Diary

Lucy’s Diary 26/03/2017


Mother’s Day

I grew up, rather unusually these days, living with both my parents as well as a younger sister. We were/are a family of two halves. When we were teenagers my personality and looks were much more like mum where as my sister’s were much more like dad.

So me and mum got on well during the dreaded teenage years but me and dad not so much, for my sister it was the opposite way round. Weirdly my mum and dad got on and so did me and my sister.

Now I have grown up I am not as like my mum as I used to be in personality but am still much like her in looks. I have never really got spots even when I was a teenager thanks to mum and her beautiful skin. I have everything crossed that I am going to age like her, I’m serious, she has skin at 61 like someone at least ten years younger.

Having said that about our personalities………

I have mum’s fiery Geordie temper that was passed down to her from her dad. It comes down like a pot of boiling oil on your head but then is gone within a couple of blinks. It has not been unknown for me and mum to have a blazing row then half an hour later be sitting on the sofa chatting about something completely different. Neither of us sulk or bare grudges, life is to short for that crap especially when it concerns someone you love.

One of the best thing’s my mum has passed down to me is my love of reading. Both of us are well read in the classics department so if there is a new film adaption or play of a classic book you can bet that me and mum will be there with our pic n mix cooing over Mr Darcy or debating whether Wuthering heights or Jane Eyre is best (I’m telling you it is Jane Eyre Mother!).

We both have vivid imaginations. I remember mum when we were younger cleaning the house and telling us stories about “Our Nan” (whoever that is) in her Geordie accent. Both of us are also convinced that animals can talk. We may, occasionally, have complete conversations with one of us being my dog, or whatever unfortunate animal has been unlucky enough to get our attention, while the other is chatting away to it. It doesn’t always have to be an animal of course it could be a cuddly toy……….sock……random body part…….etc etc.

Unfortunately mum also passed down her inadequacy at sport. There is absolutely no point in us doing anything sport related, we can’t catch, we can’t throw and I am telling you now that God would not have given us these size boobs if he meant us to run! which neither of us would do unless a pack of hungry lions happened to be chasing us or perhaps if we were late for the bus.

My mum has never been my best friend like some people say theirs is she has always been “just” mum, the person that gave the best hugs when I was sad or upset, the person who fussed and looked after me when I was ill (paracetamol for my temperature with lemonade cos it’s kinda on a sicky stomach) and the person who fed (and still tries to feed), cleaned us and the house and I am more than o.k with that because that is what she is, not my best friend but my mum.

Happy Mother’s Day Mum xxx

By Lucy Williams

Poem's Mixed

Poetry 72


He sailed across the river in a white petaled flower

In his hand he held a black top hat that hundreds of pure white doves flew out of, one after the other

They soared over the murkey waters of the Thames, their wings purring rhythmically until they reached the bank

It was then the magic happened and I couldn’t believe my eyes

Each and every one of them turned into beautiful blonde women in dresses of pure white silk.

By Lucy Williams

 

Diary

Lucy’s Diary 25/03/2017


Beauty Part One

Most of the treatments I get done in beauty places is really down to laziness on my part. For instance I love it when my nails are painted but because I shower everyday and with the work I do the varnish is chipped before I have had it on 24 hours which means I would have to paint them everyday, who has the time and patience for that? not me.

So yesterday I visited one of the local nail bars that I used to frequent a year or so ago called Crystal Nails. Going to a nail bar in the U.K is a bit like stepping up to a conveyor belt. You have barely stepped a toe in the door and through the wall of pungent varnish odor when your pounced on and ushered into a seat semi politely.  You are also swapped between technicians and shunted from one seat to another so frequently that when you leave you feel like a newly assembled piece of furniture.

When I say nobody who works in a nail bar has English as a first language or in fact any language is not an understatement. Mostly customers communicate with nail technicians using charades and pictures but luckily this time I had a woman who could speak a bit of English except I am crap with accents and she had a hygiene mask over her mouth and nose, presumably so she didn’t get an unwanted high off the varnish fumes, so I mostly stared gormlessly at her thinking I should really learn Chinese if I insist on getting my nails done.

 

Anyway while I sat with my fingers in some pink liquid, at which point I discovered a little painfully I had a cut on my finger, I browsed the many colours I could choose from displayed on white sticks with plastic finger nails stuck on the end, I never knew there were so many shades of pink (the colour I was contemplating).

After an age and ten wrinkly fingers later my old nail tips came off at which point manic filing commenced. Next she gets out a little box with lots of ridiculously long plastic nails in, selects one and glues it to the tip of my nail while all the while talking non stop in Chinese to her fellow nail technicians. She cuts down my nail to how I want it and files into a rounded shape, I think it looks more natural, while she also translates for the technician and her customer next to me who is shouting ROUNDED with the mistaken idea that a foreign word spoken loudly is more likely to be understood than the exact same word spoken normally.

I get this gel powder, it’s supposed to be better then acrylic for you nail’s but who knows, put on which is basically powder molded onto you nail with a brush that turns to plastic and then dipped into more powder (pink in my case). The customer next to me is now pointing to my technicians hand wanting what she has which after getting her to repeat it approximately ten times and both of us staring at her wishing we had brought a Chinese dictionary with us I come back with “umbray” which I think is meant to be “ombre”.  How on earth the woman is going to make her technician understand that word after the rounded debacle is beyond me.

After I am ordered, twice because I had no idea what she was saying, to wash my hands I turn around and my seat has been taken by a new model and a man is now insisting I sit down in a different chair where he puts a couple of coats of gloss on my nails and instructs me to stay for two minutes.

