to contemplate writing things down in an orderly fashion because one day I may lose my memory. This thought actually crosses my mind when I'm doing passwords. What a sick fuck!
Monday, January 31, 2005
Happy birthday Aquarians!!!
I was going to send you a card tonight but bloody well ended up blogging my addiction again!
"Big Ben - eleven o'clock - chimney!": another mumism
One of the many wonderful things about my mum is the stuff she comes out with in her strong Polish accent (so funny to hear in said accent "Don't panic Mr Mannering!") and bizarre interpretation of what she hears as English. She takes much of the responsibility for my madness. I just called up and she picked up the phone with the greeting "Big Ben - eleven o'clock - chimney!" I believe the latter was to do with chiming. It is certainly fun on her planet too.
I always thought dad had better English but I couldn't believe how dodgy foreign bloke his accent was when I spoke to him last November for the first time in 14 years! That's another story or rather a book.
Anyway I started a collection of mumisms in my filofax and I will share them here like many memories because I don't want to lose them through having any more bags stolen, Kylie induced amnesia or old age.
The mumisms captured so far...
Advice on lurve etc.:
Lost in translation (answers below):
1) In his new pyjamas he looks like Spark from Star Wars
2) Marks and Sparklers
3) It was really uncomfortable on the tufon
4) Ooh Marta, the landlady was just telling me her daughter is a courgette
5) Give me some alcohol and I'll lose all my inhabitants
6) I have a tickly affection in my throat
Serving food up:
I always thought dad had better English but I couldn't believe how dodgy foreign bloke his accent was when I spoke to him last November for the first time in 14 years! That's another story or rather a book.
Anyway I started a collection of mumisms in my filofax and I will share them here like many memories because I don't want to lose them through having any more bags stolen, Kylie induced amnesia or old age.
The mumisms captured so far...
Advice on lurve etc.:
- Enjoy it while it lasts, but be ready for the blast
- Love is like diarrhoea - it comes and goes but life goes on
- Never get married, never have children (heard this all the way to 30 and then she freaked out I was never going to get married)
- Well you can't have the champagne glasses, there's nothing to celebrate anymore with your flop of a boyfriend
Lost in translation (answers below):
1) In his new pyjamas he looks like Spark from Star Wars
2) Marks and Sparklers
3) It was really uncomfortable on the tufon
4) Ooh Marta, the landlady was just telling me her daughter is a courgette
5) Give me some alcohol and I'll lose all my inhabitants
6) I have a tickly affection in my throat
Serving food up:
- Pasta la vista!
Marta: I've just had my hair done.
Mum: What's it like?
Marta: Short and spiky like Meg Ryan
Mum: What's that? Like your groin?!?!
Answers
1) Spock from Star Trek
2) Marks n Sparks
3) futon
4) croupier
5) inhibitions
6) infection
I have more from other friends:
"So they are using you as an experience rabbit" = KK' s version of guinea pig
"Duck babies" = Armen's version of baby ducks (this is what makes me marry men you see and still there are no bad fillings between us)
"I really can't be asked" = I really can't be arsed
And here are some sayings English people came out with which were just perfect in the moment...
Marta: How's it going at work?
Lucienne: I'm like a mushroom in this place. They keep me in the dark and feed me shit
Catrina: Because YOU are the wheel!
Philippa: If you're good with a hammer, you tend to think everything is a nail. (on the subject of a RAC Director who told me, mere Digital Marketing Manager, "Put your big ears on and listen - you are talking to a Director!)
Okay so that page can now fly out of my filofax. Well as long as blogspot don't pull the plug.
Cyclists are as evil as caravans
Also while in the New Forest having been held up for 3 miles I decided cyclists are just as evil as caravans. So many beautiful trails there - why piss me off and use the road?
Ed the horse spotted in the New Forest
While driving through the New Forest (forgot how gorgeous it is and how pretty cottages are) to Lymington for lunch and a walk by the sea yesterday, I passed a parking area. Many of the wild ponies were milling around the car park, a guy was stood reading the notice board and this pony next to him was looking over his shoulder at the notice board too. I need a camera in my retina for such amazing moments.
Men versus Women
Battle of the sexes received today in my inbox...
A Woman was out golfing one day when she hit the ball into the woods. She went into the woods to look for it and found a frog in a trap. The frog said to her, "If you release me from this trap, I will grant you three wishes." The woman freed the frog, and the frog said, "Thank you, but I failed to mention that there was a condition to your wishes. Whatever you wish for, your husband will get times ten!"
The woman said, "That's okay." For her first wish, she wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the world. The frog warned her, "You do realize that this wish will also make your husband the most handsome man in the world, an Adonis whom women will flock to. " The woman replied, "That's okay, because I will be the most beautiful woman and he will have eyes only for me." So, KAZAM-she's the most beautiful woman in the world!
For her second wish, she wanted to be the richest woman in the world. The frog said, "That will make your husband the richest man in the world and he will be ten times richer than you. " The woman said, "That's okay, because what's mine is his and what's his is mine." So, KAZAM-she's the richest woman in the world!
The frog then inquired about her third wish, and she answered, "I'd like a mild heart attack."
Moral of the story: Women are clever. Don't mess with them.
Attention female readers: This is the end of the joke for you. Stop here and continue feeling good.
Male readers: Please scroll down.
The man had a heart attack ten times milder than his wife!!!
Moral of the story: Women are really dumb but think they're really smart. Let them continue to think that way and just enjoy the show
A Woman was out golfing one day when she hit the ball into the woods. She went into the woods to look for it and found a frog in a trap. The frog said to her, "If you release me from this trap, I will grant you three wishes." The woman freed the frog, and the frog said, "Thank you, but I failed to mention that there was a condition to your wishes. Whatever you wish for, your husband will get times ten!"
The woman said, "That's okay." For her first wish, she wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the world. The frog warned her, "You do realize that this wish will also make your husband the most handsome man in the world, an Adonis whom women will flock to. " The woman replied, "That's okay, because I will be the most beautiful woman and he will have eyes only for me." So, KAZAM-she's the most beautiful woman in the world!
For her second wish, she wanted to be the richest woman in the world. The frog said, "That will make your husband the richest man in the world and he will be ten times richer than you. " The woman said, "That's okay, because what's mine is his and what's his is mine." So, KAZAM-she's the richest woman in the world!
The frog then inquired about her third wish, and she answered, "I'd like a mild heart attack."
Moral of the story: Women are clever. Don't mess with them.
Attention female readers: This is the end of the joke for you. Stop here and continue feeling good.
Male readers: Please scroll down.
The man had a heart attack ten times milder than his wife!!!
Moral of the story: Women are really dumb but think they're really smart. Let them continue to think that way and just enjoy the show
www.myboyfriendisatwat.com
Found this fantastic blog at the weekend which made me laugh so much - thanks Zoe. I think the title itself is genius. Perhaps it's being Polish that gives me such a love of no holds barred honesty. Here are the best bits which Zoe kindly said I could include but do check out Zoe's world yourself at http://www.myboyfriendisatwat.com/
"I'm a 40 year-old Brit living in Belgium with my 3 children who spend one week here, then one week with their Dad who lives with his girlfriend called Pretty Horrible Tits....Then there is Coralie, a 15 year-old stroppy little cow, her twin sister, Tatiana, who bosses the Twat and I around and winds up their brother Todd, an eleven-year old with the attention span of a goldfish."
"Andre is as lovely as ever, wearing half the clothes he intended to pack which means he is wearing three jumpers, a shirt and a t-shirt. His own private sauna. He told me all about his three-hour erection and has now disappeared with the Twat to examine the cheap tarts. Already."
and the quotes:
Me: "It feels like my wisdom tooth has popped up."
TT: "Well, it might 'uv done."
Me: "Yes, but wouldn't that hurt ? And I can't shut my jaw properly.'
TT: "When did you last try ?"
Me: "You know Quarsan, I'm not sure about going to Paris on my own."
TT: "Why not ? You could take Sue to 'La Musée d'Orsay'."
Me: "Hell no - you know what I'm like - I'd get lost."
TT: "Zoe, you never get lost. I've been asking you to for the past 3 years."
Me: "Q, you're not wearing those again today."
TT: "Why not ?"Me: "Because you love me, don't you ?."
TT: "Yes, but not enough to change my pants."
Me : "It's a candle in remembrance of all those people suffering and being tortured all around the world."
TT : "Yes, and I think of myself everyday."
TT : "Just reply to the Headmistress and tell her you've never heard of anyone called Coralie in your life before."
Me : "Q, I think you've lost your sense of humour."
TT : "Yes, I'm turning into a Feminist."
Me : "Why do you keep looking at my arse ?"
TT : "Because I'm sick of looking at your face."
Me : "For goodness sake, T, it'll be alright. I'm your mother."
TT : "Well that's not a very nice thing to tell her."
"I'm a 40 year-old Brit living in Belgium with my 3 children who spend one week here, then one week with their Dad who lives with his girlfriend called Pretty Horrible Tits....Then there is Coralie, a 15 year-old stroppy little cow, her twin sister, Tatiana, who bosses the Twat and I around and winds up their brother Todd, an eleven-year old with the attention span of a goldfish."
"Andre is as lovely as ever, wearing half the clothes he intended to pack which means he is wearing three jumpers, a shirt and a t-shirt. His own private sauna. He told me all about his three-hour erection and has now disappeared with the Twat to examine the cheap tarts. Already."
and the quotes:
Me: "It feels like my wisdom tooth has popped up."
TT: "Well, it might 'uv done."
Me: "Yes, but wouldn't that hurt ? And I can't shut my jaw properly.'
TT: "When did you last try ?"
Me: "You know Quarsan, I'm not sure about going to Paris on my own."
TT: "Why not ? You could take Sue to 'La Musée d'Orsay'."
Me: "Hell no - you know what I'm like - I'd get lost."
TT: "Zoe, you never get lost. I've been asking you to for the past 3 years."
Me: "Q, you're not wearing those again today."
TT: "Why not ?"Me: "Because you love me, don't you ?."
TT: "Yes, but not enough to change my pants."
Me : "It's a candle in remembrance of all those people suffering and being tortured all around the world."
TT : "Yes, and I think of myself everyday."
TT : "Just reply to the Headmistress and tell her you've never heard of anyone called Coralie in your life before."
Me : "Q, I think you've lost your sense of humour."
TT : "Yes, I'm turning into a Feminist."
Me : "Why do you keep looking at my arse ?"
TT : "Because I'm sick of looking at your face."
Me : "For goodness sake, T, it'll be alright. I'm your mother."
TT : "Well that's not a very nice thing to tell her."
YES! YES! YES!
1) Because we now have broadband at home and wireless too!
2) Because I'm listening to Lou Donaldson's 'Everything I play is funky' real loud
3) Because those are part of the directions on my Herbal Essences shampoo
When did life get so good?
2) Because I'm listening to Lou Donaldson's 'Everything I play is funky' real loud
3) Because those are part of the directions on my Herbal Essences shampoo
When did life get so good?
Tale of a contractor from a planet even weirder than mine
Marta... The contractor was a hoot - we think he was an alien sent to check out the humans. He asked the oddest questions and was uncomfortably personal. After the 2nd week I had to complain
Michael... who did you complain to? and what did he ask????
Marta... To his boss - the consultancy that provides him. Imagine this. He's in the thick of a deeply complex technical hand over with his agency boss and the guy he is replacing when suddenly he looks up and asks his boss "Mike, what shampoo do you use?" out of the blue
Marta... later that week while they walked into the canteen it was "Mike, do you have a tattoo?"
Michael... wow....
Marta... He asked Andy what he did to get such nice pecs and asked whether he'd considered modelling
Michael... what??????? jesus
Marta... With me it started with "your flat stomach - what do you do?" I wasn't aware of the other stuff going on as I had been out of the office and in meetings all the time
Michael... ;-) Obviously, an admirer
Marta... Then he kept going on about me being slim and then when no-one was around came up and asked did he have to do something with diet as well because I must be doing something special to have such a wonderul body, went on about my body and how great it was about 3 times, then asked had I ever been a model. Like you'd think he was in a bar and not talking to the person he reports to
Marta... So at this point I told him to get the fuck out of here. Yes I think that was my choice of words.
Marta... Then everytime I walked by he was staring at me and I thought I don't need this kind of attention. I was thinking twice about ever wearing a skirt above the knee or anything figure hugging to the office again. Perhaps a yashmak though
Michael... jesus... wow -- he has no clue!!!
Marta... I txted Andy who was on holiday and he said "Don't worry, he asked me the same thing and just wait until he asks about tattoos and piercings". I thought Andy was kidding. Well it made me feel better that I hadn't been singled out for attention but those who didn't get complimented felt quite left out at this stage
Michael... haahahahahahaha I bet
Marta... Poor Jo who is nearing retirement had him talking to her about plastic surgery
Michael... is he still working for you?
Marta... No, turns out he lied about having a work permit and on failing to show it Mike marched him off the premises. I have to say it was great having him here - you couldn't write the stuff he came out with and it's the most excitement geekville has had for years!
Michael... who did you complain to? and what did he ask????
Marta... To his boss - the consultancy that provides him. Imagine this. He's in the thick of a deeply complex technical hand over with his agency boss and the guy he is replacing when suddenly he looks up and asks his boss "Mike, what shampoo do you use?" out of the blue
Marta... later that week while they walked into the canteen it was "Mike, do you have a tattoo?"
Michael... wow....
Marta... He asked Andy what he did to get such nice pecs and asked whether he'd considered modelling
Michael... what??????? jesus
Marta... With me it started with "your flat stomach - what do you do?" I wasn't aware of the other stuff going on as I had been out of the office and in meetings all the time
Michael... ;-) Obviously, an admirer
Marta... Then he kept going on about me being slim and then when no-one was around came up and asked did he have to do something with diet as well because I must be doing something special to have such a wonderul body, went on about my body and how great it was about 3 times, then asked had I ever been a model. Like you'd think he was in a bar and not talking to the person he reports to
Marta... So at this point I told him to get the fuck out of here. Yes I think that was my choice of words.
Marta... Then everytime I walked by he was staring at me and I thought I don't need this kind of attention. I was thinking twice about ever wearing a skirt above the knee or anything figure hugging to the office again. Perhaps a yashmak though
Michael... jesus... wow -- he has no clue!!!
Marta... I txted Andy who was on holiday and he said "Don't worry, he asked me the same thing and just wait until he asks about tattoos and piercings". I thought Andy was kidding. Well it made me feel better that I hadn't been singled out for attention but those who didn't get complimented felt quite left out at this stage
Michael... haahahahahahaha I bet
Marta... Poor Jo who is nearing retirement had him talking to her about plastic surgery
Michael... is he still working for you?
Marta... No, turns out he lied about having a work permit and on failing to show it Mike marched him off the premises. I have to say it was great having him here - you couldn't write the stuff he came out with and it's the most excitement geekville has had for years!
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Marta's claims to fame
Having name dropped via Jim, I thought I better put my own claims to fame in order:
- A photo with the real Richard Bransom at his Virgin party (if you've seen the photo of me further down with a Virgin in it you'll know why) - alas I was dumbstruck, a total twat and totally unable to hold a conversation with him
- A photo with a fake Braveheart (screw that - it doesn't really count)
- Saw lead singer of Fine Young Cannibals in his riding britches while waitressing at Stocks Country Club for a day - why are the chefs a the poshest places all fucking psycho?
- Was PR for Stanislaw Sojka which included being in the chaffeur driven entourage to all the best restaurants in Warsaw dahling (famous musician - in Poland only alas)
- Taught English at the Sejm - the Polish Parliament but nobody very high up except the lead contact for the EU who told us his favourite TV channel was RTL because it had lots of porn
- Was private tutor for 2 weeks to the youngest daughter of the President of Kazakstan (bet you don't even know where that is)
- Saved 2 of Lech Walesa's daughter's from being run over while teaching summer school in Canterbury
- Walked past Harrison Ford in Sydney (well actually I had no idea because I have no visual awareness in crowds but Jonathan told me so)
- Have a fan on one dating site who used to be in a band that were top of the pops in the 80s
- I hope to add shagging George Clooney to this list soon
Cuba is on!
Well finally after much searching and deliberation, a decision was made. I fly to Cuba for a little over a week in a couple of weeks. Hurray! I must see it before Castro dies and he's replaced with the McDonalds Revolution.
