Hell Mum & Guitaring the Air

These past 7 days I have:

Stabbed myself in the eye, with a stick.  Sniffing hay.


Then,
* spent 36 hours approximately 80% blind, thanks to that super-attractive gauze eye patch (with excessive taping)

* I was up for one of those Governor eye patches. But, no.
Stupid girls who stupidly stab themselves in their stupid eye don't get cool patches.




Been the Mother from Hell - with an exceptionally fine performance, just these past 24 hours.
* Lost my shit, over yet ANOTHER un-flushed toilet full of the same (see above).

* AND, very nearly blew Tooth Fairy duties. Again.

A fortnight ago is when I DID screw up.
Gave Kid some convoluted cockamaimy story about the amount of stress & pressure in the modern TF's Life but, y'know, bear with her.
She will DEFINITELY be coming.
He just looked at me.
"Yeah, OK, Mummy." Not bothered.



Driven 79 gazillion miles - despite being grounded for 2 days, thanks to the Ugly EyePatch/Being Blind thing (school runs, after-school activities, horse stuff, errands).

6 days - no SmartPhone
Remember Phone Dramas of September?
No Whatsapp.  No email.  No readily available diary (seriously, I cannot be expected to remember all this stuff with just my aging brain, One's hard-drive is not what it used to be)

What did I have, y'say?
why, SMS. That was it. SMS

Felt I was living in a cave, without the technology of a carrier pigeon.


Air guitar'd & rocked out in bar with some of the funnest people we know.

Want to see more Air Guitaring? Click the link

Looked up, thinking to Self, "Whoooah, this place is really going off", only to see that everyone else was sitting nicely, eating supper, chatting amongst friends, playing

pool/darts etc.








Mortified.
For about 5 seconds.
Fortified. By my beverage.
Got back to having all the fun.

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It's been a funny ol' week.

A New Headbanger in Town - a rant

Perhaps the Title is a touch misleading.

This is, what I hope to be, the first of the 'Things that Make You Bang Your Head (repeatedly) on The Table' series.

But, that doesn't exactly trip off the tongue so 'HeadBanger' it shall be.

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So, today, whilst driving the Kid to school I hear, on the radio, that a Kardashian (I neither know nor care which one. In fact, I already feel sullied by even knowing how to spell it) is in town.

For those of you who don't know who (or what) a Kardashian is, I am proud of you.

I am not even put a link here, cos I don't what you to find out.  Trust me, you will be the better for polluting your head with that tripe.

If, you, like me, know who they are, kinda, by accident or media osmosis - then, well, what to do? These things happen.

But, if .................. IF ......................, you are one of those that:
* think they are just FABULOUS,
* give a flying toss (this is not the word I would chose to use here, but my parents read my blog so, 'toss' it will have to be) who they are married to / not married to anymore
* remotely interested in whatever bollocks thing they have to say about bollocksing anything
or even,
* like looking at them (I prefer to avert my gaze from such pointless vacuous-ness)

..... then, you should leave, leave now.

Go on.  Out you go.
This place is not for you.
............................................
GO!

********

People like these and those that elevate them to so-called Celebrity Status, make me despair for the world.

They contribute NOTHING.

They do NOTHING.

The World is not better for their presence.

NO, it really isn't.

Not unless you think that,

skintight or see-thru Anythings, 

the eternal quest for huge hair, shiny faces & pumped up lips (& the rest), or 

flashing your Taataas in a frankly, heartbreakingly pitiful music video for an even more pitiful Goodness Aren't I Controversial 'song' 

could be the answer to even an ickle bit of the issues facing the World Today.

I despair.

I do.

(uh oh, I am picking up steam now)

THESE are the kind of people that seem to dominate our headlines?

That people (some people) talk about, queue & jostle to get a glimpse of at some event or other and WORSE, that people (some people) ... *gulp* .... aspire to.

If I had a daughter, I would be out of my mind with worry that these are the sorts of celebrities they may feel under pressure to emulate.

Obviously, everyone values different things to different levels of importance.

And, I am ok with that.

But, oh, come ON.  Them?

Puhleeeeease.

In case you were wondering, the people I personally aspire to & respect hugely are:

*    those with Wit & use it creatively & positively,
*    those that Help those that need helping - doesn't matter Who, How or Where.  The ones that give.

*   the Creative - the ones that make actually make stuff (music, pictures, words, buildings, environments) that educate or help people FEEL something (good or bad, but tapping into a human emotion).

That kind of thing.

Of course, not everyone can have a real Feed The Soul sort of job.  It isn't even about the job you choose, or have no choice over.  You can, in my opinion, do any of those things regardless of what you are doing to pay the bills.

It is about the sort of person you choose to be!!  

Imagine having the amount of cash & publicity available that those OTHER kind of people have and not use it for anything other than promoting their newest perfume or whatever latest self-indulgent claptrap they are blithering on about.

Pffffft.

Thank you for that.  Rant over & out.

Highway to Hell, with gusto

The only people who don't sing in the car .............................

..................................... are people not in a car.

(Stay with it, the funny really kicks in around 1.51 mins)

................................................................

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh boy!!! I rock it like no-one has ever rocked it.  In my car.

And, I can do all the styles.

In my car.

One minute, Show Tunes ('I Have a Dream' is the latest in-car fav.  One doesn't like to toot One's own horn but ....., at times, I can move mySELF to tears) then, straight segue into a random 80's/90's hit.


