I've just finished reading about a 26 year old woman who physically attacked a stranger in front of her children, calling him 'a fucking Paki'.  How can this sort of thing still be happening?  43 years ago, my best friend who had the lovliest of parents, told me in the playground that she wasn't allowed to share her chocolate with me as her mum had told her not to share any of her food with any foreign children in case she catches germs.  I am of Greek descent, born and raised in London.  I accepted it.  If I had properly understood how awful this was,  I would have hoped that so many years later, I would not still be reading about racist attacks in the country of my birth.

Life must be lived forward but can only be understood backwards.  I love this.

Double post today.  Just read an article in the papers about a woman who stabbed and killed her husband with a pair of dressmaking scissors for refusing to help her tidy up their cottage.  Tragic and extreme I know but I do so love these stories about women pushed over the edge by a lifetime of  housework.  Think I may well be getting to the end of my quota!

Today, I am in mourning.  Just got back from the flicks and found out that Ben and Jerry's has discontinued the best ice-cream ever created, by anyone.  Chocolate Macadamia.  It has gone into their Flavor Graveyard - a delicious place for the dead (their words, not mine)!  How is this remotely possible or fair?  Still, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  I have long believed that there is a conspiracy against me amongst food  manufacturers.  They collectively think 'Hmm, Su loves this, let's discontinue it or change the recipe so that it tastes nothing like the original'.  I swear it's true!

How is it, that you can spend time with someone and not realise until you have come away from them that they spent the whole time talking about themselves and what's going on in their lives and not once, ask about you and how you are doing?  Come on you guys, ask us, it aint a character failing to be interested!

The world seems to be made up of 2 types of people.  The ones who will do what they can to lift you up and the ones who will go out of their way to constantly knock you down.  The former should be in your life and the latter should just get the fuck out.

What if the Hokey Cokey really is what it's all about?

There is something inherently wrong in our society where not only can a company charge £108 for a tea cosy (it pains me to even type this), but for it to even exist, there are actually enough people out there that will buy it and while I'm at it, why is it that a naff sofa in Argos is a naff sofa but a sofa of the same design, is a work of art when it has a designer name on it and can charge 20K?  Just asking.

I am a stay-at-home mum.  I have plenty of interests.  They do not include staying home, being domestic.  My 'to do' list is long.  Every day, I tick off, I add on.  I recently read that this list will always exist whilst we are alive and that we need to accept it.  Good point.  Question.  I don't remember my mum having this 'to do' list.  She seemed to have so much more free time than me.  She worked from home and saw her friends and shopped till she dropped, clothes not groceries in case you are thinking, boring.  Which brings me to the internet.  I was always interested in loads of stuff but now that I can look and read about it online, the world is my oyster.  I love it.  I am never at a loss about stuff that I want to look into, but has the world wide web, in giving us so much, stopped us from doing, well, nothing?

Today I attended the funeral of my father's older brother.  They came to England in '48 and '50 with nothing more than one pound sewn into their jacket linings.  They both held down three jobs. A pressing day job, an after hours pressing job and washing dishes in the evening.  No hand-outs and no help, in order to put food on the table, yet they still found the energy to dance up a storm at the Italian ballroom club at the Oval and spend time with their families.  To watch them dance was like watching people effortlessly glide through the air, a bittersweet memory.  I don't ever remember them complain that they were tired.  Rest in peace, Uncle Costa and Dad.  Together once again.

The Christmas interior magazine supplements are out.  I am not proud, I am human, I have succumbed.  I have leafed through them at the checkout queues.  My sister asked the question, 'do we really need a guide to Christmas?'.  No Sis, we bloody don't.  If I was Jesus, I'd be pretty pissed off at having my birthday hijacked in this way.  This isn't going to be the last post on Christmas by any stretch, but for now, big groan! 

Throughout my adult life, I have allowed myself to be bullied. We can call it by another name but that is what it is.  Wanting to do or not do certain things, ignoring my instincts because of what certain people will say.  Having it come back and bite me in the butt.  Always. Why should it matter or why should I care?   I am not meak but I know they will have something to say. I do not care if not everyone likes me or what I do, I just don't want to have a conversation about it.  As long as I am not hurting anyone and I am not, I don't see why I should be questioned.  Why do certain people feel the need to tell me and others what to do and why do we let them?  Is it because we are too well brought up to say 'mind your own damn business'?  I suppose I could try 'mind your own damn business......please'!

There's a certain woman's magazine that focuses on a different school in each edition and what the mothers wear on the school run.  Now, I know that none of the glossies particularly focus on working class areas but it would be nice if they now and again picked a school in, oh, I don't know, Ponders End and featured the mums there and while we're at it, they all have the most amazing jobs.  I mean, do they go to these schools and shout 'only the women with fabulous jobs need show their faces'.  I would like them to feature a woman that works in Argos in order to put food on the table.  Just for a change.   Once.  Please.