Going away with Jim of recent Utah holiday fame - he's my number one travel companion of late and no, we are not an item. Have been friends for over 5 years since working together.
No doubt we'll drive eachother nuts with the science of what time will Marta be ready in the morning. I think from the last time he's probably learned to give me 30 minutes lee way. This is one thing about not being on holiday with a lover - they like it when you want to stay in bed!
The only thing I need is a t-shirt that reads "I'm single. He's just a friend. Go on - light my cigar!"
Alas it will probably be the nightmare of families and cosy couples.
Going away with Jim of recent Utah holiday fame - he's my number one travel companion of late and no, we are not an item. Have been friends for over 5 years since working together.
No doubt we'll drive eachother nuts with the science of what time will Marta be ready in the morning. I think from the last time he's probably learned to give me 30 minutes lee way. This is one thing about not being on holiday with a lover - they like it when you want to stay in bed!
The only thing I need is a t-shirt that reads "I'm single. He's just a friend. Go on - light my cigar!"
Alas it will probably be the nightmare of families and cosy couples.
Timi donated these tights to me and when I asked what the frig I'd wear with them, this was her answer. A typical Wednesday girls night in. The boots are mine by the way! So is the axe - that's the one (like there are others! - I have you wondering now) I was presented with at the Polish fireman's ball which I keep under the bed for my protection :-)
Beware of women with rulers!
Women with rulers should be avoided at all costs. Now with that intro you may be thinking I am on about penis size (“n. organ of copulation and urination in male mammals”). Does it matter? Well everyone has been asking lately. (What? - am I Dr Ruth?) A new friend asked me having recently made my acquaintance promoting me rapidly to his first female friend and secret confidant (blogs excluded – whoops! – just change some details) after leaving his wife for a sexy minx and hot sex every day, thrice a day or more. Six months later they are still shagging like love starred Jack Russells I might add. (Or is he just lying? Or was there so much energy left in the old dog after years of underuse?) And from my pulpit I shall preach “sex in a relationship is of vital importance” – whoever heard of a couple who have lots of great sex splitting up? Yes it’s the glue or goo that keeps us together. (Now I think about it, I do know people who have split up despite lots of great sex. This was in cases where there were extreme character malfunctions i.e. 'utter bastard' and 'complete bastard').
I feel it is my public duty to give the answer that is official as deemed by the officials, namely female friends of Marta that 1) divulge and 2) know what an orgasm is.
So does size matter?
No, it doesn’t.
It’s what you do with it that counts – ‘it’ being your tongue mainly. Much can be compensated for by ‘it’. No bad kissing can ever be compensated for. Yes the mouth is the key organ – especially what it says! There’s a saying in Russia that women love with their ears, men with their stomachs. For me it must be love through actions as I never automatically believe what a man says – even before I was cheated on I translated genuinely meaningful admissions of being in love with me into ‘you want a shag then’.
Hmmm? - you weren’t thinking of organs of mass destruction.
Well beware of beauticians who use rulers to shape your eyebrows. After years of non threatening waxing behaviour they got all professional on me, doing it according to measures. This is fine for normal females but is anything about me normal? Fuck no! I have a wide Polish peasant nose so now have a huge gap between my eyebrows. Can’t these dumb bitches think for themselves and make a judgment call? Oh dear – is that a little harsh? Well do you have any idea of the angst I will go through regrowing these tuftans that’ll look like some random cat hair I found on the sofa cushions and glued on? The time before that they made them too short on the other end – particularly one brow. So it’s the ever shrinking brows fable. Christ on a bike – I will have to paint them on soon. How hideous is that? I will permanently have that expression like I’ve just seen a rat!
I feel it is my public duty to give the answer that is official as deemed by the officials, namely female friends of Marta that 1) divulge and 2) know what an orgasm is.
So does size matter?
No, it doesn’t.
It’s what you do with it that counts – ‘it’ being your tongue mainly. Much can be compensated for by ‘it’. No bad kissing can ever be compensated for. Yes the mouth is the key organ – especially what it says! There’s a saying in Russia that women love with their ears, men with their stomachs. For me it must be love through actions as I never automatically believe what a man says – even before I was cheated on I translated genuinely meaningful admissions of being in love with me into ‘you want a shag then’.
Hmmm? - you weren’t thinking of organs of mass destruction.
Well beware of beauticians who use rulers to shape your eyebrows. After years of non threatening waxing behaviour they got all professional on me, doing it according to measures. This is fine for normal females but is anything about me normal? Fuck no! I have a wide Polish peasant nose so now have a huge gap between my eyebrows. Can’t these dumb bitches think for themselves and make a judgment call? Oh dear – is that a little harsh? Well do you have any idea of the angst I will go through regrowing these tuftans that’ll look like some random cat hair I found on the sofa cushions and glued on? The time before that they made them too short on the other end – particularly one brow. So it’s the ever shrinking brows fable. Christ on a bike – I will have to paint them on soon. How hideous is that? I will permanently have that expression like I’ve just seen a rat!
Saturday, January 29, 2005
How do you still your mind to meditate? Life and sixth sense
This morning having done yoga stretches and the chiropractic exercises I am ‘supposed’ to do daily, I decided that I should take the opportunity of being alone in the house to do some meditation. I am convinced of the benefits but have not quite mastered the art. Rather than do a guided meditation from a DVD I decided to open my book of Buddhist blessings etc. for inspiration and perhaps some instruction. At least to stop ‘doing’ for a while and to read which is something I rarely do although I enjoy it. Sometimes staying still is impossible – even with yoga for relaxation. When the lady in the DVD is talking at length and I find myself waiting, I start to do the next movement. Isn't that daft?
And so it happened again. I was reading about when the author met her lama, she felt she knew him already and how her dreams included flashes of memory from a past life. This led me to recall a neighbour of my Spanish friend living in Granada and how I wanted to help the neighbour on her journey of discovery. This lady has had dreams all her life of a Jewish girl called Sara in Poland who was rounded up by the Nazis and after a period of internment, shot in the side. Paca feels she is this girl, everything is so real. She knows the name of the town and sees the streets where Sara played growing up. These dreams were so vivid they frightened her and she did not share them with anyone for a long time. She asked my friend Guadalupe for help with finding an explanation after they got to know eachother and learnt that Guadalupe had studied philosophy. Paca had been able to research that there was an entry of the death of a girl with the exact name and surname she knew. It was the day she was born.
Paca thinks perhaps she would like to go to the town in Poland. If she decides that she wants this, I have said I will help arrange this and act as translator. Now all I can think about is Paca and the past life mystery that has been with her. Was Sara not yet ready to die and her soul transferred to a new born somewhere in the world? Would it be good or bad to go to the town in Poland? If traced and indeed some were still alive, what would Sara’s family make of a Spanish woman saying she was Sara or at least shared Sara’s memories? Could something be done so that Sara would rest and the dreams for Paca would stop? Is there a purpose to this? My mind cannot be still and I am not going to be able to be meditative.
Counter:
_“Faith is an oasis
______in the heart
____which will never be reached
___________by the caravan
_______________of thinking”
Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
It leads me to remember a strange fortnight I had while living in Poland - Spring 1992. I was in the art college and while waiting to meet my Greek friend Anna, I was having tea with a Polish art student who was also a friend of hers. Marcin told me he felt this was an awful year because so many young people he knew had died. I’ll tell you the story of one of those tragic deaths another time. I told Marcin I didn’t want to concern him but I would be next. Well I didn’t tell him but the knowledge came into my head - I couldn’t say this to him because I hardly knew him and I didn’t understand what had just happened myself.
And so it happened again. I was reading about when the author met her lama, she felt she knew him already and how her dreams included flashes of memory from a past life. This led me to recall a neighbour of my Spanish friend living in Granada and how I wanted to help the neighbour on her journey of discovery. This lady has had dreams all her life of a Jewish girl called Sara in Poland who was rounded up by the Nazis and after a period of internment, shot in the side. Paca feels she is this girl, everything is so real. She knows the name of the town and sees the streets where Sara played growing up. These dreams were so vivid they frightened her and she did not share them with anyone for a long time. She asked my friend Guadalupe for help with finding an explanation after they got to know eachother and learnt that Guadalupe had studied philosophy. Paca had been able to research that there was an entry of the death of a girl with the exact name and surname she knew. It was the day she was born.
Paca thinks perhaps she would like to go to the town in Poland. If she decides that she wants this, I have said I will help arrange this and act as translator. Now all I can think about is Paca and the past life mystery that has been with her. Was Sara not yet ready to die and her soul transferred to a new born somewhere in the world? Would it be good or bad to go to the town in Poland? If traced and indeed some were still alive, what would Sara’s family make of a Spanish woman saying she was Sara or at least shared Sara’s memories? Could something be done so that Sara would rest and the dreams for Paca would stop? Is there a purpose to this? My mind cannot be still and I am not going to be able to be meditative.
Counter:
_“Faith is an oasis
______in the heart
____which will never be reached
___________by the caravan
_______________of thinking”
Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
It leads me to remember a strange fortnight I had while living in Poland - Spring 1992. I was in the art college and while waiting to meet my Greek friend Anna, I was having tea with a Polish art student who was also a friend of hers. Marcin told me he felt this was an awful year because so many young people he knew had died. I’ll tell you the story of one of those tragic deaths another time. I told Marcin I didn’t want to concern him but I would be next. Well I didn’t tell him but the knowledge came into my head - I couldn’t say this to him because I hardly knew him and I didn’t understand what had just happened myself.
A few days later while walking to my English teaching job at the Sejm (parliament) I suddenly had this flash of insight again which was ringing crystal clear as ‘It’s not long now!”. I remember exactly where I was even today – on a pedestrian crossing in the square near the parliament. I now told Anna who was as bewildered as I was. When she asked me how I felt about it, I replied very calmly that if it was my time then it was my time, I’ve had a very good interesting life (I was only turning 20! But had lived in Spain, Poland and interrailed alone with amazing experiences throughout my 2 years living abroad – it still remains the most fascinating time in my life) and most importantly I had been there to the end of mum breaking free from a very difficult marriage. Anna was still confused. I felt okay about it but was intrigued when it would be and how.
That weekend I went for a walk and rested on top of the hill near my flat. Now this wasn’t a romantic hill at all – a garbage pile earthed and turfed over to create a landscape amongst the concrete jungle of the Ursinow housing estate in Warsaw. Suddenly I was overcome by a barely describable feeling of magical serene radiant joy from another place, but one I could practically reach out and touch. I wondered if a big hand would come from the sky and scoop me up. Was I going to die now? I don’t believe in heaven and hell, nor do I want to live forever (when I die I want to feel and know nothing - I have already experienced heaven and hell in this life thank you. I'm grateful for the richness of both because I feel to have really lived and learned, but a break would be good when the Grim Reaper comes.) but I am convinced that day sat on the hill that I felt the other side, whatever it is. I had no more strange messages or feelings and carried on with my normal life.
The following weekend was Easter and I was in Prague. While there I called my mum to wish her a happy Easter. It wasn’t a happy Easter though. Mum told me grandmother had died. Suddenly it made sense. Grandmother had had a good long life, grandfather had passed away a few years before and it had been important for her to be there, for reasons I won’t go into, for mum through the decade long harrowing divorce. They were gran's feelings.
On the night my mum’s grandmother passed away, mum had got up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night and was surprised to see her gran (who lived on the other side of the village) in the hallway and asked “Babcia, what are you doing here?”. I wish I could remember the details (why didn’t I keep a journal/blog before?) but my gran also had a strange experience when her grandmother died.
That weekend I went for a walk and rested on top of the hill near my flat. Now this wasn’t a romantic hill at all – a garbage pile earthed and turfed over to create a landscape amongst the concrete jungle of the Ursinow housing estate in Warsaw. Suddenly I was overcome by a barely describable feeling of magical serene radiant joy from another place, but one I could practically reach out and touch. I wondered if a big hand would come from the sky and scoop me up. Was I going to die now? I don’t believe in heaven and hell, nor do I want to live forever (when I die I want to feel and know nothing - I have already experienced heaven and hell in this life thank you. I'm grateful for the richness of both because I feel to have really lived and learned, but a break would be good when the Grim Reaper comes.) but I am convinced that day sat on the hill that I felt the other side, whatever it is. I had no more strange messages or feelings and carried on with my normal life.
The following weekend was Easter and I was in Prague. While there I called my mum to wish her a happy Easter. It wasn’t a happy Easter though. Mum told me grandmother had died. Suddenly it made sense. Grandmother had had a good long life, grandfather had passed away a few years before and it had been important for her to be there, for reasons I won’t go into, for mum through the decade long harrowing divorce. They were gran's feelings.
On the night my mum’s grandmother passed away, mum had got up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night and was surprised to see her gran (who lived on the other side of the village) in the hallway and asked “Babcia, what are you doing here?”. I wish I could remember the details (why didn’t I keep a journal/blog before?) but my gran also had a strange experience when her grandmother died.
Gran and I were incredibly close – she had always lived with us in the room next to mine and had brought me up as mum worked fulltime. Of course I hadn’t seen her much the last few years gadding about Europe with my adventures (If you had had a teenage home life like mine, you too would have gone into the world by yourself at 18 ;-). I thought of why Sara’s memories were with Paca. I wondered why I had those messages about dying and for the first time it occurred to me that maybe grandmother was trying to say goodbye to me, especially as I was so far away. If only I’d been able to understand what it all meant so I could answer the call and come home to see her and hug her one last time. With that thought and plenty of tears welling up I leave you.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
My first and second car accidents
Accident 1) Was when I was a wee wee girly riding on the bonnet of mum’s car down the drive for thrills - as we like to do in wild redneck Polish families (you see I’m half peasant / half snob). Mum stopped in front of the garage and thought she was in reverse. My foot bore the brunt of it and my dad cursed as he panel beat out the dent in the metal garage door.
Accident 2) I had a wheel come off a Renault 5. It was my first car which had to be chic in some way, so bought a burgundy 11 yr old banger and called her Veronique - probably somewhat inspired by the film 'The Life of Veronique' too. I even have a photo of the impressively long skid mark I left on the road. While approaching a t-junction the wheel snapped off (rusted joint that should have been spotted in MOT) and turned to be at a 90 degree angle to the car while I careered down the road and onto the pavement pretending to control it. Scary schtuff!
Accident 2) I had a wheel come off a Renault 5. It was my first car which had to be chic in some way, so bought a burgundy 11 yr old banger and called her Veronique - probably somewhat inspired by the film 'The Life of Veronique' too. I even have a photo of the impressively long skid mark I left on the road. While approaching a t-junction the wheel snapped off (rusted joint that should have been spotted in MOT) and turned to be at a 90 degree angle to the car while I careered down the road and onto the pavement pretending to control it. Scary schtuff!
Will poetry help us finally see BJ?
"Marta, Marta Give me your answer, do
I'm half crazy
To go to the cinema with you
It won't be a stylish showing
I don't know where we're going
But you'll look neat
Upon the seat
When we're watching Bridget Jones 2"
--- by Stevie Baby
Alas it didn't - it's no longer on and Trudy, Mary and I will see it by ourselves at the Arts Centre next month now. BJ is obviously high culture!
I'm half crazy
To go to the cinema with you
It won't be a stylish showing
I don't know where we're going
But you'll look neat
Upon the seat
When we're watching Bridget Jones 2"
--- by Stevie Baby
Alas it didn't - it's no longer on and Trudy, Mary and I will see it by ourselves at the Arts Centre next month now. BJ is obviously high culture!
A Brazilian found in my shower this morning! Feeling Good!
Well I think I must be on the mend. I took the stairs as usual and not the lift at work. Better than that, this morning Timi left the house before me so I had Gilberto Gil on real loud and was dancing in the shower. I defy anyone not to be moved to dance by the wonderful Mr Gil. Then I finished off with a cold blast accompanied with a scream like a Brazilian ladee wearing ba-na-nas in the Carnival - this is a habit left over from a detox I did end of last year and it is really invigorating i.e. the cold but the scream is quite invigorating too. I recommend both AND listening to Gil. What a great way to start the day!
I was happy with what the Cardiologist told me last night (like he's done hundreds and has never had any complications) although the op won't be until March or April which seems like a long time because it delays when I can have the other one. 'Radiofrequency Ablation' has been prescribed to short my circuits - why couldn't it be 'Hot Sex'?
Now listening to Ramsey Lewis recorded live. He's a good man but do you ever feel there's no music out there as wild and raucous as you need it to be in that moment?
