Wednesday 30 June 2010
Monday 21 June 2010
Who wants to be a millionaire...?
I am almost ashamed to admit this, but since hitting the start of my forties, I have to say that I have actually become conscious about money. You know the thing I mean, the root of all evil?
Like most people, I never seem to have enough of the stuff, what with the cost of children and everything that goes with it – housing, clothing, food, education... Yes, I am well aware that relative to 99.9 per cent of the planet, I am amply blessed. But the really sad thing is that I inhabit a fantasy world in which I genuinely imagine that any day now I am going to become absolutely loaded. How? Well, because the book I am writing will be published, it will be well on the way to becoming a bestseller, and before you know it I’ll be quaffing champagne cocktails with Colin Firth who, naturally, will take the lead male role in the film version. Just think of all those the after film award parties I’ll be attending.
I spend all my time thinking things like, “I know I’m a bit of a state now, but it doesn’t matter, because when I’m rich I’ll be really groomed.” Not that I’m not groomed now, of course, but what I mean is really groomed. I have even gone to the trouble of mentally working out that, to save time, I’ll spend one day a month at a spa getting my eyebrows shaped, a manicure and a Brazilian bikini wax done simultaneously.
Then there’s my wardrobe, currently a sorry mix of high street, by which I mean French Connection (do I have a choice?) and designer – by which I mean Oxfam and vintage clothing shops.
But any time soon, I’m going to be upgrading it. I was thinking Nicole Farhi for casual, Armani for smart, and it goes without saying that all my shoes will be handmade by Jimmy Choo and Manolo (Louboutin is so yesterday).
Other purchases I’ve planned are my runaround car, my modest little London flat overlooking the Thames (Richmond or Canary Wharf? It’s so hard to decide) and lengthy foreign holidays in Tuscany and the Caribbean. Dream on Lulu...
Please tell me that there are other people out there who also feel that wealth on a massive scale must be just around the corner, and that their current lifestyle is some kind of mistake. I know that these days we’re all supposed to be concentrating on the beauty within – balancing our chakras the way our mothers used to move furniture around – but I don’t believe anyone who says they don’t care about cash. They’re either totally irresponsible, like me, and shortly to be visited by burly men who will cut up their credit cards, or they’re too cashed up for their own good –in which case they should spread it around a little. The worst thing, though – and I’m sure this is true for many women in my position – is that if I’m honest, I have been relatively opulent. In my twenties I earned enough to develop a plane habit so expensive that if I could get all the money back now, it would have been enough to pay for my kids to go to Eton.
Did I appreciate this at the time? No I did not. Because, naturally, I expected that one pay rise would lead to another – even though I was my own boss – and that, in short, I would carry on getting richer. Only it hasn’t quite worked out that way. I really didn’t realize how much it costs to be an adult. I mean, once you’re in your forties there’s really no excuse for not paying your road tax or your mobile phone bill, is there? Not to mention the dry cleaning, kids’ birthdays and staying in hotels with indoor toilets.
Nor did I anticipate that becoming slacker – I mean creating a better work/life balance, or whatever this “in” phrase is this week – would inevitably mean seeing my earnings plunge into freefall. I just can’t reconcile myself to the fact that if you want serious loot you usually have to work bloody hard for it. Because in my case, without sounding morbid, I’m not going to hang around waiting for an inheritance.
My father is a retired accountant who has taken to growing olive groves, and hopefully he has a good few years of fresh sea air ahead of him to be getting on with. I just wish he’d been a dodgier accountant and cooked more books. When I told him (in jest) I was going to semi retire and become a full-time writer, his immediate response was an expression of horror accompanied by the words, “I haven’t got any money, you know.”
He did relent a few minutes later, adding, “But I do have this olive grove and 3 dogs. You can probably have them if the going gets tough.” He wasn’t lying. These days he probably thinks I’m the one who’s loaded. As if! I know that money is like potato chips – no matter how big your stash, you always want more. Richard Branson is probably sitting around right now daydreaming... “When I’m as rich as Bill Gates, I’ll go everywhere by balloon.”
I should just admit to myself that I may never become as utterly wedged as I am in my fantasies. What I should really do is count my blessings (yawn) and be thankful, as my mother would say (yawn). I suppose there’s always that promise of my dad’s dogs. And they certainly are very nice dogs. I wonder how much I could get for them?
