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30 Thoughts On Turning 30

Posted on: Monday, 8 July 2013

1) The best advice I’ve ever had on relationships was from my dad. “Better to be upset once than be upset a lot,” he counselled sagely as I sobbed down the phone. I didn’t think he was right at the time, but he was. Dads know best.

2) When you find the right person it should feel like coming home and being hit by a train all at the same time. And then a big Batman-esque POW or perhaps KABOOM pops up on your mental screen. 



3) I’m so very glad I don’t need to date anymore, on the grounds of being far too prissy and awkward. ‘Date’ - pah, even the mention of it demands an eyeroll. I enjoy living vicariously through others, though. 

4) Leos get shit done. Maybe not perfectly but hey, stuff gets finished. If you need attention to detail you’d be better off speaking to my perfectionist Virgo sister. 

5) TK Maxx does my head in. There’s too much crap everywhere. I can’t be bothered with the sifting. 

6) Be nice to the admin staff, the IT geeks, the maintenance team and the cleaners at your workplace. They’re the people you’ll need to turn a crisis into a triumph.

7) On a related note, people who are rude to waiters (or anyone else on the minimum wage, for that matter) are dicks. No exceptions. 



8) Find a religion or a spiritual way of going on that works for you. Quakers is pretty interesting. It’s full of Catholics who need a rest. 

9) Hating your face or your body or your elbow or whatever is an extraordinarily pointless waste of energy.

10) Be confident. It is SO unfathomably sexy. 

11) I know; easier said than done. Fake it till you make it. 

12) Although if you have Celtic skintones and gingery-brown hair, fake tan will not work for you. Embrace your bluey-whiteness.

13) And try some exercise. I speak as a former PE note girl who discovered running and the fact that it meant you could eat what you wanted (within reason). I was sold.

14) I’ve worked in state-run and private schools and the biggest difference between them isn’t the class sizes (exaggerated) or the staff (no discernible gap overall) but rather the confidence private education instills in its young charges. I think top-quality parenting can pull off a similar feat.   

15) Don’t ring in sick if you’re not sick. That makes you a prize-winning knobhead on wheels.

16) Frame things properly. You’re an adult, ergo just take pictures to a pictureframer. Yes, it’s more expensive, but clippy frames from Ikea are an abomination. 

17)  I think that Irish speech - the syntax, vocabulary and pronunciation - is beautiful. “How’s the quare fella?” “It’s hateful, so it is.” “TheLORDsaveusandblessus.” “Vee-hi-cle.” Perfect grammar is overrated (did I just say that?)


It'll all become clear if you click on the link above

18) Listening to Christy Moore’s ‘Missing You’ blows my mind from the viewpoint that people used to leave home and not be able to go back for YEARS. ‘I’ve been missing you/I’d give all for the price of the flight,’ he sings. Even if I was in New Zealand I could slap a credit card down the check-in desk and insist I fly. 

19) There’s definitely a place in my heart for folk music. And dodgy country and western. Praise be for Spotify’s Private Session option. 

20) I’m with Caitlin Moran on the writing-about-feminism front. Treat Samantha Brick like the weird fucking post-modernist joke she is (Moran’s words) - i.e. with disdain and a bit of light-hearted banter. She’s ridiculous, yes. Therefore she doesn’t need your anger. 

21) My mother had a Childhood Of Austerity, which we rib her about occasionally when she’s making sandwiches for a car journey or stalking the yellow sticker aisle in Sainsbury’s. She would express grave doubts that her purchase-related guilt has rubbed off onto me, but it has.  

22) Class is endlessly interesting. ‘We’re all middle class now.’ Hmm. 

23) Another endlessly interesting pop-psychology topic: birth order, and birth order combined with gender. I am SUCH a middle-child-girl. 

23) When we were little (say, about eight) my brother got locked in a toilet in a convent. Several nuns tried to pick the lock and one attempted a shoulder barge. It remains one of the most surreal moments of my life. 

