No wine on Wednesdays....

Bankers in Pyjamas....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 14:28:00 +0000

So Stephen Hester, chief exec of state owned bank RBS has been awarded just under a million quid for his annual bonus...what a complete and utter outrage....

I'm so furious I can hardly talk...or type...or drink...actually I'd probably be able to drink...at least around 7ish tonight ....chilled Sauvignon blanc or a nice crisp Pinot...anyway...let's get back to my outrage...

I'm outraged and inraged and all sorts of raged because the state did not need to spend £1.2 million on his salary and £996k on his bonus...they could have had me for a piddly £50k and I only wanted an annual bonus of a hundred quid. I did ask for a clothing allowance because my present daily attire of stripey pjs and fluffy slippers wouldn't give me the edge in the heady world of banking... I didn't want those snotty city types thinking they were better than me just because they were wearing Saville Row suits and Prada loafers.

Anyway they said no. In fact they said no before I'd even shown them my CV which was very unfortunate because I'd spent hours carefully preparing it. It highlighted my exceptional banking and investment skills including the time I managed to save £3.75 on the weekly shop in Sainsburys and my purchase of shares in Boden...well I don't exactly hold shares in Boden but I spend a bloody fortune with them which must be nearly the same.

Oh well....back to the drawing board in my quest for the perfect job...it's out there just waiting for me...I know it.

Maybe one day I'll tell you the story of how I nearly became a WAG...wouldn't have had to find a job then would I?

Not so hairy testicles....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 16:18:00 +0000

The husband is now in possession of only one hairy testicle.

Much to his relief he is still very much in possession of the other one but that isn't hairy anymore. It's as smoooooooth as a baby's behind.

Weird...I hear you ask yourselves....is the shaving of single bollocks some pervy new fad or is he some masochistic nutter who found himself in the bathroom with one of my waxing strips and a spare half hour? Erm....not quite.....after months of gentle persuasion which fell completely on deaf ears, I finally told him if he doesn't get his sperm sac sorted, then the only thing he'll be getting his leg over, is the saddle of his mountain bike.

After a couple of months of furious peddling along the streets of Sussex, he decided that actually he would prefer to get his leg over something a little softer and finally booked himself in. He hadn't factored in a freebie shave so they could see where they were cutting and was quite traumatised by the whole affair.

A few days after he'd been "done", the bloody thing turned black which caused him a teensy bit of concern...

"Oh my fucking God..." he screamed...."Look at what the buggery they've done to me.....it's falling off...."

"Calm down honey" I said whilst frantically googling "black testicles" on the computer...I did get a little sidetracked by the results...in fact I had to send him off for a lie down while I continued my research. After several hours of very thorough investigation, I realised his testicles were in a much worse condition than anything I'd been gazing at, so I suggested he take himself off to the hospital for a check-up. Apart from anything else, I couldn't possibly let the kids see their father like this....lying on the sofa with his boxers round his knees, clutching himself and weeping softly...it just wouldn't have been right...it would have completely turned them off their dinner and I'd spent bloody ages preparing it...

Anyway, I'm very pleased to report that the husband's testicle has now resumed it's normal colour and his bits appear to be in full working order. The emotional scars may take a little longer to heal.....

In the words of Gloria Gaynor....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 19:17:00 +0000

...I will survive

....and I did....just....

....narrowly avoiding divorce, murder and complete alcoholism... but boy was it a close one....

When the husband suggested we knock our house down, move into a teensy little cottage with kids and mutts then design and rebuild a new house I should have said "shut up dear" whilst flicking through the pages of Country Life looking for a perfectly nice house that was already built.

I had my eye on an estate in Hertfordshire complete with swimming pool, tennis court and detached accommodation for staff but the husband got me by the scruff of my neck and told me to get a grip...we weren't Posh & Becks and would have to make do with space in the garden for the paddling pool and Swing Ball and a cupboard under the sink for my duster and polish....I knew I should never have married him....tight bastard...

Anyway, a year later we've moved back into our lovely new house, we're still married, still breathing and according to our recent BUPA medicals...have no lasting liver damage.

We're not quite back to being the Brady Bunch but give us time....

