1 year has passed, and with it my life seems to have been catapulted into an entirely new dimension. One that is worlds away from where I was last year.

I married my best friend and he landed himself a new job, and they were the only two positive things to have happened in 2008. The rest, I concluded this time last year, was all negative, traumatic and sad, and would be filed away in the back of my mind in a box marked, ‘bollocks’ - which I would only ever open again when I felt the unusual urge to make myself suicidal or something.

2009 had to be better. It couldn’t get much worse. And though the year before had virtually erased every ounce of faith from my heart and soul I found myself beginning this, the 25th year of my life, with a weeny flicker of hope. Hope that began to glow and glow until eventually it illuminated my entire world and soaked me in a warm light of happiness.

I’ve loved almost every single second of 2009. It’s been the most positive year of my life so far and truth be told, I don’t really want it to end.

So much has altered. So many minor things and so many major things.

Of course the safe arrival of my son, Leonardo, has been a major highlight. The taste of which has been all that sweeter after sampling the bitterness of losing his brother Harry last year.

Harrisons journey from bump to butterfly was never in vain, it taught us all to love and appreciate one another so much more and it reminded us that life, for us, is all about family, friends and looking out for one another.

When we moved house at the end of 2008 we didn’t know a single soul. We’d moved to start afresh, to be a little closer to Jay’s new job and settle somewhere where the pain and memories of sadness weren’t around us every waking moment. We moved again this year, after having a small house fire a few months ago, but we’re still in the same village and our neighbours and the local community have become our friends.

We’ve met some truly wonderful people. I’m so grateful for that.

Having my book published last month is another highlight of course. It’s a dream come true. I can’t help but feel extreme satisfaction at the thought that I was able to take so many negative and traumatic experiences and turn them into something so positive. And my copy of my book now takes pride of place here on my desk in my office. Every time I catch glimpse of it I’m awash with the same kind of pride I feel when I watch my children playing.

2009 hasn’t all been rosy though, we’ve lost a number of loved ones this year. Jay has had to say a tragic farewell to both his Nanny and his Auntie, and between us we also lost an extremely valuable member of our family, our beloved dog, Mr. T.

So there are certainly more stars in the sky now and it pains us not to have them here with us, alas it is a comfort to know that there are others up there helping to take care of my baby boy in heaven.

Mr. C and I have plans to bid farewell to 2009 in style, we’re getting glammed up, consuming the last of the Crimbo booze and are off to flirt with Lady Luck at a Casino in town. How lovely it would be to begin the New Year with a little extra dosh in our sky rockets :-) I plan to let my hair down, (actually strictly speaking that’s not true, I plan on having my hair up tonight, but you know what I mean,) and will be putting my tiny fears aside for the night.

You see for a gal that doesn’t ‘do’ change, it’s gonna be a tough feat for me to let go of the past of which I tend to cling. I’m apprehensive. I know it’s only a day’s difference in the grand scheme of things and that tomorrow probably won’t feel any different to today, (though perhaps tomorrow will bring with it a hangover, as January 1st normally does,) but I’m frightened that with 2009 drawing to an end our new found happiness mightn’t last. I think I’m suffering from ‘Too good to be true’ syndrome.

Just how much happiness is a person allowed?

Ah well, Jay promises it’s only going to get better next year. And I have to believe him. He’s never let me down before.

So here’s hoping, darling friends, family and followers, that 2010 is a joyful, fun and fortune-filled year for us all!

Happy New Year all.

Here’s to the future :-)

Steph x x x

 
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Somebody has stolen my hot water. And it isn’t funny because I really want to get in the tub, I need to wash my hair before Santa comes, (Santa doesn’t bring presents to dirty girls.) 

I hadn’t intended on writing tonight, I thought I would be frantically wrapping pressies and tidying the house as is the norm for me at this time of the year. However, (and I don’t wanna count my chickens early and all that) something miraculous has happened. I seem to have Christmas and all the preparations in the bag already ;-)

I don’t know how I did it. I’ve got Steph Flu and everything. Yet despite my poorliness and despite the snow, which is still settled and glistening all over our neck of the woods, I managed to complete mission Christmas with more speed and efficiency than Anneka Rice on speed. And I’m not even wearing a shell-suit.

