The bravery award goes to...

Yesterday amongst my list of gripes with the world, I mentioned men masquerading as employees of BT and trying to burgle my granny.

And yes, this was one of the ones which did apply directly to me, and I feel it’s an awesome story to tell which may go some way to explaining how I’ve become the women I am today.

Yesterday morning my gran who lives up North (well, Skegby) let in two men who claimed to be working for some local branch of BT to check her telephone lines. They claimed there might have been some ‘issues’ with the line following some work they were undertaking in the area.

Whilst one of them kept her talking in the kitchen the other dashed through the lounge and into her bedroom to have a damn good rummage. My gran is pretty sharp and spotted the chap dashing out of site. She hot footed it after him and found him in her bedroom red-handed. I asked her what she said to him and she said ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing in my bedroom, get out now!’. Wicked!

In a stroke of pure and utter genius she ran and got her panic button (something we all ought to have whether we live in warden assisted accommodation or not) and she said to the guy, ‘If you and your friend don’t leave my flat in 3 seconds, I’m going to press this button and someone will be over in a flash’. A very brave step considering she was on her own, in her flat with 2 strange men with very bad intentions and she didn’t really know for sure whether the panic button would get her the kind of help she needed right away.

Thankfully, it seems the men in question were young and inexperienced and they decided to do a runner. Even more thankfully they didn’t lay a finger on her, and she was left shaken, but absolutely fine. She phoned the police who came fairly quickly and told her there had been a spate of these burglaries in elderly people’s homes over the past few weeks.

I spoke to her last night and she was in fine fettle, and I felt so damn proud. There she was at over 80 faced with a situation which would have reduced most people to gibbering wrecks and she had confronted the burglars head on, all 4ft 10 of her. I realised then that this was a side of my grandma I’d never before experienced. To hear her saying the word ‘bloody’ was shock enough, but to imagine her standing her ground in her little home made me well up. If I’m feisty and difficult this is in part testament to my grandma.

My other grandma was neurotic and prone to massive amounts of over exaggeration, pathological lying, dramatisation and hypochondria so I’ve clearly inherited nothing from her.

Oh god.

Back from hols....with a bump

Being back from holiday is awful, it’s doubly awful when you have to change your gloating facebook profile from ‘ha de ha, in your faces, I’m going on holiday to, ‘I’m back and I’m peeling and miserable’.

We had a really lovely time and I have come back happy, but sporting a rather embarrassing holiday injury- a large bruise which spans the entire right cheek of my bottom. This was acquired at Benidorm water park, a collection of terrifying water slides, most of which I would have thought were stupidly tame in my youth, but now they scare the living daylights out of me.

One of them, ‘la cresta’ (yes, I should have known) was a near vertical lunge in a two seater double ‘ring’. The incline was so steep you almost felt like you were going to flip over forwards, then you went hurtling down the slide out on to an upwards sloping ski slope type affair and then backwards at high speed over various bumps until being spewed into the water pool at the bottom (minus bikini top every time).

I went on this godforsaken thing 3 times, each time the heart palpitations got worse and the final time I could barely breath I was so scared. Spurred on by Steve to ‘have fun’, off we went. Unfortunatly for me, I was badly prepared for the ride and my bottom was not elevated on the double ring, but resting on the slide. It proceeded to be hammered, torn, bashed and ripped (some people might find that erotic but I can assure you, it wasn’t) until the bottom where I limped away clutching my right cheek close to tears. It wasn’t until we got home when Steve pointed out I look like I’ve been spanked from here to timbucktoo…ouch.

What else to tell…well, the alcoholic sister and crack head didn’t make it over to Spain whilst we were there, which was a great shame. Of course it meant we were able to drink to our heart’s content….hooray.

Steve and I took the jeep out for a couple of days to explore the local area, and despite the use of a tom tom, we managed to get horribly lost and of course have a barny (this I feel is excusable as all couples have barneys when in cars, even Sam and Gavin). The argument came to a head with me getting out of the car which Steve had screeched to the side of the road and storming off down some dust track in 38 degrees heat.