It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 09:12:00 +0000

Over the last couple of weeks, many of us have been enjoying the sight of cherry blossom on trees, the warmth of the early summer sun and the joy on our children's faces as they helped us celebrate Mother's Day.

Friends of ours have not been so fortunate. They've spent the last few weeks clinging on to the hope that their little girl would be strong enough to survive the ravages of her disease and the operations intended to save her but this week she finally lost her battle.

Despite the heartbreak, they have vowed to feel no guilt because they could not have loved her more than they did. Nor could they have fought harder to help her survive.

They may have lost the heart of their family but not the soul. There was more love between them in their short time together than most will feel in a lifetime and I hope that somehow gives them comfort...

Damn that redheaded slut....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 12:14:00 +0000

The husband is not so good this morning...

I knew when the invite for a 30th bash landed in my inbox (what's that all about....why has everyone under the age of 35 dispensed with conversation or stationery)...that we probably should've avoided it.

Now you've probably summised from the title and contents of this blog that I like to drink. Bloody love to drink. Only wine mind you or the odd select cocktail or two...I'm not the kind of gal who sneaks down in the middle of the night to have a slurp of the cooking sherry...but I very kindly offered to drive last night.

This was for two reasons: (1) I knew I'd get rat-arsed on Mohitos and (2) the husband hates going to any gathering with people he barely knows if he can't have a beer.

So off we trot to this posh little nightclub and go to the bar and get our drinks. There were a few couples we vaguely knew so I sat down with some of the girls and left the husband propped at the bar with a couple of South-Africans.

An hour later he ambles over and asks if I "fanshy anover dwink". Now the husband doesn't ordinarily sound like a cross between Del Boy and Jonathan Ross so I asked him if he was okay.

"Not weerly" he replied.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I've just had an orgajsm..."

"Oh...that's nice...were you discreet?"

"and a blow job..."

"bloody hell, I'm not very happy about that"

"and shhheven beers, fwee tequilas and a wedheaded shlut..."

At the point I thought it best we leave before he moved on to the slippery nipples, rocky mountain bear fuckers and smurf piss...

My brain had reached the point where it was trying to seep out of my ears to escape the music and I'd got bored of pretending I could hear what anyone was saying.

Next Saturday it's back to being curled up on the sofa with a nice glass or two of wine...

No animals were harmed in the making of this salad....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 18:59:00 +0000

Oh boy, is my generous mood continuing or what. Earlier this week I gave you some very good advice about assisting your teenagers survive to adulthood and now I'm going to share my favourite crunchy salad recipe with you....WAIT....DON'T GO....

I know, I know....you're thinking....recipe ideas....borrrrrrrrrrring. They're right up there with posts that contain any of the following words: baby puke/sponsored/baby poo/sponsored/baby snot but I promise this is the mother of all salads...the guv I'm telling you. It's packed full of vitamins and proteins and seriously low-cal. I promise that halfway through this delicious dish, you'll be entirely positive you don't have room for one more teeny weeny little mouthful.

Okay, if you're still there, let me share my fab new high-protein, low-cal, super dooper salad with you.

Firstly, you need a little ole plate of this...

...add a handful of these...

...a few slices of these...

...a splash or two of these...

...and lastly....wait for it...my secret ingredient....da da da...

Dunno about you chaps but I can't manage a whole one...

You're welcome....

NB. Please note that whilst no animals were harmed in the making of this blog, the same can't be said for one very unfortunate beetle...

Teenagers...very dangerous creatures...handle with care...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 12:27:00 +0000

Because I'm feeling in a very generous mood today, I've decided to share my top tips for living with a teenager. They might look sulky and moody and bloody horrible but don't be fooled. They're much worse than that.

For those fortunate enough not to have one, you still have time. Provided you send them away now, you still have a chance to live a calm and happy life.

Extensive and unbiased research carried out by me shows that living with a teenager is very, very bad for your health. The dangers cannot be underestimated. They are unpredicable and vicious. They can make your blood pressure and wine consumption soar just by giving you a look. Or a toss of the head. Or a long sigh followed by a slamming door. THEY'RE BAD FOR YOU....BAD I TELL YOU....

