Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

What men really say about us!
May 9, 2010

Another week, another internet date. Have been doing it for so long now that I go on them expecting to be utterly disappointed, then am pleasantly surprised if they even bother to turn up! You’d be surprised how many of them don’t.  I’ve had one call me 2hrs after we were due to meet to say he had fallen asleep, but that he would still like to meet me (told him I don’t give second chances – he thought I was being unreasonable ), and another who sent me an email 3 days later saying he’d had to make an emergency trip to Spain and had forgotten to take his phone (yeah, right).  Anyway, this Saturday’s was really rather nice. He turned up (tick), he brought flowers (tick), he paid for lunch (tick), he was interesting (tick), he was handsome (tick), he looked like his photo (tick), he complemented me (tick), he is going to call me tonight (tick), he didn’t try to bed me on the first date (tick), he’s not French (BIG tick).

Yes, non-French seems to be the way to go. It’s not that I don’t like the French, it’s just that I don’t want one as a partner; i find them sleazy and narrow-minded. Having dated well over 20 of them now, I have realised that I just don’t like them. They really do think that women are good for two things, housework and sex.  The majority of them are indulging in extra marital affairs and when I question them as to why, their response is, “er….je suis un mec” (I’m a bloke). Great. Consequently, I have decided not to date French men….and so far it seems to be working.

So, getting back to this Saturday’s date (he was a 40 yr old German) he decided to let me in on some of his work colleague’s opinions of women between the ages of 30 and 45. When he mentioned to them that he was back on the dating scene, they gave him the following cautionary advice:

1. If you go for a woman in her early 30’s who doesn’t have children, she’s sure to want them, so you will have to consider having them. Do you really want that?

2. If you go for a woman in her 40’s who already has children, some of them teenagers, you will have to deal with them. Do you really want that?

3. If you go for a woman in her late 30’s/early 40’s who hasn’t had children, there will be a reason for that….and you need to find out why! And by the way, woman of this age who haven’t had children tend to be a bit ‘odd’. It makes their hormones go all funny.

With that kind of advice you would think the poor bloke would have no option but to turn gay.  That said, he seemed to think I fitted the bill; 36 with 1 young child and no desire for any more. However, he might just change his mind when he finds himself on the receiving end of my PMT….hormonally balanced…my arse.


Internet dating doesn’t get better than this
January 21, 2010

So in my quest for a half-decent bloke, this is what I find in my inbox this morning:

Email No 1

Subject: Veggie Haggis Pie for Xmas

My dear mademoiselle Ecossaise, I am at least two and a half hours’ drive away from you, I am certainly approximately a thousand years too old for a lady of your tender your years. The fact that in your photos you look delightfully innocent yet sultry (and those magnifique eyes) makes it so much easier to admit that, par contre, I’m definitely out of luck in the looks department and, to add a little spice to this pitiful soup of misery, I need to lose weight. I’m vegetarian (yes, I really did cook myself a veggie haggis pie at christmas!) and in spite of its health benefits I’m probably also due for some kind of health catastrophe in the really near future, putting me on the podium as Meetic’s 2010 seriously dubious choice of partner for a cup of coffee, let alone 50 years of romance, respect, love and partnership. No, mademoiselle, replying to me would be a real, real mistake. Turn the page, mademoiselle, je vous le jure, ce n’est pas le moment de prendre de telles risques! Une fois ouvert, ce livre ne se ferme plus! Avec aucun espoir du tout que vous allez me répondre… et tant mieux!!! Votre admirateur humble et obséquieux François PS. If I haven’t put you off I can add halitosis, dandruff and sundry other unmentionables if you like. PPS. Vous allez le regretter, ne me dites pas que je vous n’ai pas averti!!! PPPS. Did I tell you that pink shoes and pretty toes make me dribble? In public? I make Roy Hattersly look positively parched.”

Email no.2

Subject: Haggis again

…and I smoke! Like a chimney. Stink like an ashtray  – can knock out a full-grown donkey at 13 paces.

My response, as I felt it merited one: “Superb! The funniest thing I have read in ages.” To which he replied:  

Email No.3

My dear and delightful enseignante écossaise,

You now have yet another characteristic that sets you apart from the riff-raff on this site… you replied to me!

C******s is a mere 221 km away. I could cycle there in just three weeks. Could you wait that long? Let me tempt you!

