The kids will be alright

Imagine them with Oriental blood - I know: weird.

A long time ago I said I wanted three things in my future: I wanted to be world-empress, I wanted to drive a Mini and (paradoxically) I wanted to have seven children.

Seven. Yes. No I did not have any traumatic experiences after seeing the Sound of Music, I just thought it would be nice to have a large family. I had a whole theory worked out (before Angie!) where I would have two of my own and then adopt five. Easy-peasy. Obviously. Oh please note, that I was aware that my grand plan might not be too attractive to any suitors, but I was pretty ok with the fact that this would almost most certainly be done as a single mother. ( Bless him, my very first boyfriend would play along and said he would be ok with the plan – and I just never had the heart to tell him he was never part of the plan. )

Even now, when my world conquering schemes are put on the backburner ( hey sometimes it takes all you have just to get through the day…let alone planning ho to re-build Haiti.) and keeping a car, any car, here in London costs you a fortune before you have even driven the damn thing anywhere; I would still love kids.

No, not now mother ( before you get too excited – this is just a writing excercise on a random subject.) Just one day. The thing is, having experienced being a child, I realise that children are expensive. And I sometimes worry about that. I do. I know it is silly but I do! How will I ever support and afford a family without a real careerplan to speak of? (Guess those world conquering plans might have to come off the backburner again.) And No! Marrying a rich man is not an option ( though anyone willing can send in their CV. With picture. Please. I’m not shallow, it’s for genome reasons.)

I can see what some people might be thinking you are young, it will be ok, what are you worrying about? I agree, I am young, but apparently I am old enough to have four children.  Last week I met a lady who was 44 and who had five children and -wait for it- six grandchildren.  She once was pregnant at the same time as her eldest daughter who was now 25 and had indeed four children ( though she had a set of twins – still!)

Work sent me papers the other week informing me of their pension plan they are offering. Pension plan? I don’t even understand what that means and still I can pay into it. (What is the point? Will our generation have a pension when we get to pension age or will we still be repaying all kinds of bank debts until we are in our 70s?)  Yeah I agree it is great to be young – it is a great excuse for any fuck-up you make, but old enough to be part of society gives you all kinds of quirky worries you never even knew you cared about.

Sometimes it would be nice to be able to look into a crystal ball and have a glimpse of what life would be like in ten ears time. Just a snapshot,  reassurance that it will all be ok. ( Even if it wouldn’t be, you could prepare more accurately and brace yourself. Though I guess it would  trigger the butterfly effect.)

Then I look at my cousin who had a surprise pregnancy in the middle of rural China (by her boyfriend, you moral police, god not just a random Chinese guy…jeez.). She and her boyfriend were both still finishing degrees, she had an adorable little girl whilst living at her parents. They found themselves a home and he found himself a job. They graduated, they got married and she got pregnant again. Hoorah! I know, in three sentences it seems perfect and in reality it might not a modern fairytale: he has to work a lot, travel a lot for work, and has to miss his family as I am sure they miss him. She had to finish her thesis with a toddler in the house  and at a guess I think they might be wondering where to sleep the new baby as there are only two bedrooms in their house. But the keyword in that sentence is wondering not worryin. They probably worry too but if they do, they sure seem to cope with it. ( At Christmas she was worrying about already showing before 3 months – ha, her tummy was me on a bad day! )

Whenever I worry about things, be it future kids or stake pensions, I picture her and how she just seemed to have hit back  all the curve balls life threw at her with style. She has made some tough decisions and some interesting life choices and has shown resilience, well meaningness and kindness throughout. I might not tick all those boxes but it is looking at her that assures me that life in the (not so distant) future will still be bright.

Luckily she assured me this on a birthday card:  apparently it is after 29 that life really gets great! Good, that gives me another couple of years to get over my own jitters before becoming responsible for anyone else’s. But hey, if we share the same gene that makes you look that good throughout (and more importantly after) pregnancy I say: large family- bring it on!

Glee: jury’s still out.

Ok, I’ll admit: tonight I have given in. After all the talk in the office and excitement on the internet my curiosity took the better of me. Verdict: still unsure. Yes! It is a surprise, because I am supposed to love it. Cynical American humour, jazz hands at the ready, clever scriptwriting: I should love it.  People love it, because it is recognisable: characatures of the people who you went to school with and silently hoping to see little bits of your (old) self.

That part is great, I liked it and  THEN: they slipped in the non-ironic:

 ‘Would you rather live life for money? or Would you rather live life for passion?’ 

 Oooh isn’t that clever, because we should all feel a fuzzy warmth: Passion of course! We all want to live for passion!

Don’t get me wrong: I hold passion in high esteem. In fact I was the one who once shouted : There is no passion in the cake – with the result that no one dared to touch it. So yes I am in Team Passion. Absolutely.

But passion has yet to pay the bills.

There you go: back out  in the cold.

So turn the heating up and set up a direct debit to British Gas.

PS: Episode Two is already getting better. To Be Continued.


Tonight, as I was walking to the cinema to meet a  friend and George Clooney I was contemplating my recent spectacular fall in faith. Let me be clear I am of no special denomination, in fact I am of no religious demonisation denomination at all. I guess I grew up with friends and family who were/are Catholic but religion never played an enormous part in my life.

