Domestic Goddesque

By a freakish coincidence, this was published by NMO on the same day my mother sent it to me ( a subtle hint to get me blogging again- apparently the ex-pat readership is threatening a revolt. Do you not have lives in Africa??) I have never been able to resist this kind of email since they are so easy to fill in. Plus they give an insight into other people’s lives, and I’m nothing if not nosey. As the two lists varied, I have amalgamated them. I expect this to keep you going for at least 24 hours. Oh, and feel free to email me (link on right) your responses, so that I can jump to wild conclusions about the type of person you are. No prizes for guessing that I am shallow, blonde and pregnant.

1. WHAT TIME DID YOU GET UP THIS MORNING? Technically, every two hours since midnight when the baby thumped me in the bladder. I physically hauled myself out of bed when hunger got the better of me at 8ish.
2. DIAMONDS OR PEARLS? Diamonds, darling! (Though I do have some lovely pearls.)
3. WHAT WAS THE LAST FILM YOU SAW AT THE CINEMA? Vantage Point- in the new Vue cinema. It had the world’s most uncomfortable sofas made for two. Won’t be booking those again.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE T.V. SHOW? I don’t know, but I am annoyed that everything I want to watch seems to be on at 9pm on a Thursday. You can only record two things at a time on Sky+.
5. WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR BREAKFAST? A banana, a bowl of Coco Pops and a handful of vitamins with a fruit juice chaser.
6. FAVORITE CUISINE? Anything I haven’t cooked myself at the moment.
7. FOODS YOU DISLIKE? Beansprouts, aubergines and parsnips. Oh and anything that looks like a fish.
8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CRISP FLAVOUR? I don’t eat crisps, though am partial to the odd Dorito.
9. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CD AT THE MOMENT? Michael Buble.
10. WHAT CAR DO YOU DRIVE? The only one we have.
11. FAVORITE SANDWICH? Smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel with lots of lemon and black pepper.
12. WHAT CHARACTERISTIC DO YOU DESPISE? Any you would attribute to an Estate Agent.
13. FAVORITE ITEM OF CLOTHING? My pyjamas. (OMIGOD- I’m my mother!)
14. IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD ON HOLIDAY, WHERE WOULD YOU GO? Doesn’t matter so long as my beloved is by my side. I do harbour a secret desire to do a long train trip and to do a cruise around the Arctic.
15. FAVORITE BRAND OF CLOTHING? Anything that fits and looks nice.
16.TO WHERE WOULD YOU RETIRE? The seaside.
17. WHAT WAS YOUR MOST MEMORABLE BIRTHDAY? My 30th- DH took me to New York and we had the best time.
18. FURTHEST PLACE YOU ARE SENDING THIS? I’m just giving it back to the universe and seeing where that takes it.
19. WHO DO YOU LEAST EXPECT TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? So many names, so little time.
20. GOAL(S) YOU HAVE FOR YOURSELF? To be happy, to love and be loved; maybe even to write a book.
21. WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY? November
22 WHEN IS YOUR ANNIVERSARY? February
24. ARE YOU A MORNING PERSON OR A NIGHT PERSON? To be honest, I’m not even sure I’m a person anymore!
25. WHAT IS YOUR SHOE SIZE? 7- just right for kicking your ass!!!
26. PETS. One bonkers and utterly gorgeous Parsons Jack Russell called Nugget the Wonder Hound.
27. ANY NEW AND EXCITING NEWS YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE WITH US? Yes, but I signed a disclosure agreement…
28. WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE? Nurse, Missionary Doctor, Architect, Fighter Pilot and Wife and Mother. Though not all at once.
29. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? The doctor thinks I’m fine, the DH thinks I’m amusing and the WH thinks I’m bonkers. No change there then.
30. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SWEET? This week it’s a finger of Fudge. Next week, who knows?
31. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER? Anything I didn’t pay for! Freesias, tulips, lilies, peonies….everything except those dyed flowers you get at service stations and red roses.
32. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? Just peachy.
33. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The usual suburban stuff- kids coming home from school, dogs barking, police sirens…
34. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Chocolate cake- apparently it’s essential to prevent pre-eclampsia.
35. DO YOU WISH ON STARS? I always used to
36. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE? Pink
37. WHAT IS THE WEATHER LIKE RIGHT NOW? Glorious- a lovely sunny afternoon. Which means we can expect snow tomorrow!
38. LAST PERSON YOU SPOKE TO ON THE PHONE? DH
39. FAVOURITE SOFT DRINK? Fizzy Vimto this week, though Ginger Beer a close second. Heartburn is such a bitch.
40. FAVOURITE RESTAURANT? My kitchen
41. HAIR COLOUR: Gorgeous Blonde 411
42. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE TOY AS A CHILD? Dolls various. Shocker, no?
43. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer
44. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs
45. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate chocolate but vanilla ice cream
46. COFFEE OR TEA? Bleurgh, neither.
47. WHAT WILL YOU EAT FOR SUPPER TONIGHT? Chicken and sweet potato curry with cardamom rice.
48. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? About five minutes ago at an RSPCA advert- pregnancy hormones are a killer.
49. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED? I’ve not been down there for a while but I imagine there’s a fair amount of dust, an electric blanket and at least a dozen tennis balls (that’s down to the dog.)
50. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT? I fell asleep in front of Newsnight.
51. WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF? Dying alone and unloved.
52. SALTY OR SWEET? Sweet
53. HOW MANY KEYS ON YOUR KEY RING? 5 on one, 1 on another.
54. HOW MANY YEARS IN YOUR CURRENT JOB? In many ways, I’ve been doing it my whole life.
55. FAVOURITE DAY OF THE WEEK? Any day DH makes it home on time.
56. HOW MANY PLACES HAVE YOU LIVED? Places, as in individual dwellings? LOADS. Countries: 7
57. DO YOU MAKE FRIENDS EASILY? Who’s asking?
58. WHAT DATE ON THE CALENDAR YOU ARE LOOKING FORWARD TO? The arrival of Baby Goddesque!
59. WHERE IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE EVER BEEN FROM HOME? I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t like being without him.
60. SMALL THING YOU REALLY ENJOY? Giving.

