Some of you have asked to see my Easter branches – I know it’s way too early, but anything is better than studying. Plus, I get to feel all crafty and domesticated. Pinterest? Nailed it.
So far I have managed to keep Bubble the cat away from batting at the eggs, and I have placed Wee Bubble next to the vase just to annoy her.
p.s. Bubble not very impressed – she sneaked up behind me and shoved Wee Bubble off the shelf…
p.p.s. I really should get some studying done….
If you want to feel suddenly ancient, do what I did on Friday and go late-night shopping into town right before a One Direction tour date.
The plan was a good one. The Teenager was at a sleepover, the builder was in town and we were going to hit the shops, followed by a drink or two, perhaps a bite to eat. How cosmopolitan and smart I felt as we left the house. Hmm.
Lots of traffic on the way in, got parked, went to the lift. Hordes of tweenagers jumping up and down squealing at each other, comparing glittery eye-shadow and nail varnish.
Swarms of them flooding the shops and restaurants, clutching banners ‘I’m Mrs Styles’, ‘Marry ME Harry’, ‘One Direction – Over Here’. In an instant, I felt very, very old and very dowdy as I remembered Harry was only 19 (19!!) and was born in 1994, two years after I left high school. I was old enough to be his mother.
The builder wanted to buy a new duvet, and as we were standing feeling up different togs and feathers, working our way up and down the row, I felt even older. Duvet shopping. On a Friday night. Where did it all go wrong?
I bought some cards (ooh, they do a lovely selection in John Lewis), vitamins and a new wallet. Exciting. Prematurely old? We decided to cut our losses and head to the bars. We wandered around, checking each of them out. Too trendy, too dark, too small, too many doormen, too big, too loud, too scary. We were a walking, talking Dr Seuss poem.
I stopped outside one of them in horror. ‘Retro Bar – 90’s Music’. Since when were the 90’s retro? Dispirited, we sat outside a fake Spanish tapas bar, glumly sipping our wine (me) and gin and tonic (the builder), watching the skinny, mini-skirted women teetering past on high heels, hair sprayed into submission, faces glowing with anticipation. We muttered to each other, ‘she must be freeeezing’ and ‘why don’t they put a warm jacket on?’
We finished our drinks and went home. I put the cat out, popped my slippers on and settled down for a nice night in front of the telly, the lyrics of ‘Those Were the Days My Friend’ running sadly through my mind. I think it’s time to shake things up a little…
I was sacked from my job last October for having MS, preceded by a vicious campaign of bullying and harrassment which almost drove me over the edge. At the same time, I was struggling to cope with my diagnosis and had also just been through Alemtuzumab treatment in the summer.
The day I was sacked, I went home in shock. I was at my lowest ebb. The drip-drip effect of the bullying had left me sapped of confidence, drained of energy and incapable of any positive thinking. The sacking was the culmination of a truly horrific year. How anyone can bully a person going through a diganosis of MS is beyond me and the cruelty of it still astounds me.
I decided to accept my fate and leave it at that. But then I got angry, then furious. Was I really just going to walk away? Luckily, I still had one tiny scrap of fight left in me and so began a long legal process.
I am over the moon to report that I have now won my case. The matter is settled and it is time to move on, with my dignity and pride restored.
Bullying at work can be insidious. It is not always immediately obvious. It can start insignificantly and like an abusive partner, can slowly erode your confidence, your judgement and your rational thinking. When the bullying then escalates, you feel too undermined and isolated to fight back.
Bullying someone with MS (or any other serious illness) is cowardly. The bullying may come from a position of strength, from their status in work, but it is only carried out by weak people who take delight in hurting others who are already in pain.
I have fought a long, exhausting battle and was close to giving up along the way, such was the hold these people still had over me in my mind. It’s only thanks to family, friends, fellow MSers and a fabulous lawyer that I got to this point.
If you are in the same position I was, don’t accept it. You are worth more than that. Keep notes of every incident no matter how small, every date. Surround yourself with a strong network and most importantly, realise that it is not your fault.
It’s a beautiful feeling to wake up every morning knowing I am no longer bullied. I am a worthy person and I will go on to better things. As they say, success is the best revenge.
