Archive of ‘University of Life’ category

What I Don’t Want to Tell You About Turning 50 (but Will)

It’s no secret to those closest to me that I was absolutely dreading the most ridiculous three words I’ve ever had to type: my 50th birthday.

The big five O. The F word. The new 40. It didn’t matter which way I said it to myself in my head. It didn’t matter how humorously I tried to ‘dress’ up the idea of turning 50. None of it worked.

I couldn’t come to terms with no longer being in my early 40’s, never mind late 40’s, much less blooming 50 (when I’m still 35ish in my head). I was in denial.

Then there was the small matter of my website. As a blogger who covers parenthood, marriage, womanhood, modern society, life in general, I knew I couldn’t hide in the bathroom and not write about it. But trying to process the F word privately and ‘coming out’ publicly and telling my readers and social media followers that I’m officially middle-aged? Shudder.

So, I started, scrapped and restarted this post, more times than I can possibly remember. Well my memory’s not what it once was because…you know…I’m 50 (!)

But I think I’ve reached that moment of clarity where I feel more able to write honestly (warts and all) about this midlife transition (even if it’s to the point of discomfort).

turning 50 featured image Prabs staring at camera

I don’t want to expose my juvenile disappointment at no longer being able to joke about 50 year olds as I’ve now joined that club myself. #GotMyComeuppance

I don’t want to listen to one more person cheerfully quipping ‘50 is just a number’, ’embrace it’, ‘the next half century starts here’ (when I still want to sue the clot who claimed life begins at 40).

But I will readily admit that I have the wrong attitude and I have to make mental changes. I’ve spent most of my life stunting my own self development by constantly harking back to the past, almost sick with nostalgia. It’s a habit that has made me a mere passenger in my own life, instead of being the driver of it, living for the now. I envy those who take the big five O on the chin instead of like it’s punch in the gut. #OurThoughtsControlOurLife

I don’t want to have to warn you that before you turn 50, you might almost die of shock at finding a grey hair there. Yes, THERE. Don’t look at me like that. You need to KNOW what you’re in for! Just be happy that someone is looking out for you. #NowThatsWhatICallBreakingNews

I will, however, reassure you that at least you don’t publicly display that body part so at least the discovery will be made in private (and the neighbours who hear your horrified shriek through the open bathroom window won’t know what it’s about) #TheGlassIsHalfFullMyFriend

I don’t want to embarrass myself admitting that I hesitated over whether to mention my 50th birthday at all on my blog/social media because I was worried about losing my younger readers who might feel unable to relate to anything this granny writes from now on. (Well they’ll be properly put off after that grey hair announcement won’t they?)  #DefinitelyWorried

But I will gushingly share my delight at the realisation there is life beyond the mum blog! Some of the best reads I come across are by bloggers who happen to be mums but don’t just define themselves as ‘mum bloggers’: Mother of Teenagers, Glowology and Mum Revised. #MidLifeBloggersRock

I don’t want to bore you with trivia such as the fact that Naomi Watts (love her), Hugh Jackman (love him), Daniel Craig (just thank you God) were born the same year as me.

But I will choose to enrich you with the following amazing advice from a friend’s husband who made me look at things differently.

Listen, you’re going to live til your 90.That leaves you 40 years. You’ve spent 50 years doing all the usual ‘life stuff’ (nursery, school, university, career, marriage, kids). What you do with the next 40 years is up to you. So make it count.
([OK I don’t know the 90 prediction but gotta love his way of thinking right?!)

I don’t want to alienate you by oversharing my twisted thoughts.  I long to be 45 again. But if you’d asked me five years ago if I was happy, I would have said I wanted to be 40 again.  If you’d asked me the same thing when I was 40, I’d have said I wanted to be 30 again. #LoveYourAgeTodayAsTomorrowYouWillBeOlder

But I will ease up on myself and realise that millions of women all over the world are going through the same damned thing because every time we come to terms with one stage in life, it all changes! Just as we accept the impact on our bodies from nature, pregnancy, childbirth, stress, environment, what life has thrown at us in general…just as we are processing reaching the dreaded F word, we realise we’ve reached the even more dreaded M word. #AChangeIsGonnaCome(Again)

I don’t want to reveal my self-destructive tendency to waste energy feeling depressed every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a car mirror/shop window, or feel yet another muscle/joint twinge when I should be spending my time constructively achieving life goals.

Or bring you down with the admission that I have become somewhat of a recluse with a fake smile the last few months, finding it hard just to go out and grab a coffee or pick up the phone to my mum and sisters for a chat #PleaseDontGiveUpOnMe

But I need to point out that despite all the self-help mantras and positive affirmations all over social media, it can be hard not to disappear inside a cocoon of  ineffectiveness, negative self analaysis and frustration over all the road blocks (whether self-inflicted or beyond my control) in my life,

Maybe these very feelings are in fact part of the aforementioned M word and that it’s super important to educate myself (and my family) about what to expect from the menopause, so that we can get our mental safety armour on in preparation of what’s about to come!. (Or maybe we should just throw out our mirrors.) #EveryoneAssumeTheBracePosition

turning 50, prabs looking shocked


I don’t particularly want to reveal that a doctor said my face’s entire central column had collapsed and that a woman’s face can disintegrate in the space of six months which made me wonder if I should get some ‘work’ done #DecisionsDecisions

And I don’t want my kids to think physical appearance is as important as the cosmetics and media industries would have one believe. #PutDownThatMiracleCreamItsACon

But I will acknowledge that only I have the power to make peace with that so-called unrecognisable reflection of a deteriorating person staring back at me. #WhoYouGonnaBelieve

I don’t want to warn you that your twenties will seem like they were yesterday and also a lifetime ago at the same time. And that it never ever gets any less weird.

Because I think it’s more helpful to share this great outlook by a wise Glaswegian friend.


I don’t want to deny that I’m ashamed I haven’t achieved much/enough for someone aged 50. And I don’t believe that one’s kids should be one’s sole defining achievement in life.

But I will say how happy and proud I am that I finally found my passion in life and that I never feel more at home within myself than I do when I write, thanks to this blog. #BetterLateThanNever

And finally, dear reader, I have to say this:

I know people younger than me like Laura who are battling extreme illness yet still manage to do more in one day than I can manage in one month.  I know those who came through surgery after surgery like Line to stay with us and put their experience to a positive use. I know people who didn’t even make it to 50.

And I know those who only just made it clinging on…before breathing their last breath in a hospice bed at 7am on their 50th birthday, as if to shake a fist at the Gods that wanted to take them before they had completed that first half century.


I do know that it is shallow, self-indulgent and disrespectful to joke about Desperately Seeking Lost Collagen. Or obsess over the distance my bum has descended. Or feel like it’s all downhill from here like a part of me is dead. I may have found that twatting grey hair. There. But it’s just a funny story, not the end of the world. There is more to life.

I could keep writing posts each birthday about the need to be grateful  – in an effort to convince myself that I actually I am grateful – or I could ruddy well mean it.

I am 50. Yes, they ARE the most surreal three words I’ve ever had to type.  And I could keep euphemistically referring to them as the F word (let’s face it, it does have a certain ring to it).

But maybe 50 really is just a number.

Let’s just keep that last one between you and me…

In memory of Meena.



BEFORE YOU LEAVE! Are you approaching 50 or are you already there?

HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out: Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

Why I Won’t Be Writing Anything for Mother’s Day 2018

So as every parent blogger knows, there are several significant occasions in the blogging calendar each year that are key. Valentine’s, Easter, Father’s Day, Back to School, Halloween, Christmas/New Years and yes, you’ve guessed it Mother’s Day. Big. Huge, I tell thee.

Most ‘professional’ bloggers gear up weeks, if not months, ahead to produce and schedule content, sometimes consisting of an entire month long stream of posts, in the run up to each special day.

I said most… You know where I’m going with this don’t you?

Whilst I have brought you personal posts, giveaways and such in the past for Mother’s Day, this year there will be nothing from me for Mother’s Day 2018.

This Mother’s Day, unlike last year, there will be no wonderful Mother’s Day giveaway.

This Mother’s Day, there will be no emotional post about this whole mothering lark.

There will be no personal story about my relationship with my eldest, this year…there will be nothing from me.

mother's day 2018 prabs's hand on computer title image

Why won’t I be writing anything for mother’s day this year?

Don’t worry, it’s not because I’ve thrown my toys out of the pram after my most recent case of lost blog mojo.

It’s not because I’ve been too late getting timely content sorted.

It’s not just because of the blog schedule cockup caused by laptop problems and erm…other issues (although yes it is mainly that).

And no, don’t worry, it’s not for the heartbreaking reason that many bloggers find it almost impossible write about Mother’s Day.

Nope, the reason that I gave myself a bloggy Mother’s Day break this year is because…

I’M GOING AWAY WITH HUBSTER FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TEN YEARS [excuse me while I step away from the laptop to do my happy jig] to celebrate/commiserate having turned 50.  No matter how many times I’ve typed that F word this week, in an effort to get used to this humongous milestone in life, it still sounds plain ridiculous.

And yes, the yelling in capital letters is entirely justified as the last time we went away together was for my (do the maths mon ami) 40th.

mother's day 2018 prabs looking shocked

So for five glorious days and four wonderful nights, we’ll be up the road in Italy.

Excuse me while I step away from the laptop again to eye up the bubbly that Hubster chilled for my birthday last Sunday which is still sitting unopened, as we were both too hungover.

It may not be my first Italian rodeo as I’ve been many times before (although not since Musical M was born thirteen years ago). It is however the first time I’ll be enjoying the delightful city of Verona, the stunning views, weather-permitting, of Lake Garda and revisiting my old chum, Venice…where Hubster and I in fact first ‘tangoed’ with one another all those years ago and then some time later celebrated our first wedding anniversary.

Of course getting ready for this break has required military level organisation because there was the small matter of organising childcare for three kids and thinking of making sure every detail was covered.

So, I’m afraid I just didn’t want the additional stress and responsibility of blogging about Mother’s Day this year and basically not being able to properly switch off (said the woman who’ll probably Instagram her trip!).

It’s so easy to get bogged down with the commitment side of blogging, especially when it is one’s income earner, but I’m learning to let go and do what’s right for me on the blog (that is after all one of the advantages of working for myself as opposed to someone else who dictates my hours).

I. Can’t. Wait.

And now I really am stepping away from the laptop (well, after I’ve planned our itinerary) for those five glorious days and four wonderful nights.

Wishing my UK readership – who are celebrating Mother’s Day 2018 on a different day from the rest of the world again – a wonderfully Happy Mother’s Day!

(And yes, I’ll be writing something for Malta Mother’s Day later in the year!)




See you next week.


To The Women I Nearly Shamed with my Silence: Me Too

me too solidarity tag woman with big eyes and tears


I have a confession: when I saw the Me Too (#MeToo) solidarity status on a friend’s Facebook wall I mentally turned the other way.

I think in all the years I’ve been blogging, I’ve only written two posts that I felt uncomfortable writing but knew I had to.

One was about my then 12 year old daughter. One was about my marriage.

This joins them.


I didn’t want to write this. I couldn’t bring myself to cast my mind back over the countless times I’ve been on the receiving end of unwanted intimidating advances from men, mainly in my younger years.

Thankfully it doesn’t happen so much now. I guess there are some advantages to ageing and losing all the bloody collagen after all.  Please forgive the humour. It’s the only thing that helps sometimes.

Because I really don’t want to dredge it all up.  It makes me feel dirty.

My stomach has started churning round and round in apprehension.  I can feel the familiar prickle on my back and my body temperature rising with dread as I start recalling the numerous incidents I’d buried at the very back of memory.

So I saw other women’s brave confessions…but I mentally turned away.

I think of the so-called ‘bandwagon cause’ posts that have filled our social media feeds these last few years:
the ice bucket challenge, the handbag/heart status to (somehow I actually know not how) spread breast cancer awareness, the 22 for 22 PTSD push-up challenge, the ‘je suis Charlie’ solidarity posts, the no makeup photo posts.

I’ve taken part in some of them myself I admit.


However, the #MeToo expression of solidarity started by actress Alyssa Milano on Twitter is NOT a bandwagon cause or shallow bid for publicity.

This campaign, cleverly suggesting that woman simply post the words Me Too on their profiles, if they too have been sexually abused/harrassed in any way in their lives, has caused a response both mind blowing and quite frankly depressing for the sheer scale of the endemic problem it has revealed. It has got nothing to do with feminism and everything to do with humanism.

Yet I mentally turned away.

On the very same day #MeToo started gathering momentum with thousands of women posting it on their statuses, Malta (where I now live) experienced one of its darkest days and most shocking news stories: the murder of a well known female journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia. I can partly attribute my failure in sharing my own #MeToo incidents to this tragedy as I, like many people in Malta, was totally stunned and distracted by this news and in fact sat down to pour out my thoughts and feelings about it on screen.

