January 28, 2014 by Claire Deegan

It’s Only Words #MatildaMae

*I’m writing this to link up to the “Letters to Matilda Mae” linky. Now, mine is slightly different, as I wanted to write to Jennie instead. I hope that’s OK? The title, Its Only Words, comes from when I was trying to think what to say previously, and all I could think of was the Bee Gees song. *

Dear Jennie,

I like to think, being a writer of sorts, that at any given moment I can find the right words.

Be it a snappy retort, a funny put down, a hearty congrats, or a thought provoking assessment of a situation, time or place, I am usually pretty a-ok at the right words to say no matter what.

Well, I thought I was.

Until I met you Jennie.

Over the past year, I have asked myself lots of questions. What do you say to someone who has suffered an unimaginable level of grief? What words can you summon to try and ease that feeling of regret, or guilt in someone who has lost something so precious?

I find it hard to believe that’s its a year already.

As with many, I cannot even fathom what that feels like, I wouldn’t even be able to come close.

In that year, Tilda has been a name which has raised money, awareness, had bloggers jumping from planes and blowing bubbles in the sky. At Christmas, every twinkling star was not just about the tree and the baubles we place in the attic save for one month a year- they twinkled for Tilda on Twitter, on blogs, on Instagram and in our hearts.

And that has all been down to you Jennie. You often voice that you have lost strength. I think you have so much strength, and it grows each day.

In that time, we have all tried to support you as best we can as a community. It has not been easy. There is no quick fix, no emotional or virtual scaffold to prop a person with.

I am far from the only one who admires you. Who finds you an inspiration. How many of us could face the darkest moment of our lives and throw our weight behind campaigns to stop it happening to others, all whilst feeling, I would imagine, as if we had been hit by an infinite amount of double decker buses?

Whilst we will all trend Tilda’s name, while we will fund-raise, and Barn Dance, and Welly Walk. Whilst songs and purple colours still resonate, it is you who will be held up as the strongest kind of human being.

I just wanted to voice here how much love and support we want to provide, and that we will always be here, through dark days and when those clouds lift.

RIP Tilda, a truly special baby. And know that your Mummy is one of the best that there will ever be x

January 13, 2014 by Claire Deegan

If Only CVs Were More Creative and Not Full of Boring Stuff

I happened to be sitting in the car with Elder today, not up to much other than mooching and moaning about the fact we are still living in flipping Maidenhead, when Don Mclean’s American Pie came on Magic FM.

Now, I’d like to reassure everyone who thinks of me as a cool, down with the kids young thing that I prefer to listen to Kiss in the car but Elder turns it off as it’s “noise” and “chav” (ahem), but it made me voice the opinion that, my knowledge of the whole lyrics to the full version of American Pie (and not the shite Madonna version), is such a skill, it should, by rights be on my CV.

Which Elder said was daft, but then he would as he has no lyric remembering skills whatsoever.

It then made me think, as I am starting jobhunting (well, I’ve never really stopped, its just that kids, and moving and the like meant a hiatus), that perhaps if you could add in other unusual skills, rather than just, as in most cases, lie blatantly (not me. No siree. Cough), it may help your possible employer build a better picture of you as a more rounded individual.

After all, the jobsmarket is such that 500 people apply for the same Tesco shelf stacking jobs, so, maybe a like-ability factor would be handy?

Here is my, better, and more honest CV. Let me know your version, and feel free to link in the comments.

Name: Claire
Age: Nearly 32, but still get asked for id quite a bit so can pass for about 18.

Lives: A nomadic, boho lifestyle moving from one place to another to seek out a Landlord who is not a tosser and a house that is not kept together through sellotape and willpower alone.

Skills:
Can stay awake despite having no more than 2 hours sleep a night in the last 7 years and function quite admirably via coffee.
Pretty good at having more than three windows open at once on my shaky old laptop, using Twitter, Facebook and blogging all at once
Knows how to Google stuff and doesn’t always rely on the first page or Wikipedia
Knows all the lyrics to Don Mclean’s American Pie (the 12 inch version) and can remember lyrics to any song, even crap ones my daughter listens to, after one play.

Previous Employment: Erm, well, actually, I have been bringing up small people for a few years now. That may not be paid (accept Elder giving me cash to piss off to Primark for the morning for new clothes when I moan of having naff all to wear), but if Children are the Future, as was so well sung by Whitney(before the crack), then I have provided more to the nation, if not the world, by giving it two, well, OK behaved children (although apologies for Mini liking Wand Erection. She’ll grow out of it).
I have been helping at The Shop, which means I also give back to old folks too. That and bagsy some nice bits and bobs, thus you may add thrift to my skills too.
Before Brats, I worked in shops. That sucked a bit, I always had right mean bosses with spots and questionable personal hygiene levels. I also did a Management course.

Education: Yeah, about that. If you are from Kent, I may have gone to Robert Napier, but, if you’ve heard of it, I didn’t really, I went to the posh girls Grammar School (~~for one year).~~ I got shiny GCSE grades. I even got two As. And it wasn’t in childcare. And I didn’t leave seconds before giving birth. I’d never even had a snog when I left.

