It was detestable in the 80's, it was detestable at the time.

The cropped top.

Why is this abomination back in fashion when only the very slim and very young can wear them, and most of them don't because some ass hat is likely to judge them and their body shape? Or that it's inappropriate because they're 13? Or it's cold?

Inevitably everything goes through the Northumbrian "Will I freeze me bits off later on?" filter...have you noticed?

Snowy madness

And thus I am in France, tired of limb and slightly afraid of cheese.

(I posted this one sentence BACK IN MARCH BTW while on a skiing holiday, on the worlds' shittest wifi, in an apartment above a night club and below a lot of youthful ski bums with a propensity for playing football in a room the size of a matchbox and only spotted it now in amongst my drafts).

In many ways I'm quite proud of myself about that trip, because I did a decent amount of skiing and I only cried about four times in abject terror. For those of you who actually know me IRL, and thus have probably seen some photos, I'm a nervy intermediate skier so "ye olde snow plough" is out quicker than a Howard Webb yellow card as soon as I get the fear. I didn't fall over all that much but that's because I'm paranoid about crashing.

So firstly, I love going to France, if I could foxtrot oscar anyway, that would be my first point of call.

Secondly, tired of limb...

It's been a real confidence boost that I've made this squidgy, scarred, injured thing I call my body do some really quite tough things, and keep doing them for a couple of hours. Over a number of days. And not be immobile afterwards. It also makes me very happy that muscle memory exists because I had a couple of really good days (and a couple of short ones - but always best to respect the limbs, though it pains me to admit it) where it flowed and I genuinely felt like I was flying. I can't help thinking though that I'm incredibly lucky considering how long it's taken to recover from having Mini D (c-section, SPD that didn't bugger off immediately post-birth)  injuries sufficiently nasty enough to involve extended periods of immobility and activity curtailment, weight, age and all that other shizzle. I can do it, though sometimes it hurts, and I want to be better at it, and I want to show my kid that just because of all of the above it doesn't mean you've got to give up.

Thirdly, slightly afraid of cheese.

Raclette,
Reblochon
Gruyere
Comt
The bright green pesto stuff they sell in the market in Val Tho.

Alpine food - Studio 54 for the cheese addict, I kid you not. *swoon*.

Thank FSM for plant sterols.

And I travelled to altitude with a small child and lived, but more of that later.

Bodies - duffed and otherwise (Caution - Sweary)

I need to stop reading anything sleb-gossip related on the grounds that I go all goggle-eyed and dyspeptic with fury.

Here's why....

Celebrity Pregnancy

When a woman in the public eye is pregnant, I quite like to hear about it because I'm nosy and always up for displacement activity. (Explains certain "delays" in my education and career, does that...*cough*) Anyhow....what does make me want to shut myself in a cupboard away from all of the sharp objects for an hour or so, are the following phrases - "hiding her baby bump" or "showing off/flaunting her baby bump". I've blogged about the misuse of flaunt as terminology before http://partwomanpartbadger.blogspot.co.uk/2011/04/things-that-irritate-me-about-daily.html but they never seem to learn.

Let's explore the actual interpretations based on actual circumstances, shall we? And not on the tenuous projection that all women with a public profile are constantly squirming with either a) shame about "their condition" or b) are in a froth of sexual excitement and showing off for the mens.

Hiding her baby bump (ACTUAL MEANINGS)

A. "Is wearing a coat because it's fucking cold"
B. "Boobs are two moons in a hammock thus distracting attention"
C. "Due to point B, clothing hangs from norks acting like a bump curtain"
D. "Comfort (due to being effing pregnant and as a consequence, always hot - not a la Paris Hilton before you ask)"
E. "It might give someone pause before they try to shove a long lensed camera up ones jacksie"
F. "Might keep the touchy-touchy brigade at bay"

Showing off her baby bump (ACTUAL MEANINGS)

A. "Might just be really happy about being pregnant"
B. "Is in a hot tropical country and is wearing a bikini - because it's fucking hot"
C. "Later stages of pregnancy mean that you (proportionally) have a much shorter reach than you have before so fastening stuff is an ask"
D. "Can't be arsed to keep hiding it"
E. "Please see "hiding - option D"
F. "Due to being the shape of a hot air balloon with apendages, the only way you could hide it was if you wore a barrel"

Oh FFs, it's not fucking magic.

So Margaret Thatcher has expired....

....And true to form, even in the infirmities of her final years and death, she remains a hugely divisive figure. In fact some of the threads I've read today on Facebook and Twitter have caused people of the same political stripe to turn on one another, such is the strength of feeling. Calls to be less celebratory in the wake of her death have been met with anger....and thus I can't help thinking that it's what ultimately she would have wanted. It would appear that she wouldn't have baulked at starting an argument in an empty room.

The thing with Margaret is that she was a born fighter, and her gender had nothing to bloody do with it. I've actually got the BBC obituary programme on in the background, and she was described as a "proper little madam" (being prepared to argue your point will get you vilified if you've got ovaries as we all know) from being a child and described by Carol Thatcher as "motivated", working far harder than everyone else and with "tunnel vision". Her certainty in what she perceived to be the truth of her beliefs, and a drive to succeed was the sledgehammer that she battered through the glass ceiling, to the top of the Conservative Party and ultimately through the fabric of British society, despite a personality that could, and the irony has not escaped me, turn milk into mature Stilton at a distance of half a mile.

As someone who lives in the heart of the South East Northumberland coalfield, Thatcher was the driving force behind entrenching the North East in the political left and despite the rhetoric, it's not just the unions who are responsible for this. Her single minded desire to bring the unions to their knees cannot be underestimated.  While we remember her, the wholesale long term unemployment, the closure of viable pits, the heart ripped out of a vibrant community that we've not recovered from, it's reasonable to say that because of her, there is a very serious and unbreachable loss of trust in the Conservative Party which has not been tempered or diminished by 30 years of time passing. It's grim when you see your friends ripping strips off each other, over whether we should or shouldn't be sparing her family from the rage that she still engenders.

We remember her as "The Iron Lady", all strength, bloody mindedness and tunnel vision but we need to also remember that you don't become an MP by the age of 34 (might need a fact check here) if you aren't a consummate politician. I don't know if you read this quote too, but there's something very chilling about the time when she was asked about what she felt was her greatest achievement. Her response? "Tony Blair". In my minds eye, I see that line being delivered with a distinctly Machievellian glint.

So forgive us all that while, yes it's sad for her family and I've no desire to add to the vitriol that has sprung forth today, you might for a moment consider that there are many who cannot bring themselves to mourn her passing.

Business and busy-ness

Ah, so much for me posting daily!

Life, house jigglage, professional courses, poorly child, scabby eyed mother, poorly husband, sleep disturbance and work have all conspired to keep me quiet. But to be fair to myself (and to anyone who reads this blog) at least, dear reader, who've been spared me giving it "I'm so tired/Mini D or Grand D is so poorly/I'm so busy" for 6 weeks.

I've also stocked up my corporate bollocks bank so those conversations with the customer are couched in appropriately meaningless terms...weirdly it makes me feel like I'm finally back with the programme...

58 days and counting...gulp...

This week, it goes up a notch and I'm rejoining my old gym. Would have done it earlier but old jelly pelvis here *weirdly* thought it ought to wait...

62 days and counting...

This time one year ago, I was lying in the RVI waiting for labour to start. Bloody hell.