Geek Girl, Miss TTT & The Future

I spent a day this week mock interviewing 15 and 16 year old girls for a local school.  I joined businesses, public sector organisations and the Armed Forces interviewing a real cross section of the final year pupils.  Because my recruitment experience is so broad, I got to interview everything from budding vets to astro physicists.  I kid you not.  Anyway, it was a moving and enlightening experience on many levels. I learnt many things that day; I will share with you the following 2;

i)                    I would not go back to being 15 again for a million quid.

ii)                   Despite it being 25 years since I left school, NOTHING has changed as every kid still tries to fit into a category e.g. geek, pretty + popular, jock, rebel, indie + misunderstood.

Two of the young people really stood out for me on the day.  The first one was a typical “geek” type of girl.  She was earnest, keen and bursting full of promise!  I rubbed my hands in glee when I read her CV and covering letter – it was articulate, passionate and full of ambition to become a vet.  She came into the room and took a seat after a gentle handshake.  She was average height, average weight, average hair, neatly dressed (they wore their own clothes for the interview day, it was Come As Your Chosen Profession stylie) and wearing cool specs.  I shall call her for the purpose of this Geek Girl  though that does her emotional intelligence and sheer bloody potential a disservice and implies a lack of social skill that really wasn’t the case.
 

One of the questions I asked Geek Girl was which particular area of veterinary science was she interested in.  She started by explaining she was really interested in big cats and would dearly love to work in a zoo one day; she lit up talking about the challenges of administering help to such beautiful and powerful animals.   Then a strange thing happened…she visibly seemed to shrink in front of me and then went on to say that she would go into domestic animal veterinary science because that would be a much more sensible route to take, she believed that way she would be able to provide a stable income for her future family and as she came from a poor background (sic) she realised that you had to put sacrifice and being sensible before ambition….OMG! She’s 15! When I’d recovered enough from her outpouring to offer a response, I gently suggested that if she followed her dreams and did what she truly believed in then the money would follow.  I don’t think she believed me but maybe I’ve planted a seed that grows in her and counteracts the stifling of her ambitions.

So…onto the 2^nd girl that really interested me that day.  Her covering letter was beautifully written, her CV said that she was academically bright and her hobbies included dancing.  In she came.  She was beautiful in that precocious way that only a terribly trendy teen (TTT) can be.  Let’s call her Miss TTT.  She was engaging, articulate and smiley.  Until I asked her what she was really good at.  Her answer? “Well I can tell you I’m really bad at English”.  I was taken aback, to say the least.  I pointed out to Miss TTT that i) I’d asked what she was good at and ii) the covering letter that accompanied her CV was beautifully written and  asked if she had done it herself.  Cue number 2 girl of the day visibly shrinking in chair before me…Miss TTT nodded.  Was the covering letter her own work I enquired? Again, a silent nod.  I went on to explain to her that I received hundreds of covering letters from employed adults in senior positions every month that couldn’t write such a good covering letter…I meant it too.  She looked as if she was a dieter caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.  I leaned forward, looked around to check no-one else was listening and whispered to her “you know it’s Ok to be pretty and popular AND bright you know?”.  Her mouth dropped open.  She whispered back “How did you know?!”and then out of her mouth tumbled all the fears of rejection from her Pretty Popular Peer group if they found out she was clever, that boys didn’t like Geek Girls and she was scared stiff about going to College and not fitting in there – such a lot of pent up fear!   I explained to her that you didn’t actually have to fit into a category that everyone else wanted to place you and that some of the world’s beautiful people are also very clever.  That it’s OK to shine, it’s OK to step into the limelight every once in a while.  That boys really love girls that can hold a conversation and make them laugh…and if they are as beautiful as her too; well that’s a bonus!  I really wanted to hug her to be honest. 

I love working with our teenagers but I wish that at 15 I’d had an older woman take an interest in who I was and offer a shoulder to cry on, some genuinely useful advice about boys and encourage me to be the most of who I could be.  I would have been an engineer.  Geek Girls Rule! 

Cooking & Recipe Tips For Life Part Deux

I realised when writing my previous blog that I’m “known” by friends for certain dishes…and they all like different ones.  I’m certainly nothing more than an enthusiastic amateur cook, I rarely faff around and tend to cook hearty, homely stuff that doesn’t take particularly long but fills stomachs.  So here are a few of my favourite people and their personal preferences that come out of my kitchen. 