The Country scene is not neglected either.  I am sorry to admit, publicly.

Those John Denver & Dr Hook songs. Are in my head. Still.  My parents put them there.

They won't go away. They won't get out of my head.



Thank you, Dubai radio, for the inexhaustible supply of songs that no one has heard for decades, & yet, I seem to have retain every word.


There are times I ponder whether my hard drive is clogged up with the retained lyrics for countless songs which:
a) date me
b) drain me of ANY remaining Cool points I may have once accrued

c) prevent me from retaining any more current, more useful information like 'buy milk' or  The Offside Rule.



But, ladies & gents, I DO perform with gusto.

In my car.


It is not unheard of for me to miss my turning, so heavily invested in my performance, am I.

****

The key to my successful In-Car Singing career?

Oh, that's easy.

It hinges on NO ONE ELSE being there.

Simples.

But, in recent times, I am experimenting & going in a different direction.

I have gone from being a solo act to actually, signing on a partner.  I have gone the opposite way from Beyonce. An avant garde move, I feel.

She started her solo career AFTER she was in a group.

Not such a cliched path for me.

Oh no.

And so, on occasion, relinquish my solo status and have become part of a Duo.  Yes.  The Boy now makes In-Car guest appearances.

It isn't always my usual set (y'know Sesame Street covers, that sort of thing) but, gratifyingly, sometimes we meet on mutual musical territory & let me tell you, you haven't lived till you have seen our:

Highway To Hell
(Boy: Air Guitar & vocals,
Roo: Steering Wheel Drums & vocals)

Show Us Your Thing

Everyone has a Thing.

Or 2. Or 3.

You know, a Thing.

Maybe you can't quite remember how it started but now, it has become something that you compulsively have to do (or definitely NOT do).

I am going to have to give you a f'instance, innit?

But, before I do, remember, you asked, and you must not judge me.

Also, when you DO judge me, as I know you will, bear in mind that you have a Thing too and we are going to find it.

Your little sneaky, hidey-away, Barely Even Knew It Was There, Thing.

Right, I am going to man-up and start us off:

The One About New Magazines or Newspapers

I am a bit better now but it really bothers me, when I've got a freshly purchased mag or paper & I'm not the first one to open/read it.

I know when this started.
1990.  First Year at Uni.

This newsagent is more upmarket to that one back in the 90's

Lemon Sherbets - 20p would get you the
small pile outside the bag.
These people must be millionaires.

Living in Halls (of Residence), every Sunday morning, a few of us would drag ourselves to the newsagents (on Roehampton Lane, SW15, London. In case you know it) for our post-fry-up, Student Hangover Survival pack (which still totally works, btw) of Ribena, Frazzles and 20p worth of Lemon Sherbets.

Whose mouth is watering?

Also, 2 newspapers.

The News of The World (I hang my head in shame now)

&

The Times on Sunday.

We felt that these 2 publications would provide us with all the information we might require, with the broadsheet somehow cancelling out the filthy shame of the NoTW.  Even then, you felt a bit grubby after reading it.

Anyway, back to The Thing.

The words "ooooo, can I have a quick look at your paper?".

I hate those words.

Although I never said as much. Just handed it over. Seems I had no spine in the early 90's.

"NO!, fellow Inspiral Carpet-humming, 50 denier be-tighted, DM-shod, Have My Own Kettle now so can Make Tea in my room using Marvel milk powder*", I wished I could scream "get your own paper!!!".

*one felt dead sophisticated to invite another lever-arch folder toting, "What time is your next lecture?" student back to One's room to offer them a tea, or oh my days!, a COFFEE.

I hauled my arse to the shop.  You didn't.

The anticipation of opening a virgin newspaper (I wonder. Is it possible that Dad & I are the only people to never take the one from the top, always take the 2nd? We might share a Thing) is bliss.

The smell.  The crisp pages. You know it is pure because they are still a little pinned together from the paper-cutting process (or something).  The static between the pages of the magazine supplement.

The second someone else opens it, all that fresh, 'you are my first' loveliness it is lost forever.

A tad dramatic perhaps but this is my Thing so I get to be a bit potty about it.

AND they always return all untidy. Pages all akimbo. Awful.  Violated. Soiled.

I tried to pretend nothing had changed when the paper came back to me. We tried. We went through the motions. Paper & I. But, we both knew it was over.

You may think this is pretty bad but, Sweetie, it gets worse.

Although, as they say things have to get worse before they can get better.

It was on this day that I compelled myself to make a change.  To have a little word with myself and vow to no longer allow myself to be That Person.

It was a Sunday morning.

And I found myself in the Halls of Residence laundry room (I don't really recall going there that much during the normal course of events) ...........

........... standing at the ironing board, iron in hand (again, think that must have been 1 of the 6 times during the 4 years at Uni that I ever stood there)  .........

...... effing-well IRONING my paper!!

Dear God.


It was like the fog cleared and I stared at the iron in my hand.

Holy SH*T! Girl, you are at a crossroads.  Which path do you want to go down? Choose wisely because, there is no going back if you chose to continue down the one signposted 'Bonkers Lady who Irons Newspaper'.

Phew.  I chose good.

I feel I dodged a big ol' cuckoo bullet.

UPDATE
I am MUCH better now but, bear with me if I hold on a little longer than seems right as I hand you my paper, I am still a Work In Progress.

So, there you have it.

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Go on, your turn. Show us your Thing.

You know you want to.