Why oh why do I find myself (year after year), doing the obligatory what've-I-achieved-in-the-previous-year birthday analysis?

Is it just me, or do you guys do the same? Why do I punish myself every year? The parents are forever talking about what I should have achieved by now/ where they were in life when they were my age: "when we were your age Mildred, we'd already been married for over 4 years and" (this word can't be stressed enough) "we already had a baby". The thing is, though I might be their daughter, I'm really nothing like them. I don't like... I'm not... I don't... er...

Five minutes later and I'm trying to think of at least one thing that I don't like that the parents do to earn me a little bit of kudos/ street credibility. But the problem is the truth. I can't lie to you and say yes, I really loathe the fortnightly Scrabble evenings, because the truth of the matter is that I secretly enjoy them. As tragic as it may be, I think that I am a bit of a dork as I really like to hang out with Mum and Dad and all the other oldies that they know. Perhaps that stems from the big age gaps between the brothers and myself, but I find it hilarious being a fly on the wall.

Like when Mum is talking with her other 'we're-going-through-a-specific-time-in-life' transforming friends. But it's rather hilarious, because Mum and her friends often share a bottle of red... or white... or both and somehow, they always manage to involve me in the conversation as if I'M transitioning! When they ask how I manage with various symptoms I can really throw the answers out there: "oh, you know me... once it started I was anybodies... there was nothing Bill could do to prise the rolling pin/ stapler/ hole punch/ mop" (delete as applicable) "from me. Yep, it was a big one. Totally wiped me." (Or something like that). But what then happens is I get free advice on how to cope with the symptoms, but most importantly, how to cope with my long-suffering husband of thirty-five years- poor old Bill. (Often, he gets more sympathy than I do).

But anyway, I'm sorry. I seemed to go off on a bit of a tangent there. I was just trying to prove to myself that I'm unlike the parents, but honestly, there's no hiding the evidence: I'm their daughter.

Right, let's get back on track. So, it's that time of the year (well, in my personal calendar at least). That's right, it's Birthday Eve. The moment has now arrived when you start to scrutinise your life and look at what you've REALLY achieved in the last 365 days. This is the part that is much worse than the actual numerical change. You see, I don't mind getting older. What I do mind though, is finding that each year my birthday comes around, the amount of days in the year seems to decrease. Every year, just after my birthday, I create a list of goals that I should achieve in the following year. When I was emptying out my desk, I stumbled across my list from last year. I'm telling you now, it makes for sad reading...

Ask me now if I've achieved any of the items?

Ask me.

Have I?

No.

Of eleven objectives, I have achieved NONE. Oh demoralisation, let's set up a time and a place to meet properly as I think that I can be diagnosed as seriously demoralised. Here is the list of things that I have NOT achieved since last years birthday:

• I have not... won the lottery. Highly disappointing (as this is the reason I could not achieve my next objective).
• I have not... paid off the staggeringly large student loan that is accumulating a better interest rate than my savings account as we speak. Need to win the lottery to enable bulk payment. (When I say 'need to win the lottery', I'm not referring to the £10's that you get every now and again. I'm talking proper serious money, but no more than about £50,000 as that would be a bit greedy. 50K would allow me to pay off my loan, buy a trampoline and still have some cash to spare for Mum and Dad).
• I have not... penned the next piece of phenomenal literature that changes our lives. I have tried- unsuccessfully (evidently so, otherwise this would be crossed off the list).
• I have not... seen the Northern Lights. (Also categorised as 'Life Ambition', making this objective transferable).
• I have not... met the Queen. (Need to do sooner rather than later as she's not getting any younger and neither am I).
• I have not... fallen in love.
• I have not... worn something outrageous.
• I have not...guest starred in an episode of Friends or Sex and the City. Either or, I'm not fussed.
• I have not... discovered something deep and meaningful and rather philosophical.
• I have not... arranged a fabulous birthday party. Unfortunately, have left this one too late as it is now Birthday Eve and nothing is arranged. Inexcusable really, given that I've had well, a year, since the last date to get the RSVP's in.
• I have not... found a job. However, I have secured an interview at a garden centre. Ah, progress. 

As a point of contrast, here is the list of things that I have achieved that I sought to achieve:

As you can see, it's very short.

So, all in all, looks like I'll be transferring last years objectives to this year. I know things may not have turned out the way I'd have hoped, but it's okay. I'm happy. And secretly, I'm looking forward to the Cake Job (Birthday 'do) that I know Mum and Dad have organised for me.

And the Birthday Eve moral is?