24) My granddad spent eighteen months in a hospice dying of cancer and my mum would bring him bags of boiled sweets. ‘But granddad’s diabetic,’ I remember saying. ‘There comes a point when you take pleasure where you find it,’ was her answer. Fair enough.

25) The power of the pen is remarkable. Not long ago I received a hand-written postcard from Alan Bennett. Write to people.  


That says 'From Alan Bennett'. Wah!

26) If you have a reasonable income, a busy life and you’re uncomfortable with the bathroom being dirty, employ a cleaner. I guarantee you, the 27 euros or sterling equivalent you’ll pay out each week is worth far, far more than the time, the resentment and the arguments you’d otherwise engage in over the situation. 

27) Spend the time you would have spent cleaning the bathroom reading a quality newspaper. Occasionally read the paper first rather than the glossy supplements. Feel cleverer.

28) As you get older, you might not make as many friends as you did in your university years and beginning at work, but when you do make a good adult friend it's bloody brilliant. You do more ‘making do’ when you’re younger. 

29) Facebook is annoying, yes. Do it or don't do it. But please don't get your knickers in a twist about it. 

30) If you’re in your 20s, get on. Whatever it is you’re doing - working, studying, having children, whatever - just push on with it. Do it well.

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I had an inordinate amount of fun doing this. Basically, I saw this over on twitter and laughed my back off, and then a likeable someone retweeted this which I thought was just marvellous and I wanted to do my own version. I think everyone should have a go. 

Birthday countdown has BEGUN. 16 days to go :/ 

Ch-ch-ch-changes.

Posted on: Saturday, 3 March 2012

Ages ago, I wrote about having a complete existential crisis being a bit stressed out. After the wedding. Suddenly, you see, there was no longer ‘the wedding’ to consume maybe not every, but certainly lots of, my waking thoughts. 

Honeymoon in Northumberland? Bye bye. You were fun while you lasted. I've never eaten so much M&S party food in my life.

Sister Clare’s wedding? (basically, for us, an extension of our own nuptial celebrations which gave us the opportunity to bask in the glory of love and say a proper ‘how are ye?’ to everyone we managed a brief nod to on our own wedding day) Over and done with.

The Bedders descend on India for Narahari Wedding Number 2 and some Extended Honeymoon Fun? Been there, done that, didn’t buy any T-shirts (but DID purchase a range of rather nice souvenirs including a weird door handle in the shape of a hand offov a random Free Tibet market stall. Seriously, we did.)

 And then it was January. And it was terribly bleak and depressing. Everyone said that life ‘post-wedding’ would be a bit of a crash landing after riding on a morphine-like high for so long. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t ready to fling ourselves off the Tyne Bridge or anything – but we were certainly left a little bit grey after 2011: The Year of Joyousness and Fuzzy Moments.
Ah, but we know ourselves well, Bedders and I. We’d sort of anticipated our massive freak out. A storm had been a-brewing in the run-up to our wedding. We’d probably been having conversations along the following lines since this time last year.
Laura: When we’re married, what’ll we do?
Adam: Hmm?
Laura: Well, you know, like what’s our plan? Di at work has a five-year plan. I think we need a five-year plan.
Adam: Well-
Laura: But then a thought of a five-year plan totally FREAKS ME OUT because, like, what are the options? Keep going at work, maybe go for a promotion, pop out a couple of babies, job’s a good ‘un? That makes my hands go clammy. Years and years and years and years of doing the same job and...
Adam: I see-

Laura: I feel like Renton in Trainspotting. "Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a starter home and dental insurance, leisure wear and matching luggage. BUT I CHOSE NOT TO CHOOSE LIFE!"

Adam: Right.
Laura: My hands are clammy.
Adam: My hands are clammy, too.

And so we considered our options. We needed to do something different. We referred back to our list of likes and dislikes. We recalled our aversions to driving long distances (Adam's) and periodic feelings of rising panic (mine).

