The Family

Having got the neuroses out of the way, this blog will most likely reflect my family life and all other things that may deem to crop up in the life of the 39 +2 female. So probably anything and everything. Work, play, funny stuff, not so funny stuff, rants, general self help, jokes and nits.



At the head of the household is Bonnie, pictured above. Self appointed leader of the clan. Next there is my husband, Alan, or as a one time water ski instructor called him a-L-A-N! something to do with staying out of the sea. Following the pecking order comes my almost teenager Jenny whose favourite line goes something like this: "Take a chill pill, mum". The youngest member of the family, at age 7 is Christopher, aka "The Pod". Nicknamed so after that film, "The day of the Triffids", in which people were deprived of sleep by pods, in much the same way that we were in 2002. Beneath the ironing that is produced by that lot is where I come in. I'm Bev, masquerading as Slimceagirl. For some reason the 1970's TV advert for a certain brand of slimming bread has become the inspiration for my internet alias over the past few years. Every now and then the song from that commercial pops into my head. Weird.

Anyway. Welcome to my world.......

The First ramblings of a 39+2 year old female...

How strange is life. This morning I looked in the mirror, and somehow everything about my appearance had changed. I read somewhere that once you reach 45 the dreaded middle aged spread is guaranteed to attach itself to the waistline and it is at this point the ravishes (yes, I said ravishes, not ravages) of time become fixed and irreversible. I have 4 years to go. So why am I surprised to see a few laughter lines, a grey hair or two and a couple of wobbly bits, especially around the middle? Because I have 4 years to go, or so I thought!

When I was a child I thought that all grown ups over the age of 30 were middle aged. Except for those who were 50 or more, who were proper old people, and were always grandma's and grandpa's or even great grandparents. As the years begin to streak by at an alarming rate I am ever more hopeful that the sentiments I hear from my friends and colleagues are indeed true: that 50 really is the new 40, or 60 is the new 50, and that if and when I reach a ripe old age I will still be living it to the absolute full - courtesy of cosmetic surgery, hair extensions, a good win on the lottery and several bottles of decent plonk!