It's been a while since I last blogged; life in general does tend to get in the way sometimes, however I have a great need to get something of great importance off my chest. Followed soon by another few kid-isms very soon. But for now, here goes:
My beloved car (54 plate Ford Galaxy) went into the local Ford garage to have a repair made to the power steering recently. All of the work that needs doing on my car is done in the same place. The guy on the reception desk is, to be quite frank, a bit of an arse, but in general I never feel ripped off, or as if I'm being patronised due to being a member of the female gender. But what the bloody hell do they do in there???
First off, the seat has always moved. Now, I'm not a particularly long-legged being, about 32" inside leg (annoyingly - too long for standard leg jeans, and to short for long legs. Irritates the shit out of me). Funnily enough, my darling hubby has the exact same leg length, which is very handy when driving each other's cars. I'm sure when I was viewing him as a prospective marriage partner, I was thinking how handy this would be, without realising it. (Keep it clean please people, I'm talking driving here!!). Anyway, after work has been done at the garage, the seat in my car is always so far forward and so raised my nose is almost touching the windscreen. Do they employ child labourers in there? It always takes a good few weeks of moving the seat one notch forward, two notches back, and adjusting the seat back & lumbar support before it feels comfy again. Once, they moved the steering wheel, and I almost self combusted on the spot. Can they not get the person with the best height match to test drive the car??? Sheesh.
I'm sure they also have their lunch in there. Being a 7 seater, maybe they can have a little short-person's tea party in there. The steering wheel and gearstick are still bloody sticky, I'm sure the snack of the day must have been sugared donuts.
Yuk.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Life's little luxuries
As a mummy of four little darlings, life's luxuries are limited to the odd glass of wine or a chinese takeaway now and then. Brand name clothes are rarely purchased and when they are it's in the Debenhams 70% off blue cross sale (which I like because unlike Next they do not add little red dots to the label making it obvious you did in fact get the items in the sale). But there is one thing that I do have always, and that's Clinique skincare products.
I have, pretty much my entire life, looked much younger than I actually am. Being asked for identification at Asda when buying alcohol might seem flattering to some, but standing there with a huge bump, 3 other children and my husband of 10 years, it didn't seem quite so amusing. Maybe it was the hormones? Anyway, I always reckoned that my age is going to suddenly catch up with me, then overtake laughing and giving rude hand gestures. All of a sudden, people are going to pitch their stab in the dark at 20 years in advance of my real age. But not if I can help it.
In order to try and beat the premature ageing process back with a proverbial stick, I used a chunk of my christmas bonus in 2002 at the Clinique counter in House of Fraser in Edinburgh. At the time, I was 5 months pregnant with my first child and I worked in a building on Lothian Road. I'm sure the woman saw me coming and knew that it was bonus time, and I'm not talking Clinique bonus time. It was quite a trendy brand to be into at the time, and I thought I'd grab myself a slice of this trendiness. "Oh yes, I used Clinique 3 step on my face. None of your Clarins rubbish. And as for Olay....?!?' (Aside: when and why did they change it from Oil of Ulay??? It's the whole snickers and marathon, starburst and opal fruits thing in a face cream. Pointless, confusing, and highly irritating).
The thing is, I'd always been complemented on my clear, even skin tone. I rarely ever have spots or blemishes, and I don't know what posessed me to alter my skincare regime of doing sweet FA every day - but nevertheless, I was swept along on the Clinique train. And it's one of those things - once you start, you're afraid to stop. Like Infacol - you start using it, and suspect it's doing nothing whatsoever to help, but you're terrified to stop in case your baby is suddenly gripped by unbearable pain - with Clinique I'm terrified to stop in case I become geriatric overnight.
