Vive le beret!!

I was going to have the mother of all rants about the latest bank bailout. But it's all too grim and makes me want to have a duvet day. And to be honest, I'm in a great frame of mind having skyped Fonty in NY – so I thought - 'lighten up' and post these lovely photos (of Rubes rather than me)! 

Seen as google ads have assigned website Real French Berets to my blog, I thought it right and fitting to pay homage to the chicest of hearwear, the beret. Because I love it so much!!! The recent cold snap was a wonderful excuse to air my vast wardrobe of six; 2Xblack, camel, pink, cream, mauve – and my particular favorite raspberry beret - immortalised by Prince. They add an instant 'je ne sais quoi' to any outfit - even my faithful puffa jacket - so loathed by Rubes, so loved by me! I 

They've long had military and revolutionary associations. Think iconic beret wearers - Che Guevara, Picasso and Bardot. Berets shout stylish, individual, different and a bit retro. Is that why Sarah Brown wore a dashing purple one when she met the Queen? Well, let's face it Gordon is the sartorial equivalent of grey underpants - so she needed something to cut it. And for me, when I put on my pencil skirt and red lippy, I can morph out of my comfy writing day gear and into Odette - the French Resistance spy. 

Do you think if I pay homage to Dita Von Teese and corsetry in my next blog, maybe Google will assign ads for fripperies to my bloglet? I do hope so!!!!

Diva in the making

And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to Scarlett Freya Hollingworth for her portrayal of a hormonal twelve year old. Scarlett stars in the movie - Edge of Reason. Which despite popular belief, is not a movie about the life and loves of Dylan Thomas. But IS a movie about a single mother's failing ability to cope with juggling the demands of earning a living and her attitudinal and ungrateful daughters. A kind of King Lear for the modern era, but without the eye-gouging bit.  

It has to be said; Scarlett favours 'method acting' where she really lives the part 24/7.  

In fact her ability to feign sorrow is a genuine 'tour de force' and she really excels at public displays of outrage when she can't get her own way. So much so that in the movie, her mother is almost driven to throwing herself off Trent Bridge in an attempt to escape the trials of motherhood. But instead takes solace in a bottle of pinot grigio and a good night's sleep!

Scarlett's older sister Ruby is of a similar disposition and given to violent hormonal outbursts of volcanic rage. In fact, the tension created in scenes between the two actresses are what really give the movie its pithy zest. Ruby is a sublime tantrum thrower and will really catch the eye of the critics with her portayal of a hard-done-to teenage kid in the middle. 

The movie will have a special screening in Nottingham with multiple dates to be arranged.

 

     

hot damn!

Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm an addict of chillis and chocolate on their ownsomes. But put together, they're even more irrisistible than ooh Clive Owen, Harvey Keitel and Colin Firth tied naked on a bed - waiting! Let me describe how it tastes...you get that earthy, dark hit of sultry chocolate that melts seductively on your tongue like liquid Barry White and lingers just long enough before yes....oh..mi...god...yes...the chilli flavour just explodes down the back of your throat leaving you basking in a wave of tingling delight. You get my drift...you see my point...you understand why I'm obsessed? Aha so how gutted am I that I didn't enter the Walkers new crisp flavour competition. Because I am half woman - half chilli chocolate! And Catherine the winner of the new crisp flavour deserves to be force-fed bland Galaxy. Or even worse yukky synthetic choco-goo Hersheys for stealing my flavour thunder. 

world gone mad!

I just wanted to have a rant and remind myself about how much I love my beautiful and funny my little daughter, Scarlett, after reading about the horrors suffered by little Sanam Navarska at the hands of her mother and stepfather. (And in case Ben and Ruby are reading this - I love you too.) 

A 23 year sentence is just not enough for evil child torturer and murderer Subhan Anmwar. He systematically tortured and abused two year old Sanam Navsarka before she died of horrific injuries: every bone in her little body was broken. And her mother did nothing! I have to ask what kind of mum stands by and does nothing while a child cries out in agony? It makes me question what sort of God allows this to happen? And strengthens my belief that we're all microcosms of good and evil; it's how you channel it that matters. 

Talking of which, my own kids often drive me to the edge of madness, but hey that's kids! When you sign up to parenthood there should be riders that say - 'abandon sanity here' and 'prepare for 18 years of chaos.' Because parenting is a white knuckle ride of highs and lows - from screaming toddlers and teeny tantrums to sticky kisses and silly laughter. I have my own theory that child abuse is on the increase because we've become a selfish, me-oriented, 'am I bovvered' society. For many, a child is an inconvenience and not a blessing. A drain on finances and time and energy and not a blessing. The bitter irony is, I know so many people who desperately want children, and aren't in a position to have them. 

