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Handbags will still fit after lockdown

Blogs On Women

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing my blogs on women, or should I say me, over the past few months.  Nice to see I have a few readers, so I have decided to continue for a while!

2 Metre Rule

Ok, so we are coming out of lockdown after 12 weeks of baking and gardening and we are all venturing out into the ‘New Normal.’ The problem is, I haven’t got the foggiest idea what that is. I did, but then Boris changed it. 

I have just about mastered the shaking hands with my elbows and waving like a toddler when I see my best mate, but it is all the other rules I am struggling with. The ‘2-metre rule’ is now a ‘2-metre or 1-metre plus rule’, when we can’t do a ‘2-metre rule.’

So, in a supermarket if someone is browsing the Pinot Grigio do I squeeze past at 1.2 metres, or do I turn and approach the wine aisle from a different direction? Would I get verbal abuse from a 1.2 metre squeeze-by, or is that acceptable? 

It appears that some folks have already just given up with the whole shebang and gone back to ’30 cm everywhere’ whereas others are adopting a ‘3-metre plus’ rule. The thing is you don’t know who you are up against, meaning any trip beyond the front door is fraught with dilemmas on social etiquette.

Printing Money

If I was in any business at the moment, I would run a sticky label and poster factory.  Everywhere you go, floors are dotted with plastic footprints, like steppingstones. I bet these factories are delighted now the ‘1-metre plus’ rule is in. This means a whole re-print of millions of ‘2-metre’ posters of 2 stick men with a line between them. When this COVID nightmare is over will we see ‘Hugging Allowed’ posters everywhere?

Masking A Flush

Not only that, there is the whole face mask issue. I have worn one a few times for work, and they are so damn hot! You do not need a menopausal hot flush and a face mask at the same time, you will literally be dripping from your untouched grey roots downwards. Also, it is impossible to read people’s expressions in a face mask. Are they smiling at you because you held the door for them, or are they Bloody furious you touched the door handle in the first place? 

Face masks are not only stifling, but they are hideous. They really do put a downer on any outfit. I have looked, and neither Gucci nor Ralph Lauren haven’t started making them yet, shame. If this is going on for a while, should we try and match them to outfits? I will of course need a leopard print one first.

Bare Lips

The good thing is you don’t need lipstick with a face mask. I was looking at the lipsticks in the supermarket the other day and realised that the testers have been removed. Who is going to buy a lipstick without a quick squiggle on the back of the hand? We all know that what looks ‘Tantalising Terracotta’ can easily be ‘Pukey Peach’ on the flesh. I used to love decorating the back of my hand with Zebra lipstick tester stripes. I could always tell which the best quality one was. I still had a faint stripe of it 6 hours later, and after a shower.

Sad is the day when choosing facemasks has replaced choosing lipsticks. The thing with lipsticks, and handbags, is that they always fit. I guess facemasks do as well, but they don’t make a woman feel fab. 

 

 

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White Americano for me at last!

As a child I actually loathed cheese, of any description. When I was growing up, all those years ago, you came home, had your meat and two veg and a slice of apple pie, if you were lucky, and that was it. Food intolerances and allergies hadn’t been invented then. 

Cheese Allergy?

One day at school I was given a particularly large slice of hideous soggy cheese pie, which I refused to eat. By the time lunch was technically over, I was a solitary child at the dining table, with the demonic headmistress glaring at me and repeatedly saying ‘Jayne, you will finish that, we don’t waste food here.’

Filofax Days

If Coronavirus had struck 30 years ago it would have found a very different world from the one today. I was in my mid 20s then, mobile phones were the size of bricks and computers were the size of packing cases. I remember getting my first mobile phone, a huge Motorola with a short rubber aerial, and I thought it was the coolest things since eyelash curlers. Admittedly it weighed about 2 kg, and needed its own backpack, but it was a MOBILE phone! I had a sales job, and I remember strutting around with my Filofax in one hand and giant Motorola in the other, wearing jackets with shoulder pads on steroids. 

Anti-social distancing

Ok, I admit it, I haven’t spent every single day since Lockdown started in my pyjamas, watching TV and eating chocolate. I have actually got a little voluntary job. My Mum lives in a retirement village where 91 elderly residents are in total lockdown for 3 months.

As a result, there are a lot of folks who need food shopping doing and prescriptions collecting. I am that person. This means that most days I have to extract myself from my leisurewear and brave the outside world.