The pressies are sitting pretty in their newly acquired gift wrap and bows, and the kitchen now houses many a festive treat. The Fridge is full of baileys and beers, the mistletoe hung, the stockings ready, all that is missing is the main man himself. Who of course won’t be coming unless I clean my hair. I hope who ever stole my hot water returns it soon. 

Whilst I am waiting patiently for the emulsion boiler thingy to kick in, (is this right?!) I thought I’d come pay you a visit.

This is my darling son Leo’s first Christmas. Of course he knows very little of the season to be jolly, though he tends to be pretty jolly most of the time anyway, I’ve just tucked him into bed, his little face grinning from ear to ear. He likes to kick the covers off in order to watch is exasperated Mumma tuck him in over and over again. Tis a game he has become rather fond of, he giggles the entire time. Cheeky boy.

I can’t help but think of his big brother at the moment. Especially since we would have been celebrating Harry’s first birthday in 2 days time, if he had have been born on time. I only hope that wherever he is, he’s safe and happy, and that he knows how much his Mumma loves him.

That’s the thing about Christmas, it magnifies ones life and highlights the important things, the things we’ve achieved, the things we haven’t,  those we’ve loved and those we’ve lost. It’s no wonder so many people suffer at this time of year. 

I am looking at my own life in such a positive light though, I know I’ll see my baby boy again someday, but until then I’m enjoying what I do have. I can’t believe I’ve been blessed with two gorgeous, angelic children, I must have done something really good in a previous life to have them. 
 
Material presents aside I am feeling very lucky this year, even if Santa doesn’t come I reckon I’ve already got the greatest gifts I could hope to achieve and I don’t care how corny that sounds.

As well as the Crimbo decorations, and the newly acquired crystals, candles and other bits and bobs we purchased when we decorated the living room the other week, we have two new additions to the lounge. Two rather massive glass awards with Jay’s name on them ;-)

On Saturday night my extremely deserving husband was promoted from Area Sales Manager to Senior Sales Manager. And not just because he’s getting old either ;-) He’s worked his derriere off this year to ensure that the team he manages have risen above the rest and I’m so proud of him.

So proud. Couldn’t be prouder. Very happy for him. Really very happy. *But also a teeny, weeny, tiny bit jealous. :-/

Don’t be outraged. I know I sound ridiculous. I don’t mean to be jealous it’s just that, well, I’ve never won an award before. 

Seriously 26 years on this planet and the closest thing I’ve ever got to an award was the little medal that they give out to everyone that takes part in the Race For Life.

My chosen occupation can be very lonely. It’s just me and my laptop, and my laptop never tells me when I’ve written something good, (though is very quick to put a red squiggly line under any mistakes I might make!) so you see? No team work, no Christmas Do’s in lavish hotels and no awards ceremony. 

As much as I love writing I can’t help but be green with envy. (or is that dirt?! Oh where the hell is my hot water?!!)

Sunday morning,  whilst I was feeling incredibly fragile owing to the Steph Flu and also the amount of alcohol consumed on Saturday night, Jay returned from his 5 star Christmas Do and proudly displayed the awards he’d won, and I smiled and cried at the same time.

I told him how very proud and very jealous I was and explained to him how I longed to be presented with an award of my own. 

And the moment that succeeded this was one I shall never erase from my heart.

Footsteps tinkered down the hall and rustling could be heard in my bedroom before my little princess returned to the living room and instructed me to close my eyes. 

Obligingly I held out my hands and closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I found myself presented with my famous red heels. The same pair I wore in the photo for the front cover of my book.

Tears in my eyes I glanced back to my sweet daughter, her face lit with excitement. And watched in awe as she started to clap her little hands. 

‘To you Mummy,’ she said in her little high-pitched voice, ‘your award for being the best Mummy and Writer in the world.’

And my heart melted then and there.

Okay so I’ve not quite conquered all in my world. I’m not yet the greatest writer on earth (a girl can dream though,) and I’m not yet worthy of an award of my very own, but I am, in the big blue eyes of my offspring, the bestest Mummy. And who could ask for more than that?!