There is no such thing as the perfect parent. At best you can be kind, caring and considerate - at worst a wailing banshee mother. In the face of adversity, I can't trot out, "just wait 'til your father gets home!" So over the years, I've learnt that the secret of single parenthood is to adopt a yogi flying approach - something like Naboo from the Boosh. So when the shit hits the fan, you float above it all. Kind-of like being on valium - but without the drugs. When Rubes is 'on one' and Scarlett is hanging off my leg like a crazed koala - it works for me. And if all else fails, do the dead fly and have a tantrum yourself - it floors 'em every time!  Now check out the crazy Cadbury eyebrow kids for the joy of childhood and a bit of lovely light relief in a world gone mad.

 

c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage!!!

Woo hoo - back from a splendiferous weekend in the land of the leprechaun and the beret. 'The beret' –  you ask? Mais oui! Forget the Irish - the French ruled Dublin this weekend. They were largeing it all over the shop taking over quaint Irish pubs, singing their loud and very droning rugger songs and proudly wearing their jaunty black berets and red basque scarves - Picasso stylee. I woke up with a start in the early hours thinking I'd been transported to New Orleans, as a 'mardi gras' style band marched through the streets. It was quite surreal and I was all for throwing on my clothes and running after them. AND I wasn't even squiffey! Ah - it was a raucous night to be sure and I'm sure there were a few thumping French heads the next day. But on the day of reckoning, despite being up first off, the frogs were no match for the might of the Shamrock. How glad we were...because on Saturday night, Grafton Street and surrounds was a heaving mass of smiling Irish eyes and laughter. The pubs were like the Northern Line in rush hour, except everyone was wearing Sure and no one was scowling!  And 'sacre bleu' - all was quiet on the French front. Despite me singing "c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage" to the tune of vindaloo na na - there was not a peep out of ze french! 

The highlights...? Definitely tasting lovely, lovely matured-twice Jameson's and quaffing...I mean sipping it. Definitely tasting that dark, creamy-headed Guinness and savouring it in the spectacularly scenic Gravity Bar, against a stunning backdrop of the Wicklow mountains. Looking out towards those gorgeous snow-capped peaks, I came over all 'Ryan's Daughter' and imagined standing on some mountain path being kissed so passionately that I became breathless with desire. Then before the onset of hypothermia, walking back, hand in hand, to some white-washed cottage with a peat fire burning and Irish stew bubbling on the stove and my man whisking me off upstairs to a big brass bed, with the drifting sound of the Chieftains in the background. Ah the romance of it all.... 

Let me tell you, there was nothing romantic about the strength of the euro...@@@@ me! I can't believe the cost of living...It's enough to make you take up Riverdancing! Needless to say though, we did pretty well on a budget - sniffing out 'off the beaten track' places to eat and drink. Like the marvellous local chipper with a long list of famous celebs who'd eaten there...David Beckham amongst them. Can't quite imagine skinny Victoria slumming it eating fat chips with garlic sauce out of a tray somehow though.

The verdict? Loved it, loved it, loved it! Wished we'd seen some proper Irish dancing and music but guess we'll have to go to the wilds for that. On a wistful note, I remember this traditional gaelic blessing from my childhood and family gatherings. "May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sunshine warm upon your face; the rain fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may Gold hold you in the palm of His Hand." So lovely girlies, thanks for de craic and a laugh a minute. Oh and Nat,  I'll be giving mock Irish language lessons every second Friday in the month!!! Slainte!

  

 

To be sure!

Tomorrow me and the girls are Dublin-bound. The great news is the weather in the fair city is fairer than sweet Molly Malone with blue skies an sunshine - hurrah! Not that we'll be seeing much of that as we do the rounds in Temple Bar in search of the perfect Guinness. I just want to see some good live bands and get into a bit of diddly dee dancing. Lou's hell-bent on river dancing...which will certainly get us some attention...especially if she pairs it with her Indo-Irish accent. Can't wait to see that one Lou! 

Ah come on now, I know Lou's night of passion with Morse will be curtailed and Amanda's nursing a broken heart and Nat's stressed with work – and me, I'm just looking for work. But it'll be a grand trip on a budget - so it will - and there's nothing like a bit of Irish craic to put a twinkle in your eye. 

the healing power of snow

Ah I look up into the blue blue sky and the sun glinting on the last remnants of snow and I'm a million miles away from strikes, stabbings and the woes of the credit crunch. After spending a deliciously decadent morning in bed with Neil, I can't wait to put some fast music on the ipod, get out there running and celebrate the fact that I'm very much alive and fit and happy and healthy. Unlike poor Jade Goody. My heart goes out to her since the news broke that the cancer has spread to her liver and beyond. I've never been a fan of Big Brother and I've never particularly liked Goody's brand of gobby no-brainer celebrity. But as a mother, I can't help but feel saddened - that at 27 and with two boys - she is faced with the prospect of a life cut short by this dreadful disease. Please God that there's some form of treatment that will give her a bit more time with her lovely boys.

I don't want to bang the woe drum on such a spectacularly uplifting day, so on a lighter note, how funny that a man flying from Melbourne to Dubai smuggled two pigeons down his trousers wrapped in padded envelopes. Oh and he also had an egg, seeds in his belt and an eggplant about his person...why? I can only surmise that he was appearing on the Dubai version of Masterchef and was bringing his own special ingredients for pigeon pie!