Duffed - A bridge too far...

Two words designed to strike a cold shard of fear through the heart of any first time mum....

Perineum Gel.

AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!

Mentioning this to a friend of mine and my sister yielded some particularly intriguing ideas as to how *exactly* one is meant to apply this stuff. Particularly in the later stages of pregnancy when there are parts of ones own person that one will be unable to reach, let alone see.

Duffed - Caffeine

Health Guidelines 1
Consuming over 200mg of caffeine a day increases risk of miscarriage.

I don't normally do more caffeine than this in a day normally because large quantities make me ill.  However since becoming pregnant, this chemical has become quite essential. The judicious use of said stimulant allowance since getting up the duff is what's preventing me from sending out work e-mails to people that contain the following content......or going through life with the delicate imprint of the middle section of my keyboard on my face because I've succumbed to fatigue:

Dear Stupid Person,


Why aren't you doing this yourself? 


I've told you already and under the circumstances it's pretty obvious that you have functioning eyes and a brain that works well enough to allow you send e-mails that have sentences in them. This leads me to believe that a) it isn't just the case of someone has fed your Blackberry to a Shire horse, or b) you've been inadvertently sending bum mail because you've put your phone in your back pocket, forgotten about it and then sat on it. 


Look into it yourself, quarter wit. Who am I, your mother?


Kind Regards,
Blah, blah, blah....

Sheesh!!

I like to think of caffeine as the last barrier between the world and my barely restrained inner misanthrope...

Duffed - Boobs

Things about boobs that had never occurred to me before I embarked on this little adventure...

• No matter how big your boobs are under normal circumstances, pregnancy will make them much bigger. You will be able to cut the cups out and wear them on your head in cold weather with no difficulty whatsoever. In fact, stitch on a nicely colour co-ordinated pom-pom and it'll look like someone brought it back as a gift for you from a nice ski-ing jaunt in Val d'Isere. You'll also find that the sizing variations mean that, from the beginning to end of your pregnancy, you'll be able to kit out the entire family, including the one person everyone secretly calls "Football heed". Or at least you would do if everything didn't come in white, greige and black. I know that most of the time, all one cares about is that the damn things are tamed, but pretty and not the cost of a Bentley would be good.
• If you felt mildly discomfited by the people who would stare at your breasts before this takes place, now you are permanently sober and at times, a touch "feisty", wearing the cardboard box that your fridge came in or, if you feeling a little more bohemian, a yurt, has never been more appealing. As does wearing a t-shirt that says "Oi! I've got a ****ing face! Look at that! Tw*t!"
• They cease to be "Fun" bags and become slightly itchy "Ouch" bags. In fact, should you ever have been curious about how you get warm fleshy cannon balls into an extremely utilitarian and aesthetically unappealing elasticated hammock, now's your chance. What previously was an inconvenience is now a trial. Lying on your front? Ha! Suddenly crossing one arm across your body without thinking? Bad idea. very, very, bad idea. Sleeping free range? Not a cat in hell's chance. You will now own bras for sleeping, waking, nursing and sport. And several other sets of circumstances that currently elude me.
• You are permanently pointy as though you've been standing the chiller isle of Tesco's for a bit too long.
• Likelihood of being defeated by gravity and falling flat on your face due to sheer weight of the darn things increases by the power of ten. Coupled with general normal levels of clumsiness and yes, it's fair to say, I'm going to spend the following months rocking on my front like a tortoise that's been rolled or in a heap after executing a perfect commando roll to prevent injuring bump.
• The sheer bewildering range of things, products and advice relating to sucking out and manual or electrical extraction of, mopping up of excess, general containment and control of all things breasty and milky.

Duffed - An introduction

I've been slacking on the old blogging front - however there is a pretty compelling reason - several weeks ago I found out I was up the duff, with child, in the family way - so due to a variety of reasons I've been trying not to drop myself in it by sticking this piece of happy news (for us) on a public forum.

So anyway, now I'm out of the closet to my friends and family, I can now come out to the internet as well....

Duffed - The pleasant bit in the middle

The middle bit of pregnancy has actually been reasonably ok, everything has settled down, the feeling that you've been shot out of a cannon ebbs somewhat and it's all a bit "absent mindedly stroking the burgeoning bump". It's also too far away the big day to really dash about like a freak sorting things out.