Merry Christmas and love to all!

Steph x

 
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Punctuality has never really been my thing. And it is with shame that I make that statement. Alas even with the greatest of intentions and all the will in the world I never have been able to perfect my time-keeping skills. Tis a flaw that gets me into trouble time and time again. No pun intended ;-)

I therefore have refrained from sending a very stroppy email to the North Pole today, for I fear it is my tardiness that is to blame for the absence of one of the pressies on my list to Saint Nick.

Perhaps if I’d returned my list sooner he might have had time to make the necessary negotiations with the Weather Man. To ensure that the snow did not fall upon our little village last night as I’d specifically requested. Alas I guess once again I was too late.  

I know I did state that I didn’t want a white ‘Christmas’. And I am also aware that ‘Christmas’ isn’t actually until next week. Yet I assume that Father C knew what I meant, he is magical after-all, and he should know that as a woman I am fully within my rights to say one thing and mean another.

Ah well, I have been a very good girl this year, so hopefully all the other stuff on my list will appear :-)

Generally speaking 6:30am and I do not meet very often. Unless I am still awake from the night before, or am going on holiday or something. Well last night I went to bed at a reasonable hour and did not have plans for holidaying today, so you can imagine my surprise when I found myself wide awake and face-to-face with the digits ‘6:30’am flashing furiously on my phone.

‘It’s snowed!’ Jay whispered. ’Come and see!’

And as though I might have doubted him had I not witnessed for myself, my excited husband led me by the hand, down the hall and into the living room where we stood surveying the snow-covered, bright white street.

Michael McIntyre (my fave comedian of all time,) makes a little joke in one of his stand-up gigs that a man should never ever wake his wife on her day off unless it has snowed or a celebrity has died. And Jay seems to take this rule very seriously indeed. He never normally wakes me when I’m due a lay-in. This morning though I’m so glad he did. Because it was absolutely beautiful.

Together we padded through the house hand in hand, viewing the picture-postcard scenes from every possible angle of the comfort of our warm house. We checked the drive. Beautiful. We gasped at the garden. Even more beautiful. We tiptoed into Lori’s bedroom for a glimpse of the front garden. Again very beautiful.

And eventually, once we’d decided that yes, the snow had made everything indeed beautiful we climbed back into bed and whispered excitedly until we’d nodded back off to sleep.

Of course snow is all well and good when one has nowhere in particular to be. So today Santa, the Weather Man, Mother Nature and Climate Change can all be forgiven for granting us with a winter wonderland in Wymington, yet I’m slightly nervous that should the snow continue to fall my rellies might be a tad disappointed when they tear open the wrapping paper I have already purchased and find a pressie of Sweet F.A inside.

Because *Shock, horror* I haven’t yet finished my Christmas Shopping. And if the snow continues all the shops will shut, I won’t be able to drive (I can barely drive in fine weather, let alone snow) and the presents I intend on buying next week will remain on the shelves til next year.

Now I’m thinking I should have added ‘punctuality’ and ‘better organisational skills’ to my Christmas list this year, cos right now both are looking more useful than the sable. :-/

Steph x
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Santa Baby, 

Just slip a sable, (whatever that might be) under the tree, for me. 

I’ve been an awfully good girl. Especially if you ignore the incident that took place a few days ago.

I didn’t mean to throw my middle finger in the air. And I have no idea how that terribly offensive word flew out of my mouth at such volume. Honestly I never normally use such language. Least of all in public. But you see it was raining, and I was drenched. And that car plunged directly into a puddle of about 10 inches in depth causing an almighty tidal wave to come crashing down on me in my new coat and well . . . He sort of deserved what I accidentally called him. 

I know by now you must have made your list and checked it twice so you probably already know who’s naughty and nice. Hopefully the fact that I was punished for the aforementioned outburst, by a major dose of embarrassment as I had to stand in the playground amongst the Mums that had witnessed the scene and now are probably under the impression that I am a tourettes sufferer or something, will mean that the episode of naughtiness is well and truly behind us and you can put me back on the nice list?

