March 2016


Oh this is good. It’s an under eye concealer by Charlotte Tilbury, the mini miracle eye wand.

I walked past a sign that said ‘8 hours sleep in a stick’ or some such thing and I thought the last time I had eight hours sleep I was probably fifteen. As you can imagine, this has taken its toll. 

I sidled up to the nice lady girl and asked about said stick and I was promptly seated and treated. I accidentally did this in a well known skincare brand once and left 140 quid lighter wondering what the hell had happened. No such drama with this wand however. Moisturiser at one end, concealer at the other, both glide on and with a bit of a dab your eyes are transformed from the Emperor in Star Wars to Bambi. I may have used some artistic licence there but you get the picture.

My make up skills are not the best. I affectionately call it ‘slap’ for a reason; shove it on, bit of a rub and good to go is a must and this product delivers on that front too. It’s my Birthday soon so I shall be back at Ms Tilbury for round two. 




Struggle is real.



I like this jacket from Marks and Spencer. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste, th’husband muttered ‘Leprechaun’ but I like the green and the print, even though I own little of either.

The mid twenties are currently wearing embroidered bombers and so is Mary Berry. Problem is I haven’t seen anyone in my bracket with one on. This makes me nervous  because then, I either look like I am trying desperately to be in my mid twenties or  I look like Mary Berry. Let’s just be clear on Mary, the woman is outstanding and if I was half the person she is I’d be doing ok. Alas,  I am not so the bomber is on hold.


Easter is upon us! Spring is here! Usually signified in our neck of the woods by torrential rain, possibly some snow and snot, a lot of snot.

The days are getting brighter and lighter and I will say, begrudgingly, warmer. My house looks grubby when the sun shines on the windows and I think about spring cleaning but never seem to get too carried away with it, thank god.

Easter then and cries from the lovely children to make, paint, sew, stick, draw and glue mostly eggs but anything else they can get their grubby little mitts on. Oh what fun. Fun, that is, if you have any capability in that area and I, really really really do not.

My list of craft fails is long and distinguished, the post labelled ‘Weekend’ will give you a clue. Last years Christmas gingerbread house should also make the list; abandoned by the daughter half way through the boy and I scoffed on with materials I know for a fact Barrett would have struggled to construct.

Epic mum fail on the craft front then. So to all those mums out there who feel my pain, with glue in their hair and glitter in their nostrils, here is a picture of Tom Hardy to cheer us all up.


I am addicted to gel nail varnish, ever since the lady at the check out in Lidl, land of the fabulous prosecco, mentioned she had ‘man hands’ because her nails weren’t done. I thought about ‘man hands’ for a long time after that.

It’s so easy though isn’t it and it lasts forever, forevvvvver.

Which comes at a massive price because it wrecks your own poor nails like nothing else. All the chemicals involved in said procedure must mean that very soon, instead of man hands I will have 100 year old gran hands.

I am trying to limit myself and have at least three weeks off in between and friends have recommended other products that give the same effect and longevity but used in conjunction with normal varnish. I will investigate.

Larks in spring


It’s my lie in tomorrow. I am willing to fight for it, photo expressing sentiment (love him). Most of the time I actually fight myself.

Anyway, I bet Harrison is a lark. I am a lark, the boy is a lark, the girl is neither or and the husband is an owl.

Us larks hear the gentle tweet of the first morning sparrow. We sense the muted light of dawn and our eyelids flutter open at the anticipation of a new day. It is 4.32 am. The bastard.

Don’t get me wrong I love, totally love love morning but when you are a true lark and come 3 pm you’re foaming at the mouth, snorting Nutella and inhaling Starbucks in a desperate bid to stay upright, action needs to be taken.

I can recommend silicone ear plugs and an eye mask. Don’t bother with sponge ones, they don’t block anything out and if you can get an adjustable eye mask it helps. There are some good ones out there, although I am still searching for perfection.

Try to make the whole scenario as attractive as possible please, think Kate Moss or someone wearing the aforementioned gear, it all gets somewhat PPE if you don’t.


Yes, the top section of sewing is a little off but it was done before 8 am on Saturday morning. The boy did the bottom half.


Kids and vids


YouTube, the horror, the horror! What is this properly odd phenomena with kids watching other kids eating polos, opening kinder eggs, playing Wii/Xbox or some games thing and providing a running commentary throughout? And why do they all have such annoying voices?

The boy, aged 5 cannot get enough of this. As a consequence he is now really good on Minecraft and I am confident this will be a skill he needs in later life when we are long gone and they are all uploaded to the matrix. Incidentally have you ever played Minecraft? I kept bumping into cows and felt a bit sick, the only thing I could do was dig holes.

As with most things these days I swing between ripping the router out and throwing it into the garden as all this tech must be damaging the little sausage or I sit next to him writing blog posts or working, monitoring for anything adverse whilst the electronic nanny does its job. That phrase incidentally is from the 70’s when those awful mother type people sat their kids in front of endless TV shows whilst they drank gin, or kept the whole work life kids thing going, more likely the latter.

‘Square eyes’ is working for us at the moment. At 5, unless you have a really savvy one, they will more or less believe anything you say so when dreaded device time is up and I am fairly lenient (see aforementioned matrix) I simply mention his eyes are getting square, physically squaring off and we must play some dinosaur Lego death battle scenario to prevent this. It works a treat.



We love a good diet and a good diet story and even better a diet disaster story or a ‘must do a diet’ story. Admit it, you’re stood in Sainsburys having a hugely satisfying peak at whose fat and whose thin in Closer magazine this week. The Daily Wail Kardashtastic (I am TM-ing that) side bar of shame draws your attention far more than the article on Brexit.

Why? That is a question by the way, although I probably have some idea of the answer, it’s at the start of this post and it bombards us every second of every minute of every hour of every day.

If you are over thirty eight you have to eat less than nothing and spin at least three times a week, gym the rest, to be a size 8 or below. 10 to 12 and you maybe able to have some chips or chocolate once a month. The rest of us, forget it, wine helps with that.

Having been on every diet under the sun it’s never about food, it’s about the promised land! These days that’s a sugar free, gluten free, carb free, fat free, fart free utopia where you look like Cindy Crawford, you married Tom Hardy, your kids love veg (‘ooohh mummy please make another kale smoothie’) and the mung bean farm/shop you set up with your sister and best friend after watching Gardeners World a few times is raking in around 90k a year.

This topic is not closed, we have a lot more work to do.

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