Moving on up and nothing can stop me

The other day I met someone I hadn't seen in ages. Our children went to school together all those eons ago. It was great to see her because she's a bit of a loony class act, and we more or less managed to stop the pedestrian traffic while we gossiped and caught up with what the kids are doing, what we are doing, what everybody we knew from those days is doing. 


Anyway, she told me her brother has entered the internet dating scene. He's pretty much the same age as me, but it seems he's seeking a younger model on the basis that someone in their early thirties (let's say) is going to look better in a bikini than an old bat either approaching or having passed the half a century mark; preferably somebody without the inconvenience of children. I can see his point. To some extent. I mean I could probably force myself to admire this hunk for more than five minutes if you strapped me down and deprived me of all other entertainment. 

True - she probably will look better in a bikini. Certainly better than me - I don't think I have worn one of those things since the Treaty of Versailles; it's not the best look for stretch marks and random wobbly and/or bobbly bits. But then she may get that clock ticking thing we women are prone to and eventually want to reproduce in her own image.

I am so glad I'm not a man! They are much more likely to get bamboozled into a secondary bunch of sproglets.Think of your pensions, lads! You thought you'd be swanning off around the world enjoying some well-earned R and R, whereas in fact you'll be having to stump up another gazillion grand to get the new batch through college. Good luck to you! 


One family is more than enough for me, ta! Twenty five years of dreaming up delicious and nutritious meals that will please everyone (Ha! yeah, right...as if) has had its toll. When the last chick gets kicked out of flies the nest, I'm going to kiss goodbye to the pernicious purveyors of domestic pipe-dreams and take all the gadgets, mixers, fancy pots and pans, food processors, melon ballers, strawberry hullers and other unidentifiable gizmos that I was fooled into thinking would a/change my life b/make me into Nigella and put them into semi-permanent storage; I shall live on salad, cake, baked beans and take aways. So if you're planning to visit, you have been warned. Bring your own egg whisk and make sure you drop into Tesco on your way here. 


Which is why I check the profiles for cooking ability... That's a definite thumbs up moment! 


A here's a prayer of thanks I thought I'd never say:

Dear Lord, Thank you for the menopause. Amen.