Narcissus – you’re so vain, I bet you think this blog is about you

“So may he himself love, and not gain the thing he loves!” (Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.405).

According to Wikipedia:

Echo, a nymph, falls in love with a vain youth named Narcissus, who was the son of the blue Nymph Liriope of Thespia. The river god Cephisus had once encircled Liriope with the windings of his streams, and thus trapping her, had seduced the nymph, who gave birth to an exceptionally beautiful boy. Concerned about the welfare of such a beautiful child, Liriope consulted the prophet Tiresias regarding her son’s future. Tiresias told the nymph that Narcissus would live to a ripe old age, “if he didn’t come to know himself.”

When he had reached “his sixteenth year”, (fifteen years of age, by modern reckoning) every youth and girl in the town was in love with him, but he haughtily spurned them all.

One day when Narcissus was out hunting stags, Echo stealthily followed the handsome youth through the woods, longing to address him but unable to speak first. When Narcissus finally heard footsteps and shouted “Who’s there?”, Echo answered “Who’s there?” And so it went, until finally Echo showed herself and rushed to embrace the lovely youth. He pulled away from the nymph and vainly told her to leave him alone. Narcissus left Echo heartbroken and she spent the rest of her life in lonely glens, pining away for the love she never knew, until only her voice remained.

Nemesis heard this prayer and sent Narcissus his punishment. He came across a deep pool in a forest, from which he took a drink. As he did, he saw his reflection for the first time in his life and fell in love with the beautiful boy he was looking at, not realizing it was himself. Eventually, after pining away for a while, he realized that the image he saw in the pool was a reflection of himself. Realizing that he could not act upon this love, he tore at his dress and beat at his body, his life force draining out of him. As he died, the bodyless Echo came upon him and felt sorrow and pity. His soul was sent to “the darkest hell” and the narcissus flower grew where he died. It is said that Narcissus still keeps gazing on his image in the waters of the river Styx.

According to my dictionary:

narcissism |ˈnärsəˌsizəm|
noun
excessive or erotic interest in oneself and one’s physical appearance.
• Psychology extreme selfishness, with a grandiose view of one’s own talents and a craving for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.
See note at egotism .
• Psychoanalysis self-centeredness arising from failure to distinguish the self from external objects, either in very young babies or as a feature of mental disorder.
DERIVATIVES
narcissist |ˈnärsəsəst| noun
narcissistic |ˌnärsəˈsistik| adjective
narcissistically |ˌnärsəˈsistik(ə)lē| adverb
ORIGIN early 19th cent.: via Latin from the Greek name Narkissos (see Narcissus ) + -ism .

According to wikipedia:

In conventional parlance, vanity is the excessive belief in one’s own abilities or attractiveness to others. Prior to the 14th century it did not have such narcissistic undertones, and merely meant futility. The related term vainglory is now often seen as an archaic synonym for vanity, but originally meant boasting in vain, ie. unjustified boasting; although glory is now seen as having an exclusively positive meaning, the Latin term gloria (from which it derives) roughly means boasting, and was often used as a negative criticism.

In many religions vanity, in its modern sense, is considered a form of self-idolatry, in which one rejects God for the sake of one’s own image, and thereby becomes divorced from the graces of God. The stories of Lucifer, Narcissus (who gave us the term narcissism) and others attend to a pernicious aspect of vanity. Philosophically speaking, vanity may refer to a broader sense of egoism and pride. Friedrich Nietzsche wrote that “vanity is the fear of appearing original: it is thus a lack of pride, but not necessarily a lack of originality.” One of Mason Cooley’s aphorisms is “Vanity well fed is benevolent. Vanity hungry is spiteful.”

In Christian teachings vanity is considered an example of pride, one of the seven deadly sins.

Ultimately, I would say being narcissistic is not a good thing. Good job this blog is not about you.

Psychologies Uncut

In the March edition of Psychologies magazine there is a feature called ‘Women and the Men in their Lives’. It’s includes two-thirds of a page on me and Hagar. It was conducted by the very delightful, freelance journalist, Viki Wilson. The interview has been quite heavily edited down so I have decided to blog the uncut version and then I don’t have to think of anything new to write for a snipsy bit – woo hoo!

Before you met Hagar, had you tended to have good relationships, fleeting, or disastrous?