Thankfully I found a nice friendly tree to have a damn good sulk under and ignored Steve’s shouts that he was going to drive off and leave me. Which of course, he did! It wasn’t til he’d driven off that I realised I had no phone, no money, no idea where I was, and appeared to be sitting on a rather large red ants nest. Brilliant. Luckily for me, 15 minutes later a lovely air conditioned Mercedes containing Steve’s mum’s boyfriend pulled up by the side of the road and the window went down to reveal ‘Jingle Jangle’ John, who simply said ‘get in the car Ali’ so I did (with my best petulant teenagers scowl on my face) and we drove home in silence. When we got there Steve called me an idiot, John told me off for wandering off in that kind of heat without any water and I had to go and ‘have a lie down’. I secretly quite enjoyed behaving like such a big old kid, but I mustn’t make a habit of it.

Back down to earth with a big old bump, reality check of my hugely increased weight- 1 stone over the last year- and I’m now a fully paid up member of my gym and a weekly regular at the aqua conditioning class where I do gentle bouncing around and leg wobbles in a pool full of pregnant people- (got to build up slowly- last time I went bonkers with 60 lengths I did my neck in!).

Whilst away I got the results of my tests, or so I thought. The lovely Lindsey texted me to say that I had a normal result, which was strange as on the day of my examination they said that I was certain to need treatment. I phoned the clinic today and it turned out that the result they sent through was a load a old tosh and not related to my biopsy at all (they took a smear without me knowing basically, the results of which were fine). This doesn’t necessarily mean the other results will be fine though, so the consultant is writing to me about that today…fingers crossed that’s all clear as well.

Enough about lady gardens…and enough rambling. Over and out! (Dan, Dave- how’s the big re-design going?)

Trouble in Hackney.

Last night the true extent of my recent gluttony was exposed….I am nearing double figures of weight, which is pretty impressive going seeing as last year I was a mere slip of a thing at 8 ½ stone. Steve, like a true hero waded in with the shock news that he is close to 12 ½ stone. So between us in just over a year, we’ve managed to put on almost 3 stone. Impressive weight gain which falls squarely into the ‘comfortable couple’ category. Long may it continue!

Meeting with Steve’s mum last night provided us both with a real idea of exactly what’s going on in the house of ‘addiction’ trouble, over in Hackney. It seems the new other half (and husband to be) is having no joy at all in keeping big sis on the straight and narrow, and instead after having met his future mother in law for several minutes, told her how much he’s enjoying the pub culture over in the UK and seemed genuinely shocked that big sis wasn’t able to ‘keep it together’ after a couple of drinks, and expressed concern at ‘how bad she gets, she just seems to want to drink and drink….’ No sh*t. Don't you remember where you met her?! Tsk tsk. And as if this isn't bad enough, he's fessed up to Steve's mum to having a violent streak when he drinks. And, as coincidence would have it, she spent a night in hospital having her head glued after an 'altercation', or rather, a 'nasty fall'. Ahem. It's just too sad to really put into words. And too hopeless and too everything.

Nevertheless, in the few short weeks he has been here, he’s already put plans down to buy a nice car, buy a house boat, buy a des-res in Bromley (!), become a professional chef….shame he’s got no money….oh, no, hang on a minute, he has! Hundreds of thousands of pounds at his disposal in a current account. It’s not his of course, it’s his future wifes. Brilliant. I hate to say it, but my prior assertions that maybe he did love her, and maybe he would take care of her have gone right out of the window. What I now see is someone who is prying on a vulnerable, niave and extremely desperate girl who just wants someone to love her. Unfortunately, given her current condition, the only people she attracts are those like this scumbag, who clearly doesn’t give a shit about her wellbeing, and is only in it for one thing. Let’s hope she can see that before the wedding.

In the meanwhile, despite being an athiest, I just pray that she keeps safe from harm. xxx

Wedding...shocker.

***NEWSFLASH***

More for my personal ‘release’ than because anyone’s at all interested, but I’ve just spoken to Steve and it seems there’s been a ‘dramatic’ change of events.

