You can buy bum-shrinking cream in Singapore?

My friend G, who lives in Singapore, turned forty today. Happy birthday G! Apparently her ten-year-old son is buying her some bum-shrinking cream as a present. You can buy bum-shrinking cream in Singapore? To me, this is a totally valid justification for Hubby leaving the army and getting a job overseas (in Singapore). Anyway, the reason I mention that G is now forty is because it reminds me of my own fortieth birthday and possibly the worst compliment anyone has ever given me. It was a very youthful-looking colonel's wife, who was a vegan and did lots of yoga (I bet she never fell asleep before her affirmation - in fact I bet her affirmation was 'I have the skin of a twenty-year-old'). When I mentioned that I was about to turn forty, she looked surprised and said: "No! Really?" in a way that made me think that even though I'm rubbish at yoga and like the odd steak that I've still got it. I began to smile a tiny bit, in anticipation of a big fat compliment. "I would never have known..." she continued, and my smile began to broaden. "You hardly look any older than... thirty eight."
"Thanks," I said, trying not to lose the smile. But I was crying inside.
I mean, there's damning with faint praise and then again, there's just crushing someone's spirit.
Oh well, I'll probably never see her again - the joys of being posted, there are at least some advantages to army life.
I'd better go - I have only managed to write the introduction to the scary essay, and I'm not feeling too confident about that, either (however, I have already finished Morvern Callar, which I only started last night and it is totally brilliant, so read it if you have the chance), so I'd better give it a bit more thought before bedtime.
Night then x

my heart's desire is the sound of my own snoring

My yoga teacher has introduced us to yoga nidra. It's a kind of relaxation/visualisation thing (apparently a bit like neuro linguistic programming). You have to lie down and relax and breathe a certain amount of breaths and imagine things and then think about your hearts desire. The idea is something along the lines that if you get your subconscious in tune with your conscious then you're more likely to be able to achieve what you want. Something like that, anyway. It's worth a go, I thought and decided that my 'affirmation' should be: "I am a published author". Brilliant. All I had to do was to lie down for 45 minutes every day and do yoga nidra practice and hey presto, publishers would be banging on my door... I keep trying it, but I keep falling asleep before I get to the critical affirmation bit. Which means that I spend a precious three quarters of an hour asleep, when I could be writing, and my subconscious still doesn't know that I want to be published. My subconscious is probably lagging, and still thinks that I want to be a sweet shop lady (I wasn't a very ambitious child). Or possibly my subconscious thinks that my heart's desire is the sound of my own snoring.
So, I'm back into the swing of the course again, somewhat panicky as my tutor told me that having just had a husband back home on R&R is not a valid justification for getting an extension on my next academic essay deadline. Bummer. I'll tell you what the essay question is, and you can decide for yourself how long it would take you to write:
Ian Watt argues that the novel operates under the assumption that it is '...a full and authentic report of human experience and is therefore under an obligation to satisfy its reader with such details of the story as the individuality of the actors concerned, the particulars of the times and places of their actions, details which are presented through a more largely referential use of language than is common in other literary forms.' To what degree is this a accurate statement? Support your response through detailed reference to two novels.
Yeah, I know, I'm hardly going to be able to dash that one off between school runs tomorrow, am I? (Especially not if I'm busy doing yoga nidra and sleeping through my heart's desire.) But if you have any ideas on 'formal realism' in contemporary literature, then do please please let me know. Right now if possible, and certainly before tomorrow morning.
Anyway, better go. Finished The Shipping News, now have to hurry along and read Morvern Callar and  pray for inspiration to strike whilst I'm asleep (really asleep, not yoga nidra asleep) so I can write the big old scary essay tomorrow...

Mummy is a big fat lazer

Yesterday Twin 2 ate a rat poo. I'm rubbish at getting up on weekend mornings (a fact which led Twin 1 to  call me a 'big fat lazer' this morning), so the children have got in the habit of helping themselves to cereal and eating it in front of kids' telly, knowing that I won't lurch into consciousness until at least eight o'clock. Yesterday Twin 2 came up at 8.01 to tell me the news that she'd just eaten rats poo by mistake because Son had the rats out on the sofa and she'd dropped a coco pop but when she picked it up, it wasn't a coco pop, it was something else... so that was when I decided that it was probably time to get up and cook some bacon sarnies for everyone. I can just imagine Twin 2 telling her teacher that she eats rat poo for breakfast, whilst Twin 1 chips in with the comment that they have to eat rat poo because Mummy is a big fat lazer who won't get out of bed.
Apart from that the weekend has been mercifully uneventful. The most exciting thing I have done is to try to source things for Son to dress up in when it's science dress up day at school. He's decided to go as a solar flare...
Just realised that I should be spending my spare time reading the rest of The Shipping News (which is really good - if you haven't read I can thoroughly recommend) or I won't get it finished in time for my workshop.
Hope you had a good weekend xxx