While waiting I notice there is a bowl on the table next to me with some kind of weird moldy plant in which I fear may have legs and one of those waving cat things that has a sinister looking smile constantly painted on it’s face.The man comes over and demands £30,00 and hands me a loyalty card which I grab and dark out the door sharpish to fill my lungs with relatively clean air.

It is a long and slightly scary process but I do love my nails when they are done and at least I only have to go every three or so weeks!

By Lucy Williams

Poem's About Love

Poetry 75


I dreamt last night you were my valentine who gave me one red rose.

You held it out without it’s thorns never speaking a single word.

I dreamt last night you were my valentine who gave me a single kiss.

You told me you would love me forever more

And said I would always be his.

By Lucy Williams

Diary

Lucy’s Diary 21/03/2017


Home Sweet Home Part One

Home is my favorite place on earth, as I think it should be. After all it houses people, pets and memories you love most in the world. It also doesn’t contain irritating people as they are on the other side of your front door which you don’t have to open!

Hubby is quite happy with the house looking like it’s in the middle of ISIS riddled Syria, I am not. This is partly because I work part time so therefore have to stare at the four walls that house the unwashed dishes and un hoovered floors the majority of the day  whereas hubby stares at a computer screen and probably untidy desk at work the majority of the day.

Ideal Home magazine has basically become my bible. I look through it’s glossy pages at all the beautiful interiors and shiny surfaces wondering how they with their several children, pets and full time jobs manage to keep the house looking like it’s still in the sale room while mine without said children, one little furry monster and only sixteen hours of work a week feel like I’m fighting an uphill daily battle with dog hair and a hubby who likes piles of stuff everywhere.

I would be lying though if I said I didn’t enjoy most of it. I love scouting the high street and online sites looking to find the perfect item and studying various colour samples trying to decide on the exact scheme I want for which ever room I have decided needs re decorating. And the satisfaction of looking at a sparkling clean room after hard slogging is pretty immense even if it is slightly frustrating when it only lasts about five minutes.

I may have a mind that doesn’t always operate how it should which is why I work part time but I am physically able, so sorting the house makes me feel as if I am contributing something and not just sitting on my large arse all day while hubby is stressing at work.

I want our house to be a place that both me and hubby can relax in and is a happy place to come back to and I think I am mostly achieving this which makes me happy : )

 

By Lucy Williams

Diary

Lucy’s Diary 20/03/2017


Dog Mother Part One

We have a tiny white Jack Russell in our house. This tiny white Jack Russell sure makes a lot of noise disproportionate to it’s small size and those black spots on the back of her ears and on her belly are definitely multiplying, our theory is they are naughty spots.

Brown orb like eyes and cute button nose or not waking me up at 6:00am on my day off is an unforgivable offence. Bleary eyed this morning she was unceremoniously chucked out the bedroom after assuming it was o.k to slurp on her paw right next to my ear. Distraction unlike for kids does not appear to work on dogs so instead she just patiently waited until I had finished rubbing her belly, stroking her ears etc then resumes slurping, hence the chucking out of the room.

Now she is not noisy like most Jack Russell’s are noisy, she is not a yapper and generally looks in disgust at other dogs when they think it is o.k to chat across the street or bounce over to her in the field to catch up. BUT she is a moaner.

Nnnnnmmmmmm can mean many things. For instance “I want to get up onto the sofa” or “I want to go outside and chase an imaginary cat” or the more frantic version tends to mean “I want to go out for a walk now!” This morning it meant “I want to come back into the bedroom”.

I let her back in the bedroom, slurping was again resumed. So I get back up to investigate offending paw. I press, prod and study but there is no reaction from the little white monster. I let go of paw and she is back to intensely slurping.

I lie there for a bit considering the pros and cons of putting it back up for adoption and realized I love the little bugger to much so instead got up and sulked on the sofa in my pajamas at which point the fucking monster curled up and went to sleep!

 

By Lucy Williams

 

 

Diary

Lucy’s Diary 19/03/2017


Living With Anxiety Part One

I find it weird how the mind works. You can be wandering around a supermarket debating with your hubby whether you need more bananas or trying to decide what you are going to have for dinner before you get the entire way round the shop when you notice you are feeling hot, like clammy hot not the heating is on full blast hot, and your starting to shake as your heart beat quickens and really if you don’t get out of here sharpish your going to punch someone in the face.

You tell hubby to forget looking for bleach we are going NOW. Hubby looks at you knows what is happening and moves quickish to the nearest, smallest looking queue. Of course the woman at the front of the queue wants to use about fifty vouchers and is taking her time rummaging through her purse so she can get £1.00  off a can of Heine’s beans while I’m standing two people back gritting my teeth and clenching my fists in the hope I won’t have an undignified melt down in the middle of a supermarket on a Saturday afternoon.

“Do you want to wait outside?” asks hubby

“How is that going to help?” I snap imagining melting into a pool of tears outside in the rain with loads of people I don’t know.

Hubby moves like the Flash whizzing our shopping in the bag, the woman serving not so much, and I’m heading in the direction of the exit before the bag has reached the wire bottomed trolley.  We swerve around the wobbling pensioners who for some reason don’t like shopping in the week when it’s quiet, vault over a small child that has decided he wants to stop bang in the middle of the walk way and hot foot it across the car park to the relative safety of our black Golf.

Back in the car and I feel calmer but I want to go home so much I may start shouting it out loud and also I want food, preferably chocolate, avoiding or having panic attacks always makes me hungry. Naturally we now hit every red light and slow ass driver, it’s like 5 minutes drive to home how can it take this long!

Finally at home I sit on our brand new beautiful sofa with my hubby and our cute little furry Jack Russel clutching my restorative chocolate vowing to never enter a supermarket on a Saturday again.

 

By Lucy Williams