I was happy with what the Cardiologist told me last night (like he's done hundreds and has never had any complications) although the op won't be until March or April which seems like a long time because it delays when I can have the other one. 'Radiofrequency Ablation' has been prescribed to short my circuits - why couldn't it be 'Hot Sex'?
Now listening to Ramsey Lewis recorded live. He's a good man but do you ever feel there's no music out there as wild and raucous as you need it to be in that moment?
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
You think I'm nuts? Armen's party schedule
Here's the party schedule sent by my Armenian ex-husband, who I remain good friends with, for his birthday this Saturday (I'm sure his English was better when we were together but that's the best bit of this email - he's certainly wilder!):
"Subject: Party schedule (do not open if you're not yet 16) (also I didn't send to work E-mails)
"Subject: Party schedule (do not open if you're not yet 16) (also I didn't send to work E-mails)
Hi there all,
I hope you’re fine and I trust you set for my and Scooby’s party, you got the presence right and looking forward for rock’n’roll, table dancing and wall-to-wall vomiting.
Right? Wong….
As I like structure and discipline and don’t like any surprises I’ve decided to provide you with the party schedule. Here is goes:
Party schedule for 29/01/2005
18:00 – Gests arrive; Armen and Scooby welcome guests and take the presences. Guests gather in the main room drink and talk nothing.
18:30 – Opening the presents. Shoving real and fake appreciation;
19:00 – Dinner;
19:30 – Everybody gets naked and covers into baby oil;
20:00 – Orgy
21:00 – Everybody has orgasm;
21:05 – Firework.
21:30 -23:00 free time.
I hope you’re enjoy the time! Looking forward seeing you soon!
Armen & Scooby"
I hope you’re fine and I trust you set for my and Scooby’s party, you got the presence right and looking forward for rock’n’roll, table dancing and wall-to-wall vomiting.
Right? Wong….
As I like structure and discipline and don’t like any surprises I’ve decided to provide you with the party schedule. Here is goes:
Party schedule for 29/01/2005
18:00 – Gests arrive; Armen and Scooby welcome guests and take the presences. Guests gather in the main room drink and talk nothing.
18:30 – Opening the presents. Shoving real and fake appreciation;
19:00 – Dinner;
19:30 – Everybody gets naked and covers into baby oil;
20:00 – Orgy
21:00 – Everybody has orgasm;
21:05 – Firework.
21:30 -23:00 free time.
I hope you’re enjoy the time! Looking forward seeing you soon!
Armen & Scooby"
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Bloody eBay! > Marta driving disasters
Arghhh! Things must be bad when I'm sat at my laptop and talking to myself in a Northern accent saying things like "You can go f’ck yourself with your f’cking email registration f’cking eBay!!!!"
Oksana is always admiring my patience and calm - I can’t understand why. Wait ‘til she sees this!
I thought I'd be brave and bid on a 2nd hand wide angle lens for my EOS having missed a great shot from inside Double Arch on holiday without one. But just registering has already wasted over an hour without success and I am ready to kill, well possibly kick furniture. Life is too short to shop around, bargain hunt and bid at auctions I fear. It will be frigging easier to buy a ticket to New York and fly out to buy one there because they are cheaper. Failing that, just shelling out on the Mastercard in a UK shop is a distinct possibility and I think a lot of photography shops sell second hand now anyways - including one in Bournemouth and I never need much of an excuse to go there again.
Or there’s one in Camberley which is closer but the shame, oh the shame! See last time I was there was last year, I was in the middle of a divorce, moving out, the whole shabang and wasn't quite with it. I went to check out a Canon Ixus (before ordering online) and after a delicious burger at zee Burger King (well I can't afford the "Fat Duck" in Bray all the time!) wondered why I couldn't see my car which I'd left parked on the High Street. Then I saw a car like mine just before the crossroads much lower down the street with a brick placed behind the back wheel. Yes I had forgotten to apply the handbrake after parking my beloved Golf GTI Turbo on a hill!!! Thank god for the people who stopped it going any further but where on earth had they found that brick in the middle of town? - bless them a hundred times!!! I can imagine faces as the car rolled down towards the crossroads. I felt such a fool and wondered if anyone was hanging about to see who the twat was.
I think I should add to my blog some other Marta/car disaster stories. It's another area where I am a paradox. I really am a good driver and am told so by men, so I must be - right? I even got told I was a good driver, and this was while exceeding the speed limit just a tad, by Rita's dad who is normally petrified of everyone's driving & could be voted Most Nervous Passenger any month of the year. But occasionally I am a complete woman driver and do the dumbest stuff when distracted or angry! You can see how easily distracted I am - I started off writing about effing eBay. Sometimes I am a complete male driver and do the dumbest stuff like seeing a sign for a hump back bridge and putting my foot down in order to fly over the brow Dukes of Hazard style! Not good for your car or your back. Your life is not a film Marta!
I can also beat any car setting off at the lights but those Beamers with huge engine power normally win the distance. I should add I do this rarely these days, as I become older and wiser. I don’t think you should speed – mainly because other drivers don’t expect you to and cannot react to you doing 110 mph plus. I do think I should give rally driving and banger racing a try though. Also I would love to drive a tank – or was that my mum’s Lada? I remember she bought it new, so proud as the first car she’d ever owned from new. Mark, my brother, got in the back and nudged off the window handle with his knee which flew across and hit mum on the head. It just got worse from there on. Mum’s first driving lesson, she turned left and didn’t unturn the steering wheel thus ending up nose first into a ditch!
Probably the stupidest thing was my first hire car experience at Enterprise in Bournemouth where I drove the Micra off a 3 foot drop and wedged it there.
Just the other day a colleague watched me reverse into a tight spot with one nipple (sorry - old lesbian skills joke I share with Jonathan who once couldn’t change his car tyre and had to be rescued by a lesbian who did it so effortlessly) and the cheeky bastard gave me a 10 out of 10 score hand gesture. Then the same evening while I had two ex-boyfriends in the one thought bubble simultaneously, I drove into the wall as I did the 13 point manoeuvre needed to park in our ‘interesting’ driveway.
But you really shouldn’t mess with women drivers, you know. I hate people driving too close behind me and sometimes brake slightly for the worse culprits to get them to back off. This is fine unless she’s a woman driver with PMT who responds by accelerating and going nuts – thinking of psycho bitch from hell here on the M3. What? – you know her too? Or may be men are worse – (cough) I was once going out with one who got so mad, he actually not only put on the brakes but stopped his car on the motorway. That really is dangerous, stupid and a lesson to all of us to manage our anger. He is the same guy who when in a sports store rushed over saying he found what I needed for my car and held up a baseball bat!
Actually nowadays I kill with kindness and 99% of the time I am Ms Cool as a Cucumber behind the wheel, while others blow off. I think it was me driving Oksana around London that gave her the impression I was a patient person. Don’t you love the feeling when you give way to let someone into the traffic? You should! I think having lived in Bournemouth for three years, it left a bit of ‘love thy fellow driver’ in me except I can’t love a man that drives like a girl. So may be I don’t have the patience of a saint after all.
Oksana is always admiring my patience and calm - I can’t understand why. Wait ‘til she sees this!
I thought I'd be brave and bid on a 2nd hand wide angle lens for my EOS having missed a great shot from inside Double Arch on holiday without one. But just registering has already wasted over an hour without success and I am ready to kill, well possibly kick furniture. Life is too short to shop around, bargain hunt and bid at auctions I fear. It will be frigging easier to buy a ticket to New York and fly out to buy one there because they are cheaper. Failing that, just shelling out on the Mastercard in a UK shop is a distinct possibility and I think a lot of photography shops sell second hand now anyways - including one in Bournemouth and I never need much of an excuse to go there again.
Or there’s one in Camberley which is closer but the shame, oh the shame! See last time I was there was last year, I was in the middle of a divorce, moving out, the whole shabang and wasn't quite with it. I went to check out a Canon Ixus (before ordering online) and after a delicious burger at zee Burger King (well I can't afford the "Fat Duck" in Bray all the time!) wondered why I couldn't see my car which I'd left parked on the High Street. Then I saw a car like mine just before the crossroads much lower down the street with a brick placed behind the back wheel. Yes I had forgotten to apply the handbrake after parking my beloved Golf GTI Turbo on a hill!!! Thank god for the people who stopped it going any further but where on earth had they found that brick in the middle of town? - bless them a hundred times!!! I can imagine faces as the car rolled down towards the crossroads. I felt such a fool and wondered if anyone was hanging about to see who the twat was.
I think I should add to my blog some other Marta/car disaster stories. It's another area where I am a paradox. I really am a good driver and am told so by men, so I must be - right? I even got told I was a good driver, and this was while exceeding the speed limit just a tad, by Rita's dad who is normally petrified of everyone's driving & could be voted Most Nervous Passenger any month of the year. But occasionally I am a complete woman driver and do the dumbest stuff when distracted or angry! You can see how easily distracted I am - I started off writing about effing eBay. Sometimes I am a complete male driver and do the dumbest stuff like seeing a sign for a hump back bridge and putting my foot down in order to fly over the brow Dukes of Hazard style! Not good for your car or your back. Your life is not a film Marta!
I can also beat any car setting off at the lights but those Beamers with huge engine power normally win the distance. I should add I do this rarely these days, as I become older and wiser. I don’t think you should speed – mainly because other drivers don’t expect you to and cannot react to you doing 110 mph plus. I do think I should give rally driving and banger racing a try though. Also I would love to drive a tank – or was that my mum’s Lada? I remember she bought it new, so proud as the first car she’d ever owned from new. Mark, my brother, got in the back and nudged off the window handle with his knee which flew across and hit mum on the head. It just got worse from there on. Mum’s first driving lesson, she turned left and didn’t unturn the steering wheel thus ending up nose first into a ditch!
Probably the stupidest thing was my first hire car experience at Enterprise in Bournemouth where I drove the Micra off a 3 foot drop and wedged it there.
Just the other day a colleague watched me reverse into a tight spot with one nipple (sorry - old lesbian skills joke I share with Jonathan who once couldn’t change his car tyre and had to be rescued by a lesbian who did it so effortlessly) and the cheeky bastard gave me a 10 out of 10 score hand gesture. Then the same evening while I had two ex-boyfriends in the one thought bubble simultaneously, I drove into the wall as I did the 13 point manoeuvre needed to park in our ‘interesting’ driveway.
But you really shouldn’t mess with women drivers, you know. I hate people driving too close behind me and sometimes brake slightly for the worse culprits to get them to back off. This is fine unless she’s a woman driver with PMT who responds by accelerating and going nuts – thinking of psycho bitch from hell here on the M3. What? – you know her too? Or may be men are worse – (cough) I was once going out with one who got so mad, he actually not only put on the brakes but stopped his car on the motorway. That really is dangerous, stupid and a lesson to all of us to manage our anger. He is the same guy who when in a sports store rushed over saying he found what I needed for my car and held up a baseball bat!
Actually nowadays I kill with kindness and 99% of the time I am Ms Cool as a Cucumber behind the wheel, while others blow off. I think it was me driving Oksana around London that gave her the impression I was a patient person. Don’t you love the feeling when you give way to let someone into the traffic? You should! I think having lived in Bournemouth for three years, it left a bit of ‘love thy fellow driver’ in me except I can’t love a man that drives like a girl. So may be I don’t have the patience of a saint after all.
My friends cannot decide what is funnier
The various effects they've seen Kylie have on me or the fact I shaved my legs because I was going to A&E.
Nurse doing ECG "I can smell Cocoa butter."
Marta "Yes, I put this Morrocan Milk on after shaving my legs earlier."
Nurse "You didn't shave your legs to come to Casualty, did you?"
Marta "Damn right I did - it may not be 'life or death' but it's certainly not life with hairy legs!"
I'm not always great at living up to the expectation that Polish women always look after their appearance (Ewa says "I would never be seen without make up and in joggers on the school run") but this proves deep down I am Polish after all ;-)
And I end with a great quote sent to me from my friend Phil:
Marcus Aurelius "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."
Nurse doing ECG "I can smell Cocoa butter."
Marta "Yes, I put this Morrocan Milk on after shaving my legs earlier."
Nurse "You didn't shave your legs to come to Casualty, did you?"
Marta "Damn right I did - it may not be 'life or death' but it's certainly not life with hairy legs!"
I'm not always great at living up to the expectation that Polish women always look after their appearance (Ewa says "I would never be seen without make up and in joggers on the school run") but this proves deep down I am Polish after all ;-)
And I end with a great quote sent to me from my friend Phil:
Marcus Aurelius "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."
Monday, January 24, 2005
Singing to Kylie leads to heart reboot in casualty
My exuberance for life sometimes gets the better of me. Friday night was the work ball and I decided at the last minute I would go because it meant not having to cook dinner for myself, an occasion to wear one of the 4 gowns I bought in Miami in Xmas 2003 (3 down, 1 to go), and an opportunity to upset table plans as a single who was not prepared to drag along some member of the opposite sex just for the sake of it. I don't normally enjoy work dos so why make someone else suffer and I'd only have to constantly worry whether they were okay. As it turns out going on my own, I had a fabulous time and this was a really good work do. Everyone made a real effort with black tie and looked stunning. Pre and during dinner entertainment were a couple of musicians, an artist who drew caricatures and a girl who cut out silhouette portraits. Plus I forgot we all get gifts at these events and you can steal the flower arrangements at the end. The aspect that puts me off most is that a lot of my colleagues think enjoyment is drinking as much as possible of the free alcohol. However I didn't notice too many drunk and disorderly people this time apart from the usual suspects who make a point of brushing past you etc.
Having applauded myself for kicking off the dancing, successfully embroiling 8 people to join me, three songs in it was Kylie's "I can't get you out of my head". For some reason I decided to be very silly and loudly sing "la la la lalalalala". At this point my heart sabotaged my one woman entertainment show and I got palpitations. After a lie down (in the toilets with legs up the wall) I felt a bit better and paced myself with dancing through the night to the fab 10 piece 'Commitments' type band (how can you resist a bit of James Brown or the Twist?), in between driving a tram (as you do - pics to follow) and chatting with people (very much avoiding state of 3G etc. conversations - YAWN!).
Alas the palpitations got worse after and went on all weekend so it was a wash out. I had to go to my exhusband's house to spend the night to feed the cats because he and Oksana were going to a concert in Bournemouth. I was so exhausted, it was a real effort and I actually drove over in my dressing gown and slippers. They came back yesterday lunchtime to find Goldilocks still in bed having slept very little and feeling worse. It's like having run 3 marathons and being on your 4th. Despite an abundance of TLC from them and nice Russian food, nothing was going to shift the palpitations and I couldn't bear it anymore. So decided for the first time to go to Casualty last night as my GP recommended, especially as the last bad palps had lasted 5 days and reached 180. They've got worse over the last 14 years. That's something I can't live with. Life is too short. Reason I hadn't gone before is I normally have strong reactions to drugs, don't like hospitals (or the horror stories attached to them) and I didn't want to end up worse off or dead. So to A&E in High Wycombe I went. High Wycombe is supposed to be a good hospital. Could have been cleaner though but then it was 11pm on a Sunday night.
That was fun (not). The physical stuff they tried didn't help stop the rapid heart beat which had been 145 for most of the weekend but was now slower. I had my life flash past my eyes while having an injection to literally reboot me. The Adenosine stopped my heart for 14 seconds which then returned to normal rhythm. Norm for most people is 10 seconds for the heart to start again so they were a tad worried for 4 seconds, although 15 is known and accepted. The Dr referred to my cautions prior to the injection where I explained that I tend to have whatever side effects are going or only need a tiny dose - he said I had the strongest reaction he had seen. Instead of lying there dopey and perhaps offering up a grunt, I was trying to get off the bed and looked terrified. As far as I was concerned I seemed to be dreaming incredibly fast like a whirlwind tour of my life on a very fast motorbike and then desperately trying to kick my way to the surface of the water fighting for my life. Suddenly I saw 2 strange faces, was wearing an oxygen mask, wondering why they were holding me down, what they were doing to me, why I was fighting against them and where the hell I was. I couldn't remember a thing and didn't know if I was dreaming or awake. Nothing made sense. Fortunately within a few seconds I recalled what was happening but it was a very scary experience. They did another ECG to check I was fine and I went home.