 

I promise not to let it happen again. Just this afternoon, for example, I broke the heel on my beautiful boots whilst tottering around Asda and I barely muttered the ‘f’ word under my breath. So there’s a start?!

The thing is Santa Baby, I know bad language is probably frowned upon by you and your Elves, but it can be very therapeutic. And sometimes quite necessary. So I sincerely hope you still come down the Chimney to bring me my presents this year.

So anyway, back to my list. As well as the sable, might I also have a higher metabolism this year too? I’ve heard they are quite necessary for those of us who wish to have the body of a supermodel whilst still indulging in the yummy foods that are compulsory to scoff over the Christmas period? I will of course start my diet on New Years Day, (as I do every year) and will of course be more dedicated this year than any other, (as I am every year) - it’s just that the metabolism might help for the next few weeks. (I fully intend on testing the mince pies for you, you see, before we leave them out on Crimbo Eve.)

Santa Baby . . . I know everyone else is dreaming of a white Christmas, but I’d appreciate it if you could save the snow for the North Pole, cause it’s kinda cold enough this year. Numb fingers and faces all aglow may sound idyllic in carols, but they’re rather unattractive in real life. If my face really must be all aglowing could you ensure it is doing so with Benefit High Beam and Saint Tropez fake tan instead? Thank you. :-)

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a phone. I’ve spilt Diet Coke all over my one and no amount of resuscitating, disassembling and drying in the airing cupboard will bring it back to life this time. I promise in the future to not put opened bottles in my handbag.

Also, Santa Baby, I know it’s not very politically correct these days, but I wondered if you might send me a servant? Or a slave? I’m not fussy :-) It’s just that I don’t want to waste valuable time doing washing and cleaning and bed-making and stuff.  I don’t mind if my slave is human or robotic or anything really, however this request is of utmost importance so please sprinkle a little extra speed dust, (not drugs, of course, but the stuff you use for your sleigh) in order to deliver this present without delay :-)

Now I’d like you to take a moment to think, if you would, of all the fun I’ve missed. Think of all the fella’s that I haven’t kissed . . . ? Next year I could be just as good if you check out my Christmas list?

So Santa Baby, that’s my list and really it’s not a lot. I’ve been an angel all year, Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney on the 24th.

Love Steph x x x

 
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  I suspect that some of you may have found yourselves accidentally seduced into reading this post solely on the temptations of the rather suggestive title . . .  Tut, Tut. How naughty you are ;-) But just to clarify . . . Who dear? Me dear? Explicit dear? No dear! What kinda gal do you take me for? Lol

 

But seriously, I’m sorry if I’ve lured you in under false hopes. But I really couldn’t think of a more appropriate title for what I am about to disclose.

 

So please do take heed and only read on if you are a fully fledged member of Adulthood. For this post could shatter dreams and cause heartache everywhere if it were to fall upon the eyes of the innocent. And I seriously don’t want to be responsible for that.

 

I am already carrying the increasing weight of a ton of guilt. And each and every time I look into those big blue eyes of hers another ounce is added to the load. She wants to talk about it all the time now that Christmas is fast approaching. And I feel awful for keeping up the pretence of an entire tale of complete fabrication. Honestly I don’t know how I can sleep at night.

 

It’s been five years already. And once a year, as the day draws closer I find myself obliged to tell lie after lie after lie. And as my Nan says, ‘what a web we do weave, when at first we choose to deceive.’

 

The web of lies surrounding this time of year, or one specific night to be exact, is becoming more and more tangled. And I wonder how I’ll ever be able to get myself out of it when the time comes. The dreaded time when I am expected to confirm the suspicions of a child growing more cynical with age. When she asks me outright and I have to confess that A. He isn’t real. And B. Her Mummy is a liar.

 

You see, I know all parents are expected to say stuff like this, but she really is a bright little girl. She’s intelligent beyond her years and for this reason alone she has earnt my respect. I don’t like to lie to her. I like to answer her questions with honesty. And so my Lorelei looks to her Mummy for guidance. For facts. For love and comfort. And for the truth.

 

And I wonder whether she’ll ever be able to trust me again when the truth comes out?

 

It broke my heart the day that I discovered the truth behind the web of lies woven by the adults around me when I was a kid. I remember it distinctly.

