The year ahead

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2014 proved to be a turning point for me; some stuff happened.  And it would appear that quite a lot of stuff happened for all the other people too. 

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Lovable. That is all.

George Clooney finally stopped bachelorising, and married a woman.  She turned out to have her own successful career (Hell’s teeth), and be more interesting than his Hollywood one. *audible gasp.  Brangelina had a pretty impressive year; William Hague was rendered speechless by Ange’s otherworldliness bones, and I’m not sure who was more star struck at the meeting between la Jolie and HRH Queenie Liz. And also, after her knighthood (or maybe before), Sir Angelina got married in a scribbly dress, made a film and saved the World. Did I say ‘Brangelina’? I meant just her. He grew an epic beard. And then shaved it. Then grew it back. And wore a suit.

Russell Brand became Che Guevara/Jesús, got pushed in a fountain while delivering an historic speech (of sorts) and also saved the World.  Him and Sir Ange talked about forming a World-saving superhero posse.

Jeremy Clarkson talked a lot of crap.  No one was surprised. A team of scientists landed a space probe on Kim Kardashian. No one was surprised.

There were some babies around, most notably the one belonging to K-Middy and the Fresh Prince (scandal), and Kate Moss smoked some fags, turned forty and went to some parties. And smoked some fags.

But what’s going to occur in the new year? The World’s a crazy freaking place right now, so anything could happen.

By the power of my brain magic, I predict that in 2015, Duchess Cambridge of Kate will have a baby. It will be a girl and they will call her Princess Beyonce and claim that they just ‘always loved that name’, and were not in the slightest bit inspired by their meeting with their Royal Highnesses, the King and Queen of New York. Disney will make a movie about it.

And, as if that wasn’t enough excitement for one twelve month period, Kate Moss will turn forty one and go to some parties. And smoke some fags. Not only that, her ‘It’-cousin, Alexa Chung will ‘change-up’ her hair four times, ‘style-up’ some clothes fourteen times and ‘wear-up’ some shoes. Groundbreaking. Deeply inspired by this, I, will ‘pull-up’ my Spanx.

It’s highly likely George Clooney will become President of the Western World, and employ the BrandAnge posse into the cabinet, to continue their world-saving work. His wife will become a special human rights correspondent on E! Entertainment News, and fight for her basic human right to a bigger wardrobe allowance. He will also take Pope Francis on, as his right hand man, and reward him with a lifetime’s supply of Cuban cigars. The Rock-n-roll Pope ® will front a band for a hobby.

In other controversial news, a woman without a beard, singing a song, will win Eurovision. She will go on to also win a makeup contract with L’Oréal, usurping Cheryl Vladimir-Rubicon, and become the face of…… well, the face of ordinary women everywhere, not having any particular kind of statement to make.

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Punchable. That is all.

After spending 2014, receiving great acclaim for nothing at all, Kim Kardashian will be terribly brave again, as she tries courageously to inflate her breasts to the same size as her bum, and break the Internet #allday. For this, she will finally win the Nobel Peace Prize, towards which she has been tirelessly working for years. And, talking of ar*eholes, Jennifer Lopez’s bum will launch its own pop career, after its hugely successful debut single in 2014, Booty. The album will be creatively titled, ‘I am Booty’.

Finally, amongst all that high brow goings-on, Ms Anne Pank (that’s me) *will be endeavouring to meet a nice, steady accountant, start thinking about settling down, get a mortgage, stop drinking gin, set up a pension and stop writing about all the shenanigarising.

Hang on to your hats people, we’re in for one hell of a ride.

In the spirit of true altruism, you won’t be completely surprised to discover, I have been locked in gruelling negotiations, for ooohhh, the last thirteen seconds, after which Paddy Power (and all other high street gambling establishments), have finally agreed to open a book on the above. And I, as your ever caring Anne PANK, am giving you the inside scoop. You’re welcome.

From me to you with love. Keep it on the down low.
Happy New Year!
Annie P.
Xxx

*Just don’t put your life savings on that last one.

Thought for the day

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The Secret Diary of Anne Pank has reached seven thousand views.

I’ll keep writing, as long as you keep reading.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Gracias, diolch yn fawr, gracies, merci, grazie, tak, dankjewel y muchas, muchas mas.

Have a great New Year.
Annie P.
Xx

Reasons why I don’t have kids #38

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I would be in a perpetual cycle of bankruptcy (round about this time every year), and recovery (the rest of the year, until Christmas again), until they left home.  Or I died of poordom.   Whichever happened to come first.  My money’s on the latter.

But more likely, is that I would buckle under the pressure, take my leave of them, assume a new identity and abscond somewhere, ooohh let’s say, like Panama.

They are MANIACS at this time of year.

