No Sex Please I'm Over 40

I'm wondering at what point did I stop waking up in the morning thinking 'Mmmm, sex!!' and start thinking 'Mmmm, bins?'  At what point did I stop wanting to rip all his clothes off and start telling him to put on a vest!!  Or an extra jumper.  Or a balaclava!  OK this is just my humble grumblings but I pretty sure, somewhere been giving birth and 40, somebody stole

my sex drive!  And suddenly it's all  become such a hassle. Spontaneity is just a long word.  Lust is lost.  And passion is just a type of exotic fruit. And the seeds get stuck in your teeth!

So, rather than succumbing to this Miss Jean Brodie situation, I thought I'd try and rekindle the spontaneity, lust and passion that has gradually waned over the years and try and unearth that sex kitten I one was.  Surely it's not gone forever.  Surely there's a way to put the xxxx  back into sex?  And in such situations, there really is only one place to start. 
Cosmopolitan's Top 10 Tips For An Amazing Sex Life.

1. Randy Rub-a-Dub-Dub
Before you make love, take a bath together. Prepare the bathroom 
beautifully beforehand with fluffy towels and candles. Then put two 
drops of patchouli oil, three drops of sandalwood oil, and three drops 
of lavender oil into your bathwater. 

You see the trouble with this one is that, we've got a bit of a water problem 
upstairs.  So to get a nice hot bath, you need to boil kettles and pans.  
So by the time I've done all that, the candles would have gone out and the 
oil will be floating to the top and will look like some sort of failed soup.  And 
he'll have fallen asleep in the chair by then.  Next .....

2. Pocketful of Pleasure
When he's least expecting it, tell your man you need some change. 
Then stick your hand in his pocket and start rubbing his penis through 
the fabric, pretending that you're really digging around for that coinage 
you need.

Unfortunately, I actually do need some change.  For the Tesco's trolley.  
And anyway, as he's got little legs, the pocket tends to be nearer his knees.  
Since when was knee-prodding erotic? Guess that's not going to work either.

3. Heavenly Heartbeat
To feel more connected in bed, tune into each other's heart rate. 
Lay your hand on his chest, and have him do the same. You might 
be surprised how easily you can become synchronized.  

Potentially dangerous.  You see he has mild hypertension and a slightly 
higher heart rate so I could end up out of breath without doing anything. 
I might as well do the hoovering!!!

4. Putting on the Ritz
Try re-creating that away-from-home atmosphere in your own bedroom. 
First, purge your room of any family photos or office equipment. Then 
buy sheets with the highest threads-per-inch count you can find 
which feel super silky to the touch without the cheesiness of satin. 
Invest in some thick, fluffy robes to lounge around in. And for the 
ultimate hotel-style indulgence, set up a tray of champagne and finger 
foods to savor after you make love. 

Well I recently bought a decent fitted sheet in Matalan.  And some really
 nice tea towels. Buggered if I'm buying new fluffy robes.  The egg-stained 
West Ham I bought him two Christmases ago washes up a treat.  Mind 
you, I'm not a big fan of champagne.  Last time I had one too many, I was 
so ill, I ended up in A&E.  It wasn't entirely my fault.  I think the canapes 
were off.  And all this aside, I've roaming children who have a habit of 
wandering in our room to steal towels, face wipes and money at any time
 - day or night.  I'd hate for them to stumble upon a middle aged couple,
 wrestling in a threadbare robe, covered in mini sausage rolls.  Let's move on.


5. Toy with Him
Stock up on some sex toys. Velvet-lined handcuffs can be exciting, 
and they don't hurt like the metal ones do. Silk blindfolds build a 
sense of suspense — which can be really titillating. And you can 
never go wrong with a vibrator. 

Now this sounds all well and good, but he'll need his glasses to tie any 
thing, or unlock anything.  He's got 7 pairs. Can't find any of them.  By the 
time he finds them, the blood will have probably been cut off and I'd be in 
serious danger of losing both hands.  Anyway, I'm no fan of toys.  I had a
vibrator once.  Due to lack of use, the battery leaked so I threw it away. 
The following morning it was on the pavement as some kindly fox had 
decided to drag my bin bag across the drive and scatter the contents for 
all to see.  I'm not sure what was more embarrassing.  The leaky vibrator 
or the empty family KFC bucket.

