It had to be done...

The time has come. The world watches. What will the dress be like? Will she show up on time? Will Harry still be a little bit drunk from the stag night?

I don’t think I’ve ever seen our nation so excited. Even Fairy liquid is bringing out a commemorative bottle. And I ask you what on earth has washing up liquid got to do with the Royal Wedding? Honestly. Everywhere I look a company is cashing in. I saw a poster in a clothes shops window “get your hat for the wedding here!” as if everyone in our town had been given an invite. And I suppose given that BBC coverage started at 8am, three hours before the actual event, we kind of have. We’re all going to be sick to death of it by the end of the day, aren’t we?

And if the frenzy of excitement isn’t enough for us we can add to the thrill by having a little Royal Wedding bet. What colour hat the Queen will wear, what time Kate will arrive, whether or not the carriage will be open top, which song will be the first dance. William Hill were previously offering 50-1 on Kings of Leon Sex is on Fire, now THAT is a first dance I’d like to see. Can you imagine the Queen and Prince Pip tapping their toes to that one? Genius. They are also offering 8-1 on Prince Phillip being caught having a sleep during the service. Who comes up with the odds of that?

I may not be jumping out of my seat with excitement but I admit it, I’m a tad jealous of the people having champagne breakfasts, cream teas, street parties and getting dressed up to watch the occasion on the telly. I would love the opportunity to get my fascinator out. Alas I’m going to be watching it with only half an eye whilst wiping bums and filling the kids up on crap so I can at least semi concentrate on the celebrations. I might have a hot cross bun and a coffee. Champagne breakfast it is not, but I’m actually quite excited about it. It’s been ages since I’ve had a hot cross bun.

It’s Kate I feel sorry for. She must be getting through rather a few pairs of La Perla knickers right now. Can you imagine how terrifying this must be? I’m still not sure I’ll ever have the nerve to be a bride, and it would be a slightly smaller occasion for me. She must love William an awful lot to be willing to go through all this for him.

My friend was saying she would love to have the attention of the world on her wedding day. I would love the designer dress and all the jewels, hell I’d be wearing diamond shoes if that was me, but to have the entire world watching? No thank you. I need a valium to survive being a guest at a wedding, let alone get married myself in front of billions of people. The very thought of it makes me feel rather queasy.

I feel kind of sorry for them really. Imagine being born into that? It’s easy for us to say that all they have to do is snip a couple of ribbons for a living, but we can pretty much do as we please. Poor old Wills was born into a life beyond anything we can imagine. He hasn’t got a choice. Bless him.

After a rather enjoyable dream about William a few years ago I promptly joined the Future Wives of Prince William group on Facebook. I thought I could see myself as a Queen, although more of a Queen Victoria than Catherine, as I was much rounder having just had son number one, and I was going through one of my (increasingly rare) grown up phases. But I now realise I’m more of a Prince Harry girl, not enough of a lady for Wills, I fart too much.

I wonder how much involvement William and Kate have been allowed to have with their wedding plans. They have the high expectations of the world to live up to. No popping off to Vegas and tying the knot in baseball caps and jeans for them.

Yep, I for one feel a bit sorry for them. Can’t be easy being a Royal. But any excuse for a hot cross bun. Cheers, chin chin and all that.

Start The Day On The Right Foot

There’s nothing quite like lack of sleep to put an otherwise happy person into a bad mood. And there’s nothing like another person being in a bad mood to exacerbate the situation. I mean, that’s how wars start.

I like to think I’m a happy go lucky kind of person but I do occasionally start the day in an absolutely foul mood. Usually being woken by screaming kids at 5am is what does it. And now we have two kids, the potential for being prematurely wrenched from an otherwise peaceful slumber has doubled, as has the general tiredness. Watch out world, bad moods a plenty.

When I wake up under a dark cloud everyone around me gets it in the neck. And I realise I’m behaving badly which only makes me even more cross (with myself) and bad behaviour can quickly sink into a full on adult tantrum. And don’t anyone dare mention the word “hormones”, atomic bombs have been detonated for less.

I just hate waking up in a foul mood. And when it happens I know I need to do something quick lest the rest of the day spiral into misery for all in my wake. The only thing I have found that will pull me out (aside from a good purge on a blog post) is exercise. Serious, hardcore, sweat till you puke working out. It’s the only time of day when I am capable of turning my brain off and not thinking. For some people it might be meditation, reading celebrity magazines, gardening or a big glass of wine (not recommended at 7am), but I have discovered the rush of cardio. Believe me I never thought I would turn into an exercise evangelist, it is a very recent development in my life. But in these trying times (2 small children), exercise is fast becoming my saviour. It’s true when they say that exercise is the best medicine for anxiety and depression. It does cure a bad mood quicker than anything else I’ve tried. But the trouble is keeping that buzz when the bad mood threatens to return, someone else being a bad mood can really deplete the endorphin levels.

The man also often wakes in a bad mood. We both have a teenage sense of bedtime in that going to bed before 11pm is giving in to the parental pressure (the parents nowadays being us) and before 10pm is positively childish. Which means that very often we suffer from sleep deprivation, the fact that it’s of our own doing only makes things worse. And if our bad moods collide that’s when things take a nasty turn. Very quickly a simple comment can turn into world war three, not only deepening bad moods but positively engraining them into the fabric of the day like chilli into the skin, making your eyes, mouth and other, more delicate, body parts sting every time you touch them. A morning argument is, for me, the hardest to get over, and a Monday morning argument even more so. Don’t even get me started on a New Year’s Day argument. I can’t help but think of that saying, start as you mean to go on, and then I worry that I’m going to be locked into this bad mood for the rest of the day, month… year.

Part of my problem is I’m not very good in arguments. I mean, give me a laptop and an hour to write an acerbic email, and I’m come back queen, quick witted answers to everything that has been thrown at me fly off my finger tips like vomit from a sick child’s mouth. But in the moment, verbally, when it really counts, I’m rubbish. I know I’m over sensitive, flippant comments cut me in the heart and my mind goes blank. Blank, except from self hating questioning, and usually taking the original comment to the whole next level. One small offhand remark turns into a full on criminal self investigation, usually with me sentencing myself to the rest of the day of self loathing. I am always the first person to say I’m sorry, regardless of who started it or whose fault it is, because even if I am convinced I am right at the beginning, by the end of any argument, my judgement is so skewed that I will ALWAYS blame myself. The other person wanders off, having forgotten the whole thing within minutes and I am left stewing over it for hours on end.

I read somewhere that children need to see their parents arguing and resolving the argument so that they can learn how to argue healthily and not descend into name calling, violence or disrespect. That’s all well and good but I just can’t seem to finish an argument with anything other than crying or self contempt. Not quite the strong role model I am aiming for.

I was told recently I need to grow a pair of balls, proverbially speaking of course. And I think that’s right. I need to grow a pair of balls and get practiced in the art of confrontation. Because honestly, I hate it. My heart starts to race, my palms gets sweaty and I feel sick, it’s not a nice sensation. So I have avoided it at all cost and haven’t actually had that much chance to practice. Others seem to be so much better at it than me. How come, do they have bigger balls than me? Or are they just more argumentative? Discussion and debate are one thing, and I can argue the rights and wrongs of society all day long, but when things get personal I don’t have the necessary tools to fight a fair fight. And it’s really not something you can avoid in life. It’s a necessary evil. We can’t all agree on everything.

So yes I do need to grow a pair of balls, and getting myself to bed at a decent hour would also help. But still, don’t ever, ever mention the word hormones to an angry woman, lest you want to end up like me… ball-less.