MIND THE ‘AGE’ GAP!

H60. Older man younger womanBack in the day, when those of us who were a ‘child of the 60’s, were fluttering our Mary Quant eyelashes, and dancing round our handbags to Tamla Motown tunes, it seemed so damn cool for us to be seen out with an attractive, older, more worldly wise man.

Somehow, when you were 18 and freezing your tits off on the back of a Vespa, and some charmer nearly twice your age, came along swanking it big time, offering you a lift home in his Ford Cortina, you pretty soon started riding pillion in a frankly more pleasurable way.

And yes, ‘back in the day’, I too enjoyed liaisons with men considerably older than me, and far from feeling used and abused, (as apparently so many women 40 odd years later, now conveniently feel), I had a great time.

I went to places other girls my age only read about in magazines, I ate in good restaurants, and shopped in the West End while my mates were shopping in the market. (more…)

WE NEED TO TALK!

I don’t remember where I was when texting arrived. It crept up on me from behind, and not in a good way.

All of a sudden EVERYONE was at it.  Yes OK, it may be ‘progress’ but really, I think it’s a backward step.

Why is it more normal to text, than to actually SPEAK to the person you want to communicate with.

Am I a textaphobe?  Oh no I’m up to speed me!  Yes, my fingers can talk the talk as well as anyone else.

But way back in the day, that clever chap Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, so we could speak to another person, immediately, without waiting for a letter or a telegram, bearing good, or bad news. EUREKA!  Because of him, we just picked up the phone and TALKED.

But all good things come to an end and we now have the cutting edge of text messaging at our  fingertips. Previously, you might have enjoyed a verbal invitation for a hot date and had the pleasure of hearing the sexy voice of your one and only. Now, you get a piercing text alert, only to read ‘ wud b g8 2 c u 2nite, spk 2 u l8ter’.

Well that’s not going to ‘send’ you all giddy is it!H60 new message received.

I think women, especially, get a very raw deal in the texting department.  When sending a text to their ‘man of the moment’ they usually use up all of their allotted digits.  Men, on the other hand, usually use the least digits possible to get their message across.

Imagine the morning after the passionate night before. Women are prone to reliving it all, and may wonder if ‘he’ is still basking in the same afterglow as she is. (Unlikely)

So she sends a 160 digit loving missive about how great it had all been. If she’s lucky enough to get any response at all, ‘yeah woz gud’ could just tip her over the edge of texting reason.

Mobile phones seem to have become the adult version of a security blanket. They have to be within touching distance or the owner feels a bit scared.  Scared of missing something that is.

No matter where you look these days, there will be someone clutching their phone, texting madly. Huddled in doorways’ the smokers have now been joined by a new band of brothers all firing up their small and slinky weapons of mass communication.

Of course one thing a phone call and text message do have in common is that sometimes both of them are a long time coming so to speak.

You know how it is, you are all loved up, waiting for a missive from the object of your desire, but you have to keep your phone on silent. Perhaps you are at work, or worse still, a funeral.

So you tuck your mobile snugly in your bra or knickers.  After all if there are any vibrations heading your way, especially in your lady bits, you sure as hell don’t want to miss them.

Then, if he’s in ‘chatty’ mode you have to plead early onset incontinence and visit the loo several times so you can reply in secret.

Gone are the days when numerous trips to the ladies could indicate doing constructive things with white powder and a credit card. The fashionable addiction now is TEXTING.

Even the Priory Clinic are running therapy sessions, I kid you not.

But even if it is quick, and convenient, texting is still fraught with issues for lots of people.

We’ve all got a relative or friend who takes FOREVER to reply to the simplest of texts, or who just ignores them altogether.

Isn’t it so annoying, when you need a quick response to something, as in, right NOW, and you know damn well the other person is definitely not handcuffed to a chair in a darkened room rocking some earplugs.  Yes, they can see, and hear that they have received a text from you, but it’s totally out of your hands, when, or if they will answer.

Then to add insult to injury, eventually you may get a response which begins ‘soz woz busy b4….