I have been a bit lax of late in the blogging department. Put it down to nesting and such- but now the nursery has been painted, decorated, furnished, curtained and dog-proofed. The Moses basket is stationed by my bed and the car seat is installed (so the dog gets used to it being there, you understand). I have sewn until my fingers bled, packed and repacked the hospital bag, spent hours filling in the forms for Maternity Allowance (a forty page document of which the first twenty pages are instructions on how to fill in the form…) and have officially gone on Maternity Leave. Of course this is all practical stuff that needs doing, but quite dull really.

The fun bit happened last weekend when I had my Baby Shower. It’s a very American thing that is beginning to take off here, although generally with a lot less (dare I say it) American enthusiasm. I have always had a thing for afternoon tea- such a great British tradition- despite the fact that I don’t drink tea, so when a friend offered to organise a baby shower, I told her that I would like to ‘do’ tea with friends. And so on the appointed day at the appointed time, I waddled past the doorman at Harrods to their terribly glamorous, if somewhat over-decorated, tea room Laduree. I sat bedecked in a floral garland and tiara and enjoyed hand-pressed apple juice and slowly ate my way through a host of candy-coloured goodies that were piled up on the tiered silver trays. The hot chocolate was literally that- hot molten chocolate that you needed to add hot milk to just to be able to sip. There was Champagne for the non-pregnant ladies, but to be honest, as I was knee deep in presents, I didn’t really notice! I had a lovely afternoon and came home literally weighed down with children’s books for our impending arrival
I confess though, that the tea wasn’t really all it could have been, a fact belied by the queue of people who patiently waited, often for more than an hour, for a table.

