One of my strange idiosyncrasies is that I’m very good at doing things for other people but absolutely rubbish at doing things for myself. Thus when I agree to do something for someone else I will invariably do it any cost but when it comes to doing something such as losing like weight, or actually having a beauty routine (I don’t) or keeping fit which would all be of great benefit to my health and decaying looks, I find it very difficult to maintain the impetus for much longer than 24 hours. I suspect I am not alone in this; the truth is many mothers are so wrapped up in the welfare of their children, their jobs and 101 other tasks that they often find themselves at the bottom of the pile. Then one day you realise you look weather-beaten and washed up and those last few years when you could have looked half decent have been lost in a multitude of nappies and dirty dishes. (That day is a bit of a bummer I can tell you so get your bottle of sherry in now and stash it at the back of the pantry in preparation.)
Ok, so better make some resolutions for this year. Yawn, yawn…
1. Remember to take my cactus appetite suppressants. (Which seem to be helping although I’m a bit distressed by the increase in spiky body hair.)
2. Remember to remove the spiky body hair. (But not with Immac/Veet as last time I managed to get it on my head and was very disconcerted when even more of my hair starting falling out the following day.)
3. To stop burning the oven chips. (Pretty unlikely.)
4. Give Mr Turley something other than cheddar cheese in his sandwiches which he has had every day for the last 20 years. (Spam or Ham or maybe… Edam?)
5. Stop eating chocolate. (Damn. Damn. Damn… if I don’t have a regular fix I turn into a raging lunatic.)
6. Exercise more frequently. (Slightly hampered by a dodgy knee which fortuitously manages to play up every time Mr Turley wants to do a long distance walk.)
7. Remember to wash, comb my hair and change my knickers before I do the school run. (Well maybe I’d better just start with remembering to change out of my slippers.)
8. Join the WI and invest in a large case of over ripened tomatoes. Yippee! Oh, let me explain as you won’t understand if you’re not British; ladies of a certain age in the UK join The Women’s Institute, a group which discusses the noble arts of flower arranging and cake baking. Occasionally, they slow hand-clap the prime minster if he’s been particularly naughty. I’m planning something a little more entertaining because, frankly, I’m not keen on kilts. Well, not on men that look half dead anyway.
9. Send the Education Secretary a bill for all the private tuition I’ve had to fork out for my kids. (Inside a dubious looking package postmarked “Holland” – with any luck he’ll be fired.)
10. Stop looking at men’s arses. (No chance… I’m pre menopausal and I’m having a surge of hormones.)
I’ll let you know how I get on…