Busy BUSY?  What on earth were you so busy doing that it took you THIS long to bloody well answer. Honestly, I’ve seen my nearest and dearest respond to a text almost before they’ve received it, yet sometimes I wait DAYS for a reply if I get one at all!  Collection of acronyms and abbreviations colorful speech bubbles

I’m ancient enough to remember the smelly phone box at the bottom of my road, where I used to go every Sunday evening with my Mum so we could make our weekly phone call to my Gran.  The A and B button, the frantic ‘Goodbyes’ trying to beat the pips.

Somehow, no matter how many kisses it has at the end, a text from MY Grandchildren, just isn’t the same as hearing their voices.

KWIM!?

MY THRESHOLDS ARE LOW!

Mature Gentleman, look away now.     H60 low boredom threshold

I know I have a low boredom threshold, and my attention wanders pretty damn quick if I’m not fully engaged with either a person, film, or even a book.

But when it comes to a mature man trying to entertain me with what he thinks is an interesting tale, sometimes I struggle to disguise my FFS shut up face.

Some people would have us believe that this, low boredom threshold thing, is the sign of an intelligent mind, but in my case, I can assure you it’s just a sign that someone is taking far too long to tell me a story!

Yep, I’m just plain bloody bored.

I honestly do try, but today was a prime example of something that happens to me quite regularly.  Is it them, or is it me I ask myself.  But I’ve a better idea.  You decide!

I’ve been away for a week to Spain, on my holibobs. I’ve eaten some nice food, seen some nice places, and met some nice people.

In fact it’s all be SO ‘nice’ that I have a story or two of my own to impart to anyone who is willing to listen.

But today was clearly not my turn for storytelling.

One of my very mature ‘gentlemen friends’ called in to collect some duty free cigarettes I’d got for him. And when I say ‘friend’ he is just that.

A lovely, very rotund chap, who is outrageously rude and opinionated, but hilariously funny at the same time.  He’s usually great company.

But today, the boring bug had bitten him good and proper.

He bustled in with a big bear hug and peck on the cheek for me, plonked himself down rather heavily in a chair not made for girth.

Being polite, I got in first, and asked him how he was, and what he’d been up to.   BIG mistake!

Now I can tell you what he’d been up to in these few words.

His friend, a farmer, got a puncture on his truck but he had no spare tyre, so he was going off to get it repaired for him. Some modern vehicles don’t come with a spare these days, just a repair kit, which isn’t much good if it’s a 4×4 and you regularly drive over fields and ditches like he does.  What a daft idea these repair kits are for commercial vehicles, surely they should come with a spare tyre.  END OF.

Only his version went on, and on and on.  He told me about the inner workings of an inner tube, the size of the wheel, the make of the vehicle, and went into great detail about a series of letters he had previously exchanged with the MD of the car manufacturer, regarding the aforementioned omission of a spare tyre.    H60 Tyre repair kit.

He quoted parts of each letter, quoted part of the current licencing law for commercial vehicles and didn’t even stop when I began to pick my nails and do that thing we ladies do when we are not in the least bit interested, and start saying, ‘yeah’ in a….’ hurry up and shut up’ kind of way.

For Fuck Sake……….seriously, why do men do this.  Take FOREVER to tell a story which holds NO interest whatsoever for a female listener.

Don’t they realise, it’s so damn boring and eventually we just zone out.  They are so busy droning on and on, they can’t even pick up the signals that it’s time to shut up.

And not to mention their ability to hark back to something that happened 4 decades ago, making it sound like it happened last week.

What is that all about.  Talk about living in the past.

Women are good at just getting the pertinent facts of a story across aren’t they.  We can tell it exactly how it is in a few sentences, and move on swiftly to the next bit of juicy gossip.

We live in the moment; we are best at banter and bare facts.   H60 AND

WE DON’T CARE if whatever, happened on a Monday at 7, or Thursday at 10.  We just want to know WHAT happened!

BUT ‘mature’ men seem to have to be SO precise about the facts of any incident.  As if a minor wrong detail will affect the bloody outcome of the story.

Chaps, do us women a favour,  just cut to the chase, the quicker the better.