Rules Of Social Distancing

I have been known to queue outside Sainsbury’s three times in one day. What strikes me most about this is how differently people interpret the whole ‘social distancing’ concept. Hours and hours of standing in supermarket carparks, with a trolley, has actually made me one of the world’s leading specialists on this topic. On the whole people can be divided into three groups:

  • The ‘I don’t give a toss about all this’ Group

These are generally males, under the age of 25. They stand as close as they can to you, so you can feel their breathe on your neck, they usually come in gangs, wear baseball caps and pyjama bottoms, and play with their mobile phones incessantly

  • The ‘I am aware and doing the right thing’ Group

These have bothered to get fully dressed. The women have a little touch of lip gloss and mascara on, as this supermarket trip is a ‘big day out’, and they studiously keep to the 2 metre rule, whilst clutching their selection of sturdy shopping bags and a neat shopping list

  • The ‘Come anywhere near me and I will kill you before COVID’ Group

These are usually 60+ women, with pearl earrings, who have not let their grey hair grown out, they probably play bridge in normal circumstances, and are wearing full PPE. If you get within 6 metres of them, or merely sniff in their direction, you will probably get a look to kill. However, it is difficult to make out what their facial features are doing underneath the ski googles and face masks.  

Once you have finally made it into the store and are elated to find yourself in the fruit and veg aisle, Group 1 handle every carrot and tomato before selecting, whereas Group 3 wait until there is absolutely NO ONE else in the vicinity, before dashing to grab produce only in pre-packed bags.

Supermarket Trolley Dash

Should you meet one of this Group head on, you must either reverse your supermarket trolley and go down the next aisle, or sprint past, with your face turned to the side, whilst shouting ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ Anything less apologetic would mean that you would never be able to a join a bridge club (or WI) within a 50-mile radius of here.  

One thing I have noticed about shopping for old people is that they all eat the same things; digestive biscuits, tinned mackerel and marmalade. At least it has solved my lifelong question of ‘who actually eats tinned mackerel?’

Last week one lady also specified ‘9 soft toilet rolls – peach colour please.’ This dear clearly has no idea what is going on in the outside world. I have seen stabbings over a 4-pack of Tesco Value Toilet Tissue. Probably my most exciting shop was for Elsa who requested ‘two 1 litre bottles of Jameson Whisky and a large pack of salted peanuts.’ Now that is an oldie who knows how to survive lockdown… 

 

 

 

 

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No, this isn’t an old photo…

I usually get excited about Easter.  It is like a mini Christmas without the presents. It is a time when all of the Family get together under one roof for a few days, we tacitly agree not to wind each other up, and we enjoy nice food and good company. The problem is everyone is still here

Don’t get me wrong, I do dearly love my Family, but I do now realise why young men between the ages of 18-21 must go on to Further Education. Their mothers quite simply cannot tolerate them being at home for prolonged periods. It is seriously damaging to their health.  

The Son

During the university holidays I put up with Son rising from bed at about the time we are having lunch, doing absolutely sod all all day, apart from hogging the TV remote then shooting little men on a screen all night. Unfortunately, I cannot tolerate it for more than a few weeks. I have read that domestic abuse cases have risen steeply since the start of lockdown, and I am trying desperately hard not to become another statistic.  

Lockdown Shopping

The other problem with having Son, Daughter and Daughter’s Boyfriend living here is the amount of food that they manage to consume within 24 hours. Having stood in the Sainsbury’s queue for 45 minutes, avoided everyone in the store, unpacked all the shopping and breathed a sigh of relief that the ‘Food Battle’ is temporarily over, I am utterly dismayed when they eat the whole damn lot in 24 hours. Do people really need 5 meals and snacks a day?

At the start of lockdown, I loaded the fridge with nice ‘holiday’ foods – smoked salmon, boiled ham, good cheeses, and wine and beer, to make the whole experience more tolerable. Now, having realised the rate of food consumption, I am spending my days stalking Aldi to find the cheapest possible edible foodstuffs.

As well as two BBQs the Family decided it would be great to have a turkey for Easter Sunday, like a ‘Mini Christmas Lunch’. I duly cornered a bird at the local butcher’s and Husband queued for 1 1/2hours to collect it. I hadn’t specified a weight and was horrified when he staggered in with nearly 17lbs of turkey. It was so large we had to re-design the fridge to fit it in.

Turkey Time

On Sunday I spent the whole day cooking the damn beast, complete with home-made stuffing, bread sauce and posh gravy etc. Moreover, I could barely lift it in and out of the oven without doing some bicep curls to warm up first. I have now realised why Christmas is in December. I am normally cooking this special meal in a festive jumper and reindeer ears, not dripping in sweat in a kitchen reaching 35 degrees, whilst wearing my pyjamas. 

Hot Flushes And Sweating

I noticed that the rest of the family were sunbathing and sipping Prosecco, when I intermittently dashed into a shady part of the garden to cool myself off. By the time I served up I was in my 3rd pair of pyjamas of the day and trying to work out whether it was menopausal hot flushes and sweating, that were wreaking havoc, or the fat roast bird sitting on the table.

Whilst everyone was exclaiming ‘Mum! This is delicious’, I just wanted to lie naked in a cool room with a family-sized Lindt Easter Egg and HELLO! magazine. Thank Christ Easter comes but once a year…

 

 

 

 

Follow me on Instagram @hownottohaveamidlifecrisis

Hello, I'm Jayne!

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