My childminder Larraine has been looking after Ella Pearl since she was 7 months old so we consider her an important member of our family.  She was very cross this Halloween that I didn’t make my “famous pumpkin soup” for her (Larraine’s words not mine!).   I simply didn’t have time this year to be scraping out a combination of butternut squash and big orange Jack O ’Lantern type pumpkins to make that creamy, spicy, comforting soup this year.  She will never let me forget it so I must make it up to her next year with double portions.  I didn’t have time to have the Halloween Party I usually have every year either…a fact that really didn’t bother Larraine, twas just the absence of soup that caused offence. 

My friend Heather has been in my life since I was 18 and met her in the queue for the loo at a comedy gig in Newcastle.  She extols the virtues of my Toad In The Hole to anyone who will listen.  This dates back many years to a particularly hungover Sunday morning where I’d woken up at her house in Fenham and we were that type of starving that only comes from vast abuse of tequila the night before.  So I scoured her cupboards and fridge and made Toad In The Hole with cabbage and onion gravy.  A fan for life was created with that squidgy, crispy, comforting stodge that staved off a mahoosive hangover. Incidentally, my ex-husband had never had Toad In The Hole until he met me.  It was his favourite of mine too.

My friend Katie is a vegetarian who tells me she dreams about my mushroom risotto.  She calls it my Shroom Risotto and apparently I’ve ruined the experience of eating risotto anywhere but in my house for her as she reckons I make the best.  She was particularly jealous when I showed my ex- boyfriend how to make it…she feels particularly possessive about “her” shroom risotto. 

My Morroccan style chicken with couscous has a few fans to be fair, but for me the biggest victory was seeing Crazy Donna go back for second and third helpings.  She is as fit as a butcher’s dog and watches what she eats, however present that diminutive gym bunny with a plate of slow cooked warm spicy chicken and couscous and she turns into a scoffing machine.  It’s a joy to watch.

Did you know that impatient hands make amazing scones?  My mother (as I’ve previously written), was a brilliant cook and baker however her scones were never as good as mine, according to her. She said I had “a really light touch and cool hands that were essential to getting the texture just right”.  I actually know for a fact it’s really because I’m impatient and therefore rub the fat into the flour quickly so I can get on with the fun bits.  She loved my cheese scones to which I always add a dollop of Dijon mustard to the mix to get a bit of bite into them.  I use a combination of cheeses too, something else she thought added to the extra special-ness of my scones. 

And so to my darling Ella Pearl, my daughter. At 7 she already has a love of food and cooking that matches my own and tonight when I was thinking about writing this, I asked her to name her favourite dish of mine.  She couldn’t decide on one but her favourites include stew and dumplings, pancakes, chicken and couscous (Crazy D’s fave) and roast potatoes…not all at once.  My kid is clearly a sucker for comfort food.  I have to say she makes the BEST rice pudding around so I know she will soon be cooking and making memories with her own chosen people very soon. 

Cooking & Recipe Tips For Life

I love to cook.  Many of us do, I know.  The preparing and sharing of food with loved ones is such a vital ingredient of being me I can’t imagine not being able to cook.  It is beyond being a provider or a good Mum.  It’s about being able to create something wonderful to delight the senses from seemingly ordinary ingredients.  It’s chemistry, its alchemy…its magic.

Over the years I have learnt many brilliant culinary tips from a variety of people.  Whilst stirring rice tonight I have realised that the people that taught me the really useful cooking tips are also the people who taught me really valuable lessons in life…albeit sometimes not in the way they intended.

Take my ex-husband for instance – oh go on, take him, please do! (insert joke here as that one was obviously terribly poor).  He taught me two very serious lessons in life… 1) how to cook perfect rice  and 2) that abused children sometimes become abusive adults and whilst you can understand their behaviour it’s not right to excuse it and become a victim yourself to their abuse like I did.

My long lost friend Vaine in Australia taught me 1) how to fillet a chicken thigh so cleanly there’s no meat left on the bones and 2) that a little girl from a tiny island can survive neglect and run away from everything and still become a strong woman who has a generous heart and isn’t broken by her experiences.  (She also jumped in front of me to protect me from a knife-waving harpy who wrongly accused me of sleeping with her boyfriend…but that’s another story entirely ...)