Eventually this morning, I had no alternative, but to stand up, look at the clock and squeeze in ‘it’s been lovely to see you’ (now bugger off), before he told me the colour of the vehicle and what size underpants the owner wore.

Thankfully, getting the hint, he heaved himself out of the chair, picked up his Silk Cut Purple and went happily, if obliviously on his way.

My ‘gentleman friend’ is intelligent, well versed, bright and amusing in general conversation, but OMG, get him onto telling a story, and you end up hearing the ins and outs of a magpies arse………

Did he ask anything about my holiday. NO.

Did I get the chance to tell him anything about my holiday. NO.

Does the same thing happen to you?   Tell me………..

Otherwise I shall think I’m just a really rubbish ‘lady friend’ who is only interested in the sound of her own voice!

 

 

LOVELY TO MEET YOU – NOT

Is it me, I ask myself a hundred times a day, but on this conundrum, I’ll let you, dear reader, decide.

So off I go on a ‘date’ with the new man. I haven’t said much about the new man, as I have no idea if he is going to be the new man for much longer. To be honest the signs are not that good, and there have been a few glitches already in this fledgling relationship, more of that another day. But for now….

Last night we went out for a pub meal with 3 other couples, who already know him, but have never met me before.  I obviously have no idea what to expect, but I’m dressed in black leggings, black tunic dress, cowboy type boots and leather jacket.  My hair looks reasonably bobbed and I’ve gone for the smokey eyes and red lippy look.

To be fair, it’s pretty much my normal, every – day look, I’ve neither dressed up, or down.

So I rock up in the car park, the man is there, and we go into the pub together.

One couple have already arrived, and so meet and greet the man warmly, and he introduces me, they say ‘Hello, nice to meet you’ and, so do I.  It is indeed all very ‘nice’.

By the time we’ve been to the bar and got our first drink, the other couples have arrived so now there is a greeting fest going on, and everyone is very pleased to meet everyone else.

It’s still all very ‘nice’.

I get seated between the new man, and another lady, we are all around the same age, but I feel from the get go that they really won’t ‘get’ me.

And I’m right.

Food choices are made, orders taken, and so everyone is now free to chat uninterrupted. So they do, but not to me!

Now I don’t know about you, but I’ll talk to anyone, I’ll ask questions, and engage with people in a supermarket queue, a lift, on the train, absolutely anywhere and I’m happy to respond to any questions that may, in turn, be thrown my way.   Except last night, they weren’t throwing any

Despite my frequent attempts to engage, the established group of ladies clearly preferred to talk amongst themselves, which I thought was incredibly rude.

At one point, I did manage to comment how gay weddings were usually the most stylish, but you’d have thought I’d told them I’d got a bad attack of head lice.

Mouths curled up at the edges and there was a discernable shaking of heads.

I won’t lie, they did talk to the group generally, but nobody included me in their conversations, or asked me anything about myself, you know those obvious questions like, where are you from, where do you work, how did you two meet, and things I’d sure as heck ask if a newly available man rocked up with someone like me!

I mean, if they HAD eventually asked me what I did, I was intending to use my shock tactic and say I was a writer of erotica, and, if they HAD eventually asked me if I’d done anything nice last week, I was going to truthfully tell them that I’d had some fantastic conversations with some  of my own feisty, fab friends, including one who was telling me about a sexy tryst she’d had with a complete stranger, one who was planning a sexy tryst with a sexy Frenchman, and one who was amusing me with details of how one of her mates had enjoyed an unexpected, but perfectly friendly gang bang in a former life.

You won’t be surprised to read that I found all that far more interesting than  ‘are we having a starter or a pudding’ which was about as much as the incredibly dull damsels in the pub could amuse me with.

So, what did I do?

Well, after arriving at the allotted hour of 7.30, and after feeling like Polly no Pals for far longer than I deserved, I shovelled my dinner down, and at 10.15 as soon as the last spoonful of meringue left my mouth, I picked up my bag, smiled ever so sweetly, and said as insincerely as I possibly could,  ‘it was lovely meeting you’, and with 7 pairs of eyes following me, I flounced out the door, and buggered off home for a nice cup of tea and a cuddle with the dog.