 

Mum was in the tub. I sat with her on the toilet seat, as I always did, swinging my legs and chatting away happily. It was the beginning of December and my 8th Christmas was fast approaching.

 

I’d heard the rumours already. From the more sophisticated and worldy members of my class at school.  But I didn’t want to believe them. In fact I concluded that they would be the unlucky kids, crossed off the list for disbelief and punished with empty stockings and uneaten mince pies. But just to be really sure, I went to the one person I knew I could trust to tell me straight. And so slowly I sought the truth. With my heart pumping and a heavy weight in my tummy.

 

‘Mummy, is it true that Father Christmas isn’t real?’ I spoke.

And several slow moments later my response came in the form of a guilt-ridden nod.

 

At that point in time I found myself forced to question all the characters in my life that I had never seen but always believed to be there. The Easter Bunny. Jack Frost. The Tooth Fairy. And one-by-one those characters that I’d based my foundations and life philosophy upon faded into oblivion.

 

I am all too aware that one day my children are going to know that their Mummy was actually the bearer of a lot of bullshit over the years. And I hope they can forgive me.

 

Yesterday Jay and I took the kids to ‘Gullivers’ theme park in Milton Keynes. We had a fabulous time, the park was great. Although I am thinking that perhaps ‘Gullible’s’ might be a more appropriate name.  For tearing around in the cool winter sun was a million little gullibles, completely oblivious to the fact that they are so obviously being mugged off by their own ‘rents.

 

  We ate doughnuts, (the kind that cannot be recreated by ever the best bakers, the kind that you can only get from fairs and stuff.) We drank Hot Chocolate. We watched shows. Rode on carousals. Sang Christmas carols underneath the softly falling (pretend) snow and walked through a winter wonderland on route to see the big man himself.

 

Lorelei sat next to him, old Saint Nick, and on her best behaviour and displaying her very best manners she politely introduced herself, humbly asked him for the things she so desperately hopes to receive on Christmas morning, (a Baby Alive, a Nintendo Wii . . . ) wished him a Merry Christmas and waved goodbye, (explaining her hopes to meet with him again on Christmas Eve.)

 

The way her little face lit up when she saw him. I doubt I’ll ever be able to confess now.

 

You see the thing is I actually find myself going out of my way to keep up the whole pretence. It is not enough for my children to merely believe, oh no, I have to go the whole hog to prove he’s real. He eats the mince pies and drinks the beer, for example. Sometimes he even leaves muddy boot prints on the carpet. And Rudolph munches the carrot we leave for him too.

 

Though I must confess that whilst Santa is amazing, he never brings Lori the bigger presents on her list. They always come from Mummy and Daddy, (obviously can’t let him take all the credit!)

 

The thing is I believe that imagination feeds the soul. Without imagination I for one, would find life a little crappy. So at the expense of being known to my kids as a bullshitter I am continuing to try my utmost to create magical childhood memories for my little cherubs.

 

And for all the lies told, the stories made-up, the ‘ooohing’ and ‘ahhing’ and ‘look who’s been?!’ it’s totally worth it just for the precious expression of amazement on her face when she rises on Christmas Morn.

 

Your turn now! :-) Can you remember the moment when you discovered? Do you play it up for your own offspring?

 

Let us all repent our sins together :-)

 

Steph x

 
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I’d like to dedicate todays blog entry to a dear friend of mine. A loyal, inspiring and beautiful friend. A friend whom provided company at all hours. A friend who listened intently, who amused and entertained and asked for little more than a few flakes in return. I found her this morning. Her body lifeless, her eyes glistening. My heart sunk.

And so it is with great sorrow that I bid farewell to my dear friend, ‘Goldy.’ May she float in peace in fishy heaven.

We had quite a bit in common, Goldy and I. Aside from the big eyes and same astrological star-sign, (Pisces, of course,) I think we both know, (or knew in her case,) what it feels like to be a little fish in a big pond. (Actually I doubt Goldy knew this feeling at all, since she spent her entire life in her tank on my desk . . . But you know what I mean.)

Yep, this is where I am right now. Trying to navigate my way through an enormous pond, without any flippers.

