The last move

That's it. I'm sick of moving so this is, I promise, the last time.
You can now find me at

ohidoliketobebesidetheseaside.blogspot.com



xx

things I've learnt

people who are trustworthy don't say 'trust me' a lot.

Watch a few episodes of, say 'Murphy's law' (we're enetering into dangerous tangent territory here, but no, I won't be distracted with my James Nesbit mother of all crushes...) and it's quickly clear, the guys that say 'trust me' a lot, are generally the ones that end up putting an axe in the back of the head of some poor, albeit fictional, woman.

It makes sense really. Ailsa never says 'trust me'. She doesn't need to. Nicki never says it. Amy never says it. Hannah never says it. Little sis never says it. Why? Cos trust isn't an issue. They've earnt my trust, have it, never need to beg for it.

Muscles on the other hand, who, inevitable turned outto be a self-centred, lying, totally untrustworthy bastard, said it all the time. He needed to. He knew I didn't.

With bloody good reason.


Nuff said. he got top billing, then he got dumped. Now, we're moving on. Another blog title, and back to the internet dating.

It happened a while ago. I'm ok. Just been a bit embarrassed to write it up cos it doesn't say much for my judgement.
Still, live, learn, keep living.

Anyone seen my baby?

Every mum bemoans the fact that kids grow up fast, and pre-motherhood I'd always put such laments up there with the 'haven't you grown' school of yawn.

Now, I'm a baby bore.
'Where's my tiny baby gone?' I cry without warning.

I'm amazed to find myself lamenting the loss of what was 'supposed to be my least favourite stages. I'd assumed I'd be begging for the boy to chat, walk, bring home girls. Yet, whilst I'm excited at how my bonny lad is blossoming into a little boy, hurtling towards toddlerdom with the same speed he now employs to scale our stairs, I'm also on a level I can't quite grasp, mournful.

Every stage is better than the last, yet the passing of the last feels like loss nonetheless. It's gone, never to be recaptured, the first smile, wave, step already clocked up.
Still, motherhood rocks.
We're having tremendous fun with a monkey Renee brought, we call him Sidney in homage to her home. Strangely for a monkey named after Australia's sexiest city, he has a New Yawk accent. Half cab driver, half Dad, who seems to slip into every accent I attempt.

Every time I put Billy down to sleep I start the accent up as I carry him into the nursery. 'Hey kiddo, come get me, whaddya doing leaving me face down in this here cot whilst you and the mama cavort round the house? You forgot me? Well kiddo, you're back now, that's what counts, come in to give your best monkey a cuddle hey?' Billy watches me , I'm sure he knows Sidney can't talk, even though I do my best to make him dance and monkey around in front of my mouth, my ventriloquist skills are obviously pants as I've been rumbled by an 10 and a half month old baby.
Then, suddenly, he'll oblige, watching Sidney try and climb up the cot getting his legs twisted in the bars as he goes, and start yelping, arms outstretched, for his main monkey.
The monkey's been everywhere, New York, London, Crowhurst. A sophisticated soft toy surely? And he's made bedtimes easy, after a few weeks of Billy not wanting to go to bed, the monkey routine started, working magic, I fling him around a bit, make Billy wait for him, watch Billy giggling, then pop Sidney in for a hug as I leave the room. No crying, Job done.

Muscles is at Stone Henge. He's a strange builder, really into hugging stones and getting energy from crystals. He lived up a crystal strewn mountain for 3 years and apparently needs a rock fix, so he's gone to gawp at the big ones before heading to Ayebury where you can actually get your arms round the less famous offerings.

I wanna take the piss and kiss him for this simultaneously. Mostly I just do the former when it comes to the actually reaping of energy, but am curious and egg him on to tell me 'bout his rocks. Yeah yeah, ooer missus.
There's not much more alluring to an Aquarian gypsy than a hippy with a six pack. Jonny maybe in Chocolat, but that's about it.

'Bout this place

I’ve told Muscles he’s not allowed to look. But I have given him the links to all the other blog sites and they’ll tantalisingly bring up, page one, last entry, the link to the page where he gets top billing.

How mean is that?
He’ll look, I assume. Only partly cos I told him I would have. I mean, wouldn’t you? I know Ms Saltrese, you wouldn’t, but me, hands in the air, ‘guilty your honour, I couldn’t help myself…’.

So Muscles, if you’re reading this, what took you so long?



X

OK OK

I'll admit it, I'm not playing fair.

So, the poke his wife in the eye thing, that was self defence. The woman had previously run him over and sliced through his hand with a knife, so when she lunged at him he poked her in the eye. Then the police turned up and accused him of poking his wife in the eye, and he said, 'that's right, I did'. And made a statement. And then pleaded not guilty, which is lucky or I'll never have met him cos he'd probably be banged up right now.
It's pretty hard for a six foot five guy to admit to be being beaten up by his wife I should imagine. though no one doubts, because of his size, that he could have done her some serious damage had he retalliated.

And he thought he had, poking her in the eye, but luckily it bounced back ok. Dad is threatening to have the 'don't poke my daughter in the eye' chat, but I explained I wouldn't be seeing him if i thought for one second he would.

She's taking him to court, he's made a statement about everything that happened in his marriage, rough for a tough guy.

Muscles says ‘trust me’

I do. Muscles says ‘have a little faith in me’, I do.

So, the big piece of paper (http://thegypsygetsnaked.blogspot.com/2005/07/big-piece-of-paper.html) was a long term plan, and it’s come along quicker and in a format I never would have envisaged, but I can see will work. It’s got most of the bases covered, including the dressing up box. So Muscles is moving in, with his two dogs and, and his sister, and her sons, two, 11 and 6.

Ahh, trust him, it’ll be fine. Always fancied myself a bit of communal living, as does he, and his sister, so it’ll be fine. The kids will have a ball. I'll have a ball. We'll all have a ball I reckon.

Apparently I’m expected to be in charge of money. Which I would once have said was a terrible idea, but I’m over that now. Still, he thinks I can’t be any worse than him, and he’s wrong, and I told him so and I still get to be in charge of money. So I guess he’s trusting me too.

Ladies and gentlemen, would you please put your hands together

I may well believe that my identity should be separate from that of my sexual partners, ‘Yet still’, I hear you cry ‘she gives muscles top billing’. Well, he needs it, so let’s leave that at that shall we?

Muscles is my lover. A six and a half foot builder with the kind of torso a girl would get into a cat fight with Pammy Anderson over.

He’s cool.
We’ve been seeing each other since the 2nd May. It’s an easy date to remember, the anniversary of Labour’s historic election victory in 1997. And now, another no less historic landslide has occurred. Started in my underwear and has made it all the way to my brain.

So, whilst it may be easy to say six weeks in, I reckon he’s a keeper. Not many men do that to me. And make me laugh.


He’s married, which before you think, ‘god woman, how could ya?’ I should point out is the only kind of married I date. Living apart, getting divorced, oh and she’s taking him to court for poking her in the eyes. Don’t go worrying about that, I’ll explain and you’ll be fine about it.

The Baby is my son. We’ll call him William, though that’s not his name.
Billy boy.
Like Mr Clinton.
Minus the cigar.

He’s ten months old, and the best baby in the world, but I concede I may be a tad biased there. I can go to the loo and then re-enter the room and he looks like I’ve rocked his world, just by coming in. No-one has ever looked at me like that.

Me? I used to be a gypsy, then got preggers..you know me if you need to x