If I was Jeremy Clarkson’s Aunt

by
Oh dear. It's time.

Oh dear. It’s time.

I’d be completely lost for words, so would sit him down, and make him watch this on loop, (maybe in the manner of Clockwork Orange), until he did indeed realise, he was just a human.  Not God or above the law, as it would appear he feels.  Normal people, in normal jobs across the World have been sacked for less.

Racism. Sexism. And now suspected violence.

Just exactly, WHO. DO. YOU. THINK. YOU. ARE?

(As an aside, this completely reminded me just how much I love the Spice Girls!)

Reality bites

by

I was writing the date in my notebook this morning, (at 7.30am, I hasten to add.  This new early class may be the death of me), when I realised it is my birthday, exactly two weeks today.  I am successfully weaning myself off this information, little by little, year on year, because when I think about the numbers I freak OUT.

I am, (probably more than), middle-aged.  For the record, I just did a little sick in my mouth.  I know this, because my birthdate exists at the very beginning of the decade when men proudly wore double denim and corduroy flares, and the Joy of Sex was controversial.  I’m afraid if the cover star of said book were to ever see what the internet has to offer now, it would curl his lovely handlebar moustache, and his toes, and all his other curlable stuff too.

beard

Me, five years time.

Yes, I’m embracing my grey, no I am not accepting the middle age spread.  Yes, I am going to the gym more than I ever have in my entire life, no I am not acting my age (what is that anyway?) When I went for an almightly health check last year, I was in and out of the doctors for six weeks, doing various tests…… one of which confirmed that my hormone levels are in decline.

Say whaaaaattt?!  Whatever drugs you have, give them to me.  Give them to me now. My biggest concern about this fact, was not that my window of having children opportunity, had just firmly slammed shut, but more the imminent arrival of a rather splendid beard.  I’m a fan of facial hair, some of you may be aware, (particularly the curly, cavalier type.  Call me), but not of my own!  I demonstrated my fear to the lovely doctor, by wiggling my fingers under my chin, and saying a firm, “No la quiero!”  She didn’t find it funny.

This was simply a confirmation of what had been a suspicion for a while, owing largely to the fact that this monthly occurrence (or “Aunty Jane coming to visit”, as my Nana used to say), has somewhat resembled the slow drip of a rusty tap, for about two years.  If you’re eating, I do apologise. But as in the immortal words of Frank Sinatra, that’s life……. Although I’m quite sure he wasn’t singing about my periods.

To be honest, this is the least of my worries, and I think it will be a blessed relief when it stops.  I mean, at the very least I can save some money of the ‘luxury goods’ I buy to manage this situation.  i.e. tampons.  All sanitary protection in the UK is deemed ‘luxury’.  Let me tell you, there ain’t nothing luxury about that process, you bloody idiots.  Pun intended.

I’m completely fascinated by the march of time, and spend hours looking at my grey hair and new wrinkles, (I wish I was joking) and trying on clothes that fitted a decade ago; and telling myself, I’ll keep them for when I’m age thirty again. I am not, however, fascinated by how terrifyingly quickly the time passes now. I have so much still to do and so little time to do it and when I think about it too much I freak out, freak OUT, FREAK OUT! Consider also the increasing creaking limbs and need for an average of 20 hours sleep a day, as we age, it works out at approximately six good months more!!!! I exaggerate, of course. But, that is why I try to be as happy and as positive as is humanly possible, because the next forty four years, are going to fly by.

I don’t want to waste a single precious moment of it, being negative, with negative people, with people who don’t make me happy, in work I don’t enjoy or bad situations. And so I take myself out and away, quickly and easily.

The last forty four years, have passed in five actual real-time years, and I suspect the next half of my life will go at a speed, only Professor Brian Cox can comprehend.

So I want to spend this the best way possible, enjoying the good things, appreciating the ability to still walk and not pee myself, looking fine with my grey hair, and new wrinkles. And who knows, maybe even sporting a beard Brian Blessed would be proud of.

How to Be a Nice Sh*thead, Part II

by

OK chaps, here’s the thing……..  I’m going to impart some wisdom atcha, just for you menfolk, ‘coz I loves ya.  And hopefully to improve your chances of getting laid.  Because I care about your layage and your penis, too.  Maybe not quite so much as you do, quite honestly, but the sentiment is there.  I’m just giving like that I guess.  Anne ‘Altruistic’ Pank, that’s me.  Because it seems to me (as it would also appear to a large percentage of the women I know), that this is all you want.  And so be it.  Such is life.  Es lo que hay (as we say over here).