Immorality!! Vice!!

I'm finding recent kerfuffles about an assortment of people having fun consensual sex with people with whom they form a second relationship with a person who is not their appointed spouse or partner rather amusing. It's also rather depressing at the same time.

One of the key reasons I find this depressing is because of the mundanity of it, I mean, famous men through history have always enjoyed a degree of freedom to shag who they bloody well please, and folk have been knobbing people that they shouldn't either accidentally or deliberately for centuries. It becomes an appalling mockery when the judiciary support this kind of behaviour - ffs - the nation will not pitch off it's axis because a person had sex with another one, however the risk of spousal revenge must weigh heavy on underformed minds.

I think we need to get the message out

"We don't care who you knob, as long as you don't lie through your teeth. Man up, tossers."

Lots going on....

More info to follow....

Pop

For someone who professes to be a bit of an indie kid, I really love *good* pop music. The thing is that pop (which is a terribly dismissive way of describing some utterly fantastic songs) is how most people access music and quite a lot of the time, do not really get the opportunity to access different types and genres. I don't hear genre, I just hear what hits me with the tune cattle prod at the time.

Tender of finger tip

Lately my guitar practice has had that vile air of twatfulness that comes from trying something that you used to know really well, and completely bollocksing it up. It's disheartening to say the least. However I've used a strategy to limit what I play regularly to about 15 songs and concentrating on them, rather than buggering on in a generally unfocused and unproductive way. Almost every day. It's also helped by the fact that I don't get wrist fatigue anymore (Thanks again Daisy Rock Guitars). I'm glad to say it appears to be working, and it's working to the extent that I'm even starting to start singing at the same time too. Which is great as it's something I used to be able to do quite readily and without much fear.

Another thing that helps is being around both virtually and in the real world, folk who play. It provides a great incentive to not suck!

Also my sister has expressed an interest in learning the bass....

Watch this space....

Spiral - BBC4

I've caught up with Spiral and as predicted, I'm addicted.

However, remind me never to get arrested in France!

Monday

And todays claim to fame is that a friend of mine congratulated me on and another has nominated the adjective "stabby" tweeted by myself this morning to @oedonline.

Other news: I played the guitar a bit.

"Waking the Dead" was also very good and it shall be missed. A sensible, believable ending with a very nice touch of the visual metaphor of Boyd re-entering society as he walked through the bright and busy London crowds.

Ode to Spring (Thursday)

And thus we're blessed with lighter nights and yellow nodding blossoms,
To cast off winters gloomy plight and all that's old and rotten,
Birds bellow in the early morn and snow and dark forgotten,
But tell me why you bring to me a rash upon my bottom?

*heartily slaps self in stark realisation that writing doggerel in the style of William McGonagal about allergies is unforgivable*

(it was late, alright???)

This here giraffe......

So who let the giraffe in here?

Things that irritate me about the Daily Mail - Part 1 - Use of the word "Flaunt"

As everything about the Daily Mail irritates me, I potentially have an endless supply of inspiration...


flaunt  (flônt)

v. flaunt·ed, flaunt·ing, flaunts

v.tr.

1. To exhibit ostentatiously or shamelessly: flaunts his knowledge. See Synonyms at show.

2. Usage Problem To show contempt for; scorn.

v.intr.

1. To parade oneself ostentatiously; show oneself off.

2. To wave grandly: pennants flaunting in the wind.

According to the narrative of the Daily Fail, an assortment of famous women are perpetually "flaunting" themselves - or their curves - or if they've been papped on a beach holiday, "flaunting their beach body". This is bloody bad English displaying a blatant disregard for the actual meaning of the word, undercut with the Victorian assertion that famous and beautiful women all have the morals of a necrophiliac dockyard rat. All  because you've been seen in possession of hips, boobs and waist.

By this rationale, possessing the secondary sexual characteristics of ones gender, and wearing nice clothes at a public event is enough to make you a slapper. However, a woman with a prominent career, standing on a beach wearing a bikini with her family during a private holiday where someone surreptitiously takes a photo of her and sells it to a magazine, is realistically only guilty of one thing - having the courage to get her skin out in a public place.