As I mentioned earlier, I have long adored the idea of an afternoon tea. This stems back to an afternoon when I was a Forces Brat and mum, the brothers and I participated in a fake-evacuation. To be honest, the whole day was bloody boring- there was so much hanging around on a day when we could easily have been by the pool or at the beach. But my abiding memory is of the tea that awaited us in the Sports Hall. Now I know that choux swans are actually more about looks than taste, but I had never seen a food more decadent and other-worldly. From the moment I saw them, I promised myself that one day, when I was all growed up, I would eat proper afternoon teas with proper scones and swans and be a lady. When I ended up in London, I came a few steps closer to the reality.

I now know the joy of afternoon teas. DH- who, at least 99% of the time is the most heavenly man a woman could ever hope to meet, organised afternoon tea at The Wolseley for my birthday. It was the most magical afternoon- the realisation of a childhood dream. The setting was exquisite; there are cathedral-like ceilings, twinkling lights, heavenly Art Deco surroundings that I could have just stared at all afternoon. Then I noticed that the white linen tablecloth was decked with silverware and china and sparkly glass, and a tiered tea tray stacked with dinky sandwiches, pastries, scones, enough to feed me until bedtime. I felt like a child at Christmas; I had to go to the bathroom to do a happy dance, and even they were fabulous.

DH has recently also brought me one step closer to being a lady- he gave me a Lady’s Card to his club. So when the mothership last descended I thought I would take her there as a birthday treat, for afternoon tea. The setting is somewhat different to The Wolseley- it’s calmer, quieter and more understated. But this is no bad thing when you are seven months pregnant and the size of a small elephant. Sadly the tea that I had built up turned out to be nothing more than toasted teacakes and a few digestive biscuits. It was both disappointing and embarrassing, and will mean a strongly worded letter to the secretary. Next time I think we’ll try somewhere else. The advantage of being a lady who lunches is that there are plenty of other places to ‘tea’ out. Even if I don’t take full advantage of the separate tea menu.

Could this be the reason that Terminal 5 has been having issues with their luggage systems??

I have been blonde all my life. Growing up in the Mediterranean ensured that I was white-blonde for the first part of my life. When I was dispatched to Yorkshire to boarding school, the colour was slowly leeched from my body as it struggled to adjust to the cold and the food. My hair grew darker and I was forced to take action, in the form of whichever hair dye was on special offer at Superdrug when I was on half-term (they banned short skirts at school, so you can imagine they didn’t look to highly on peroxide). My Nan had a policy of giving £10 Boots vouchers for both Christmas and Birthdays, which helped keep me in Sun-in, and school holidays spent in Egypt, where my parents were living at the time, helped. Once I began nannying, I branched out to being able to afford full-priced hair-dye, which my Spanish nanny friend (a former hairdresser with mad curly white hair called Lola) applied much better than I did.

A broken foot forced me to come back to the UK, where I discovered ‘model days’ when I was plucked from the street by a man working at Vidal Sassoon. Three hours later- patience is needed to be a model and conveniently my charges were at school during the day- I had a lovely new look that was head and shoulders (pardon the pun) above anything I had previously managed to afford. From then on I was hooked. After a modelling incident left me with zebra stripes in my highlights, I stopped modelling and started spending my hard-earned cash. I leave my hairdresser with ‘enhanced’ blonde hair that I love and a receipt that I have to hide from DH. But it really is worth it, since whilst my hair may not be as blonde as it once was, my personality is; not in a Blondes-have-more-fun way, or indeed in a gentlemen-prefer-blondes way (although DH has never complained), but in a ‘Blonde-moment’ way. Which does justify the expense, since I wouldn’t want people crediting me with more intelligence than I deserve based on the fact that I wear glasses.