But.  And it’s only a little teeny, tiny but:  all’s fair in love and war and all that, so you can’t really expect us to give you our most prized possession without anything in return, so here it is.  I hope you’re ready.  Yep?  Good.  Here goes:

Be NICE.

Be CHARMING.

Be POLITE.

Groundbreaking.

“Whaaaatttt??!!?!” I hear you cry in unison, “Are you f*cking CRAYZEEEEEEEE??” (Must be a lesbian).

Nope.  I am neither crazy nor a lesbian, but this could change.  Never say never.

I decided just after Christmas, to have a little look at a different dating app, called Happn.  Out of curiosity/boredom/boredom/………. boredom. **yawn.  Now, on first glance, I was quite impressed – I have to say.  The chaps seemed decent, interesting, good jobs, intelligent.  Check.  You had to both like each other before communication was allowed.  Check.  Hence no unintelligible crap from unwanted Neanderthal admirers. Check. Check. CHECK!

Then……… and it breaks my heart to say it here, the men started speaking.  Generally, that’s when it always falls down, but bear with me.  The first conversation I had was with a Respectable Looking Father in his Forties with a Job in a Law Firm.  (Use your imagination to hear this in Spanish.  And your actual Spanish, if you possess it.)

RLFFJLF:  Hello

Me: Hi

RLFFJLF:  what brings you to Happn?

Me:  boredom/idle curiosity

RLFFJLF:  Do you want sex?

Whoooooaaaa, that escalated quickly!

Okay, granted, I hadn’t noticed that my spell check had changed viajar (travel), to Viagra (not travel), so I could forgive this one.  He thought I loved the latter.

But, and I stress this, it is not okay to say the following.  NOT okay:

  • And how is your body?
  • Send me a picture of your body?
  • Send me a picture of your body in a bikini.

And one of the brilliant women on Twitter, who I follow, recently received this corker, “Someone loves a big c*ck.”  Her comeback was epic, check her out @vitt2tnoc.  Sadly, it would appear pigness spans all countries, nationalities and ages. **sigh

I have never met this man.  Why, would I ever, in my right mind send naked photos of myself?  Don’t get me wrong, I, like Jennifer Lawrence (humour me), am not adverse to a little naked messaging on occasion ………. usually with a man I’m in a relationship with, I KNOW, and at the very least who’s seen me naked in real life first.  Okay, call me fickle.

I did have a fairly intelligent conversation with the bikini bloke, where I explained that I thought he was rude. He said, “but I’m just curious….” (horny devil face), which makes everything acceptable these days.  Like the word ‘banter’.

“F*ck you!” horny devil face, #topbantz

'ere, show us yer tits

‘ere, show us yer tits

I’m just curious about a lot of things, like what salaries some of my students earn, how a close friend of mine takes care of his unruly thatch of hair, how they make sausages.  But I don’t hover around the ATMs at work, pop up in his bathroom and insist he take me through his daily haircare routine or stroll into a sausage factory, shouting enthusiastically, “Hiya, show us your frankfurters!”

I said I too was curious, as to whether or not he would say to a woman he met in person, “Can I see your tits?”, to which he was indignant.  And then I said, should we ever meet, I’d tell him to get his ‘polla’ out. (Yeah, beats me too, why they call man bits, ‘lady chicken’). He was shocked and offended.

After insisting ‘cheekily’ a few times more, he finally said, “Hey, I’m not disrespecting you!”  Yes my friend, you are.

These are acceptable things to say to a woman, you think you might like to have sex with:

Hi there!  ‘idle chit chat’

Maybe “you’re pretty/really attractive/Wow!”

More idle chit chat

Would you like to go for a coffee?

Would you like to go for a drink/dinner?

More idle chit chat

Oh, you’re job sounds interesting

I’d like to meet you, you seem cool (OK, OK, I’m in my forties!)

