Over the past four months we have had our house on the market and therefore we, more myself, have had to deal with estate agents.

Now they are notoriously known for their very low stakes in the ‘most trusted profession lists’, I think a national poll recently had them one from the bottom only being pipped to ground zero by politicians.

I have been speaking to four people in the office we’re using, two female and two men.

When I am speaking to the men and they are giving me feedback from a viewing or advice on how to get the house moving (ie lower the price) I always find myself trying to second guess them. My trust in them zero. I spend hours after the phone call going over our conversation and trying to understand the hidden messages they’re not telling me.

Whereas if I speak with the lovely Jade or Teresa. I take their word as it’s given and once I’ve put the phone down I leave it and get on with other things. I feel incredibly more comfortable and have no concerns about if what they’re telling me is the truth.

Is this just me? Or do women manage somehow to install more trust between themselves?

Do you feel ‘safer’ when dealing with women rather than men?

Unfinished masterpiece!


1 – lovingly cross stitched piece of work

100’s of tiny stitches in various colours making up a pattern

1000’s of days past since the start of this project

1,000,000’s of loving thoughts to accompany my grand-daughter Gracey through her happy life.

A billion hugs and kisses for her to collect as and when she pleases

This is my photo for Tara’s Gallery this week with the theme of numbers.

the gallery photography sticky fingers

Oh what fun!

In a mad rush as per usual, I dashed over to Notes from Lapland and discovered another Brand New Challenge that she’s organising with Cafe Bebe’ (this is turning out to be an extremely challenging week!)

Vlogging. It’s the next BIG thing, so Methinks I ought to give it a go.

There’s always been a tiny part of me who wanted to be famous, oh ok a big part and now I have my platform. I have taken this challenge ‘Teach me something’ very seriously as you will see for yourself in a moment

Our discussion had already been heated as we thrashed out our differences.

He doesn’t think it’s right for me to spend ‘hours’ on the pc when I could be ironing, washing, cleaning, scrubbing and doing the trillion other chores that exists in any Stay At Home Mum’s life.

I, on the other hand only go on the PC when the girls are sleeping and use it as very precious Me Time. (At about 16.30 I suddenly realise I’ve been on here far too long and go into stupid mode completing an afternoon’s work in record time!)

My blog has become more and more important to me as each post is submitted and comments start to dribble through and after 6 weeks just when I’m starting to get the hang of it, THIS.

He doesn’t read or write classing it as a chore rather than a favourable pastime. He cannot see the pleasure one gets from slowly coming to grips with something new, making it work for you and seeing your own improvement as the days pass. A practical man who believes that dreams should remain belongings of the night.

When he asked me the question above, I took a sharp intake of breath as it registered on my brain (What did he just ask me?) and in a nano second my blood raised to 100 degree celsius and exploded against my skull, my heart was almost crashing out of my rib cage and it scared me…

Where had all this anger come from? We were merely discussing my new blog.

My hands were shaking at the end of my arms and my whole body was trembling, taken over by the most massive wrath ever. I was impressed! I didn’t know I could get this angry and I certainly didn’t realise how much this new project actually meant to me.

I think I scared him too. I saw a flicker in his eyes, the flash of concern fleet across his brow and the quick calculation in his brain ‘Uh-oh, I shouldn’t have said that!’

NO you shouldn’t have bloody said that.

Then unable to stop this incredible rage in its tracks I did my usual; I shouted hurtful, horrible words I could think of.

Why didn’t I reply…

‘Well actually, seeing as we’ve both decided that I should stay at home with the girls whilst they are small and concentrate on bringing them up properly, I thought I’d try to have a go at writing. My dream for a long time has been to write a book and in order to do that successfully I need to practice my writing. A blog is the perfect place to do so. Who knows? I may be able to make some money along the way too?

Oh no, not me. I crashed around our front room like a bull in a confined pen anxious for release.

I said all those awful things to my soul mate, to the man I love most in this world. The man who holds me tenderly all night long. The most honest and kind man I have ever met. The man who has been there every step of the way holding my hand through our heart breaks and kissing the world back to better when I thought it could no longer be a place for me to live.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I want to continue with my blog as I’m discovering so much about myself. I will not deprive the girls of fun time and I would never see them come to any harm.

They are our life and you are mine.

This post has been written for Josie’s 15th Writing workshop I chose prompt 4 – Recount a time when you erupted.



tea india

I have found throughout my life so far that there is nothing like a cup of tea to start sorting out even the most knotted situations.

Frequently on soaps, films and in books, when the going gets tough and the need to get to the bottom of a problem arises, on goes the kettle and the comforting sounds of cups, teaspoons and the tea caddy start to resonate around the kitchen. Allowing the tea maker valuable seconds to think clearly.

Let’s face it, a cup of tea has magical qualities that a continental espresso just cannot compete with. Our brothers and sisters over the other side of the Channel may find it ‘quaint’ our love of tea, they find it amusing our five o’ clock ritual (which they still seem to think exists) and they laugh at us behind our backs for being so different.

They try to copy us and attempt at going one better by using fruit teas, green teas and tea with lemon even but they just don’t get it. Milk? They ask with an upturned nose and an expression telling us we must be insane.

Brits don’t stick to the five o’clock tradition, we haven’t for years. We drink copious amounts of tea starting from wake up right through to the 10 o’clock news.

Each mug patiently waiting with a dash of milk and a teabag for the kettle to boil. Long gone are the days of a delicate china tea-cup – we have evolved to enormous mugs so as to draw out the experience even longer.

When Cheryl found out about Ashley playing away again, I bet her mum put the kettle on.

When Sarah Brown saw in the press her husband being accused of bullying, I bet she put the kettle on.

When Kate Moss heard the devastating news that Alexander McQueen had taken his life, I bet she put the kettle on.

You see every blow we take in life is accompanied by this ritual which doesn’t solve the problem, or take away the pain but it gets people sitting down and comforting each other, it starts you thinking about your next step and which is the best way forward and slowly slowly by the time you reach the end of your mug a plan has started to form and once again you feel a tiny bit better, a tiny bit stronger and a smile albeit weak is hiding in the creases of your mouth.

This post was inspired by Maternal Tales from the South Coast as her first paragraph made me want to make her a cuppa…do check out her video it’s amazing.