I love the freedom of writing. It’s like running around naked in the glorious sunshine, (I realise I refer to nudity quite a bit these days, will try to tone it down a bit, so as not to scare anyone.) I love the freedom of writing. It’s like running around with shoes and clothes on in the glorious sunshine.

I can go wherever I like. I can spin around in circles if I so wish. I can feel the warmth on my bare skin (or clothed skin, whichever you prefer,) and I can inhale deeply and let any scent or sensation soak into me whenever I like. 

Yet when my words gel together and create something a little more tangible, like my book, for instance, I suddenly find myself at the waters edge, obliged to jump straight in to the depths of the unknown.

So far I have dipped my toes in a bit. I’ve wiggled them around, felt the temperature and shivered a tad and now I’m stopping, to fill my lungs with the necessary air and to put my goggles on, (only joking, I don’t really ‘do’ goggles.)

And off I go, diving into the minefield of the public relations and promotions industries. (And trying not to drown on the way.)

Just a little fishy, in such an enormous pond. ;-)

Tis my dream to have my book recognised by more and more people, to reach out, share my experiences, amuse, entertain . . .  To make a success of myself, my writing, my passion. Yet I am all too aware that I’m gonna have to make a bit of a splash if I’m to be noticed here, amongst the bigger fish . . . 

Alas water is my favourite element, and what would life be without challenges huh?

So that, ladies and gents is my next mission. ;-)

Any advice, suggestions or oxygen would be gratefully received! In the meantime though you can help keep me afloat by following me on Twitter? Or telling everyone you know about my book? Or simply sending a little love (and some flippers!)

Follow me—www.twitter.com/slc84 ~ or just subscribe to my blog :-)

Love to all,

Steph x

 
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Ta Daaaa! :-D 25/11/2009
 
Speaking of nudity . . .

If there ever was a perfect moment in time to strip down to nothing but my red heels, a splash of Chanel No. 5 and a big soppy grin, to climb on the roof of my house and wave and scream like a lunatic - now would be that moment.

Alas it is a ridiculously windy and very cold evening, and I'm kinda afraid of heights, so I'm thinking it wouldn't be particularly smart to seize this specific moment. :-/

Instead I'm going to ask you, gorgeous, gorgeous people, to visualize, if you will, (and while you're at it could you please imagine me skinnier?!)

Why? You might ask, do I want to scream naked from a roof-top? Because . . .  (can I get a drum-roll here please . . . ? lol) my book is officially on sale and I couldn't think of a better way to tell you!

So here I am, smiling the soppiest of smiles, waving my freshly manicured hands (remember we're imagining here) in the air as I announce - My Book is on sale right NOW!!!

Would you like a sneaky peek? Of course you do! Well . . . Here ya go!

I sincerely hope you enjoy it. I'm so nervous, yet so excited!
If you do like it, might I humbly request you spread the love around? I'd be eternally grateful!

I'm gonna be back to my regular blogging self in a few weeks time, have missed it so! But until then, happy reading and major love to all!

(A very excited!) Steph x





 
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  As much as I’d love to participate in a little time-travel and visit centuries and decades of past, I am a very proud member of what I like to call, ‘The Naked Generation.’

 

I’m not a naturist, (though I once accidentally stumbled upon a nudist beach in Corfu and nearly choked on my Pina Colada when the old man I had been chatting to leapt up for a swim and presented me with an up-close and personal introduction of his own, erm, ‘Pina Colada.’) - Yet I am in total awe of my fellow brave Brits for stripping down and getting nudey-dudey at any given opportunity these days.

 

I’m not quite sure why we have all been persuaded to get our kit off and flash more flesh than a  Playboy magazine, but I do find it thrilling all the same. Which is why, when the suggestion first arose, that I should pose in little more than my gorgeous red heels behind the modesty-preserving sanctuary of a, (thankfully large) globe, for the front cover of my new book, I didn’t really hesitate.

 

After all baring ones skin is easy, once you get over the initial fear.

 

Yet as I present you with this, my beloved book, I feel so very vulnerable and exposed. For I might be baring my skin on the cover, yet between the pages I bare my heart and soul.