Yes, all of the above. My relationship history didn’t follow a pattern. It was pretty much a mix of good, fleeting, and disastrous. I had sustained relationships of over a couple of years, one night stands, big mistakes, fleeting liaisons, middle of the road meetings; a very eclectic relationship experience. What was significant before I met Hagar, was that in my head I had decided that I wasn’t messing around anymore and that I did want to have a monogamous relationship. I had enough of playing the field.

What was your general romantic history and how old were you when you met him?

I was 26 when I met him. I had maybe 2 longer term relationships of a couple of years. I worked seven summer seasons, and for two of them was with the same guy, and we traveled together as well, but I asked him if he ever saw us getting married, and he said no, so I broke up with him. What’s the point of playing house with a guy, when there was so much fun to be had. I was young and enjoying myself. Until I decided I was ready to be monogamous, I was a good time girl. I have never been particularly bothered by romance. I wouldn’t put it on my list of what makes a man special is how romantic he is. If he gave me screaming orgasms, now that was more the criteria I was interested in, especially if he was good looking and made me laugh too.

I had just broken my leg on a speed boat, watching the start of the 1998 Whitbread Around The World Yacht Race just south of the Needles. I was in lust with a yachtsman, called Jan Dekker, and I had just watched him sail away into the sunset, and then about 30 minutes later, I snapped my fibula and tibia and my life just fell apart from that moment onwards. I was freelancing in PR, and was in the middle of securing a book commission. As I couldn’t walk, I had to give up my digs and ended up living in my gran’s spare room in York. My friend Tash lived in Edinburgh and she said to cheer me up that she knew this helicopter pilot, called Hagar, that she used to go out with and she would set me up on a blind date with him. It was a crazy time. Hagar, was actually a navigator flying Puma helicopters in Northern Ireland, he worked three weeks on based at RAF Aldergrove and then had one week off. He was touring Scotland on his motorbike, and Tash contacted him and he arranged to come and visit, and also agreed to have a blind date.

I was sat in Tash’s tiny kitchen, in an old Victorian terraced property, in Stockbridge with my plastered leg, resting on a chair and Hagar burst into the room, like Captain Flashheart from Blackadder, “Hello dream date,” he bombastically declared. It was very surreal. We were both really nervous. We ended up going clubbing to Poonanana’s on Frederick Street. It was a whirlwind night and when we had our first kiss in the nightclub, there was literally ‘thunder and lightening and the earth moved’. It was a profound experience.

As the relationship progressed, did he live up to your expectation of how men usually behave in relationships. For example, some women find that men are attentive and spontaneous at first, and then become less so as the relationship becomes more stable?

We were constantly separated because of the military so our courting period was conducted on the telephone, and writing to each other. It was really romantic because we yearned to be together and never could be. I think the enforced separations that military life imposes on you means that you relationship is constantly dynamic because you don’t know what is happening one minute to the next.

Our relationship has never been stable. Military life doesn’t allow you to have a stable relationship. Hagar is a hopeless romantic, much more than I am. In fact out of the two of us, I am the one who is less attentive. He wants balloons, banners, bells and whistles every time he comes back from Afghanistan but they go away so frequently (at some points 8 weeks on and 8 weeks off) that it’s the norm and I can’t fulfill those expectations. It’s not like the war hero returns anymore. I do cook him fillet steak and give him a decent bottle of red to wash it down but it can’t be a welcome home parade, apart from anything else its not good for the children. I think we have to operate as business as usual, its not fair to burden them with the stress of war. Afghanistan is just a word to them. It’s not a place. Bikini Bottom now that’s a place.

If you were to pick four or five words which sum up your relationship, what would they be and why?

Turbulent
Funny
Passionate
Enduring
Dynamic

Hagar and I are best friends, and immortal enemies. It keeps the relationship alive but it can be a real rollercoaster. We are opposites and that has it’s challenges. We don’t always see eye-to-eye.

If friends were to describe your relationship, how would they describe it, and would that be accurate?
Comedy
Boozy
Chaotic
Henpecked Husband
Gobby Wife

Not really. But publicly, yes. Hagar is a street angel, house devil and I am street devil, house angel. Hagar cares about what other people think and that influences his public behaviour. I am all about what I think, so I can be quite badly behaved, especially if you add alcohol.