Now resting until I get back my strength which will take a day or two. I hate feeling like I'm in an old woman's body when in my soul I have so much life - it's so damn frustrating. Then when I'm fine I forget all about it. When I was 19 living in Madrid I danced 4 nights a week continually from midnight to at least 4am. Perhaps I overdid it then. Then in my 20s I would get down about having to rest after 30 mins strutting my stuff. After a while I decided to accept it rather than fight it - that made it more bearable. I'm well past being a disco diva on a regular basis but not having palpitations would improve my life significantly.
It's a good job I see the Consultant in London this Wed about the op that has a 90% chance of ridding me of these blasted palpitations - it's exactly the same as what Tony Blair had. More about that at
http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=4682. It basically burns out the crazy extra circuitry in my heart that means I get a loop of crazy heart beats. It's not a big deal as ops go but it is your heart and you got to pray they don't fuck it up. The biggest worry is that I will be a 'normal' person after losing this crazy aspect of my being - how dull would that be ;-). And that is the minor op of the two I have to look forward to this year.
The second op is major to remove a troublesome fibroid and reconstruct my uterus, has 6 weeks recovery and carries a risk of having to have a hysterectomy. I guess it is good that I've always been predisposed to providing a loving home for children desperately in need of one and a better chance in life (adoption and fostering). I think being a mother is about a lot more than giving birth as incredible as that is. I read an article over Xmas about a New York woman who adopted an eleven year old girl from the Urals in Russia. Her family had locked her out of the house in freezing conditions and she suffered such bad frostbite that she had to have several toes amputated - they then abandoned her. Although a pretty girl, because she was slightly dark skinned and now not normal physically, it was going to be nigh on impossible to find Russian adoptive parents. She would have been transferred to an institution in a couple of years which had much rougher conditions than the orphanage and from there, the expectations are these children make their way in life living off crime or prostitution. Reading that reaffirmed to me that to adopt is really the right thing to do.
I know it won't be easy but then who said life was going to be easy? - especially if it concerns pursuing your dreams or trying to make a positive difference. William Goldman, the master of film scripts, in his wonderful book 'The Princess Bride' has this great line "Life is pain. Anyone who says different is selling you something." Accepting this, I believe it's our job to make our life fun and also better for others.
Anyway so far I've avoided hospitals in my life, so consider myself to have been lucky. I am remaining positive about it all (even about the dire situation at work where redundancy is on the cards and we'll find out who in a couple of months - a reason to get on with the ops while I have private healthcare) with a little mental work and the support of my friends. This woman is unstoppable! Lots more dancing to start (it's a celebration of life) and being silly to Kylie.
As Jamiroquai sang:
"Dance, nothing left for me to do but dance,
Off these bad times I'm going through just dance".
My dear friend KK wrote the following to me yesterday which really cheered me up:
"How in God's name can you stay positive with all this news??!! It is a sign that you are a bloody strong woman (and you ARE and not you MUST BE). I am sure that all this is happening because afterwards you will
a) Live longer than any of us :-))
b) Have the nicest/hottest boyfriend among us :-))"
Having applauded myself for kicking off the dancing, successfully embroiling 8 people to join me, three songs in it was Kylie's "I can't get you out of my head". For some reason I decided to be very silly and loudly sing "la la la lalalalala". At this point my heart sabotaged my one woman entertainment show and I got palpitations. After a lie down (in the toilets with legs up the wall) I felt a bit better and paced myself with dancing through the night to the fab 10 piece 'Commitments' type band (how can you resist a bit of James Brown or the Twist?), in between driving a tram (as you do - pics to follow) and chatting with people (very much avoiding state of 3G etc. conversations - YAWN!).
Alas the palpitations got worse after and went on all weekend so it was a wash out. I had to go to my exhusband's house to spend the night to feed the cats because he and Oksana were going to a concert in Bournemouth. I was so exhausted, it was a real effort and I actually drove over in my dressing gown and slippers. They came back yesterday lunchtime to find Goldilocks still in bed having slept very little and feeling worse. It's like having run 3 marathons and being on your 4th. Despite an abundance of TLC from them and nice Russian food, nothing was going to shift the palpitations and I couldn't bear it anymore. So decided for the first time to go to Casualty last night as my GP recommended, especially as the last bad palps had lasted 5 days and reached 180. They've got worse over the last 14 years. That's something I can't live with. Life is too short. Reason I hadn't gone before is I normally have strong reactions to drugs, don't like hospitals (or the horror stories attached to them) and I didn't want to end up worse off or dead. So to A&E in High Wycombe I went. High Wycombe is supposed to be a good hospital. Could have been cleaner though but then it was 11pm on a Sunday night.
That was fun (not). The physical stuff they tried didn't help stop the rapid heart beat which had been 145 for most of the weekend but was now slower. I had my life flash past my eyes while having an injection to literally reboot me. The Adenosine stopped my heart for 14 seconds which then returned to normal rhythm. Norm for most people is 10 seconds for the heart to start again so they were a tad worried for 4 seconds, although 15 is known and accepted. The Dr referred to my cautions prior to the injection where I explained that I tend to have whatever side effects are going or only need a tiny dose - he said I had the strongest reaction he had seen. Instead of lying there dopey and perhaps offering up a grunt, I was trying to get off the bed and looked terrified. As far as I was concerned I seemed to be dreaming incredibly fast like a whirlwind tour of my life on a very fast motorbike and then desperately trying to kick my way to the surface of the water fighting for my life. Suddenly I saw 2 strange faces, was wearing an oxygen mask, wondering why they were holding me down, what they were doing to me, why I was fighting against them and where the hell I was. I couldn't remember a thing and didn't know if I was dreaming or awake. Nothing made sense. Fortunately within a few seconds I recalled what was happening but it was a very scary experience. They did another ECG to check I was fine and I went home.
Now resting until I get back my strength which will take a day or two. I hate feeling like I'm in an old woman's body when in my soul I have so much life - it's so damn frustrating. Then when I'm fine I forget all about it. When I was 19 living in Madrid I danced 4 nights a week continually from midnight to at least 4am. Perhaps I overdid it then. Then in my 20s I would get down about having to rest after 30 mins strutting my stuff. After a while I decided to accept it rather than fight it - that made it more bearable. I'm well past being a disco diva on a regular basis but not having palpitations would improve my life significantly.
It's a good job I see the Consultant in London this Wed about the op that has a 90% chance of ridding me of these blasted palpitations - it's exactly the same as what Tony Blair had. More about that at
http://www.americanheart.org/presenter.jhtml?identifier=4682. It basically burns out the crazy extra circuitry in my heart that means I get a loop of crazy heart beats. It's not a big deal as ops go but it is your heart and you got to pray they don't fuck it up. The biggest worry is that I will be a 'normal' person after losing this crazy aspect of my being - how dull would that be ;-). And that is the minor op of the two I have to look forward to this year.
The second op is major to remove a troublesome fibroid and reconstruct my uterus, has 6 weeks recovery and carries a risk of having to have a hysterectomy. I guess it is good that I've always been predisposed to providing a loving home for children desperately in need of one and a better chance in life (adoption and fostering). I think being a mother is about a lot more than giving birth as incredible as that is. I read an article over Xmas about a New York woman who adopted an eleven year old girl from the Urals in Russia. Her family had locked her out of the house in freezing conditions and she suffered such bad frostbite that she had to have several toes amputated - they then abandoned her. Although a pretty girl, because she was slightly dark skinned and now not normal physically, it was going to be nigh on impossible to find Russian adoptive parents. She would have been transferred to an institution in a couple of years which had much rougher conditions than the orphanage and from there, the expectations are these children make their way in life living off crime or prostitution. Reading that reaffirmed to me that to adopt is really the right thing to do.
I know it won't be easy but then who said life was going to be easy? - especially if it concerns pursuing your dreams or trying to make a positive difference. William Goldman, the master of film scripts, in his wonderful book 'The Princess Bride' has this great line "Life is pain. Anyone who says different is selling you something." Accepting this, I believe it's our job to make our life fun and also better for others.
Anyway so far I've avoided hospitals in my life, so consider myself to have been lucky. I am remaining positive about it all (even about the dire situation at work where redundancy is on the cards and we'll find out who in a couple of months - a reason to get on with the ops while I have private healthcare) with a little mental work and the support of my friends. This woman is unstoppable! Lots more dancing to start (it's a celebration of life) and being silly to Kylie.
As Jamiroquai sang:
"Dance, nothing left for me to do but dance,
Off these bad times I'm going through just dance".
My dear friend KK wrote the following to me yesterday which really cheered me up:
"How in God's name can you stay positive with all this news??!! It is a sign that you are a bloody strong woman (and you ARE and not you MUST BE). I am sure that all this is happening because afterwards you will
a) Live longer than any of us :-))
b) Have the nicest/hottest boyfriend among us :-))"
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Chicago - my kind of town on 5 Jan 2005
I love it still – even in the midst of a snow storm! Impressive skyscrapers, twinkly lights in trees and an atmosphere that rocks. I wasn’t supposed to be spending a night here but making the most of it. It’s been a great holiday albeit with a few tears. Mostly tears of empathy for those affected by the Tsunamis. Tears of fear as my friend Jim in the pursuit of a great photo left me, little Miss Vertigo, standing on a 5ft wide arch of rock with a gutsy gusty wind blowing me towards the thousand foot drop behind me. There was a lot of swearing in that moment as I begged him first not to leave me after dragging me up there and then screaming blue murder at him to come back and get me. Funny – I look as if I am smiling in the photo. I do like the photo but am in no rush to go through that particular phobia again – well not without someone to hold my hand and stop the gravitational pull ;-) Yesterday were tears of frustration and disappointment at the airport. My rucksack along with passport mysteriously left the boot of the car somewhere between Monument Valley and Sedona, Arizona. It also had some spectacular photos from the first half of the trip, my journal which a lot of words and thoughts had gone into and some new CDs bought to fuel my recent addiction to world lounge. I was so pissed off, when despite what I’d been told about the ID I had combined with Police report, they said that I wasn’t going to be allowed to fly home. So here I am stranded in Chicago in order to sort an emergency passport at the Consulate tomorrow. Not only did I arrive in Chicago, but so did the blizzard.
So what’s a girl to do? I decided there was no way I wanted to be in an airport hotel on the distress tariff or carry on feeling down on my luck. I called up Loews House of Blues Hotel where I stayed the time I was in Chicagee before and got a great rate on a room. Checked in, put on my sequins n heels, walked across the snow bound street to get a table at the House of Blues Restaurant. I enjoyed the finest live blues I’ve ever heard. All 4 were superb musicians. I’m oft nervous about being in places on my own but somehow in Chicago it’s like I owned the city in another life. After howling my appreciation I persuaded security to let me into the last bit of the ‘Was not was’ concert upstairs. Remember them in the 80s breaking out in a cold sweat etc.? I laughed when I saw they were on but actually they were pretty darn funky and very enjoyable. I rate any lead who wears a hat, a pink suit and struts like that. It’s a huge band – 10 or so. I headed to by the stage to dance with the die hard fans who looked real geeky. Why do Americans dance so strangely? Like they are receiving electric shocks. What was funnier was the long haired aging hippy in the band doing comedy winks at me or perhaps it was at someone else. After a day that started out a bit doom and gloom I had a wonderful time. Returned to my room along the corridors laid with blue leopard spot print carpet. You can’t fail to feel fabulous when you stay somewhere like that. Put it in your list of things to do!
Today: What a snow storm! This meant the consulate instead of issuing the emergency passport for 24 hrs kindly did it for 5 days as they weren’t sure I’d be able to fly out. I’m enjoying Chicago pizza for lunch and remembering how the one part of waitressing I enjoyed in an earlier life was remembering the dessert menu by heart and selling it to the customers with all my heart. I’m trying to make this pizza last because there’s a lot of weather out there, I can tell you. On the way here I was blown with my umbrella across the ice and nearly into the street. But life goes on. In the UK we’d be at a stand still but here the cops are still patrolling on horseback, the papers are still being delivered and there’s a flurry of activity outside every office block clearing the pavements complete with mini JCBs.
Next is to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art to see two exhibitions which look very interesting indeed. First is a video installation of portraits of US prisoners and second is contemporary photography from China. I could be back in Winnersh Triangle listening to IT problems so life is really very very good ;-)
Marta, Chicago
xxx
So what’s a girl to do? I decided there was no way I wanted to be in an airport hotel on the distress tariff or carry on feeling down on my luck. I called up Loews House of Blues Hotel where I stayed the time I was in Chicagee before and got a great rate on a room. Checked in, put on my sequins n heels, walked across the snow bound street to get a table at the House of Blues Restaurant. I enjoyed the finest live blues I’ve ever heard. All 4 were superb musicians. I’m oft nervous about being in places on my own but somehow in Chicago it’s like I owned the city in another life. After howling my appreciation I persuaded security to let me into the last bit of the ‘Was not was’ concert upstairs. Remember them in the 80s breaking out in a cold sweat etc.? I laughed when I saw they were on but actually they were pretty darn funky and very enjoyable. I rate any lead who wears a hat, a pink suit and struts like that. It’s a huge band – 10 or so. I headed to by the stage to dance with the die hard fans who looked real geeky. Why do Americans dance so strangely? Like they are receiving electric shocks. What was funnier was the long haired aging hippy in the band doing comedy winks at me or perhaps it was at someone else. After a day that started out a bit doom and gloom I had a wonderful time. Returned to my room along the corridors laid with blue leopard spot print carpet. You can’t fail to feel fabulous when you stay somewhere like that. Put it in your list of things to do!
Today: What a snow storm! This meant the consulate instead of issuing the emergency passport for 24 hrs kindly did it for 5 days as they weren’t sure I’d be able to fly out. I’m enjoying Chicago pizza for lunch and remembering how the one part of waitressing I enjoyed in an earlier life was remembering the dessert menu by heart and selling it to the customers with all my heart. I’m trying to make this pizza last because there’s a lot of weather out there, I can tell you. On the way here I was blown with my umbrella across the ice and nearly into the street. But life goes on. In the UK we’d be at a stand still but here the cops are still patrolling on horseback, the papers are still being delivered and there’s a flurry of activity outside every office block clearing the pavements complete with mini JCBs.
Next is to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art to see two exhibitions which look very interesting indeed. First is a video installation of portraits of US prisoners and second is contemporary photography from China. I could be back in Winnersh Triangle listening to IT problems so life is really very very good ;-)
Marta, Chicago
xxx
Belated travel blog from Zion Park, Utah on 28 Dec
Hi guys
Just thought I'd drop you a note from Zion National Park. We're staying in a cabin right in the heart of the park surrounded by scenery so gorgeous it makes you want to weep. I've been in Nevada, Arizona and Utah today. We saw or rather nearly ran over RoadRunner today. It certainly is the same landcsape as the cartoon. People are so smiley and friendly. Unfortunately the weather is not all that. It rained and was cloudy in Las Vegas can you believe and snow is forecast too (without sunshine) but I guess snow at Xmas is something to relish. Snow in Bryce Canyon should be spectacularrrrrrr.
Despite the overcast sky the views are still very impressive and I think I have exhausted all the adjectives I have ever known. Jim, my friend, is only surprised that its not him I'm looking at while saying WOW. He's sort of on best behaviour except when being outrageously shocking - I had to hide under a menu at lunch today. You know his last travelling companion joined a convent and that is no joke.
We're having fun and getting quite overwhelmed by the stunning vistas. It's good he appreciates a good photo so I have carte blanche to shout stop when I see a great photo opportunity. Tomorrow he's talked me into walking up a 20 turn steep zig zag to see the view in the photo attached ( photo not attached but I made it and it was totally worth it being one of the most spectacular views that I've ever seen). I have vertigo but in my many new years resolutions I did say I wanted to challenge myself. Going up is okay - it's the going down that freaks me out and results in me having to resort to singing "whenever I feel afraid, I whistle a happy tune".
Another bold step was one to get closer to my ambition of being Meg Ryan - well I got blonder. I went to the salon in Las Vegas again namely for the amazing 10 minute head, neck and shoulder massage that's part of the service. OH MY GOD!!! So they put some blonde in to make my hair more interesting and well it turned out very very blonde indeed. I was in total shock when they put me in front of a mirror. It's the kind of blonde look that baddies in sci-fi movies sport. Jim said he was more concerned about the bright red bits. Well when its dry it all sort of blends but I do look like an exotic bird now which quite goes with my exotic boots - people stopped to admire my now world famous boots. Well you have been warned - guess I can dye it out or it'll fall out, one of the two. Can't wait to see the reaction at work - this may floor them more than the pink hair last summer.