Well, drama might be overselling it somewhat, but basically, Steve spoke to his mum, who’s spoken to Lara and it seems that the concept of staying clean for a year before getting married has gone right out of the window….in that they are getting married….in August, this year.

Steve’s mum, as you’d expect, has booked a flight to come over and try and dissuade her from going through with it. Considering they’ve been hammered pretty much since the minute they landed, they aren’t in the best frame of mind to be making such a decision, and equally, clearly aren’t going to help each other with their addictions. He’s obviously only with her for her money and was hankering to get a ring on her finger the second he got wind of how much she’s worth. And unfortunately, she’s too naïve and silly to see through it and question that he doesn’t appear to have her best interests at heart.

So, the dilemma we face is that if she goes through with it, do we go? Do we attend this (I hate to say it, but) mockery of a wedding, between two people who have known each other 5 months and spent most of that inebriated or threatening to kill one another, or running away with each others credit cards, or getting arrested. I don’t want to stand and hear them repeat vows which are meaningless, and try as I might I can’t see this as anything other than an additional complication in the grand scheme of Lara’s life. She’s always been desperate for a man in her life, and she wants children, but she needs to face facts that until she’s a little bit better, she’s simply not in the position to be a part of a positive, constructive relationship. Clinging to this in the vain hope that it will work out is deluded. Am I being mean? I just feel angry that once more, through her lack of thought and reason, she’s causing more worry and heartache to her long suffering family.

Grrrrrr.

My family.

It has to be said, family visits for me aren’t like what I imagine other people’s family visits to be. Mine are sedate and tense and often a little bit forced. As much as I love to see and spend time with my family, when I leave, I always feel a slight sense of relief and the funny thing is, I suspect they do also. Does anyone else have this? My friend Anita always has a blast with her parents when they go away…well, always might be a tad of an exaggeration, but they often sit up drinking together, exchanging stories and having a chuckle (as long as pre-marital sex isn’t mentioned, or politics).

With my lot, I suppose most of this boils down to the fact that my parents and my family in general simply aren’t that chilled out. In fact, my mum looks like a rabbit caught in the headlamps most of the time, with little flushed cheeks and a terrified glint in her eye. This means that when we talk I often avoid looking her in the eye not because I’m feeling guilty, but because with mum, I can see behind the little tight forced smiles and pursed lips and clammy hands and see someone struggling terribly with mental illness. And if I look her in the eye, well, I might just burst into tears.

So, the net result of time with my parents is a mixture of sadness…it’s quite tough to get your head around parents who yo-yo between togetherness and separation every few months, and worry, that things just aren’t as they should be. On the upside, mum and dad are at the moment, travelling to the Isles of Scilly together for mum’s 60th bday treat, and so I suppose that’s a massive positive. I just hope things can continue on an even keel for a while.

The family visit pretty much dominated the entire weekend, but Steve and I had a nice evening together last night…me watching Thelma and Louise in bed and him in an entirely separate room watching the football highlights. I think I have finally grasped the concept of cohabitation…space. This is going to be a steep learning curve for us as for the next month, I have officially moved in- yes my season ticket has expired, I’m skint and I hate going on the trains. I’m allergic to them now. This means I have an Ali drawer in the cupboard, plus about 6 inches of space inside the wardrobe and room in the shoe rack for a couple of pairs of shoes (into which I have fitted 7 pairs). It also means I have to be a good and dutiful girlfriend as I’m staying rent free, which opens me up for all kinds of violations and unfair demands….I’ll keep you posted.

I was highly amused to see over on Jonathan’s blog, news of the evening we all spent at the snapper. He claims to have some photos of me and Anita (well, claims isn’t really true, he has got them I’ve seen them) looking like ‘Harridans’ which to be fair is probably a little too kind. We look like hags. Go on J, publish them, lets have a damn good laugh at my expense…if you can’t do that, then what’s the point! I know I’m gorgeous, sometimes, not in the morning, or in photos, or during/after exercise, or in my summer clothes, or most of the time.

Goodness gracious me.