More idle chit chat

This, I approximate, takes the sum total of one whole minute.  Then, actually, meet us, speak to us, meet us again, speak to us some more, maybe a couple more times, be charming and polite, and do not ask to see our tits, or if we’re hot in a bikini.  No you can’t and yes we are.  This could realistically take three or four days….. sometimes, not even this, if you are lovely.

Even if your end goal lies firmly in the knicker area, or lack there of, your chances of getting lucky increase tenfold by following these simple steps.  Even if this thing is just a thing, (yes boys, us ladies can do THAT too), we still like a nice, polite charmer.  Not smarm or downright sleaze.

Try it, give it a couple of weeks of charmingness and let me know how you get on.  If I’m wrong, I’ll hold my hands up, throw the towel in and say, “Crap me, where’s the nearest convent?”

I’m going to sign out my account from Happn, and never look at anything like this ever again.  Even if the boredom is so bad, I contemplate gnawing my own arm off slowly, simply for the distraction.  But before I do, show us your polla! (Horny devil face) #topbantz

Yay! It’s almost St. Valentine’s Day

by

*PSYCH!!  Gotcha.

It’s not that I have a problem with the day, per se, no, no, not at all.  That’s not the case one bit.  In fact, it makes me feel really great about myself.  What I tend to do on this day, is spend my time, wandering about Barcelona, (and other towns and cities I have lived in while single), smiling, looking wistful, kicking up my heels and swinging around most available trees and lamposts.  That’s quite a lot of swinging here in BCN.  But what I love to do the absolute most, is shout at the lovers, quietly having lunch/dinner, staring love into each other’s souls across tables, tenderly touching hands/faces and giving each other a very thorough medical examination of each other’s tonsils, with their tongues; “Look at ME!  Having all the fun alone.  HahahaHAaHAhahaHAHA!!!  I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away I don’t know where my soul is, I don’t know where my home is….. lalalalaLALALA.”  It’s wonderful.  And not in the slightest bit disturbing.

Valentine's overkill

Valentine’s overkill

No, not that.  What I do have a teensy, weensy issue with, is the marketeers making those poor souls in couples, feel the pressure of ten thousand fathoms – (that’s 18,000 metres to you and me. SCIENCE.  You’re welcome.) – to engage in some ostentatious show of amour, on this one day a year. They’re too busy being in love, the lovers, ain’t nobody got time for that other sh*t!  The newspapers, television, magazines, and pretty much everyone with a voice, ram all kinds of stuff down their, already full of tongue throats; including the ten most romantic restaurants, ten best gifts for her, ten best gifts for him, what lingerie to buy**, which hotel to stay in, which new open-top sports car, she’d absolutely love you forever for, if you were to buy it this week. It’s  ridiculous.  While all the while subliminally yelling to the singletons, “YOU CAN’T COME HERE, YOU ARE SINGLE.  SINGLE I TELL YOU.  SINGLE!  THERE IS NO WAY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH, THAT YOU, BEING SINGLE AN’ ALL, CAN APPRECIATE THIS VIEW.  OR THIS WONDERFUL FOOD.  OR WEAR THIS CORSET.  Now, f*ck off!”

Don’t get me wrong, everyone likes a present, and if I were to be in a relationship, (wait…. hahahHAHAHAhahahaHA!), and my other half felt the urge to do something on this day, I wouldn’t scream in his face, ‘NO!’  But I wouldn’t want him to feel obligated, or under pressure in any way.  And most certainly not to buy the Agent Provocateur Yvett set, that he’d have to take out a loan for, and remortgage his house to take me to dinner in the five star restaurant with the ‘World’s most romantic view’.  (Although, I would quite like to go there.)

So, single or coupled up or dating or having all the sex with one of your mates/different people or going to sex parties, I just want to you all to have a nice day and a pleasant evening.  Do what makes you feel nice, and the people you’re with feel good.

Me?  I’m going to shout at lovers in Placa Reiel, watch P.S. I Love You on loop and get me all good ‘n’ drunk.

* I said ‘PSYCH’.  I deserve not to be loved

** Simple, never buy lingerie.  The men’s idea of sexy, and the women’s idea of sexy, are very, VERY different.

If I was Kanye West’s aunt

by

Now that the dust has settled a little, and that lovely gentleman friend of yours, Mr Legend has spoken up, and openly disagreed with you, I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you?