My Father taught me 1) how to cook perfect dumplings that are fluffy on the inside but have that all important crunchy top and 2) that Fathers can be selfish, bullying, self- indulgent lying bastards.

My Sister recently taught me that 1) baked beans are the missing ingredient to the BEST veggie chilli on the planet and 2) that you can dearly love a sibling without understanding them or even liking them.

My ex-boyfriend Gareth taught me 1) how to make an amazing cheese omelette with little bombs of cheese that explode and then melt in the mouth and 2) that sometimes I am a gullible idiot who let him and others take advantage of me fiscally.

My Grandmother taught me 1) the perfect beef to potato ratio in a Meat & Tatty Pie (sic) and 2) that the Roman Catholic Church is a rich, pompous, bloated fat man of a church that has everything to do with profit and looking after their own (sexually depraved Priests for example) and nothing to do with looking after women like her.  Women who had too many mouths to feed and philandering, gambling husbands to deal with.  Although I would now argue with her that Henderson’s is the ONLY relish to put in a Meat & Tatty Pie, not Lea & Perrins!

My Mother was my main cooking influence and showed me many things over the years in her kitchen. She was an amazing cook, and baked like a dream.  Her culinary skills knew no bounds and she was always coming up with delicious new things for us to enjoy. She showed love and affection through feeding people.  She is also the main reason why I struggle to look in the mirror and see anything except an unlovable and too-clever-for-my-own-good ugly girl looking back at me.

Recipes take on new lives in the hands of those that use them.  They change, get bits added to and have ingredients taken away. Advice is occasionally ignored, mistakes are made and you burn the pan and end up getting Take Away Pizza. Sometimes though new recipes are discovered by making those mistakes.  Positives come from negatives.  So I choose to continue to be inventive with my Recipe To Life and keep learning new skills and ways to conjure up more magic for me and mine.  Pass the Henderson’s…..

Boxes In The Attic

I put negative experiences and their pain away – out of sight of my mind’s eye.  I have an attic somewhere where I have rows of shelves full of boxes of different sizes, shapes and colours.  Boxes made of a variety of materials – not of wood or cardboard; my emotional boxes are made from harder, more secure substances – iron, steel.  Once I have felt the searing pain of rejection, humiliation, injustice or loss I mentally stuff it – sometimes screaming for attention like a tantruming 2 year old – into an impenetrable coffin.  I find a space on a dusty shelf and shove it there.  I walk away without a backward glance. 

Some boxes just sit there silently, defeated.  I can easily ignore those.  Some boxes shift a little every now and then – I hear them but won’t acknowledge them.  There are a few though that are clever at bumping their way back into my conscious self every now and then.  They are the Big Boxes and their labels read “Abusive Ex”, “Parents” and “Self Doubt”.  Those boxes are huge and too heavy for me to put back on their shelves by myself.  I have enlisted the help of friends and professionals who are qualified to manual handle such loads with complete safety.  Over the years they have assisted me with peeking into the contents and sometimes even repack them with tissue and cotton wool.  My helpers have shared the lifting of those boxes back onto the shelves and held my hand as I tiptoe away from the attic. Let those boxes grumble and groan occasionally.  I can handle them.

The one that I am most afraid of is a small, tiny, unassuming looking box made of lead.  It sits there quietly.  It is overlooked the majority of the time but I know it’s there.  It’s a dark and dangerous box.  Its contents can unravel any situation.  The power held in there can ruin beautiful experiences.  It has the ability to destroy hope, relationships, ambition – anything I dare to dream for myself.  I am fearful of that dark corner of the attic where that cruel and clever box resides.  It’s a poisonous insect, a trapdoor spider sat waiting for its next meal of negativity to come along.  I have sat for hours shivering with fear looking at that box and not daring to open it but knowing that eventually I will have to lift the lid and let it out. That box is labelled “Unlovable”.

Experience and common sense has taught me that the smallest box in the attic is wrong, it shouldn’t be there.  Its contents live because I allow it to be fed small morsels of attention occasionally.  It will exist until I have the courage to confront it, rage at it, let it know it can no longer threaten the core of all I hold dear.  I need to conquer it and I will.  One day. When I’m ready.