So really, is it me?    Not nice to meet you

Do you think I was right to be a tad pissed off at their rudeness?

 

TO SIR WITH LOVE

I was more than pleased to see Rachel Johnson’s sensible comment in the Mail On Sunday regarding the 44 year old man who was allowed to walk free from court last week even though it was proven, that he did indeed have sexual contact with, a then, 16 year old girl, whilst ‘in a position of trust as one of her teachers’.

Despite the outcry from many organisations ranging from the NSPCC, Barnardo’s, The National Association for People Abused in Childhood, and the End Violence Against Women campaigners to name but a few, I think the leniency shown to the teacher was justified.

Honestly, talk about over reaction. This was consexual sex.  Yes it was ill judged, and foolish, but it was still consensual. The pupil was not raped, or co-erced and as such in my view, this means that the teacher should NOT be labelled as any sort of paedophile, as he is not.

This pupil wanted him, she made sure she got him. Girls of 16 can be incredibly manipulative. It is not always the man.

The teacher is guilty of being weak, having a dreadful lack of judgement, and on a far grander scale, showing total disrespect to both his long suffering wife, and in the bigger picture his employers.

As a Mother and Grandmother, I honestly wonder if some of these protesters are living in a box somewhere and do not actually get out there and see, and experience REAL life, REAL situations that they are supposed to be aware of.

Don’t they realise just how a weak willed teacher ‘might’ have his head turned by a strong willed, streetwise, pretty fabulous looking girl who is 15 going on 25 and is actually still in year 11.

Sophie 1

Here is a young friend of mine and in this picture she is 15.  She is a gorgeous, bright, funny, strong minded, girl, who thankfully instead of making eyes at a male teacher, is more likely to kick him in the nuts, and tell him to ‘do one’ if he dared to even dream about invading her personal space.

She has a fantastic family around her, and is confident enough NOT to seek the attentions of an unsuitable man.

BUT, what if she was needy and attention seeking, with looks like this, if SHE turned on her charms, and decided she was going to ‘have’ SIR, she could.

No matter how many ‘agencies’ bang on about child protection, it’s not always the child that needs it, as Rachel Johnson says, the laws are there to protect the teacher as much as the pupil, and what a good job it is.

Look at another one of my friends. She is 15.  Again from a very close knit family, she’s confident, strikingly attractive, intelligent, popular, and streetwise.  Already an aspiring model, she’s clever, and cool enough to simply give ‘SIR’ the most withering of looks and tell him to get lost if he thought he was in with a chance.   Eloise Perry.

But what if she was needy, and attention seeking, with looks like this if SHE turned on her charms, and decided she was going to ‘have’ SIR, she could.

Way back in the late 60’s, when school youth clubs were popular, and before the formation of many of these child protection agencies, I also nearly ‘had’ SIR.

He wasn’t actually my teacher, but he ran a youth club that I used to go to at a different school, and I was out to get him.

Now, some 47 years later, I recall he was dark, swarthy looking, he smoked roll ups and had lovely hooded eyes.  He was an absolute stalwart of the local community, involved in sport, music, and many other school related activities, but was still something of a rebel.

At the time, he was 40 years old.  I was 15 years old, small, blonde and used to getting my own way, this poor bloke had no chance.  He had absolutely no ill intent towards me. He was kind, looked out for me, and never acted inappropriately towards me in any way whatsoever, until I almost forced him to!

Luckily for him, we were interrupted and the moment was gone, but I know without a doubt that given five more minutes, it would have been an entirely different story I’d be telling you, I don’t think I’d have allowed him to refuse!

But then, as now, IF rumours had started, police and my parents would have been involved and he probably would have lost his job, and lost his good name, and it truly would all have been my fault, not his.

These days, boys and girls are sexting, texting and talking about sex before they’ve even left junior school.  A high percentage of them know exactly what’s what in the sexual timetable of life.

