The terrible twosome ....

Let me start off by saying I am not a fan of John and Edward. I watch them in much the same way as I do a horror movie- from behind my fingers and in the hope it will end soon.

But - they are just kids. I heard a radio station 'joke' advertisement earlier today for twin dolls you can use to vent your frustration with by hitting. I may have been more forgiving of the so called joke if it had been funny but it was - if you can believe this - more painful to listen to than John and Edward's rendition of 'Oops'.

Everyone has jumped on the whole - oh they're so embarrassing and making it shameful to be Irish - wagon.

They're not. They're teenage kids having a whale of a time because Louis Walsh has given them a platform to do so. And what teenager isn't a sap or a know it all or a bit of a fool? I know I was. Thankfully I didn't have a camera projecting my shortcomings to millions of people.

They're seventeen year old boys and they're an easy target. Let them off. Despite their hugely significant shortcomings in the music and dance departments they're managing to do fairly well. Better that someone sitting snivelling in a corner, saying life isn't fair.

OK so it must be annoying for the people out there with actual talent who didn't make the X Factor cut but let's face it, John and Edward can't sing and they can't dance. They're not going to go a long way so why not let them enjoy their moment in the spotlight.

They'll be back home studying for the Leaving Cert soon enough.

Bananas in pyjamas

Three things always occur to me when I see women wearing their pj's in the street.

1. It's ugly.

2. They're stupid.

3. It's cold!!!!

Aside from the really obvious fact that wearing nightwear while you traipse up and down the street and into your local Tesco to buy your supper looks plain daft, it's not practical either.

Pyjamas are designed to keep you warm in bed while you're snuggled under the duvet with a hot water bottle. These women in their special bed to street wear must have permanently blue legs.

Now I don't mind suffering a bit to look good. We've all suffered sore feet from high heels and cold calves that even the thickest of tights can't protect from Winter winds but, while I'd never claim to be a fashion forward goddess, at least I suffer wearing clothes that look good! Well at least I wearing clothes.

Fake silk and flannel does not look good unless confined to the bedroom and unless confined to the bedroom it's not toasty either.

Women of Ireland I beg you.

As you fling open your wardrobe doors to choose an outfit to wear to the shops bypass the shelves of nightwear and reach out for a pair of jeans.

There's a long cold Winter coming and our casualty departments have enough to do without tending to freezing females who can't stand because their frozen legs are unable to support them.

Too old?

I've got a thrill seeking devil on one shoulder and a sensible angel on the other.

The devil is whispering all kinds of great ideas like - give up your job, take a year out before it's too late, make the break before the babies - into my ear.

The angel is telling me to stop right where I am and have some sense, we're in the middle of a global recession and I'm lucky enough to have a job - to give it up would be plain stupid.

I admit the angel makes a valid point which is why I probably won't be giving up my job and heading down under to pick grapes and enjoy tinnies at sunset but why do I feel so bad for even thinking about the possibility of such a venture?

My mother nearly had heart failure when I suggested it. She said I should have more sense at my age. I'm only in my twenties - hardly ready to draw my pension (which I might add has dwindled to next to nothing in the last year.) I could think of far worse things to confess over Sunday dinner but I doubt admitting to mass murder would have provoked such a reaction. At least in jail I'd have a roof over my head and three square meals a day.

It seems to me that anyone who thinks of travelling past the age of twenty five is considered a hippie, a feckless hippie that the state will end up supporting at that. I want to be that hippie!

I want to blow my savings on a big adventure but my middle class mentality is standing in my way, preventing me from becoming the free spirit I know I could be.

The problem is I spend too much time considering it and then the fear sets in.

The fear that if I take a risk now I'll never again find a man as wonderful as John (he laughs just a tad hysterically every time I suggest the idea of anything longer than a two week trip)and I'll never work again because the job market has shrunk around the world. The fear that I'll get stuck in Australia with no money and be forced to work in a menial job for years just to save enough money to get home.

The problem is although I feel like I'm twenty two, my mindset is not. I should have done this five years ago - before I became repulsed by messy untidy apartments that house dozens and became used to having money in my bank account.

Point of no return

When I decided to move in with John I was given lots of warnings by friends who'd already handed over their single passes and nestled into coupledom.