But let’s face it, I can’t blame my failure to speak up about my own experiences of sexual harassment entirely on this. It’s something else.


As a British Asian women brought up with the ridiculous baggage we are cursed with (not that we have the monopoly on this!) a #MeToo confession just felt too inappropriate, too ‘washing of dirty laundry in public’.

I didn’t want to publicly or indeed privately recount the many times I’ve experienced it.

My eldest who reads my blog doesn’t need to see it (just yet). My family don’t need to know the details. My mother doesn’t need the heartache.

I mentally turned away.


It’s well-documented that predators like the Cosby’s, Weinsteins, Allens and the sick narcissistic bully in the White House RELY on this culture of silence…

…on women’s fear of speaking out, on the shame many of us feel. A shame we never asked for. A shame that is not our fault. A shame we never brought on ourselves because of ‘how we dress’…yes looking at you Donna Karan. You may have apologised for those comments and I’m usually a big believer in forgiveness but no…this time the shame is on YOU!

trump quoted on his sexual behaviour me too



I’m married now and have three wonderful kids. I’d rather be writing something funny about them.  Damn it, I’d rather be writing a funny post about anything right now.

It feels like it’s been dark on here for ages so yes, to my regret, I nearly shamed the women who’ve been brave enough to speak up, by staying silent myself and I nearly didn’t write this post.

But partly thanks to reading the brave revelations by a good blogging friend of mine, Mumbelievable, and partly because I know I have a duty to do what is right, I’ll just ignore the churning stomach, hot prickly feeling and the fact my throat has just gone a bit dry.

And I’ll break my silence.


I have never suffered the life changing destructive trauma of being raped. I am one of the lucky ones…apparently.

I ‘only’ endured the incidents detailed below… What a strange definition of being one of the lucky ones! To have never been forcibly pinned down and raped and yet to have been subjected to certain things as a very young girl, not quite understanding what was happening (not listed below by the way).

To have your basic right to just live free as a woman, in the way men do pretty much, absolutely robbed during everyday transactions and normal moments to the point where you actually couldn’t face walking into a meeting at work/a friend’s house party or anywhere. To be so nervous of men that you just could not make eye contact with them.

Oh yes. Very lucky to have experienced all this:

They guy who offered me a room to stay in

when I went backpacking after Summer Camp as a 21 year old in the USA and made it totally clear that it was only available if I slept with him. That’s when I found out how expensive New York hotels are and hardly had any money left to actually explore the city as a result.

The men who wouldn’t just let me walk down the street when I lived in Paris in my 20’s

but instead, hung out of their cars shouting in my direction getting irate if I ignored them. I used to dread the lights going red at a crossing and having to cross the road in front of them.

The idiots who couldn’t just let me stand on a station platform or ride a train…

…male passengers who would whistle relentlessly across the train tracks or sit down on the seat opposite me on the train saying hello and fixing me with a glare on repeat til I looked up. At one point I stopped taking the metro and walked almost everywhere so I didn’t have to endure the platform pests but then I had to deal with the guys in the cars!

The men who simply loitered with no discernible purpose

at the metro station near my apartment blowing kisses and uttering ‘bonjour’ with a wink in the sleaziest low breathy voice.

The passenger on the suffocatingly hot metro train in rush hour

who shoved his hand up my skirt with such force (sorry but I can’t bring myself to type what he then did next) causing me to instantly grab his hand from behind me and dig my nails in so hard that my hand hurt for days…and the tights I’d been wearing were torn.

I never saw the bastard’s face because we were packed in so tight like sardines that it was literally impossible to even turn my head to confront him. And I’ll never forget the woman who heard me shriek and reacted with indignation on my behalf as she tried to figure out which one of the commuters, standing immobile and expressionless, was the culprit.

The man whose job advertisement I responded to 

who stood behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, then leaned over and brushed his hand against the top of my blouse while I did a ‘typing test’ for him. I’ve never run so fast in my life down a flight of stairs.

The seller (not that there was just one) at the Cairo souks

who waited til my friends were out of sight before making lewd sounds as I looked at his market stall wares.

The director at a major bank when I returned to London from Paris

who knew I had a boyfriend but just would. not. quit. asking me out to dinner with thinly veiled smiles that conveyed the message ‘If you don’t, I will at best make life difficult for you, at worst have you fired”.

The Harley Street specialist my employer sent me to

for treatment of my carpel tunnel syndrome, who asked me to take my blouse off even though he was just assessing my wrist! His lingering look that lingered and lingered over my bra. I look back and wish I’d  had the courage to say no but I was so scared in a room with a stranger and a closed door.

woman with head in hands in despair, black & white image, for me too post

And it actually has happened in my 40’s…

The friend of a friend who grabbed my bum at my husband’s 50th birthday party

….just months after insisting I dance with him deliberately waiting for his moment when my husband wasn’t looking.

Another friend of a friend who without any qualms commented on my underwear

that had become visible as I bent down to get some food. Was I asking for that Donna Karan?

The drivers who hoot as I’m out running

and get verbally abusive if I have the ‘audacity’ to protest and shout back at them


It just goes on and ON. Too many to list. So many I’ve blocked out. And the ones that WILL go with me to the grave because I just can’t bring myself to publicise them…

Because as I said my mother doesn’t need the heartache. My kids don’t need to see it. And I don’t need to feel it again.

There will be many women who do not wish to reveal the dark moments when they were victims of sexual harassment or ANY type of uninvited advances that the perpetrator knew made frightened their target. There is no obligation. And in truth, were it not for this blog i.e. my platform for talking about thiings, I’m not sure I’d have spoken out.

So it is not for everyone. But I felt I’d be doing a disservice to the women who’ve been brave enough to speak up, if I stayed silent myself.

I nearly didn’t write this post.

But I did.

So yes #MeToo


HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out: Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

“Didn’t He Do Well?” RIP Sir Bruce

Sir Bruce Forsyth side pose famous thinker pose


I should probably have entitled this ‘The impossible blog post’.

I mean, how do I write about one of the most loved longstanding respected personalities of British entertainment?  Is it even possible to come up with something that does Sir Bruce Forsyth enough justice?* I sat down just two hours after the sad news of his passing and tried for ages to write something…anything…but the words just got stuck somewhere inside me, my sadness was so immense.

The older I get, the younger the ages seem.  I know he went at ‘a good age’ but he was so incredibly fit and light on his feet well into his 80’s that frankly…


89 or not, I wasn’t ready to write about Sir Bruce in this way.

As I’ve said before about the departure of these icons, it feels like a little piece of my life is taken from me each time.

Strange as it sounds, last year…that awful year of loss…I crossed my fingers again and again hoping that this humble man would not join the list of legends to leave us.

Or ever. Not Brucie.

After my lifetime favourites Sir Terry Wogan (whom I had the pleasure to meet) and Ronnie Corbett passed away, I was on red alert. I can honestly say THIS was the one I kept fearing. I felt the same way I had described when David Bowie died.

There is something about Sir Bruce Forsyth’s death that is particularly sad and poignant.  I can’t help drawing an analogy with Big Ben’s famous bell which is about to stop chiming for a set period. Sir Bruce going…


It Is like the Big Ben of British TV has fallen silent forever.

He truly was one of the last – if not actually the last – bastions of UK entertainment. Michael Parkinson said he was the last survivor of the Vaudeville era and that skill has all died with him.

The terms national treasure and legend can be overused. But I think he deserves such status after decades of ‘appearing in our living rooms’.

I had no idea it had been 75 years earning him a world record as the longest-serving TV entertainer… Or that he’d performed at Glastonbury – and was in fact the oldest person to do so – just a few years ago… Or that Michael Parkinson had danced with him! There are some more fab facts about him in this Metro article.

Frankly, I’m hoping that no sinister facts come to light and am saying my prayers that no dark past is unearthed about this icon after the horrendous scandals that have been uncovered about many of his peers.

I think ultimately, whether a conscious feeling or not, as viewers we felt a sense of confidence that watching a show hosted by Bruce Forsyth meant we were in good hands.

There was a certain standard that would be assured.  He made everything he did look effortless even though being a prime time TV host is anything but easy.

Even Parky says so:

What made him great was his impeccable workrate and his determination not to ease into anything, to approach every show as if it were his first. I remember watching him thinking, you crafty old sod, you make it look so easy.

Forsyth wasn’t a warm cuddly ‘uncle’-like character like his good friends, the aforementioned Wogan and Corbett. There was an edginess to him; yet instead of this working against him, it did the opposite and was one of his calling cards. For me personally, he came across as an absolute master of what he did.


Sadly I missed out on the ‘Strictly’ years as I only managed to watch it for a brief period from Malta but there are so many other wonderful things I remember.

The withering look he’d give the audience and his guests.

The mocking (but never cruel) tone he’d use to tease his contestants.

My total surprise realising he actually danced…and danced superbly!

The hysterically funny antics of his brave Generation Game contestants that I howled over whilst scoffing rare homemade fairycakes on the occasional Saturday evenings my mum was actually home and not working at our shop.

Saturday nights at university shouting at the TV screen during Play Your Cards Right which he hosted for a staggering 14 years!

Being enthralled by how his now ex-wife Anthea would ‘give us a twirl’, when she was co-hostess, in the different dresses she’d wear for each show.

That conveyer belt…  Ask most Brits of a certain age about the ‘cuddly toy, the electric kettle and the conveyor belt’ and they’ll instantly know what you’re talking about!

And last but not least, his catchphrases. I’ve been amazed at how many I remember such as “Good game good game” “Higher higher, lower lower!” “You get nothing for a pair. Not in this game!” “Didn’t he/she/they do well?” and the immortal “Nice to see you, to see you nice”.

Sir Bruce Forsyth in tuxedo against black background, smiling


So many greats…TOO many greats have gone.

But now Brucie’s left us, it literally is game over.

Didn’t he do well?

Nice to have seen you, to have seen you nice, Sir Bruce.



HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out: Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

We Are Not The Same

I originally wrote this as a Facebook post, Friday May 26th. Several people contacted me after trying to share it only to find they could only share the video but not my words. So I’ve turned it into a blog post which can be shared, words, video and all. I do hope you will as it’s a message I feel strongly about, a message I believe needs to get out there. Despite the many likes and positive comments from those who got it, there was inevitably a troll who misunderstood me, viewing the post as a vehicle for self-pity, telling me to get my priorities straight and accusing me and the whole of social media for not letting families grieve by our apparent insistence on instantly diverting attention towards ‘the dark-skinned people making it all about us’. So for the record, that is not at all what this about. In fact, quite the opposite.  The post was written to open the eyes, ears and hearts of the very people like the keyboard warrior I mentioned. This is not a ‘my suffering is worse than your suffering’ competition. In any event, we all know that the people suffering the most in this senseless ‘war’ are the ones losing their lives, their health or their loved ones to the attacks. I’m a writer and if this post can educate one person who then educates another and so on, then that is one small but positive thing I can do in the midst of the madness we are engulfed in. #WeStandTogether


This was published before the shocking London Bridge/Borough Market Attacks. My sentiments are of course the same.

I generally keep it light-hearted on the blog and Facebook and frankly, finding myself fighting back tears isn’t how I like to start my Friday.
But it’s been a week for the tears hasn’t it? So I feel the need to share this.

As the child of first generation immigrants myself – like the man in the video below – I totally relate to what he is saying. After 9/11 happened, many of my Indian peers and Sikh relatives went through a very hard time. Attacks on Sikhs took place because they were mistaken for Muslims (by bigots unable to tell the difference between the turbans worn by Sikh and Muslim men, bigots who assumed every Muslim person was evil and that we are all the same’ which in itself is a flawed view) and close relatives of mine went through hell when travelling on public transport, trying to get served in a cafe. Nervous looks, racist sideswipes, uncomfortable shifting from others became an everyday norm.

I’ll never forget being out one night for a celebration in a lovely London hotel and one of my male relatives came back from the bathroom, his face fallen and his expression absolutely wounded. A guy next to him in the lavatory had made a derogatory comment about his turban and a reference to 9/11. One bigoted idiotic remark that took seconds to leave the guy’s mouth wrecked everyone’s night. We thought we’d left behind the mental and emotional injuries of having grown up in the 70’s and 80’s where ‘go back to where you came from’ was a standard phrase and violent attacks carried out on Asian-owned businesses were a common occurrence. Shall I emphasise how hard people worked to start and build those businesses? We didn’t lay about and rely on benefits. My father almost had a fit when I suggested signing on to get unemployment benefit when I initially couldn’t find a job after leaving university. He was adamant that nobody in our family would ‘shame themselves’ by relying on the state instead of just using gumption and grit to work.

9/11 and the many atrocities since then: London, Brussels, Paris, Manchester to name a few have taken us back to that mentality with an unwelcome heartbreaking suffocating crash.
This same relative from the hotel bathroom incident no longer knows what it’s like to travel to the USA without being stared at uncomfortably by other passengers or being pulled aside at immigration and I’m not even going to list what else he – or in fact my own husband who doesn’t wear a turban but is presumably ‘just too brown’ (?) – have endured since.

