The Daphne Tree

I don't know if I'm officially "mid life" (OK well I totally am, considering 74 would be really good going considering my love of cheese and wine), and it's not really a "crisis" as such, more a dull wondering of what the F do I do now, and that kind of stuff. I'm not a "millenial" technically, but I am a slow learner and matured late, if at all, so I think I have some "millenial" tendencies. And one tendency right here is thinking "Oh gosh, oh poor me, I don't really know what I'm doing with my life, and all I really want to do is run away and live in a hut on a beach and look good in a bikini and for my life to have meaning..." So I am very aware of that, just so ya know. It's a bit of a First World Problem (wow I use a lot of stupid phrases) to need meaning to your life and want more. Just bloody keep your family alive and get on with it already. BUT... I'm getting a definite sense of... is it all

I have finally given in. Long have I loved the security of the massive pant, all that bum coverage and high enough tummy protection. I do remember a "brief" period (mwah ha) of adventurously buying brightly coloured, bow- ridden thongy things, I think it was in the first years at uni, when boyfriends were new and alcohol was still in my system on the next morning's shopping trip. Using public launderettes also helped I guess, wanting to look "shexy" plus being the better side of a size 12. I still thought though, years later, that I could mask the full granny pants effect, a lovely lacey waistband, plain black, no one need even know that I am getting older... and wider... M&S ran out of my favourite knickers though, and as I had typically left it until the very last, draughty, threadbare, elastic-pinging moment to get new undies, in desperation I grabbed these beauties. Just look at them. I keep thinking someone has put their ancient relative

I have no excuses, my blogging has totally dried up. I kept thinking of LOADS of ideas for blog posts, but didn't want to write because either nobody would read them, or because there are already a ton of "mummy bloggers" already doing it. Well, SCREW that. I love writing and talking shit, so I need to get it out, regardless! SO... Time has gone by and this little dumpling: has grown sooooooo much into this rather smart schoolgirl: And I'm sure I'm the same as every mother in that looking at those two photos makes me want to cry! She is a completely different person! Oh how I miss those chubby little cheeks and huge eyes! It seems like a world away, and also only yesterday. School has brought with it a whole new set of worries, achievements and well, confusion. I thought I'd know it all as a teacher, but nothing prepares you for THE OTHER SIDE.  When I was teaching and parents dropped their kids off at school and insi

You've all heard it! Here is why it is not the same. Feel free to add some! 1. You can give them away. 2. It is acceptable to lock them in a cage. 3. You can leave them outside the supermarket. 4. Convention says you chuck them in the boot of the car. 5. You feed them by putting a bowl of mush on the floor when you feel like it. 6. Their teeth shouldn't go anywhere near your nipples. Ideally. 7. They don't ask why. 8. You take them to the vet once a year if you're lucky (rather than the doctor every week). 9. When they wake you up at the crack of dawn you can throw them a bone and shout at them to shut up. 10. They don't have to go to god damn awful birthday parties.

I went for a drive today, for about 40 minutes, through gorgeous countryside and some scenic little villages. As I approached a village I saw a cluster of beautifully kept thatched cottages, then a quaint little village shop, a tea shop and then more thatched cottages. It was all surrounded by lush trees and fields and to be honest, was something straight out of my dreams. Very English, old fashioned. As I bumbled along trying to observe the 20mph speed limit, I imagined selling our house and somehow finding a tiny yet amazing cottage of our own to move to, and how somehow I would work from home, keep chickens and look out at the view all the time. I rounded a corner and there was a house with a St George's cross flag proudly flapping in the garden. A couple of doors down there was a Union Jack (on proper flag poles of course, this is no lower class village!) and then I noticed a few posters for a certain political party dotted around. I was so disappointed! I don't want

OMG the kid is so into her clothes right now. I'm afraid she may be following in her mum's quirky (read: odd) style footsteps. Ever since dressing in yellow leggings and a yellow t-shirt and declaring "I'm a banana", that has been the go-to outfit for Daphne Duck. If there is green in the equation it's obviously "some apple". However, somewhat encouraged by her mother, Daph has also adopted stripes as her uniform whole-heartedly. Most of the time I am really happy for her to, erm, express herself with colourful outfits, and you may have even caught me googling "yellow shoes" last week, just so she could complete the banana look, BUT... there are times when I have to suggest she has a word with FiFi. You see, FiFi loves her rainbow leggings, and she loves her rainbow top. She loves her rainbow socks, and she loves all rainbow things generally. BUT, there comes a time, early in the morning, when FiFi has had a bit of special blueberry jui