My sex life was going to become duller than ditch water they said(that was assuming of course that I'd have any sex life to speak of after a few months.) I'd spend my life picking John's socks up off the floor and it simply wasn't worth my while waging war over the toilet seat - I would never win.

So far we've weathered the worst of the storm. Nearly a year in and we're still having lots of sex - some good, some bad but mostly pretty hot. I throw a tantrum over the toilet seat roughly every two months (which has no impact -it remains firmly upright until I bang it down) but all in all I'd say it's going pretty well.

I'll confess I thought that the novelty of seeing each other every morning and every night would wear off pretty quickly. Being honest I gave it a fortnight before we got sick of each other.

I was wrong. We still get on great and love being around each other but I realised this week that we're too comfortable with each other. On Thursday evening we reached the point of no return.

It happened at half past seven when I wandered into the living room and settled down on the sofa beside John who was watching television.

"Jesus!"He said jumping up.

"What?" I asked, looking around.

"Your lip!"

"My lip?"

"It's frothing."

"No, I'm bleaching."

Too much information? Should I have let him continue thinking my upper lip was free of stray dark hairs. Maybe. Maybe not.

On Thursday night I thought I was a liberated woman and was quietly proud of the fact that I hadn't skulked around in the bathroom for the fifteen minutes it takes for my facial hair to turn golden.

Today I feel a little differently.

You see I've broken down boundaries that should have stayed in place, which I only I realised this morning as John went for a pee while I watched in horror from the shower.

Baby on the brain

So John wants to get busy making babies, even though we live in a fairly small two bed apartment in Dublin city centre.

 

I have to admit that a baby isn't on my agenda at all.

 

Is it normal for men to be broody?

 

I'm hoping this is a phase that passes quickly.

You know you're old when ....

Sunny days become good drying days.

You hear krystle and your first thought is glassware.

Driving is no longer a novelty and you refuse to get behind the wheel during rush hour.

The first thing you pack for a festival is anti bacterial handwash, then toilet paper,then spare clothes and then booze.

You rave about non stick saucepans.

Shopping around - for groceries - becomes interesting.

You boast about 'your famous recipe', which involves adding half a bottle of wine to bolognese made with Ragu sauce.

You bypass nightclubs because it's too hard to have a conversation in them.

You want to tell teenagers to brush their hair out of their eyes.

You really look forward to a good cup of tea when you get home from your holidays.

The N word

Women are not natural naggers but men drive them to it.

It's true.

If you don't believe me ask any women who's moved in with her fella.

Here's the deal. Well my deal anyway.

I ask John to do something - let's say wash the dishes - and he says 'yeah, no problem.'

Off I go to work delighted that we're a new age couple who share the house cleaning burden evenly.

You can only imagine my surprise when I come home later that same night and find the dishes still there - this time with a few extra plates in the pile.

I bite my lip and ignore the teetering pile of china for the night, I will not be tagged a nag.

The next day I'm off to work again and say oh so casually as I leave 'Babe will you sort out the dishes.' 'Sure no problem' comes the reply.

I'll admit to begin just a tad antsy about the issue now but I'm confident my intelligent and thoughtful boyfriend will sort out the kitchen. After all we have a dishwasher.

Home again - no change.

Next day - no change.

It's at this point I lose my temper and complain there isn't so much as a clean mug for us to share. To which comes the oh so predictable and frustrating reply 'Jesus Niamh, you're turning into such a nag.'

No I'm not. But it's so easy for men to feel smug and to silence their women with that one word.

And the ridiculous thing is that most women are so fearful of complaining and being seen as some old biddy nine times out of ten you'll find them picking up the dirty socks that managed to land beside, but not in, the clothes basket, hanging up the towels that would otherwise languish on the bathroom floor, and bringing the recycling downstairs because their home is in danger of becoming a fire hazard.

I know I'm not alone in this.

I genuinely never believed men and women were all that different until I moved in with John.

He doesn't see dirt. I'm not making excuses, the man will sweep a floor and simply not see a mountain of dirt left behind in a corner. He claims to be allergic to dust yet remains unaffected when the apartment is untouched by polish for a fortnight.

