What's been said cannot be unsaid

He asked me why I hadn’t said something sooner.

I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. I was determined to not say anything until all my thoughts were in order and I knew what I wanted to say, instead of blurting them out like some kind of idiot.

I said that I hadn’t said anything before because I didn’t know how to put it. I didn’t know how to say how I was feeling. I didn’t really know what I was feeling.

He said he was sorry that he’d been miserable lately, that it was a horrible atmosphere at work because of the impending move and he didn’t realise he was bringing it home with him.

I said I didn’t even know if that was what the problem was.

He said that I meant the world to him and that he just wants me to be happy.

I said that I knew that.

He asked me if I wanted space. He could go and stay at his parent’s house for a couple of days because they’re away at the moment. No-one would need to know.

I said no. I didn’t think it was fair for him to have to leave for a few days when it was me that had the problem.

There was silence for a long time.

I asked him what he was thinking.

He said he’d never have asked me if I was ok if he knew what I was going to say.

He said that there were a couple of options. We break up now or we wait and see if things improve.

I didn’t know what to say. He was taking it so calmly. He didn’t seem overly upset and he didn’t seem angry. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t ask if there was someone else. He was eerily quiet.

He said he would try and stop being stressed about work and bringing it home with him.

I said, again, that I didn’t even know if that was what the problem was. Because I don’t know what the problem is. I said I just had a feeling that things weren’t right. Something wasn’t fitting into place.

I said “What are we supposed to do now?” Were we supposed to just ignore what I’d just said and carry on with some false sense of gaiety and pretend that everything was ok? If someone says they’re not happy and they’re not sure why then what more else is there to say?

He said, “Well for a start I can go and put on the tea.”

...

...

And today was the first morning in over a year that he didn’t say goodbye when he left for work.

The bright side

There’s nothing to lift your spirits more than a bit of appreciation. First I get it in the form of your outpouring of admiration for my crocheting efforts and then I go and get an award from the rather marvellous Taz at Ratbag.

I wouldn’t have necessarily called myself a looking on the bright-side person – always thought I was kind of moody and sarcastic and generally a bit of a pessimist, but I guess it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. A new flavour of Pringles you say? Cue happy dance in the middle of the crisps and snacks aisle in Tesco.

Anyway I’m not one to turn down a bit of attention so I will continue to bask in the glory for a while longer before reluctantly passing it on to the next person.

The rules:
1. List Top 10 things that make you happy
2. List 5 trivia things about me
3. Share with 5 people and ask them to do the same
4. Link the blogs you choose and link the blog of the person who gave it to you

Things that make me happy:
1. Cats. All cats in general and Fred and Lily specifically. If I'm on the street and see one I will be stopping to try and touch it.

2. Crisps. Still and for always. Praise be to the salty god.

3. Crochet. Now that I've begun to crack it I am really enjoying it. Like really. Like so much it annoys me when things stop me from crocheting. Like work.

4. Spring. I spy with my little eye, blossom. And it's good.

5. The sun. It's hot its hat on and it's coming out to play. And it means lunch outside in Queens Gardens instead of sitting my little windowless box of an office.

6. Glee. It's just....gleeful. It makes me very happy and I've been quite miserable during its random 3 week break, but it's back on Monday!

7. Getting away. I'm going away for the weekend to see my cousin down south and I'm very much looking forward to it, I haven't seen her for ages and fun is bound to be had.

8. Stitch & Bitch. My little Thursday night activity and an exciting project on the go. I am definitely going to tell you about that soon.

9. Tea. Nothing like a big mug of it in the evening.

10. Shoes. I got the box of spring/summer shoes out the other day and felt almost giddy. There were so many that I'd forgotten about (which is worrying I know).

The triva:

1. I am left handed. And ridiculously proud of the fact in a way righties (and let’s be honest most lefties) don’t understand. It’s like being a member of a very cool club. Full of left handed people. Imagine it. The mind boggles.
2. I have ridiculously long toes that I call Fingoes (geddit? They’re long like fingers but they’re toes. It’s a laugh a minute with me.)
3. I was banned from watching The Crystal Maze when I was young because I got too stressed out watching it (there’s a blog post in that story)
4. I have a small scar near my left eye which looks like a botched attempt at an eyebrow piercing but is actually a scar from getting punched in the face about 6 years ago (there’s definitely a blog post in that story)
5. I am terrified of moths and butterflies (yeah I know it doesn’t make sense). If you want to see me freak out and make a twat out of myself then put me near one of them – you’ll never see me move faster.