 

And that, ladies and gents, is a very scary thought.

 

Alas nerves and anxiety aside it is the excitement that I’m focusing on today. Excitement that the gift I’ve been working my bottom off to create for you, is finally ready.

 

I’ve wrapped it up, tied a big bow on top and am now humbly offering you lovely, lovely people, my heart and soul (and other bits and bobs) as I proudly announce that the Ebook version of, ‘Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world,’ is available to download, right now. :-)

 

It will set you back a mere £5.00 and the download is virtually instant. The content is exactly the same as that contained within the pages of the paperback version, only you won’t have to wait for delivery or pay for packaging or anything like that.

 

You can download the Ebook now from my online store on my brand new (very ‘grown-up’, even if I do say so myself,) website!

 

And if you have been blessed with the virtue of patience, the paperback and hardback books will be available to order in December :-)

 

I’m also working on an audio version of my book, for all those who would rather listen than read—I’ll have it ready to rock’n’roll by the end of next week!

 

So there you have it guys and gals, I seriously hope you enjoy having a read, let me know what you think, (though please do not be too critical, as I am very fragile today and likely to bawl my eyes out! Lol)

 

Love to all!

 

Steph x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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Et Voila! 22/09/2009
 


September has seen us all glued to our sofa’s courtesy of Magician Derren Brown. And with all this magic going on in the world you could be forgiven for thinking my recent absence from my beloved blog is a bit of a disappearing act.

 

Alas I do not own a disappearing cloak, I’ve not been banished to another world, nor am I sitting in a hat with my bunny friends. Indeed I am still very much here, (at least I was last time I checked,) - only you can’t see me, because I’m hiding behind my laptop.

 

AbracadabraAlakazam! See! Here I am!

 

I hope you haven’t forgotten me? (I’m the girl that visits your inbox from time to time with tales of amusement, humour, occasional sadness and virtually every embarrassing, emotional or just plain ridiculous incident ever to have taken place in my life thus far . . . ) And I really hope you haven’t forgotten me because I’ve been busy making you a present.

 

The last few weeks I’ve had my nose stuck well and truly in a book. And not just any old book. My book. My book for you. And I really hope you like it!

 

It’s going to print in November, so I haven’t got long, (and we all know I’m not great at multi-tasking, which is why I haven’t paid you the attention you deserve of late,) -it’ll be ready just in time for Crimbo—and I am so excited it’s untrue!

 

I’d love for you to contribute too! The book shares its title with my blog, ‘Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world . . . ’  and if you’d like to, you can nominate your favourite shoes to feature in the book.

 

So take a snap of your perfectly pedicured footsies sitting pretty in your favourite pair of world-conquering shoes, (it doesn’t matter what kind they are, tis entirely up to you!) and forward me the pic, alongside your name and email addy.

 

Sending the photo to me means you’ll be giving your permission for the snap to be published so please don’t send if you’re not happy about this, (though why you would want to deprive your shoes of the fame and attention they deserve is beyond me! Lol)

 

Please send them to me as soon as you can!

 

In the meantime I’ll be here, working my bottom off, in order to create you the best Christmas present you can give yourself :-) I promise!

 

Missing you lots!

 

Love to all!

 

Steph x

 
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Round Two. Fight!




After declaring it officially 1-0 to us ladies in my last blog I was forced to consider one or two small incidents that might just sway my 'Men V's Women' argument a little.




I hate admitting I'm wrong, (it's very rare, because I'm normally always right of course,) so I'm not wrong, but just this once, just on this occasion, I am going to sort of, half admit that I might have been a little . . . unfair.




Not many men read my blog, maybe just 2% of all readers are male, (my Daddy and my Husband make up this entire percentage i reckon.) And whilst I do not like to be wrong, or lose at things or admit defeat in a battle such as this, I do believe in justice and have kinda concluded that this fight probably isn't all that fair with only one party present. Thus I have decided to review the matter accordingly . . .




When Jay read my last blog he laughed a little, rolled his eyes to heaven and then said, 'God you are such a suffragette.' - and then had to explain to me exactly what a suffragette was because I'm ashamed to say I didn't know, and he then proceeded to gently remind me of the events of that day for the both of us.