Boys can be just as manipulative as girls, and if ‘Miss’ happens to be fit and flirty, then she too will be shown no mercy by the one who wants to be her favourite and have a fumble in the form room.

But if things did go too far and the boy cried wolf, then you can be sure it would be all the fault of ‘Miss’ in her moment of madness.

What do you think about the story in the newspapers?  Do you know anyone who actually had a fling with their teacher, maybe you had more than just a crush on yours?

ONE WOMAN ~ TWO JOURNEY’S

Yesterday I went to a funeral.  The lovely 94 year old lady was undoubtedly on her way to heaven and believe me, all the other residents would have been calling, ‘Come on up, let’s taste your featherlight cakes, let’s hear your glorious voice, let’s watch your fingers whizz across a piano keyboard, let’s see you work your magic with a duster’.

If ever there was a woman going to a better place, she most definitely has!

And the funeral was the reason for the journeys I’m about to describe.

The main route to my destination had been gridlocked for the previous two mornings and so I decided to let the train take the strain, and rocked up at the local village station about 10.30

There had sadly been a suicide the day before at the station, but I was still intrigued to see two mature, kindly ladies with ‘Samaritan’ written on their warm fleeces, and an invitation saying ‘talk to me’.  So I did. But only because I’m just plain nosey.

SAMARITANS-KX100+_CS6_high-res

I haven’t contemplated suicide, well not  since Robbie left Take That….

In hushed tones, they asked me if travelled from the station every day, which I don’t, and asked if I’d heard about the ‘incident’ the previous day, which I had.  Apparently the Samaritans often attend the scene of a suicide in case anyone wants to talk about it.

Whilst I think they do sterling work, and I’m full of admiration, my cynical side still wanted to crack a feeble joke and say,

‘It’s such a pity you weren’t here yesterday’…..

So I boarded the train, and found myself in a carriage with 6 people opposite me, and 2 either side of me.  All of the other travellers had their heads down looking at their mobile phones. Not one of them was reading a book or a news-paper or even chatting to anyone.

I, on the other hand, gazed out of the window for the whole journey, and how nice it was to see those 2 lovely tall white horses being ridden round a field next to the track, and to spot the house of an old friend, I wondered what they were up to now, it’s been 40 years since I’ve seen them.    mobile phone railway.

I saw beautifully manicured gardens, some small children playing on a swing in their garden, a fisherman bending over a steaming kettle.

Just little snippets of other people’s lives that the phone browsers missed completely.

It was utterly silent, nobody spoke, or engaged with each other, and presumably this is how these commuters spend their travelling time every day.

Isn’t that sad, and such a waste of opportunity.

Fast forward to the return journey and things couldn’t have been more different.

There were 6 people in the homeward bound carriage, one was resolutely looking down at his phone with earplugs in, and another one of them was wired up to an iPod but was at least looking out of the window, as were the other passengers.

All of a sudden iPod man began to laugh out loud. Real hearty laughter, and at first everyone else exchanged nervous glances in a ‘is he raving mad’ kind of way.

He didn’t care, he carried on laughing, and the nervous glances changed to amused glances, and then the lady next to me began to do that stifled laughter thing, when you try to keep your mouth closed, your body still but your chest is moving ever so slightly.

I felt her movement and she looked at me and openly laughed, so I laughed with her.  The couple opposite looked at us laughing, and laughed themselves, now 4 people are laughing at another man laughing but we have no bloody idea what he is laughing at.

People began talking about laughter, how infectious it is, and continued to join in with iPod man each time he laughed out loud. Eventually, he was crying with laughter and it was all beyond a joke.    man laughing

Mr Mobile Phone man was, meanwhile completely oblivious of all the merriment as he hadn’t once looked up, or heard the kerfuffle.

Eventually laughing man took out his earplugs and wiped away his tears, and in reply to me asking, ‘you must tell us what you were listening to, he replied…

‘I’m sorry I haven’t a clue’ and we all just erupted into even more laughter.

I know this story reeks of ‘you had to be there’, but it’s not really about what I personally saw or heard, it’s about what everyone else missed, whilst being otherwise engaged.