We bought a book called Living and Working in New Zealand. We did our 'points'. We seriously, seriously considered it. We decided it wouldn't be right for us for all sorts of reasons pertaining to distance and family and the big fat danger that we'd never come back.

So then we struck on the idea of VSO. It ticked loads of our boxes, namely:

TRAVEL
BIG ADVENTURE
EXPOSURE TO OTHER LANGUAGES (not going to write 'we'll become totally and utterly fluent in other languages' - maybe a bit ambitious)
A MORE INTERNATIONAL OUTLOOK
WORTHY
DIFFERENT

And we persued it. We had an interview in London. We met Alice the 'women's campaigner', who was nice if a bit scarily earnest and Debbie, a primary school teacher with grown-up sons who wanted to 'do something different'. We did some excruciating icebreakers and teamwork activities. We had gruelling (separate) interviews where they asked us about how often we argued (NEVER!), our attitudes to and history with drugs and how we'd cope with being outsiders. Yikes.

We were accepted. We nearly asphyxiated.

We started planning where we'd like to go and when.

We started planning a 'final hurrah' of a summer, doing the Coast to Coast and having a big pub-based fundraiser.

And then, well...they got a bit rubbish.

We were a bit spooked by the fact that they couldn't guarantee Adam a placement. If I went as the 'main volunteer', we'd have had no problem. But then Adam'd be out of related employment for a year (or two years, as became more likely after the interview), and when you work in agricultural policy, that's kind of a long time.

As I said, teachers do crazy lefty things like working in the developing world for a year or two all the time and it doesn't seem to damage their employability. We didn't think it'd be the same for Adam.

After a particularly discouraging two hour conference call in which our placement advisor told us she didn't know anything about agriculture or agricultural placements, that someone else would have to ring us with information (they didn't), that a three month notice period isn't workable, that they can offer no guarantees about placements until the 11th hour and that secondary school English teachers can work in either Ethiopia or Papau New Guinea (deep breath), we decided reluctantly that we couldn't do it. We have a mortgage, man. We couldn't give up our jobs with a view to leaving in September and then have no placement and a house full of tenants. Uh uh. 

And then a job came up at Adam's work. 

A job that he'd really, really fancy.

In, err, Brussels. 

And he might just have got it. Yesterday. 

Let's just re-check the list, shall we?

TRAVEL - yup.
BIG ADVENTURE - yup.
EXPOSURE TO OTHER LANGUAGES - time to brush up on that GCSE! In French, not Flemish. Or Dutch. Obv.
A MORE INTERNATIONAL OUTLOOK - yup,
WORTHY - not so much. But there's a possibility we could ask for a sabbatical/some unpaid leave and do a short-term project somewhere. My feelers are out...
DIFFERENT - YAY!

Oh God. My head is in a mess. But a good mess.

  

Antidote for a Crap Day.

Posted on: Wednesday, 2 November 2011

1) Give the nice girl from your office a lift home. Enjoy a gossip.

2) Decide en route to the maison to get fish and chips. After all, the husband is at a late meeting in Nyerrrrcasstle and is staying up there with your parents. You need SOME comfort in the misery that the knowledge of them all cosy together brings, don't you?

3) Eat fish and chips (curry sauce a Northern optional extra).

4) Drink a glass of wine.

5) Listen to Mike Harding's folk hour on BBC Radio 2. Love one's life.

6) Work out how to download Spotify. Realise you were five billion years behind everyone else. Enjoy it nevertheless. Be reminded of the vocal perfection of Damien Dempsey.


(singing one of them Pogues' songs - contains one of the most beautiful lyrics of all time - 'You're the measure of my dreams.") 

7) Toy with the idea of doing something remotely productive. Disregard such thoughts on the basis that you have been attempting to do something productive all day and failing spectacularly.

And it helps to have the loveliest husband of all time who send you flowers to work knowing that it will embarass you horribly (despite my love for Bev-On-Reception) but will also Make Your Fecking Day.

Well. Time for bed and my book club book, methinks.

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