The 5 blogs:

1. Kelly @ Kelly’s Recipes for Life
2. Victoria @ Florence & Mary
(those first two – seriously deserving of this award – no hint of drama, everything in life is wonderful, I need to take a lesson from the pair of them!)
3. The Curious Cat – because she is adventuresome and brave
4. Tabiboo – I would like to steal her life by the sea
5. Suzie @ Itch2stitch.com - She is brilliant, no other words for it. And most definitely, absolutely, positively someone who looks on the bright side.

Take it, go, fly my pretties. I’m going to take the award as inspiration and go off to make a list of why my life isn’t falling apart at the moment. Bright side is the key phrase.

The devil's craft: a retraction

Some months ago I wrote a post about my first attempts at crochet. It had been a long old battle and I was feeling despondent. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't enjoy it. I had a strong suspicion that wool and hook were conspiring and laughing at me behind my back. The Stitch & Bitch girls were ready to drown me in my hot chocolate, such were my moans. I would pore through the pages of Attic 24, jealousy oozing out of my pores.

However, because I'm a stubborn little madam (hello? I'm an Aries aren't I?!) I refused to give up and with the help of a little tin bird, I eventually found my way.

Since that second post I have undergone a small transformation. My cross stitch has lain abandoned for who knows how long now as I sit and I hook. I've got in to my stride and it's more than a little bit addictive. I love the speed with which the squares begin to take shape. One problem with cross stitch is that you can work on it for hours and it resembles nothing more than a colourful blob on the aida. With the granny square you can see almost immediately where you're going and how bloody brilliant it's going to be.

Maybe it's the repetitiveness of it that's so soothing, just going round and round and round and round. Minimal concentration, maximum output.

I discovered you can crochet on the train on a recent trip to Manchester. I'm not going to lie, you get a few pretty strange looks, but I was brave enough to withstand them. (Must be a sign I'm getting older, I'm becoming less bothered of what people think of me.) I have a train journey down to Newton Abbot at the end of this week - 6 hours. The wool is coming with me. Podcasts are lined up ready to put on the i-pod. It's going to be acesome (yeah I'm still pushing that one).

It's not been without it's troublesome times. I have faced unknown hardships along the way including severe cramp, the perils of discontinued colours (hurray for the internet), the ordeal of making sure the colours are in a complementary order and, perhaps most importantly, the flippin' expense of it all. This is not the cheapest hobby I've ever taken up. I might have to take up another one to fund it - hunting for truffles maybe, or selling drugs. I'm not fussy.

But these traumas have been swept aside as I gaze with what I can only imagine is some kind of maternal pride at my woolly baby, taking shape before my very eyes. Sometimes I'll lie on top of it and pretend it's finished (too much information? Really?) I reckon 25 squares ought to get me a damn fine blanket. 36 squares would be amazing but I don't want to aim too high (and neither does my bank balance).

So I apologise to you crochet. You are not the devil's craft after all. Although you have done a pretty good job of subverting my attention away from all other crafts.....hmmm.

Probably the worst way to ask a girl out. Ever.

So. First things first. Thank you for all the advice you wisdomous lot. Don’t fret yourselves, I won’t be rushing in to any enormous decisions, difficult though that is for me because I’m a throw yourself in at the deep end kind of person. Things are obviously going to take time and there’s a lot of things to work out and you needn’t worry that I will bore you with it all on here because that would be de.press.ing. But obviously I’ll keep you updated because a) I’m needy and b) I know that deep down inside you’re all nosy.

So I thought I might lift the mood a little.

By the time I got to my final year at school I was more than a little bored of it. A private school that catered for you from Year 4 all the way to Year 13, I’d been stuck with the same people for nearly 10 years, seeing them day in and day out.

As with a lot of private schools there was a huge emphasis on sport. Music and theatre were in there but no one really cared about them, it was all about being on the rugby/hockey/netball/cricket team. (No football for us. Only common people play that you know.) The ultimate in boyfriend material was to bag yourself a rugby player.

If you enjoyed going out with morons.

My group of friends were in an odd position in the social hierarchy at school – at the top of the ladder were the male sporty types, then there was the popular group of girls who funnily enough weren’t all that sporty, but were definitely slutty. Everyone rather charmingly referred to them as the Pussy Posse (proof that you can spend all the money you want, your kids are still going to be gross). Their pool of boyfriends came exclusively from the rugby boys. Then you had your geeks, freaks and weirdos.