Imagine a candlelit dinner for two in a secluded little romancetaurant, you in a daring low-cut black silk evening gown, the light sparoff a simple yet elegant silver necklace draped around your sublime, soft neck, those sultry, bewitching eyes, your delicious toes wriggling in those pretty little pink shoes, and me in a soaking wet tshirt and rather smelly, untouchable cycling shorts, sweat dripping off my nose, extinguishing my roll-up. You stare into my eyes and you count the little dead midges lodged at the corners of my eyes, and you wonder how a man with such bloodshot eyes can possibly see, let alone raise a glass to his lips. Can you imagine anything more wonderful?

*hopping around and wobbling insanely as he stretches ungainly into a pair of lycra shorts*

Just say the word…

Yours wickedly


Well, what can say? At least it made me laugh.

Catch up
January 15, 2010

It’s official, I’m a ‘stop n’ start’ blogger. Life just seems to take over and there is never any time. I have no idea how you lot (aka my blog list…except for Housewife in the Highlands, who seems to have screeched to a halt at about the same time as me in May last year) manage to keep it up? Your lives seem as hectic, if not more so than mine but there you are, tap, tap, tapping away. So now that I have admitted that you’re great and I’m crap, here’s your bi-annual update, starting with today:

This morning: the ‘gastro’ (stomach flu) is ripping through this town like a dose of salts (pun intended). Everyone seems to have had it except for me and my son. Feeling a bit smug, I remarked to a friend yesterday that it seems to have passed us by. I should know by now to NEVER EVER tempt fate like that. Consequently, I woke up this morning feeling a bit queasy. As I haven’t had sex in ages, I’m definitely not pregnant. BOLLOX – that’s to having the ‘gastro’ and not to not being pregnant….Anyway, decided not to apply mascara this morning just in case I am required to say hello to last night’s roast pork dinner (with carrots I might add) at some point during the day. Vomiting and mascara (and carrots) just don’t go – makes my eyes smart just thinking about it. Every cloud has a silver lining though and this one’s weight loss. Come to think of it, god probably created the ‘gastro’ to help people lose those extra pounds after Christmas. That’s why it only ever seems to appear in January, a bit like those Weight Watchers ads.

Yesterday: I received a letter saying that I have won a prize in the local ‘Vitrine de Noel’ (Christmas Window) competition. I never win anything. I was so excited that I phoned all my friends to let them know. They no doubt think I am really sad now. Hey ho. The prizes are great. A holiday for two somewhere hot (must find a partner), dinner for two in a local restaurant (must find a partner), crates of wine (should be able to manage that one my own). Will find out what I’ve won next Wednesday when all the prizes will be handed out at the town hall. Will keep you posted. In light of my blogging track record, that’ll be some time in June.

Tuesday: In light of my current single status and the fact that I live in the country, surrounded by old men, alcoholics and pigs, I have swallowed my pride and joined an internet dating site. So far I have been on dates with one old man (his recent profile picture must have been taken circa 1980), an alcoholic (he had more than his fair share of wine over dinner, but maybe that was down to nerves?) and 3 little pigs – no change there then! Piglet No 1, after I refused to bed him on our first encounter, called me up the next day to tell me how handsome he was and…..wait for it….how, at the grand old age of 36, and with a kid in tow, I should be lucky if anyone wanted to bed me at all! Suffice to say, I didn’t give him a second date. Bacon boy No 2 only ever called me after 9pm on a Tuesday night when he knew I didn’t have my son – obviously in search of some free sex, rather than a relationship then! At least Piglet No1 had the courtesy to take me out for dinner before he tried. And the 3rd little Piggy is indeed a pig (a policeman), or le ‘Flic’ as he referred to himself, with a glint in his eye, over coffee on Tuesday. However, he was also very keen to let me know that he was a ‘nice’ policeman. And so far, it would seem that he is. We plan to meet again next week, however, I do have one reservation: my friends. They are not the most law-abiding of citizens. So, if I do decide to take things further with Mr Flic I can kiss goodbye to any future dinner party invites. Think I need some time to mull this one over!

To be cont…….

April 30, 2009

I came across this delightful meme on Belgian Waffle earlier today. As Mdme Jaywalker has opened it up to all, I thought it would be fun to give it a go.