6. Bare Boogie
You don't have to have a model-perfect body to have maximum fun 
in the bedroom. Look at yourself naked in a full-length mirror for 
five minutes a day and focus on what you love about your body. 
If this feels awkward, turn on some music and dance naked with 
your mirror image. By getting used to your unique shape, you'll 
gain confidence that will naturally spill over into your sex life 
and make you twice as enticing to your guy. 

OK so I tried this.  And  you know what?  There is NOTHING I love about 
my body.  I'm grateful that's it's all there and it is in good working order, 
but there's far too much of it.  Most of it shouldn't even be there.  
Dancing naked with my mirror image would be like a night out at a disco 
with Dawn French.  And there's every chance aforementioned children 
will barge in.  Seeing their mother boogie-ing butt-naked to Saturday 
Night Fever might well see them opting for voluntary adoption!

7. Sultry Slo-Mo
To surprise him and build anticipation, try doing the same things 
you always do in the bedroom, but slow down to one-fourth of 
your normal speed. You and your guy will have time to really bond.

This will just result in one of us nodding off.  Plus I'll start noticing the 
dust on the skirting board, or the light fitting.  Mind you, I suppose I 
could finish that book .....

 

8. Finger-Food Foreplay
Have a romantic dinner without utensils so you can feed each 
other. There's something sensual about placing food in your 
partner's mouth. It's such fun — especially when you serve 
stuff that's not supposed to be eaten with your hands, like s
alads or pasta. After a meal like this, serve yourself for dessert. 

What's erotic about this?  OK, strawberries and cream but salads 
and pasta?  Shovelling handfuls of spag bol and lettuce into his 
gob does not sound like fun to me.  It's going to be messy and guess 
who'll have to clear it all up and try and get the tomato stains off the 
cream tablecloth!  Yes me!  Give it a few years, I'll probably have to 
spoon feed him anyway.  So I'll be putting that off for as long as possible!  

9. The next time you go out with your man, wear your sexiest outfit. 
Go ahead — flirt with strangers and turn some heads. Tease. 
Once you return home from your diva-date, you won't be able t
o keep your hands off each other. 

I had a bad experience flirting with a stranger.  It was at a friend's wedding 
reception. Turns out he was the groom.  Next?

10. Grab and Go
If you're turned on at an inopportune time, act on your feelings. 
Although it feels a little bit naughty, a quickie will help you stay 
faithful.  Quickies allow you to experience all of the having-an-affair 
thrill with none of the cheating. 

Not a good idea. After any physical exertion, I need to sleep.  And 
there's too much preparation to be done before bed.  He's got a selection 
of tablets and piles and I have an epic skin care regime. It's not unheard 
of that, by the time I've applied the final layers of anti ageing retinol plus 
snake serum lifting gel and the overnight hand moisturiser mitts, the alarm's 
gone off!  Plus, due to various snoring and breathing malfunctions, he 
wears a gum shield and I wear a nose strip.  It's like Joe Bugner 
trying to shag a sychronised swimmer.  

Hey ho.  I guess those bins won't put themselves out.

 

No Sex Please I'm Over 40

I'm wondering at what point did I stop waking up in the morning thinking 'Mmmm, sex!!' and start thinking 'Mmmm, bins?'  At what point did I stop wanting to rip all his clothes off and start telling him to put on a vest!!  Or an extra jumper.  Or a balaclava!  OK this is just my humble grumblings but I pretty sure, somewhere been giving birth and 40, somebody stole

my sex drive!  And suddenly it's all  become such a hassle. Spontaneity is just a long word.  Lust is lost.  And passion is just a type of exotic fruit. And the seeds get stuck in your teeth!

So, rather than succumbing to this Miss Jean Brodie situation, I thought I'd try and rekindle the spontaneity, lust and passion that has gradually waned over the years and try and unearth that sex kitten I one was.  Surely it's not gone forever.  Surely there's a way to put the xxxx  back into sex?  And in such situations, there really is only one place to start. 
Cosmopolitan's Top 10 Tips For An Amazing Sex Life.

1. Randy Rub-a-Dub-Dub
Before you make love, take a bath together. Prepare the bathroom 
beautifully beforehand with fluffy towels and candles. Then put two 
drops of patchouli oil, three drops of sandalwood oil, and three drops 
of lavender oil into your bathwater. 