Yes, there are copious amounts of ardent self publicists out there who seek out opportunities to wiggle and jiggle in an assortment of locations, but if one of the major expectations of your job is that you turn up in a posh frock and smile, it's just plain rude to somehow imply that that person is trying actually demand attention of a sexual nature by having the audacity to be a pretty woman with a public profile.

By the nature of the beast, fame means that you are instrinsically more visible than the average person, but looking good in a attractive frock or in a bikini is certainly not the same as "flaunting" oneself. 

Arguably a burlesque artist flaunts herself, but that is in primarily in the context of her act, and while she'll be beautifully groomed and dressed, I don't think Dita von Teese visits her local supermarket in tassells and a g-string operating with an overwhelming need to seduce all who cross her path. Strangely, predatory impulses accompanied by fabulously nork-enhancing top notch Vivienne Westwood and buying bog roll and cheese strings rarely go hand in hand (but I'm willing to accept that I could be mistaken).

She's not working so your right to use the word "flaunt" in the true sense has gone.  As worst it's an appalling example of the sexual double standard, implying that a successful woman and her unruly curvy body are by implication trying to grap attention. At best, it's a bitchy reflection of a restricted mindset that is profoundly unhappy with itself and seeks to make everyone feel lousy about themselves, no matter who you are.

It makes my wee boil....

So as to avoid to being negative on my lovely fresh new blog......

There was a picture here, and then it broke....

So have a picture of a raccoon instead.....

Here's to...(Monday night post)

Less agro tomorrow, the continuation of operation non-scruffbag, a yomp, some good sleep and quality time with me other half.

If I can achieve all this tomorrow I'll be one happy girly :)

Sent using BlackBerry® from Orange

Paint

Who knew that applying it to your woodwork could be so gratifying??

It's Saturday

A cat in a fruit skin hat is in order.

Hormone soup

Today:

• Discovered that worrying about the 'W' word is about as sensible as trying to unlock your front door with a pillow.
• Painting (Doors BTW, not as a means of self expression) -  can be very zen.
• Enjoying 80's pop (in the context of Ashes to Ashes) does not mean that I have ears of tin and therefore I should be shunned by my associates.
• The previous comment probably has something to do with oestrogen and in about 48 hours time I'll back to my usual obtuse indie-lovin self. I reserve to the right to deny all knowledge of the 3rd statement in this list when the balance of my mind is restored.
• I have eaten more Babybels and Haribo than is strictly good for me.
• Never trust a man wearing a pinny.

Walking to Humford

I think this is probably the first evening of the year where I've had my wits about me sufficiently to remember to take some photos whilst en-route. It's also bleeding marvellous to be able to go to the prettier places, instead of pounding the streets for an hour in the cold and dark. It's fair to say that this is a massive improvement on walking passed an industrial estate in the looming dusk and rather more sheltered as it's been blowing a hooligan all day.

And to prove the point about not being a complete misery guts.....

Amanda Palmer – Leeds United

Spotify BTW - Sorry if you ain't got Spotify - get it, it's cool x

Finally a lie too big

From being an terrified tween in the early 80's to now, I have always been convinced that nuclear power is "A BAD IDEA" and the recent events in Japan have done nothing to convince me that there is a compelling reason to feel differently. There is now too much evidence to uphold the erroneous notion that nuclear power is a clean, safe fuel. It is safe in the context of a plant that is well managed, but clearly isn't when a major natural disaster occurs, and operating with that mind set is currently helping no-one.

Like many people my age, I had the dreams about local military installations disappearing into vast mushroom clouds and stayed haunted. I think the reason many of us still feel like this is because we realise that the risks and consequences are far bigger than we, as kind and sentient people, can stomach. Places that aren't habitable for a thousand years because of the failings of a technology that has only been developed since the 1950's suggests that frankly, we need to recognise that building nuclear reactors in the most geological unstable areas of the world is the triumph of hope over experience, which essentially means that we all have the potential to be doomed for someone elses folly. It's in everyones interests to ensure that the carrot that you're eating won't make you grow something you shouldn't. It's also reasonable to expect that the worst case scenario is planned for, and it clearly wasn't.

Finally the rhetoric has been proven to be the biggest lie of all.

(EDIT: there is a fantastic article by John Vidal in the Guardian about the after effects of Chernobyl and questioning the validity of continuing to support Nuclear power as the clean and green option Read it here)