Yesterday I briefly outlined a small issue I had with a radio I’d ordered from Tesco’s online. Today, I realise that online shopping has not been my friend on several occasions in the last week.

As I’ve mentioned it’s my mum’s 60th this weekend, and being typically mum-like, she has been trickling through a steady list of birthday requests since about mid February. She doesn’t do it like a normal person; instead, she assigns gifts to people, based on the perceived value of the present she thinks they ought to buy.

So for example, the initial list was something like this:

Steve: Can Steve please buy me Dolly Parton’s Greatest Hits (this was sent by text to me…..at the time he hadn’t even considered buying her a present!)
Alison and Stephen- I would like a light box for my SAD. Here’s a link on Amazon to a model I’m interested in (we subsequently got one from ebay for £20, as good as new, but she’s not to know that it didn’t cost £200 like the rip-off ones on Amazon)
Pete (my dad)- I would like a gold bracelet.

Then, following this list, I received additional requests such as a portable FM radio (the monster which arrived yesterday….not portable and no friend of mine- thankfully Steve can pick one up on his way back from Zurich this morning), and some ‘girly things’ like make up, clothes, etc etc. So do you see where I get it from now?

Wanting to maintain some dignity, Steve refused to go into a shop and buy Dolly Parton, so I pottered to HMV to find that it was £12.95. Seriously. Dolly Parton- premium rate. I tsk tsk’ed at this and promptly ordered it from CD-wow for £6.95. Saving me a fiver and my pride simultaneously- genius. Unfortunately, I fell at the first hurdle. I entered the wrong house number. I created a hybrid of all of my Brighton addresses and asked for it to be delivered to my old house number but my new street. Realising my error, I told the ‘help’ email, who said to me that my order had been dispatched and I’d have to knock at number 36 to ask for it. Which I’ve done, several times. I think it’s an empty flat, or they’ve seen me coming and are terrified after receiving the ‘hatemail’ (in the form of Dolly Parton) and have gone on high alert.

So now it’s going to be too late to give mum the CD and I think I’m going to have to write an excruciatingly embarrassing letter to no 36, telling them that they have received a delivery by mistake, and could they find it in their hearts to post it at no. 43.

I’m taking a break from online shopping, with the exception of ASOS which does lovely cheap shoes.

Last night I had an emotional evening at the Red Snapper. Emotional for many reasons. I was with my lovely friends (and Dave was being a chatterbox, which was awesome), I was in my spiritual home, and I was sitting back to back with a married man and his wife, with whom I happened to have a night of erm ‘passion’, well fumbling (and I know, I know, it’s despicable and disgusting and against everything I stand for and if I said he was, at the time, separated from his wife, you’d just raise your eyebrows). The worst of it was that he only bloody told his wife after it happened. So there we were, having a fab meal, and in the back of my mind I could visualise her marching over, picking me up by my ears and kneeing me in the groin. At one point I went to the toilet and once inside, heard the door open to the toilets and when I emerged, there he was. Very subtle, I’m sure his wife wasn’t paying attention and didn’t even notice him hot footing it after me. He grabbed me and gave me a hug, said I looked fabulous (in his best and most camp voice), I squirmed and blushed and excused myself. But that wasn’t the worst of it. When they left, he made a point of kissing me goodbye AND saying that my hair looked exactly like Kate (his wife who was hovering nearby)…..let the ground open up and swallow me whole.

That’s the downside of the local restaurants. The locals. Roll on the weekend. Dave can we please have more touching tales…how about one about Tina? Jonathan…I’m looking forward to seeing that gorgeous shot of me and Anita on your blog. That’ll get em’ flocking.

Here we go....

Recently I mentioned that Steve’s wayward sister has stumbled into a relationship with someone she met whilst in re-hab and I pondered the relationship, questioning the nature of their love and whether or not it was something I felt would be positive or negative in the long run. Well, some interesting updates in that respect. I was pleased to hear from Steve that his sister was very keen to arrange a meeting over his 30th birthday weekend, and even went as far as to ask what he wanted for his birthday….miraculous. Though of course the reality was that no meet ever came to fruition. In fact, we’ve not heard a peep from her (directly) for 6 days now despite several calls and texts, and from this we can deduce that she is in the midst of a massive drink and (presumably given her new love) drugs bender.