With every malevolant attack by these nutters, thousands of British-born Asians’ hearts sink. Why?

Because we know WE JUST KNOW that there will be many more people (already of a narrow-minded nature who are then further stirred up by certain tabloids whose agenda seems to be to incite hateful ignorance and fear knowing that their easily-led readership will lap up every word) who will be looking at us more nervously, making more sideswipes, shifting even more uncomfortably standing next to us in some shop, airport queue etc


Yet the overwhelming MAJORITY of British (indeed American born) Asians – be we Sikh, Hindu, Muslim – view these attacks with the same contempt, disbelief, despair and shock as everyone else does.

When Timothy McVeigh carried out the Oklahoma bombing, when various ‘white Western’ maniacs have carried out school/public building massacres etc have you noticed how their religion/ethnicity isn’t mentioned? Does everyone suddenly start mistrusting all white people? No they don’t. Do all white people feel they have to walk around hanging their heads in shame on behalf of ‘their people’? No they bloody well don’t.

It’s the most tragic double standard there ever was. This isn’t an exaggeration. This isn’t distortion of facts or seeing things that don’t exist. It’s the way it is. It’s the way it’s always been.

I can’t even begin to imagine what today, tomorrow, the day after that and so on  will be like for the families affected by the #Manchester tragedy. Entire lives, innocent lives shattered in a senseless war that has no end but just continues in one enormous vicious circle. I just cannot contemplate having one of my kids blown to bits like this. I don’t know what level of hate I might feel.  Emotions are running high, most of all for the families affected. What I do know though, hard as it is for some people to absorb, is that you can’t tar an entire race/religion because of the actions of the minority. Yes I know, with the frequency of attacks, it may not feel like the minority and admittedly we have no idea how many terror cells exist but they don’t act on behalf of all Muslims.

The man in this video is PROUD to be British. And at the same time PROUD of his religion. I may not be religious myself but I respect his right to be proud of his religion and not have to feel ashamed of it. And this man is aching right now for those families. He is bereft. The nutters don’t act on behalf of him or his people. He and his community want no part of it. And every time…EVERY time an atrocity takes place and is attributed to a Muslim, he and innumerable British Asians of all faiths and religions are ashamed. We shouldn’t feel this way but we do.

So I totally understand his words and his tears. And on this beautiful sunny Friday morning that I should have started ages ago with laundry and 20 other chores, I am sitting here crying with him.

We are not the same as the maniacs. #WeStandTogether
Much love.




Just click on this THIS LINK and fill in boxes 1, 2 and 13. 
Super quick and easy!

(Voting closes July 2nd.)


The First Thing I Think When a Tragedy like #Manchester happens.

manchester ttagedy image of candles

I dropped everyone off safely at school and work this morning and quickly whizzed through my Facebook feed, as so many of us do, before getting on with my work.

I was meant to do laundry and wash the floors today.
I was meant to write an article for a brand and shoot a video for a product review.
I was meant to call the dentist and sort details for my eldest’s birthday party.

After momentary confusion at seeing several #Manchester statuses along with sad face and broken heart emojis, it didn’t take long to spot a BBC news link somebody had inevitably shared about the Manchester tragedy. My eyes… Yet another evil act of terror…this time at a pop concert of all places.

19 dead and 50 injured at the time of the article, figures that would rise to 22 and 59 respectively (at the time of writing). Parents who had taken their children, no doubt posting on social media about their excitement, employees of the arena where it happened, adolescents who’d rushed home from school to get ready presumably selfie-ing it up to their heart’s (and Instagram’s) content. All of them ultimately innocent people (despite what ‘mainstream’ terrorists believe about nobody being innocent) who simply thought they were going to have a night to remember.

What a night to remember.

I read the news. And I want to say the first thing I thought was what can I do to help?

I sit here in my Malta bubble feeling emotional but helpless at reports of the people who’ve come together in the most incredible spirit of solidarity to help. Taxi drivers, many of them of different Asian religions in fact, turning off their clocks to take those affected wherever they need to go. People making their homes available to those who were stranded. Sikh temples offering food and shelter to anyone who needed it. People queuing at the blood banks to give blood to help the hospitals treating the injured.

I read the news and I want to say the first thing I felt was shock…

…because that would mean this sort of thing does not happen very often. The rare nature of such an atrocity would make it totally unexpected and shocking.  But shock was not exactly the first thing I felt. Yes I felt the ‘oh God please no’ sadness. A ‘these sickos’ feeling of disgust yes. The ‘not again’ sense of horror, of course. The ‘where next?’ fear. The ‘this has to stop’ anger. Yes yes yes to all of them.

But shock was not the first thing I felt. These carefully planned acts of hate and violence in the name of what… vengeance…justice…religion??? no longer shock me..   That is a tragedy in itself: the fact that the tragedy lies not just in the number of families and lives that are destroyed…but in the fact that this evil has become so commonplace that the ‘shock value’ is shamefully diminishing.

No, I read the news and the first thing I thought was the same as what I always think when something like this happens:

‘Thank God it wasn’t my family, thank God it wasn’t one of my kids’.

Of course this is quickly followed by a feeling of guilt because there are entire families devastated after these events. I can’t imagine the utter grief and hopelessness they are suffering but I’m sure I’m not the only one who has such a reaction every time something like this happens.  

But it could be us next time couldn’t it? Yes I know about laws of attraction so I admit negative thinking like this does nobody any good; think the worst and it can happen. But the fact is it has all got too close to home. A friend of mine told me her two teenage daughters were due to go to that concert tomorrow. Another friend attended Ariana Grande’s Amsterdam leg of the tour. Yet another friend has just returned from a business trip to Manchester. I’ve met somebody who escaped with their life in the 2005 London attacks. My own mother missed an IRA bombing by 30 seconds because she walked back to her car away from where the bomb was about to go off, after realising she hadn’t put money in the parking meter.

Where will it be next time? Who will they get next time? Nobody is immune when they are even targeting the young. 

We all want our children to be healthy. We all want our children to be safe and none of us…NONE of us…wants to outlive our children. When something like the Manchester tragedy happens, it brings home in an instant that we’re all just lucky to be here.

Those parents sent their children to a concert expecting them to return home excitedly sharing news of their big night.

It was meant to be a night to remember. 

What a night to remember.

I was meant to do laundry and wash the floors today.
I was meant to write an article and shoot a YouTube video.
I was meant to call the dentist and sort details for my eldest’s birthday party.

22 people were meant to attend a concert and live to see another day.
59 people were supposed to go to a concert without getting injured.



YOU CAN COMMENT via the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out:
Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.


Word! You Don’t Reach the Summit Without…

Well I can honestly say I didn’t want to post my vlog for this week’s Words of Wisdom post that I usually link up to the #CandidCuddles linky.

Why? Oh let me see, less than ideal image quality, cars hooting, wind blowing but these are minor issues compared to how many TIMES I said the phrase ‘it takes time’. Jeez Louise. I do apologise. Even worse, I kind of feel I didn’t quite say what I wanted to say clearly. Grrr.

Anyway I’m about to break a record for the shortest post ever because I’m racing against the clock to get this post up on my site. Oh lucky you! A short post and a video that is a bit shorter than the last one!



10 Reasons Why I Need to Thank George Michael

quote for george michael post

So there it is. We end 2016 in the same shock and sadness we started it with. Another legend leaves. George Michael, an artist whose songs were like our friends, has gone.

Given that I wrote earlier this year about the icons I grew up witih, I guess the death of George Michael shouldn’t have come as such a shock. Frankly, it did. I am stunned and quite bereft, just as I was – just as we all were – over the death of David Bowie and Prince a few months later.  On the death of George Michael, Hubster said – and I kind of get where he is coming from – nothing surprises him anymore.  But as I type the words: ‘death’, ‘George Michael’ in the same sentence, I find myself struggling to process it.  He wasn’t much older than me.  53…it’s no age to go is it?  On Christmas Day of all days too.  What a way to end the day in fact…three happy kids fast asleep after the excitement of opening their gifts, a fine festive meal eaten and a couple of films watched…only to check my phone and see my friend Neil’s Facebook post sharing the sad news.  Boom.  Total astonishment.

The following morning, watching the news again and seeing the tweets of various celebrities, the shock gave way to utter sadness and tears. Hubster’s reaction was a thing of mystery (as ever); just as I will never understand the man’s response to…erm…most things, he can’t understand why somebody would react emotionally or shed tears “over somebody they didn’t know”.   But that’s just it isn’t it?


We kind of feel like we do did know these legends in a way, though.  Maybe not so much know them but we know the lyrics to their songs word for word.

We know that guitar riff, the break right there where that stonking chorus comes in, you know the one…the one where you have to make sure the car windows are up because you ARE going to belt out the chorus to that classic tune they created, the one you used to listen to during Sunday night’s Top 40 (yes I’m that old people). That anthem that used to fill dance floors is your familiar friend that still pulls you onto the living room floor. That ballad in which you indulged your broken heart (way more times than was actually healthy) still – all these years later – makes you pause in the middle of washing the dishes as heartbreaks of the past flash across the surface of your heart in fleeting melancholy, no matter if decades after you cried yourself stupid over that ballad, you’ve found happiness.


I can’t remember which entertainment legend had just died (the roll call of people who’ve left us this year is just astonishing) prompting my aforementioned friend to post on Facebook: “2016, you can stop now”.

That wasn’t even half way through the year and so many have gone since then.  If it wasn’t so sad, I’d have laughed at that post from my friend.  Which leads me on to the focus of this post… 2015 tried my patience in my personal life. 2016 has been trying in other ways; I honestly didn’t think we’d be saying goodbye to George Michael this year.  I don’t know about you but I’m thinking…if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry (again).


So shall we have a laugh instead? Not at the late great George Michael but an affectionate look at what the man and his music meant to me. 

..a slightly light-hearted but ultimately respectful tribute to him with a fond smile (even though my heart is weeping).

title image george michael on stage smiling

1) Thank you George for breaking my heart. Every December.  There will probably never be another festive heartbreaker that matches Last Christmas for me. Ever. 

Do you even KNOW how many of us have sung this song physically sick with heartache and reaching for the kleenex?! I was in my mid teens living an ultra sheltered Indian girl existence when this song was a hit. Translation: at that point in my life, the only heartbreak I’d suffered was the one over losing the rather detailed love letter I’d written to John Taylor of Duran Duran and not being able to tame that alarming forest that was forming on my upper lip (#BecauseAsian) Four years after you released it, however?  Different. Story.  I could relate to Last Christmas…e-v-e-r-y word of it…as I suffered the first instance of my heart being shattered into a trillion teeny tiny pieces.  At Christmas! Pfft.  I then spent about six Decembers barely able to listen to that song every time I heard it, finally got over it and lo and behold circa mid 90’s got my heart broken again. In December! AGAIN! It was a like sick joke.  All these years later, despite having one of those husband things and three of those kid things and being blessed blah blah, I still feel my tummy clench a bit when the familiar chords of Last Christmas kick in.  But I do thank you for it George. It’s a great tune and will probably still be playing after I celebrate my last Christmas (excuse the pun but like I said, if I don’t laugh, I’ll bawl).


2) Thank you for proving that just because you’re a man, you don’t have to have a man’s hairstyle.  No man will ever rock the Princess Diana haircut the way you did.  I honestly salute you.

Does it get any better than this? I actually remember when you first came out with that new do.  All that hair.  Goodness me George, you Greek Adonis you.  I swear at one point, I honestly thought you looked better than Diana did.  Now, that is some achievement.  Seriously, I hope you find each other in heaven, go to the best salon of them all and sit in adjacent chairs having a damned good giggle and a chat about all you’ve achieved in this life, one icon to another.

george michael pricess diana


3) Thank you for one of the best intros ever to a song.

Yep, the ridiculously catchy summer anthem that is Club Tropicana. I’d love to say I have memories of steamy Club 18-30 holidays with friends or first crush stories with this as the soundtrack. But see above (sheltered upbringing etcetera etcetera). I fantasised about holidays in the sun watching that video (although watching it just now just brings a lump to my throat over how young you were in it, now you’re gone). I don’t think I actually realised what an absolutely perfect piece of pop this song was til years later. I mean that intro! Genius.  Oh and guess what George?  I’m one lucky girl.  Now I don’t just have holidays in the sun; I actually live in the Med not far from where your family is originally from and the sound of the crickets in that intro…we hear that sound every summer. Funny how life works out huh my lovely?


4) Thank you for being one of the signature sounds of my carefree days in Hampstead, in a flatshare with friends, in a crummy job but in total music heaven. 