• Do not (under any circumstances) analyse the previous year. It seldom yields good tidings.

Lastly, I am...
... highly excited at the prospect of turning 26 as I think (well, it's really more 'hope'), that this will be the year that my life starts to become a bit more exciting.

Have I gone cuckoo? At what point did I think that it might be a good idea to empty my handbag? PART 3

Compartment 3... hello old friend. How nice for us to be reacquainted. You are last, but by no means least important. Like your brothers, you were full. However, you have let me down. Horror of horrors! There was no money in you. Nothing! Nothing at all. 67p cumulative bag profit is all I have amassed. Not to worry- it could have been less. It could have been just 66p after all.

But anyway, I shan't keep you waiting any longer:

COMPARTMENT 3

• Two thirds of a box of (horrible) throat sweets. Donated missing third to Dad during his bout of illness.
• What is called: 'A Day Out First Aid Kid', with added antibacterial hand wipes (I purchased them because you can never be too safe). Please note, I am NOT a hypochondriac (though this does nothing to endorse that claim. Just trust me).
• Another empty sunglasses case. Another? I didn't even realise this was in there. Oh wait... I remember. I couldn't find my sunglasses case as it was hiding in compartment 2 so I removed Mum's shades and 'borrowed' her case. (Please note: I use the word 'borrow' in the loosest sense of the word. The dictionary may define it as intending to return something you have taken, but I have interpreted that as meaning taking an item of little sentimental value and taking it out on an unestablished 'semi-permanent loan'. By which I mean, if Mum were to approach me and ask me for it back I would duly return her shade-hideout, but as no such meeting has been issued, I am safe... (Until now that is. Mum, if you're reading this, I promise to return said borrowing. If you're not, forget I mentioned anything- forget this conversation ever took place). Anyway, what I have come to call my interpretation of the dictionary- used more as guide than a reference, is a Mildredism. That's right: this case has been Mildredised.
• A diary that I was given for Christmas. Am yet to write in it. (Is only in my bag for appearances sake- thought it would make me look a bit more sophisticated. That plan hasn't really worked as nobodies seen it).
• Two different tubes of cream- one specifically for the face and the other for the face AND body. (I wondered where they'd got to). Purpose of said creams? Well, they were useful if I stayed at the (ex-)boyfriend's as he did not possess said items.
• A sheet of Kirby grips- bought in preparation for Graduation. Ahhh, Graduation. Remind me to tell you about that story one day (it's a stonking good'un).
• Two different sorts of eye make-up sharpeners, put into my bag when I emptied out my uni house because I thought that my handbag would be the safest place. Obviously. So safe in fact, I forgot that I even had them.
• Eleven receipts... That sounds really bad I confess, but some of them are as much as five months old... That sounds even worse. Really, I should have here lied to you and said that there was only a couple- one even, but in keeping with the spirit of truth-telling that I have adhered to, I am being totally honest.
• Three pens- two blue and one pink. Reason unknown.
• Several loose tampons. Reason evident.
• A notebook- almost empty- 'borrowed'/ semi-permanently loaned, from Mum. She doesn't know.
• Another bus ticket.
• A cinema stub.
• The reservation number for a hotel in London, written down on a fluorescent pink post-it because I couldn't access a printer. (Beneath the number, there is also a hand drawn (very un-proportioned) map with the hotel's precise location- or as precise as I could make it on a 8x5 cm post-it).
• A...

Nope, just messing with you there. That's it. The entire contents of my handbag listed for your delectability. (Read it well, for I shall NEVER embark upon such an exercise ever again. It is FAR TOO TIME CONSUMING).

But onto morals. Are there any? Why yes indeedy.

• Though medicine may taste nasty, it must do so, so that we do not penchant a liking for it and decide to substitute it for REAL sweets. If it's really grim, pass it onto a father (preferably your own), as they tend to endorse the motto: 'waste not, want not.'
• When moving bedrooms/ house, it is always advisable to create a list of items and where they are temporarily being housed. I say this from experience. Otherwise, you will end up with more eye pencil sharpeners than the amount of eyes that you have. I should know- I now own four.

So, I would like to end the final instalment of 'Have I gone cuckoo?' with one final thought of the previous few days:

I am...
... thinking how much easier life would be if I had a much smaller handbag as I would never lose things (specifically keys). More to the point, why not make like a regular chappie and condense all the essentials into one pocket sized wallet? Though, as good an idea as this may be, it is potentially highly perplexing in practice. Unless, I can patent the first genuine wallet-purse inspired by Mary Poppin's handbag: one that has infinite amounts of space inside. Yes, that would be good.