Okay, in the interests of the survival of all parents on the verge of teenage-induced heart disease and alcoholism, I offer the following advice:

If your teenager comes downstairs for breakfast and starts yelling that there's no cornflakes despite the fact there's 14 other varieties of cereal in the cupboard and a fridge stocked full of eggs, veggie sausages and yoghurts, just accept that she WILL make it her mission to demand something you haven't got. Do not empty a box of Ready Brek over her head because she'll just stomp off and you'll have to spend the next two hours hoovering up little flakes from between the cracks in your floorboards
If your teenager says she hates you, don't worry, she probably does. Until she wants extra pocket money or a lift into town. Then she'll be lovely and smiley and sweet but DO NOT LET YOUR GUARD DOWN. As soon as she's got what she wants, she'll hate you again. Don't let her mess with your head...
If your teenager daughter's room looks like a bomb's hit it, keep the door closed. Very tightly. You could also trying locking it, preferably with her still inside. The sight of those freshly ironed tops chucked all over the bedroom floor is very annoying and could bring on the urge for you to chuck yourself under a bus
If your teenager spends hours texting and chatting with her buddies on Facebook, be thankful. All the time she's doing that, she's not yelling at you
If your teenager is using your Creme de la Mer to moisturise her knees, hide it. And all your make-up. And your handbags. Once borrowed by a teenager, all your possessions will look like they've been lying under Tracey Emin's bed for a decade
If your teenager insists on wearing stupid little skirts and strappies during the winter be very grateful. It's cutting down on your laundry, giving you more time to sit at the kitchen table with a large glass of wine wondering where it all went wrong....

The one where I rant and rave about teenage parties...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 13:19:00 +0000

No....not the ones where kids are snogging in the loos or throwing up after drinking too many alcopops.

I'm talking about ones where you're asked to drop off your 13 year old daughter at Bluewater at 11am on a Saturday morning. Then pick her up at 4pm. When you live an hour's drive away. And have a son to get to football practice and drama club. And to send her with money so she can shop. Not really a party is it? More like me spending four hours in the car driving back and forth from Bluewater so she can go shopping with her friends...

The one where I do not assault any vegetables...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 22:58:00 +0000

(honest guv.....)

Conversation with Harry aged 11¾

Mum - what have you given up for Lent?
Erm...nothing
Why not? That's really selfish. Jesus starved himself for 40 days. You should too
Why should I
Because he was the most famous religious leader everrrrr and he let himself get really hungry
But I'm not religious Harry
I'm giving up vegetables...
No you're not
But I want to
Harry, if you're going to give up something for Lent, it needs to be something you'd struggle to give up
I'm struggling to give up vegetables
How? You don't even like vegetables
I'm struggling to give them up because you won't let me....

In Crowd

Out Crowd

Oh boy....I have waaaaaaaayyyy too much time on my hands....

Elephants may never forget...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 14:18:00 +0000

Pity the same can't be said for husbands...

I would've posted sooner about the husband's testicles but Surrey Police have only just released me. Apparently you are NOT ALLOWED TO HACK OFF YOUR HUSBAND'S NUTS JUST BECAUSE HE FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY. I assume this also applies to boyfriends and fiances but it's probably worth checking.

Before the cops swarmed all over our little rented cottage spraying the kids and dogs with CS gas...a bit over the top I know but if you'd met my kids and dogs you'd understand why... I managed to get a little shot of the crime scene....

Things could have been so much different had he actually remembered and come home Saturday afternoon with a big bunch of these...

....and a bottle of this...

...and finally...one of these....

Yup...had he remembered all of the above, then his lower regions would still resemble this...

Let's hope he does better next year assuming I'm out of prison by then.

NB. Please note that no vegetables were harmed in the making of this blog except for one very small and insignificant cherry tomato....

I'm feeling nervous but so should the husband....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 11:42:00 +0000

A true story....

Once upon a time, an excited wife looked forward to her birthday. Whilst her husband was a bit rubbish at choosing presents he did at least tend to buy them from shops who would always be happy to do an exchange.

