Does Grand Marnier go off?

Am I the only woman who hates going to the hairdresser? 

Today it was time for my pre-Christmas trip to tidy up the frizz and cover up the grey.  As usual a gale was blowing outside and by the time I walked back to the car, the torrential rain greeted me like horizontal spears straight into my face.  I didn’t really care as I never plan to go out after a hair appointment, I always feel utterly shattered after sitting doing nothing but absorbing all the latest gossip from Hello and OK magazines and having to smile sweetly as the latest junior stabs me with her fingernail, whilst trying to give that relaxing massage.  Then there is something about having my hair fiddled with for hours and finally blow dried, that makes me just want to close my eyes.  It is a necessary endurance, I like the colour they manage to create and the style they cut, but I can achieve a much better look when I do the blow drying at home.

No time to sit and relax when I get home, the Christmas cake has been marinating for the last three days so it’s about time I whipped up the rest of the ingredients and put the little beauty in the oven.

Yes, I know it is very late to make the cake, but my trusty Good Housekeeping recipe has never let me down and it is the only Christmas cake ever to be finished in this house. There will be such a wonderful aroma throughout the house in a couple of hours,  that really will start the Christmas mood.  

I do hope I have done the right thing though, do liqueurs have a sell by date?  I intended to add a few slugs of Cointreau to the fruit mix and discovered that a ‘little mouse’ in the house must have developed a taste for it!  However, sitting next to the near empty Cointreau was a very old bottle of Grand Marnier.  Oh how I used to love a drop of this, I had forgotten we still had this delightful nectar, so tried a tiny sip. Yum! That was great, so the fruit has been enjoying a good soak for a few days and I’m sure it doesn’t go off.

Little Darlings!

They never grow up!  Or maybe we just don’t want to let them?

1^st December arrived and the eager faces were so relieved to see their chocolate Advent Calendars lying on the breakfast table. The traditional fabric calendar had been mounted in its usual place in the kitchen, with the little pockets of numbered stockings ready to offer tasty sweet treats for the next month!  Yes I know they are young adults, but it is a tradition and they love it, so do I!

It doesn’t stop there they still have their elaborate embroidered stockings, heirlooms I hope, which have to be hung by the fireplace on Christmas Eve to receive the annual supply of special extravagant toiletries to keep them fragrant for the next year!

Finally it actually feels like it is really December and we can be thinking of these things.  Only last week I sat out in the sun with a coffee, next to summer flowers which are clinging on despite the lack of daylight hours, being buzzed by enormous confused bees, whilst I made my lists for all the Christmas preparations.  It somehow didn’t feel quite right.  

No need to worry now, the chill wind sending shoppers scurrying, makes sense of the pretty Christmas trees on every street corner and the twinkling lights across the streets. Freezing days have arrived, the coats and gloves are out and I am sticking to my theory of a bad winter looming due to the trees being laden down with berries, being the country-girl that I am at heart!

Didn’t we have a lovely day!

The day we went to Worthing!  

Smug is the word that first comes to mind.  We took a risk having heard the dire weather forecast for a fog drenched November Sunday, and jumped into the car and headed south through dense fog.  All the way we were rather sceptical of ‘The Chief’s’ promise that he was convinced the weather would be brighter on the other side of the South Downs.

To his relief, as we cautiously approached the top of the hill still shrouded in thick fog, we were suddenly blinded by the intense sun  through the remaining sheet of fog, then it was blue sky all the way to the beach!  

It was like stepping into a different country and we had a fabulous day, walking along the promenade amongst happy smiling faces, to the great little Café des Artistes on Worthing seafront (www.coastworthing.co.uk)

There was a free table at the front of the decking, right on the beach and there we enjoyed a delicious  light lunch in the glorious sunshine, so warm we had to take our coats off! 

It was just such a shame that ‘Mini Darling’ decided she had too much work to catch up with and wasn’t able to come with us.  We didn’t really want to send her a photo of this utterly contrasting climate to the one she was suffering at home, where she couldn’t even see the end of the garden!

It's hereditary!

Quietly watching the remembrance service at the Albert Hall, the RAF began their descent into the arena and as soon as I heard their rousing music, I had the overwhelming urge to jump up and begin marching erectly around the lounge, just as Mummy used to do. 

