About me
So if you’ve just joined me, I suppose I should tell you a little bit about me and the people in my world. Here goes:
Me: I’m a 39 (argh!) year old layabout and arch procrastinator with a penchant for cooking, shopping, hot baths, Green & Black’s and a nice glass of red (not necessarily in that order). I am a mum of two boys aged 11 and 14 and a professional blogger (for that read ‘I’m a lazy cow’). I used to work from home testing and developing recipes for a food magazine, but the bastards didn’t pay me, so now I mainly loll around moaning and drinking wine. I am the most unsporty person on the planet (I was the one round the back of the bike sheds having a fag during PE), and, apart from a small group of my very close and adored friends, am rather unsociable (I like my own company – possibly a throwback from hours spent fielding in the sea during childhood beach cricket games: ‘go deep! No, deeper!’). I’m a bit blonde, a bit of a nerd and can be lured anywhere with something pink and sparkly or anything that smells nice. Will show knickers for chocolate.
We originally moved to Ireland from the UK in 2006 and moved to English Towers in the wondrous county of Cavan in August 2007. In December 2009, we moved back to the bright lights of Hertfordshire, sad to be leaving our Irish friends, but happy to be reunited with our family and friends over here.
Meet the family:
Hubby: Lubly Hubby and I have been together for an unfeasibly long time and recently celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary by renewing our vows and throwing a huge party. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly (goodness knows what he’s doing married to me) and professes never to read the blog so I can say what I like about him. But I need his money so I’m keeping quiet.
#1: our oldest son: slightly quieter and more studious than #2, the mad scientist of the family. He’s rapidly approaching 15, sings like an angel, reads books faster than that bloke off Criminal Minds and has a wit sharper than a razor. He is the only tidy person in the whole house and always smells nice too. All fan mail gratefully received.
#2: our very own Death Wish Child. This one also has the voice of an angel and a very expensive guitar habit. He has a nose for trouble and is no stranger to A&E. He’s a proper ladies’ man and his phone beeps constantly with messages from various 11 year old female admirers. Ongoing me vs #2 battles include: his minimal consumption of fruit and vegetables; his ability to wear the same pair of socks for a fortnight and the damage his excessive anti-perspirant/aftershave use causes to the ozone layer.
The Disreputable One: ah, my disreputable Dad. My Dad is the worst Grandparent in the world if you’re the parent of those children, but the best Grandparent in the world if you’re the kid. He’s the kind of Grandparent who has them in stitches all the time doing things they really shouldn’t do. One classic example was the cherry-pip-flobbing competition off a bridge over the canal in Copenhagen. This elicited several tut-tuts and shaking of heads from passers by, while my disreputable Dad and cheerfully compliant sons merrily chomped through several bags of cherries and then spat their stones as far as they could towards the other side of the water. Civilised trips out for dinner end up in arm-wrestling competitions; the fierce spinning round of the central serving plate in a posh Chinese restaurant, and, most recently the pouring of soy sauce into Grandad’s coffee. All this naughtiness causes so much disruption in these otherwise sedate places that I’m amazed we never get kicked out, as I sit – steam coming out of my ears – watching the chaos unfolding around me.
English Grandma: starts her emails with ‘Yoo hoo!!’, likes a sherry (well, anything really), sends the boys mad postcards with pink sparkly elephants on, and has a sign on her fridge that says ‘welcome to Grandma’s house, children spoiled while you wait’. I think she has adopted this as her mantra, and nothing – ever- is too much trouble. The boys drive me bonkers when Grandma’s around – regressing into lazy toddlers while poor Grandma runs around after them whipping up hot chocolate and producing teeth-aching amounts of confectionary. She laughs at their jokes, runs around like a loony with them on the beach instead of falling asleep like most adults do, and has endless patience for guitar riffs, the complicated plot to the latest PS3 game or a frank discussion about how well Liverpool fared against Arsenal. A shopping trip with Grandma always ends with them rushing back in, pink faced with excitement and armed with several carrier bags of booty. ‘Don’t ask for anything…’ I whine desperately as they disappear with her, knowing that they’ll have everything they can have ever wanted by the time they get back. You can find her on Twitter (@EnglishGrandma) if you want to say hi.
Mad Uncle Alg: my brother, the oldest teenager in the world and the Death Wish Child’s Godfather: ‘thanks for my birthday money, Uncle A’. ‘No problem pal, spend it on loose women and alcohol’.
My eminently more grown up oldest brother, Sensible Uncle I, (although he severely tested his nickname with some rather fierce Lycheeni cocktails at Christmas and got renamed The Cocktail King), my equally sensible and rather lubly sister in law, Lovely Auntie L, and their twins, sporty Jackson & the gorgeously glamorous Miss Turtle, also named The Fleas for their ability to ping about a room at great speed, my blogging cousins, Moon and the lovely Mrs M, and DBM over in Canada…
Back in Ireland, I left behind my mate Jen down in Laois, cake maker extraordinaire, fluent Irish speaker, greyhound lover and completely mental to boot, and my other mates Mrs Lovely , Mr Lovely, and our lovely neighbours, (okay, our only neighbours but hey, who’s counting?) D, the terribly bad influence and best pub buddy of the Hubby. Since our wonderful, brave and much-missed C died in May 2008, he’s been gamely battling on playing a joint Mum/Dad role to the gorgeous and unfeasibly glamorous 13-going-on-18 Lou, and my fellas’ favourite X-box chumly, Little C. I miss them all loads.
Something to say? Leave a comment or drop me a line at contactenglishmum@gmail.com All mail gratefully received. Oh and if you fancy following me on Twitter, I’m @EnglishMum (unsurprisingly). Tweet me and say ‘oh hai!’.
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