Where do I begin?  Well to be honest that whole album, Listen Without Prejudice, is one of the albums that saw me through my time working at Harrods after university.  Everyone needs that time in their life; living with a bunch of mates, not a care in the world, staying up far too late, crawling bleary-eyed into work the next day, enduring bad bosses and terrible pay and living through all of it with great music. I actually feel ashamed to say I’d forgotten Cowboys and Angels but playing your tunes as I write this, I’m reminded of how much I loved it and am amazed to see it never even made the Top 40.  Let’s talk about another tune that will forever be one of my absolute faves of yours: Freedom: oh ma Laaaaaad!  Musically, what a COLOSSUS of a song. Visually, tick tick tick, because of the video with all dem models innit?



5) Few artists incite that sense of anticipation in me when I know they’re about bring out a new tune as you used to.  Fast Love…epiphany of the mid 90’s!

Maybe it’s just tied up in a wistfulness over my younger days that are never to return.  Maybe it’s simply because it takes me back to my little apartment in Paris, with its view of Sacré Coeur, where this song kept me company on many a lonely night. Or maybe (and probably more accurately) it’s just because it’s was bloody ace.  Fast Love…I’m playing it right now George.  God it takes me back. So ahead of its time when it was released, you just BLEW my mind.  And that video…couldn’t get enough! Genius you were. (And I still want that chair in my house.)



6) Thank you for coming out in a very backwards coming forwards sort of way – self sabotage so to speak – but then somehow rising above the whole sorry mess to produce one of the bravest most tongue in cheek videos of the 90’s (something that wold have most of us).

7) Thank you for the tacky white 80’s tshirts with their huge black writing which I refused to buy because of my hard core Duran Duran loyalty.

8) Thank you for the slightly cheesy Village People-esque dance moves that you just managed to make look cool.

9) Thank you for providing my husband with some sweet anecdotes (of how he met you) to the delight of our kids.

10) Thank you for being the kind of musical icon I just don’t think we’re lucky enough to see these days.

Just like the legends who’ve gone before you George, you possessed a talent that was almost incomprehensible (no really, how on earth does someone craft such perfect songs from start to finish?) and it was a privilege watching you as you adapted your style to the times.  Thank you for writing – yes writing not just mouthing someone else’s words – some of the most famous songs ever; the soundtrack to the lives of so many of us.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you Mr George Michael.

For all of it.

I loved you even more than I realised.



HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out: Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

3 Little Buttons
Cuddle Fairy

Word! F.E.A.R. (What Does It Stand For?)

Fear…What Does it Stand For?

Another Monday, another collection of words that resonate with me…words that I hope speak to you too and another vlog telling you why I love them. And I have some great news people!  Drum roll please…are you sitting down?  I managed to get this one down in less than five minutes!

So don’t just take my word for it, go see for yourself!  By the way you can catch the rest of my vlogs here. And if you’re a blogger reading this between Monday to Wednesday, why not come link up your own words of wisdom to the Candid Cuddles linky that I run with Cuddle Fairy?

Word! Forgive Others Not Because They Deserve Forgiveness But Because…

Voila, my latest words of wisdom vlog!

Forgive others, not because they deserve forgiveness but because you deserve peace. BOOM! What I forgot to say in the vlog you’re (hopefully) about to watch is that I felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders when I saw that quote a few months ago.

I’m keeping this blog post short, sweet and to the point, like me ha ha.  Well I’m definitely short, no idea if I’m sweet and certainly not always to the point and have wondered if I’m just rambling on and ON in my first few vlogs, hence being a bit proud that I’ve managed to make this one even shorter.  Having said that, people have been telling me they do watch them from start to finish and don’t think I’m rambling, so this is good news indeed.

Do let me know if you’re enjoying these #candidcuddles vlogs I’m doing (and if you’re not, just let me down easy would you?).



You can catch my other vlogs for the #candidcuddles series as well as all my other vlogs right here.

Word! Be Careful How You Talk to Yourself…


Be Careful How You Talk to Yourself…

So I’ve decided I’ll do most if not all of my #CandidCuddles quotes in video form.  Sometimes I can put across what I want to say better in vlog format, and sometimes in blog format.  Ooooh…keeps things interesting 🙂  I loved this line ‘Be careful how you talk to yourself’ when I first saw it a few weeks ago and it has really stuck with me. So watch my vlog to find out why.

This week, I’ll keep things short and sweet by just linking the vlog rather than writing a whole post before it (which was not my original intention last week anyway but ‘inspiration’ hit and I wrote an entire blogiversary post as a preamable to my vlog!).  So here you go, my little pearl of wisdom for this week and a little shout out for one of our regular Candid Cuddlers.

NB if you want to watch any of my other vlogs, just click here.




Word! It’s Not What Happens to You but How You React to it That Matters

typewritten effect of Epictectus quote

So I’ve had a terribly frustrating few weeks where I’ve really had to admit that how you react to what’s going on is key.

No nobody suffered an awful tragedy, the house didn’t burn down etc.  In truth I feel a bit silly typing this because ‘all’ that happened technology problems with my blog leading to it being down for days.  Unimportant in the grand scheme of things right?  Far more important things to worry about and all that jazz but honestly, I have to admit that technology issues are THE thing guaranteed to get me down.  To be fair, there have been various problems that started a few months ago that I couldn’t manage to fix and just put up with which then ended up escalating; so my final absolute frustration could be compared to that irritating drip drip you hear thinking it’s just a tap washer needing replacing, which then turns out to be something far more sinister and a leak springs in your house! In blog terms, depending on the day, certain aspects of the site did or did not work. I sort of patched them up with temporary band aid so to speak.  And by temporary band aid, I mean ignoring the blog for the rest of the day, drinking a lot of gin coffee and trying to get back into the site later.

Further problems arose: plugins and bits of my theme literally disappearing, anomalies after updating wordpress and Jetpack just refusing to reconnect, etc etc.  I begged and pleaded on social media for assistance or contact details of IT wizards who could help me.  It was finally discovered that the reason for the problems was lack of space on the server my site was located on which I can’t even begin to explain in layman’s terms. The only thing I can explain is how cheesed off I was.  Then the problems got worse.  Oh joy.   Despite being self-hosted since the launch of my blog, I was on a shared server set up.  Unless I moved to a host of my own, as it were, the problems were just going to continue.  No brainer then: I made the decision to move to a different host and a single server setup.

Ha! That’s when the fun really started and the importance of how you react to a situation became apparent.

There was a brief period where I managed to get onto my site, write a post and promote it on social media only for the site to go down again and people to click on the link and see an error page instead of my post.  I won’t bore you with any more, there’s so much of it!  What I can say is that my fab Candid Cuddles partner Becky – or Cuddles as I call her – had to put up with me moaning like a 5 year-old about my tech frustrations.  Frankly, amongst the stress of missing blog deadlines, not being able to get promised reviews up and publishing a post that people couldn’t blooming read, I was very aware that I was meant to be writing content for Candid Cuddles and hosting the linky.

Cuddles was super lovely calming me down, telling me not to worry about the linky, as the IT people encountered problem after problem trying to migrate my site.

I can’t help laughing actually. There’s been a mantra I’ve been wanting to link up to our sweet little linky every single week.  However, every week, one thing or another happens which then leads to me write something else.  Voilà, as you can see it’s happened again! The tech nightmare resolved, (don’t jinx things Prabs) I got to thinking about my response to the whole saga.  It has led to my mantra of this week. (I guess we can safely say the famous philosophy that every cloud has a silver lining really can be applied here.)  And I thought of this:



Honestly, it’s the truth! As Becky pointed out, things have a habit of working themselves out in the end.  

I spoke about mental habits, thought patterns and conditioning in a previous post I wrote for this linky.  I mentioned how my husband opened my eyes to something I’d never realised about outlook on life, self sabotage etc.  Another key thing I remember him saying all those years ago – and something he still lives his life by in fact – is that you when you’re in a situation that you can’t do anything to change, the only thing you can change is your attitude towards that situation. Sometimes, you can in fact change the outcome of the situation by your very handling of it.  If you can’t however, there is no point in wasting energy over it.

Now, I  won’t pretend that I had an epiphany and became totally zen-like in my attitude to the site migration.

BUT it was a much calmer Prabs who waited day after day for the problems to be fixed. It was a more accepting Prabs who just got on with whatever she could do in the meantime work-wise such as filming videos for her new vlog channel.  It was a more yielding Prabs who listened to the new hosting company (as well as the independent IT guys who worked on the site migration) say ‘your site is now fine, everything is working and it’s showing to users all over the globe’ whilst she knew that she herself still couldn’t access the site.

I’d like to believe that somewhere underneath the grumbling annoyed exterior

there was a Prabs who knew only too well that she really had no power over the outcome of the IT situation…only the power to control her reaction to the situation.  You know what? I think there was.


HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out:
Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.

The Life You Have is a Dream


I do apologise for the rather bleak picture and the solemn quote (don’t worry…I’ll lighten the mood next week!) but…the fact is this is reality for many people so I didn’t want to put up a ‘diluted’ picture.

When Do You Have Enough?

I’m bashing out this post after an eye-opening thought-provoking moment that has just occurred in my kitchen, on a Monday afternoon as my eldest does her homework, the other two play upstairs having finished theirs and the dinner is simmering away.  I was due to go to the supermarket after the school run to do the weekly grocery shop having not done it this morning, as I decided to blog, and we desperately need food as the cupboards are bare and there is hardly anything in the fridge or freezer.

Well I Thought We Didn’t Have Enough Food Or so I thought.  More on that in a sec.

I mean there is more empty shelving than actual food in the fridge, the ‘carbs cupboard’ only has half a loaf of bread, a Ryvita packet and some Maltese galetti (sort of like water biscuits), the storecupboard cabinet (canned food, pasta, grains, lentils, pulses) has visible spaces on the shelf and the snacks cupboard is definitely running low.  So basically we have hardly anything left.  (This always reminds me of a good friend during my London days; she used to describe the food situation in her house as rain or shine.)

Yet, despite the apparent tragic impoverished circumstances of my kitchen,

me being me (ie a legendary procastinator) I just could not summon up the energy and will to spend the required hour and a half driving to the shop, doing all the shopping, queuing up, paying, hauling it to the car, driving back and offloading it all.  Yep, housewife of the year.  Obviously I’ll have to buck up and do it tomorrow.  I was desperate not to go the supermarket which would mean leaving the kids alone and  delaying dinner (and a blog deadline) so I looked again at that sad-looking fridge and opened the forlorn cupboards again. I walked back over to the fridge and looked at it again, (maybe I thought if I stared hard enough, I’d realise my eyes had in fact been deceiving me and food had been there all along).

That’s When the Eye-Opener Happened

I wondered whether I did in fact have enough to get through this evening (thankfully dinner was already taken care of), the following morning’s breakfast, not to mention the kids packed lunches and my own lunch and possibly even dinner.  You KNOW what I’m going to say don’t you?  Yes I did.  In fact, I had enough to put together – wait for it – 9 meals.  Yes NINE!  I’d gone from famine to feast in just a few minutes without leaving my house!  And in that moment, as I reassessed my formerly ‘disastrously understocked’ fridge, I actually felt a bit ashamed and realised I really am a product of my generation, a generation that has – maybe unintentionally – developed a greedy mentality through having grown up in the comfort and affluence of the West. A generation often unable to recognise when we have enough…more than we need in fact.  Our vision has become so skewed.

Now, I don’t think I’m a ‘greedy person’ by any stretch of the imagination;

far from it actually.   I’m generally content with little…more of a ‘want what you have, not have what you want’ sort of person.   So I have to ask, if I’m such a glass half full rather than half empty type, (and yes I suppose I could have used that quote in this post!) then why on earth do I not see my kitchen as half full, not half empty?!  Why do we see problems when really there isn’t one?  Of course, I could extrapolate to so many other areas of life but I think you get me.


Now I know 100 people could read this post and each of those 100 people would have a different financial status; some perhaps very well off, some in the middle and others prone to struggling their whole life to make ends meet.  And yes, life really has become expensive.  But that’s just it.  Whilst property prices, the cost of a meal in that fancy restaurant and various forms of taxation have indeed risen since we were all children, the fact is we in this society are propagating this belief that life is expensive left, right and centre.  When actually, maybe just maybe (this is my theory) It’s really only as expensive as we want to make it?  If we think we need that shiny new car, summer holiday, dream house, weekend get away, buzzing social life, this season’s trendy clothing, the coolest gadgets etc in the belief that these are all ‘must-haves’ crucial to our happiness, then yes our life will probably be one destined for great expense.


This central message exists in many different forms.  

You’ll probably have seen memes about being richer than most people in the world if you have food in your fridge, clothes on your body and a roof over your head.  I honestly believe in this so much.  I’m sure I drive my kids mad with the whole ‘no you can’t have the blue plate because there’s nothing wrong with the red one you have because you’re just damned lucky to have food on any plate in the first place!’ sermon, delivered from time to time.

So, I have to say, harsh as the picture for this post is, the message is so very true and apt.

Now more than ever.

HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons on the side.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out:
Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

Word! Whether You Think You Can or Think You Can’t, You’re Right

think you can ford

When I first came across this memorable line by the famously respected businessman and automotive genius (not to mention the controlling egocentric) Henry Ford, it was like an enormous megawatt light bulb had just been switched on in my brain.

I don’t remember where or when I first saw it although I don’t think it was that many years ago.  What I do know is that I was so blown away by this philosophy that I absolutely had to feature it in 40 Life Lessons for my Kids.  I would love to write something insightful and profound to explain how/why it was such a personal epiphany because I think it is an amazing quote that deserves at least that.  But I’m not sure I can actually do it justice…which I guess reflects what Ford said!  So I guess I’d best try.

There is a common question; nature or nurture regarding the personalities we all have.  I believe that we’re a combination of both.

I think we are a product of the circumstances of our upbringing but also have our own inherent character.  I honestly don’t think you can separate the two.  Why do I mention this?  I think the reason that this quote was almost like an arrow between my eyes was because I grew up with a tendency towards negative thought and very little self confidence, due my  environment, which doesn’t need elaborating on here as this is all about the positive.  Suffice to say, it genuinely hadn’t dawned on me most of my life that one’s ability to achieve or competence at anything or chance of success is largely down to one’s own thought patterns.  It’s not as simplistic as convincing oneself one could make themselves invisible or fly unaided to the moon… But really in many cases, if you think you can or think you can’t, you’re probably right.   So if you really do think you can pass that exam, write that book, jump out of that plane, learn that language…then chances are you jolly well can.  And will.  Conversely if you think you can’t…well it probably won’t happen for you.  This actually makes me think of what Angela said in her post on last week’s Candid Cuddles last week.

I only became aware that I had a tendency to self sabotage (I say ‘had’ because I do think I’ve  improved a lot!) when my husband pointed it out to me not long after we met.  He realised much of my behaviour/way of thinking was down to my conditioning (we all have conditioning, it’s not unique to me) and I don’t know how many hours we spent chatting over this phenomena in the early days of getting to know one another.  So it’s not that surprising that one of Ford’s most known remarks struck me, in light of this ‘self realisation’.  It just explained so much and I could literally pinpoint specific areas of my life where I’d either talked myself out of or indeed succeeded at something.

Now that I am a parent, I honestly believe it is one of the most profound and important lessons we can pass on to our children.  

My two girls couldn’t be more different in their way of thinking.  The eldest will give up at the slightest hurdle and thinks everything is difficult and impossible from simply opening a packet of food to running a marathon and everything in between.  Bizarrely, this same child has total belief however in my abilities and wasn’t at all surprised when I won my BiBs award because she ‘knew’ I was going to (her words) and in fact was in shock when I didn’t win the MADs one (apparently when Hubster told her, she was floored and asked to see my whatsapp message herself, such was her belief in me!).  The younger one is fiercely independent and doesn’t like help unless she’s tried all avenues herself.  My son is somewhere in the middle I guess.  They’ve all grown up in the same household, same environment and in this case it’s their individual personalities that shapes their belief of whether they can or can’t do something.

Nature or nurture, it doesn’t matter, I just want them to apply themselves to whatever they do…

…be it a simple recreational drawing, a competitive sports activity or something extremely significant.  I do try to remind my eldest of this when she looks defeated by just looking at her maths homework   I need them to really truly understand:

that if they think they can or think they can’t, they’re right either way.

Then I’ll have partly done my job.

And Henry might look down and smile.




HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons on the side.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out:
Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

Word! There Is No Time Like the Present and No Present Like Time

no time like the present quote

This post was written for the #CandidCuddles linky which runs every Monday to Wednesday evening.  If you’re a blogger and you’d like to link up, please click here for Candid Cuddles edition 58..

So my very first post for the Candid Cuddles linky presented a bit of a challenge.

Not because I couldn’t think of any quotes/sayings but because loads came to mind and I didn’t know which one to choose for my first outing as co-host!  Then last night the Second Best Exotic Marigold Film came on TV.  Without giving too much away for those of you who’ve not seen it, Maggie Smith’s character says a line that for me was just breathtaking and moving: “There’s no present like time”.  I have to admit my brain was confused for a millisecond because the standard more commonly known saying is There is no time like the present. Then the penny dropped and I was delighted by the ingenuous reversal of the nouns and the totally different meaning this created.

I think we are mainly struck by a saying when it applies to us or makes us look inside ourselves or realise something we hadn’t thought of before.  

There are thousands of quotes and sayings floating around the internet and in books.  Depending on your character, your passions, where you are in your life etc, a particular quote can be thrilling, life-affirming, saddening, eye-opening…the list goes on.  I chose this particular line because it struck a chord with me instantly.  At first I was just impressed by the cleverness of it given that it made sense ‘back to front’.  Then the next day, the more I thought about it (while waiting for my site to be fixed after a malware attack hoping I could actually get my thoughts down in this post!), the more I was affected by the emotional aspect of these words.  And the more I realised one could interpret the phrase in several ways (incidentally I thought this article about this turn of phrase rather interesting).

A few weeks ago, we suffered the shock of a bereavement in our extended family.  

Whilst I hadn’t yet met the person who passed away, I was due to meet them very soon at an important family occasion.  Not only this, but the timing (not that there is ever a right time for someone to go especially when they were far too young) was dreadful and the knock-on effect heartbreaking.  It has had a deep impact on some of my close family members and the next few months will prove to be tough to get through.  For those who lost their loved one, the hurt will not simply last for months but possibly a life time.

Where am I going with this?  

Well, I know it’s clichéd but the undeniable truth is that life is short.  I spend far too much time sweating the small stuff, overthinking every unimportant thing, flying off the handle at my kids about normal kiddie stuff, wasting vital time and energy endlessly planning daily/weekly schedules none of which I stick to.   All this, instead of getting my priorities straight and investing my time and energy wisely where they are needed.  I have also become an ‘absent’ daughter, sister and friend if I’m brutally honest, not keeping in regular contact with dear ones and (partly due to low-level depression, partly due to protecting myself from toxic people and partly just due to selfishness!) closing myself off from people, forgetting birthdays, not offering my time to help out at school etc.  Well this post is for the Candid Cuddles linky so I’m being candid!!

What I’m trying to say, albeit clumsily, is that none of us know how long we’ve got.

When your number’s up, it’s up.  That’s the tragic truth.  The time we have here…my goodness it’s so precious!  I’ve wasted a lifetime, sleeping too much (yep I’m a mum of three who gets sleep!), having few passions if any, being ineffective and not being generous with my time.  The lack of generosity with my time most significantly affects my parenting and I only halfheartedly listen to my kids when they talk to me, my mind distracted by miscellany, and hurry them along or cut them off, which is frankly unforgiveable given that I absolutely loathe it when my husband does it to me (which I’ve also written about).

I’ve lost two friends to cancer way too young.  I know others battling it.  I read all sorts of blogs about the happy things in life and the sad things too.  The recent news I spoke of was a wake-up call. For the time we have on this earth is so limited and really is a precious gift.  So it’s desperately important to get busy with doing/achieving/experiencing/loving/giving because…

No time like the present meme




HAVE YOUR SAY! by using the Facebook or website comments box below.

SHARE THIS POST! via the social media share buttons below.

DON’T MISS THE NEXT POST! just pop your email address in the orange top banner.

TO FOLLOW my pearls of wisdom entertainment on social media check out:
Facebook,Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!


They Are All Leaving and They’re Taking My Childhood With Them

I sat down to write something the day after beloved and respected British comedian Ronnie Corbett passed away.

I had been enjoying the Easter holidays with my kids, having one of those leisurely days where they played, listened to music and we made casual plans to do something in the gorgeous Maltese sunshine.  Then, 24/7 blogger and all that, I checked my social media and noticed a friend had shared an iconic TV sketch from my childhood: the Two Ronnies Fork Handles and a sad face. No words. Just that emoji.

And I knew.


The wave of utter sadness that descended on me was not unlike the one I’d experienced when a close family friend passed away years ago.  I was bereft.  He was the kindest gentlest of men for whom I felt enormous respect.  I always felt Ronnie Corbett was like him.  It is difficult to explain to anyone who did not grow up watching him, what an absolute legend this entertainer was.  Physically on the short side he may have been.  A giant of comedy he most definitely was.

The Two Ronnies were, like Morecambe and Wise, a stable fixture of British comedy programming in the late 70’s and early 80’s.  They were part of the fabric of my family’s Saturday nights; my father would come home from the shop and The Two Ronnies would entertain us after our evening meal.  The Phantom Raspberry Blower, the spoof Mastermind sketches…good grief, the hernias I nearly had laughing!

I was reliving those memories when Musical M said ‘Mummy what’s wrong?’ upon hearing my pained ‘Oh No’.  

Mid flipping pancakes and getting arts and crafts supplies out, it had turned into the saddest of days.  Yes he had had a ‘good innings’ as they say.  But that never helps does it? As soon as pancakes were scoffed, before I even tackled the bombsite aka my kitchen, I sat down with the kids to show them that TV sketch that I had first watched when I was younger than two of my kids are now…  I can’t help hope that Mr C was somewhere above us watching my kids howl with laughter watching him and Mr B.  Just think, forty years after that sketch was filmed, a new generation is enjoying it.

I tried to write about it, I couldn’t find the words.  Other blog posts and projects then required my attention.  I put the post on hold promising myself I’d come back to it.  

A few days ago, after picking my babies up from school, I took them to our local beach cafe; we sipped drinks, played ball on the sand and enjoyed the sight and sound of the stupendous teal sea and white foamy waves crashing against the rocks after school.  We came home and I quickly checked my computer before making a start on dinner.  I stared in disbelief at the BBC ‘breaking news’ headline about the death of Victoria Wood, again an icon of British comedy.  Once again Musical M watched my face fall, my beach buzz replaced by shock and glassy eyes as I tried to explain the magnitude of this further loss.  Victoria Wood was the first stand up comedienne I was aware of.  I remember admiring this ridiculously funny intelligent woman hurling out jokes at a rate of 60mph in a heavily male-dominated profession.  She was a role model for so many women wanting to make their way in the entertainment industry and was quite simply larger than life.

The next day, I took the kids to the beach after school again.  

The intention was to play ball again but we found ourselves watching the crazy waves and the surfers instead, as the sea was covering half the beach making it impossible to play.  After another lovely afternoon, the same thing: we went home, I checked my social media and again BBC News greeted me…this time announcing the death of Prince.

It was like a sick joke.  Two days in a row, the exact same scenario.  I genuinely thought it was a hoax.

I resolved to dust off that blog post I’d attempted and write something after all.  I also resolved not to take the kids to the beach the next day.  (Sorry, writing this is making me said and I needed some light relief so please excuse the dark humour.)  So I sit writing it.

I have to confess, I considered calling the post “Just What the Actual Eff?!”  

The numerous deaths this year of so many greats….it’s too much.  David Bowie the impact of whose death I also wrote about, Terry Wogan (not an international megastar but a much loved highly respected icon of British broadcasting and entertainment), Alan Rickman, a humble non ‘celebrity-like’ theatre and film actor…the list goes on.

A friend of mine has a theory about why all these deaths have hit us so hard.  He compared it to the late 70’s when so many greats of TV and film died in the space of a few years: John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Richard Burton, Rock Hudson, Peter Sellers, Eric Morecambe, Tommy Cooper.  My friend realised that the deaths of those silver screen idols must have impacted our parents in the same way these recent deaths have affected my generation and that perhaps it is because our parents were in fact not far off the age that my is generation now.  These were the personnages from their childhood.  Just like Corbett, Wood, Prince etc are the people from my childhood/youth.   My generation is becoming so much more aware of its own mortality, just like my parents must have done then.

Each time another death is reported, it’s like a piece of my childhood goes with it.

The childhood where we welcomed these people into our homes via the small screen.  They were part of the backdrop to our lives: favourite films, famous TV sketches, cherished hit songs…these form part of our memory bank as we grow up.  In my case, the death of Wogan was most definitely linked to this.  I met Terry Wogan when I was seven years-old.  He was promoting a product at one of the Cash and Carry wholesalers where my parents used to buy the stock for their supermarket.  It seems strange now that he was there doing that actually.  Long story short, my parents and I excitedly spotted him, I posed for a photo with him and he asked me to do my best open smile at which point I promptly burst into tears because I had just recently lost a tooth and looked like Goofy.  No big harm done.  I watched him whenever he presented anything on TV and was a huge fan of his 1980’s talk show and of course Blankety Blank!

And then there is the man…Prince, the Artist Formerly Known As, the Tiny Yet Huge Rock Star, His Royal Purpleness etc etc.

What do I say? So much to say.  So very many memories of his songs, fabulous memories.  Being addicted to Take Me With You, dancing my bits off to Kiss in a French nightclub, hearing 1999 over and over midnight December 31st 1998, mesmerised by the unique sound of When Doves Cry, cracking up with laughter when a Radio 1 DJ did a series called Twisted Lyrics and hearing the hilarious version of Purple Rain’s lyrics, doing the walk of shame down Camden High Road with Lovesexy playing in my ears on my walkman and possibly best of all…strutting round my tiny Paris apartment with my sisters pouting and posing to the stonkingly sexy Cream.