Does Hagar live up to stereotypes about men, i.e. being untidy, watching a lot of sports, being uncommunicative?

Yes, and no. He’s not untidy but not as tidy as me. He doesn’t watch a lot of sport. He’s too busy. There’s not much down time. His job means, he has to communicate more than most because we both need to know what the other is doing and there is no routine for either of us

Finally, what have you learned about men throughout your marriage?

I have learnt that men are genetically programmed to be how they are. When I met Hagar, I sorted out his dreadful dress sense, and polished him up a bit, did my best with him and thought, ‘he’s my re-model’. When I had my son, I thought, ‘right, now you are my start from scratch. I am going to grow my own perfect man.’ 6 years down the road, he’s broken me. Men are the way they are genetically. My son will have me do for him as long as I will do for him. When I get him to do it for himself, he makes such a pigs ear of it, that its easier, quicker and simpler to do it for him. Men are genetically programmed to be self-centred. They open their eyes each morning and think ‘what do I want today, and how can I get it?’

Hagar’s Interview

What can you remember about how you met Clare and your first impressions of her?

Clare and I met in Edinburgh, when I was based in Northern Ireland. I was working a 3 weeks on, 1 week off regime, and decided to go for a road trip round Scotland, on my motorbike. As part of that trip, I wanted to catch up with some people I hadn’t seen for ages, and that included, an ex girlfriend, (my first love, who I travelled to Australia with when we were 17) called Natasha, who lived in Edinburgh. I got the ferry across, and headed on up to Edinburgh, where I met Tash (Natatsha) at her cute Colonies house in Stockbridge. We had a great evening with a few beers, and plenty of wine, and she suggested during that drunken evening that I give a friend of hers a phone call. She said this girl was called Clare, and she raced power boats for a living; but had recently broken her leg on a boat – this intrigued me as I am a bit of a petrol head after all! We spent about 2 hours on the phone, and I was hooked, I think we even agreed to get married in wetsuits (we were both into surfing and water-sports too). The upshot was that Clare agreed to bring her herself, broken leg and all, up to Edinburgh to meet up with me in a couple of days. I went on my travels and then returned to meet Clare, a couple of days later. When I arrived back at Tash’s, I walked into the room in my biker kit and saw Clare in the corner, she looked cool, but quiet and I felt pretty nervous without any drunken confidence. As soon as I arrived, Tash and her other mates went out, leaving Clare and I on out own! We got on Ok, but it was only that night when we went out clubbing (I gave her a piggyback down the stairs to the club) and I watched her being chatted up and almost molested by some drunken idiots, I thought I have to protect her and the best way to do that was to grab her and kiss her! Well it worked, the kiss was amazing and from then on I was properly hooked!
Were you romantic and spontaneous at the beginning of the relationship?

Yes – I am a romantic at heart, and what better way was there to show this, but through the medium of the mix tape. I made Clare a few (unfortunately it was the music I liked and not necessarily what she liked!) but I think she appreciated the sentiment. As I was away for 3 weeks of every month, we spent a lot of time on the phone and writing letters (the days before e-mail….) so we had to use our imagination and romance came easy with Clare. For the one week a month we spent together, we spent a lot of time in bed and the rest of the time filling our life with cool, romantic things – we definitely made the best use of our time together as we realised how precious it was and still is.

Do you feel that you do live up to some of the stereotypes about the way men and women behave towards each other in a relationship? For example, a woman nagging, a man not doing as much domestic work, a woman wanting to talk more than a man, or do you break from them?

I think we both break from type, as we are both ‘alpha’ personalities, so there is always friction over who is in charge or who should do what. That said, we both display aspects of the wrong stereotypes too. I could be described as ‘just gay enough’ in that I like interior design, and like things neat and tidy, and yet I fly military hardware for a living and am pretty macho in general! Neither of us enjoys domestic chores, in fact we need Clare to earn some serious money so we can employ a housekeeper/PA/Nanny to do the stuff we hate – but who wouldn’t want that? That said, I do hate housework and am pretty adept at finding excuses to avoid it, however Clare is equally good at seeing through them. As for women wanting to talk more than men? There are plenty of occasions where I have given Clare a damn good listening too – she loves to analyse everything and talks for Britain!