Yes, that’s right, the fashion world has finally listened to me – flat shoes are bang on trend for 2013. Totes amazeballs or what? Crack open the Bolly, dahlings! According to Roberto Cavalli, speaking from his Milan fashion show, flat shoes are ‘cool and it’s all coming from London.’
Well, ok, I may be 150 miles from London but obviously the fashionistas have heard my anguished pleas and are taking up my cause in droves. I was far too busy to be interviewed exclusively for Vogue, but luckily, the footwear buying manager for Selfridges was quoted as saying, ‘It’s a revolution…flats are selling out across every price point.’
After MS cruelly robbed me of my high heels and sashaying walk, I have been resigned to stumbling around in flats, head no longer held high. No one was happier than me when ballet flats briefly flooded the high street, but they’re not exactly statement shoes, are they?
Over the last couple of years though, I have slowly built up a nice little collection of smart flats and casual flats, with a pair of Converse thrown in for when I want to ‘hang’ with The Teenager. He may not let me borrow his SuperDry hoodie ( trying too hard to be cool), but he’s ok with the blue Converse.
Flats to one side, what other heel-less shoes are cool? Sandals, I don’t think so. Flip-flops – have you seen someone with MS trying to walk in flip-flops? Wellies? Er, no. A fellow Tweeter suggested Doc Martin boots and I did try, but they bring back far too many tragic memories of stomping round various teenage haunts, drinking cider and black (do NOT tell The Teenager) and wearing long skirts with mirrors sewn along the hem. The stripy tights I wore with them still haunt me.
This exciting news has therefore reconfirmed our true status – where us MS’ers lead, the fash-pack follows. Of course, they are down-playing my role in this and are suggesting it’s all thanks to the Duchess of Cambridge influencing the new fashion trend, but I reckon Kate’s read my blog and has kindly championed me, bless her.
So, I am off to put together some stylish outfits, accessorised with an array of dazzling flats. I may even do that fashion-y thing of putting them in boxes and sticking Polaroids of them on the front – how divine!
Watch out world, I’ve got my sassy flats on…
I did it. I finally did it.
I have popped my internet grocery shopping cherry. What’s the big deal? Well, regular readers will know I have a love/hate relationship with supermarkets – they love me and I hate them.
A fellow blogger, Steve, possibly exasperated by my constant complaining, kindly offered to send me a £20 voucher offer for Ocado (for non-UK’ers – a very posh supermarket – far too posh for me to visit in my builder’s gear) and yesterday morning, I bit the bullet. And Scottish people never turn down twenty quid.
I got myself prepared. Large sheet of paper, pot of strong coffee and a Sharpie. Ok, jot down all the heavy stuff – cat food, squash, cat food, beans. Then the things I really need – toothbrushes, fish, yoghurt, mince. I was getting into the swing of it. It was time to sign up, log in and go wild in the virtual aisles.
My last attempt at supermarket shopping online was disastrous. I got lost. Then I lost my basket and finally I was off my trolley and I fled, demoralised, bruised and battered by the whole experience. This time round, it was a doddle. I got so carried away, my total had reached over £100 within ten minutes and I hadn’t even added the washing-up liquid.
I ruthlessly went through my trolley, chucking out the 3-for-2 ice cream, an expensive skin cream, coloured straws (no idea), 2kg of pasta and a new wok. Better. Before heading for the check-out, I had a little look through the half price offers and treated myself to some kitchen towel and baby sweetcorn.
Before you can even get to the check-out, they cleverly throw teasing offers at you, but I resisted and I was let through. All paid, delivery slot booked, done and dusted. It took twenty minutes and I was still in my dressing gown, jittery after my third cup of filter coffee.
I feel very grown up and smart. I will never set foot in a supermarket again. Whoever said MS makes you creative was right – there’s always a solution to every little niggle. I have now started a list on my fridge and was dashing back and forth all day, Sharpie in hand, adding things ready for my next shop.
I just hope that when the shopping arrives, there are no substitutes. My friend once ordered a punnet of peaches and found she had been given two tins of them in syrup instead. Not quite the same thing…