I'm sorry I can't stay any longer, I've got work to do. I'm off to create an invention that will revolutionise the way we live. Well, I'm off to at least TRY to create an invention that will revolutionise the way we live.

Have I gone cuckoo? At what point did I think that it might be a good idea to empty my handbag? PART 2

Hi-dee-hi.

So, having gone through compartment 1 of my bag and assessed how much junk I have accumulated, I understandably earned myself a well deserved break. I couldn't face the prospect of having to do that not just once again, but twice again so soon after my initial findings. I needed time to assess the situation. I needed time to strategise. I needed time to think, to justify, to calm the ever growing rouge in my cheeks. Please tell me: at what point did I think that it might be a good idea to empty my handbag? At what point did I think that it might be sensible to share it with you all? At what point can we deduce that I went totally cuckoo? Well it's a bit late for those questions now...

Here goes again:

COMPARTMENT 2 (the central section that is open to the elements and has no zip fastening).

• My sunglasses, balanced on the top and NOT in their case. Note to self: if sunglasses are not on their mecca (the face), need to remember to replace in case, otherwise that is how I end up breaking/ losing them...
• A used bus ticket.
• A box of Rennie Fruit indigestion tablets because the minty ones are gross. Eugh- just had a taste memory. You see, onions give me a funny tummy and they seem to be in everything (in my head I said that really slowly, but you can't hear that so I'm not sure why I'm telling you...).
• A bus timetable (slightly dog-eared).
• A pocket map of the city where I attended uni. Technically, not as useful as you'd think, because I still can't navigate myself around using this tiny piece of paper with minuscule directions. Don't know why I've kept it because it does nothing in my hopes of creating the illusion that I might just have been, a local Londoner.
• A green butterfly hair clip/ clasp. Very pretty, but no longer very functional as the spring clasp no longer works. Remove from bag and put with other broken hair things that are too nice to discard of. I call this part of my room 'The Hair Stuff Graveyard'. It is most certainly NOT for the fainthearted. (As a separate point of interest, I also happen to have a sock graveyard. This is the place where lost socks come to congregate and wait patiently (but often in vein), to be reunited with their missing partners. Is a very sad place to be as reunions seldom take place).
• Two unused empty envelopes. Unsure as to why.
• A special offer for the cinema and a pizza that I printed off of the Internet. Forgot that it was in bag as do not remember printing. Check expiry date. Phew, still valid.
• A pocket mirror.
• Two almost empty packets of tissues. Scratch that. Make it one almost empty packet of tissues- just finished the other one off.
• Another used bus ticket.
• Three receipts.
• Pink pot of Vaseline- adds a tint to the lips.
• Green pot of Vaseline- does NOT add a tint to the lips. (Major relief). 
• Pot of hand cream that Scott (brother number 2) got me for Christmas. Suspect it may have been on offer as Mum and Grandma also received the same gift from him.
• A stick lip balm that contains SPF15. Does not taste particularly pleasant. Not sure why I have kept it.
• A penny. Shall duly add to the holiday fund.
• Bravo! My sunglasses case. Add sunglasses to their second home.

Evidently, this bag has never seen the light of day since my time at uni... The more I go on, the worse it gets. Do I really want to disclose compartment 3? I'm not sure I do. On the flip side, if I combine all the money that I've find in this section and the previous, I'm up to a grand total of 67p! In today's money, that's probably a years worth of interest on my savings account. Hopefully, I can bolster this amount when I delve into the depths of section 3.

But before I sign off, I am going to leave you with the morals that compartment 2 has unveiled:

• Always have at least one packet of tissues in your handbag, because you never know when you're going to get short. (This was proved to me when I was rifling through and got a minor case of 'the sniffles'. Thank goodness I had some in the bag, otherwise who-knows-what may have happened. Sleeve?..).
• When trying to prove that you are local and indigenous to a specific area, do NOT carry around a map of the area. This gives you away immediately.
• Always have at least one pot of Vaseline in your bag to ensure that you are prepared for all eventualities. (NOTE: I have recently noticed that the range of Vaseline on offer is not only limited to green and pink. It also includes: blue, brown and yellow. As far as I'm aware, these do not tint the lips- or at least I hope they don't... Spot of jaundice? Spot of pneumonia? It's all the range on the catwalks this season)...

Well, until compartment 3. Adios.

Have I gone cuckoo? At what point did I think it might be a good idea to empty my handbag? PART 1

Hello again!

