Good Neighbour or Atrocious Snob?

As I was getting ready to go out this morning, I couldn't help but notice three large, scruffy and unattractive dark-haired women on my street. They stood out because it's not that kind of street. My street is full of women who insist on being blonde, trendy and tanned, regardless of whether or not these things a) are natural or b) constitute a good look for them. If there's a non-blonde scruffbag about, the chances are that it's me.

c. EssJayinNZ courtesy of Flickr

Anyway, I assumed that they were just out leafleting, or collecting catalogues, and thought no more of it. When I opened my door to go to the car though, I saw a similar looking lady having a good look in my next door neighbour's letter box. She definitely didn't put anything in there, just had a nosey around and moved on. This was even odder, especially as there had been no leaflet or catalogue pushed through my letterbox today.

As I drove around the corner, I saw yet another one, sporting more huge gold hoop earrings than is generally considered acceptable, even around here. By that point, there was only one conclusion in my mind - the pikeys were in the area, having a nosey around and looking for stuff to steal.

This gave me a bit of a dilemma, and no small amount of soul-searching. Which would be worse - to alert the police and risk being completely wrong and exposed as an appalling snob of the highest order? Or not to tell anyone, and feel awful if I later found out that a neighbour had been burgled or had their car stolen?

Were the women really just leafleting - was the second lady just perhaps a supervisor checking up on whether the leafleting had been done properly? Was I simply reflecting the local obssession with the (alleged) thieving antics of our neighbouring community of Irish Travellers?

Am I an appalling snob of the highest order? Has the unthinkable happened, and I have become a tedious, middle-class curtain-twitcher?

What would I even say to the police? 'Excuse me officer, but there are some fat, ugly women on my street, wearing far too much hideous gold jewellery'?

It's hardly an attractive sentiment, is it?

Still, the Community Support Officers have been round, and all is quiet at the moment. Perhaps next time, I'll just call the Fashion Police instead.

What would you have done?

It's Not Logical, Captain

The past few days have seen me tearing my hair out over a semi-serious piece about the current popular(ish) obssession with Reason, Logic and Rational Argument.

It seems to me that, when it comes to living one's mundane everyday existence, these three things are massively overrated, and can often be counter-productive. Ironically though, I'm finding it incredibly difficult to sling together a half-decent rational argument as to why.

It's partly down to my belief that almost all of what we call intution or feelings actually have their roots in logical thought processes, even if we're not immediately able to recognise or articulate them.

It's also partly because very logical people can be incredibly irrititating, and certainly never seem to be any happier as a result of their dedication to the cause. I will grant though, that they are often quite wealthy.*

Lastly, it's because I'm a mum, and if I took the time to reason out appropriate and consistent responses before acting, my toilet would be stuffed full of cuddly monkeys and giraffes, and Dynorod would be laughing at me.

So for now, I will simply supply a visual approximation of what I think might happen to the human race if we all began to rationalise every last detail of our existence:

Personally, I'm not in favour...

*Which reminds of the most logical thing my mother has ever said; 'Money won't buy you happiness, but at least you can be miserable in comfort'

Plus ça change, etc...

It's New Year's Eve, and despite my best efforts, my mind keeps wandering off and having a go at the annual stock take. I've told it to go and sit quietly in a corner and behave, but it just won't listen.

It's a tough one. I stay at home with my boy now, so what in the name of Quantifiable Achievements can I offer to appease my tragically disaffected ego this year?

I can't actually think of any.

There are the generics of course - I've kept The Boy happy and healthy, and The Husband in clean pants and socks. Priceless, or worthless? Answers on a postcard please...

Still, a quick reference to the progressive educationalist's lexicon makes things all better by allowing me to term 2007 a year of deferred success. Or I could take a peek at the zoologist's vocabulary, in which case, it is simply a diapause.

In any case, what it amounts to is that this is the first time in 14 years in which I have reached New Year's Eve;

• with the same man and
• in the same house and
• doing exactly the same job as I was at the last one.

Staying put isn't something I do well - ever since I discovered the joy of exercising control over my life, I have taken [almost] every opportunity to exercise it by packing up and clearing off whenever I found myself generally dissatisfied and disillusioned with whatever aspect of my life was in the spotlight that year.

Did it work? Materially, probably yes. Emotionally, no not in the slightest.

Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose, as they say.

2008 should bring another house move though, as we need to clear out of here before the dreaded issue of Good Schools starts knocking on the door. It's currently a toss-up between Slightly Overpriced-on-Sea, or Slightly Overrated County Town, taking into account a) Good Schools b) The Husband's Commute and c) my unfortunate tendency to go slightly insane if I live/work somewhere that I dislike.

In other news, The Husband is very sick today. Whilst I feel incredibly sorry for him, I'm also a little relieved that we don't have to go through the whole 'what are we doing for New Year?' bollocks again. My plan so far is to open a bottle of champagne and drink it over a couple of hours in a hot bubble bath with a good book, and hope that he is well enough to fish me out when I'm drunk and wrinkly and toss me into my bed. It sounds like bliss, and I can't wait.

Happy New Year!

Distractions 1 & 2

The lack of posting over the past few days is the result of my little boy walking properly now, which means that we have reached entirely new levels of Not Getting Anything Done.

Having always found toddlers incredibly irritating, we are struggling to adjust and I'm overwhelmed by self-doubt about how well I am going to cope with this stage. Just like all the others, muddling along as best I can, I suppose...but it's REALLY HARD!!