Legend. Pure and simple.

Legends…all of them.  From Bowie to Rickman to Wogan to Corbett to Wood to Prince and all the ones I’ve not mentioned in between.

And if any of you legends are looking down, able to read this, may I just say I had not realised the extent to which you inspired me…until you were gone.  The films that have a place in my heart, the songs that are the soundtrack to my life, the TV shows that were like my best pals when my friends were all going out and I had to stay home with only you for company, the comedians that nearly gave me a broken rib from laughing,   Thank you so very much for all of it.

I just have one small request.

If I ever join you in Heaven or where ever you are, please could you arrange for a front row seat?  I intend to carry on watching and listening to you forever.

Thank You.

Absolutely Prabulous awards campaign badgeIf you enjoyed this please consider voting for me to win the Best Writer award at this year’s Mum and Dad Blogger Awards and the Brilliance in Blogging Awards.
IT’S SUPER EASY AND TAKES SECONDS! Just click on either/each (depending on how kind you’re feeling ha ha) and then simply: 

1) pop in your name 2) scroll to Best Writer. 3) Select Absolutely Prabulous from the drop down box. 4) Click on submit. You’re done.  Thank you!

Linked to


13 Important Things You Should Know About Growing Old

This ageing gig.  Gosh, is there anyone in the history of humankind who has found growing old easy?  

Freddie Mercury once sang Who Wants to Live Forever?  I do Freddie, I want to live forever.  I write this days away from my XXth birthday.  That’s what I’m calling it from now on, XX. (Remember that.)  Yes, I’ve arrived at the point I never understood when I was young and said I’d never arrive at (surprise surprise): not wanting to disclose my age.  More on that shortly.  Let’s just say I’m old enough to have seen many a trend come into fashion, go out of fashion and come back in again at least twice.  

Now, we’re all different.  I’m sure there are those who aren’t bothered about growing old

(although Just Saying Mum sounds about as thrilled as me in her hilarious post).  In fact, some people are able to laugh about ageing like the lovely Laura of Five Litttle Doves (although if I was still only thirty-frickin-six, I’d be laughing too).  So maybe it’s misguided and presumptuous of me to describe the following list as things you should know about growing old because you may not agree.  I just thought I’d let you know what I’ve experienced as it may serve as a warning of what’s about to come (if you’re younger than me).  Equally, it might reassure you that you’re not alone (if you’re older than me)!  So, read it and weep.  No, learn.  I meant read it and learn

retro pic of Prabs of Absolutely Prabulous


The last few years when I’ve been invited to a 40th bash, I’ve thought “bless…just a baby’. Now I just want to burn the damned invite and pour myself a double vodka.

ALL of them.  I’m having to hold everything (shampoo bottles, appliance manuals, pasta packets, cinema tickets etc) at arm’s length, so the words aren’t blurred and that’s with my glasses on/lenses in.  And now poor Hubster’s sight is failing.  If someone were to watch us trying to read…well…pretty much anything, they’d die laughing.  Our kids get quite a comedy show as their parents pass games instructions etc between one another, in exasperated defeat.  The blind leading the blind, honestly.

until you actually do coffee tequila shots.  My Saturday night girls are mainly way younger than me and are quite partial to them and I do love them so…when in Rome…)  Sadly coffee tequila shots don’t love me and have no qualms about reminding me the next day.  And the day after that…

(sorry male readers) such as these:

and you still are but you’re even happier when you find this:


Don’t laugh!  This is the best flask I’ve found.  I’ve been hanging out at playgrounds and after-school activities for years with rubbish ones that have no handle/aren’t the right size.  Then as luck would have it, I found this the other week for barely half the cost of others.  Look…the best bit: it’s got two cups, TWO I tell you!  Do you understand how handy this is for weekend hikes?!

I’m usually the eldest amongst my friends.  As the years have gone by, I’ve started feeling like a museum exhibit that gets rolled out for people to admire.  Don’t get me wrong; I understand it’s flattering, to an extent.  But sometimes it’s uncomfortable, especially when a friend mentions I’m almost as old as their mum (and calls me granny).  I’m not sure exactly when I started thinking I’d rather people didn’t know my age but something happened recently that confirmed I really don’t!  I was dining with some relatives, one of whom likes telling people my age.  (I get it, she’s ‘proud’ I look younger than my age and the intention is sweet.)  A guy from the next table joined us and an interesting (if embarrassing) thing happened.  My relative asked him to guess our ages.  My heart sank: Here we go again.  He guessed theirs, looked at me and said “You’re 26”.  (Funny guy.)  I thanked him: “That’s lovely but we both know I’m not 26. Now, how old do you really think I am? I don’t mind”.  Well you have to be game, right?  I must admit I kind of felt sorry for him.  He must have thought I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t tell the truth here. I’ll offend her either way.   This is the interesting bit: after paying me a compliment, he said “Ok, I really think you’re 36”.  Here comes the embarrassing bit: my relative practically spat her prosecco out shrieking “She’s XX!!” 

Now your idea of a fun time is reorganising your household storage.

well alright, it's usually tidier than this...

well alright, it’s usually tidier than this…


Despite still being blessed with what’s ‘conventionally’ regarded as a slim figure, my natural shape tends towards pear-shaped and I’m now actually wider than I’ve been in over twenty years (pregnancies aside).  My friends literally scoff when I say this but there are genuinely items of clothing that don’t go on as easily as they used to; I can still get into them but the buttons and zips are none too happy about the extra work required to make this happen.  It doesn’t help that I seriously struggle fixing an exercise schedule that fits with the madness of kids/house/blog/life in general.  I know I’ll never return to my gym-sculpted younger self and actually I’m not heartbroken over it!  I’ve surprised myself with how fine I am with having a bit more ‘meat’ on me, maybe because I don’t feel the same pressure to be svelte that I felt in my twenties.  And I do think not having full length mirrors in our house helps…

Such as going for an eye test and taking your existing glasses with you because all you need are new lenses…there’s nothing wrong with the frames…they were great twelve years ago and they’ll do just fine now! OLD PERSON behaviour I tell you.  So is this:


– I think I’ll always cringe at the sight of Mariah Carey spilling out of a boob tube whilst screaming singing.
– I’ll never be able to watch reruns of Glee because I have a similar reaction to Lea Michele doing anything.  Sorry but it’s impossible to like everyone.
– I can’t help laughing when someone falls over (unless it’s me, ahem) and yes I know it’s unkind and juvenile and I don’t do it in front of them.  Hey, I don’t do drugs or cheat on my husband so allow me this one vice.

[Deep breath]. I may incite uproar and judgement with this but I’ll never forget when I first realised that my age was making me invisible. I was 34 and visiting friends in Paris where I used to live.  As I stood on a pavement waiting to cross Rue de Rivoli, it struck me that something was different from my visit three years before.  It took me a minute and then it hit me: nobody was hooting anymore!  Men were no longer leaning out of their car windows  calling me or walking past me on the street saying a sleazy ‘bonjour’, daily behaviour (harrassment) I’d experienced when I used to live there.  Part of me was happy to say goodbye to that degrading nonsense that used to make me dread walking into a cafe on my own but part of me was (dare I set feminism back decades by saying it) erm…how do I put this…wistful.  Shut the front door!! Say what now? Yes I hated that chauvinist treatment when I lived in Paris in my twenties but standing on that street corner, as a visitor in my thirties, it hit me that the attention had ground to a halt because I no longer looked ‘young enough’ to attract it, translation: young enough to be harrassed.  [Mental note to self: write blog post on how ageing is a godsend.]

Yes folks, let’s observe a minute’s silence over the sad passing of that miracle ingredient that made me/you look youthful.  I no longer get mistaken for someone in their twenties (the story in point 5 doesn’t count) and on bad days not even someone in their thirties.  Makeup doesn’t work the magic it used to, there is no skincare on earth that can bring the plump firmness back (no matter what all those Loréal ads say) and a hollow slackness has appeared on that face in the mirror.  But worst of all, the eyelids drop!  The face sagging: I get that. The tummy wrecked to holy hell by three pregnancies and births: logical.  But my eyelids dropping? What kind of sick joke is that?  I look like I’m permanently asleep.  I have friends battling serious illness and problems of my own more serious than The Mystery of the Vanishing Collagen and Droopy Eyelids so I know this could seem insensitive and self-absorbed.  But our issues are our issues and frankly, it takes the wind out of my sails seeing myself age.  (I said I was trying to confront the body image demons; the face doesn’t count, ahem.)

As I sit here writing at my ‘cafe office’, there are two young mothers in that follow-the-toddler-around-before-they-run-out-to-the-road-or-destroy the place stage, unable to sit down and drink their coffee before it’s cold.  Each summer, I see mothers struggling onto the beach with a hundred bits of equipment, babe in arms.  I see women pushing buggies loaded with paraphernalia.  And I can’t help thinking ‘Gosh I’m so happy I’m way past that stage now’.  When I met my dolly of a niece, I found myself saying things like “Mine used to do that when they were little”.  I felt like a veteran mother (let me be a veteran at something okay?) yet friends with older kids say to me “I’m glad I’m out of your stage…your kids are still so young.”   At least I get to drink my coffee while it’s still hot, well, lukewarm.  See? All relative…

So very much I could say…
Friends who shouldn’t have died so young.
People battling illness.
So many people who have lost their parents.
People who unexpectedly lost their partners.
The crap that’s in our food no matter how hard you try to eat healthily.
The cancer cells in our body that might be just waiting to gang up and leash their worst.
I’m aware of it every day.


Prabs of Absolutely Prabulous and thoughts about ageing



Since publishing this post, it’s been brought to my attention that I didn’t mention memory loss as a major symptom of ageing. I would have included it but…I forgot!


To have a say, please scroll down and use either the Facebook or website comments box below. (Bloggers using FB comments, please use your BLOG ID not your personal name.)

To share this post use the social media share buttons below.

To receive my blog posts pop your email address in the orange top banner.

You can also follow my pearls of wisdom entertainment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!


Linked this post to fab linkies:


The Perfect Holiday…Is There Really Such a Thing? #MarkWarnerMum

This post was originally written as my entry for a competition February 2016. I didn’t win the competition but really enjoyed writing it!

Mark Warner Holidays are seeking six lucky bloggers to act as family brand ambassadors for 2016.  So I thought I’d give it a go.  When I thought of what I’d describe as my perfect holiday, it came to me as a conversation between myself and my children, although I admit I don’t usually talk to my kids in rhyming couplets but there’s a first time for everything right (well second)?!

So voilà my entry for consideration in the Creative Writing category.



Mummy why are you applying as family ambassador for Mark Warner?
Because kids, it’s not enough to linger in our Maltese corner.
But we already have sunshine, beautiful Valletta and Golden Bay;
They’re more than fine mum, what is better for a perfect holiday?!

I see your point but blessed as we have been to spend this time in Malta,
This is purely one island and it’s really time we oughta
Give you a proper holiday beyond taking you to the same pool.
There’s so much you’ve not yet done; there’s more to life than school.

There are cultures I want to you appreciate, new places I want you to go.
A canvas of memories for you to paint, a tapestry of experiences you should sew.
There are new languages for us to attempt and amazing sights to see,
The perfect holiday is not just this island, I hope you’ll soon agree.

There are delicacies to sample, customs and festivals to discover,
A great holiday provides the right toys, whether you’re a ski addict or beach lover.
From spa days full of relaxation to the adrenaline rush of sports and activities
The truly great vacation has everything (well it does in my fantasies).

From the bustling streets of New York to the vibrant souks of Cairo,
From breathtaking African Savannas to South America’s formidable volcanoes,
From refreshing Norwegian fjords to scorching desert safaris,
From Medieval European architecture to New Zealand’s stunning greenery.

Cocktails and sunsets, white water rafts and roller coaster rides,
Skyscrapers and pyramids; water parks with massive slides,
Camels, rickshaws and gondolas, the stuff of great travel stories,
Sea life and wild life, nature in its incredible glory.

The list is actually endless, so I guess what I’m trying to say
Is that there is no single recipe for the ideal holiday.
It can come in all forms, it exists in all shapes and sizes.
The perfect holiday presents itself in many different guises.

I backpacked, I summer-camped; I travelled lots before I was your mother.
Once I caught the travel bug, it was a feeling like no other.
Pulling out the passport, checking the tickets and packing those cases,
Smelling a country’s air with excitement as I stepped off the plane in new places.

So raising global citizens has long been a dream that is unsinkable.
Not showing you this amazing planet is quite frankly unthinkable.
The world awaits you my darlings and life is there to taste.
The perfect holiday is one that teaches you that a life without travel is truly a waste.





i’d love to know in the comments area below (either website comments or Facebook box).

Why not share the blog love via the social media buttons below!