So firstly let me take you on a little journey through my life on the day that I wrote the last blog.




I awoke. Did very little. Pottered about a bit. Looked at the washing. Decided to do it later. Half-heartedly wiped the kitchen sides down in a bid to clean up and then answered the door to the ASDA delivery boy. Mum had very kindly offered to order us 'a few bits,' (because I'd accidentally spent most of our money by persuading a very tipsy and therefore vulnerable Jay to buys lots of drinks in London on Tuesday night, and then persuaded a very hungover and therefore vulnerable Jay to buy us a huge Maccy D's the day after. And the two of us kinda prioritised booze and junk food over shopping. Whoops. Told you I was crap with money.)




As I began to unpack my goodies I noticed something rather peculiar. The shopping, much like Noah's animals, was coming in two-by-two. Hurrah! Baffled and strangely excited by the wonders of such a cock-up I continued to unpack. 2 sacks of potatoes. 4 packets of nappies. 2 enormous bags of dog biscuits. 12 pints of milk. 4 loaves of bread. 96 Weetabix. 'Why on earth would Mum buy us 96 bloody Weetabix?' I thought, 'What does she think I am?! Some kind of wheat junkie?!'




I scrambled about for the receipt to ensure the cock-up had been the fault of Mr. ASDA and not my Mumma's and sure enough the extra items had not been charged for. (So I ought to take this opportunity to thank both my Mum and Mr. ASDA for my now being the in possession of 48 loo rolls, amongst other things. Thank you kindly, I shall recreate the feeding of the five thousand at my gaff pronto!)




Now the trouble with us women is that we can become irrational about the strangest of things and my mammoth grocery supply was enough to leave me irrationally thrilled to bits. And so thrilled was I that I forgot to shut my top kitchen cupboards and i enthusiastically leapt around the kitchen finding new homes for all my stuff when I accidentally ran straight into the corner of one of the cupboards and smacked my head with such almighty force that I fell backwards and landed in a dazed and confused heap on the kitchen floor next to the bin.




My god did it hurt. If I'd been animated little birds and stars and stuff would have been circling my head and a bump the size of a banana would have formed. Instead I was sick on my trousers and my head was bleeding a little :-( It hurt too much to cry, or swear. Instead I settled for staying put and reaching for the phone to call my man. (That's the other thing about us girlies. It doesn't matter how tough we are, when we're hurt or when we're really sad there's nothing quite as soothing as a nice masculine shoulder to cry on.)




In contrast, please allow me to take you on the journey that my husband had had that very same day.




Jay had been on his way to work that morning, (probably singing along to West Life songs I imagine, such is his peculiar taste in music,) when he noticed a nasty accident up ahead. A car lay almost upside down in a ditch at the side of the road, the engine hissing furiously. Lot's of people we're nearby. Some redirecting the traffic, others gawping in horror, some just lapping up the drama of the scenario, but nobody had checked on the passengers inside the upside-down car, until Captain Jay arrived in his cape. (Just to clarify, he wasn't really wearing a cape, he may listen to West Life but he's not completely camp!) Jay pulled up and ran to the car where he prised the door open and managed to single-handedly rescue a terrified woman and her shaking baby from the vehicle.




In my head he emerged through a cloud of smoke, his shirt torn, his muscles bulging, cradling the angelic baby in his arms. The crowds erupts into grateful and amazed applause and cheers before the car explodes into a giant ball of flames.




Alas since this is Britain, (and we're all so reserved,) and cars don't really explode the way they do in the movies, I don't think it happened quite like that. And being the modern-day hero he is Jay simply put his cape in the boot and continued his journey to work.




Later that afternoon he received a telephone call from another damsel in distress. Only this muppet was less Hollywood starlet, more Womble laying in a heap on the kitchen floor. Still Captain Jay returned from his heroics, rescued said Womble, cooked a scrummy tea of sausages, mash and peas and nursed the womble and her sore head with lots of love, kisses and chocolate.




Whoever it is sitting up there in the rulers chair, (most probably male) must have read my blog and decided to teach me a lesson, and so though it pains me to say it, i think the score is probably by now pretty much even.



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