Personal Statement: You see, you may look at me as a Mum, who has sat on my backside, flicking between Jeremy Kyle and Cbeebies whilst smoking fags and doing nothing more strenuous than scratching my arse. But, you’d be wrong. I have worked my butt off to give my other half, who is no easy fecker to live with, two beautiful children, with good manners and food which has yet to kill him (yet). I have not watched much Cbeebies (no talent to watch whatsoever, I’m not desperate enough to fancy Mr Maker, and don’t get me started on Mr Tumble), I have run a pretty OK for a poorly educated girl from the Medway Towns (the posh bit, not the Street Wars bit) blog, still managed to do the laundry, keep abreast of politics (even though its dull) and my children are clean and tidy. Well, Mini is, the boy is a magnet to filth within ten seconds. I may not have loads of qualifications, but I have life skills. I wont ring in sick cos I’ve been out twerking at the local disco high on Miaow Miaow all night, I wont write an important report in text speak, and I wont, at any point, wear arse shorts even though my arse is too big for them in the workplace, scaring all the customers away.

No.

I will be the best darn employee ever. Or until I get bored and leave for bigger things.

References: Yep, I have these, it may be me putting on a posh voice or it may, just for a change, be my other half, but you’ll get one.

Contact: well, as above I can’t give my telephone number, so its probably best to get me on Twitter, @TheLazyGirlBlog. I’m always on there, much better than Jeremy Kyle any day.

January 6, 2014 by Claire Deegan

So, That Was Christmas Then.

You know me guys- I am proper rubbish at actually wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year all on time. That is down to me being disorganised (6,000 emails in one inbox alone that I am yet to read), and trying to keep two mad kids from going crazy whilst stuck indoors down to awful weather.

However, we are yet to need the services of a boat to leave our house (although we were worried for a bit down to the fact we live at the bottom of a big old hill and the drains started to overflow by Christmas Eve), and, from tomorrow when the lazy arse teachers go back (damn their inset days) and the Brats are back at school, normal (for us) service should be resumed.

What will 2014 bring?

Moving, without doubt.

Where? Well, no idea. I feel more displaced than Mary and Joseph right about now. Our Cretin Landlord rang 3 days prior to Christmas expecting to suddenly have architects in with an hours notice (which, if it hadn’t been 3 days before Christmas would have been annoying enough) to measure up for our house to be made into rooms (no, we didn’t know he wanted to do that, we haven’t given notice or indication that we hate Maidenhead that much we are naffing off pronto). On being told politely to eff off, he got all “we’re bad tenants” on us.

Yes, bad tenants who live in a house we pay handsomely for with windows I currently keep in their frames using vast quantities of gaffer tape, and which has a bathroom currently growing it’s own mould eco system on the ceiling of, not to mention a roof that, yet again, leaks.

So, I wont go into what I shall be doing to him when we do move, but we all recall the “fish revenge” incident on one such dickhead, don’t we?

Yet we have no idea where we are going. I got into the idea of Cornwall but since alot of it appears to be under water right now, and we know not one person who lives there, I am kind of put off a bit. Which made me nostalgic for the good old days in Kent of having friends a plenty and Elder’s eldest sis living a reasonable enough to babysit distance away. Except for the fact Gills is a rat hole, even worse than when we moved now, full of pick pockets and crime.

We looked further out in Broadstairs, Whistable and Ramsgate to find no room at the inn (or an inn we could afford). You clearly get what you pay for, so the only areas we could reasonably afford (as, let’s remember we are scraping through in Berkshire as it is) are the types of places we don’t want to end up. Full of crackheads, pickpockets and rat hole flats.

I am, to the point, of putting a map on a dartboard and pining a dart in to choose where we go to.

Christmas itself was pretty good, Elder made the big sin of forgetting to get me anything. He was made to feel very bad for this, and later on, Mini and I invented the new parlor game of “let’s see how much make up we can cover Daddy in before he wakes up and throttles us”. A good time was had by all (especially those who played along via Instagram). In our defence, there was a pause in “quality programming” before Doctor Who came on, we were bored. He took it well.

Mini has driven us crackers with her new One Direction Cds. No, I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea, I now know how my Dad felt on Christmas Day 1994 when he bought me East 17’s Steam album, which he allowed me to play at dinner time. Until the sweary part came on and it was banished. Its clearly karma that she is so in love with Harry that she gets very cross indeed when Littlest tells her they should get told off for calling their song “Best Song Ever” as it clearly is not at all. In his view, She’s a Rainbow by the Stones is.

New Years Eve was spent with around 80% of the Deegan brother sister clan and their kids, minus Eldest Bro (in Oz- the lucky so and so) and Eldest Nephew. We got back at 2am, the kids who swore they were not tired and wanted to watch Nick Jr fell asleep in 5 minutes flat, and we all stayed in bed until 11am (thank god- gin hangovers plus brats ain’t pretty).