We were placed under the Pussy Posse but above the geeks, freaks and weirdos. It was sort of a limbo position, neither one nor the other. Most of us were in the sports teams, most involved in the musical life of the school, drama, fairly high academic achievers, all but 2 of us were Senior Prefects (and yeah I was one of the two that weren’t). I found out years later that the people in Year 12 who shared the Common Room with us called us The Nice Girls. I can live with that.

So there was this one guy who had fancied me since we were about 12. He would send me Valentines Day cards and make half-hearted attempts to snog me at discos but nothing really happened. It was just one of those things that defined school – the Deputy Headmaster is the scariest human being on earth and Tom will always fancy me.

Tom was in the rugby team and we got on okay. One of the nice things about being one of The Nice Girls is that you straddled all groups, no one particularly minded who you were friends with.


In Year 13, Tom and I were chosen by one of our old form teachers to be his prefects for his Year 9 class. It involved little other than being at registration each morning and supposedly being a shoulder to cry on when they didn’t feel like going to a teacher (NB if you were a male form prefect your life was distinctly easier than a female, 14/15 year old girls are all about the drama)


During this time Tom and I got a bit closer until one fateful night in LAs.

LAs was short for Lexington Avenue, the club we all went to when we were in the 6th form at school. Now very sadly not just shut down but recently torn down, it used to be the hub of all social activity in Hull on a weekend. Our school had a little corner in LAs, turn right when you come through the doors and there was a little burger bar, you could be assured that the surrounding area would be filled with pupils past and present.

Tom and I were sat down in the burger bar, sharing a plate of chips.

“So I wanted to say something to you” he said. “Well it’s just I really fancy you, and I have done for ages and I was just wondering if maybe you’d like to go out sometime”

I thought to myself “Maybe I’ll give him a go” and was about to reply in the affirmative when this came out of his mouth...

“I mean I really do like you. I mean so much that I’d be prepared to go out with you even though you’re not in the pussy posse”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you know because I’ll probably get the piss taken out of me for going out with you, but I like you that much I’m willing to put up with that.”

...


...


Who knows what possessed him to say it. I think it was an attempt to illustrate just how much he fancied me that went incredibly awry.

“Yeah Tom, I’m going to go ahead and say no to that.”

He was quite visibly stunned.

“Well I won’t wait around forever you know” came his reply

I didn’t want to laugh in his face. I felt that would be cruel. He obviously meant everything he said (which was half the problem) but in his little way I think he genuinely thought he was paying me the ultimate compliment. What could I say to him?

“I totally understand. I’ll just have to live with that” was my eventual response.

There were no hard feelings. A few months later we all left school to venture off on our own lives and I’ve actually never seen him again.


But I will remember him fondly, he provided me with one of the funniest stories I’ve ever had the pleasure to recount.

Head vs Heart

My love life has been characterised by a distinct inability to listen to what my head’s telling me. I’m a follow your heart kind of girl, the last of the romantics and no matter how hard I try and listen to the little voice in my head, it gets drowned out by the twanging of my heartstrings.

Take for instance my very first relationship at the tender age of 16. I had a fairly unpleasant boyfriend who manipulated me in the only way a 17 year old with low self esteem could. He told me that I was ugly and that everyone in his year was laughing at him for going out with me and no one could understand what he saw in me, along with other similar pleasantries. My head suspected that something wasn’t quite right and told me to "Get out immediately" but my tender little heart, experiencing love for the first time and witnessing my parent’s marriage break down, told me that this was my one and only chance and I needed to stick in there.

You think I would have realised at that point in time that my heart doesn’t know anything.

But I continued to be led around by it and a merry dance indeed it has led me. From relationship to relationship – throwing itself in headfirst while the little voice has stood in the background shaking its head slowly and going “What are you doing you moron, listen to me!”

The little voice told me that Dave* wasn’t quite right for me. He was just a little bit too quiet and serious and all in favour of the easy life. I was dramatic and, quite frankly, a little bit crazy but my heart told me that I must have got it right this time, I was, after all, the incredibly knowledgable age of 21 when I knew everything there was to know. But I ignored the voice, even when Dave told me that he wasn’t looking to settle down any time soon and wanted to go off travelling and explore the world, and I hung on, until my heart realised that it wasn’t getting what it was needing back and led me to someone else.