You see the trouble with this one is that, we've got a bit of a water problem 
upstairs.  So to get a nice hot bath, you need to boil kettles and pans.  
So by the time I've done all that, the candles would have gone out and the 
oil will be floating to the top and will look like some sort of failed soup.  And 
he'll have fallen asleep in the chair by then.  Next .....

2. Pocketful of Pleasure
When he's least expecting it, tell your man you need some change. 
Then stick your hand in his pocket and start rubbing his penis through 
the fabric, pretending that you're really digging around for that coinage 
you need.

Unfortunately, I actually do need some change.  For the Tesco's trolley.  
And anyway, as he's got little legs, the pocket tends to be nearer his knees.  
Since when was knee-prodding erotic? Guess that's not going to work either.

3. Heavenly Heartbeat
To feel more connected in bed, tune into each other's heart rate. 
Lay your hand on his chest, and have him do the same. You might 
be surprised how easily you can become synchronized.  

Potentially dangerous.  You see he has mild hypertension and a slightly 
higher heart rate so I could end up out of breath without doing anything. 
I might as well do the hoovering!!!

4. Putting on the Ritz
Try re-creating that away-from-home atmosphere in your own bedroom. 
First, purge your room of any family photos or office equipment. Then 
buy sheets with the highest threads-per-inch count you can find 
which feel super silky to the touch without the cheesiness of satin. 
Invest in some thick, fluffy robes to lounge around in. And for the 
ultimate hotel-style indulgence, set up a tray of champagne and finger 
foods to savor after you make love. 

Well I recently bought a decent fitted sheet in Matalan.  And some really
 nice tea towels. Buggered if I'm buying new fluffy robes.  The egg-stained 
West Ham I bought him two Christmases ago washes up a treat.  Mind 
you, I'm not a big fan of champagne.  Last time I had one too many, I was 
so ill, I ended up in A&E.  It wasn't entirely my fault.  I think the canapes 
were off.  And all this aside, I've roaming children who have a habit of 
wandering in our room to steal towels, face wipes and money at any time
 - day or night.  I'd hate for them to stumble upon a middle aged couple,
 wrestling in a threadbare robe, covered in mini sausage rolls.  Let's move on.


5. Toy with Him
Stock up on some sex toys. Velvet-lined handcuffs can be exciting, 
and they don't hurt like the metal ones do. Silk blindfolds build a 
sense of suspense — which can be really titillating. And you can 
never go wrong with a vibrator. 

Now this sounds all well and good, but he'll need his glasses to tie any 
thing, or unlock anything.  He's got 7 pairs. Can't find any of them.  By the 
time he finds them, the blood will have probably been cut off and I'd be in 
serious danger of losing both hands.  Anyway, I'm no fan of toys.  I had a
vibrator once.  Due to lack of use, the battery leaked so I threw it away. 
The following morning it was on the pavement as some kindly fox had 
decided to drag my bin bag across the drive and scatter the contents for 
all to see.  I'm not sure what was more embarrassing.  The leaky vibrator 
or the empty family KFC bucket.

6. Bare Boogie
You don't have to have a model-perfect body to have maximum fun 
in the bedroom. Look at yourself naked in a full-length mirror for 
five minutes a day and focus on what you love about your body. 
If this feels awkward, turn on some music and dance naked with 
your mirror image. By getting used to your unique shape, you'll 
gain confidence that will naturally spill over into your sex life 
and make you twice as enticing to your guy. 

OK so I tried this.  And  you know what?  There is NOTHING I love about 
my body.  I'm grateful that's it's all there and it is in good working order, 
but there's far too much of it.  Most of it shouldn't even be there.  
Dancing naked with my mirror image would be like a night out at a disco 
with Dawn French.  And there's every chance aforementioned children 
will barge in.  Seeing their mother boogie-ing butt-naked to Saturday 
Night Fever might well see them opting for voluntary adoption!

7. Sultry Slo-Mo
To surprise him and build anticipation, try doing the same things 
you always do in the bedroom, but slow down to one-fourth of 
your normal speed. You and your guy will have time to really bond.

This will just result in one of us nodding off.  Plus I'll start noticing the 
dust on the skirting board, or the light fitting.  Mind you, I suppose I 
could finish that book .....

 

8. Finger-Food Foreplay
Have a romantic dinner without utensils so you can feed each 
other. There's something sensual about placing food in your 
partner's mouth. It's such fun — especially when you serve 
stuff that's not supposed to be eaten with your hands, like s
alads or pasta. After a meal like this, serve yourself for dessert. 