I absolutely love the internet.  I love Google.  I love YouTube.  I love the fact that any time I have a vague memory of a song I once liked, I can bring up the lyrics or watch the video.  Most scenes from films or TV shows can easily  be accessed.  I know I can't have both but is it weird that I sometimes get nostalgic about how we previously coped?  The joy we once felt when a movie we loved that we hadn't seen in ages was going to be sreened.  Listening to a song, lord knows how many times, just to figure out the lyrics.  I once played Creque Alley by The Mammas and Pappas about 20 times, patiently writing out the song though I never got it right till the internet came along .  The excitement we felt prior to the first oldies radio stations, when we heard the odd song from our pasts and we were instantly transported.  I used to go into an awful boutique in Wood Green, just to hear Everything I Own by Ken Boothe years after it had been in the charts.  We can't go back and nor should we, but in being able to access anything at any time, I wonder if we have lost that little bit of  'special' when something from our past crept up, surprised us and said 'hey, remember me?'.

Back in the early 70s, my mother bought in a tutor to teach my 12 year old brother and my 9 year old self, the Greek language for a couple of hours a week.  Quite where she found him, I'll never know.  He must have been in his 50s and seemed very nice.  He taught us together in my brothers bedroom.  He was very sweet to me and very mild mannered but he had some very strange tendencies.  He would alway end the lesson by wanting to try on my brother's DM's.  Then, he would look at him with a glint in his eye and say 'shall we wrestle?' (it sounds even crazier in Greek).  At this point, he would literally fly through the air, grabbing my brother en route and land on his bed.  My brother proceeded to beat the shit out of him (he was pretty big for his age) but the said tutor didn't seem to mind in the slightest and seemed to be positively enjoying himself.  I was completely bemused. He would then go downstairs to sit and have coffee with my mum.   I think it took me to get past a certain age to realise how strange his behaviour was.  There is a point to all this and it is that our parents were just so trusting in those days.  Mine were in no way naive but I just don't think it occured to them that someone so educated could not be completely trusted.  I also think that children nowadays are alot more aware of what constitutes normal behaviour in an adult.

There is a look amongst young women at the moment that is prevalent and you probably know which one it is.  A very fake and painted look.  Fake tan, false eyelashes, painted brows, very heavy make-up, hair extensions, tight clothes, short hemlines, fuck-me shoes, need I go on?  Because it is such a strong look, it is very easy to not notice that there are plenty of girls out there who are brave enough to sport a different look, an altogether more natural and more importantly, a more individual one.  To those girls, I salute you and I thank you for allowing me to believe that all is not lost! 

In my experience as a mother, I have come across 3 types.  The working mother who makes the stay-at-home mother feel like her brain has turned to mush by choosing to stay home.  The stay-at-home mother who makes the working mother feel less than completely caring by working.  Then there's the worst kind of mother who can fall into either category.  The one who will constantly go out of her way to make you feel like a highly inadequate mother.  To the latter.  I manage to feel inadequate in my parenting skills every single day, I really don't need any assistance thank-you very much.  I am doing perfectly well all on my own!

I've just come out of the daughter's bedroom.  Full of life.  Full of colour.  Full of character.  Isn't it funny that before you 'grow up', you spend so much time in your bedroom?  It is your escape.  Your cocoon.  Where you hang out.  With friends, with siblings and on your own.  Parents are allowed in to clean and have brief chats or talk in capital letters.  Then you grow up and your bedroom becomes somewhere you end your day in.   The only people that see it are the people that sleep in it and the children that come in to wake you from hard earned slumber. Given a choice,  I know whose bedroom I'd rather have. 

Today is a day for questions.  Why do some people seem completely incapable of paying a compliment as if doing so would be a weakness?  Why do some people never think that anything is ever their fault?  And finally.  If a radio news reader pronounces the word 'consumer' as 'conshoomer', do they really have any business being a radio or any other kind of newsreader?  Just asking.

I am a child of the 60s and I often think that my parents generation suffered alot less stress when it came to their children.  Generally they all married and had children more or less at the same time, in their early to mid-20s.  What this did was create a situation where all their friends children where more or less the same age as us.   Whenever they socialised, there was always someone of a similar age to play with.  I don't remember seeing my parents  whenever we went to any friends houses.  All the children played in one room and the adults were in another.  Doing adult stuff.  Smoking, drinking, eating and talking.  About what, I'm not sure but I'm guessing it was rarely about us.  At home, we had a beautiful walled garden.  I don't remember ever being in it.  Gardens were solitary.  Outside in the front was social.  That's were we were.  My parents saw us when we were called in.  Extra curricular stuff was rare.  Who had the time?  It would take us away from what was important.  Playing with our friends.  Having said all this, I do feel that our generation of parents are actually much closer to our children.  Could we not have both?  