The heart continued to pound, no matter how many knocks it got, and it never beat faster than the time when I was going out with The One. Perfectly matched, I’d already known him for years, and everything was going swimmingly until the heart decided that I should absolutely definitely tell him that I thought he was The One. The little voice said “Nooooooooooooo what are you doing?!” but the heart was confident this wouldn’t backfire.

Except it kind of did backfire. The trouble was that although The One was, you know, The One. He wasn’t The One At That Moment. He was in a strange old place, not behaving at all like the person I fell in love in with. And the little voice told me that I should leave but the heart refused to let him go. It knew, it absolutely knew that this was the one. And it held on and it held on because it knew that it was strong enough to fix everything that was wrong with him and that if it just stayed in there, he would realise that it knew best.

Until one day it could take no more and it had to go. It was stretched to breaking point and ready to crack in two and it realised that it wasn’t enough. Sometimes love isn’t enough. And for probably the only time in my life, the little voice and the heart said as one, “Time to let go”.

But the heart never really let go. It understood that it wasn’t enough at the moment but that it might be in the future and it still remained certain that it belonged to The One and no one else.

But over time this got lost and occasionally the heart would flare up and say “Hey, wait I love The One, not this other person” and the little voice would say “Oh no you don’t. Don’t start with this again, that’s only going to lead you down a rocky road. Please listen to me, you have to bury that love deep inside and don’t even think about it”

And the heart said a very sheepish “Ok” and seeing as it had been so wrong about so many other relationships it guessed the little voice was probably right.

But soon it was back to its old tricks...

I ignored the little voice when it told me that Steve* wasn’t right for me. Why in my right mind would a slovenly glutton like me be a perfect match for the ultimate gym machine? And when the little voice told me that something wasn’t quite right about this ‘friend’ of his I knew I should have listened to it. But the heart believed the lies and believed he loved it back right up until out of the blue he decided he didn’t love it anymore.

And then a few weeks later I met The Boyfriend.

And the heart said “YES! Finally a nice boy who would never ever hurt me and will look after me and make sure I don’t get broken.”

But the voice?

It said “It’s too soon. You have to wait and give the heart time to mend, it’s not quite itself, it’s still in extreme need of repair”

And the heart replied “NONSENSE. I. Am. Fine. Too soon, too schmoon. Shut up little voice.”

And then 22 months later, the heart had some kind of volcanic explosion and remembered that it loved The One and that things were different now, he was out of the strange old place and back to the person it had fallen for in the first place.

Except I’m older now (did I tell you it was just my birthday? Yes?) and I can’t let the heart have its own way again. It’s been wrong so many times. It’s the Weakest Link. It’s Britain’s Biggest Loser. If we were picking teams for netball, my heart would be the one wearing a patch over one eye who couldn't catch if its life depended on it.

So I turn to the little voice for some help and for the first time ever it’s decided to shut its trap. Or it’s talking so quietly that I can’t hear it. Or I don’t really like what it’s saying so I’m not really listening to it.

So until I can decipher what the little voice is saying I’m in the worst position imaginable – this close to everything I dreamed of and this close away from smashing it all to pieces in favour of, once again, going with the heart.

Although sometimes I don’t even think the heart knows what it wants. And sometimes I think it's a sneaky little devil and pretends to be the little voice to try and trick me.

Any of my other organs fancy helping me out here? Liver? Got anything to say? Pancreas? Fancy pitching in? Kidneys? Fancy a break from all the filtering?

(It’s always better to make a little joke than face reality I find)

*The names have been changed. Just because....you never know. Also I like the DRAMA of changing people's names.

Easter and Birthday Review

The celebrations are over for another year and next time my birthday will be all my own (well apart from the billion other people that share it).

I'm not really in a wordy mood at the moment, got a lot going on in my head at the moment which makes it virtually impossible for me to string sentences together. Not sure if this is the place to air those worries or not, that's my next big decision.

BUT ANYWAY.

Easter saw us all down at my sister's for the weekend, all the family together. I always feel a little tense about these things. I don't know why, it's not that we don't all get along, it's just that sometimes I feel like I need to make an extra special effort to make sure everyone's having fun. I don't know why that is really. And I would normally go in to more detail and examine that in more detail, but like I said, head is not in gear right now.