Still, I have been cheered up, (and further distracted) this week by my rather belated discovery of Charlie Brooker. He's got a series on BBC Four at the moment, called Screenwipe, which seems to be devised around the idea of him sitting on a sofa, shouting abuse at the TV.

Much the same as I do really, only with a more inventive use of vocabulary.

This weeks' episode had a go at that Billie Piper/Belle de Jour/Prostitution's A Giggle series this week, which was always going to be winner with me. He is clearly a fellow Neo-Prude, although he probably doesn't realise it yet. More on that later, when I find some time and energy,

In the meantime, and with due reverence to the inventiveness of said vocabulary, I'm off to try and find someone to call a 'self-satisfied shit-horn'. It feels good to say, doesn't it?

The Philosophy of Malcontentment

Apparently, I am 'not satisfied with anything I have'. This accusation was levelled at me yesterday morning, and not for the first time, either.

It's got me thinking, and two key questions are begging to be dealt with.

1) Am I guilty of this crime of which I stand accused?
2) Would that really be such a bad thing?

Let's deal with the first one. I've given it serious thought and reflection, and I'm going to have to plead Not Guilty and ask to be acquitted on a technicality.

I have so much to be grateful for in my life, and I have no intention of forgetting that there are billions of people out there with far, far less. Put like that, it almost seems rude to continue posting. But I decided to blog about stuff that we all often think, but don't necessarily like to say out loud. It's my belief that a permanent state of low-level dissatisfaction with life is a lot more usual than you might think.

For me, as for many of us I'm sure, this simmering low-level grumbliness has nothing to do with being dissatisfied with 'anything that I have'. In case I wasn't clear the first time, I'm happy with all of it.

It's about what I don't have, and in may cases, what I used to have, but don't have now. All of these things are intangible, and some of them are no longer realistic or appropriate, but that doesn't stop me missing them.

For example, I can no longer expect the level of freedom and autonomy that I had as a single late-20-something living and working in London. I have a husband and a child, and I therefore can't just pop out for a drink, and end up rattling home at 3 am in a cab, realising as we pull up outside the door that I have no cash left, and I am too shit-faced to write a legible cheque, or even sign the one that the driver has written out for me because I am on my sixth attempt and he is getting a bit bored with me by now.

I'm not saying that given the choice, that's what I'd do, but I miss having the freedom to make that call. I miss spontaneous visits to concerts and galleries, popping out for lunch, 'popping' anywhere! I miss being able to go to the gym any day I like, rather than when I can get a babysitter. And yes, sometimes I do get pissed off with all the restrictions that security and responsibility bring.

But is that such a bad thing? Let's look at it this way;

I chose to do a degree in Music and followed it up with a diploma in Arts Management. This was for a reason - I care about these subjects, and get great pleasure from being around them in real life. Yet I live in a town which is a cultural and creative vacuum. There is approximately fuck all going on within at least a 30 minute car-driven radius. I simply cannot fill that gap with shopping and TV. It would spell disaster for my marriage if I did.

So, I'm sorry if sometimes, I come across as a bit miserable, I really am. But I am not going to stop trying to achieve some of the things that meant a lot to me when I had unlimited Freedom and Choices instead of Family and Security.

They are the clotted cream in the jam doughnut, the gravy on the chips, the freshly chopped mint in the Pimms. But settling for life without them would be Giving Up. It would be the first step on the slippery slope towards Really Letting Myself Go. It is a path than can only culminate in weekends spent traipsing round Homebase in leggings looking for the latest crappy niknaks to fill the emotional void that my brain used to manage before I let it turn to mush.

And that's just not the way we do things around here.

Mummy's Day Off - Retrospective Introspection

So, I went to Cambridge for the weekend, and now I am all out of sorts.

One of my 'mummy' books told me that, whilst it is great to go back to your old ways once in a while, you can expect to find it all a bit shallow and meaningless in comparison to your new family life. Am I a terrible wife and mother because I had an amazing time, and really wish there could be a bit more of the same around here?

If a day in my old life had been mooching round some shitty shopping centre, and going out to a bar to get pissed, then yes, I see the problem. But the shops in Cambridge are lovely and the pubs are gorgeous and civilised, even on a Saturday night. My favourite chapel is there, where we heard music sung by one of the best choirs in the world, who were just sublime. We browsed in fantastic bookshops, where I was able to buy books about Logic and Postmodernism, as opposed to here, where it's all Jodie Marsh or Diets For People Who Can't Leave Chips Alone, But Don't Get Why They're A Bit Fat.

We also paid a visit to our real old life, on the other side of Reality Checkpoint and got all nostalgic over the lovely, quirky little independent shops that characterise Mill Road. And everywhere we looked, there were motivated people, doing real activities, not just dragging themselves round the shops looking for stuff to buy out of boredom.

And we laughed out loud when we saw this shop front along the main tourist drag. It's a ladies sportswear shop, in case you were wondering....

I think the only logical conclusion to come to is that unless you happen to be one of the very few people who have it all in life, or genuinely want very little, there are always going to be gaps that you still want to fill. I am hugely grateful that for me, those gaps are simply cultural. I would far rather have it that way round than be able to go to King's College Chapel every evening, but go home on my own to an empty house, or have to haul arse every day to the kind of job that nearly drove me to insanity back in 1997.

I'll just have to hope that SweatyBetty decides that she does want to do her theological training in Cambridge after all. I'll be buying a comfy airbed and a big rucksack, and she'll never see the back of me. And if that doesn't send her scuttling to Oxford or Durham, then nothing will!