What annoys you most about the intrusiveness of mobile technology ?

WHERE THERE’S A WELLIE, THERE’S A WAY!

Yes you can take the wellies out of the bag, but I personally cannot take the bags out of the wellies, as on the one hand (or foot) they leak like hell and really should go to the wellington graveyard.  DSC_0242

But on the other hand (or foot) they are simply the most comfortable things I ever put on my feet.

If it was socially acceptable, I would wear my wellies at work with my black meet n greet dress, and I certainly would have worn them to our Christmas party to save myself the agony of 5 hours with my bunions wedged between two jewel encrusted straps.

Not to mention the fact that to even get that far, I’d had to purchase 3 separate pairs of jewel encrusted ‘strappy’ sandals to try to find ONE pair that could accommodate my bastard bunions.

But one out of three ain’t bad, and I worship at the shrine of  eBay.

My beloved animal print wellies have seen action and lots of it. They have moved house 3 times, and travelled with me to Spain and back twice and oh my days I’ve surely had my money’s worth out of them.

£6.00 at Primarni, and worth every single penny. However, the cost per wear has now worn out and I’m seriously pushing my luck, but what’s a girl to do.  They are like old friends.

Shit covered, leaky old friends, I grant you, but old friends nevertheless.

But I won’t lie to you,, it’s not a good look having two carrier bag handles flapping about your legs, when all those around you on your daily dog walk, including my daughter, are rocking the Hunters and the Joules of the wellie world. I look like the poor relation.

Oh yes I forgot. I AM the poor relation!

Granted, I do try to keep up with the more affluent, by selecting my carrier bags with care. Some days I go upmarket Waitrose,  but mainly you guessed it, I’m woman at Aldi.

DSC_0245But there is hope on the horizon.  I have a new admirer, who has noted that on my daily dog walks, my footwear is sadly lacking and has suggested that as he has ‘connections’ he will treat me to a new pair.

Now this ‘admirer’ and I are really only ever going to be ‘just good friends’ and the lady (me) did protest muchly about the acceptance of a gift of new boots.

BUT, as we are not talking diamonds or pearls, and needs must, I graciously informed him that I am a size 5, to which he replied, ….

‘and do you take a normal size width’………so let’s see what he has to offer……BOOTS, I mean BOOTS………

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

Honesty quote H60Just lately we can’t seem to avoid seeing, and reading news from around the world of the depths to which humanity can sink, so it warms the little cockles of my heart to be able to personally bring you a tiny snippet which goes to prove that there are also some kind thoughtful folk out there too.

A few days ago, at the wedding venue where I work, I picked up a phone message from an elderly sounding gentleman. He left no details, just gave his phone number and requested a call back.

Cynical old me thought to myself that he’d got the wrong number, daft old bugger, I sighed and perhaps a bit impatiently waited for him to pick up the phone as I returned his call.

After some time, he answered in the old fashioned way, with his number, something that I think you will agree we hardly ever do these days, when a simple ‘Hello’ usually suffices.

I told him who I was, and then instantly added ‘suspicious’ to my cynical side, when he proceeded to ask me if a certain named person worked at my office.

And hell yes, I went all sniffy, and curtly replied, ‘who wants to know, and why’?

Elderly man, asking about sweet 16 year old girl.  I immediately went on the defensive.  Suspiciously cynical silly me………

It turned out, that Mr F. had found our young girl Sophie’s wage packet in a local supermarket car park. He’d opened it up, found the name of her employer, and the reason for the call was that he was anxious to return her lost wages.

Honestly, I could have punched myself in the face for my initial lack of graciousness, and looking back on the conversation, predictably then went into over egging the pudding with my gratitude at Mr. F’s kindness in contacting us.

Like any other 16 year old, Sophie’s wages are hard earned and at that age, we all know every penny counts, so there was a huge sigh of relief all ways round to know that a kindly, elderly man, who possibly might also welcome a few more pennies, had been honest enough to return what had been lost.

Wouldn’t it be a good idea if there was a ‘GOOD NEWS’ paper which only gave us positive human interest stories of people doing kind things.

