Flashlights

I often maintain that his majesty and MacGyver were separated at birth or possibly even just closely related. I am in awe his majesty; at his ability to fashion some semblance of fire out of what appears to be garden detritus and how he can spirit up a walking stick out of a warped twig and a grotty old shoelace. He is also of the distinct mantra "be prepared" and as such ours is a home often kitted out to Armageddon-ish degrees.

Thus, we have often got a surplus of flashlights - or had before we moved. Torches. Call them what you will.

Now I am by no means unreasonable with his majesty's insistence at keeping these, I merely develop great irritation at the fact that they seldom if ever are in working condition. And they usually display the said broken down tendencies at stupid 'o'clock. When  you really, really, really need them to work.

The Mother-In-Law (hereafter referred to as the MIL) graced him a million candle power specimen for his birthday one year. I still argue what a townie like him would possibly need a million candle power torch for? But hey, what do I know. And whilst it was in working order (albeit brief) the local wildlife were subjected to nightly raids of their privacy. I am quite surprised we were not sued by some passing owl for retinal scarring and loss of condition due to starvation, a direct result of it's inability to hunt.

Or how about the G**E special he bought that never worked and he kept meaning to return and simply never did.

Or the lantern-like item we got for the power cuts of 2008 whose battery just died one night and has never been able to charge since. Yes, still got that one!

The list goes on. At the height of his collecting zenith his majesty had about 8. And only 1 was ever able to sputter out a barely visible flicker. I think I could've shoved a lightbulb into my belly button, clicked my heels 3 times and produced a far superior glow!

I am a practical person of form and function. If something breaks, fix it, replace it and if it beyond feasible correcting then for heavens bloody sakes CHUCK IT OUT. But nooooooooooooo. You see I married into a family of hoarders. The MIL's very own house is populated by mutilated figurines of hippos missing legs, carvings cracked and split out of years of moving, broken furniture, chipped ornaments and dented silverware. But you can't throw any of it away! Shock, horror! And my own family is just as bad. My father (now  partially cured, thank goodness) would replace appliances as they broke, but...he would keep the old one, you know, just in case he needed it say for I dunno, a reunion of old tedelex tv owners?!?! Wait for it. He still has the component HI-FI he bought in 1982 (?). I am doubtful as to which bits are still functional, but he's still got it.

Back to our flashlights. Post move we cleared out, reduced our possessions to a mere third of what we originally owned. Heartbreaking though it was for me, I think his majesty suffered most. You see he was forced to rid us of some of his beloved torches. Now, one would think the old, damaged, not working, never-going-to-find-a-new-battery-for-it, etc ones would go. Guess again. We are now left with a black ensemble that can either be used a free weight or doubles as a nightstick ( I swear you could kill someone with it if you tried) - this one does not work at present. Nor will it ever because it takes those HUGE round batteries that look like silos and cost a fortune. We are also left with a quaint green version of the black night stick. It too does not work as years ago the glass thingy above the bulb broke and after the little madam had at it recently, the bulb blew. This too will never be fixed as it has been relegated to his majesty's cupboard - a place I like to call "The-Place-Where-Broken-Things-Go-To-Die" so I don't figure seeing it anytime soon.

So I am now left to rely on my cellphone back light in the dead of night.

The flashlights now lie, broken, in the cupboard for our next move. No they will not be disposed of, they will not be repaired, they will simply become one of those annoying items that just moves with you wherever you go.

Waxing LYRIC-al

For as long as I can remember I have had music in my blood. Born this way I suppose.

I blame my parents - my early exposure to Jethro Tull, Styx, Alice Cooper and the then-banned Spanish Train by Chris de Burgh. Sunday afternoons my dad would rig up the turntable and he and my mom would take a trip down memory lane with us kids lying between the vinyls. Bliss. For the most part the Sissa and I were just captivated by the covers. When the sale-ability of an album was decided predominantly by the artwork on the cover.

I remember too the advent of the digital age. When music became available on CD, hark. I remember the day my dad bought his first CD player. And one cd - to play - just to make sure the player worked. It was Phil Collins. I have the CD now. And when I was permitted at the age of 13 to loan digital media form the library. Depeche Modes' Songs of Faith and Devotion. I was smitten. I had discovered a genre that was dark, macabre and best of all, my parents hated. Puh-leese, what are you teens for if not to irritate (this will come back to bite me!)


If my life were a compilation I would surmise it would look something like this :-

Sister Don't Cry - Collective Soul - to Sissa and Gecko. Because we used to sing it all summer holiday and get on everyone's nerves but we didn't give a sh*t because we liked it.
Down in a Hole - Alice in Chains - because its moody and poignant
Higher Love - Depeche Mode - because I used to believe I was going to marry Dave Gahan
Dig - Incubus - because I miss Gecko and this makes me think of her - 1999 was a tough year
Nothing Else Matters - Metallica - because I can play it on the guitar and it's a classic
Wicked Game - Chris Izaak - music to shag to!
Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve - I dream
Hold me thrill me kiss me kill me - U2 - seeing it live was awe-some! And I touched Bono's hand.
Wonderwall - Oasis - the Anthem of an Age. And everyone and every pub anywhere knows all the words. So when you're pissed as a coot you still sound ok.
Linger - The Cranberries - what Dolores did for rock music is priceless.
Flood - Jars of Clay - I found this tune whilst in the grips of adolescent depression and it helped.
Sweet Sacrifice
December - Collective Soul - to the first boy who broke my heart. I thought you were a schmuck when you left for the UK and left me behind. But I got over myself. And you. And now I know you're a good person.
Everlong - Foo Fighters - the year 2000. Times of change
Tusk - Fleetwood Mac - because I'm an old soul.
Sparkle - LIVE - reminds me of meeting all his majesty's mates. Good times.
Porcelain - Moby
Come Along - Tityo - reminds me of the times his majesty and I would go horse-riding by ourselves. Magic. Leather and long-grass
Everyday should be a holiday - The Dandy Warhols -
Come Back Down - Bush - because if he hadn't met Gwen S then I would be Mrs Rossdale!
Mmmmmmmm - Crash Test Dummies - its high school all over again
Butterfly - Crazytown - its got a wicked beat! It's almost like a superhero theme tune
Smack my bitch up - The Prodigy - this is not an ode to wife battery but a lament to misunderstood boys.
Right Here Right now - Fatboy Slim
I would die for you - Garbage - Leo as Romeo and Clare as Julie - this movie attained cult status on 1996. And like any hot-blooded teenage girl I was hooked.
The roof is on fire - The Bloodhound Gang - just reminds me on someone I used to know

