Mr Blue Sky

Summer has arrived.

I know this because I no longer want to go to work. 

I quite literally have to drag my arse there and back again.  I spend most of my day trying not to gaze wistfully out the window at the beautiful, blue, cloudless sky, wishing that I were anywhere but there, but I just can’t help it.

I really hate being stuck indoors on lovely sunny days.  In the Winter I could happily work from dawn till dusk every day of every week without any thought to what else I could be doing, but in the Summer I can’t bear it, I long to be off doing something else.  In my head I want to be romping through fields or swimming in the sea, walking along cliffs and beaches, enjoying pub lunches.  I just generally want to be out somewhere, I would even rather do the park run. 

Yes! I know.  Can you believe, I am still at it.

This week was our 20th park run and it still feels like it was the first in terms of enjoyment and improvement, of which, well to be honest, there isn’t any.  I mean I enjoy meeting up with my friend and catching up on the weeks gossip and news, but would I rather be doing it over a pub lunch? Erm. Yes!   It is still bloody hard going and at the moment far too bloody hot, I look a lot like an overripe strawberry by the time I have finished.  Not to mention that I still hate setting the alarm for 7 am on a Saturday morning.  It is just unholy.   Struggling into running gear that makes me look like a stuffed sausage is no way to start the weekend and to top it all I don’t think I have lost an inch since we started, back in freezing cold January. 

Admittedly my initial enthusiasm did die off after about week 4 and my keenness to get out a couple of evenings a week, in an effort to improve my fitness and speed, dulled quite quickly.  I realise that one 5K a week at a snails pace is probably not sufficient to reduce the girth of my thighs or turn me in to a lean, mean, athletic machine and while sometimes I think I do want to be leaner, fitter and reduce some of the wobble that seems set to remain with me until old age, I really do not have the inclination.  

Yesterday I was feeling a tad sorry for myself but I have no idea why really.  Today I feel OK, but nothing has changed since yesterday, everything is the same. 

I try not to worry about not feeling myself.  I feel that as a disgruntled woman about to lurch in to her mid-life years I have earned it.  Besides, we are allowed to have off days, surely and we shouldn’t need a reason or a why for as to why.  Sometimes a crowd can cheer you up and sometimes it can just make you feel a hundred times worse.  Why can’t we, if we want to, just take some time out for ourselves, to sit and not talk, not do, not worry?  We don’t have to say what’s wrong if we don’t know, or if it is too many things of  little importance that we simply can’t or don’t want to explain.  Sometimes just the everyday is enough to make you feel glum, but these feelings don’t last, not usually, they are just moments in the everyday that make you stop for a minute.  

We are two weeks now from the Summer break, six whole weeks of R&R for Tom and Elsie and some respite from the school run for me, still my least favourite thing in the whole wide world.   Elsie had been doing her mock exams the last couple of weeks, which has been pretty stressful, God knows what she will be like next year when the real thing comes around.  Tom is lolloping from one day to next largely consumed with his girl crush at the moment, who it seems is not the slightest bit interested in him.   A  situation that has been common among us all at some point in our lives. 

Last night I picked him and a friend up from a party where talk on the way home mostly consisted of girls and the stupid antics of some of his friends.  Listening to the sometimes ridiculous conversation between the two of them I was quite amazed at how stupid boys are. 

Tom is 13 and already thinks he the king of the swingers and it seems he is not alone.  His friends and peers are all hurtling towards puberty and the shitstorm of testosterone that comes with it.  He has an attitude that can only really be attributed to the males of our species, it’s that inbred alpha thing.  It runs like a current through their body, passed down over thousands of years from ancestors long ago, ingrained in them despite the modern ways of society now, they still instinctively jostle for supremacy among there kind.  

I find the different views and opinions between Tom and Elsie absolutely fascinating, the way they feel about certain things and the differences in their emotions and relationships. Tom is younger and only just about to grow arm pit hair so he has very conflicting emotions at the moment, one minute he has all his guns out and is fiery and feisty, argumentative and self-obsessed and the next he is asking for a cuddle and texting me to tell me that he is a bit anxious about some older lads that are hanging about in the park with them and he thinks he might like to come home.  

I tried not to have any typical ‘Mum’ reactions in the car, while they were talking about their crushes on the journey home.  Obviously he is too young to have a girlfriend and obviously if she isn’t interested he should just walk away and forget about her. Blah Blah Blah.  There are plenty more fish in the sea…   Says the woman who can’t a fish of her own, not even a used one that’s been thrown back in!

My own love life has been pretty much non existent since Napoleon. 

In fact I am desperately trying to remember if I have even had a date worth talking about, which is hard actually, as no one has left so much as a thumb print on me in the last few weeks, never mind a lasting impression.

Hang on! There was one…

A forty-one year old Italian Stallion, who smelt like he should be served with cream and looked as good as any dessert I’ve ever seen, left his sizeable signature on my neck and made me feel 15 again for around the same amount of minutes, but see how I used past tense there.

I am not expecting anything more to happen here, despite our continued conversation and half-hearted attempts at meeting again.  There are logistics at play, which is often the case with anyone who remotely takes my fancy and we seem to be having a few language issues.  It seems the international language of love doesn’t work so well by text message, especially if your written English isn’t very good.  So far we have yet to re-arrange a cancelled date from last week and if last nights messages are anything to go by it will be a week before we’ve had a whole conversation, I prefer it when he messages in Italian, at least I get a whole paragraph, even if I have to use google translate to read it. 

The Italian language is beautiful.  I am pretty sure you could say something really horrible in Italian and it will still look and sound as sexy as hell.

Perhaps I should get Tom to learn.  Although I’m not quite sure he has mastered English yet.

Wondering how Tom and his friends will ever get a girlfriend after hearing the rather disturbing things they do to draw attention to themselves, drop kicking each other in an attempt to show strength, making fun of each other, showing bravery by playing with stinging nettles and just generally dicking around, I wonder any of the girls even talk to them never mind fancy them.  I laughingly tell them they need to behave like nice ordinary boys and not dumb stupid ones and they might stand a chance.  

I remember watching a Planet Earth episode, with the wonderful David Attenborough, and caught the mating dance of the bird of paradise, a wonderful if slightly eccentric display intended to woo his lady, who for most of it looked on in complete distain, but he won her in the end. 

In nearly all the species on the planet the female expects a lot from her mate, especially in the early stages,  she likes to be blown away by his prowess and desire to have her as his mate and delights in his efforts to romance her and the more complex and over the top this show is, the better it works.  Maybe this is also ingrained in to our boys?  Maybe this is why they are so hideously showy and so often arrogant, shaking their tail feathers all over the place trying to attract attention.  Then as the conversation turned to what Tom could possibly do to woo his girl.  I heard his mate say,  “I don’t know know bruv, boys might be idiots but girls are well confusing.”

I laughed to myself, as the phrase out of the mouths of babes, sprung to mind.



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