I recently came to the conclusion that I needed to empty my current handbag. At the moment I am sporting the fabulous model that you see in the picture. It consists of three compartments- all too full to perform their maximum functionality.

  
Now, you see, I had to forage for about 3 and a half minutes, just to find a hair clip (but turns out it was no longer in the bag after all. That's 3 and a half minutes of my life I'll never see again. Wasted: gone. Thank you over filled bag).

So, I came to the magnanimous decision to EMPTY said bag- it was getting embarrassing (not to mention heavy)... too many times (to be acceptable) I have handed over an old receipt instead of a note due to my bulging (surprisingly cash-free) purse.

Anyway, I thought it might be interesting to see EXACTLY what was in my bag, and in turn, discover what I actually use. (As it turns out, I don't use very much at all). But anyhow, I thought that you might find it interesting and surprisingly insightful, but please don't think that because I have loads of unnecessary produce (or what my Dad would probably otherwise describe as rubbish), that that means I might be deemed as a bit scatty (though you may already think that), because I like to think that I am a very together, organised young woman. So, here goes:

COMPARTMENT ONE

• A pencil case with a broken zip. Contains a used bus ticket (reason unknown), a highlighter pen (thankfully still in working order), a multipurpose pen that has four different coloured inks in it, a mechanical pencil, a red Biro, a ruler with holes in it (bought like that, not caused by me) and lots of skinny post-it notes that have all come unstuck. Proceed to empty broken pencil case. Put stationary into pen pot and discard of the rest.
• A deodorant spray- convenient for when I stay (or rather, stayed) at the (ex-)boyfriend's. Sometimes he used to borrow it too. (I don't mind telling you that- I always said I'd keep it a secret for him, but since we're no more...).
• A pair of knickers (clean), for if I stay (or rather, stayed) at the (ex-)boyfriend's. Sensible. Dates the last time I emptied this bag (over 9 months ago, but sshhh- don't tell anyone).
• A packet of Olbas oil tissues- some have been used.
• An apparently expensive concealer that came free with a £2 magazine. Will put with make up bits and pieces.
• Another used bus ticket.
• A scientific calculator that I have had for over 10 years. I'm proud (and pleased) to say that the batteries have never been replaced and still work perfectly. When the top is taken off, can quite clearly see my name tip-exed on as an anti-burglar deterrent. Must have worked because I still have it now. Outside is rather battered. Will reinstate on my desk and make use of.
• My keys, all conveniently colour coded for the various different places and things that they do. Kept together with a red heart keyring. Imperative: I MUST NOT LOSE.
• My purse (subject to change). Is currently a dark cream colour with a pink and violet floral pattern on one side. Contains various cards including my now expired university ID, train tickets, receipts, train timetables, stamps, some more used bus tickets, a bit of money, a bus pass, a lottery ticket that didn't win (major disappointment), a used cinema ticket and a hair band. Take action: decide to empty the rubbish and then put 11p of coppers into my holiday fund and 55p of silvers into it too (what a find, I think you'll agree!). Before long I suspect that my £'s will be worth much, much more in €'s, particularly if I keep making regular contributions of 66p or more.
• My make-up bag. Contains: three different colour eyeliners and a highlighter liner, one eye shadow stick in lilac (because my eyes are green and this is supposed to enhance them), two mascaras- one waterproof and the other not, two different sorts of concealers, one under-eye brightener pen and an under-eye soothing balm, two lip glosses (seldom used), tinted moisturiser, foundation (stonkingly expensive but tremendously effective when used on special occasions), liquid blusher, tweezers (purchased in America for 99 cents almost 4 years ago- best tweezers in the world. Ever), two tampons and an earring container with two pairs of pretty studs that I haven't worn. Ever). How much of this do I actually use? Oh, I'd say about 3 products on a daily basis. Sometimes none, but sometimes as much as five. Though in my defence, the media made me think that I needed all this goop/ stuff/ make-up...
• An 'all-in-one face base compact' (pressed powder) by the Body Shop, NOT in my make-up bag. Foolish, very foolish. Bought said product under false pretences. You see, the lady in the shop did one of those free makeover things and used this stuff. Looked really good, so parted ways with my hard-earned money. Could never replicate what the lady did, so the compact has spent a lot of time abandoned in the depths of my very nice bag. Unfortunately, my abandonment is catching up with me because one end of my bag is now coated in the stuff where the powder has broken (probably due to the fact that the bag that houses the compact has been dropped on many occasions on floors that range from carpeted, concreted, grassed, laminated and the floor of the bus- floor material unknown). Must now try to salvage my bag and dispose of the very nice (and expensive), yet unhelpful beauty product. Oh dear.