Last night in Vegas had a wonderful meal from the fire pit at Rum Jungle which is tropical rodizio. This helped my desire to put on weight with the set menu including 9 generous cuts of meat or fish from the fire pit, an entire plate of salad, two types of rice, two types of beans, bread with dip. Then danced it off. It was a bit quiet in the club but the dancing girls in skimpy ultaviolet lit costumes were in full flow, the men on the ginormous bongos amongst waters of wall and fire were giving it their all but alas the women dancing on trapezes in the air had the night off.
I finally got to Caesars and the Bellagio but that means I now feel to have done Vegas after three visits. I already want to come back to do this trip though when blue skies are guaranteed because of the breathtaking scenery. Well time to go back to the cabin, light the log fire and curl up with William Goldman's Adventures in Screenwriting. Goodnight
Just thought I'd drop you a note from Zion National Park. We're staying in a cabin right in the heart of the park surrounded by scenery so gorgeous it makes you want to weep. I've been in Nevada, Arizona and Utah today. We saw or rather nearly ran over RoadRunner today. It certainly is the same landcsape as the cartoon. People are so smiley and friendly. Unfortunately the weather is not all that. It rained and was cloudy in Las Vegas can you believe and snow is forecast too (without sunshine) but I guess snow at Xmas is something to relish. Snow in Bryce Canyon should be spectacularrrrrrr.
Despite the overcast sky the views are still very impressive and I think I have exhausted all the adjectives I have ever known. Jim, my friend, is only surprised that its not him I'm looking at while saying WOW. He's sort of on best behaviour except when being outrageously shocking - I had to hide under a menu at lunch today. You know his last travelling companion joined a convent and that is no joke.
We're having fun and getting quite overwhelmed by the stunning vistas. It's good he appreciates a good photo so I have carte blanche to shout stop when I see a great photo opportunity. Tomorrow he's talked me into walking up a 20 turn steep zig zag to see the view in the photo attached (
Another bold step was one to get closer to my ambition of being Meg Ryan - well I got blonder. I went to the salon in Las Vegas again namely for the amazing 10 minute head, neck and shoulder massage that's part of the service. OH MY GOD!!! So they put some blonde in to make my hair more interesting and well it turned out very very blonde indeed. I was in total shock when they put me in front of a mirror. It's the kind of blonde look that baddies in sci-fi movies sport. Jim said he was more concerned about the bright red bits. Well when its dry it all sort of blends but I do look like an exotic bird now which quite goes with my exotic boots - people stopped to admire my now world famous boots. Well you have been warned - guess I can dye it out or it'll fall out, one of the two. Can't wait to see the reaction at work - this may floor them more than the pink hair last summer.
Last night in Vegas had a wonderful meal from the fire pit at Rum Jungle which is tropical rodizio. This helped my desire to put on weight with the set menu including 9 generous cuts of meat or fish from the fire pit, an entire plate of salad, two types of rice, two types of beans, bread with dip. Then danced it off. It was a bit quiet in the club but the dancing girls in skimpy ultaviolet lit costumes were in full flow, the men on the ginormous bongos amongst waters of wall and fire were giving it their all but alas the women dancing on trapezes in the air had the night off.
I finally got to Caesars and the Bellagio but that means I now feel to have done Vegas after three visits. I already want to come back to do this trip though when blue skies are guaranteed because of the breathtaking scenery. Well time to go back to the cabin, light the log fire and curl up with William Goldman's Adventures in Screenwriting. Goodnight
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Recent explosions on the sun makes earth dwellers frisky!
Well that's my theory or has spring come early? Daffodils are out already so sommit is afoot.
There's definitely something in the air. I was telling my housemate Timi that just lately I've not been feeling so enamoured with being single and a man could be handy, not only for helping me flip my mattress and tango lessons.
Meanwhile another friend I told, confessed she was feeling the same way but couldn't remember when the last time was and that meant it was too long. She told me a colleague she'd been heavily flirting with for ages was shocked and thought she was joking when she popped up on his instant messenger advising him she had some needs which needed satisfying. "I'm worried my hole is growing over" she jested with intent. He joked for a while but didn't realise the invitation to come over would have been, that day, totally serious.
That evening he went for a long jog and had a cold shower.
I was asked to have a tea with a colleague of mine today but I declined saying I had had tea with him yesterday in the open plan coffee area and I didn't want people to talk. Well actually there's only so much tea you can drink and my boss is not keen on me spending more time in the coffee area having my shoulder cried on, working out who'll be made redundant first or getting mentored on my writing, than working at my job. Anyway my proposer promptly replied to my refusal with "How about sex on the fussball table?"
So you see - I am now convinced sex is on everyone's mind big time at the moment.
No? - well what are you thinking right now I wonder
There's definitely something in the air. I was telling my housemate Timi that just lately I've not been feeling so enamoured with being single and a man could be handy, not only for helping me flip my mattress and tango lessons.
Meanwhile another friend I told, confessed she was feeling the same way but couldn't remember when the last time was and that meant it was too long. She told me a colleague she'd been heavily flirting with for ages was shocked and thought she was joking when she popped up on his instant messenger advising him she had some needs which needed satisfying. "I'm worried my hole is growing over" she jested with intent. He joked for a while but didn't realise the invitation to come over would have been, that day, totally serious.
That evening he went for a long jog and had a cold shower.
I was asked to have a tea with a colleague of mine today but I declined saying I had had tea with him yesterday in the open plan coffee area and I didn't want people to talk. Well actually there's only so much tea you can drink and my boss is not keen on me spending more time in the coffee area having my shoulder cried on, working out who'll be made redundant first or getting mentored on my writing, than working at my job. Anyway my proposer promptly replied to my refusal with "How about sex on the fussball table?"
So you see - I am now convinced sex is on everyone's mind big time at the moment.
No? - well what are you thinking right now I wonder
Planning a weekend in the North of England
Wow! -it's been a while since I ventured that far of the Watford Gap. Does England really stretch that far up? I even have to fly with BA to get there, can you imagine? I will be joining Sham, Andy and Mark who were my contractors last year for what should be a very entertaining weekend in Newcastle where the boys now work. I miss the laughs we had working together and it was those laughs that kept me sane working in IT. Mark was my 'gimp' and Andy was my 'bitch'. The whole planning is proving entertaining itself. The email string follows (I howled with laughter at Sham's reply)...
Mark: Hello there, As you may be aware, Newcastle is the Capital of Culture. Andy will have known this for some time, Sham and I heard it on Radio 4 (so expectations are very high), and Marta may have just assumed having met Andy. I have attached some pictures to both delight and inspire you.
-------------------------------------
Andy: Mark et al, How many times have I told you not to use our secret pet names in an e-mail address! In appreciation expect me to add some special ingredients to your meal next week. Any dates suit me at the moment apart from the last weekend in Jan when we're risking life and limb by taking FlyBe to Exeter.
Sham, when you get a moment (away from making the teas and bringing in the sandwich trolley) could you nip down to the warehouse and get me a new front cover for my T610. Ta (I'll buy you a pint like).
-------------------------------------
Marta: Now gentlemen - have you sorted out where Sham and I will be laying down to sleep? Can we go to the docklands, the Baltic gallery, to the beach and anywhere else you rate as a bit of Northern cultcha for us to experience? What kind of fun evening do you have planned for us - will you be taking us dancing and will we need our dancing shoes n sequins? Also Sham and I hope you will be introducing us to absolutely all your eliglible male friends and every eligible male in Newcastle without a pint of brown in his hand nor a beer belly and with an IQ over 130.
-------------------------------------
Andy: Hi Marta, Did Mark speak to you about accomodation already? I think the idea was that he would be able to accommodate you both at his new "Chick Palace"as he described it.
I can't recommend the Baltic gallery I'm afraid. When we went last year it was just the worst pile of crap any of us had ever seen. There might be a skating rink there at the moment though so don't wear those 800 laceup boots Marta, the ice will have melted by the time you get those off.
Hmmm...I'm having trouble identifying any male in the Northeast who fits your stringent criteria. There's no guarantee of quality but plenty of quantity I'm sure (you might have to be a bit flexible on the IQ points).
A trip doon the coast where Mark displays his excellence in the arcades, and everyone freezes on the beach for 10mins. Then it's on to the National Glass centre(http://www.nationalglasscentre.com/) in Sunderland (spit) followed bythe Baltic Flour Mills in Newcastle (for the view, the chance to fallover and the clever bridge). Then on to the Biscuit Factory for cultcha and food (http://www.thebiscuitfactory.com/ might be a good bet for some affordable NorthEast art and they have a good restaurant) and back into town for a quick wander round the more interesting shops. After that, it's time to get shredded down the quayside (no coats allowed ladies - this is the true north) before climbing the hill into town again for a kebab (that's your dinner) and a fight.
If anyone's still game then I can thoroughly recommend the Grosvenor Casino as a way to lose more money before jumping in a cab home around 3am. I just can't think of anything more cultured than that since Newcastle Utd. are not playing until Sunday (although in this case 'cultured' makes me think of a Petri dish)!
On Sunday Mark has suggested that a drive to the nearest Little Chef is in order. Apparently they do great Sunday Omelettes. A few piccies of the Angel of the North to follow and before you know it you'll be on your way home with nought but a tear in your eye! Canny man! Best regards, Andy
Ps Sham, did you manage to get down the warehouse yet?
-------------------------------------
Sham:
OK, first up: I am NOT searching for a man...well, not the kind that you meet in bars anyway
Second: I am bringing a big coat, gloves, scarf AND mittens. Possibly even a balaclava if I can find one between now and then.
Third: I tend to avoid places which have any type of 'dress code'. My mum stopped telling me what to wear when I was 8 and I certainly won't be told by a 'wanky' door policy what I shouldn't wear in order to consume alcohol or eat food.
Fourth: I will make a *slight* execption to point three in order toaccommodate other peoples expectations for the weekend. But I mean*slight*. (ie I will NOT be wearing sandals OR a skirt with no tights). And if can steer clear of 'meat markets' that would be good
Fifth: If you happen to know an arty, bohemain man who is a bit of vegetarian hippy AS WELL as being highly intelligent and funny then please feel free to introduce us!!!
Mucho, mucho Luuuuurve
Sham
-------------------------------------
Andy: Sham,
OK, first up (right back at ya): You have no idea what sort of men I meet in bars. Hmmm ... that's not really sounding too good is it?
Secondamundo : Bring as much woolly padding as you possibly can -there's no way it will ever be enough!
Three : The only person who would be affected by the dress code at anyof the venues is likely to be Mark. Various court orders prevent him from dressing like that ever again.
Fourth: What about flip flops?
Fifth : Mark can draw! And you won't find anyone better to match the definition of a Bohemian - "unconventional in especially appearance and behavior". He's the King of f'in Bohemia!
---------------------
Mark: Here's my 2p-worth. ... The other time I went out in Newcastle was about fifteen years ago. I got drunk and started doing geordie accents and had to get pulled out of a tricky situation by my brother and a friend. Then my brother, whose French extends to "je voudrais deux baguettes s'il vous plait" and "orrr eeee orrrrr eeeeorrr", convinced some girls in a kebab van queue that he was a French exchange student looking for a good time. The truth outed and a slap ensued.
Are there any places like Manchester's "Ganders Goes South" in Newcastle, Andy? That had a live band playing music like the Barclaycard Access advert "Does you does or does you don't take access", and every now and then the (bald and old) singer would say"Jaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzz". Very funny and you could eat there too. Anyway as I said to Andy and Penny yesterday my suggestion would be to stay in and watch National Lottery Jetset in it to win it, followed by Casualty (Abs has just found out that his Albanian wife hasbeen lying to him, and Will has just been suspended because of the strike caused by him dissing an eggs andwich in the emergency canteen they had to set up after the catastrophic fire.). I do concede that this may not be everyone's idea of a good night out even though it has done me for a good ten years. The rest of the itinerary looks good. To that we could add Durham and Beamish. I also like the idea ofWashington Wildfowl Park. Anyone? Thought not.
Accommodation wise I'm assuming I'll be in my new place by then. The decor needs some work so I hope that'll be ok. My plan was to utilise the spare room that has one of those visitors beds that looks like a single but is really a double because there's a bit underneath that pulls out. I thought it was ok for 2 girls to sleep in the same bed but Andy suggests I may be labouring under a misapprehension (and reading the wrong material).
If there's any trouble on our night out Andy will have to sort it out, but I will choreograph and direct proceedings and probably referee too. OK then, toodle pip for now
End of this thread.
Mark: Hello there, As you may be aware, Newcastle is the Capital of Culture. Andy will have known this for some time, Sham and I heard it on Radio 4 (so expectations are very high), and Marta may have just assumed having met Andy. I have attached some pictures to both delight and inspire you.
-------------------------------------
Andy: Mark et al, How many times have I told you not to use our secret pet names in an e-mail address! In appreciation expect me to add some special ingredients to your meal next week. Any dates suit me at the moment apart from the last weekend in Jan when we're risking life and limb by taking FlyBe to Exeter.
Sham, when you get a moment (away from making the teas and bringing in the sandwich trolley) could you nip down to the warehouse and get me a new front cover for my T610. Ta (I'll buy you a pint like).
-------------------------------------
Marta: Now gentlemen - have you sorted out where Sham and I will be laying down to sleep? Can we go to the docklands, the Baltic gallery, to the beach and anywhere else you rate as a bit of Northern cultcha for us to experience? What kind of fun evening do you have planned for us - will you be taking us dancing and will we need our dancing shoes n sequins? Also Sham and I hope you will be introducing us to absolutely all your eliglible male friends and every eligible male in Newcastle without a pint of brown in his hand nor a beer belly and with an IQ over 130.
-------------------------------------
Andy: Hi Marta, Did Mark speak to you about accomodation already? I think the idea was that he would be able to accommodate you both at his new "Chick Palace"as he described it.
I can't recommend the Baltic gallery I'm afraid. When we went last year it was just the worst pile of crap any of us had ever seen. There might be a skating rink there at the moment though so don't wear those 800 laceup boots Marta, the ice will have melted by the time you get those off.
Hmmm...I'm having trouble identifying any male in the Northeast who fits your stringent criteria. There's no guarantee of quality but plenty of quantity I'm sure (you might have to be a bit flexible on the IQ points).
A trip doon the coast where Mark displays his excellence in the arcades, and everyone freezes on the beach for 10mins. Then it's on to the National Glass centre(http://www.nationalglasscentre.com/) in Sunderland (spit) followed bythe Baltic Flour Mills in Newcastle (for the view, the chance to fallover and the clever bridge). Then on to the Biscuit Factory for cultcha and food (http://www.thebiscuitfactory.com/ might be a good bet for some affordable NorthEast art and they have a good restaurant) and back into town for a quick wander round the more interesting shops. After that, it's time to get shredded down the quayside (no coats allowed ladies - this is the true north) before climbing the hill into town again for a kebab (that's your dinner) and a fight.
If anyone's still game then I can thoroughly recommend the Grosvenor Casino as a way to lose more money before jumping in a cab home around 3am. I just can't think of anything more cultured than that since Newcastle Utd. are not playing until Sunday (although in this case 'cultured' makes me think of a Petri dish)!
On Sunday Mark has suggested that a drive to the nearest Little Chef is in order. Apparently they do great Sunday Omelettes. A few piccies of the Angel of the North to follow and before you know it you'll be on your way home with nought but a tear in your eye! Canny man! Best regards, Andy
Ps Sham, did you manage to get down the warehouse yet?
-------------------------------------
Sham:
OK, first up: I am NOT searching for a man...well, not the kind that you meet in bars anyway
Second: I am bringing a big coat, gloves, scarf AND mittens. Possibly even a balaclava if I can find one between now and then.
Third: I tend to avoid places which have any type of 'dress code'. My mum stopped telling me what to wear when I was 8 and I certainly won't be told by a 'wanky' door policy what I shouldn't wear in order to consume alcohol or eat food.
Fourth: I will make a *slight* execption to point three in order toaccommodate other peoples expectations for the weekend. But I mean*slight*. (ie I will NOT be wearing sandals OR a skirt with no tights). And if can steer clear of 'meat markets' that would be good
Fifth: If you happen to know an arty, bohemain man who is a bit of vegetarian hippy AS WELL as being highly intelligent and funny then please feel free to introduce us!!!