What are the main things that you’ve learned, or the ways you have changed because of your relationship with Clare?

I have learned to dress with more style and not tuck my shirt in with my trousers pulled right up – I seem to have a short body and long legs so this looked ridiculous. I think Clare believes she had saved me from the fashion demons, although now I am just pretty mainstream really.

Seriously though, I have learned to share more and that to get through life (especially as parents of 2 kiddy grenades) you need to work as a team on everything you do. We call it Team Macnaughton – cheesy, but it works. I have learned that while I may feel like I am the busiest bloke in the world, that Clare is working on several work projects, while running our house in the UK, our house in France and looking after the finances and children. Sometimes it humbles me, thinking about how capable she is. I guess I have learned that everyone works hard to be successful and that we need to work together to keep on top of things, or inevitably something slips and the house becomes a sh*thole or the finances become a nightmare.

And if you were to pick four or five words to sum up your relationship with Clare, what would they be and why?

Funny, turbulent, loving, adventurous, rewarding

Finally, if I ask you to remember a moment that sums up Clare, what moment immediately springs to mind.

Writing a book on a subject she knew very little about and it becoming a Sunday Times bestselling hardback – she is truly amazing and always exceeds my expectations of her!

Sniff, sob, sob – is that Hagar’s Oscar moment? Bless him – thanks honey!

For the published article check out page 94 (ish) of the March 2010 edition of Psychologies magazine.

For more information visit:

http://www.psychologies.co.uk

I have to fight for my right to party!

Like Andy Murray today, it was a brave effort, even if it didn’t go my way. I would rather fight and lose then not fight at all. The outcome is not yet delivered but I have lost. At least I know I gave it my best shot. I have no regrets. I can move on. Onwards and upwards. Let the new day dawn.

Is Faith A Choice?

I was reading a thread on the Army Rumour Service ( http://www.arrse.co.uk/Forums/viewtopic/t=139988.html) about a young, male, Sunni Muslim, who basically said that he was born a Sunni Muslim so therefore he is one. Now this just doesn’t sit comfortably with me because by saying this he is making the Islamic religion a race, not a faith.

I was born female, so therefore I am a woman. (Yep, and happy to be one, no pending ops to have a penis added and be surgically enhanced) I was born Caucasian so therefore that is the colour of my skin. I was born in Britain, therefore I am British.

Faith (according to my online dictionary):

strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof.
• a system of religious belief : such as the Christian faith or Islamic Faith.
• a strongly held belief or theory : the faith that life will expand until it fills the universe.

Belief (according to my online dictionary):

an acceptance that a statement is true or that something exists : his belief in God | a belief that solitude nourishes creativity.

In order to have faith you need to believe it to be true. You are not born believing, but faith and belief are learned over time. You choose to believe if something is right or wrong, based on teachings and learning.

Surely, religion is an individual choice. You have to believe it to be right, non? Is this religious apathy? I am Catholic because my mum and dad are Catholics. Surely, you are a Catholic if you believe in the doctrines of the Catholic faith.

I was recently interviewed by Radio 4 and I said that I felt very strongly that I didn’t want to be Islamic and be ruled by Sharia Law.

Hagar the horrible said, “you can’t say that it could be perceived as racist.”

To which I replied, “Islam is a faith not a race. It is not racism, it is about the right to choose a belief system, and I was simply saying that Islam is not the belief system for me.”

My understanding is that every individual has the right to choose what they believe in, and also to change their mind. You are not born to a religion you choose to believe in the teachings of one.

Stand By Your Woman

The Robinson scandal hasn’t peaked yet; so it’s probably too early to start being glib about the very serious nature of this Northern Irish, political hot potato that is currently cooking up a storm over the Irish sea. But hey ho, here I go anyway.

Mrs Robinson used her political advantage to financially help her 19 year old McCrumpet set up his Cafe, while her politically important husband knew about it but didn’t mention it. Probably because he didn’t want everyone to know that his wife was getting put through by a teenager.