1. Are you a male or female: Red shoes, red nail varnish…yes, I’m a bloke.

2. Describe yourself: Snow White with roots – plan to get them done just before my sister’s wedding in 2 weeks time.

3. How do you feel about yourself: Could try harder. It was even on my report card at school.

4. Describe your parents: My poor, long suffering parents. Absolute stars, the pair of them! I have given them so much grief over the years, that they have well and truly earned the right to come and live with me in their old age – come to think of it, that would probably be their worst nightmare.


P.s If either of you ever happen to stumble across this blog: Sorry, I love you and I promise I won’t put plastic on the chairs.

5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: Disappointing, including the actor Gerard Butler (yes, I had him before you Mlle Aniston). He left me to ‘make it big in Hollywood’ and he did. Sob.

6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: 6ft ex-marine with extra large extremities – why else do you think I took him back after he totalled my car?

7. Describe your current location: Rented flat, with grubby 1970’s lino, make do furniture and a gorgeous, sunny terrace. I also have a ghost that presents itself in the form of a dark shadow. Shiver.

8. Describe where you want to be: I was going to say on a beach in Mexico (Playa del Carmen is one of my favourite places ever), but in light of recent events, (oink, oink, has someone turned the heating up?) maybe not. Alternatives would include: in a hot bath with a glass of champagne, or in bed with Mr XL Xtremities (think I have found a new name for him. He will be pleased).

9. Your best friend(s) is/are: Fantastic, wild, funny and rude.

10. Your favourite colour is: Mint/pistachio Green. I bought my first car, a Nissan Figaro, because it was green. I was in tears when I sold it (I didn’t want to, but I needed the money to settle my debts before moving to France), especially as the new buyer came to pick it up on my 29th birthday. My ex made me this card to make me feel better. Suffice to say, it didn’t.



11. You know that: If someone says, ‘it will only take a minute,’ it’s a lie. I wouldn’t say I was slow, but it has only taken me 35 yrs to work that one out.

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: I would go for ‘6 feet under,’ but it’s already taken.

13. What is life to you:


20 days per month – Something to get through.

5 days per month – Hell

The remaining 5/6 – OK, sometimes verging on pretty good.


14. What is the best advice you have to give: Do the washing up before you go to bed and make your bed in the morning. It makes you feel as if you are in control.

If anyone else fancies having a go, link back to me, so that I can come and check it out.


Food for thought
April 1, 2009

Son (to shiny new boyfriend): I want a brother.

Shiny new boyfriend (to son): Oh that’s nice.

Me (trying to change subject): So what do you two fancy for supper?

Son (pointing at more than ample bulge in shiny new boyfriend’s trousers): If put your zizi in my Mama’s kiki (now pointing at my essential equipment) you could make me a brother.

Shiny new boyfriend (bulge in trousers no longer visible): eeeeerm…..

Me (squirming): Toad in the hole anyone?…..nope. Didn’t think so.

That was over two years ago. Now the not-so-shiny-new boyfriend is up for the job. Mmmmmmm. It would seem I have some thinking to do.

Reeling – Part 2
November 13, 2008

I have come to a decision. I am not going to confront my ex about K and her 6 yr old daughter (I forgot to mention that she has a daughter in my last post) moving in, I am going to wait for him to tell me. I have my reasons for this:


  1. If I initiate the conversation and an argument ensues, Sonny will feel to blame. As he is only 6, he is far too young to be having guilt trips over things he has said, or situations he has caused.
  2. My ex may tell Sonny off for telling me what goes on between him and K, and I wouldn’t want him to feel that he had to start keeping secrets, or to censor everything he said.
  3. If Sonny is happy with the situation (which I think he is) and my ownership rights remain unchanged (call to lawyer required), is it really such a big deal?


I suppose I am just annoyed that neither K nor my ex has had the decency to come and speak to me about it first – especially before they sat down and discussed it with the kids. To be honest, K probably doesn’t even know that I still own the house. My ex has always been very economical with the truth, and as we were never married, he could quite easily have said that the house belongs to him.


There are times when I wonder if K even knows why I left. If she did, she might not be so keen to move in. As my mum said, “give her six months, and she’ll be out of there like a shot.” That remains to be seen, but in the meantime I am going to take some legal advice and play this one very carefully indeed.