BECAUSE MISS JACKSON SAID SO

Hi, how are you? Major Bumsaw has disappeared back to Ganners for another three months. I'm very sad to see him go, but it's about time I got back to blooming work. I've got The Shipping News to read (no, not the real shipping news, I'm not going to be spouting 'German Byte, fair to moderate' for the next week), and an essay and an exercise to do and other people's work to crit etc. etc. It's all piled up a bit because we've been off doing R&R stuff (Weymouth, family, National Trust visits...), so now I need to get on with turning myself into a proper novelist, because, as Bumsaw keeps reminding me, I don't have a pension and he's not going to keep me in the lifestyle-to-which-I-have-become-accustomed forever. Anyway, I haven't been quite as productive as I should have been today because I had to stop work for a little snooze this afternoon (not because I waved goodbye to my husband at 11pm yesterday with one hand and simultaneously reached for the single malt with the other, not at all, simply because Twin 1 leapt into my bed at silly o'clock this morning and insisted on lying on top of me because she had a tummy ache - quite hard to sleep with a full bladder and a six-year-old on your tummy).
I have to go and unpack some shopping now. We had to have an emergency shop because Miss Jackson, the deceptively nice looking deputy head, has started getting fussy about the colour of children's socks and hair accessories in school. Apparently pink socks and pink hair bobbles are NOT ALLOWED because they're not school colours and because MISS JACKSON SAID SO IN ASSEMBLY. Cursing Miss Jackson and inwardly calling her a colour fascist, I scoured Tescos for black or white hair bobbles and black or white socks - no spangles, colour (or fun) allowed BECAUSE MISS JACKSON SAID SO. I keep thinking about that song, d'you remember it, 'I'm sorry Miss Jackson - woo - happened for real, never meant to make your daughter cry, I've apologised a thousand times' (you do remember it, don't you?). I think I'm going to have to make up a version for when our Miss Jackson hauls me up on some perceived uniform infringement, so I can apologise in song...'I'm sorry Miss Jackson - woo - my girls wear pink, please don't make my little daughter's cry or I'll poke you in your evil eye' ...or something like that. I think I just hate the concept of school uniform in principle; I can't think that wearing the same as the person sitting next to you will really make you learn any better...maybe I've just got a downer on uniforms in general, because after all, I know that the minute my husband puts on his uniform, R&R is effectively over, and I'm back to single parenthood for another few months. Might mention that to Miss Jackson, next time she throws a wobbly about a purple hairband...
Right, better go. Take care xxx

Leap of love

It's the fourth anniversary of when I proposed to Hubby. Yep, I was one of those impatient leap year women who just can't hang about for ever waiting to be asked. It was 1996 and he was part way through a Bosnia tour. At that time, civilian flights had just started operating again, so I booked a flight to Split, and he got a seventy-two hour leave pass and there we were (officially wives and girlfriends weren't supposed to go out to visit their partners, so we had to have a 'chance' meeting at the airport...). From Split we got a boat up the coast to Dubrovnik. There was another couple (who also had a coincidental airport encounter) with us, but we four were the only tourists in Dubrovnik. The hotels and cafes were opening up (luckily, or we would have been hungry), but the only sightseers roaming the streets were us and a very thin cat. I had had photos done in a booth before I came out with me holding up a different message in each shot: 'will', 'you', 'marry', 'me?'. He looked at them and said 'Alright.' and the deal was sealed...now it's sixteen years and three kids later and as I have no intention whatsoever of hopping on a flight to Kabul, it's a good job he's back here to celebrate the proposal anniversary with me.
So how did we spend the day? Roses and chocolates? A day at the spa? No, we took the dog for a walk, visited a National Trust property and had a cream tea - clotted cream and strawberry jam never tasted so good!
Cheerio xx

Hi, how are you? My husband is on his way home! Actually, he's going to be a bit later than he said, good job as it gives me time to wash up the breakfast dishes and have a little kip (don't worry, I have already sorted out the 'fanuary' issue). Anyway, must do and actually do washing up etc. Take care xxx

ps

I did get a Valentine's from Hubby, after all...it was only a few days late (thanks BFPO!).