It seems like every "rite of passage" in my life has been marked by some piece of music. Perhaps my brain does this subconsciously - maybe its taking note of whats going on and putting it away for reference later.

High School, first dance, matric, first kiss (which was before matric in case you were wondering!), losing a lover, finding another lover, meeting his majesty, honeymoon, holidays, argh, all of it a string of music playing over in my head. And as new memories are added so too is more music.

The list could go on. Its shocking. I haven't even got started on the rest of my collection. Pathetic I know. Its funny how I cannot walk through a noisy mall for fear of GBH but I can relax when I am cranking up the volume on my mp3 player. Auditory zen!

Newsflash - at the tender age of 8 I picked up the guitar for the first time and have never put it down again. Again I blame my father, twas he who inspired me to a certain degree. Until I learnt the fine art of tablature and could show him a thing or two, albeit briefly. Well I am no Hendrix, I can twang a tune or 2. And his majesty adores my skills so as previous stated, if he digs it then nuff said eh?! I hardly have a vast repertoire, but crack the nod to come on over and I will gladly whip out the strings and flick a ditty for you. Now to work on my singing skills and I may yet be the complete package.

Why not leave a comment telling me what your fave tune of all time is? Would be fun to see!

NOTE! To my friend, Peter Sargent - I still reel at you graciously allowing me to play your Ovation Adamas

20, 30, 40!

I used to be a boob-less wonder. I was the subject of cruel jokes and snide comments most of my high school career! Boys would ask me if I would wear shoes if I didn't have feet and logically arrive at "why do you wear a bra then?". Horrible stuff.

But as my 20's arrived I was blessed with an uncanny feeling of satisfaction in myself. For a brief period of time I was happy with who I was. My body loved me! I could skip breakfast for 3 days and drop a dress size before the weekend! I subsisted on alcohol, cigarettes and caffeine. I hardly got a pimple and cellulite was a swear word I had to look up in the dictionary! Everything I wore looked fabulous but I looked better naked anyway! Where did those days go?

Then (kaboom!) roll on 30's.  1 Baby later and EVERYTHING changed. After the shock of a c-section and the entire birth itself wore off I realised with a fright that sometime during the last year someone had stolen my body! It's like they left my head on but took all the good bits. My previously non-existent mammaries had swelled during "udder duty" and whilst I held out of hope of them remaining as perky ,they simply deflated leaving me with nipples on 2 saggy gym socks! My bum had been replaced by a tub of cottage cheese and I now had "mommy" arms. Gone was the defined triceps and biceps of my past and vests had to be evicted post haste. You can ask his majesty, I literally culled everything and started again - I now have a reeeeeeeeeally really small selection!

You see, mine was a terrible pregnancy. I had no sickness. I had no pain. I had no run-of-the-mill pregnancy issues besides heartburn. I just got fat. Quickly! I still shudder when I look back at the photos and see myself. But there is nothing you can do whilst you're preggers! So I vowed to get my revenge on the adipose tissue post partum.

We invested in a treadmill when I had only just fallen pregnant and I pounded the pavement on that thing right up until the week before I went into labour. It was all quite relaxed and within the healthy range of exercise but that did not seem to have any effect on my growing bulk. My sister on the other hand has squeezed out 2 sprogs in quick succession and looks like a Sports Illustrated model in her cozzie. Cow! I try to hate her but I have only the genes to blame.

I now crave my 40's. Not because I am wishing my life away but there is something to be said about most 40 something women. They seem to have got over all the "teething problems" of the previous 2 decades and finally come into their own. They eat chocolate and don't care. They write about having the greatest sex of their lives! They are uber-moms. They just seem to have it all figured out. As if it's training for 50, when you really don't give a flying (insert own word)!

I am shattered when I pick up a Cosmo and flick through the beauty pages. I used to scoff at the fact that my age group didn't even feature but now I find myself turning page after page after page until I get to the dreaded three ough! How far I have fallen!

So for now I have 8 years left on my 3rd Decade dance card. I have lost my baby weight and then some but it left me an entirely different shape. Low-rise jeans snigger at me from the hangers. My hair no longer obeys and has become a limp and lifeless mass I threaten to lop off each and every day! I know I will finally come into my own on the eve of my 40th birthday and all this faffing will have been for nought. There are just days when I feel like I missed the memo. Why do all the other girls in my "category" look so well adjusted. Was there a crash course I missed somewhere along the line.

Well I can still do the splits and touch my toes. I still fit into my wedding dress 9 years on and his majesty still likes me so I must be doing something right.I am trying to be the best me I can be (erm?). Some days I fail and other days I do such a good job of bluffing that even I believe myself. It comes back to that old saying - I wish that I knew what I know now when was I younger.

Good old Rod Stewart putting it all back into focus for us!

Adios!