Rolling in the Deep....

After much observation in both men of women alike, it has occurred to me that people in general, like to be seen as deep.  One of the quickest ways of appearing deep is to say, "or is it?" after somebody else has said something. Or is it? You can get a similar effect simply by transposing the key elements in any sentence. For example, when someone says, "Women are the power in the home", you could immediately reply with, "Yes, but home is the power in the woman".  Just make sure there isn't anyone even deeper in range who might just chip in with, "I think you'll find that power is the home of women" ~_~


Humans, like fish, get more unpleasant looking the deeper they get. If you're going to be deep, don't wear bright colours. Deep people, I've noticed, always wear black to signify their great undiscovered depths. Sequins, on the other hand, have the opposite effect!


Including foreign phrases in your conversation is a 'sine qua non' of  being deep, preferably phrases nobody's ever heard of :p You won't get away with 'Frère Jacques, dormez-vous?' in all but the most shallowest of company.


Bitter hollow laughs are great for added depth. After someone says something completely innocuous, such as "they're bound to have Hoover bags in the corner shop", a bitter hollow laugh will show that you know through long and bitter experience that life isn't that simple - you're deep!! Even if you're proved wrong, you can retrieve the situation by saying, "Yes, but is there a shop in the bag?" or "Plus ça change, plus ça Hoover bag". Neither of which makes any sense at all, but if you're wearing black, people will assume you've found meaning at a much deeper level than they can penetrate.


Another excellent way of showing how complex and brainy you are, is by answering any question with the phrase, "It depends on what you mean by that". Don't use this too much though, otherwise someone might turn around and say, "What do you mean by meaning?" Which then would've meant that you have subjected yourself to a battle with the other person whereby you try to 'out-deep' each other. You'll then be at such depth that your head might implode with the pressure. 


A vital accessory for deep people is a difficult book, preferably by a Russian author specialising in poverty, misery and death. It's best to buy this book second hand if you can, so even if you don't get past page 2, it will still look as though you're reading it for the 5th time for hidden depths.


It's equally vital to steer clear of any ball games if you want to appear deep... Juggling, bouncing, heading and dribbling are completely contrary to cool pensiveness. The other enemy of depth, and those that live at that level is the word 'bollocks'. You can't change the word round, it doesn't translate, and even, "or is it?" invites the final authoritative answer, "Yes, it is."

Man was made at the end of the week's work, when God was tired.

Research has shown that a third of one's life is spent asleep. Another third is spent feeling like it would be nice to go back to bed. The final third is spent hoping that it will soon be time to go to bed. Feeling tired is like being up and about but still having your brain under the duvet. People who do the least get the most tired. Teenagers often have to go back to bed to cope with the exhaustion brought on by the trauma of getting up. When you're really tired, even the thought of doing something is exhausting. In fact, doing something is generally less tiring than thinking about doing something. 

Smiling is supposed to be good for you because it exercises many of the facial muscles. On the other hand, trying to keep your eyes open when you're exhausted uses every single one of the facial muscles, which is why it's impossible to smile at the same time. No surprise then that the first casualty of tiredness is charm. There's no such thing as an insomniac charmer. As you get more and more tired, you can't say anything charming, then you can't say anything interesting, then anything nice, followed by anything intelligible, and finally anything at all because if you moved your mouth your eyes would close.

There is a phrase which says that when you're tired of London you're tired of life. This explains why people on the underground generally look suicidal. There's another phrase,'Tired of Swindon, get a life', but that's slightly different. They also say 'early to bed, early to rise, makes you healthy, wealthy and wise' - hence the national glut of rich philosopher-milkmen. A better phrase would be the complete opposite: 'late to bed, late to rise, makes you unhealthy, poor and stupid'. It won't be long before beds carry a government health warning- 'Sleeping in Kills'. A nasty condition some people suffer from is when you get too tired to sleep. This is where the whole business of putting your head on the pillow and falling asleep is just too much effort to go through with. Equally nasty is feeling tired when you get up in the morning. This is like feeling dirty when you get out of the shower: you feel well and truly cheated. Some people can catnap for ten minutes and then carry on as fresh as a daisy. For most normal people, having a nap is like a tiredness enhancer. You get fleeting pleasure from falling asleep, but then you wake up three hours later with a hangover, cramp, dry mouth, dead leg, gummy eye, leaving your partner there, wondering if you're dead.