Faith or believe did, but more in the way of self-believe and fate: I used to believe that I could get myself to my destiny, whatever that might be. Actually I believed that what I believed would just become my destiny.

So after a few minor set backs which eventually led to my major meltdown in this area, I was quietly contemplating events as I walked across the bridge. When I saw the lit-up cross on the boat that functions as a church here in the docks, I thought about how I could  regain my (self)believe.

I was still in thought when I passed two men talking and I just caught  a snippet of their conversation. Just as they walked past me, I heard one of them say two words: Don’t Doubt.

I just had to smile to myself and thought : Well, I guess that is a start!

All American Beauty

This week People-magazine has the cover line ‘Jen – Five Years after Brad’. Oh Dear Lord. For many years now, well five apparently, Jennifer Aniston has been the world’s sweetheart. She was the girl next door ( for Chandler and Joey at least) of the telly who did good and married a big screen Hollywood actor. It was a fairytale come true, she had actually upgraded and became a true star. They were a Golden Couple, hanging in there against all odds. Then they split, supposedly amicably ( isn’t that always the case – unless you are Dennis Hopper) but I guess it didn’t help he had met a classically beautiful movie goddess with an edge and a cute kid to win anyone over. The rest is history: the new golden movie couple procreated, having beautiful children -even twins a boy and a girl, le choix du roi. Oh and they picked up a couple of others along the way. They are insanely perfect in that classic American kind of way, Liz and Richard but with tattoos.

But what about poor Jen. She was left behind at the grand old age of 35 – surely she wouldn’t find happiness ever again! Every man she looked at was severly scrutinised, we do love her after all and don’t want to see her hurt. However, should such a thing happen we would like to read about it; with the British Grazia seeming to be one of the biggest stockholders in the Aniston brand.

Don’t we all feel for her, all these men from Vince to John to Bradley ( who then ran off with Renee, oh the horror – she lost out to another 40 year old divorcee – and the market is getting smaller). Nothing worked. Still we loved reading about it and how Jen dealt with it all, friends ( BFF Courtney) and yoga. She kept smiling, she kept working and carving away at that Hollywood career. All this in combination with a little clever PR, kept her in the spotlight and Jen entered the top ten of richest women in the USA.

So poor Jen? I’m not so sure… She has set herself up nicely: she keeps working on films, gaining experience whilst growing towards the more interesting roles. She has the money to get involved in smaller projects, challenging herself as a director or producer, hereby also increasing her influence and income.Yes, she is single but that will keep the press on its toes, they are interested who is she looking at, who could she be possibly dating? Were she a married woman, her hanging out with Gerard Butler her co-star in the upcoming The Bounty Hunter (which seems to have more than some similarities to Mr&Mrs Smith but more for real people not insanely beautiful ones – anyway we all know what happened there) would not have gathered that much publicity during the Golden Globes this week. (Don’t worry, apparently the man is already betrothed to my friend Laura though he might not know it. Yet.)

Pity her? Surely not. She is not (and never has been during this Brad marlarkey me thinks) a heartbroken lost little girl. In fact she is a 41 year old woman both beautiful and confident, who seems to know what she wants and where she is heading. She understands the business ( All Sing: There is no business but show business…) and makes it work for her. She is hardly a spinster, though society will rejoice when she does get married or hook up with someone and who knows she might even pop out a couple of kids. The world might feign surprise but I have this feeling Jennifer Aniston already knows that everything willl turn out just a-ok.

Evolution from Metrosexual to Alpha Male

Personally I like to think I have high acceptance levels of metrosexuality, though arguably by phrasing it this way I do sound slightly metrophobic. You know in similar vein to ‘ Oh no, but I do have friends who are homosexuals/black/jewish.’  after blatant discriminating attack on chosen minority.

This is meant ironically

The proof lies very much in the men I have had crushes on, dated  and/or have had relationships with, they usually tick the three C’s: Clever, Charming and ever so slightly Camp. Especially the latter makes it fine line to tread, I am very much aware!

From  body insecurities to vanity, special diets,  moisturisers, bitchiness, 3 colour mix hairdye appointments and bromances – I have pretty much dealt with it all. I have dried tears over disappointments with other girls (I know! I am aware now… though there was one case where I dried tears over disappointment in a guy…), assured and reassured  men on sizes of all kinds of bodyparts, including tummies and legs, and admired new clothing purchases with a very stylish cut and extortionate price-tags.

Some guy said that these days, ultimate metrosexuality means being comfortable with being chatted up by men who buy you drinks- even though you are straight. Non-conventional but I could still see the logic in this statement…

Still I wondered if I would ever draw the line somewhere and if so where that line would be. I walked into my line, this afternoon on my way to the Tube station: Man in Leggings. Unnecessary.

Even a female over the age of 10 will find it hard to pull off leggings, especially without anything over it. This man had a long kind of jacket over it – still I said: No. God the thought of everything ‘down there’ wrapped in Lycra and exposed to the world as soon as the jacket would come off was just a little nauseating.

It made me realise that perhaps for my next step, the transitional man, I should search out side the box a bit: so any low maintenance 6ft alpha-male without  body hang ups, please feel free to apply!

Hail Alpha Male
Bring out the guns.