Research has said, that the average spend per child in the UK,  until they are eighteen, is £100,000.00. Now, call me foolhardy if you will, but I’m going to stick my neck out here and say, “are you KIDDING me?  Have you seen the mountains of presents kids get these days, at Christmas and on their birthdays?”  And more importantly, what they get.

Ipads, mobiles, Ferraris.  It’s crazy.  I remember being cockahoop, looking in the sock at the end of the bed, on Christmas morning and finding a dusty old nut, and a few segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange. (One between three. It taught us to share.)  Aaahh, the good old days.

3.025 gazillion pounds

3.025 gazillion pounds

And those stacks of presents are just twice a year.  Which doesn’t even begin to take into account, the mountains of fish fingers and oceans of baked beans, all the rest of the time.

My estimation, is just a tad short of 3.025 gazillion.  And who, I say, who, can afford that?

How ever would I buy gin, and trips around Europe?

And that is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #38.

2014, the year that was…..

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Happy new year everyone. Best wishes for 2015. xxx

Happy new year everyone.
Best wishes for 2015.
xxx

…. a bit of a party.

So, as I pack for green and pleasant lands, I can reflect on the year that was, and look forward to the year that will be.  With, I have to say, a little twinge of excitement.  Keep it on the down low, I think it’s going to be a good one.

After being half-heartedly wooed for approximately 6 days and a few hours in the early part of the year, from February onwards, I consciously uncoupled from relationships/dating, and set about starting a collection of some nicer, more interesting, talented, funny men to have some of the dinner/drinks/sexy time with.  Occasionally.  This was, I have to admit, surprisingly agreeable.  I accepted all the invitations that came my way, travelled, studied a little, and learned quite a lot about myself.  I think I had what some might describe as, a tiny voyage of self-discovery.

When I was forty-three, it was a very good year
It was a very good year for red-blooded men
for seeing new places
and meeting new faces
Who would have thought that of me
When I was forty-three
(thanks Frank, I bow down to your superior jazziness)

NB. I absolutely promise NOT to write one of these every year. Honest.

2014 was the year I said a big, fat ‘f*ck YOU!’ to a bunch of rude or inappropriate or bad-mannered or presumptuous arseholes from my past (and a few from my present). Why was I still in touch with these people? Good question.  Cut those ties!  It’s healthy and it feels SOooo good.

It was the year that I found a character to hide behind, as a means by which to foist my single woman, childless opinions onto the World, (whether it wanted to hear them or not).  And Anne Pank, my inner self, was set free and I kind of love her, she’s a riot.  That almost seven thousand of you, from eighty nine countries, have checked in and read my sometimes rambling nonsense, has brightened my year immensely.  Thank you so much, I’ve enjoyed it more than you can imagine.

Feminism, almost blew itself up by being bandied about flippantly or borderline hysterical.  If I can salivate over David Gandy, smouldering and prowling around all over the place, in his under grundys, (see below.  You’re welcome), I’m not offended by a science nerd in a saucy shirt.  Quite simply, it wasn’t appropriate for a telly appearance. That’s all.

Now, let’s all take a moment, appreciate Mr G, relax a little and focus on the real issues, such as equal pay and reducing violence against women.  Talking of which, Kim Kardashian, you are not brave for putting your oily, inflated backside all over our screens.  Your idiotic, grinning chops made me do a little sick in my mouth.  Malala Yousafzai,  did not.  Incredible young woman.

2014 was the year I learned:

      • that I’m quite happy with myself: the person I am, the mind, the body.  i.e. “I’m alright, I am.”
      • to accept that not all people will agree, and sometimes others will think I am disappointing/annoying/stupid/ unattractive/a prize tit.  Mostly that last one.
      • this is okay, sometimes it happens.  Besides which, being a tit is fun sometimes.  Oh,who am I kidding? All the time.
      • to find pleasure in exercise. I LOVE running.  And I can squat 32 kilos (without making grunty sex noises). SCORE!
      • to seize opportunities when they come your way, as you never know when they’ll arise again.  Thank you to those of you who invited me along for the ride.  With all my heart.  It was wonderful, it was fun, and sometimes totes emosh. *sniff
      • I can be pro-active when I set my mind to it.
      • and because of this, I can build a small business.  Shit me, I think I am (a little bit) entrepreneurial!
      • to make an effort to catch up with old friends and tell them you love them, and make some new ones, and tell them you love them too.
      • that it appears my key man demographic has now shifted from plain old ar*ehole, to men in relationships. **sigh. Whatever is a girl to do?
      • that I don’t need to be in a ‘relationship’, to have great ‘relationships’, (air inverted commas), <out of the corner of my mouth> if you know what I mean. 
      • that I finally, at this age, am not scared to cut the dead wood.  What a truly liberating feeling that is.
      • I can be disciplined, when I try really, really hard.  I still think I’d fair better with a person with a whip standing over me.  (Oh wait, that’s another post for another day). Mostly due to knowing you guys are reading here and #smalltales over at Twitter and Tumblr.
      • Twitter is a lot of fun!  And to my sequin-wearing partner in crime there, Monkeyspangles and the others who write the funniest stuff every day, I salute you.
      • I make a shit-hot Christmas cake!  FACT!
      • that we are not invincible/inmortal
      • and that, for this reason, it is imperative to enjoy EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. of EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  (that’s not to say, you need to be perpetually happy, ee Gods no! Those people are not to be trusted).