One year, however, he forgot......TOTALLY....BLOODY.... FORGOT....

Now, the fact that he'd remembered all previous birthdays was of little consolation and was not going to get him off the hook. The very sharp, spiky hook that she planned to jab right between his eyes.

He informed her of this faux pas on the eve of her 41st birthday. To make matters worse, he'd forgotten to remind the kids.

Obviously the wife was very disappointed that (a) her husband had clearly not paid any attention to the trail of White Company and Boden catalogues scattered all over the house and (b) that the kids faced years of therapy as they came to terms with the fact they'd forgotten their mummy's birthday.

Now this wife was beginning to get a little pissed off. She huffed and puffed and stormed upstairs to find a couple of unopened gift sets in the bottom of her wardrobe. She told the husband to give them to the kids to give back to her.

He asked if she had a third gift set he could give to her. He didn't want to look a complete shit in front of the kids. She told him to fuck off.

On the morning of her birthday, the mummy pretended to be delighted at the beautiful presents from her children and said the promise of a present from the husband was very thoughtful. Thank you.

That night in bed, she told the husband if he ever forgot her birthday again he should be fully prepared to lose a testicle or two and that no thanks, she didn't fancy a birthday bunk up.

The wife is due to celebrate her 42nd birthday this coming Sunday. If you hear in the news of a distressed homeless man clutching the space where his nuts used to be, you'll know the husband made the unfortunate mistake of forgetting again....

Can anyone lend me a tenner?

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 20:35:00 +0000

Okay, I've had enough with the whole being poor thing...

It's very very boring and I've had enough. ENOUGH...DO YOU HEAR?

I said that to the husband this evening and he told me to shut up and go squeeze out the tea-bags so we can re-use them in the morning.

I've been banned from all shopping malls, online boutiques and high-end supermarkets and have been forced to do the weekly shop at the Co-Op. Not that there's anything wrong with the Co-Op I hasten to add EXCEPT IT'S NOT BLOODY WAITROSE IS IT...no crayfish ravioli or organic tofu sausages...no shiitaki mushrooms or Duchy butterscotch yoghurt...just aisles and aisles of tinned tomatoes and cornflakes with the odd bunch of asparagus thrown in for good measure.

We're so poor I've even turned to crime. I had considered drug dealing but my maths is really crap and I didn't much fancy being stabbed in the throat because I'd short-changed some crack addict.

Prostitution was another option but the thought of giving blow-jobs to sweaty middle-aged men in the back of their Ford Mondeos didn't much appeal either.

In the end I decided petty theft was the way forward so have been stealing the kids' pocket money from their wallets. It's actually quite lucrative and fairly risk free provided I only steal when they're at school thereby minimising the risk of being caught.

I briefly toyed with the idea of shoplifting and breaking and entering but I'm really scared of being sent to prison. HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY HAVE TO WEAR FOR GOD'S SAKE!

Guess I'll just have to stick with my rich pickings from the kid's bedrooms and anyway, when the cash runs dry, I can always have a blow-out with their New Look and Game vouchers....

It's not going quite to plan....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 22:53:00 +0000

I had such big plans for 2011 and it's not going well I can tell you.

When I woke up on New Year's, day my contact lenses were floating in the fish tank and I'd slept with the dogs. When I say I slept with the dogs, I don't mean we had a frisky little threesome. I mean I staggered through the front door, fell onto their bed and remained there till morning.

Now the dogs weren't very happy about this and as day broke they'd had enough and nudged me out. I staggered upstairs to the loo thinking yup Lottie, this is rock bottom. Congratulations. It's taken a while to get there, but you've finally done it girl.

Erm....not quite.

As I sat on the loo picking hairs off my Coast dress and wondering whether the streaks of drool where mine or the dogs, I remembered I was on my period.

I fumbled around for the string but couldn't find the damn thing. Only eight hours into the new year and I was hungover, dishevelled and squatting over the loo in a crumpled party dress trying to extract a reluctant tampon with a pair of tweezers.

I'm very pleased to report that I did manage to remove the tampon without the aid of medical intervention and total loss of dignity but from that moment on, it's been downhill all the way.