What's erotic about this?  OK, strawberries and cream but salads 
and pasta?  Shovelling handfuls of spag bol and lettuce into his 
gob does not sound like fun to me.  It's going to be messy and guess 
who'll have to clear it all up and try and get the tomato stains off the 
cream tablecloth!  Yes me!  Give it a few years, I'll probably have to 
spoon feed him anyway.  So I'll be putting that off for as long as possible!  

9. The next time you go out with your man, wear your sexiest outfit. 
Go ahead — flirt with strangers and turn some heads. Tease. 
Once you return home from your diva-date, you won't be able t
o keep your hands off each other. 

I had a bad experience flirting with a stranger.  It was at a friend's wedding 
reception. Turns out he was the groom.  Next?

10. Grab and Go
If you're turned on at an inopportune time, act on your feelings. 
Although it feels a little bit naughty, a quickie will help you stay 
faithful.  Quickies allow you to experience all of the having-an-affair 
thrill with none of the cheating. 

Not a good idea. After any physical exertion, I need to sleep.  And 
there's too much preparation to be done before bed.  He's got a selection 
of tablets and piles and I have an epic skin care regime. It's not unheard 
of that, by the time I've applied the final layers of anti ageing retinol plus 
snake serum lifting gel and the overnight hand moisturiser mitts, the alarm's 
gone off!  Plus, due to various snoring and breathing malfunctions, he 
wears a gum shield and I wear a nose strip.  It's like Joe Bugner 
trying to shag a sychronised swimmer.  

Hey ho.  I guess those bins won't put themselves out.

 

Flying Time, Dodgy Hairstyles, Football Shirts and Queenie

Fuck me!  It's 5 past June!  How did that happen?  4 months since I last wrote about all those things in life that just make my wrinkles a little deeper and my hair a little greyer.  For someone who lists 'writing about all those things in life that just make my wrinkles a little deeper and my hair a little greyer' as their number one hobby (aside from cougar dating websites and bothering famous people on Twitter), it's a pretty poor show.  So stand by for a moan up of epic proportions - which should take us all nicely though to October.


Bad Heir Day

Talking of hair, why is mine so crap?  I don't think, in the 40-something years I've been on this planet, have I ever looked in the mirror and thought - WOW, you're hair looks fab!  I've spent fortunes having it highlighted, tinted, permed, back combed, front combed, and chopped by allsorts of mincing crimpers.  I've paid through the nose and out my backside.  And still it's fine, flat and mousey brown.  Oh and get a bit of heat or wind on it and bingo!  I look like I'm wearing a shit brown helmet.  I could have bought a small principality with the cash I've spent trying to look like a Pantene ad. 

I suppose I should be grateful that I've got some.  Even though I do resemble a rubbish Lego woman!

Lovely hair

Me

You Will Definitely Walk Alone!

I have just mentioned to Mr H that if he takes his West Ham football shirt on holiday, I shall divorce him.  Or kill him.  Whichever is less messy.  I'm not averse to chaps supporting their teams, but nothing screams I'M FUCKING BRITISH, BURNT AND PROBABLY DRUNK abroad more than a football shirt.  It's enough that us brits fail miserably to 'blend in' abroad by wearing unflattering clothing over our scorched bodies but the sight of a fat bloke in a Man United shirt just seems to spell trouble.  It's highly likely he'll have an equally lardy lady in tow in ill-fitting faux-linen trousers and couple of unruly kids called Britney and Jordan.

I've never seen an hunky Italian on holiday in an Inter Milan shirt.  Or a sexy Senor sipping his San Miguel whilst wearing a Real Madrid top.  Nope, it's just us lot.  In our British uniform.  Eating bacon and eggs for breakfast and complaining about the weather.  So if Mr H thinks he's going to inadvertently portray me as a flabby Primark-wearing Northern doris, then quite frankly, he'll be forever blowing bubbles out of his arse!!

Not Mr H

Definitely not me.  I'm blonder.

Jubliee Schmoobilee

I'm wondering.  Did the Queen really enjoy the Jubilee?  Did she really care that Gary Barlow had been round the world just to write her a song?  Did she honestly want to spend 4 hours on a boat in the freezing cold, waving at the prolls, whilst her poor hubby was clearly busting for a pee so much that he ended up eating hospital food?  Did she really want to listen to Jessie J and Ed Sheeran?  Can't imagine they're high on one's list of latest downloads.  I bet all she really wanted to do was spend a few days on the sofa, with a couple of swan sandwiches, G&T in hand, watching The Queen on a loop.