There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable...

So I'm just sat there, staring at her. She looks nothing like me, but I know for a fact that she's mine, because I spent a seething 30 hours in excruciating pain giving birth to her. My eyes turn to her little legs, then her feet. Such adorable little feet! Wait.... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... Oh my goodness my baby only has 5 toes! I'm in hysterics, I panic, beads of sweat begin to weep its way to the surface of my nose. My heart is racing, thoughts of the soul destroying bullying that she could be subjected to one day raced through my mind. What sort of vegan man shoes would she have no choice but to wear? How is she going to squeeze all those toes into any beautiful, hand-crafted, Italian leather heels?! Then all of a sudden, it came to me. Having 5 toes is normal. Anything more or less than the amount she has, isn't. God, I must be the most brainless fool to be put on this earth. I blame the baby. I firmly stand by the common belief that giving birth makes you slightly hare-brained. 


What if she doesn't look like me? Big deal. She has my fiery temperament, my determination to get what I want, my demanding ways, my audaciousness, my charming personality (Ha. Ha). I love her all the same, she's mine after all, despite looking as if my husband could've asexually produced her himself. 


I actually have the most offensive looking patch of eczema behind my ear. It's sort of angry looking, flaky, and weepy at times. I'm not quite sure what to do with it, it's just sort of there, and it makes damn well sure that I'm aware of its existence. You know when you have this itch that you're dying to scratch, but you know that you shouldn't, but when you do, you feel so bad about it, but it feels so euphorically pleasing? That, but applied in another predicament, is how I'm feeling about desserts right now. The husband and I have this thing where we simply have to  have a dessert to end the night after the baby has gone to sleep. By contrast, it's like our peace (or piece, excuse the pun) of heaven after the hectic day of hell. I simply have to refrain from doing so now, as I'm trying to shed some weight, but when I do give in to guilty pleasures, I'm wracked with guilt, and it undoubtedly ruins the rest of the evening for me. Defeats the object of our "peace of heaven". Shame really, as my Matcha powder arrived today - whoopeee! Later on, I'm going to make green tea cupcakes and perhaps just, "not eat them" *sniggers*

Eventful weekend? Nah....

So this is my first post... gosh... am I actually blogging now? Saturday morning came, and like clockwork, my body woke itself at 7.30. I lay still, listening to the sound of the humidifier puffing out a constant stream of vapour. I close my eyes, but I'm awake. I savour the moment of this tranquil bliss... The husband is still snoring next to me. His deep nasal noises resound in my head, with each breath, his snores are louder than the last. The baby is sleeping width-ways in her cotbed, with a foot sticking out between the bars. I hear shuffling. It's the baby. In what felt like a micro second, she stood bolt upright in her bed, eyes still closed, bear in mouth. She raised her little arm and pointed towards my side of the room and said, "ma ma". That, was the beginning of my weekend...


It was inevitable that both husband AND baby would catch my cold. It always happens like that. If one of us gets ill, we ALL get ill. Anyway, not much happened this weekend, so I'll tell you what I did last weekend instead. I shopped. Oh yes. I managed to successfully acquire this lovely pair of flats, yes FLATS. Oh did I mention that I'm an avid shoe hoarder? Predominately heels, high ones. Louboutins to be precise. However, since becoming a mother, I've had to refrain from wearing heels too often. Health 'n safetly and all that jazz, see?  These 'Choos will see me through the autumn, the deep burgundy colour signifies all things autumnal. Me likey.

Pretty huh? You ain't seen nothin'... More shoe pics some other time!


I baked last night by the way. I thought to myself, "what better way to spend a scorching hot, sunny, sunday evening? Righty, I'll stay in and bake!" I made banana muffins, and I don't mean to blow my own trumpet so to speak, but what delicious banana muffins they were. Moist, with just the perfect amount of sweetness. Went down a treat with the husband and baby. They love me long time.


So it was a sunday night. The baby was asleep, and the husband was watching football... What better way to end my week, but to kick back, enjoy a lovely pot of tea, read an iBook, and enjoy my lovely banana muffins... ahhh.... True bliss....