What is the naughty universe up to? First, of all we get Tiger ‘The Super Shagger, and now a bit more interesting’, Woods having a grubby affair with a cocktail waitress called Jaimee Grubbs, all very grubby indeed. Now this Irish MP bird, she’s called Mrs Robinson and she’s got a toy boy. When Anne Bancroft got put through by Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, she was nominated for an Oscar. It’s a poetic political satire. Finally women of politics are getting some decent young hot c*ck action, in real life. Lets face it, the Currie/Major canoodling was enough to make you wretch. I guess if you can’t beat them, join ‘em. I wonder if the media will offer McCrumpet a naked centrefold spread, and he’ll become a celebrity, following the footsteps of the likes of Abi Titmus and Antonia whats-her-face that got put through by David Mellor. ‘My dirty nights with Mrs Robinson, she could go all night.’ (There are plenty of other examples, I just can’t be bothered to google them and find out who they are.)

McCrumpet is a bit of hot totty (young man), and at least he has an entrepreneurial nature and is trying to set up his own business. I think that is admirable in a 19 year old. I think the youth of today should set up their own businesses and be more entrepreneurial, instead of bemoaning the facts there are no jobs out there. They have got time, hands, heads, energy and enthusiasm. What more do you need? At the end of the day if your Sugar Mummy can give you a cash injection, while you give her the hot beef injection, that is a good return on investment. Plus, he’s certainly not the first in history to financially benefit from exploiting sexual contacts in the higher echelons of power. It’s just that normally it’s women that benefit from being shafted by men in politics.

I have always found it curious that a mistress is the lover of a married man. There is not a dedicated word for the lover of a married woman, other than:

toy boy = but he has to be younger
gigolo = paid for
lover = generic term for both sexes.

Is Mr Robinson going to stand by his woman? Or will he will he quietly exit stage left and distance himself from her filthy, crazy, mentalist ways. Hilary stood by Bill, when Monica blew him. Posh stood by Beckham when he had an affair with dirty Sanchez. There is a history of women standing by their men in the face of great humiliation. I wonder if Mr Robinson will be stoic enough to stand by his woman. Even if it means sacrificing his own political career. By the looks of it he should stand by her, and stand down as First Minister, for the sake of Northern Irish devolution.

Islam4UK march on Wootton Bassett perhaps it can be stopped

In 1992, at the tender age of 20 years young, I jumped in big, rusty, transit van, with a drug dealer that looked like Mick Jagger called Jim, with my mate Sar T, and we drove (rattled more like) down the motorway from Sheffield to the Malvern Hills in search of the last ever free party.

Although, I did wash, and I didn’t have dreadlocks, I did wear baggy pants, a sweatshirt and my trusty Palladium shoes. I loved to take illegal drugs and dance my pants off. About year earlier, I had rang my father and screamed down the phone, “Dad, dad, I know what I want to be when I grow up, I want to be a hedonist.” I was delighted by my new chosen career. The dedicated pursuit of pleasure to me seemed to be a very worthy occupation indeed.

It was very exciting. I wasn’t very cool. Jim, the drug dealing, Mick Jagger look-a-like, he led the push and made the calls, and talked to the other posses that were also in pursuit of the venue. At first, we were headed for Chipping Sodbury common, but the police got wind of it and formed a blockade. We were unstoppable, the convey changed direction, eventually the influx of 40,000 people couldn’t be stopped and the party settled onto Castle Morton Common.

It was an incredible five days. Some of the most unforgettable of my life. To be honest, I don’t want to give too much away, but lets just say it certainly helped me channel my more creative side. Ultimately, we all knew that it had to end. We knew the Criminal Justice Act, the last nail in the coffin of unlicensed events, and a Draconian piece of legislation, was aimed directly at suppressing the activities of certain strands of alternative culture.

At 20 years young, I felt like I had lost a piece of freedom that I adored, but now 18 years on I am thinking maybe that Draconian piece of legislation can be used to protect the sanctuary of something I now hold closely to my own heart.

My husband is a serving RAF pilot. I support the military. Wootton Bassett is a ceremonial route to the graves of those soldiers who have bravely sacrificed their lives for the British people. If Islam4UK have a problem with UK foreign policy, they should march on Westminster. For the grieving families, and for those, who want to show respect, leave them alone, in peace, to mourn.