I am much less Domestic Goddess than I want to be at the moment. I have been struck by what I can only assume is pregnancy karma: to make up for the fact that I have suffered not a jot from all the usual pregnancy niggles, I have been landed with SPD. In short- not wishing to sound like an extra on ER- my pelvis is ‘displaced’ as a result of over-eager pregnancy hormones. So any activity that involves the use of the pelvis- walking, sitting, standing, lying down, turning over, getting in and out of the bath, lifting, bending (you get the idea)- is ‘challenging’. Imagine what it would feel like to be kicked in the undercarriage by a horse…hourly. Welcome to my world.

I find myself having to delegate the domestic thing. I am very grateful to my cleaner, who does her best to keep on top of the paw prints and has even been spotted dusting the skirting boards and refolding the little baby clothes in the nursery. DH should also be awarded a Blue Peter badge, since after a hard day’s lawyering, he comes home to walk the dog, empty the dishwasher and help me in and out of the bath. The dog, sadly, doesn’t quite get it, but has at least stopped trying to chew the stick whilst I am walking with it. I spend a good deal of time resting, but can still get out and about in the car, which I drive to the park in order to ‘walk’ the dog- she and I would go mad if we didn’t get out of the house. I have also adapted our facilities to allow me to continue ironing whilst sitting down, so I don’t feel completely helpless/useless. And I can still cook, provided I can get it from fridge to plate in about twenty minutes, since that is the length of time I can currently stand for. Obviously that somewhat limits my repertoire (I refuse to consult Delia), hence the lack of enticing recipes of late.

I am banned from any real exercise- yoga, swimming, running (ha!), and from lifting anything that weighs more than my handbag (and even that on occasion- see my earlier post). The goddess quotient has been upped significantly to compensate. Thanks to the joys of technology I can do a great deal of ‘important things’ (i.e. shopping) from the comfort of my bedroom, where I bounce quite happily on my birth ball (a space hopper with another name and larger price tag!) whilst ordering food from Ocado, chatting with fellow expectant mums on Mumsnet and buying bits and pieces from EBay. I have researched every baby product known to man, and ordered about half of them. I have filed for Maternity Allowance from the guvverment and my Real Nappy Incentive from Bromley Council. Oh, and sometimes I do some actual work. Even the midwives come to me these days. All I need is a flunkey to tie my shoes, paint my nails and feed me grapes. Do you suppose they sell those online?

I know that not a moment ago I was yabbering on about an idyllic childhood with little television, no internet and no mobile phones. And it really was idyllic. I also know that I yabbered on about being quite keen to keep DH from working when we retreated to our retreat. But then I realised that pretty much my whole life is tied to the internet in one form or another, and the fact that I am getting bigger by the day means that sometime soon I shall be stranded on the sofa, with nothing to do but Google and write my birth plan. And if I do become very wedged, then I shall need the interweb to find the number of a very nice man with a forklift truck who can extract me. And so, Dear Reader, the DH and I made our way to the Warehouse of Carphones yesterday to procure a dongle. Despite sounding inappropriate, it does mean that I now have access to yell.com for helpful forklift truck drivers; I can check the tides so that DH doesn’t get down to the beach with the rugby-mad hound at high tide and end up losing the ball in the surf; and I can check the local cinema listings. Our new multiplex has jst opened and you can only book in advance (what?!) but they do promise your choice of beanbags, or sofas, and a licenced bar. DH and I are going to test out their ‘home from home’ philosophy ce soir- I shall curl up on the sofa whilst DH sups on his ice-cold beer. I wonder if we can bring the dog…home wouldn’t be home without her…

I am delighted to hear that Shannon Matthews has been found alive, though whether one can also use the term ‘safe and well’ is, I suspect, a long way off. Once again, however, my heart goes out to the parents of Madeleine McCann and all those other less high-profile children still AWOL from the bosom of their families. I cannot imagine what it is like to have to endure such a thing. It makes me realise that the world has changed beyond recognition from the world I grew up in.