Festivities of the weekend included;

- a trip to the pub (essential)

- a lark about Ashby Castle, which my youngest nephew absolutely loved. He could have spent hours there, running about with his little foam sword. We climbed all the way up to the top of the tower and waved at everybody down below.

- a lot of crocheting. Done a whole 12 squares now. I put them over Rowan the dog to get a feel for how they will look when they're all joined together.

- a little Easter egg hunt on Sunday morning for youngest nephew.

- lots of fun presents for me.

The boyfriend got me DJ Hero, which I've played so much I've given myself cramp in my left hand. We've got Guitar Hero already but I don't love it to be honest, I don't like many of the songs. This bad boy is brilliant though. Not only are the songs good but they're all mashed up together, you can't go wrong!

The boyfriend's parents also got me an amazing present. Some artwork that I've been lusting after for a long time. A metalwork picture of a shoal of fish.

It doesn't photograph brilliantly, I've tried taking loads of photos and none of them really do it justice. It's so beautiful, the colours are just divine and I can't believe they got it for me because it most certainly was not a cheap present.
Things may be a little quiet over here for a bit while I sort things out in my head. Alternatively there might be a post every day as I attempt to purge my brain of all its confusing thoughts. Just consider this a warning :)

The time Jesus stole my birthday

Birthdays are great aren’t they? That one special day when it’s all about you and everyone is nice to you and you can do whatever the hell you want.

Not for me.

I’ve had the unfortunate luck of being born at the beginning of April, along with apparently the entire population of the world.

Maybe it was all that summer loving that people get up in the month of August or maybe there’s truth in the notion that women are more fertile in that period and more likely to get pregnant and have their babies in the spring so they have the best chance of survival (hey I read it somewhere). Whatever it is, there are an inordinate amount of people born in the first week of April.

For instance, a brief rundown of the people whose birthday it is in the next few days;

Middle nephew – yesterday (1st April)
Best friend – Saturday (3rd April)
Me and my brother-in-law – Sunday (4th April)
Eldest nephew – Monday (5th April)

Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have to buy people other presents around the time of your own birthday? And even worse have to give them to someone?! It’s wrong. The day is supposed to be about you. If I’m honest I think the whole week should be about you but apparently that makes me sound spoilt.

Really I blame my sister for all this. She’s the one who chose to marry someone who shared the same birthday as me and then, as if that wasn’t enough, she selfishly goes and gets pregnant and has offspring on virtually the same days (actually the birth of Eldest Nephew is particularly funny seeing as my brother-in-law had been out for his birthday the night before, remind me to tell you that one some time). I mean it’s not really on is it – I was here first after all. Well, technically my brother-in-law was here first, by a good twenty years, but that’s irrelevant.

And I mean these are just the people that are particularly close to me. Our old next door neighbour was on the 4th. My Mum’s best friend is on the 4th. There were 2 girls in my class, one on the 4th and one on the 5th. My friend’s sister is on the 4th. There is hardly anybody who, on finding out the date of birthday, doesn’t go “Oh I know someone whose birthday is then!” And today I discover that Tabiboo is getting on the act with her birthday on the 3rd and Mr T’s birthday today!

There’s no escape.

Sometimes being born at this time of year can have its advantages – I was only ever at school once on my birthday (for my 18th and that was a half day) because it was always the Easter holidays but that actually just made birthdays pretty quiet because people were always on holiday or doing Eastery things.

Ah yes. Easter.

Easter has raised its ugly head once more. I mean it’s inevitable, you can’t escape Easter interfering with things if you’re born at this time of year. I was born on an Easter Monday after all. But this year, my birthday is not only NOT just about me but it’s been completely hijacked by Jesus. Like I can compete with some dude rising from the dead. Thanks a lot for stealing my thunder Jebus.

Of course everybody is busy doing Eastery things so no one was available to party like a rockstar with me, which is ridiculous because it’s a bank holiday and we could so have gone out and drunk the drinks and been hungover all day Monday, but alas it was not to be.

And, because half my fricking family have their birthday at the same time as me, I tend to get stolen away to do family things. You would not believe how many arguments there have been because I’ve wanted to celebrate my birthday in Hull, with friends, and haven’t been able to because that would make me the worst Auntie in the world ever.

So this is my way of saying goodbye to you for a few days. We are off down to my sister’s to do Eastery/family/birthday things.

No doubt I’ll come back with some stories to tell. AND I’LL BE A YEAR OLDER.

Just in case that one had passed you by.