The bills are coming in so fast from the builders, I'm seriously thinking of selling one of the kids and despite my gorgous new "interview wardrobe", I've still not been offered a job.

The husband proudly announced yesterday that he had the grand total of £1 in his current account and the next invoice from the builders is due in two weeks.

I fully intended not to drink on Wednedays or any other day ending with a "y" but I'm weak...what can I say....

Back to work...do I have to?

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:27:00 +0000

Bloody hell - I really do have the perfect husband...

...well, except for when he leaves his toe-nail clippings in the bath, his underpants on the bedroom floor and his coffee mugs all over the house...he is the perfect husband.

As I was saying earlier this week...we're poor. Trouble is I didn't really believe we were poor. I fully intended to dust the All Bran off the Boden catalogue and start putting together my Spring wardrobe but the husband sat me down the other night and insisted we had a chat.

"Lottie" he said. "If you want our house...which presently looks this....

to look like this....

.... then you've got to get off your arse girl and go earn some money".

Well they weren't his exact words but I got the gist.

Anyway, after 13 years of pretending to clean the house and pretending I've not spent the entire day having coffee/lunch with friends, he now wants me to get up early and wash my hair before lunchtime. Do the school run in real clothes and only wear my pj's in bed. Earn money rather than just spend his...

After I regained consciousness I thought this working lark could actually be quite fun so came up with a master plan.

I created 37,000 CVs showcasing my considerable skills...from marine biologist to concert pianist...and have applied for every job advertised in a 150 mile radius. So far I've had three interviews and three rejections which I've entirely put down to my choice of interview attire. Skinny jeans, White Stuff Tunic and chunky Boden Boots. This is my staple wardrobe. I have an LBD but this is only comes out of the closet on very special occasions.

So this morning I said to the husband "if you need me to go back to work I need to go shopping. I need trousers not made out of denim and real shoes with real heels..."

"Okay" he said. "How much will you need?".

"About £600"

"Bloody hell Lottie, are you sure?"

"Absolutely" I said.

When I came home this evening, he was very impressed with my purchases and says I look suited and booted for every job although he doesn't reckon I'm gonna get my money's worth from the lovely swishy evening dress from Monsoon....

....you never know - if I learn to play the piano and get hired by the Royal Albert Hall, it might come in quite handy....

Oh God we're poor.....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 05:59:00 +0000

Really really poor....in fact we're so poor the husband has banished me from every Jo Malone store in the country and has insisted I bin my new Boden Spring Catalogue. Jo Malone I can live without (albeit temporarily... but Boden...is he totally mad!)

I've stashed it in the All Bran box....most secure place in my house....no-one goes within 10ft of it... and have so far managed to resist having a quick peek although to avoid temptation I have been forced to start eating the kids' Cheerios.

Shall I tell you the secret to fast-track poverty?

Knock down your perfectly good house, move to a tiny little rented cottage and let your builders plunder every account you have including the children's.

Well our house wasn't exactly perfect but it was okay in a kind of ramshackle shit-pit kind of way. I quite liked the way we had to wedge our front door closed with a shoe and the sound of the wind as it blasted through the gaps in the walls. We also provided much needed sanctuary to Sussex's wildlife...the snails in the bread box, the fieldmice in the larder and the bees and bats in the rafters.

Anyway...it's all gone...the front door, the walls and the rafters. In it's place, there now stands a half-built house and as our coffers diminish, the house grows.

"It will all be worth it" says the husband as he stares vacantly at the pile of bills on the kitchen table. Possibly, but so is £59 for a nice new tunic...

And the award for the worst journalist in the country goes to.....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 09:05:00 +0000

.....little ol' ME!

Yup. It's official. I am the worst journalist in the country. Possibly the world. Probably the universe.

So the other day.... I'm ambling along minding my own business and I notice a few policemen up ahead comforting members of the public. I wonder what's going on but I'm in a bit of a rush to get home and hide my new Monsoon cardi from the the husband so I'm not paying too much attention to all the hoo-ha. I fumble for my car keys, glance down and right beside me is a body. Apart from the fact he's clearly dead, I also notice that his shoes could do with a bit of a polish.