Mucho, mucho Luuuuurve
Sham
-------------------------------------
Andy: Sham,
OK, first up (right back at ya): You have no idea what sort of men I meet in bars. Hmmm ... that's not really sounding too good is it?
Secondamundo : Bring as much woolly padding as you possibly can -there's no way it will ever be enough!
Three : The only person who would be affected by the dress code at anyof the venues is likely to be Mark. Various court orders prevent him from dressing like that ever again.
Fourth: What about flip flops?
Fifth : Mark can draw! And you won't find anyone better to match the definition of a Bohemian - "unconventional in especially appearance and behavior". He's the King of f'in Bohemia!
---------------------
Mark: Here's my 2p-worth. ... The other time I went out in Newcastle was about fifteen years ago. I got drunk and started doing geordie accents and had to get pulled out of a tricky situation by my brother and a friend. Then my brother, whose French extends to "je voudrais deux baguettes s'il vous plait" and "orrr eeee orrrrr eeeeorrr", convinced some girls in a kebab van queue that he was a French exchange student looking for a good time. The truth outed and a slap ensued.
Are there any places like Manchester's "Ganders Goes South" in Newcastle, Andy? That had a live band playing music like the Barclaycard Access advert "Does you does or does you don't take access", and every now and then the (bald and old) singer would say"Jaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzz". Very funny and you could eat there too. Anyway as I said to Andy and Penny yesterday my suggestion would be to stay in and watch National Lottery Jetset in it to win it, followed by Casualty (Abs has just found out that his Albanian wife hasbeen lying to him, and Will has just been suspended because of the strike caused by him dissing an eggs andwich in the emergency canteen they had to set up after the catastrophic fire.). I do concede that this may not be everyone's idea of a good night out even though it has done me for a good ten years. The rest of the itinerary looks good. To that we could add Durham and Beamish. I also like the idea ofWashington Wildfowl Park. Anyone? Thought not.
Accommodation wise I'm assuming I'll be in my new place by then. The decor needs some work so I hope that'll be ok. My plan was to utilise the spare room that has one of those visitors beds that looks like a single but is really a double because there's a bit underneath that pulls out. I thought it was ok for 2 girls to sleep in the same bed but Andy suggests I may be labouring under a misapprehension (and reading the wrong material).
If there's any trouble on our night out Andy will have to sort it out, but I will choreograph and direct proceedings and probably referee too. OK then, toodle pip for now
End of this thread.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
A children’s picture story book by Marta, 14 Nov 2004
"Hetal, you forgot to shut the door again"
Hetal came running into the house.
"Hello Hetal!" said Hetal's dad.
Hetal took off her coat and put it on a peg under the stairs.
"Hetal, you forgot to shut the door again" complained dad
"The cold air is coming in and making me cold" said dad who was starting to shiver.
"Oh dad" laughed Hetal "It's not me. It's Dragon!"
"And why doesn't Dragon shut the door?" asked dad.
Hetal stopped and thought for a moment.
"Because" smiled Hetal "his tail is so long that by the time all his body is through the door, he's already upstairs and has forgotten all about shutting the door."
"I see" said dad "Can you help Dragon by shutting the door for him please?"
"Okay" said Hetal as she gave the door a forceful push shutting it with a loud
B A N G.
"Hetal, why did you slam the door shut? Your baby brother is sleeping next door and you might have woken him up." said dad.
"It was for Dragon." answered Hetal.
"And why did you slam the door shut for Dragon?" asked dad.
"So he would hear the noise of the door shutting from all the way upstairs and remember to do it himself next time!" explained Hetal.
Hetal came running into the house.
"Hello Hetal!" said Hetal's dad.
Hetal took off her coat and put it on a peg under the stairs.
"Hetal, you forgot to shut the door again" complained dad
"The cold air is coming in and making me cold" said dad who was starting to shiver.
"Oh dad" laughed Hetal "It's not me. It's Dragon!"
"And why doesn't Dragon shut the door?" asked dad.
Hetal stopped and thought for a moment.
"Because" smiled Hetal "his tail is so long that by the time all his body is through the door, he's already upstairs and has forgotten all about shutting the door."
"I see" said dad "Can you help Dragon by shutting the door for him please?"
"Okay" said Hetal as she gave the door a forceful push shutting it with a loud
B A N G.
"Hetal, why did you slam the door shut? Your baby brother is sleeping next door and you might have woken him up." said dad.
"It was for Dragon." answered Hetal.
"And why did you slam the door shut for Dragon?" asked dad.
"So he would hear the noise of the door shutting from all the way upstairs and remember to do it himself next time!" explained Hetal.
Copyright Marta. All rights reserved.
Film idea & it has a great ending
“Call off the search” - A film idea from me
Synopsis
Doug lives in a remote house in the hills above the Navahigh Lake in Canada not far from the small local town also called Navahigh. He moved there with his wife and son in the Winter of the last year. Doug’s son runs away one disastrous stormy night after a big argument with his wife. While out looking for his son on this dark eerie night his wife goes missing too. He finds evidence that his son was trapped by the wild boar trap he himself had set – with a shoe tangled in the trap which had some of the boy’s blood on it. But his son Jake and wife Annie have disappeared completely.
The police are called to investigate but after 3 weeks call off the search. The bait for the trap had attracted some bears. There were also fresh tyre tracks near by.
A couple of out-of-towners arrive in the town one day much to the amazement of the conservative locals who rarely see visitors. Emma is an ex reporter accompanying her explorer photographer husband Ray who she married recently but she’s not sure if she did the right thing because she’s had to give up her job so they can be together and the way he treats her she is not sure if it was worth it.
They are soon invited to dinner by Harriet, the town’s biggest gossip, who invites other friends to come meet the new people – Doug is also invited. Emma finds Doug rather rude and unsociable. He leaves the dinner party suddenly.
Harriet explains that Doug has spent the last year having nightmares about that stormy night when he lost his wife and son. That he can’t sleep, blames himself and is unable to carry on living a normal life until he finds out what happened to them. And that he left because he goes looking for them every night because in his dreams it is night time when he finds them. The guests start to bid goodnight.
Emma is running through the woods at night completely lost. She is crying and freezing cold. Suddenly she sees a white fox. The fox looks back at her as if to say follow me. She runs after the fox and lightning strikes. She sits up in bed suddenly. Ray asks if she dreamt about the white fox again. He tells her to read some other novels to get some new dreams and to stop waking him up every night.
Setting off the next morning for a photo shoot with Ray, Emma notices Doug in the town. She tells Ray she is going to spend the day exploring the town instead. Ray is practically too busy to notice and doesn’t say goodbye back to her as she leaves and he continues to pack his equipment. She asks Doug to take her up to see the Mountain Range. He is not too sure about saying yes but when she asks what else he would do, he can’t find an answer.
Doug is reluctant to open up and instead chooses to ask the questions. Emma talks about her wedding, the life she has now and the life she had before. On the way back it’s getting dark and suddenly a white fox runs across the road. Doug swerves to avoid it and comes off the road just stopping before hitting a tree. He gets out and sees the tyre needs changing. He goes to get the spare when he realises he forgot to put the spare back. He despairs that this is because he is not thinking straight these days and furious with himself, starts punching a tree. Emma says they’ll walk to the nearest town for help, it wasn’t far back.
In the town they enter the bar. The only place that will help them is not open until tomorrow morning. The bar woman asks if they have $30 and says hand it over. Perplexed they do and she replies “Here’s the key for your room for tonight” pointing to a staircase. The room is basic and noisy from downstairs. Emma leaves a message for her husband at his hotel explaining what happened and gives the number of where she is staying.
They decide to join the noise rather than to listen to it. Dancing starts and Emma persuades Doug to dance too. He says he hasn’t danced for a long time. Emma is surprised – he’s a fantastic dancer. Doug becomes happy and seems to lose all his worries for a while. They are having a really good time when he glimpses the clock and says he has to go out and he’ll be back later. Emma runs after him. She persuades him that running around the woods at night would be futile and he should let her use her journalistic skills to help him find his wife and son.
They go back to the bar. Emma is disappointed her husband has not called back. They go to their room. He tells how he loved his family. He brings out some pictures. That he and his wife used to dance together professionally, were childhood sweethearts. Emma starts to cry. He says not to cry because he will find them. She says she is crying because she realises she wants to be loved like that and if she went missing her husband probably wouldn’t even look for her. He hasn’t even called to see if she is okay after the accident. She tells Doug about her white fox dream and the lightning. That she feels the lightning signifies the end. He says it could be a new beginning.
The next morning the bar lady is in the room starting to clean when she comments on the photos lying on the bedside table saying the woman looks familiar. She’s sure that woman passed through here one lunchtime a while back and she remembers because the woman seemed really distressed...
Synopsis
Doug lives in a remote house in the hills above the Navahigh Lake in Canada not far from the small local town also called Navahigh. He moved there with his wife and son in the Winter of the last year. Doug’s son runs away one disastrous stormy night after a big argument with his wife. While out looking for his son on this dark eerie night his wife goes missing too. He finds evidence that his son was trapped by the wild boar trap he himself had set – with a shoe tangled in the trap which had some of the boy’s blood on it. But his son Jake and wife Annie have disappeared completely.
The police are called to investigate but after 3 weeks call off the search. The bait for the trap had attracted some bears. There were also fresh tyre tracks near by.
A couple of out-of-towners arrive in the town one day much to the amazement of the conservative locals who rarely see visitors. Emma is an ex reporter accompanying her explorer photographer husband Ray who she married recently but she’s not sure if she did the right thing because she’s had to give up her job so they can be together and the way he treats her she is not sure if it was worth it.
They are soon invited to dinner by Harriet, the town’s biggest gossip, who invites other friends to come meet the new people – Doug is also invited. Emma finds Doug rather rude and unsociable. He leaves the dinner party suddenly.
Harriet explains that Doug has spent the last year having nightmares about that stormy night when he lost his wife and son. That he can’t sleep, blames himself and is unable to carry on living a normal life until he finds out what happened to them. And that he left because he goes looking for them every night because in his dreams it is night time when he finds them. The guests start to bid goodnight.
Emma is running through the woods at night completely lost. She is crying and freezing cold. Suddenly she sees a white fox. The fox looks back at her as if to say follow me. She runs after the fox and lightning strikes. She sits up in bed suddenly. Ray asks if she dreamt about the white fox again. He tells her to read some other novels to get some new dreams and to stop waking him up every night.
Setting off the next morning for a photo shoot with Ray, Emma notices Doug in the town. She tells Ray she is going to spend the day exploring the town instead. Ray is practically too busy to notice and doesn’t say goodbye back to her as she leaves and he continues to pack his equipment. She asks Doug to take her up to see the Mountain Range. He is not too sure about saying yes but when she asks what else he would do, he can’t find an answer.
Doug is reluctant to open up and instead chooses to ask the questions. Emma talks about her wedding, the life she has now and the life she had before. On the way back it’s getting dark and suddenly a white fox runs across the road. Doug swerves to avoid it and comes off the road just stopping before hitting a tree. He gets out and sees the tyre needs changing. He goes to get the spare when he realises he forgot to put the spare back. He despairs that this is because he is not thinking straight these days and furious with himself, starts punching a tree. Emma says they’ll walk to the nearest town for help, it wasn’t far back.
In the town they enter the bar. The only place that will help them is not open until tomorrow morning. The bar woman asks if they have $30 and says hand it over. Perplexed they do and she replies “Here’s the key for your room for tonight” pointing to a staircase. The room is basic and noisy from downstairs. Emma leaves a message for her husband at his hotel explaining what happened and gives the number of where she is staying.
They decide to join the noise rather than to listen to it. Dancing starts and Emma persuades Doug to dance too. He says he hasn’t danced for a long time. Emma is surprised – he’s a fantastic dancer. Doug becomes happy and seems to lose all his worries for a while. They are having a really good time when he glimpses the clock and says he has to go out and he’ll be back later. Emma runs after him. She persuades him that running around the woods at night would be futile and he should let her use her journalistic skills to help him find his wife and son.
They go back to the bar. Emma is disappointed her husband has not called back. They go to their room. He tells how he loved his family. He brings out some pictures. That he and his wife used to dance together professionally, were childhood sweethearts. Emma starts to cry. He says not to cry because he will find them. She says she is crying because she realises she wants to be loved like that and if she went missing her husband probably wouldn’t even look for her. He hasn’t even called to see if she is okay after the accident. She tells Doug about her white fox dream and the lightning. That she feels the lightning signifies the end. He says it could be a new beginning.
The next morning the bar lady is in the room starting to clean when she comments on the photos lying on the bedside table saying the woman looks familiar. She’s sure that woman passed through here one lunchtime a while back and she remembers because the woman seemed really distressed...
Any offers? Okay so that's the start. Of course I can't tell you how it ends - you'll have to wait to see it on the big screen ;-)
Copyright Marta. All rights reserved.
My notes from yesterday's quiet time inspiration are as follows:
Spoof of Daytime TV show presented by 2 cats - one called 'It's dark' and the other 'I'm scared'
Features/guests list ideas:
1) telekinetic removals company
2) pet dating
3) robot porn
Last one must have been because I was listening to Electric Six.
Features/guests list ideas:
1) telekinetic removals company
2) pet dating
3) robot porn
Last one must have been because I was listening to Electric Six.
Copyright Marta. All rights reserved.
Here come the photos but go to the archive for the full fun story and more pics
Photos from Moab follow. To read about a howling good time there on New Year's Eve and see more pics select the Archive link on the right for 01-01-2005...
Monday, January 10, 2005
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Redneck New Years in Utah Y'all!
Intro to Marta’s blogging
Okay, okay, so it has taken me a while since the initial burst of enthusiasm to get blogging. I thought as I love writing, I better get the show on the Internet rather than spamming you all with my memoirs and rants and raves, which may be a bit much and unwanted. Many have said they get exhausted keeping up with me and that’s just reading the emails. It was really heartening that some people thanked me for my emails throughout the year because they cheered them up. It really means a lot to me that as much as I enjoy writing this waffle, that there’s people that enjoy reading it. So now if you want to read the full story you can check my blogs here. So kicking off the New Year with journal from a Redneck town (this’ll be a long one and I’ve spattered in some humour from the comedian Jeff Foxworthy too who has devised a useful test to help you assess if you are yourself a Redneck – his CDs are great and I recommend them highly)…
p.s. do let me know if any translation is needed for non-native English speakers or Americans
p.p.s. Moab - I love you guys and had a fantastic time. Don’t be offended by my prose. You kick ass! I truly met some of the nicest people ever there. I’m now going to take the piss relentlessly. Apologies to all reputations hurt in the making of this blog, especially mine. Ouch!
p.p.p.s. this will be a very long blog so print it off and take it on a train ride or to the toilet ;-)
p.p.p.p.s. it’s a trip down memory lane too of various night out experiences. Hope it gives you a laugh or two.
Moab
We arrived in Moab cheerful to see sunshine after being snowed in at Bryce Canyon where even the two snow ploughs got stuck and the sheriff had a list by 11am of cars to pull out of the ditches. Our spirits were also soaring because the day before we got an hour of sun and respite from the blizzard to photograph gorgeous Bryce Canyon in the snow. Not only that, we’d just completed what the guide book states is the most scenic route in the US and we would not dare disagree with that. Trouble is so much spectacular and diverse scenery makes your head spin, with your brain trying to process it all. I now know why they call it ‘big country’ and the skies are pretty damn big too. The road in many places was snow packed and we did a fair bit of sliding around but Jim was a very careful driver and we came to no harm.
On the fantastic routes 12 and 24 from Bryce to Moab we had: snow topped red hoodoo rocks; clearings where you could see for miles over canyonlands and to mountains and beyond mountains; so much snow it was a near white out in the Dixie Land forest; volcanic black hills; wild turkeys crossing in their own time; road runners nearly getting run over; cosy log cabins in the mountains; cattle with miles of prairie views; long winding roads; long straight roads; bright sun; intermittent blizzards; every shape of rock imaginable; every shape of rock unimaginable; stripey rock, monument valley style hunks of rock, and a deer (except Oksana and Timi think it’s a kangaroo – now they got me thinking) sat under a tree in Capitol Reef calmly watching us from 10 feet away.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you cut the grass and find the car
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been married 3 times and still have the same in-laws
You know you’re a Redneck if … your retirement plan is either playing the lottery or investing in commemorative plates
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a mobile home and 14 cars that aren’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … you finance a tattoo
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been accused of lying through your tooth
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife’s hairdo has been destroyed by a ceiling fan
On the fourth day Marta created light
Wow! Did you know that in the dark with a synthetic blanket you can create flashes of light with the static? This is just about as much fun as popping bubble wrap. First of all it was so flashy I thought it was a passing car’s headlights. When I realised it was me I got quite carried away and felt quite powerful – a bit like when I feel well endowed with my 300mm Canon lens ;-). When I got up to use the bathroom I was so charged up I was flung against the fridge like a magnet.