I for one, am getting increasingly fed up with seeing pictures of ‘victims’ clearly instructed to pose with their gloomiest face, to reinforce some equally gloomy tale of mindless acts committed against them, which, let’s face it, might give similar idea’s to people who are easily swayed.

Instead let’s see more positive examples in the media of the kindness of strangers, because as I found out it is still out there, alive and kicking.

Imagine the feel good factor going on here.  Sophie is a happy bunny as she has been reunited with her cash, and Mr. F, quite rightly, probably has a tiny little glowy feeling inside, knowing that on this occasion, his honesty was the best policy!

NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS ~ NONE!

If you have already had your Hello Sixty moment, then trust me, on New Year’s Day it is OK to say NO to New Year Resolutions!

Really, why put yourself through it, planning to deprive yourself of this that and possibly the other. For what reason exactly?

If you are thinking of resolutely changing your ways, by only eating chocolate on a Tuesday, or vowing not to be so opinionated or gobby in 2015, who exactly you are doing it all for.

Don’t do it to please others, or because you’ve read one too many Sunday Supplements.

I’m all for self-improvement, but let’s make it something that benefits us and makes us look and feel better. Chocolate in moderation is good for you, and who wants to be boring.

Why not simply commit to doing more things to enhance your life and wellbeing instead of doing less things that experts would have us believe are bad for us. Makes much better sense to me!

So I’m going to carry on with the chocolate and being a gobby cow, but I will also resolutely make the effort to paint my nails every week, and write far more missives for my blog in 2015.

Bugger that joining the gym or cutting out the Cava, far too extreme in my view. Life’s too short!

At 60, surely we are who we are ever going to be. People love us as we are, and if they don’t then tough shit, do we really care. I don’t, and nor should you.

THINGS THAT MEN DON’T NEED TO HEAR

How many of us mature ladies winced along with Ant and Dec as lightweight Kendra Wilkinson offered up far too information on live television during I’m A Celebrity Get me Out of Here.

After a dismal performance, she blamed her lack of stars on the fact that ‘she was on her period’.

Ant, poor chap turned away in embarrassment, whilst cheeky chappie Dec, bravely glossed over the statement and battled on regardless.

Of course ‘boys’ these days, are taught about these mysterious ‘girl’ things at around 11 years old, and as my own Grandson reliably informed me, even during THE lesson many of them were hiding behind their hands, sniggering in the back of the classroom, and have probably being going ‘yuk’ ever since.      H60 men quote.

Personally, I’d far rather ‘Miss’ had banged on to the boys a bit more about treating girls with kindness and respect, which will stand them in more good stead than knowing how a tampon expands in a glass of water!

So even though mature men know all about the inner workings of the female body, I think most of them just want to leave it there, no further informative updates required, thanks very much.

And I agree with them.  I think girls today share far too many intimate details about their bodies with their partners, and indeed in Kendra’s case, millions of strangers.

I mean seriously, of all the inappropriate things to say, in the jungle in front of Ant and Dec on live television, ‘I’m on my period’, must get TV’s embarrassing moment of the year award!

It was almost loud and proud; yet in reality, ‘I really look forward to my period’, said NO woman EVER!

Let’s be honest, it’s a messy and sometimes painful old business, and unless you are some tree hugging, Mother Earth, nut job, who loves to embrace her inner woman, it just interferes with our lives and we hate it.

Men generally want their woman to be a vision of loveliness at all times.  Yes of course they ‘know’ that periods happen, but don’t really want it spelled out to them that it is actually happening, like today, right here,  right now!  H60 Bart Simpson Scream.

I’d love to see girls going back to being a little more mysterious and discreet, ‘I’m not feeling to good today’ can be far more effective than a full on period alert, and who is really interested anyway.

Use it as a lame excuse to another girl and risk a ‘so what’ withering look, tell a bloke, and risk a look resembling the silent scream.

Yes, when it comes to men and the monthlies, NOT sharing, IS more caring!

 

How do you feel when you hear too much information, should girls share, or keep some things secret.