So.....what do I do? Do I reach into my handbag for my shortpad notebook and pen? No.

Do I scrabble around for my dictaphone? No.

Do I scuttle back to the car because I'm late picking up the kids from school? Errmmmm.

Beginning to realise why the only job The Times offered me was chief envelope opener in their post department....

No wine on wednesdays....at least before breakfast....

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 16:02:00 +0000

I'm thinking of re-naming my blog....do you like it?

No point in trying to stick to the No Wine on Wednesdays rule...life has been far too stressy for that. I might be on the verge of dying of cirrhosis of the liver but right now that's preferential to chucking myself under a passing milk float or hanging myself with one of the kids' socks.

I wanted to blog but I've got 12,473 unread posts in my Google Reader and feel guilty posting when I haven't bothered to read everyone else's. Truth is though I've been a little busy. Busy running the kids here there and everywhere, busy looking after a poorly dog, busy shouting at the husband because I don't like living in a building site, busy looking for somewhere to live, busy worrying because I can't find anywhere to live and the demolition of our house is rapidly looming, busy packing up the house, busy comfort eating and very, very busy drinking LARGE amounts of wine. I've just been busy, okaaaay....

I keep telling myself "For God's sake Lottie...pull yourself together girl. The husband may have knocked down a wall with his digger, gone through a gas main and accidentally reversed the dumper truck into your car but things could be worse. You could be teetotal and have to cope with this stone-cold sober.

Anyway, his preliminary work will soon be done and the builders will be taking over so there is a chance I won't have to divorce or murder him.

The good news is I haven't got to dust because there's absolutely no fucking point although I am still hoovering because I really hate it when lumps of concrete and brick stick to the bottom of my feet when I get out of the bath.....

Five year tag...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 10:19:00 +0000

As most of you know, I'm totally rubbish at responding to tags and memes, however.....the new and improved Lottie has decided to respond at least within a year to any tag, award etc bestowed on her.

Thanks to Wilderness Chic over at Life, the Universe and all that's in it for this one. I've had to really dig deep for this so here goes...

Where were you five years ago?

Living in our dilapidated old house with one husband, one dog and two kids aged 6 and 8. Didn't have enough money to do up said dilapidated old house so decided to blow a chunk of cash on some great holidays - if I recall correctly, in 2005 we went to Barbados and had a further three holidays in Majorca! Bloody hell we were seriously irresponsible. I had my own little business which earned me practically nothing but the husband was happy because all the time I was "working", I wasn't spending. He was reluctant for me to give it up for obvious reasons.

Where would you like to be five years from now?

Living in our gorgeously renovated house with our finances sufficiently recovered to again be able to afford holidays to Barbados and frequent trips to Majorca. The husband's little company will have grown into a multi-national one and will have just been floated on the stock market. I'll be working as a successful and highly paid journalist, will have just had my second book published and will be a svelte Size 10 having finally managed to stick to a diet for more than three hours. Harry will be a studious and respectful teenager sitting his GCSEs and Meg will be at Uni studying to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or maybe both.

What's on your list to do today?

Take little dog to the vet to have her anal gland emptied, bleach the loos, buy a paper shredder, fix the dodgy leg on the kitchen table, collect the husband's drycleaning, phone the architect and chase him for the building reg drawings, make a ghoul costume for Harry's summer production, return library books that are a month overdue, book a pedicure and collect my new bike. If I find time, I might also spruce myself up like Bree from Desperate Housewives and wander over to my new celeb neighbour with a basket of freshly baked muffins.

What five snacks do you enjoy?

Rice cakes with clover and Marmite, Lime Doritos, humous and carrot sticks, hot buttered crumpets and veggie sushi.

What would you do if you were a billionaire?