Tuesday 8 June 2010
Lou needs a night out...
There are married and single working mothers who look forward to that special night in their lives when they get to spend a night out with friends. It may not happen often, but when it does it can literally change the face of motherhood, uplifting the spirit and renewing the senses just enough to allow these women to carry on. The importance of the girls' night out is often not realized until after a woman takes the blind leap of faith and goes out with her friends.
In restaurants, bars, and cafes t
here is guaranteed to be a group of women who stand out from the rest of the crowd. They are older than the rest, dressed in modest clothes and laughing louder than anyone else in the room. They may have crow’s feet and wear their jeans a little more loosely than the younger girls do, but they are by far seasoned women who know the perils of being a working woman, wife and mother.
This is the night set aside just for them when they are not expected to cut up anyone else’s dinner or wipe pasta sauce off their clothes. In fact, this is the night to leave it all behind! Mothering takes its toll on any woman. It seems pretty standard that marriage and motherhood leaves many women a breathless shell of the lively people they used to be. Instead of cracking jokes, flirting and spending their time being self-indulgent they are immersed in a world that requires them to be everything to everyone else but themselves. Having time to feel free, to say what they think and feel without worrying about who is listening to them and to pretend that they are the carefree people they used to be.
A girls' night out is a time to let go of regrets, worries and emotions that are tied to family and work, to encourage that sense of wild abandonment and camaraderie with other women who feel exactly the same on the inside. Girls' night out is the night to NOT talk about your child’s development; it was created to complain about the lack of decency the men in our lives display and to weigh the age-old discussion of whether size does matter. While few of these women would leave their regular lives behind for any reason, girls' night out gives them the chance to dream about what it would be like to be single again and have a life that is full of spur of the moment decisions and plans.
There is a long-standing assumption that women who become wives and mothers simply relish in this experience. Women are expected to instantly accept things like maternal instinct and selflessness without looking back. The problem is that they do and actually carry on with their daily careers. Few are willing or able to admit that in mainstream society, there are few women who don’t desperately need to be let out of prison once in a while. While the walls of their home may provide lots of love, they also can feel at times like a black hole that sucks the sheer energy and motivation out of the most driven person. When you have wiped enough bottoms and noses, washed enough dishes, ironed enough laundry and slept with the same person so many times, girls' night out can feel like a breath of fresh air.
The importance of girls' night out goes beyond having fun. In fact, it is about not ha
ving to hide about being able to relax, be yourself and being accepted for just that. Girls' night out is about spending time with other people who know how you feel without having to discuss all the depressing details. It is also about finding your way back to that inner rock star that used to be you, about feeling sexy again and letting go of expectations. The deeper side of it is knowing that you can go away, leave the house, and leave the kids with your husband or babysitter and that all will be pretty much unscathed when you return. While the kids may resent your absence, they and your husband will end up respecting you more for it at some point.
One side effect to girls' night out is a renewal of appreciation for everything that you do, all that you are and all the times you choose your family over your swirling desires of life without invisible me
tal bars in front of your face. The other most meaningful importance of girls' night out is that when it’s over, you choose to come back to real life. It is like fuel for the soul, which has a dramatic affect on the children. When mum feels happy, so does everyone else. Children need to see that it is okay for mum to be someone besides mum. They need to learn to respect that their mothers are independent of them and that their needs, wants and desires are just as important as theirs. It may only be once a month but it sure as hell is worth it, just to remind us how much fun being an adult really is.
In restaurants, bars, and cafes t
here is guaranteed to be a group of women who stand out from the rest of the crowd. They are older than the rest, dressed in modest clothes and laughing louder than anyone else in the room. They may have crow’s feet and wear their jeans a little more loosely than the younger girls do, but they are by far seasoned women who know the perils of being a working woman, wife and mother. This is the night set aside just for them when they are not expected to cut up anyone else’s dinner or wipe pasta sauce off their clothes. In fact, this is the night to leave it all behind! Mothering takes its toll on any woman. It seems pretty standard that marriage and motherhood leaves many women a breathless shell of the lively people they used to be. Instead of cracking jokes, flirting and spending their time being self-indulgent they are immersed in a world that requires them to be everything to everyone else but themselves. Having time to feel free, to say what they think and feel without worrying about who is listening to them and to pretend that they are the carefree people they used to be.