Why Do I Fancy The Wrong Blokes?!

Why do I fancy the most unsuitable blokes on the planet?!  I don’t mean Death Row inmates, wife beaters, married men or anything extreme like that! I mean I fancy men who just aren’t “right” for me – I’m not their “type”.

I am usually pursued by the loveliest men – by other women’s standards.  The intelligent, financially solvent, caring, charming type.  But I just can’t get excited enough by them.  Because they are usually short and don't look like they would mug your granny.  Before there are outcries of “Bastard Lover!” or “Nice guys always come last!” etc etc....please, just bear with me on this.  I avoid players like the plague, I’ve never fancied a so-called Bastard just cos he is one, and I don’t take some sort of sick martyred pleasure out of being treated like crap.  In fact I don’t actually end up being treated badly these days.  That stopped with the exit of my ex-husband over 4 years ago – and yes, the exit was facilitated by my size 8 boot up his arse. I have a friend who when we are in the pub and a total Player/Bastard type (I call them PB’s)  walks in she turns round, swoons and says “Look at that!  A total and utter bastard.  I want him and I want him NOW!” Well OK, I may have used a bit of poetic license there (and ripped off one of Mish Lorraine’s stand up lines there) but you get the picture.

Nope, I don’t wait for the phone to ring, I don’t give “second chances”, and I don’t get involved with blokes with too much baggage.  My ‘problem’ is that I fancy the big, tattooed types with shaved heads, the type that play rugby or box – whether in an official capacity or just have a few too many with the lads.  If they are big and look like I would have lots of fun trying to break em – I’m there. Now I’m also not stereotyping here; not all big blokes with tats are not suitable, I’m sure there are lots who are also responsible and like intelligent, confident women but in my experience they are hiding. Probably from me. Bugger.  I’ve always been the same, my first love was 6ft 7” and was a bouncer at night, mind you – he was bright too, a civil engineer in the day and has spent the last 15 plus years in the RAF. I forget to mention forces guys! Uniformed big blokes! OMFG! (give me a moment to compose myself please).  But we only lasted a year, just wasn’t meant to be, but Garry - you spoilt me for life you git!

The look I go for and always have done – is the ones that look like Vin Diesel.  Huge.  Over 6ft 3”. Built like brick outhouses.  Huge hands. Not pretty. Now I’m a 5ft 8 bird who has boxes of 4” heels, I like a tall bloke.  In fact really ugly I would take any day over short, seriously.  My recent ex was the shortest bloke I have EVER been out with in all of my nearly-41 years and he was 5ft 10”.  Twas doomed to fail from day one to be fair.  Now, back to the big brutes – swoon!  In my experience, these types of guys don’t seem to want women who a) are as confident as them b) can hold their own with a bunch of their mates.  They seem to want the shy, quiet girls.  Apparently I’m “too much” of a bird for them. Why?!  What’s wrong with a woman with some spirit and drive eh boys?!  I know there must be some more out there (the Garrys of this world) but then I suppose the same could be said for the shorter, nicer, financially solvent, caring types that hang around waiting for me to come to my senses....

...so if you look like Vin Diesel, have at least a complete secondary education, have tattoos, are broader than the average door and are at least 6ft 3” please can you make yourself known?!  I’m waiting.

New Years Resolutions

New Years Eve 2010 was a very grown up affair, cocktails in a lovely new restaurant with 3 dear friends. I'm at the age where that was the appropriate thing to do...however I couldn't resist persuading my ("Oh god do we really have to Victoria?! Can't we stay here please?") friends to bob into a local nightclub for an hour.  We had a dance surrounded by twenty somethings who were holding out for that all-important snog come midnight.  Actually - the DJ sucked and didn't even announce the "bongs", so by 5 past midnight people had an air of "oh...is that it then?".  Yep, exactly.  Its just a movement of the big hand on the clock face.  Its the spiritual and emotional shift that counts.

For me this is the year where I actually make some resolutions -I never had have before as I believe they are to be broken by Jan 2nd.  Not this year though, because mine are achievable, and I feel at this moment of reflection (yeah OK, tis a HUGE hangover being touted as a reflective mood)..that these are promises to myself I intend to keep.