No, not really. Just being silly now.
Jim was concerned what the standard of accommodation would be in Moab as the room only cost £25 for the two of us per night. When I saw the motel I immediately shared my thoughts with Jim that I expected we’d hear the neighbours through the walls. Sure enough after 10pm from above the squeaking bed springs began, then got faster and faster in rhythm. A bit like when you are flat out pumping a bicycle tyre – anyone seen the scene in ‘Delicatessen’ because it was exactly like that only it didn’t even last 2 minutes. Must have been the old fashioned way of “Brace yourself Doreen and think of the prairies”. Can’t have been good because the only screaming was from the kids next door. Shame for her but good for us as we didn’t have to endure it for long.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever taken a beer to a job interview
You know you’re a Redneck if … you can burp and say your name at the same time
You know you’re a Redneck if … your family tree does not fork
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever been too drunk to fish
You know you’re a Redneck if … someone asks you to show your ID and you show them your belt buckle
New Year’s Eve in Moab, Utah
My friend Jim booked the flights, hotels and hire car for our tour of National Parks in Utah, US of A. My responsibilities were entertainment, food and clothing - which included making sure Jim was wearing some. So I sought out the liveliest place going in Moab and ended up with the Rio Bar and No Frills Grill at the end of the rainbow.
The RIO believed to stand for ‘Rural Insemination Opportunity’ is a sports bar with pool tables, karaoke nights, men glued to their bar stools and beer sold in gallon tankards rather than pints. Kind of what I imagine a Labour party social club in Hounslow to be like but with more “yee haa”.
Tiffany, our waitress, knows that even with her tongue stud she is the prettiest waitress in town and therefore doesn’t need to provide any service at all – especially to non-members of this elite establishment. Jim is still waiting for bloody his orange juice. It got to the point he’d put in his order and I’d still go to the bar to get drinks. I decided to have a vodka to help me survive the night but handled it well – there will be friends who are glad to know that. Particularly those who once witnessed me after one vodka shot (I hadn’t had any drop of alcohol for 2 years) be drunk in 40 seconds. I got very hot and after leaning on Katya’s shoulder decided to take off my shirt which was okay because I had a suitable evening wear bustier underneath, but now didn’t have anywhere for the tissue to nurse my cold. I resorted to stuffing the tissue down the front of my bustier and then stuffed serviettes down there too. Then two handed reached in and threw them into the air declaring “I’m a circus!”.
Anyways this is the same Tiffany who accidentally washed her white bra in with her green t-shirt but the red flashing light fixed to her chest was not enough to distract us from this. Well actually just Jim. I didn’t notice at all. Jim noticed all the waitresses and if they were under 20, normally did his best to chat them up much to my amusement. This was better than him loudly declaring that he was exceptionally good with his lips and tongue – at which point I hid under a menu.
Oh boy, will he kill me when he reads this? I have no remorse after he nearly killed me with fear by leaving me on a 4ft wide stone arch with a thousand foot drop behind me – more on that in the next blog.
After getting menus ourselves and all but tripping Tiff up to get her attention, we ordered food. With burgers at a measly $3 we ordered lots of stuff figuring something would be edible. No frills grill also meant no cutlery and no napkins. Everything was in a basket laid in red check paper. It was only after placing the order and Jim’s wondering over the standard of hygiene that I peered back into the kitchen and witnessed 2 ex-members of the band ZZ Top cooking our dinner.
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog and your wallet are both on a chain
You know you’re a Redneck if … you go to the family reunion to meet women
You know you’re a Redneck if … everyday someone comes to your doorstep to ask if you’re having a yard sale
You know you’re a Redneck if … you see a sign saying “say no to crack” and it reminds you to pull your jeans up
The locals
The crowd at the Rio were real interesting and we may have been the only out-of-towners. It was an anthropologist’s dream. Every stereotype and a few new species thrown in. There was key chain guy in his woolly hat who stared mesmerised at the band nodding with gaping mouth. He could sure groove – one sway to the left by 2cm and one to the right by 3cm. Pretty sure he could grunt too.
It quickly turned from a night of watching the hands on the clock to a night of extreme fun ‘n’ frolics. There were sudden explosions onto the dance floor. First was a small rotund woman with the evil eye. She had long trailer park hair, jeans and a sweatshirt with teeny daisies printed all over it. She began to whirl around the dance floor like a Go Go Dancer misplaced from the Russ Meyer film ‘Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill, Kill”.
Then there was the Amazon woman, a stocky wide lass nearing 2m in height. She gorilla wrangled men to the dance floor, bull dozing others out of her way. Jim’s face was a picture when she showed interest in him. Better still were the local guys looks of sympathy.
The Americans sure are friendly. I made a new friend every time I went to the bar or toilet. Male and female. Only females in the toilet I might add. Men just lean out from their bar stool putting out their hand saying “Hi, I’m Wayne! Who ARE you?”
I met a nice young pair from Anchorage Alaska also amused by the total lack of table service to non-members. So no we weren’t the only tourists thinking back or grockels as we like to call them in Bournemouth. I am real excited about doing an inner passage cruise from Vancouver to Alaska now after a lovely lady called Bobbie told me about her trip while we waited on Scout’s View in stunning Zion Park (there are not enough adjectives to describe the beauty of Zion) for our friends to complete the scary near vertical climb with just a few chains to hang on to going up to Angels Landing. Not for the faint hearted – that’s me then!
Fashion police. “Stop. That hat don’t go with the catsuit!”
Back to New Year in Moab. Jim complained the gents were so wet he nearly had to swim but luckily you could use the drunks as stepping stones. On the dance floor things were heating up fuelled by the live band called ‘StoneFed’ playing their own material which sometimes ever so annoyingly sounding recognisable but wasn’t. Ashley, who served us breakfast in the fab café next to Eddie McStiff’s and bless him remembered my food intolerances, had told us the band were his mates and played blues rock n dance stuff and so they did. Moabians know how to have a darn good time. I have rarely enjoyed New Year’s Eve. Often the expectation is that it should be amazing but ends up feeling like a disappointment. Not this one. I had so so so much fun. Even the next day I was in party mood and felt like somersaulting.
What bewildered Jim was what was considered suitable attire for New Year’s Eve or the number of days one could go without washing one’s hair. And this from a man in a Redneck check shirt ;-). You had to wonder what some would wear if dressing down. I had checked with the kind lady in the photo lab if my off the shoulder pink sequin top with beaded tassles and jeans was going to be okay and she said “with jeans, sure!”. I spent so long in that photo place and behind the counter trying to work the machine for digital prints that customers thought I worked there and were asking me questions. I could answer them too after an hour! Shame those photos got stolen later in the trip. Grrrrrrr!
p.s. this is the only place I have found to wear that particular top I might add.
Now it wasn’t the case that no-one had made an effort. On the contrary, many had hats. Even one bloke with a flat cap who had lost his whippet. It was later found stuffed and over the fire. Then there was a big crowd who had come in fancy dress complete with wigs. They were quite funky and populated half the dance floor. And then there were the ones who appeared to be in fancy dress but were not, like Tombstone Dude aka Jason.
He caught my eye as soon as he entered with his hat and hooded celtic traveller’s robes – he got them from eBay he told me. Jason was a real character and I really wish I’d spent more time with him to learn what it was like in his world. When he said goodbye at the end of the night he put his hands together and bowed to me. He was actually the smartest dressed there with a suit underneath. Bet it was Zegna too ;-)
Americans have many fascinating individuals living by their own rules. Makes me think back to the Costa Del Sol a long long time ago where Maria (a wonderful Sweedeesh girrl, who befriended me when I was a tramp in Benidorm (somewhere I had vowed never to step foot but funny things happen when you say ‘never’) having been sacked as a karaoke compere for refusing to get a suntan or to grow my hair, known by locals as Eric as in ‘Eric the Viking’) and I (known by locals as Arthur) met a couple of US marines. One who was ready to go AWOL and come back to England with me. “Look what I found in Spain mom!” He was called Jason Lipuma and I was amazed at how he danced – have never seen anyone find so many different body parts to move simultaneously but very fun to watch. And the other a mere sweet seventeen with the simple wish in life to become a vampire.
A 14 stone Annie was in a purple shiny catsuit complete with the popular accessory of a sewn in inflatable ring around the waist – ideal for rescuing your man from the overflow in the Gents.
Jim was disappointed that the only girl he fancied was a band member’s bit of fluff and I was shocked about the fluff under her armpits.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say ‘Walls Cool Whip’ on the side
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife says she’s game and you shoot her
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever used your ironing board as a buffet table
Moonlight n dancin’
I continue to be amazed at the styles of dance seen in the US. Wonderful though! However they choose to do it they are getting jiggy with it and having so much fun, it is great to see. There was a girl who danced up her man’s leg like a horny Jack Russell or another guy some of know also with a name beginning with J. It was key chain man and she probably needed all her pootchy powers to distract him from idolising the band. There was the couple who had watched the video of Come Dancing, once or twice, at the wrong speed. He had his trouser legs rolled up to below the knee and had trainers on! Then there was a guy who shook himself all over the dance floor and would bend over lifting a leg behind him like some kind of elephant dance. It was wonderful entertainment to be there, I tell you. The people were so so nice and friendly. They were so pleased we were there in their little town. I like their style a lot even if some of it bemused me.
The time for romancin’
I had tried to fortify myself against romantic advances by having onion rings earlier in the evening. Even this wasn’t enough to deter some. Why is it teenage boys always pose the biggest threat and they’re so young you feel bad about slapping them? This is not always true. I left a summer job at a pension company aged 16 with a card that read “Keep slapping Marta!” after one day I slapped a young male team member in the office for being way out of line. I was the talk of the office for weeks. Jim got slapped a bit on this holiday too.
I remember being on holiday with my would-be Marilyn Monroe friend Julia. We were 15 and it was crazy hazy days of summer in Bournemouth. Mum would let us out on the town while she amused herself with brandy and telly. Julia and I would come up with pseudo identities and get all mixed up, then laugh hysterically with optional rolling on the floor. There was one night we met a couple of guys who liked to describe themselves as “young agriculturists” and it was funny that we both noted they kissed using too many teeth so must have practised on each other. Actually they were twins but we were so busy trying to remember who we were, we didn’t notice until they told us and then there it was, staring us in the face. There was only one room key so mum taught us to stand in the Crescent (narrow crescent shaped street) and miaow (yes like cats) so she’d know it was us and she’d let us in. Anyway the reason for this trip down memory lane is the land lady’s son, all of thirteen, pinned Julia to the wall and tried to snog her on a regular basis. His favourite spot to pounce was on the landing. He was much shorter than her. I didn’t know whether I should stop pissing my pants with laughter and rescue her.
Then there was the eleven year boy in the family I lived with for 3 months while working as a volunteer in a Polish primary school. He was always running into the girls loos grabbing them and trying to see as much ass as he possibly could. At home this meant hiding in my room while I was in the shower so he could see me in the nod. Good job my door squeaked and feet under the curtain is a dead give away. I have to say I didn’t know how to react when I was giving an English lesson to him and the neighbour’s girl, I was wearing a mini skirt, and he placed his hand on my knee. So you see - terrible terrible terrible teens!
My teen admirer for the night hit on me as he probably hit that moment we delightfully call in Poland ‘kiedy film mi sie urwal’ (‘when my film broke’ and I remember no more of the night) but luckily before he ‘puschil pawia’ (‘let out the peacock’ – I’ll let you figure that one out). Everytime he saw me he threw himself at me but he was so drunk I could hold him off with one finger. I daren’t use any force because I’d already sent him flying into orbit with one little push. He’s either all of 30kg or I’m super woman when I’m defending myself from slime – one of the two.
There was a poet cook who declared I was the most amazing woman he’d ever seen, especially in my red leather jacket. I tell you girls if you want an ego boost, go to Moab. I never get hit on like other girls do – until I was exposed to Americans. As a distraught teenager thinking I had super powers which repelled all men, mum tried to reassure me by explaining it was because I scare men. Not sure that was particularly reassuring. The other cute thing she said to me on the lack of (ahem) cleavage was this was because I was busy creating the world while other girls just concentrated on creating themselves. Nice one Mamusiu! Actually before getting scary I did get hit on and that was what probably turned me into one scary muver. The first guy I very reluctantly kissed was a skin head who grabbed me as I came off a coach from a friend’s school party and held me aloft for a good 20 minutes, saying he wouldn’t put me down unless I kissed him. He had spent the prior part of the night kissing another girl in the foyer. This is obviously an Aylesbury thing and all bit of a shock to the poor girl who attended the all female grammar school. The next time I went along to a party with my neighbour who went to the comprehensive mixed school a similar thing happened. At the end of the night a guy picked me up and made me promise to go out with him before he put me down. Word must have spread. “Yeah – just let her legs dangle for 20 minutes and she’s yours!” That has been my shortest relationship. Met him outside McDonalds the next day and dumped him 40 mins later. He was part of the McDonald’s posse. Give me Moab over Aylesbury any time. Thank god I got out when I was 18!
You know I’m going to have to write a survival guide for women based on all my tussles with guys all over the world. M is not for Marta, it’s for Molested. And they laugh at me sleeping with a ciupaga under my bed! A ciupaga is a traditional wooden stick from the Polish mountains with an axe at one end and a spike on the other. It is carved beautifully and only one of 5 made – it was presented to me by the firemen of Zakopane after their ‘80 years of fire fighting volunteers’ ball (another good story there some time). Rule 412: do not sit on the steps to the stage as you video the revellers dancing because this puts you in a vulnerable position and you may end up with a video of said teenager/ball of testosterone giving you a lap dance.
Here I was in Moab approaching 1am and my magnet was on repel repel repel! Jim delighted in my pleas on the dance floor of “Please can we leave? Like NOW!”. The poet cook wailed “But I don’t want you to leave!”
Fortunately I have photos and video footage of this fun night for you to enjoy any time you care to pop round for a tea and biccy.
(Please note the tale of New Year’s Eve was co-authored by the one and only Jim Meddings)
If you liked my blog please let me know. If you didn’t, screw you! I mean better luck next time.
I am wondering if I can be like this or is my humour offensive? If my blog vanishes I didn't pass the PC test.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever sat on the toilet so long your legs fell asleep
You know you’re a Redneck if … you wear a strapless dress with a bra that isn’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog passes gas and you claim it
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever stared at a carton of orange juice because it said concentrate
Okay, okay, so it has taken me a while since the initial burst of enthusiasm to get blogging. I thought as I love writing, I better get the show on the Internet rather than spamming you all with my memoirs and rants and raves, which may be a bit much and unwanted. Many have said they get exhausted keeping up with me and that’s just reading the emails. It was really heartening that some people thanked me for my emails throughout the year because they cheered them up. It really means a lot to me that as much as I enjoy writing this waffle, that there’s people that enjoy reading it. So now if you want to read the full story you can check my blogs here. So kicking off the New Year with journal from a Redneck town (this’ll be a long one and I’ve spattered in some humour from the comedian Jeff Foxworthy too who has devised a useful test to help you assess if you are yourself a Redneck – his CDs are great and I recommend them highly)…
p.s. do let me know if any translation is needed for non-native English speakers or Americans
p.p.s. Moab - I love you guys and had a fantastic time. Don’t be offended by my prose. You kick ass! I truly met some of the nicest people ever there. I’m now going to take the piss relentlessly. Apologies to all reputations hurt in the making of this blog, especially mine. Ouch!
p.p.p.s. this will be a very long blog so print it off and take it on a train ride or to the toilet ;-)
p.p.p.p.s. it’s a trip down memory lane too of various night out experiences. Hope it gives you a laugh or two.