A girls' night out is a time to let go of regrets, worries and emotions that are tied to family and work, to encourage that sense of wild abandonment and camaraderie with other women who feel exactly the same on the inside. Girls' night out is the night to NOT talk about your child’s development; it was created to complain about the lack of decency the men in our lives display and to weigh the age-old discussion of whether size does matter. While few of these women would leave their regular lives behind for any reason, girls' night out gives them the chance to dream about what it would be like to be single again and have a life that is full of spur of the moment decisions and plans.
There is a long-standing assumption that women who become wives and mothers simply relish in this experience. Women are expected to instantly accept things like maternal instinct and selflessness without looking back. The problem is that they do and actually carry on with their daily careers. Few are willing or able to admit that in mainstream society, there are few women who don’t desperately need to be let out of prison once in a while. While the walls of their home may provide lots of love, they also can feel at times like a black hole that sucks the sheer energy and motivation out of the most driven person. When you have wiped enough bottoms and noses, washed enough dishes, ironed enough laundry and slept with the same person so many times, girls' night out can feel like a breath of fresh air.
The importance of girls' night out goes beyond having fun. In fact, it is about not ha
ving to hide about being able to relax, be yourself and being accepted for just that. Girls' night out is about spending time with other people who know how you feel without having to discuss all the depressing details. It is also about finding your way back to that inner rock star that used to be you, about feeling sexy again and letting go of expectations. The deeper side of it is knowing that you can go away, leave the house, and leave the kids with your husband or babysitter and that all will be pretty much unscathed when you return. While the kids may resent your absence, they and your husband will end up respecting you more for it at some point.One side effect to girls' night out is a renewal of appreciation for everything that you do, all that you are and all the times you choose your family over your swirling desires of life without invisible me
tal bars in front of your face. The other most meaningful importance of girls' night out is that when it’s over, you choose to come back to real life. It is like fuel for the soul, which has a dramatic affect on the children. When mum feels happy, so does everyone else. Children need to see that it is okay for mum to be someone besides mum. They need to learn to respect that their mothers are independent of them and that their needs, wants and desires are just as important as theirs. It may only be once a month but it sure as hell is worth it, just to remind us how much fun being an adult really is.
Lou is missing Lulu...
and I promise to write a blog either today...or tomorrow...Need news from London...
Sunday 6 June 2010
Saturday 5 June 2010
Friday 4 June 2010
Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn...
The bikini Lulu is not a problem, I like to go commando on my private beach!
Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny?
I doubt there exists any item in the clothing lexicon that is more capable of singlehandedly reducing a woman to a crumpled heap of self-loathing than the innocent-sounding term “swimwear”.
The word sounds so practical, friendly almost, belying its hideous and dark potential to ruin one’s life. Not only is swimwear specifically designed, so it always seems, to make the wearer feel fat, old and past it, but it is also a nightmare that visits us on a constant basis. Every year we run the “cozzie” gauntlet – knowing and fretting that hundreds of strangers are going to see it, judge it and criticize it – and we attempt to pick out the least offensive, most covering-up thing we can find to get wet and brown in. Or in my case, red.
Each time I decide to buy new swimwear I set my radar to realistic by trying to find what my granny would have called “a proper swimming costume”. However, you simply cannot get such a thing these days unless you’re prepared to don a garment that the Queen of England might be comfortable wearing at a pool party. It appears that women with breasts and – worse – bottoms, are not expected to display themselves on the beach when high season hits.
What the range on offer indicates to me is that boobs and bums girls are also not welcome at the poolside.
Each time I decide to buy new swimwear I set my radar to realistic by trying to find what my granny would have called “a proper swimming costume”. However, you simply cannot get such a thing these days unless you’re prepared to don a garment that the Queen of England might be comfortable wearing at a pool party. It appears that women with breasts and – worse – bottoms, are not expected to display themselves on the beach when high season hits.
What the range on offer indicates to me is that boobs and bums girls are also not welcome at the poolside.
At the point of sale we are gamely invited to pick up a thong. But for those of us whose flesh moves when we so much as raise an eyebrow, the thong is a definite non-starter. And that’s pretty much it. From my extensive research, most of which, I must admit, was carried out here, the merchandise seems to leapfrog from thong to old lady’s costume with handy “skirt”, which is there, supposedly, to hide those upper thigh bits. But I don’t want to wear a rah-rah skirt on a boiling hot day, so why would I get permanently attached to my swimming costume?