Firstly I'd employ the scrummiest personal trainer in the land and insist he transform my body into one of a toned teenager. Once his work was complete, I'd fill my newly designed dressing room the size of a gymnasium with all my new size zero purchases. I'd buy a beach house in Barbados, a villa in Tuscany, a gite in Provence and a huge pad somewhere on a river in England. Just to let you know I'm not totally vacuous, I would of course make sure all close friends and family were financially secure and buy my mother and father-in-law the little cottage in the country they've always yearned for. I'd argue relentlessly with the husband because I'd also insist on giving a huge chunk to charity when he'd rather spend it on Ferraris. The kids would be spoilt rotten and grow into disrespectful lazy adults but I wouldn't care because I'd be too busy working my way through Itay's wine supply or the Barbadian rum reserves...

Oooo I feel all yearnful now. Might have to start doing the lottery or seek out a Russian oligarch with a penchant for short dumpy blondes...

Okay, now time to hand the baton over to:

Chic Mama
Eternally Distracted
The Vegetable Assassin
Mrs P (Notes from Summer Wood)
Lou Boos and Shoes

Definitely work everyone checking out these blogs - they're some of my favourites x

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 21:40:00 +0000

No wine on Wednesdays....who made up that stupid rule!

Have polished off half a bottle of Pinot and am feeling quite rebellious...

Quick smug post...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 22:30:00 +0000

Location of the Lockwood family tonight:-

Daughter and five best friends - sleeping in the treehouse in our garden.

Husband and son - sleeping in cabin below the treehouse to make sure girls are not abducted during the night.

Me and dogs - in our own beds in the house. The real house. Not the treehouse.

Peace, quiet and the kingsize bed to myself - bliss.

G'night all xxxx

How easily we forget...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Mon, 31 May 2010 09:11:00 +0000

Next time I have friends staying for the weekend and drunkenly offer to let them have a lie-in the following morning while I look after their toddler, please someone sit on my head and remove my tongue with a fork.

What was I thinking? Had I not remembered that toddlers have absolutely no respect for people with hangovers who've only had four hours sleep. They don't care if your head hurts and your eyes cannot focus on the slice of plastic cake they've thrust under your nose. They don't care that you'd trade a kidney just for the chance to get back into your lovely big bed rather than sit on the floor of the living room playing peek-boo and dress the dolly.

They don't care that the sound of Peppa Pig on TV is making your brains want to seep out of your ears or that the smell of their Weetabix is only marginally less nauseous than the sight of what's dripping out of their nose.

No...toddlers are very disrespectful creatures and should be avoided at all costs...particularly at 5.30am on a morning-after-the-night-before...

The mystery of the missing socks...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Thu, 20 May 2010 12:55:00 +0000

Where do they come from, where do they go?

Wait stop! I know where they come from....they come from Next and M&S and sports shops all over the South East. Silly me.

Where do they go? Now that's a tougher one to answer. My daily futile quest to pair up socks is seriously getting on my tits. Did I give up a decently paid job in the big smoke to spend my day hunting for a wanderlust size 3 trainer sock. No I certainly did not.

I used to have great job satisfaction. I worked hard and was quite good at my job (apart from the time I inadvertently (and temporarily I hasten to add) lost my boss £4m. I think that might've been the low point of my career. Oh, and the time I organised the office xmas party in a room full of hookers. Wouldn't have been so bad had one of them not taken a shine to my boss who was there with his wife. Anyway, apart from nearly making my boss bankrupt and divorced, I had a very, very successful career thank you very much. Then I had children.

I decided to put my inconsiderable talents to good use and be a stay-at-home/work from home mum. I could do this I told myself. There'd be no inconvenient multi-million pounds accounts and prostitutes to trip me up, just the odd Power Ranger or two on the stairs.

On the whole, apart from the never-ending cleaning/ironing/hoovering/cooking, it's not been too bad and over the last 13 years, I've had quite a few days I've actually enjoyed. I may not have job satisfaction but I'm very satisfied that I've got this far without killing one of them. Or myself.

Anyway, the one thing that does cause me a little teeny weeny bit of MAD FREAKING FURY is standing in front of the tumble dryer with 20 odd socks. What the buggery is going on? Do errant ones know what heartbreak they're causing as they wiggle off to wherever dissatisfied socks go to when they've had enough?

Due to their overwhelming disregard for each other, I was on the verge of evicting the lot of them. The husband wasn't very happy at the idea of bare feet in his Size 11 Russell & Bromley's but I told him the stress was just too much and the socks had to go. His, mine and the kids.