If the police can blockade the nomads descending on Chipping Sodbury to peacefully, party their pants off, when the Act wasn’t in existence, surely now they can use this Draconian law to prevent a grave violation of the memory and journey to rest of Britain’s deceased soldiers. In my view a much more worthy cause. Enough is enough. This march must be stopped. I don’t think that the Islamic regimes of the nations of Islam would tolerate such an offensive act by their non-Islamic citizens; quite frankly neither should we. The police and the Government have an obligation to protect the innocent people of Wootton Bassett. I think they can under the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act of 1994

The Dawn of the New Decade – Happy New Year

The beginning of the new decade is the start of my new life, new ideals and new business. Talking to people at the fabulous fortieth birthday & New Years Eve party I attended last night, I discovered that people are afraid to say out loud what they want. It’s as if they don’t even dare to dream. If they do know what they want they can’t bring themselves to state it. How do you make your dreams a reality, if you don’t know what they are? How can dreams become a reality, if you don’t put them out there?

I am daring to dream. I am willing to state my intentions. I have no fear of failure because to try and not succeed is better than not trying at all. This is the dawn of the new decade and the work begins in earnest. I have lots to do and I am excited about the future. It’s a time to change and it’s a time to grow….2010 Bring it on. Happy New Year. Dare to dream. State your intentions. Ask the universe out loud. What have you got to lose?

The Annual Brag

(The last blog of 2009)

The Christmas card season is upon us. I am striking a balance between supporting The Royal Mail and posting Christmas postcards, but saving the environment by not using an envelope. With the cards, also comes the dreaded folded sheet of A4 with ‘The Annual Brag’, regaling the years successes, but barely covering the annual disasters.

In the spirit of the newsletter, sort of, here is ours, warts and all, chez Macnaughties:

Me
The year opened with alcoholic abstinence, and complete lock down, as I started the writing marathon. 12 weeks later the 100,000 manuscript was handed in, and then with a 2 further months in the edit. It was a pretty horrific experience on many levels, without telling tales out of school. I should have known that it would mark the start of what was an incredibly turbulent year, full of agonies and ecstacies. I still can’t work out if ‘Immediate Response’ is blessed, or cursed. Weeks before the book was launched lack of Chinooks dominated the front page, every national newspaper and broadcaster wanted a piece of the Major. Only hours before it was released in a draconian move, the Major was prevented from speaking to the media, when it really mattered, only to be allowed to speak when the bus was missed.

The book kept its head above water, but without the much needed media circus its day was short lived, and it has now been relegated to the history sections of the books shelves. Then it was a reported that Chinook was shot down in Afghanistan. Having spent 5 months incarcerated in the notion that this was inevitable, and also in a bizarre way, isolated because we weren’t living at RAF Odiham, it really knocked me for six. Especially, as it was the first time in British history that a Chinook had been lost on the battlefield, under enemy fire.

I learnt a lot about myself. I have an enormous ego. I am a control freak. I couldn’t emotionally handover the book. I invested so much energy into its creation, and although I know it is the Major’s story, I feel like the book is mine. I can’t change that, but I know that I have to pipe down. I can never ghost again.

I had hoped that it would launch my writing career but it hasn’t. Publishing is in dark days. There are not a lot of commissions to be had, plus I don’t particularly want to stay in the military genre. I am working on a below stairs, non-fiction satire on the superyacht industry. My agents will look at it once it’s written so I am back to earning a crust through my PR business.

My editor at Penguin has said, that I did an ‘exceptional job’ and for a first time ghostwriter to deliver something so accomplished was hens-teeth rare, and so too is making the top ten of the bestseller list with your debut.

And, also, watch out for the paperback launch on the 25th March.

It did come at price though. We are definitely a few friends down, and although I am confident in my ability as a writer now, I am a long way from being an acknowledged one. I now know that I am a maverick through and through. I hate being told what to do, and I think I would stubbornly, be a poor, penniless, nothing than be gripped, by the control of another. Lots of on the horizon workwise, which is encouraging, and also, we move back to RAF Odiham, an hour closer to London in March, which just makes life easier to manage.

On the bright side, I am also have some new, amazing friend’s. This time of change will come with mixed emotions as we move on again but it’s been a blast. I love you all – you know who you are.

Hagar the Horrible (aka Biggles, the RAF CH47 pilot but desk driving at the moment)

The year opened with Hagar the Horrible having to assume the role of house elf, temporarily re-named to Dobby, but he was actually more Kreacher, than Dobby, but he knew the cause was a good one, so he soldiered on, keeping the home fires burning, raising the children, while I tapped, tapped, tapped at the keyboard. It’s a miserable life being tied to the chores while your partner works. Not that he was really in a position to complain, bearing in mind who he works for!