To receive my blog posts, just pop your email address in the orange top banner.
You can also follow my pearls of wisdom entertainment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

Hooked this post to these wonderful linkies:


Pink Pear Bear

My Petit Canard

Cuddle Fairy


Happy Diaries



Ersatz Expat


11 Things That are Really Difficult to Give up For Lent

We do not bring our children up in the Sikh faith, Hubster’s Hindu faith or indeed any other, unless you class teaching them to respect others and not behave like mannerless twunts a faith (in which case I’m deeply religious).

I am Sikh (by cultural heritage) but am non practising and not religious.  However, a few days ago saw the start of Lent, the period during which certain denominations of Christianity observe a forty day period of abstinence.  So, I got to thinking about the concept of Lent, wondering what I would give up if it was part of my life.  Now, giving up chocolate or wine or any of the customary items is just not going to work with me.  Yes I appreciate the point is to choose something that you find hard to give up so that you are indeed carrying out a meaningful sacrifice.  But that ship has truly sailed…quite a few times to be frank.  In fact, I think that ship is permanently out to sea, never to redock again.  (Okay, I think that’s about as far as I can stretch that metaphor.)

So here instead is my list of what I genuinely would give up for Lent (if only I could):


1. Yelling at my kids like a banshee, for the stupidest of reasons and waaaay past the point where I just need to stop (because even I no longer believe in what I’m yelling about)

2. Endlessly hoping I can get the whole house clean at the same time (instead of that piece-meal situation where I get part of it sparkly but by the time the other parts are clean, the first bit is ludicrously dirty again) and then actually enjoy it for a day – oh alright, a few hours.

3. Carbs. Well, not totally give them up as they are essential for the body of course but man alive, I wish I could successfully limit the amount of them in my daily diet. Sheesh.

4. Expecting Hubster to react more emotionally (or react at all) to certain things I say and especially towards the kids. Expecting Hubster to see things the way I do. In fact, all the expectations, the many unfulfilled wishes, the unsatisfied needs, the whole shabang…I just wish I could give it all up because when all is said and done…he is simply amazing.

5. Midnight munchies. I noticed a couple of months ago that I had finally, without any conscious effort, ended my lifelong habit of toast and marmalade with tea at stupid o’clock. Seriously, it never mattered how full this little piglet was from dinner…she’d still have her late evening toast snack attack. So why is this on my Lent list? Because no sooner had I realised I’d dropped it, than I went back to it, that’s why! Ugh.

6. My 100% confirmed totally undeniable never-ending inability to Go. The. Hell. To. Bed. before midnight. (No smartypant comments about how I should just go to bed before midnight and then I’ll stop doing the Paddington bear routine with the midnight marmalade, thanks.)

7. Night time blogging.  I don’t go out to work, yet I just can’t fit blog, housework, grocery shopping, meal preparation, exercise schedule, kids’ homework and bedtime etc, into the hours before 8pm.  I’m desperate to reclaim my evenings (and my face which is becoming haggard from the late nights).

8. My sweet tooth. Fair enough, I don’t eat cakes and sweets and drink fizzy drinks all day (or even once a week) but there is too much sugar in my diet and it is starting to worry me, now my twenties are a long way behind me. Besides, I’m sweet enough right?

9. My constant exasperation with the senseless, dangerous and incompetent driving on this island. Hubster says I get way too irate about it and that I just have to accept it’s how they drive (that’s if you call what they do behind the steering wheel driving). I could accept it if I didn’t have to go out on the road and endanger my kids’ and my own life.

10. Sarcasm. Basically.

11. My insane need for the nine hours of sleep I require (and have always required) to function. When I go to my maker (which is technically a phrase I’m not allowed to use considering I’m not religious but hey ho) and I’m asked about the one thing I wish I could have done differently, I think ‘not sleeping half my life away’ would be at the top of the list.



That’s it.

I lied about number 10 by the way.


i’d love to know in the comments area below (either Facebook or website comments box).

Why not share the blog love via the social media buttons below!

To receive my blog posts, just pop your email address in the orange top banner.
You can also follow my pearls of wisdom entertainment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!

2015: The Best of Times, The Worst of Times…20 Reasons Why


Another year rolls to a close and I’ve been wondering how on earth to write about it. As I said recently, I generally write humorous posts. But 2015 has been one hell of a year…literally the best of times, the worst of times. There have been periods where I have been unable to breathe properly and everything has felt like it’s crashing down on me and just as I pick myself up, another calamity hits…but there are always things to smile about too. So I’ll try to keep some humour in this!

It is easy to look back at an entire year and give it too much meaning or attribute a ‘personality’ to it and say “that was a rubbish year and I can’t wait to see the back of it” or “that was a great year”; when actually, a year is just a number of days that form weeks that form a number of months. So 2015 is just a sum of its daily, weekly and monthly parts really. I guess I shouldn’t tar the whole year with one label…some of those parts were good and some just weren’t. 

Looking back, 2015 was the year where:

I tried to make myself love Star Wars. But erm, I’m not sure the Force was quite with me. I tried to get into Game of Thrones and I enjoyed it but am not sure why the world has gone mad over it. Maybe it’s just all the sex. #Don’tHateMe

The biggest thing to happen in my life area was the opening of the brand new coast road that they’d been building for almost two years near our house. Seriously, it just wouldn’t be news anywhere but Malta…but I swear if you’d seen the old ‘road’ which was just one big accident hot spot, you’d understand my glee. #TooMuchExcitement

I realised that even though there is a lot of truth in the saying Friends are the family you choose for yourself, it is usually family that do amazing things like fly you out for a much needed weekend away and treat you while you’re there #IHeartMySisters


Having said that, I don’t know where I’d be without my honorary family of friends such as my dear friend Baker Lady, who swiftly came to Hubster’s rescue helping out with the girls when Dreamy D was hospitalised after an asthma attack while I was on that weekend away!

Dave Grohl broke his leg and in the process my heart, less than a week before I was due to see him in concert. #FookingTypical

After eight years presumed totally lost, Hubster’s wedding band showed up…at the bottom of a handbag chest which I’d already cleared out several times without ever spotting the shiny circle sitting at the bottom. I’ll never forget the smile on his face and the sigh of relief as we both declared it was a much needed sign. We never drink wine on a Monday but there was cause for celebration… #AndThenExactlyOneWeekLater…

My marriage suffered a big blow that I think I internalised too quickly (for the right reasons but with the wrong results)…you don’t really have time to dwell when you have kids to raise I guess. #Irony

This blog came into its own and the exposure and reaction it received just blew me away. Alright, I lied about the road. THIS was the biggest (and only real good) part of the year. Earning a reputation as a brave honest blogger, extraordinarily beautiful comments about my writing, people telling me their life had been touched by my posts, growing a loyal following, seeing myself featured in several top blog lists, getting onto the Huffington Post and going viral three times in six weeks..these were things I simply could not have dreamed of at the start of 2015. I also did not expect to cause a bit of a ****storm with one of my posts but hey ho. I said at the end of 21 Casual Promises I needed to bring it on the blog in 2015. There is a lot I still have to put in motion but #ImOnMyWay

The fab local beach restaurant that opened last year bringing much needed life to the area (it’s even in my 2014 lookback) changed management and went down the drain. The warm friendly family-run establishment where they knew your name, gave loyal customers a free sunbed and let them – er me – run up a monthly coffee tab has been replaced by a soulless shambles where you wait 45 minutes to order a coffee before finally giving up and leaving…oh yeah and as an extra ‘treat’, they argue with you about how long you waited instead of apologising and correcting their mistake. Las Palmas #GetYourActTogether

Musical M started middle (senior) school and I watched her struggle with her place amongst cliquey preteen girls and try to adjust to the step up in the academic programme. Dreamy D suffered yet more disappointment with friends at school and Cheeky K ended up having to repeat kindergarten. The first day of the new term simply broke their mummy’s heart and she sat in her car after drop off crying for 45 minutes (muppet). #SufferTheChildren

I finally (years after everyone got into it) fell in like with Prosecco in November…and straight back out of like in December #TooManyBubbles

I discovered my kids can barely walk 10 metres from the car to the house without complaining BUT they can happily scramble over rocks and walk through rough shrubbery for several kilometres. Don’t tell everyone but there’s a bit of countryside unspoiled by cranes and incessant construction. #WeAreHikers


Flying to and from the UK with three kids was less daunting than rail travel with three kids once we got there.  Man, the Oyster card, the constant topping up, the frantic rushing for the right platform, trying to understand which bits were London underground and which were national rail…you’d never think I used to live there. Oh…and I lost Cheeky K at the British Museum. #WorstTwoMinutesEver

I had to finally accept I just can’t make someone care about me if they simply don’t and ultimately I just have to choose whether to stay in the friendship and tolerate the upsets or walk away altogether to avoid the pain. #CantForceIt

But other relationships I never expected were just waiting for me…thanks to the blog. I can’t name everyone on here because it would become the longest post ever. But I have to thank:
Laura of Life With Baby Kicks for becoming an instant blogging bestie, loving mojitos as much as me and being so good for my blog soul with her straight talking in our private chats. Beyond blogging, she’s in my life. Period. P.S. please come to BritMums 2016 so I can drink you under the table learn lots of useful blogging stuff with you.
Claire of Life Love and Dirty Dishes for making me fall in immediate blog love with her, she makes me snort, she is so damned hilarious. She is coming to BritMums Live and I’m a tad excited about meeting her.
Talya of Motherhood the Real Deal who is simply a tour de force, whom I just love for calling me her blog wife and who is also coming to that event to my utter delight.
All three are prolific bloggers who frequently have me scratching my head wondering how the hell they manage it.
I can’t forget my twitter posse Cuddle Fairy, Notting Hill Daddy and Domesticated Momster with whom I’ve had the best conversations and Mummy Tries and Mrs T Plus Three for being gems when I’ve needed blogging tips,
and of course, Rod of Modern Dad Pages who is a constant friend and Harps of Baby Brain Memoirs for making my week when I realised there was a fellow Punjabi chick in blog town. #BloggerLove

And a non blog-related friendship…my friend Nat who I really ‘met properly’ only in the last few months after bumping into her many times previously on the Malta ‘social scene’ (I say non blog-related but actually we got to know each other properly after she started reading the blog). She has turned out to be a pillar of strength #AlwaysThere


Hubster lost a good friend and even though I’d never actually met her, I think of her almost every day and what a loss she is. #TheGoodOnesDieYoung

I actually took a picture of a roundabout (nope not sad enough to put it on here!). Look, it’s not any old roundabout. It’s the NEW roundabout near our house that replaces the death-trap-traffic-island and daft slip roads we had before. Yes last year it was the new beach restaurant. This year it’s a roundabout. What will it be next year? #ItsAllHappening

I finally. ten years after moving here, had a day on a boatFine company, fine food, fine Mediterranean waters…a lovely get away from life, if only for a day. #Blessed

Musical M put her ‘I’m too shy’ act to one side and sang her heart out to her own composition in front of an audience at the school Talent Show. Meanwhile, my brother, the artist Deewaan brought out a fab track Mahiya Ve which is available on iTunes  #ThisFamilysGotIt


I only (just) managed six out of the twenty one 2015 resolutions I’d set myself…well luckily they were just ‘casual promises’ ahem #CoveredMyself

One of the best nights (actually the best night) wasn’t some big blow out girls’ night here in Malta but a relaxed barbecue in the UK enjoying warm balmy weather, fab food (the memory of which I still salivate over) and the company of two gorgeous friends who are like family. And if they don’t know who they are, let the hashtag give it away  #FoosTShirt

A close relative was severely ill at the beginning of the year and we didn’t know if they would make it. The year is ending with further colossal stress on the personal front. What to do.  #WhatDoesntKillYouMakesYouStronger

I realised I’ve spent one too many christmases without my parents and siblings #LifeIsShort

So there you have it. Some great bits, some good bits, some okayish bits and some oh so shit bits . Literally, the best of times, the worst of times. Let’s see what the new year has in store for me and my family. Brave smiles on faces, best foot forward and all that.

And as a friend of mine said this evening, may the best of 2015 be the worst of 2016!

Happy New Year to my wonderful readers. I wish you all the best for the new year!


I’d love to hear from you in the comments area below
(choose either the Facebook box or my website comments section).

And I’d double LOVE it if you shared this post via the social media buttons below!

To receive my blog posts, just pop your email address in the orange top banner.
You can also follow my pearls of wisdom entertainment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks Muchly!




And then the fun began...
A Bit Of Everything
Best of Worst
Let's Talk Mommy

40 Life Lessons For My Kids (I Wish I’d Known as a Kid)

Dear Musical M, Dreamy D and Cheeky K

I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while but I put it on the backburner. Let’s face it, I’m probably the least qualified person to teach you valuable life lessons apart from stuff like:

– don’t lick that
– If you think it’s the wrong hole, it probably is
– there are few problems in life that a massive chocolate sundae with marshmallows and extra chocolatey sauce and some of those multicoloured thingies can’t fix (mainly because you’d be so sick after one of those that you’d forget your problems for a bit).