Always loyal to the memory of her time as a WRAF officer, it was difficult to curb her enthusiasm, it must be hereditary.  If so, the next stage will be finding myself breaking into song in shops and open spaces when I hear a Christmas carol and I now have to look forward to being hushed by my girls, as this uncontrollable sensation takes hold of me!

I wonder if it will embarrass them more than my guilty habit of setting off all the mechanical santa, reindeer etc, which temptingly gaze at me from the Christmas shelves!

How dare they dictate what we should aspire to?

I was outraged to open the pages of the Daily Telegraph newspaper this morning to see the image of a very glamorous looking lady posing next to the headline meet the 80-year-old supermodel. 

Great to keep your poise, looks, health and charm to such a grand age, but do not try to fool us that this photo is actually reality.  Technology has been working overtime to portray Carmen Dell’Orefice as a perfect example of how to manage the years.  You just need to look at the perfectly smooth hands, then compare them to real photos of her, with the normal raised veins and colouring to be expected as time marches along and where did she borrow that neck from?  

Photo: fashion.telegraph.co.uk

The fact is that she is a beautiful woman and looks tremendous for her age.  There are many other photos which have shown how stunning she is, but acknowledged the signs of ageing are there and we can admire how well she has defended them.  The first photo has just smoothed over and filled in at least thirty years of her life, this picture shows a vibrant lady with a story to tell.

It is not only the youth who suffer terrible self-doubts about their image due to the over use of photo shop techniques and similar, it affects the other end of the age scale too and can only be damaging in trying to make it appear that beauty can only be found in perfection. 

I’m the first one to agree that everyone should make the very best of what they have, for their own self-esteem.  I think it is about time there was more of a campaign to embrace the character of people and admire how individuals want to face the world, not churn out images which editors and the likes think we should admire.  How dare they dictate what we should aspire to?

Is anybody out there fifty something?

Now that I have finally put pen to paper, no I'm in the technological age it is fingertip to keyboard, I have realised just how invisible the world of the fiftysomethings is.  

Does anyone admit to being in this decade, or do modern people make a swift leap from the fabulous forties to taking up with the ranks of the OAPs, having spent ten years of denial?  Apart from dear Mary Portas, who else has tried to champion the cause of us as we control the middle age spread, take a keen interest in anti-wrinkle cream and allow the occasional thought about just what type of retirement might be facing us.  Do we have to accept that H & M is not the best place to look for an outfit and start buying our clothes in Sainsbury’s?  

Where is the fashion magazine with a target audience of (dare I say the dirty words)  middle age, whose editor seeks out models with eyes that sparkle with all the happiness and heartache the decades have launched at us, not just the usual plus size girl and token 70 year old with steely grey hair. 

I think we are the lost generation as far as retail and media are concerned.

On trend and fiftysomething?

I thought I was keeping ‘on trend’ with the life of my two ‘hip’ daughters.  I was very proud to be able to master texting and emailing to keep in touch during senior school and university years.

 But now they tell me about the hilarity of my loving texts, thinking I was signing off saying lots of love.  Now they tell me what LOL really stands for! And it really did make them laugh out loud, every time I sent a message!

It’s not like the old days, this over fifty Mum is not allowed to sink into comfortable shoes, tea parties and music my parents used to enjoy.  I have to keep a tight grip on my clothes which just have to be borrowed. I don’t mind the shoe sharing, it gives me the license to accumulate even more as they have treble the usage! And as for the bathroom cupboard and make-up drawer, well I have developed a technique to storing which involves packing so much in that any unexpected movement brings the whole lot crashing out and a lot of explaining to think about! It doesn’t stop there, even my husband has discovered the wonders of Clinique products and he smugly thinks he is above any reprimanding, he’s probably right, I keep quiet in return for no comments on my excessive use of a credit card.

Now we can share our knowledge as I can explain the finer details of running a website and they give me instructions on how to use the cast off ipod and if I’m lucky, the old Blackberry will be winging its way to me
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Fifty something is certainly a far cry from the stereo typical image in my mother’s day and here you’ll find some light hearted thoughts and observations of coping with this fast changing world and accepting that our ‘little babies’ have grown up.