So, that's compartment 1.

I think, for all our sakes, I'm going to leave 2 and 3 for another day... I honestly truly didn't realise how much gumpf I insist on lugging around with me. Do I really need a broken pencil case in my bag? No. Do I really need so much make-up in my make-up bag? No. Do I really need all my keys colour co-ordinated? Actually, yes. I think I'll stop there.

Now, you must be wondering, are there any morals to this? Well, yes there are:

• Always ensure that if you must travel around with underwear that they are AT ALL TIMES, clean. Alternatively, remove them sooner rather than later from your handbag because if you ever get stopped by the police and they have to go through your handbag, that's going to be a rather blush-worthy event.
• I have evidence that the best anti-robber product on the market is rather cheap and easy to get hold of: Tip-ex all the way ladies and gents, tip-ex all the way.

So, until next time, farewell.

Oh cripes, I've got a car situation

So I guess this is hello: hello and welcome. Nice to meet you!

Right, so my first blog entry comes to you from a supermarket cafe (not as classy an establishment as I'd have hoped for on my first day, but hey, what can you do?). The reason I'm here is simple. I had a choice: pop to this establishment or sit and wait in a glass box AKA a garage waiting room. That's right: I've got a car situation.

Yesterday, when I was driving home after having had lunch with Grandma (aka Gma), the car started to behave very oddly. It began clanking and growling- (something I'm told young men pay an awful lot of money for when they're pimping their motor. I don't understand why as the noise is highly embarrassing). But where was I? Oh yes, I remember. 'Oh heck,' I thought, 'this can't be good'. So, in lieu of a boyfriend, I got the ever trusty Dad (my Dad, that is) to examine it when I got home. "Brace yourself Mildred," he said and then gave me one of those serious looks that only a father can give: "this one's not going to be a freebie jobbie."

I would say I was crest-fallen, but that would be an exaggeration. Disappointed? Yes. Crest-fallen? No. You see, my brother Scott is a mechanic and he usually services my car (for free), in exchange for me keeping his tumultuous love-life a secret from the parents. And our other brother Graham (who happens to be too straight-laced that it's unnatural. He refuses to be drawn into this dark world of deception that Scott and I so frequent). Unfortunately, my car had an incident when Scott was notably absent from The South, and from England, and from Europe. He's gone to Canada for 3 weeks, and I must say that I now think that that was incredibly selfish of him- what do I do now? Pay. Oh.

But anyway, as I was saying- or about to; I need new parts. The back box, or something like that? Or, as I referred to it when on the phone with the garage- "the oval shaped squished thingy that's linked to the exhaust and a long pipe thing on the other end that should be attached, but isn't." (Very nontechnical I know). But they got the gist of it, because, in short, I need a replacement oval-back-box-squashed-thingy. The reason being? Well, mine broke after being subjected to intense pot-hole torture following the long and unprecedented Winter frosts.

You see, my car is white- and until yesterday afternoon, was actually quite filthy. I thought I'd best don the rubber gloves and get cleaning in case the mechanic thought that my dirty car meant that I was a negligent driver (quite the contrary in my opinion). But just to be sure, I got scrubbing. And scrubbing. And scrubbing. And let me tell you, for such a small car, it took blooming ages!

My advice- if requested, when deciding whether or not to purchase a white car. Quite simply, don't. The positive- that it matches any outfit (fact), is outweighed by the fact that a white car is in fact a 'Poop Mobile' (as in Bat Mobile), because they are magnets for bird doo-dahs. Trust me.

Now, the prognosis of my little white Poop Mobile? Well, it wasn't as bad as I anticipated: £50 all in (labour, part and VAT), thought I do now ask myself if that is good, or if it's bad? Considering I'd been anticipating £55, I'd say I got myself a bit of a bargain!

So, the morals of this story are:

• Don't own white cars
• Ensure that when driving, you do the pot-hole-spotting exercise AT ALL TIMES
• Make sure that any faults happen when the cheap/ free mechanic/ relative is in the near vicinity- preferably the country. More preferably still- the continent.

The questions I pose to you are:

Did I get a bargain at the garage? And, more importantly, am I now entitled to a deduction on my road tax as I suspect that the state of the roads contributed to the demise of my little car's underbelly?

Finally, I would like to end this blog with my thought of the day:

I am...
...thinking how much easier life will be when I'm an OAP and receive my complimentary bus pass after the shenanigans with my motor vehicle. At the same time, I now feel disloyal to the ever loyal Poopster for such thoughts. Oh my...