But despite her critics, and trust me I'm no bunting-hanging, flag-waving loon, 60 years for a woman in the same job surely deserves to be celebrated. OK she's not exactly performing brain surgery, or defusing atomic weapons, but someone's got to fly round the world, collecting bouquets from eager children clearly forced into it or dining with militant heads of state prior to them nuking Greenland.  And for that she should be honoured.

What bugs me though it that suddenly, everything and everyone becomes British.  Tesco brings out a limited edition 'British' sandwich.  You can't fart for tripping over some sort of red, white and blue paraphenalia and now look at us - we're all patriotic and blubbing at Kate's lovely hat. 

But you have to admire the British spirit.  We stood in the rain, eating rain drenched sausages and watching the jazz band electrocute themselves as the water seeped into their generator.  But they played on, through scorched fingers.  No other country would.  We're unique like that.  And I'm sure, under that permanently pissed off face, she was actually rather chuffed we'd all bothered!

A typically British Sandwich



No you can't have a knighthood Mr Barlow!!

Flying Time, Dodgy Hairstyles, Football Shirts and Queenie

Fuck me!  It's 5 past June!  How did that happen?  4 months since I last wrote about all those things in life that just make my wrinkles a little deeper and my hair a little greyer.  For someone who lists 'writing about all those things in life that just make my wrinkles a little deeper and my hair a little greyer' as their number one hobby (aside from cougar dating websites and bothering famous people on Twitter), it's a pretty poor show.  So stand by for a moan up of epic proportions - which should take us all nicely though to October.


Bad Heir Day

Talking of hair, why is mine so crap?  I don't think, in the 40-something years I've been on this planet, have I ever looked in the mirror and thought - WOW, you're hair looks fab!  I've spent fortunes having it highlighted, tinted, permed, back combed, front combed, and chopped by allsorts of mincing crimpers.  I've paid through the nose and out my backside.  And still it's fine, flat and mousey brown.  Oh and get a bit of heat or wind on it and bingo!  I look like I'm wearing a shit brown helmet.  I could have bought a small principality with the cash I've spent trying to look like a Pantene ad. 

I suppose I should be grateful that I've got some.  Even though I do resemble a rubbish Lego woman!

Lovely hair

Me

You Will Definitely Walk Alone!

I have just mentioned to Mr H that if he takes his West Ham football shirt on holiday, I shall divorce him.  Or kill him.  Whichever is less messy.  I'm not averse to chaps supporting their teams, but nothing screams I'M FUCKING BRITISH, BURNT AND PROBABLY DRUNK abroad more than a football shirt.  It's enough that us brits fail miserably to 'blend in' abroad by wearing unflattering clothing over our scorched bodies but the sight of a fat bloke in a Man United shirt just seems to spell trouble.  It's highly likely he'll have an equally lardy lady in tow in ill-fitting faux-linen trousers and couple of unruly kids called Britney and Jordan.

I've never seen an hunky Italian on holiday in an Inter Milan shirt.  Or a sexy Senor sipping his San Miguel whilst wearing a Real Madrid top.  Nope, it's just us lot.  In our British uniform.  Eating bacon and eggs for breakfast and complaining about the weather.  So if Mr H thinks he's going to inadvertently portray me as a flabby Primark-wearing Northern doris, then quite frankly, he'll be forever blowing bubbles out of his arse!!

Not Mr H

Definitely not me.  I'm blonder.

Jubliee Schmoobilee

I'm wondering.  Did the Queen really enjoy the Jubilee?  Did she really care that Gary Barlow had been round the world just to write her a song?  Did she honestly want to spend 4 hours on a boat in the freezing cold, waving at the prolls, whilst her poor hubby was clearly busting for a pee so much that he ended up eating hospital food?  Did she really want to listen to Jessie J and Ed Sheeran?  Can't imagine they're high on one's list of latest downloads.  I bet all she really wanted to do was spend a few days on the sofa, with a couple of swan sandwiches, G&T in hand, watching The Queen on a loop.