You might think this is a shockingly unfair assumption to make, but I assure you it’s based on a great deal more than mere unsubstantiated speculation. Firstly, one of Steve’s friends spotted them being thrown out of a pub in Fulham…..small blonde girl who couldn’t stand up, accompanied by a meat-headed bald antipodeon….snap! Spotted. Also, a friendly neighbour has called out the police on numerous occasions over the last week, one of which resulted in the new other half being arrested. A whole host of other third party stories and I can effectively deduce that things are not all rosy in the world of the newly engaged addicts. It’s very very sad to feel so utterly helpless and to see people inadvertently pulling each other’s life’s apart so lets hope that when the mist of the hammeredness subsides, this time they really do feel more able to question what the f**k they are doing.

In the meanwhile, I’m waiting on a call or an email from Steve to tell me that something has happened as we know from experience that these benders always result in things coming to a head. So, I wait with baited breath to see what pickles she’s got herself into this time.

On the positive, it seems Lindsey and I might be onto a winner with a flat…we have a glamorous new recruit by the name of Natalie, who is currently jet-setting around the globe- in LA to be precise. She’s a medical writer (Sam- is that right?) and will fit perfectly into our vision of the uber-pad complete with massive garden, corner bath (preferably Jacuzzi), gigantic kitchen blah blah blah, you get the picture. If only we could find the bloody thing. New recruit equals higher budget and I don’t want to curse things, but we’ve got a person somewhere high up in the magical world of media who might be able to let us his ‘spare house’ and it’s in Hampstead. Fingers and toes and legs and arms and hands and eyes, all crossed, all at once. Come on…..this must be it….

Relationships with my ex-tended family

As those of you who know me will know, I had a childhood sweetheart by the name of Andy, who I was with for the entire duration of university and two years afterwards...he was, well, he was lovely and generous and gentle and I have nothing but the fondest of memories of our time together.

In total we had a 5 1/2 year relationship which was spent on the whole living and breathing each other to the point of practical inseperability. We were in essence bestest mates and not a great deal more as time went by, but we were bloody good mates. We adored each other in a way I felt could never be surpassed...I hadn't taken into account our mums. The love my mum felt for Andy and Andy's mum felt for me in hindsight was more intense and has lived on well after the demise of our relationship.

Andy and I split amicably around 4 years ago, and to this day, even as recently as 2 days ago, our mums still communicate by email, telling each other how very sad they are that things couldn't have worked out and how great we were for each other. They had, it turned out, pinned their very 'grandparental' hopes on us. And these are hopes that don't fade over night, or even over 1200 nights, and counting. My mum cried as much as me, if not more when it happened and those kind of emotional scars run deep you know!

I am convinced his mum (and quite possibly mine at some level) still harbours real desires for us to get back together, and I sometimes wonder whether she she realises what a 'no-go' it is to even mention my name, or whether she waxes lyrical about what 'could have been' not realising that I have been intentionally wiped from Andy's memory of ever having existing.

So, our mums continue to exchange texts, Christmas cards and e-mails, swapping family news and having fond, sentimental thoughts of the past. And no-one can stop them, and do you know what? I wouldn't want to.

But this isn't the most extreme case of maternal-post-seperation-boyfriend-family-trauma experienced by a member of my family. My aunt befriended my cousins boyfriend's mum to the extent that they became actual best friends. They went on 'girly' holidays together, the two sets of parents, they went shopping, had coffee afternoons and were all as happy as larry. Until my cousin broke up with Richard and then disaster struck. My cousin was understandably distressed at the prospect of her ex-boyfriend's mum being on the scene to witness any future relationships and be able to 'report back'. So the friendship came to a natural end.

Like f**k it did. Infact, the ex's parents attended my cousin's wedding as guests of my aunt and uncle. Oh yes they did.

Is mine the only family that suffers from this kind of affliction? I think perhaps it's merely a symptom of having a very big heart, so perhaps for me, it's inevitable.