November 12, 2008

A conversation over dinner with Sonny:


Sonny: “K is moving in with Papa.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Sonny: “She is not going to live in her house anymore.”

Me: “Do you know when she is moving in?”

Sonny: “In December…I think.”


I knew this day would come, but I wasn’t quite sure how I would feel about it when it did. I suppose I have just been burying my head in the sand, hoping it never would. Now that it has, I am less than happy. It is not that I am still in love with my ex, it’s just that I don’t like the thought of another woman enjoying the comforts of my old home (which I still own 50/50 with my ex), while I am forced to rent a small flat 10 kms down the road. Is that petty of me?


Most of you will be wondering how I have managed to get myself into this situation? Why haven’t I taken my ex to court and forced him to sell, to give me my half? I could, I suppose, but I am just not ready yet. I know that as soon as I take this route my relationship with my ex will turn sour (very sour) and Sonny will suffer as a result.


I think I have made the right decision, but it still doesn’t make it easy.



There she blows
September 17, 2008


How come 2 nights in a tent can make you feel like you have just given birth and haven’t slept in week? In fact, I am so tired that I think I had better post this post tomorrow, when I have had enough sweep to swot the mistakes (yawn…)


To persevere…on Friday night the boyfriend and I (yes, we are still together after all his recent shenanigans) decided that it would “do us good to see the sea.” After an ‘Augustus horrendous,’ a long weekend away seemed like just the ticket: it would blow away the cobwebs and give us a chance to start afresh. With a combined budget of 300 Euros for 3 days we went…you guessed it…CAMPING – and you know how much I love that! 


The following morning we packed the car* and set off for the beautiful seaside town of Collioure, just South of Perpignan. The local weather report predicted sun, with a little cloud cover and the ‘chance’ of high winds. As it was rain that we were trying to avoid, we didn’t give two hoots about the ‘chance’ of high winds (big mistake!)


After 1hr 38 mins on the road we stopped for a picnic at a service station near Carcassone. I can see why some people refer to it as “the windy city”- it was blowing a hoolie! I must have looked like I was ‘under the influence’ as I weaved my way to the shop to buy a bottle of water. When I returned the boyfriend had found a table, opened the picnic hamper and was trying his utmost to keep a hold of its contents. “Are you sure this is a good I idea?” I said, as I grabbed a plastic plate mid air.


“Just stick some food on it,” he said, handing me the salad bowl,  “the weight should keep it down.”


I loaded my plate with tomatoes, herring, eggs and lettuce and sat with my back to the wind. It was impossible to eat. Every time I opened my mouth it filled with hair – yuk. Without a clip to tie it back I was forced to move round the table and face into the wind. Now I had bits of lettuce flying up and hitting me in the face – thankfully the rest of the salad was heavy enough to stay on the plate. Suffice to say, we ate quickly! Before our digestive juices had even had the chance to kick in, we were back on the road, hoping that the wind would subside as we made our way further south.


An hour later and we were at the campsite. Had the wind had subsided? Oh no, if anything it had got worse. At this point any sane person would have gone in search of hotel or a pitch with some shelter at least. But our budget was tight and a sea view was a must, so we chose the most impractical spot ever – a very windy one overlooking the Med! How we struggled to erect the tent. I even had to dive into the car at one point to shelter from an unexpected squall. Once it was up it was evident that we would need some big rocks to secure the base.


“Are you sure the tent won’t blow away?” I asked my boyfriend, as he rolled an extra large boulder onto one of the guy ropes. 


“Oh it will be fine,” he said, laughing at me. ”I spent 8 years in the Marines, and have set up camp in the most hostile of environments. Once the wind was so bad that it shredded my tent. This is nothing. Trust me. You won’t even notice the wind when you are inside.”


Humbled, I went to bed that night happy in the knowledge that our tent was safe and that we would have a good night’s sleep. As I slipped under the duvet I even remarked on how romantic it was that I could hear the sea “crashing against the rocks and the wind rushing through the trees.”


By 3am the romance had worn off. I hadn’t slept a wink. The boyfriend, who was “used to these kinds of conditions,” had been asleep for hours. The fact that the inner compartment of the tent was lifting, to the extent that our heads physically left our pillows, didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. While he lay there dreaming (and snoring), I lay there waiting for a tree or some other heavy object to fall on my head.