The timing was spectacular because literally as my workload decreased, his own job went mentalist. Then we received the amazing news that he had received a Mention-in-Dispatches for some crazy, kick ass job he did in theatre when he was flying. I was so proud. He is so incredible for a man, who wears his underpants on the inside of his trousers. I am just gutted that HM Queen Betty didn’t give it to him at her house, ( I did want to have a nosey at her soft furnishings) but it’s awesome that his efforts have been duly noted. They give so much to the cause, but it’s special when the cause gives something back. Obviously, they all deserve more. It goes without saying.

The Grenade (boy, aged 6)

The Grenade has gone from bottom of the class, bordering on special needs, to the middle. Due, of course, to us having to invest heavily in his education. Even with a financed education, we still have to create a ‘thumbs up’ chart for each breath that he takes. He still mainly thinks about dinosaurs, and is amazed that the rest of the world doesn’t devote the same degrees of energy and thought to this marvelous topic.

He is growing quickly, and is head taller than the rest of the class. He can now burp the alphabet.

The Bubbalicious (girl, aged 18 months)

The Bubbalicious is coming on leaps on bounds, she has already started organising the Grenade and gathering his chattels for him prior to the school run. She has become the naughty little sister, terrorising her older brother, and has mastered it to a fine art. Most significantly, stealing the remote control from him and sprinting out of the room, thus demonstrating that women annoying men by hiding the remote control is actually a genetic instinct. It is nature’s way. I can see now that a women’s role in life is to get men to do stuff they don’t want to do, and men’s role is to try and avoid doing it.

Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year

Who knows what 2010 brings….May The Force Be With You

Bumholes

My 6 year old son, asked me last night, “Mummy, do you and daddy ever snog?’
“Absolutely not!” I replied.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because his breath smells of bumholes.” I said.
Following which he properly cracked up. I love it that he thinks the word ‘Bumholes’ is so funny. To be honest I think it’s really funny too and, I love getting him to say it, because he always cracks up. When he is pulling a strop, I become very stern and say, “Right, that’s it come here. How dare you be so grumpy. I order you to say Bumholes without laughing.” Now, this is a nigh on impossible task for a 6 year old boy.

I can’t believe that I am allowed to parent a child, it seems insane but it has its moments of preciousness that I love. Sometimes, I am a very Macnaughty parent. I love the fact that I can tell my son, what to do and he’ll do it (if I am lucky) without questioning me. For example, when my husband is bellowing at me from another room in the house, to instruct me to do something I can’t be bothered to attend to, I summon my wee man over.

“Do me a favour and go and tell daddy he blow’s goats.” I sigh wistfully.
“Ok mummy.” He says, and off he trips.

While I am lozerking on the sofa, I hear this little voice saying to Mr Macnaughty, wherever his bellowing has come from,
“Daddy, mummy says you blow goats, but I actually think you blow baby elephants.”

Oh, how the winter evenings fly by.

Iranians declare Herberts are not spies

And the world rejoiced!

After some serious interrogation by the Iranian Revolutionary Guard (very nasty, ruthless, don’t want to meet ever; apparently they make the Guardia Civil look like a bunch of pussies) and probably some peering through the ears of each Herbert, and seeing the light on the other side, the Iranians decided that no matter how much they dislike the West, that four Herberts, and a radio journalist are not spooks. Phew! It’s a relief that they have enough decency to know that Brits would turn out much better spies, then four young Herberts, drifting around the oilfields of Iran in a yacht they clearly can’t afford.

The good news is that the reported boredom, (thanks to his mum) that one of the Herberts was experiencing, as a major international incident was being diffused, is now over. They will return to a heroes welcome, and will be able to dine out on it eternally, at the endless crew dinners they will no doubt enjoy for the rest of their lives.

It would be useful though if the sailing teams would perhaps educate their sailors about current affairs, cultural differences and perhaps take an interest in the world around them. Maybe, this is the incident that bursts the ‘Bubble’ and the ego-centric sport finally extracts it’s head out of it’s rectum, but I doubt it.