But despite her critics, and trust me I'm no bunting-hanging, flag-waving loon, 60 years for a woman in the same job surely deserves to be celebrated. OK she's not exactly performing brain surgery, or defusing atomic weapons, but someone's got to fly round the world, collecting bouquets from eager children clearly forced into it or dining with militant heads of state prior to them nuking Greenland.  And for that she should be honoured.

What bugs me though it that suddenly, everything and everyone becomes British.  Tesco brings out a limited edition 'British' sandwich.  You can't fart for tripping over some sort of red, white and blue paraphenalia and now look at us - we're all patriotic and blubbing at Kate's lovely hat. 

But you have to admire the British spirit.  We stood in the rain, eating rain drenched sausages and watching the jazz band electrocute themselves as the water seeped into their generator.  But they played on, through scorched fingers.  No other country would.  We're unique like that.  And I'm sure, under that permanently pissed off face, she was actually rather chuffed we'd all bothered!

A typically British Sandwich



No you can't have a knighthood Mr Barlow!!

Things that make me go ooooooooooh

As we hurtle through 2012 - the year of that sporting event that you probably didn't get tickets to either, Liz 'n Phil's Diamond jubbly and a Euro Football thing that will probably involve Wayne Rooney breaking something, or someone, I thought I'd have another little rant about those things that made me just a little greyer than I'd planned.

CAMPING
I can't think of anything worse than going on a camping holiday. I'd rather eat Ghandi's sandals. As if having to sleep in an airless canvas coffin with your face too close to your shoes wasn't bad enough, the thought having to dash across a field for a 3am wee or not being able to plug in a hairdryer is just ruddy ludicrous. Or even worse, having to pack it up every night in order to hike to another rain-sodden field only to have to put the wretched thing up again. It brings back awful memories of Girl Guide camping trips from which I normally returned home with a bag of muddy clothes, scurvy and constipation. So far, 3 people have told me how much they're looking forward to their camping holiday this year. I've been twice. Two times too many!

Speedos
GENT. DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS. Unless you're under 12. Or Johnny Depp.

Stupid Words
Did I miss something or have a whole new bunch of ridiculous words been invented. I bought my daughter a cupcake. "Is it nice?", I asked. "Nom nom nom", she replied. What's that all about? It's not a word, it's a sound. But now, apparently, it IS a 'word' that means something 'tastes nice'. According to the Oxford Dictionary, bajillions of new words and terms, like fnarr fnarr and bloody nom nom nom, mankini and fish pedicure make up some of 400 new entries in the 2011 edition. Other stupid words that have appeared in this glittering 100th offering are 'domestic goddess', 'gastric band', 'sexting', 'red velvet cake', 'wonga' and 'textspeak'. But I guess it's inevitable. As the world evolves and events happen, then so does language. Completely unbeknown to me, a lot of everyday words are actually down to Shakespeare. Believe it or not there's at least 1,500 different words and phrases that don't appear anywhere prior to the Stratford's finest putting them on parchment. Puking', 'Advertising', 'drugged', 'torture', 'obscene', 'blood-stained', 'champion' and 'buzzer' had never been heard until the crazy bard came along. These days, new words come courtesy of today's poets - mainly kids and The Sun. But what about all those words that have been confined to the 14th Century. Why not bring them back? In fact, tomorrow, I think I'll walk into Tescos and say 'Huzzah, Wench! Prithee tell wherefore art the mead? Some lowly clapperdudgeon, nameth my betrothed, dost lie drunken hither. And can I pay with my Clubcard vouchers?'. Methinks I may end up in gaiol!

Foreign Call Centres
Seriously folks, I’m not trying to be offensive to anyone here, or any culture, in fact I love travelling and I love all foreign people (even the French) but everytime I get a little “taste” of some far away culture whilst trying to get some customer support, it just makes me want to shout at buses!

Recently I had to call a well-known banking establishment of ill-repute. For a start, I must have pushed more buttons making sure I get put through to the right department than if I was typing the complete Harry Potter series. And then I was subjected to a highly inappropriate monotone version of Rhianna's S&M for what seemed like the entire Harry Potter series. So when I finally heard the music stop and the actual ring tone begin, I almost wept.

