So I'm back, hopefully for a more regular approach to blogging than the current annual instalment, although it appears I didn't blog once in 2019, clearly a busy year !
In fact, 2019 was a momentous year in so many ways for me and my family (I don't even care if the word 'myself' would be grammatically correct here, I'm dead 'ard me). In fact, I think the word should be obliterated from the Oxford English Dictionary on the grounds of its constant mis-use by anyone born in the 1980s and 1990s). They use it to try and sound clever, they get it wrong, they sound dumb. Period.
Where was I? Oh yes, huge year. Well, apart from both children making giant leaps in their education journey, Teddy to college and Daniel to high school, I seem to have had a mid-life crisis while my amazing children took these momentous changes in their stride.
So anyway, we'll talk about me first (what a surprise, I hear my husband cry. No really, he cries)!!!
My choices to deal with said crisis appeared to me in two options; Gin & Tonic or HRT & Hypnotherapy.
As I'm a huge fan of alliteration, and my liver, I decided to go with the latter.
However, I've since gone on to mess with my liver thanks to fungal toenail medication and Gary bought me some gin for my 48th birthday so I went for a double-whammy of (mid-life) crisis management, chin, chin!!
Slurp.
So, I may have mentioned before, I'm a bit of a worker bee (hence huge absences in blogging due to the fact than in any given 24 hour period, I'm either working or sleeping). I'd like to say I have a 'portfolio career', when in fact the truth is more along the lines of a 'taking anything that I'm offered' career. I don't, however, often word it as such on job applications.
I've flitted from journalism to PR to marketing with random jobs in golf clubs and a theatre box office thrown in for good measure.
Then in 2019, from a life largely sat on my backside staring at a computer screen I took a leap of faith into the complete unknown and a life on the streets. No really, I mean it.
My smart feminine blouse, culottes and quirky brogues went out of the window and were replaced by hob-nailed boots, teflon trousers and a hi-vis bomber jacket - sexy eh?!
Think cross between street cleaner and PCSO without any powers, no whistle (huge disappointment to Daniel), not as many pockets and no dust cart.
Yep, on full mid-life crisis mode, I decided a career change would be more practical than a divorce or a sports car. I kinda like my husband (sometimes) and I couldn't get the kids' cricket paraphernalia in an SLK.
Nearly a year in and I'm still treading the beat and was even heralded a 'hero' by my employer this week, about an hour before my car broke down and my cape slipped silently away as I sat patiently in my not-so-Smart-car and awaited rescue by the RAC.
It's also been a year where I have fully made use of my NI payments, thanks to the wonderful people of the NHS who have been busy straightening my son's wonky teeth and yanking my other son's shoulder back into place on numerous occasions.
Then along came 2020 with joy, hope, train track braces installed, shoulder soundly riveted back into place, jobs bumbling along nicely, we get to March and wham, bam, thank you ma'am, in steps Covid-19 stage left and it all goes a bit, shall we say, tits up.....