At 4am I was still awake and in desperate need of a pee. Torch in hand I ran to the toilet block, dodging the odd low flying branch on the way. They were locked. I couldn’t believe it. Am I the only person who needs to use a toilet in the middle night? A wee in the wind was out of the question. All it takes is one big gust and…well… I don’t think I need to go into details.


Bladder giving way, I ran to the children’s facilities. I had walked past them earlier in the day and noticed that they were doorless. No doors meant no locks – it also meant no privacy. As I crouched over a toilet the size of my left buttock, I prayed to god that the night watchman hadn’t seen me. If he had, he would be wondering what on earth a grown woman, without a child, was doing in the children’s toilets at that time of night. Worse still, he might come to check it out. The fear of being caught in the act made me perform it all the quicker. Mission accomplished and dignity preserved (that’s assuming there weren’t any night cameras) I dived back into my tent and waited for dawn.


By 10 am the following day the wind had reached new heights. It was so bad that even the boyfriend had to admit defeat: “these tents from Argos are not as strong as the ones we had in the Marines,” he said as he chucked it half broken into the boot of the car. Luckily I had brought a spare; my pop-up doll’s house from ‘The Mutant’ (cheaper than Lidl, for those of you outside France). It had initially been earmarked for the dogs but as it was so windy they had ended up sleeping in the car. It did us proud. It was so small it was relatively unaffected by the wind. The fact that we put it up on the other side of the campsite, away from the sea, probably helped.  However, where it kept one type of wind out, it kept in another type of wind in – the boyfriend’s. He woke up hiccupping and burping several times during the night. After each outbreak he would drift back off to sleep within minutes. I lay awake for hours. I could have killed him. By Monday I was on my knees with tiredness.


That said, we had a good giggle, ate some delicious seafood and managed to have a swim in the sea – which was a very refreshing 20 degrees (brrrrrrr).  I may be a bit on the tired side tonight, but the cobwebs have certainly been blown away…far, far away! 



The doll'd house braving the wind

The doll's house, braving the wind, with the boyfriend's tent in a sorry state on the ground behind.


*But you don’t have a car, I can hear some of you cry! I know. My boyfriend has managed to get one on loan from a friend for the time being. Still not sure what kind of deal he has done to get it though?

For your eyes only! – Part 2
August 18, 2008

Finding an anonymous love letter in my postbox the other day has left me feeling slightly uneasy. Who would try and woo a grown woman with torn, lined paper and dodgy handwriting? My gut instinct was that it wasn’t someone I would like to meet in a dark alley, so I thought long and hard about how to respond. As my secret admirer (I prefer this to stalker…shudder) had left his email address, I thought a short but polite email was in order. Using my boyfriend’s email address as cover I wrote:




Thank you for the letter you left in my postbox. I am very flattered and understand why you chose to make contact with me in this way. As you may or may not know, I have a boyfriend – we have been together for a while and are very happy (though it has been a bit touch and go since he crashed my car). Because of this it is not possible for us to meet. 


Thank you anyway for the letter. (I thought it best to be polite, just in case I am dealing with an absolute nutter, who likes to play with knives and doesn’t respond well to rudeness).


Kindest regards,




This is what came pinging back:


Dear Tarte


its a plaisure replying me i was not expecting your message i was thinking you were never gona reply am very sorry i never thought that you were married (neither did I?) but in any case is no big deal (no need for the knives then…pheew). but dont worry i really understand but for me am really sad your boyfriend is a very lucky man to have beautiful and sexy lady like u . but dont worry next time i will see you in the village i will try to close my eyes and breath deep and watch you pass by (on second thoughts, if you are sane, rich and really, really gorgeous you could always give me a little wink).

big kiss




I hope this will put an end to the matter. If not, my next email will include pictures of me naked, with close-ups of my stretch marks and cellulite. That should sort it!


Feel the Love
August 14, 2008



Firstly, a very big thank you to Hadriana’s Treasures for sharing the luuuurve – it is my first award, so I will treasure it dearly. Not one to be greedy (except with a box of Roses), I would like to pass this award on to two other girlies who could also do with a bit of extra love at the moment: Dulwich Divorcee, who is currently missing her little treasures and the lovely Luna from Bubble and Squeak, who has had a bit of a tough time of late deschooling hers.


Feel the love!