I really did have a perfect childhood. I grew up on Cyprus, where my dad was stationed, in the 1980’s, before the onslaught of package holidayers. Ayia Napa- now a well-known ‘hotspot’ and all round party town was just a little fishing village. Every house had an old widow, dressed head-to-toe in black, sitting on a hard backed chair outside the front door. She was usually making lace. There was a local coffee place populated only by men who sat listening to the radio and discussing manly things with the local Orthodox priest who wore a funny hat. The main industry apart from fishing was the only petrol pump in the area. And it had the most amazing beaches, which we used to visit most days after school (which finished at 1pm during the summer and 2pm in the winter.) The locals thought we were mad for sitting out in the sun and frolicking in the waves.

School was at the end of our road and had a whole 70 pupils at its busiest. It used to have several hundred before ‘the war’ when the island was divied up between Cypriot and Turk, so had a very large plot with lots of extra buildings that were used for various activities and clubs, not just by the school children, but also the soldiers and their families. The girls wore gingham dresses made by their mothers in a multitude of colours and the boys wore white shorts and grey shorts. The buildings were single storey with corrugated iron roofs that sounded like drums whenever it rained. They all had big verandas which kept off the sun, or the rain, and were interspersed with flower beds that grew Birds of Paradise, Bougainvillea and Hibiscus. There were big playgrounds with netball courts and football pitches painted on them in different colours, the lines also used as markers by those who did their cycling proficiency test. There was a small assembly hall where we met every morning and sang Beatles hits whose lyrics were painted on the wall by the overhead projector. There was a big sports hall that became a theatre every winter when the school put on a panto. The script was written by the Headmaster, Mr Sullivan, and there was a part for every student. The mums made all the costumes and anyone on base with a degree of creativity was drafted in to help with the sets. I don’t think it ever felt like school.

Across the road from the school was the Kindergarten, side-by-side with the play park which had a very large slide that used to burn your bottom if you tried to see it in the middle of the day. We used to play there after school, and sneak over the fence into the Kindie play park, because we could. I once twisted my ankle and two friends had to get me back over the fence before we could raise the alarm, so that we didn’t get in trouble (that was my brother’s job!) The Chief Firemaster carried me all the way home…mum says she could hear me crying from the end of the road. It really was village life. Doors were left unlocked and kids were allowed out from dawn until dusk during the holidays without supervision, provided they didn’t do anything stupid (brother’s job) and checked in every three hours. We just roamed free, going to the MMG (Mission to Military Garrison) for a fizzy drink and piece of homemade cake if our mum’s had given us the money, or to look in their shop. There was the NAAFI (can’t remember what that stands for) supermarket, the swimming pool, other people’s houses and the base. There was a sports camp every summer, where you could try out archery and horse riding, trampolining and shooting. There was a cinema that showed 1960’s matinee movies every Saturday morning, which we’d all walk to. There was Brownies and Cubs, the Youth club and summer Sunday School. We had total freedom to wander and be kids. There was television -programmes recorded a few days earlier from the BBC and piped round the base- for about two hours every night. There were very few computers (think Amstrad- just for playing games, and you had to hook them up to your TV screen) and no mobile phones. We communicated in coded messages during school. There was barely any traffic and no need for stranger danger. In fact my parents used to drop me and my friends at one of the two local restaurants for my birthday supper and pick us, and the bill, up two hours later.

Life was very simple and life was very safe. I had 24 ‘big brothers’ from Dad’s work on hand to babysit/boss around. There was always some cricket match or game or Treasure Hunt or beach BBQ going on. It really was a case of a village raising a child. Raising all of us. I doubt very much that an army childhood is the same anymore, never mind a regular childhood. There are no youth clubs, no organised activities, nothing other than technology to occupy kids. And judging from the way they go missing on their way home from school, and from their hotel rooms, you can see why parents feel the need to keep their children close-by. And give them the DVDs, Playstations and mobile phones. I wonder if this is a reason for the rebellions, the drunken twelve year olds and the groups of yooves hanging out on street corners and in underpasses. How very lucky I was to have the freedom to be a child when I was a child, and what a different world I will be raising my daughter in.