I keep promising myself that it's a pointless waste of money, and that when the current batch runs out, I will get myself some face cream in Tesco, and own brand, or Ponds or something, and I bet for 99p a go, it'll do just as much good and I won't be quite so sparing with the stuff. But my wonderful husband braved the very snotty woman at the Clinique counter in Debenhams, Dunfermline (who I later found out had completely ignored he and Rachel, who waited patiently while she served many people before them who had arrived after but who's faced obviously fitted the Clinique Bill better - I would have told her to stick it up her arse personally) and bought me my three step and eye cream as part of my christmas present. (He also bought me the perfume I like at the moment - Marc Jacobs 'Daisy' - which he accidentally left the price on and I'm afraid to spray the bloody stuff).
I am determined that I will not open any of the new bottles until the old are finished. The soap still has a few weeks' worth in the dispenser, and the toner is about halfway done. But the moisturiser.... well, I'll show you:
I have, pretty much my entire life, looked much younger than I actually am. Being asked for identification at Asda when buying alcohol might seem flattering to some, but standing there with a huge bump, 3 other children and my husband of 10 years, it didn't seem quite so amusing. Maybe it was the hormones? Anyway, I always reckoned that my age is going to suddenly catch up with me, then overtake laughing and giving rude hand gestures. All of a sudden, people are going to pitch their stab in the dark at 20 years in advance of my real age. But not if I can help it.
In order to try and beat the premature ageing process back with a proverbial stick, I used a chunk of my christmas bonus in 2002 at the Clinique counter in House of Fraser in Edinburgh. At the time, I was 5 months pregnant with my first child and I worked in a building on Lothian Road. I'm sure the woman saw me coming and knew that it was bonus time, and I'm not talking Clinique bonus time. It was quite a trendy brand to be into at the time, and I thought I'd grab myself a slice of this trendiness. "Oh yes, I used Clinique 3 step on my face. None of your Clarins rubbish. And as for Olay....?!?' (Aside: when and why did they change it from Oil of Ulay??? It's the whole snickers and marathon, starburst and opal fruits thing in a face cream. Pointless, confusing, and highly irritating).
The thing is, I'd always been complemented on my clear, even skin tone. I rarely ever have spots or blemishes, and I don't know what posessed me to alter my skincare regime of doing sweet FA every day - but nevertheless, I was swept along on the Clinique train. And it's one of those things - once you start, you're afraid to stop. Like Infacol - you start using it, and suspect it's doing nothing whatsoever to help, but you're terrified to stop in case your baby is suddenly gripped by unbearable pain - with Clinique I'm terrified to stop in case I become geriatric overnight.
I keep promising myself that it's a pointless waste of money, and that when the current batch runs out, I will get myself some face cream in Tesco, and own brand, or Ponds or something, and I bet for 99p a go, it'll do just as much good and I won't be quite so sparing with the stuff. But my wonderful husband braved the very snotty woman at the Clinique counter in Debenhams, Dunfermline (who I later found out had completely ignored he and Rachel, who waited patiently while she served many people before them who had arrived after but who's faced obviously fitted the Clinique Bill better - I would have told her to stick it up her arse personally) and bought me my three step and eye cream as part of my christmas present. (He also bought me the perfume I like at the moment - Marc Jacobs 'Daisy' - which he accidentally left the price on and I'm afraid to spray the bloody stuff).
I am determined that I will not open any of the new bottles until the old are finished. The soap still has a few weeks' worth in the dispenser, and the toner is about halfway done. But the moisturiser.... well, I'll show you:
As you can see, it's about 1/6 full maybe? But, the pump action straw thing doesn't see to reach. When I press the pump you get a vague spattering of cream. I've tried cleaning it and it makes no different. Shaking it, holding it at an angle - nada. And given the price of the stuff, I reckon there is still, what, a fiver's worth in there? I could get 5 pots of Ponds for that, so there's no chuffing way I'm giving up on it! I've tried everything but beat it with a big stick. Is this a ploy by Clinique to get us to replace sooner than is strictly necessary? They've picked on the wrong person, I can tell you. If I have to get a straw and suck the bloody stuff out of that bottle myself I'll do it.
I'm so tempted to open the shiny new bottle though....
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