So I’m guessing that it must have been a bright fair-minded designer who came up with the amusingly named “tankini” to satisfy those of us who are in between.
So I’m guessing that it must have been a bright fair-minded designer who came up with the amusingly named “tankini” to satisfy those of us who are in between.
A tankini looks as if it’s going to cover your tummy with a nice, uplifting vesty-top while giving you the option of covering your bum to your own taste, and probably that of the rest of the beach as well. You can go for a skimpyish pant if you are so minded, but I, you may have gathered, am not. Or you can opt for a large but not quite hospital-issue pair – my choice.
But what the tankini doesn’t tell you is what it is going to do when it gets wet. Last summer, newly tankini clad, I walked on to the beach confident that I was dressed appropriately yet fashionably. Minutes later I emerged from the water wearing what amounted to a skimpy bikini. Somehow my lovely tankini top had rolled itself up into a nasty bra affair, and my pants had concertinaed themselves down and up my bottom into a near thong. Very non-Ursula-Andress-like, Mr Bond, and all-in-all not a pretty sight. Definitely a Dr No-no.
But what the tankini doesn’t tell you is what it is going to do when it gets wet. Last summer, newly tankini clad, I walked on to the beach confident that I was dressed appropriately yet fashionably. Minutes later I emerged from the water wearing what amounted to a skimpy bikini. Somehow my lovely tankini top had rolled itself up into a nasty bra affair, and my pants had concertinaed themselves down and up my bottom into a near thong. Very non-Ursula-Andress-like, Mr Bond, and all-in-all not a pretty sight. Definitely a Dr No-no.
However I still refuse to believe that the time has arrived for an “all in one please don’t notice me” swimsuit or, heaven forbid, the aqua-rah-rah. So in the interests of averting further shopping casualties, I hereby present a few handy hints for sales staff and management that should make the experience of buying new swimwear a whole lot more fun.
1. Try more sympathetic lighting in the changing rooms – this is not a football match in mid-winter Scandinavia.
2. Why not offer a few cocktails? Make it more of a beach experience – it could work
in your favour. I’d buy anything when I’m three sheets to the wind! And play some tropical music too – I might even salsa if I had a margarita.
3. Find a replacement for that gusset-strip thing – it’s like having an empty potato chips
packet shoved down your knickers.
4. Have some matching sarongs hanging casually around – we can use them to cover a multitude of sins and you’ll also get an extra sale or two.
And finally, here’s a tip for those of you who are beach-bound: equip yourself with some great sunglasses and an even greater beach bag. Everyone’s attention will be drawn to them, and if they’re stylish and snazzy enough, no one will even notice your bum. Don’t you agree, Lou?
1. Try more sympathetic lighting in the changing rooms – this is not a football match in mid-winter Scandinavia.
2. Why not offer a few cocktails? Make it more of a beach experience – it could work
in your favour. I’d buy anything when I’m three sheets to the wind! And play some tropical music too – I might even salsa if I had a margarita.
3. Find a replacement for that gusset-strip thing – it’s like having an empty potato chips
packet shoved down your knickers.
4. Have some matching sarongs hanging casually around – we can use them to cover a multitude of sins and you’ll also get an extra sale or two.
And finally, here’s a tip for those of you who are beach-bound: equip yourself with some great sunglasses and an even greater beach bag. Everyone’s attention will be drawn to them, and if they’re stylish and snazzy enough, no one will even notice your bum. Don’t you agree, Lou?
Lou's thoughts today...
Honesty,will reap trust
Goodness,will reap friends
Humility,will reap greatness
Perseverance, will reap contentment
Consideration, will reap perspective
Hard work, will reap success
Forgiveness, will reap reconciliation
Goodness,will reap friends
Humility,will reap greatness
Perseverance, will reap contentment
Consideration, will reap perspective
Hard work, will reap success
Forgiveness, will reap reconciliation
Tuesday 1 June 2010
Lulu is cooking up a storm...
Unfortunately, and until she has emptied the contents of her food stores and worked her way through Jamie Oliver's Italian recipes, in a personal bid to take her mind off her personal financial crisis, Lulu will not be available for blogging today... If anyone hasn't had lunch yet follow the aroma of homemade tortellini with a fresh pesto sauce, the table is set. ;-)
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