Soooooooo, you think Beck needs to ‘show some respect’ hey?  Well how about this, Sunshine,

“YOU have some respect for other artists and other genres.  There’s room on this planet for all the musics.  If you don’t like it, don’t listen to it.  And if you don’t like the Grammy’s decisions, don’t go.  Now, SHUT the f*ck UP! and SIDOWN!  You silly, silly boy.”

And while we’re about it, let’s take a look at some of the other ridiculous crap you’ve come out with over the last couple of years,

‘Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book’s autograph. I am a proud non-reader of books.’  God help that child of yours, your grammar is massively offensive, and SHUT UP!

‘One of the problems with being a bubbling source of creativity – it’s like I’m bubbling in a laboratory, and if you don’t put a cap on it, at one point it will, like, break the glass. If I can hone that… then I have, like, nuclear power, like a superhero, like Cyclops when he puts his glasses on.’  WHAT?!? *sigh and SHUT UP!

‘Y’all are acting like this ain’t the most beautiful woman of all time. Wait a second, wait a second – I’m talking about arguably of human existence. The top 10 of human existence… I don’t give a f*ck what type of jacket she got on.’ Yes you do, you both sat down recently, to ‘workout her new concept’, and then ‘revealed’ her the next day, in pretty much exactly the same clothes. Oh, and SHUT UP!

‘I’m a designer. A musician. A manager. The media try to dishumanise people who believe in themselves.‘  You’re a pr*ck.  A c*ck. Self obsessed.  And it would appear, illiterate.  DEhumanise, sweetcheeks.

Now, it’s time to take a little break from your preaching, Yeezus, go away, relax, get off your high horse, read a book, listen to a little good music.

You’re welcome.

Lots of love

your ever-caring

Aunty Anne

xx

2014 in review – WOW!

by

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,100 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Annie P grows up…….. again

by

January has zoomed by, and February is already here, biting me in the bum, with it’s nippy Jack Russell of love, St Valentine’s.  Aaahh, another year, another glorious reminder that no-one, quite frankly, wants to take me on.  Use of battle language, entirely deliberate.  Come aahhhnnnnn, pudem up.

But I’ve been too busy to think of the menfolk, (well, not entirely.  Never entirely.)  Busy as a busy thing in busy town, doing busy stuff, and telling all the folks just exactly how busy I’ve been.  For the fourth time in my life, I’ve grown up, and only gone and got me my own place.  I’d been thinking about moving for a while, and after Christmas in Welsh Wales, and wee spot of reflection, I realised that I was most definitely staying put in Barcelona.  For the foreseeable future at least.  This assertion seemed to indicate a good point in my life to find a place of my own, and start laying down some foundations here, instead of living in one room, with no space to expand.  Both physically and emotionally.

My new doorstep

My new doorstep

So, fast foward to last Thursday, when I made the final trip between my old place, and the new one.  Slap bang in the middle of the city, in El Gotico.   The flat suits me perfectly, being old, decrepid and more than a touch chilly.  It’s like we’re soulmates.  It feels good, and I’ve overcome some more hurdles this last month.  Namely, an abject fear of being completely responsible for everything once again.  Me and responsibility are strange bedfellows.  Moreso, I find, as I’ve got older.

I will miss the fun times with my flatmate, chats in the kitchen in our pjs, man chat and the like, but I know that I have found a great friend for life. So nothing changes there. Life’s funny like that.

Growing up #4 – living alone in Barcelona

Growing up #3 – buying and selling a house in Liverpool

Growing up #2 – divorce (1999) oops

Growing up #1 – marriage (1997)

I think I like this growing up the best so far.

The year so far

by

Well.  It’s not been the best one has it?

I spent hours yesterday, writing a post here, that will never see the light of day.  I decided today, that I did not want to dedícate any space, to the heinous few responsible for the chaos in France over the last few days.  Instead to the huge number of peaceful people who far outweigh those violent few.

Dove of Peace PicassoFour armed terrorists vs. thousands who have already publicly denounced the violence and millions getting ready to march today, in unity to show solidarity and support for freedom of speech.  And indeed freedom itself.  The numbers speak for themselves.  Outnumbered.

Watch the videos from around the World, of events, vigils, speeches that have already happened.  Look at the photos after the marches, later today, and always, deep, deep down, strongly believe in the inherent goodness of the human spirit.

Peace and Love.