Moab
We arrived in Moab cheerful to see sunshine after being snowed in at Bryce Canyon where even the two snow ploughs got stuck and the sheriff had a list by 11am of cars to pull out of the ditches. Our spirits were also soaring because the day before we got an hour of sun and respite from the blizzard to photograph gorgeous Bryce Canyon in the snow. Not only that, we’d just completed what the guide book states is the most scenic route in the US and we would not dare disagree with that. Trouble is so much spectacular and diverse scenery makes your head spin, with your brain trying to process it all. I now know why they call it ‘big country’ and the skies are pretty damn big too. The road in many places was snow packed and we did a fair bit of sliding around but Jim was a very careful driver and we came to no harm.
On the fantastic routes 12 and 24 from Bryce to Moab we had: snow topped red hoodoo rocks; clearings where you could see for miles over canyonlands and to mountains and beyond mountains; so much snow it was a near white out in the Dixie Land forest; volcanic black hills; wild turkeys crossing in their own time; road runners nearly getting run over; cosy log cabins in the mountains; cattle with miles of prairie views; long winding roads; long straight roads; bright sun; intermittent blizzards; every shape of rock imaginable; every shape of rock unimaginable; stripey rock, monument valley style hunks of rock, and a deer (except Oksana and Timi think it’s a kangaroo – now they got me thinking) sat under a tree in Capitol Reef calmly watching us from 10 feet away.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you cut the grass and find the car
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been married 3 times and still have the same in-laws
You know you’re a Redneck if … your retirement plan is either playing the lottery or investing in commemorative plates
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a mobile home and 14 cars that aren’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … you finance a tattoo
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been accused of lying through your tooth
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife’s hairdo has been destroyed by a ceiling fan
On the fourth day Marta created light
Wow! Did you know that in the dark with a synthetic blanket you can create flashes of light with the static? This is just about as much fun as popping bubble wrap. First of all it was so flashy I thought it was a passing car’s headlights. When I realised it was me I got quite carried away and felt quite powerful – a bit like when I feel well endowed with my 300mm Canon lens ;-). When I got up to use the bathroom I was so charged up I was flung against the fridge like a magnet.
No, not really. Just being silly now.
Jim was concerned what the standard of accommodation would be in Moab as the room only cost £25 for the two of us per night. When I saw the motel I immediately shared my thoughts with Jim that I expected we’d hear the neighbours through the walls. Sure enough after 10pm from above the squeaking bed springs began, then got faster and faster in rhythm. A bit like when you are flat out pumping a bicycle tyre – anyone seen the scene in ‘Delicatessen’ because it was exactly like that only it didn’t even last 2 minutes. Must have been the old fashioned way of “Brace yourself Doreen and think of the prairies”. Can’t have been good because the only screaming was from the kids next door. Shame for her but good for us as we didn’t have to endure it for long.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever taken a beer to a job interview
You know you’re a Redneck if … you can burp and say your name at the same time
You know you’re a Redneck if … your family tree does not fork
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever been too drunk to fish
You know you’re a Redneck if … someone asks you to show your ID and you show them your belt buckle
New Year’s Eve in Moab, Utah
My friend Jim booked the flights, hotels and hire car for our tour of National Parks in Utah, US of A. My responsibilities were entertainment, food and clothing - which included making sure Jim was wearing some. So I sought out the liveliest place going in Moab and ended up with the Rio Bar and No Frills Grill at the end of the rainbow.
The RIO believed to stand for ‘Rural Insemination Opportunity’ is a sports bar with pool tables, karaoke nights, men glued to their bar stools and beer sold in gallon tankards rather than pints. Kind of what I imagine a Labour party social club in Hounslow to be like but with more “yee haa”.
Tiffany, our waitress, knows that even with her tongue stud she is the prettiest waitress in town and therefore doesn’t need to provide any service at all – especially to non-members of this elite establishment. Jim is still waiting for bloody his orange juice. It got to the point he’d put in his order and I’d still go to the bar to get drinks. I decided to have a vodka to help me survive the night but handled it well – there will be friends who are glad to know that. Particularly those who once witnessed me after one vodka shot (I hadn’t had any drop of alcohol for 2 years) be drunk in 40 seconds. I got very hot and after leaning on Katya’s shoulder decided to take off my shirt which was okay because I had a suitable evening wear bustier underneath, but now didn’t have anywhere for the tissue to nurse my cold. I resorted to stuffing the tissue down the front of my bustier and then stuffed serviettes down there too. Then two handed reached in and threw them into the air declaring “I’m a circus!”.
Anyways this is the same Tiffany who accidentally washed her white bra in with her green t-shirt but the red flashing light fixed to her chest was not enough to distract us from this. Well actually just Jim. I didn’t notice at all. Jim noticed all the waitresses and if they were under 20, normally did his best to chat them up much to my amusement. This was better than him loudly declaring that he was exceptionally good with his lips and tongue – at which point I hid under a menu.
Oh boy, will he kill me when he reads this? I have no remorse after he nearly killed me with fear by leaving me on a 4ft wide stone arch with a thousand foot drop behind me – more on that in the next blog.
After getting menus ourselves and all but tripping Tiff up to get her attention, we ordered food. With burgers at a measly $3 we ordered lots of stuff figuring something would be edible. No frills grill also meant no cutlery and no napkins. Everything was in a basket laid in red check paper. It was only after placing the order and Jim’s wondering over the standard of hygiene that I peered back into the kitchen and witnessed 2 ex-members of the band ZZ Top cooking our dinner.
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog and your wallet are both on a chain
You know you’re a Redneck if … you go to the family reunion to meet women
You know you’re a Redneck if … everyday someone comes to your doorstep to ask if you’re having a yard sale
You know you’re a Redneck if … you see a sign saying “say no to crack” and it reminds you to pull your jeans up
The locals
The crowd at the Rio were real interesting and we may have been the only out-of-towners. It was an anthropologist’s dream. Every stereotype and a few new species thrown in. There was key chain guy in his woolly hat who stared mesmerised at the band nodding with gaping mouth. He could sure groove – one sway to the left by 2cm and one to the right by 3cm. Pretty sure he could grunt too.
It quickly turned from a night of watching the hands on the clock to a night of extreme fun ‘n’ frolics. There were sudden explosions onto the dance floor. First was a small rotund woman with the evil eye. She had long trailer park hair, jeans and a sweatshirt with teeny daisies printed all over it. She began to whirl around the dance floor like a Go Go Dancer misplaced from the Russ Meyer film ‘Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill, Kill”.
Then there was the Amazon woman, a stocky wide lass nearing 2m in height. She gorilla wrangled men to the dance floor, bull dozing others out of her way. Jim’s face was a picture when she showed interest in him. Better still were the local guys looks of sympathy.
The Americans sure are friendly. I made a new friend every time I went to the bar or toilet. Male and female. Only females in the toilet I might add. Men just lean out from their bar stool putting out their hand saying “Hi, I’m Wayne! Who ARE you?”
I met a nice young pair from Anchorage Alaska also amused by the total lack of table service to non-members. So no we weren’t the only tourists thinking back or grockels as we like to call them in Bournemouth. I am real excited about doing an inner passage cruise from Vancouver to Alaska now after a lovely lady called Bobbie told me about her trip while we waited on Scout’s View in stunning Zion Park (there are not enough adjectives to describe the beauty of Zion) for our friends to complete the scary near vertical climb with just a few chains to hang on to going up to Angels Landing. Not for the faint hearted – that’s me then!
Fashion police. “Stop. That hat don’t go with the catsuit!”
Back to New Year in Moab. Jim complained the gents were so wet he nearly had to swim but luckily you could use the drunks as stepping stones. On the dance floor things were heating up fuelled by the live band called ‘StoneFed’ playing their own material which sometimes ever so annoyingly sounding recognisable but wasn’t. Ashley, who served us breakfast in the fab café next to Eddie McStiff’s and bless him remembered my food intolerances, had told us the band were his mates and played blues rock n dance stuff and so they did. Moabians know how to have a darn good time. I have rarely enjoyed New Year’s Eve. Often the expectation is that it should be amazing but ends up feeling like a disappointment. Not this one. I had so so so much fun. Even the next day I was in party mood and felt like somersaulting.
What bewildered Jim was what was considered suitable attire for New Year’s Eve or the number of days one could go without washing one’s hair. And this from a man in a Redneck check shirt ;-). You had to wonder what some would wear if dressing down. I had checked with the kind lady in the photo lab if my off the shoulder pink sequin top with beaded tassles and jeans was going to be okay and she said “with jeans, sure!”. I spent so long in that photo place and behind the counter trying to work the machine for digital prints that customers thought I worked there and were asking me questions. I could answer them too after an hour! Shame those photos got stolen later in the trip. Grrrrrrr!
p.s. this is the only place I have found to wear that particular top I might add.
Now it wasn’t the case that no-one had made an effort. On the contrary, many had hats. Even one bloke with a flat cap who had lost his whippet. It was later found stuffed and over the fire. Then there was a big crowd who had come in fancy dress complete with wigs. They were quite funky and populated half the dance floor. And then there were the ones who appeared to be in fancy dress but were not, like Tombstone Dude aka Jason.
He caught my eye as soon as he entered with his hat and hooded celtic traveller’s robes – he got them from eBay he told me. Jason was a real character and I really wish I’d spent more time with him to learn what it was like in his world. When he said goodbye at the end of the night he put his hands together and bowed to me. He was actually the smartest dressed there with a suit underneath. Bet it was Zegna too ;-)
Americans have many fascinating individuals living by their own rules. Makes me think back to the Costa Del Sol a long long time ago where Maria (a wonderful Sweedeesh girrl, who befriended me when I was a tramp in Benidorm (somewhere I had vowed never to step foot but funny things happen when you say ‘never’) having been sacked as a karaoke compere for refusing to get a suntan or to grow my hair, known by locals as Eric as in ‘Eric the Viking’) and I (known by locals as Arthur) met a couple of US marines. One who was ready to go AWOL and come back to England with me. “Look what I found in Spain mom!” He was called Jason Lipuma and I was amazed at how he danced – have never seen anyone find so many different body parts to move simultaneously but very fun to watch. And the other a mere sweet seventeen with the simple wish in life to become a vampire.
A 14 stone Annie was in a purple shiny catsuit complete with the popular accessory of a sewn in inflatable ring around the waist – ideal for rescuing your man from the overflow in the Gents.
Jim was disappointed that the only girl he fancied was a band member’s bit of fluff and I was shocked about the fluff under her armpits.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say ‘Walls Cool Whip’ on the side
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife says she’s game and you shoot her
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever used your ironing board as a buffet table
Moonlight n dancin’
I continue to be amazed at the styles of dance seen in the US. Wonderful though! However they choose to do it they are getting jiggy with it and having so much fun, it is great to see. There was a girl who danced up her man’s leg like a horny Jack Russell or another guy some of know also with a name beginning with J. It was key chain man and she probably needed all her pootchy powers to distract him from idolising the band. There was the couple who had watched the video of Come Dancing, once or twice, at the wrong speed. He had his trouser legs rolled up to below the knee and had trainers on! Then there was a guy who shook himself all over the dance floor and would bend over lifting a leg behind him like some kind of elephant dance. It was wonderful entertainment to be there, I tell you. The people were so so nice and friendly. They were so pleased we were there in their little town. I like their style a lot even if some of it bemused me.
The time for romancin’
I had tried to fortify myself against romantic advances by having onion rings earlier in the evening. Even this wasn’t enough to deter some. Why is it teenage boys always pose the biggest threat and they’re so young you feel bad about slapping them? This is not always true. I left a summer job at a pension company aged 16 with a card that read “Keep slapping Marta!” after one day I slapped a young male team member in the office for being way out of line. I was the talk of the office for weeks. Jim got slapped a bit on this holiday too.
I remember being on holiday with my would-be Marilyn Monroe friend Julia. We were 15 and it was crazy hazy days of summer in Bournemouth. Mum would let us out on the town while she amused herself with brandy and telly. Julia and I would come up with pseudo identities and get all mixed up, then laugh hysterically with optional rolling on the floor. There was one night we met a couple of guys who liked to describe themselves as “young agriculturists” and it was funny that we both noted they kissed using too many teeth so must have practised on each other. Actually they were twins but we were so busy trying to remember who we were, we didn’t notice until they told us and then there it was, staring us in the face. There was only one room key so mum taught us to stand in the Crescent (narrow crescent shaped street) and miaow (yes like cats) so she’d know it was us and she’d let us in. Anyway the reason for this trip down memory lane is the land lady’s son, all of thirteen, pinned Julia to the wall and tried to snog her on a regular basis. His favourite spot to pounce was on the landing. He was much shorter than her. I didn’t know whether I should stop pissing my pants with laughter and rescue her.
Then there was the eleven year boy in the family I lived with for 3 months while working as a volunteer in a Polish primary school. He was always running into the girls loos grabbing them and trying to see as much ass as he possibly could. At home this meant hiding in my room while I was in the shower so he could see me in the nod. Good job my door squeaked and feet under the curtain is a dead give away. I have to say I didn’t know how to react when I was giving an English lesson to him and the neighbour’s girl, I was wearing a mini skirt, and he placed his hand on my knee. So you see - terrible terrible terrible teens!
My teen admirer for the night hit on me as he probably hit that moment we delightfully call in Poland ‘kiedy film mi sie urwal’ (‘when my film broke’ and I remember no more of the night) but luckily before he ‘puschil pawia’ (‘let out the peacock’ – I’ll let you figure that one out). Everytime he saw me he threw himself at me but he was so drunk I could hold him off with one finger. I daren’t use any force because I’d already sent him flying into orbit with one little push. He’s either all of 30kg or I’m super woman when I’m defending myself from slime – one of the two.
There was a poet cook who declared I was the most amazing woman he’d ever seen, especially in my red leather jacket. I tell you girls if you want an ego boost, go to Moab. I never get hit on like other girls do – until I was exposed to Americans. As a distraught teenager thinking I had super powers which repelled all men, mum tried to reassure me by explaining it was because I scare men. Not sure that was particularly reassuring. The other cute thing she said to me on the lack of (ahem) cleavage was this was because I was busy creating the world while other girls just concentrated on creating themselves. Nice one Mamusiu! Actually before getting scary I did get hit on and that was what probably turned me into one scary muver. The first guy I very reluctantly kissed was a skin head who grabbed me as I came off a coach from a friend’s school party and held me aloft for a good 20 minutes, saying he wouldn’t put me down unless I kissed him. He had spent the prior part of the night kissing another girl in the foyer. This is obviously an Aylesbury thing and all bit of a shock to the poor girl who attended the all female grammar school. The next time I went along to a party with my neighbour who went to the comprehensive mixed school a similar thing happened. At the end of the night a guy picked me up and made me promise to go out with him before he put me down. Word must have spread. “Yeah – just let her legs dangle for 20 minutes and she’s yours!” That has been my shortest relationship. Met him outside McDonalds the next day and dumped him 40 mins later. He was part of the McDonald’s posse. Give me Moab over Aylesbury any time. Thank god I got out when I was 18!
You know I’m going to have to write a survival guide for women based on all my tussles with guys all over the world. M is not for Marta, it’s for Molested. And they laugh at me sleeping with a ciupaga under my bed! A ciupaga is a traditional wooden stick from the Polish mountains with an axe at one end and a spike on the other. It is carved beautifully and only one of 5 made – it was presented to me by the firemen of Zakopane after their ‘80 years of fire fighting volunteers’ ball (another good story there some time). Rule 412: do not sit on the steps to the stage as you video the revellers dancing because this puts you in a vulnerable position and you may end up with a video of said teenager/ball of testosterone giving you a lap dance.
Here I was in Moab approaching 1am and my magnet was on repel repel repel! Jim delighted in my pleas on the dance floor of “Please can we leave? Like NOW!”. The poet cook wailed “But I don’t want you to leave!”
Fortunately I have photos and video footage of this fun night for you to enjoy any time you care to pop round for a tea and biccy.
(Please note the tale of New Year’s Eve was co-authored by the one and only Jim Meddings)
If you liked my blog please let me know. If you didn’t, screw you! I mean better luck next time.
I am wondering if I can be like this or is my humour offensive? If my blog vanishes I didn't pass the PC test.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever sat on the toilet so long your legs fell asleep
You know you’re a Redneck if … you wear a strapless dress with a bra that isn’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog passes gas and you claim it
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever stared at a carton of orange juice because it said concentrate
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)