Well, for a start, Sir, I doubt your name is Dave. Who had the bright idea that we'd be fooled into thinking it was a UK based call-centre by changing all the poor employees names. I was almost tempted to ask to be put through to Brian, or Julia, just to see what happened. But I guess it wasn't 'Dave's' fault he'd been re-christened. I've since found out that all workers in the Indian call centre industry are trained in specifically American and British accents, as it allows workers to be shifted around to serve various markets without additional training. Sadly, Dave couldn't help me. I genuinely couldn't understand what the poor fella was saying. Maybe he was new to the job, or was just trying to hang on to his own culture. But for fear of ordering a lamb vindaloo for 30 people, I thought best I hang up and send them a letter. But I don't feel too bad. Seeing as, by default, I actually pay his wages!

Things that make me go ooooooooooh

As we hurtle through 2012 - the year of that sporting event that you probably didn't get tickets to either, Liz 'n Phil's Diamond jubbly and a Euro Football thing that will probably involve Wayne Rooney breaking something, or someone, I thought I'd have another little rant about those things that made me just a little greyer than I'd planned.

CAMPING
I can't think of anything worse than going on a camping holiday. I'd rather eat Ghandi's sandals. As if having to sleep in an airless canvas coffin with your face too close to your shoes wasn't bad enough, the thought having to dash across a field for a 3am wee or not being able to plug in a hairdryer is just ruddy ludicrous. Or even worse, having to pack it up every night in order to hike to another rain-sodden field only to have to put the wretched thing up again. It brings back awful memories of Girl Guide camping trips from which I normally returned home with a bag of muddy clothes, scurvy and constipation. So far, 3 people have told me how much they're looking forward to their camping holiday this year. I've been twice. Two times too many!

Speedos
GENT. DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS. Unless you're under 12. Or Johnny Depp.

Stupid Words
Did I miss something or have a whole new bunch of ridiculous words been invented. I bought my daughter a cupcake. "Is it nice?", I asked. "Nom nom nom", she replied. What's that all about? It's not a word, it's a sound. But now, apparently, it IS a 'word' that means something 'tastes nice'. According to the Oxford Dictionary, bajillions of new words and terms, like fnarr fnarr and bloody nom nom nom, mankini and fish pedicure make up some of 400 new entries in the 2011 edition. Other stupid words that have appeared in this glittering 100th offering are 'domestic goddess', 'gastric band', 'sexting', 'red velvet cake', 'wonga' and 'textspeak'. But I guess it's inevitable. As the world evolves and events happen, then so does language. Completely unbeknown to me, a lot of everyday words are actually down to Shakespeare. Believe it or not there's at least 1,500 different words and phrases that don't appear anywhere prior to the Stratford's finest putting them on parchment. Puking', 'Advertising', 'drugged', 'torture', 'obscene', 'blood-stained', 'champion' and 'buzzer' had never been heard until the crazy bard came along. These days, new words come courtesy of today's poets - mainly kids and The Sun. But what about all those words that have been confined to the 14th Century. Why not bring them back? In fact, tomorrow, I think I'll walk into Tescos and say 'Huzzah, Wench! Prithee tell wherefore art the mead? Some lowly clapperdudgeon, nameth my betrothed, dost lie drunken hither. And can I pay with my Clubcard vouchers?'. Methinks I may end up in gaiol!

Foreign Call Centres
Seriously folks, I’m not trying to be offensive to anyone here, or any culture, in fact I love travelling and I love all foreign people (even the French) but everytime I get a little “taste” of some far away culture whilst trying to get some customer support, it just makes me want to shout at buses!

Recently I had to call a well-known banking establishment of ill-repute. For a start, I must have pushed more buttons making sure I get put through to the right department than if I was typing the complete Harry Potter series. And then I was subjected to a highly inappropriate monotone version of Rhianna's S&M for what seemed like the entire Harry Potter series. So when I finally heard the music stop and the actual ring tone begin, I almost wept.

Well, for a start, Sir, I doubt your name is Dave. Who had the bright idea that we'd be fooled into thinking it was a UK based call-centre by changing all the poor employees names. I was almost tempted to ask to be put through to Brian, or Julia, just to see what happened. But I guess it wasn't 'Dave's' fault he'd been re-christened. I've since found out that all workers in the Indian call centre industry are trained in specifically American and British accents, as it allows workers to be shifted around to serve various markets without additional training. Sadly, Dave couldn't help me. I genuinely couldn't understand what the poor fella was saying. Maybe he was new to the job, or was just trying to hang on to his own culture. But for fear of ordering a lamb vindaloo for 30 people, I thought best I hang up and send them a letter. But I don't feel too bad. Seeing as, by default, I actually pay his wages!