Seriously though, goodness only knows, I’ve only managed to implement half of the following list in my own life, so I hope you have more success than me. I know I’m meant to lead by example (honestly I do actually try) but in this case:

It’s do as mummy says, not as mummy does!

Most of it is serious but you know my cheeky ways…some of it is not. I just hope I’m raising you well enough to tell the difference between the two.

1)  I’m going to start with one of my mantras: Be happy with what you have. Don’t spend so much time chasing what you don’t have that you don’t appreciate what’s right in front of you. I want you to be comfortable (more than) and not struggle.  Just don’t rely on material wealth to make you happy because that’s just the path to misery, my loves! And even if we struggle, there is still someone far FAR worse off than us.


2) Remember the importance of healthy eating…but don’t forget that a life without cake is…well…pretty rubbish really!

3) It takes all sorts of people to make the world go round and I’m not going to tell you that we are all the same because that’s just Utopian nonsense.  But we ARE all originally made of the same stuff….even if we turn out very differently. So try to respect other people’s opinions no matter how hard you may find it. Obvious exceptions to the rule:
racist twunts, homophobes, anyone who doesn’t like U2 or Michael Jackson.

4) Find wonder in the small things. Cry, laugh, feel. It doesn’t make you an emotional sop, it makes you human. It makes you my child. If someone ridicules you for it, it’s alright…they’re just not ‘connected’ like you. Their loss.

5) Have fun. LOTS OF FUN. Because life is too damned short not to.


6) Stand up for yourself…but pick your battles wisely (and for heaven’s sake know when to just shut the hell up).

7) If any of you think/realise you’re gay, tell me and your father. We’ll never turn it into a problem or turn you away. Ever.

8) Travel as much as you can, try your best to stay safe, do some stupid shit too and purleese remember: spare me the details you can tell me anything.


9) If you find love, cherish it, never take your partner for granted and respect them. If it turns out your partner doesn’t deserve your respect…don’t be afraid to walk away no matter how awful that option may seem at the time.

10) It’s important to follow the rules…and know which ones to break…

break the rules
11) Never stop listening to music. Ever. You hear me?

12) When things go wrong, try not to search for a reason. I honestly believe things (well most things) during even the toughest of times happen for a reason.



13) Find your passion and follow it. I’m not going to tell you that as long as you follow your passion, the money required to survive in life will automatically come, but at least find a passion!

14) Look people in the eye when you speak to them. Listen to them; I mean really listen to them. SMILE. Say ‘pardon’ or ‘excuse me, not ‘what’. I know you already say please and thank you and sorry. Don’t ever stop. Humility isn’t old fashioned. Manners matter.

15) Don’t be hard on yourself. I’ve spent years doing just that. It’s such a waste of energy and doesn’t get you anywhere except down. And comparing yourself to others is just as pointless. Just be the best version of you and that’s enough.

16) Surround yourself with people who bring out the best in you.

17) Try not to lash out; it’s so easy to do (guilty as charged) but does no good in the end:


(there again some people just need to be put in their place but you never heard that from me…)

18) Compete against yourself, not against others. This world of ours is becoming obsessed with winners and losers…don’t get caught up in that ugliness. Your only competition is the one looking back at you from the mirror.

19) Daughters, be tough, be brave, speak up, date whoever you want to date but always be classy. “Less is more” doesn’t mean the less you’re wearing, the more good you look. Know that understated elegance is absolute dynamite; never underestimate the impact of covering up the right bits. Don’t ever EVER let someone make you believe you can’t do something because you’re ‘just’ a girl. Do everything because you ARE a girl. Oh and did I mention, be classy?

20) Son, don’t be a tool: If you’re not going to call or text her, for Heaven’s sake, don’t take her number in the first place. Know that females are not inferior to you so be careful how you inwardly view them, outwardly treat them and talk about them to your friends. And let’s just clarify something here: not holding the door open for a woman doesn’t mean you’re respecting equality; it means you’re just rude (and I didn’t do my job right). Be a gentleman. Always. If I catch you mistreating a woman, so help me God…

21) “I can’t” is no way to speak or think. Be fluent in “I can”. Don’t just give up at the first hurdle in a situation.

think you can ford
22) Have at least two items of clothing that make you feel absolutely amazing as soon as you put them; but remember none of that’s important if you can’t remember to brush your hair or wash your face before you leave the house.

23) You will meet some nasty people throughout life who will talk behind your back or be downright rude to your face and you won’t understand why they are like that. You can’t do much about them but you can change the way you react. Above all, don’t let their behaviour dictate how you live your life and just remember: if they’re trying to bring you down, they’re already below you.



24) It’s not always me, me, me. Why? Voilà:



25) It needs to be us, us, us. You’re part of the world around you so don’t think that something isn’t your problem if you know you can help (from helping that old lady who’s just dropped her shopping bag to actual causes). Give back if you genuinely can, live responsibly…just be decent.


26) Defend your family and friends. If someone talks ill of them or mistreats them, do something about it.

27) Trust your gut. If it doesn’t feel right, it probably definitely isn’t. If it feels right, go go GO with it

28) When you are suffering hardship or heartache, remember nothing lasts forever.

darkest day

29) This is the holy grail: Never judge someone til you’ve walked a mile in their shoes, as the saying goes. It’s really hard. But just don’t.

30) When you’re too old for me to tuck you in at night, or I’m no longer around to do “Favourite part of the day”, please still do it, even silently to yourself as you drift off to sleep. Even on the darkest of days, we can usually find something that was worth remembering. Deal?

31) Be kind even when the other person isn’t giving you much reason to be.

32) Don’t spend so much time looking back with nostalgia/regret you don’t focus enough on looking forward (besides…I do that enough for all of us…).

33) THIS!


34) Always read the instructions.

35) Be accountable for your mistakes. Don’t try to pass the blame on to someone else.

36) Put your best effort into everything you do. You just let yourself down when you don’t. But recognise that sometimes a half-baked plan implemented today is better than a perfect plan implemented tomorrow (a wise man told me that…your father).

37) Listen to your mother! (Except for when she’s talking crap.)

38) If you drop it, pick it up. If you switch it on, turn it off. You’re never too important to clear up after yourself.

39) Be happy for other peoples’ success. Genuinely. Jealousy is poisonous.

40) I guess when all is said and done, it comes down to this:

Oh and I almost forgot:

– don’t lick that
– If you think it’s the wrong hole, it probably is
– there are few problems in life that a massive chocolate sundae with marshmallows and extra chocolatey sauce and some of those multicoloured thingies can’t fix (mainly because you’d be so sick after one of those that you’d forget your problems for a bit).

(I lied about 40…)

C’est tout.

What life lessons would you pass on? I’d love to know in the comments box below.

If you enjoyed this post, I’d love it if you shared it via the buttons below. To receive my blog posts, just pop your email address in the orange top banner. You can also follow my pearls of wisdom entertainment on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks muchly!

Linked to:


Cuddle Fairy
Absolutely Prabulous

Apparently This ONE Thing Tells You Hell of a Lot About a Woman…

I was at after school tennis the other day when someone asked me if I had a tissue or baby wipe on me. As I dutifully waded through my handbag (or purse for those of you Stateside) – and I really mean waded through – some underwear flew out of the bag. Yeah…joke all you want. Anyway, that evening I remembered how they say you can tell a lot about a woman’s mind by what’s in her handbag. Or is it what a woman’s house looks like from the state of her handbag? Either way, I’m so screwed. Now, I don’t hold a doctorate in Forensic Object Analysis (don’t scoff…that is a real qualification you can gain at the University of Prabulousness) but I reckon I can figure out what my handbag contents signify all by my clever little self:

One chocolate bun thingy: No idea why there’s just the one. I have three kids. It could well be a fight to the death between them, all over a chocolate bun thingy, I reckon.

Open bag of mini Dutch waffles: Not sure which day I put them in there. Not sure which week either to be honest. Not even sure that a load of syrupy glucose mess is the best form of nourishment before their after-school sports activity.

Sparkly pink princess fabric wallet: Coz…when you have two girls there is always something sparkly, pink and princessy in your handbag.

Four bananas: Because I felt guilty over the crappy waffles? No idea why there are four. I have three kids. Clearly I’m struggling with the ratio of food to child thing.

Aforementioned panties (yep they’re still in there): Cheeky K’s…not mine. Because when you have kids, someone’s underwear always seems to end up in your bag. You need to have kids to get this (although one of my friends who does have kids didn’t get it…mental note to self…unfriend her immediately).

Travel draughts/chess: Erm, I may suddenly get the urge to play a game while running my morning errands?

The belt to one of Cheeky K’s cardigans: Because apparently we don’t possess a wardrobe to keep her belts and knickers in judging by what’s turning up in this bag. (Don’t look at me. I told you this is what happens when you have kids. I swear, stuff just ends up in your bag and most of it isn’t even yours.)

Antibiotic ointment: Because Dreamy D had a wart removed from his finger a while ago, an ‘event’ that will remain etched in my memory and quite possibly the memory of everyone in the waiting room outside because the screaming was like nothing else on earth. And let’s face it, why would I put the ointment in the first aid box that has a dedicated storage place in our bathroom when I can carry it around with me. Huh? HUH?

Prescription for said ointment: Because it needs to stay in my bag another three months so that it finally so crumpled and illegible that there will be no point filing it away. At which point, I will then file it away.

Tampons: Oh Sweet Pea you’re shocked? You must be new here! I don’t exactly do muffin recipes on this blog. But hey, they’re in a chic pink and black tin so it’s not that bad. There are also several loose ones rolling around but don’t worry, they’re individually wrapped. I believe this more than adequately describes my feminine hygiene situation – and has more than adequately just lost me a few readers. Oops. To all you men who say my site gives you an insight into a woman’s mind, I’m SO sorry. (And yet glad to be of service.)

That concludes the toilet humour part of the programme, folks. Blush.

Bush Naturals Organic face cream: Because I take skincare seriously (translation, I’m too rushed to apply it before the leaving the house in the morning).

My Klean Kanteen stainless steel water bottle: I said goodbye to buying endless small plastic water bottles years ago, for environmental/health/cost reasons (yep…I can do serious too ya know) and this thing really is one of my most prized possessions. Go figure.

A grocery list from…last September? What is there to say? It’s just wrong.

Pure Republic Pukka Skincare brochure: Which I’ll eventually get round to reading once my skin is too aged to be rescued by any form of skincare or when the company that makes it has shut down.

Hello Kitty mini notepad: Coz…girls…again.

Cyclone hair wax: Kind of ironic considering I’m the woman who n-e-v-e-r uses hair products. But then, these days my hair looks like an actual cyclone hit it. In the bag it stays.

Neals Yard Hydrating Facial Mist: Who knew I had this many toiletries/cosmetics in my bag? Now all I need is shower gel and shampoo and I could actually get ready inside my bag (it’s big enough).

So many supermarket receipts that my wallet won’t shut: Well you never know when you’ll get the urge to check what you paid for 641 grammes of carrots back in April 2013, now do you?

Business card of the pest control man: In case I need him to come round and spray my kids. I mean bugs.

Cable for my Mac plus USB stick: No laptop…just the cable and the USB, you understand…

Socks: Mine… Why? Or more accurately WHY?

Tangle Teezer hair brush: logical enough, especially considering previous cyclone comment.

The label from a cereal bar – just the label: Obviously waste bins don’t exist.

Usual suspects of house keys, car key, phone, make up bag etc: Praise be! It’s a miracle I actually have these on my person…ask anyone who knows me.

Sunglasses: Because I may leave the house without my keys or wallet or brain on an alarmingly regular basis (read Ten Signs of the Scatty Mama or I Don’t Know How She Does It to see what I mean) but I will NEVER leave the house without my sunglasses, you hear me?

Remote control to Hubster’s office garage: Man I hope he doesn’t read this post…was meant to put the damned thing back in the car after a near disaster recently.

What does it all mean?

1 That if they do a remake of Mary Poppins, they should pay me for the use of my bag for that scene.

2 The only thing I have a doctorate in is how to fit the maximum amount of crap into it.

3 I’m apparently terrified of having messy hair, dry skin or someone going hungry.

4 When I’m suffering from writer’s block and need inspiration for a blog post, I can just look inside my bag.

5 If we ever run out of storage space at home between the laundry room, the closet, the storage room, the office and everyone’s wardrobes, there is nothing to worry about (see point 1).

Told you I was clever.

They Say You Can Tell A Lot About A Woman From What's In Her Handbag. Oh Boy...



Then go tell everyone about it! Just use the share buttons below to give it a shout out on Facebook/Twitter/Pinterest etc.

Or leave a comment in the box below.

Or DO BOTH! Cheers!

You can also find this post on this fab blog:

Domestic Momster

and this equally fab one:

All about U

1 2