A weight, whether it be 9, 10, 11 stone or whatever, feels completely different when you are working your way down to it than when you are working your way up to it.  Trust me.

If Domestic Goddess is my job description, then I am hurtling towards a written warning!

An aunt of mine recently chastised her daughter for not making her bed in the morning.  She thought people would think she was a slob when they went upstairs to use the loo and noticed the rumpled sheets.  Who on earth can see that nowadays with everyone's obsession with an additional downstairs lav?  Come on people.  How can we appreciate the impressive spaces you have created on the upper floors if we can never go up there?! 

Why do some people always want to tell you what is on their mind?  Giving you their opinion.  When you are not asking.  Thinking you could not possibly function without this precious knowledge.  Favoured response when confronted?  'I'm just saying.'  No you are not.  You are telling me how to live my life.  Now leave me the fuck alone.  Please!

Why do some people feel that it is ok to point out that I have put on weight?  Is it possible that they think I haven't noticed?  I doubt it.  They surely can't seriously think that I am walking around thinking I am a skinny minny.  Or that I never look in a mirror.  My favourite is when they make a widening gesture with their hands when they say it, though I think that is most popular in the Mediterranean.  Do they think that I am a complete dunderhead and that I don't understand words?  One day, I will hopefully have the courage to answer, 'yes I have, though I can lose it, do you think you will ever be able to lose your stupidity?'.

After a very long journey, I have officially become Ria from Butterflies.  We are very closely linked.  Like her, I have been in a strange place since, well, probably from the age of 10. I live in the suburbs.  Married with two children.  Stay-at-home mum.   I can't stand and I mean reeeeally can't stand cooking.  I am just not wired for it.  One should always know where their strengths lie and mine is very clearly, not here.  I think she once said something like 'it just seems like such alot of time and effort for something that's going to disappear very quickly'.  Ria, I hear you.  Now I just need to find me a Leonard!

Today I remembered something about the 'good old days' which wasn't so good.  In the mid 70s, when I was 15, a couple of girlfriends went out with a group of boys they knew from the year above us at school.  They went into a deserted building together where they were pinned down and sexually assaulted by the boys.  All these years later, I still find it really upsetting that they thought it was normal and acceptable behaviour in boys because they had allowed themselves to be alone with them. I don't remember that they had even considered themselves molested.   I'm glad that my daughter has grown up knowing that this is horrific and not something that shouldn't be dealt with.

Guilt - a  good or bad thing?  Most say that feeling guilty is a complete waste of time.  I say, too much of it can cripple you but surely a healthy dose of it is what stops us leading totally selfish lives and makes us consider other peoples feelings.  Won't that make us a better person and isn't that what we strive for?

Choice.  Can we have too much of it?  Definately!  For me, two things can turn me into a completely confused mess.  Mascara and products to wash hair with.  When did it all become such a minefield?  Mascara.  Having to decide it you want to lengthen, volumise, exaggerate, curl, intensify or nourish?  Can I just get one that makes them look a bit darker and not make me look  like a transvestite please?  Which brings me to hair.  There was a time when there were only three hair types.  Normal, Dry and Greasy.  The only confusion was dandruff because that could happen with any of the three.  Now, in addition to the three, (acutally, I'm not sure you can still get shampoo for greasy hair, it's probably politically incorrect), you can get shampoos for volumising, clarifying, nourishing, glossing and lord knows what else.  Hell, I remember in the early 70s, you could only buy 2 conditioners.  Vitapoint and Cream Silk.  Jeez, life was simple.  Might there be  a conspiracy going on?  If pointless decisions keep cluttering our minds, will it stop us having the time to ponder on serious issues? 

When did we become water bottle carriers (you know who you are!)?  I'm all for staying hydrated but I come from a generation where the only time we needed hydration outside of our home was on a hot day in a park where we headed for the water fountains and hoped to God that they weren't dry!  If my memory serves me well, I'm sure that the only car journeys that warranted bottles of water in the car were our European road trips.  Were we keeling over at every dehydrated opportunity?  NO!

It's that time of year again.  The annual MAJOR de-clutter.  How can it be that I am in a constant state of de-cluttering?  Surely the whole point of it is that you get to a point where there is nothing left. to throw out.  Oh yeah.  Continuing to purchase probably doesn't help.  So.  I pull out an inoffensive potato peeler and ask the husband if he uses it.  Knowing me as well as he does, he immediately knows it is heading straight to a charity shop.  I am the only spud peeler that lives here.  His argument is that my sister or brother-in-law may want to do a spot of peeling when they visit.  Note to husband.  You are going to have to do so much better than that to keep something in this house!