Just don’t lose sight of the good stuff, because before you know it, you won’t be able to run, or travel, your hair will no longer be where it should be, and in other places you’d really prefer it wasn’t.  You won’t be able to pick up that instrument or paint brush; and loved ones will no longer be here.
Time is short and precious. Appreciate it. If you have a roof over your head, your health, friends, family and love; be happy.

Farewell 2014.

Farewell 2014.

Helllloooooo 2015, I see you lurking in the shadows,
I hope you got some of the good stuff for us all.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
Lots of love,
Annie P.
Xxx

If I was Russell Brand’s aunt

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A more subdued Russell on BBC Question Time tonight.

annepank's avatarThe Secret Diary of Anne Pank

I’d play a game of ‘Let’s see who can stay quiet, the longest’. Russell, sweetheart, it’s time to stop talking. One must know how to recognise that moment when it comes, and accept it. And more than that, one must know one’s limits. And you have well and truly reached yours.

Fingers on lips, while Aunty Anne explains. Sssshhhhhh…….

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Now, I love you very much, and I agree it was like totally a complete riot in the beginning, to proclaim one’s self a revolutionary. Haha! What a jolly jape. Even the pictures of you, transformed into a modern day embodiment of Che Guevara/Jesus, were like totes hilarious. LOL.

But I fear sweet, darling heart of mine, that you were not at all prepared for the response to your, initially frivolous and mischievious comments. And that you most certainly did not for one solitary instance, expect to be invited onto serious…

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My dad is not a well man

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the Last Great Adventure the Last Great Adventure

My Dad, the ‘character’, has had a bad year.  Well, more than just one to be honest, but this one in particular.  He’s seventy-one, so of course, things are beginning to break down and not work properly.  Not a huge surprise, some might say, for a man who smoked from the age of fourteen, until his lung collapsed and he caught pneumonia almost nine years ago.  Not surprising, some might say, for a man who ‘liked a drink’, until he almost broke himself falling down his stairs after a night out, round about the same time, nine years ago.  It wasn’t so many months ago, that he had a heart scare, and various other illnesses and infections have followed. He’s alright in himself, but these things are happening, these things are real.

It appears that it’s all finally catching up with him, all at the same time, and also, that the statistics we get fed about certain bad habits shortening life by certain amounts of time, might actually be true.  After all, he is only seventy-one.  But see, that’s the thing.  We see it, we read it, we say a lot of oohs and aahhhs, we grimace… and then carry on regardless.  Because, death is what happens to other people, other very old people, very sick people, or very tragic people.  La, la, la, not listening.

Simply getting progressively, and really rather quickly, decrepit, is maybe the saddest thing of all.  Because it’s inevitable, and life will do what life will do to your body and your mind.  Death is the only thing we can be completely sure of in this life.

I don’t know how it must feel to face your own mortality.  To know your time is running out.  But it’s going to happen. How does that feel?  It’s mindblowing.

What makes me write this blog post today, is that in recent months, my Dad has started reminiscing, and sadder than that; regretting things he did that he shouldn’t have and not doing things that he should have.  Which prompts me to think that he recognises himself that maybe he’s on the slippery slope.

I try to convince my old man to make his peace with the rum choices he made along the way, because that is all there is to do.  You can’t change the past and it would be a terrible way to spend your remaining time on the planet – feeling nothing but disappointment and frustration.

Okay I get it, we are all getting older, if not in our minds, (I’m still my wrinkle-free, limber, eighteen year-old self), for sure physically.  My knees hurt and my hips get stiff in cold weather. But when the inevitable appears to be knocking on your door, it’s a terrifying realisation.  There is going to be, in the not-too-distant future, a Dad-shaped hole in my life, and there is going to be a Mum-shaped hole in my life, and the Aunty I grew up with, and the one on the other side of the world, and basically those people who helped shape me. Those people who I went to for help and advice, those people who I still go to for advice. And my heart will be broken.  Many times.

That’s a lot of space to fill.