Then yesterday, whilst cleaning Harry's room, I found these.

Stuffed down the back of his radiator.

Along with seven hangers, two pairs of underpants, an empty Milky Way wrapper and my favourite belt.

Okay socks, you have a reprieve but I'll be watching you very, very carefully....

All you need is love...sunshine & wild flowers...and a bit of shabby chic

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Wed, 19 May 2010 10:20:00 +0000

My recipe for the perfect start to the day.

It started off with a gorgeous walk in the sunshine, just me, the dogs and my iPod. Not a cloud in the sky, the heady aroma of the last of the bluebells and Jim Sturgess and the rest of the cast from "Across the Universe" singing in my ear (watch it to the end...it's worth it I promise)...

I was very naughty and picked a few wild flowers for my kitchen table...

then came home for a cup of coffee in my gorgeous new Cath Kidston mug and scoffed a few maple choc chip cookies. These were sent to me by the lovely and generous Victoria at The Curse of the Modern Dilemma who sent me the most amazing Secret Post Gift. As you can see, in addition to the mug & cookies, she also sent me some delightful shabby chic hearts which are now hanging on my distressed dresser in the kitchen.

I might try and bribe Heather and ensure I always get paired up with Victoria! As if the beautifully packaged gift wasn't already utterly perfect and divine, she even threw in a few choc bars...

I know I sound a bit gushy but I can't tell you how much I bloody loved this gift!

Anyway, let's hope my good mood continues. Am now off to tackle Harry's bombsite that goes by the name of his bedroom. Wish me luck...

The trouble with teenage boys...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Tue, 18 May 2010 09:06:00 +0000

Shit...it's official. I'm old.

I'm 41 years old, have a few grey pubes (where the hell did they sprout from?) and have just held my daughter's 13th birthday party. She's not quite 13 yet, but will be very, very soon. I'm going to have a teenager........aaaahhhhhhhhh.

In a few months time, she'll be the age I was when I started going out with her father. How scary is that?

The husband and I met in the playground of secondary school. I was inextricably drawn to his dodgy haircut, flared trousers, nerdy anorak and heart-stopping smile. Thankfully he dispensed with the blond flick and crap clothes but his smile can still make my heart miss a beat.

Before you think I'm getting overly slushy, I'll let you into a little secret. He used to be a bit of a git. When we were 14 he chucked me for a dare, when we were 15 he kissed my best friend and when we were 16 he snogged another girl on holiday in Majorca. What a bastard.

Despite his wanton unfaithfulness, by the time we reached college he realised he had to stop being a git or lose me. He chose me and we journeyed together through adolescence into adulthood.

Trouble is, as much as I adore him as an adult, I clearly remember him as an adolescent. Cute, mischievous and very, very horny.

With this in mind, I'll be keeping a very close eye on those teenage boys as they start to come close to my little girl...

Funny strange...not funny ha ha...

noreply@blogger.com (Lottie) — Sun, 09 May 2010 10:14:00 +0000

It's been a funny few months and I've kind of lost my way with blogging. I think so many things have happened, I hardly knew where to start. Here's what's been happening:

Husband's business faces closure
After a ferocious two-year fight, we finally get planning permission to renovate our house - great timing since we probably won't have the money to do it
Husband's business wins huge contracts and is no longer facing closure so we can plan renovation
Husband's business partner asks us to re-mortgage our house so he can borrow £50k
Me & the husband argue a bit and I tell him there is absolutely no bloody way we're going to re-mortgage our house and lend his partner £50k
Re-mortgage our house and lend husband's business partner £50k

In the meantime, there have been numerous visits to my Dad's doctors, meetings with builders and architects about the renovation which we intend to start in the next few weeks and propping up some of our closest friends as they struggle with marriage, infidelity & divorce.

Harry has had a few problems at school with some of his friends which has probably weighed heavier on my heart than everything else put together, I lost my little job as a columnist which I was gutted about and I've slunk back into the bad habit of drinking most nights although I do manage a couple of wine-free nights a week. On those two nights I hit the vodka...