr Nice' Howard Marks. I was on the toilet. I use italics because it's a joke beteen my mother and I. She once rang her hairdresser, who lived with his mum. "Is Mark there please?"
"Can you ring back in 20 minutes love?" replied his mum "he's on the toilet".

I think it took mum longer than 20 minutes to stop laughing.

After a hurried lunch involving a frustrating and fruitless effort to redeem an online code which would have cut our bill nearly in half, we went on to Thermae Spa. 

There, we shed several layers of skin and stress in the various steam rooms and heated outdoor pool. 

We witnessed several couples engaged in heavy petting, one female accidentally booted Clare in the back, as she clung to her partner's neck and used him as an ad-hoc float whilst she cavorted and splashed like a child. 

Our time at the spa had to be cut short, thanks to the poor train service - Sundays are 

never a good time to go anywhere on public transport in this country. 

It was, however, staying over at Clare's on Saturday night which provided the best relaxation and tonic. I was pampered by Clare;  had a 3 course dinner, my nails painted, and excellent support and advice from her.

We talked at length about prostitution, Clare recently directed a documentary in Amsterdam, which focuses on the lives of several prostitutes. Clare was keen to point out that these ladies were 'normal, everyday people'. I didn't disagree, I've learnt not to say "I could never...." because so many things have happened which I thought never would in my life.  I get very irritated when I hear 'holier than thou' types preaching their morality.

I can safely say, though, that I WILL NOT be found stroking/licking/groping anyone in a public bathing space.
Nor they me.

More about Clare's documentary here

This is not my beautiful house

I looked away earlier when I spied a familiar face in town. I couldn't have just smiled and said "Hi!".
It required questions; "how are you, how's work, are you still married to that man who wears suit trousers even on the weekend (his name escapes me)?"

I was consumed with guilt immediately after walking past, and considered cutting my jaunt short, lest I'm faced with the far more awkward scenario;  "I didn't see you earlier when I gave you eye contact, but now I've LITERALLY bumped into you, I suppose it's time for us to  chat"

Of course, the other person always feels exactly the same, but the Human Traffic bar exchange scene (above) never takes place.

I couldn't go home though, it would have caused upset.Ricky is convinced that wishing wells really work, he saw it on TV, so it must be true. When Ricky wants to do something, it invariably ends up happening, his nagging is probably akin to Chinese water torture. We were to source a well and throw pennies in.

This is the best I could do

It went down well as you can imagine. Not a well, no water - it had to do.



As he complained, I looked up at the market roof, the patched-up panes of glass looked like little works of art to me

I knew how Ricky felt. I remember my brother wanting to ride on a magic carpet, he thought they actually existed. A stall opened on the market when he was about 6, it sold rugs, and was called Magic Carpets - he thought his chance had finally arrived.

 It was a crystal ball for me, I couldn't imagine anything more fascinating. I also wanted a musical jewellery box with a ballerina inside who would come to life when I opened it and tell me nice things.

I imagined when I was an adult I'd have one of those large wooden globes which opens up to reveal a selection of spirits,  a cabinet with glass shelves and lights housing a selection of crystal oysters, teddies, dolphins and flowers (just like my 'posh' friend). Maybe a fibre-optic lamp too, and an ashtray on a marble stand, the type which  crushes the cigarette butts, because of course, everyone smokes when they're older. Oh, and  Jacuzzi bath - that'd be essential, and a swinging seat out the back.

As I grew up, I wanted a phrenology head, an antique dressing table,  Kenwood food chef, a sub-woofer in the car, a walk-in wardrobe, a traditional Welsh dresser full of junk, a dishwasher.

Steerforth's post this week showed a selection of post-wine consumption purchases that have been languishing in his wardrobe. At some point, an item will catch our attention, and  it ends up in our possession even though, deep down,we know there is no 'need' for it.

So, I look around my home - there isn't a  globe drinks cabinet, phrenology head, Welsh dresser, or Kenwood Chef  to be seen.  In their place is what could only be described as stuff.  I can't remember wanting, needing or buying the majority of it, I've acquired it.

At no point did I say "what this house REALLY needs is a low quality table with 3 chairs instead of 4. At least one chair should collapse every time someone weighing over 5 stone sits on it. In the kitchen, I'd like a 12 pack of Andrex toilet roll to rest on top of the units, and for this to be a permanent feature. In the boys' room, I'd like the wardrobe, which mum's neighbour gave to me, to display 40 hideous teddy bears, gifts from the older family members. They'll collect the dust perfectly".

Perhaps I should have kept my visions alive and made those purchases, particularly a Welsh dresser.

Of course, I did bump into that person again, and exchanged the required pleasantries. 

"I wanna move to be honest Luce, the house is getting me down"

I ALWAYS wanted to live in her house since learning about their history at  primary school

"The furniture looks all wrong in there Luce"

I doubt her furniture looks as wrong as mine.

Maybe I'm best carrying on as I am. No regretful purchases as yet. 

Have you bought something you always wanted?

"this is not my beautiful house"