Resolution 1: I will spend time with my wonderful friends - old and new - in 2011 because I didn't spend enough time with them in 2010 and I regret it. I am surrounded by some wonderful people and I will wallow in their fabulousness a whole lot more in 2011.
Resolution 2: I will stop doubting my abilities and build on the fantastic start my business has had last year...we rock and we will continue to pave the way in 2011.
Resolution 3: I will ask for help when I need it.  I will stop believing that people don't want to be bothered by me when I'm not 100% happy and sorted; my true friends love me and are there for me.  I will be bothering them more in 2011.
Resolution 4: I will stop feeling unworthy and will snog gorgeous, amazing and talented men in 2011 and avoid the losers.
Resolution 5: I will invite more people round for dinner as I love cooking and sharing good times around a table.
Resolution 6: I will NOT tell a man I love him when I don't.
Resolution 7: I will stop worrying about my wobbly arse.  I'm nearly 41, I have a young child and a busy life and I will NEVER be happy with what I look like in the mirror naked because I am a woman and it is an unwritten law to feel inadequate. Instead I will drink champagne and roll around naked with aforementioned gorgeous, amazing and talented men and to hell with the wobbly bits.
Resolution 8: I will try to be a little more patient with my darling daughter whilst remembering that I am a bloody good mother...and continue to dance around the front room with her in a ridiculous fashion on a regular basis.
Resolution 9: I will listen to music more and see more movies at the cinema.
Resolution 10: I will take more time off work and enjoy life with my daughter, friends and family.

So there we have it.  Nothing too scary, just some common sense ways to improve my life.  Because I love this time of year, the New Year is like a present that promises amazing things, just waiting to be unwrapped.  Because despite appearances, I am an unashamed romantic and I wish to dance into 2011 daring to hope for a better year and with a huge grin on my face.

Wishing you all a prosperous, healthy and outrageously happy 2011.

New Year Kisses....

I love New Year. Christmas you can keep, New Year  is where it’s at for me.  And as I go into 2011 single, I get a teensy weensy bit giddy at the magic of 31^st December. 

New Years Eve 1985 was when it started...I fancied Dave at school since Jan 04.  He was in the year above, hung around with the cool scooter boy/indie lads, a ring leader, tall and gorgeous.  I stalked him mercilessly – I made his sister (year below me, quiet) my new BFF and even babysat for his brat of a 7 year old brother.  He had the same taste in music as me and I died in raptures of pure delight when I was babysitting and he used to come in and ask me if I wanted to “share a fag”.  Those snatched 5 minutes on their back step sharing an Embassy with the object of my desire were moments treasured. Trust me. Second hand spit near the filter was total nectar to me and my teenage hormones.

Anyway, NY Eve 85 I went out with a few girls and we hung around in strategic street corners like we did ...and I’m sure teenagers with no money and nothing to do and nowhere special to go do nowadays.  At about 10pm we had met up with Dave’s group of lads and we were larking about.  Come midnight, we were all messing about in an alleyway between houses (I have to say it was in a nicer area of town) and someone counted down midnight.  At the stroke of twelve, it was ME Dave was stood in front of.  I nearly died.  Or wet my pants. Or both. Anyway, he took my face in his cold hands that smelt of fags and kissed me.  God it was heaven.  Trust me.  Best snog of my teenage years.  Come 3^rd January he was going steady with a bird that was older and better looking than me but you know what? I didn’t care.  That kiss was magic.

Fast forward to New Years Eve 1991.  I was 21, managed an indie band and thought I was cooler than a polar bears arse. I wasn’t.  I’d been going to the Riverside in Newcastle for years, an amazing music venue (RIP Riverside) where I saw some real legends play some cracking gigs.  Garry worked on the door, he was the biggest (6ft 7” tall) and the most intelligent (day job was an environmental engineer) and he had chased me for weeks.  That NY Eve I was out with the crowd from a local recording studio and ended up at the Riv for last orders/midnight countdown. I’d been out for a drink with Garry once and decided he was a bit too ‘normal’ for me. Come midnight I was backstage and snogging him as if my life depended on it.  Come 1am we were at a house party together, snogging as if our lives depended on it.  Come 3am he was in my bed.  Garry was my first real love and we were together for a crazy year and we are still in touch occasionally.  New Year rocks.

Have a fantastic New Year whatever you’re doing and whoever you’re kissing! MWAH x