Personally I'm not the most houseproud of girls. I'm more an - out of sight - kind of person so I know I'm not being unreasonable in my requests and , hand on heart, I know I'm not a nag.

A nag is someone who's never done complaining. Asking for a bit of help around the house is normal, if the job isn't done or isn't done right and the request is repeated, well that's normal too.

Guys - unless you're living with some virago who berates you on a daily basis and refuses to let you put your feet up with a few cans during the endless football season then you're not living with a nag.

If you don't like helping out - pay for a cleaner - otherwise suck it up and leave off the n word.

Daring to dream

Along with 40 million other people around the world this week I've logged onto youtube to watch the world's newest singing sensation.

 

Susan Boyle of Britain's Got Talent fame. A middle aged woman with a middle aged spread whose voice should supercede her looks but which has been somewhat drowned out in the storm over her bushy eyebrows, matronly frocks and faux pearls.

 

The whole situation is so disgustingly shallow it makes me - a fairly shallow person myself - want to shower and scrub myself clean.

 

I can admit I'm guilty of laughing at desperate wannabes - although I do draw the line at mocking the obviously crazy- in the opening stages of X Factor. I can admit that I  am guilty of (occasionally) making disparaging remarks about people's appearances but watching Susan's resigned face as she waited for her chance to sing was a humbling moment in which I regretted every bitchy catty comment I've ever made.

 

Clearly it's a reaction she is used to. She isn't a nubile big breasted blonde haired young one that FHM would want for their front cover and is obviously used to being judged on her less than glamourous appearance. How the audience giggled when she said she wanted to be as successful as Elaine Paige. How quickly they were silenced when she started to sing.

 

And why should we laugh? What makes the dreams of a middle aged woman any less significant than that of a lithe teenage girl sexily writhing around the stage. She wants to be a professional singer. How ridiculous.

Susan is one of the lucky ones. She has the voice to silence those who'd laugh at her. Many women - and men - do not. 

 

Even now - after Susan has sung and turned the tables on every doubter who chuckled as she waited for her turn in the spotlight - the focus remains on how she looks.

 
Consultants are telling her to stay true to herself and avoid a makeover. The very critics who would most likely tell a teenage girl to lose three stone and dye their hair if they want to get to get ahead in the showbiz world have recognised in Susan an ,as yet, untapped market that they can make money out of. The notion that unattractive people can make money in the glossy world of showbiz is so crazy, it might just work.

There's always a market for selling dreams, now more than ever.

What could possibly be more uplifting and inspiring than watching the unemployed ugly duckling take on the world and make millions without the help of a makeover. Susan makes us all feel better about ourselves because, if she can, anyone can.

This time last week money men and marketing managers couldn't have cared less about Susan the spinster who lives alone with her cat.

Now the dodgy hair and double chins that gave everyone such a good laugh have them laughing all the way to the bank.

Laughter IS the best medicine

So I tried something new at the weekend - as per my new year resolution.

I went to a comedy club which I know isn't exactly the world's most adventurous activity but I've never done it before.

I loved it and hated it in equal measures.

The acts were - bar one - very funny but I spent so much time terrified I'd be picked on by the comedians I couldn't relax properly.

I don't know why I was so worried, I was hardly sitting in the firing line, but I felt such sympathy for those who were unwittingly used as part of the act, I couldn't relax properly until it was all over.

Ming you it was a minor price to pay for a good night.

The best thing about it was that everyone was there to have a laugh and leave the big R word at the door.

You know yourself that even if you're out for a good night in the pub the chat will inevitably at some point turn to the current economic climate which - although it's topical and affects everyone - is a bit of a downer when all you want is a bit of escapism.

The set up of a comedy club means there isn't really a chance for chat until the acts are all over by which point everyone has had a few drinks, is relaxed and has something to discuss (such as the mortifying experience of the couple in the front who were teased about their sex life ) other than the bad news we hear all week long in the news.

I think I'll be going back and I'll be bringing my more miserable friends with me - who knows, next time I may even pluck up the courage to move from the back and sit in the middle rows.

Money makes the world go round

I know I said I was going to stay upbeat and positive for the new year but it's not easy.

It feels like none of us should be happy as long as the recession continues and let's face it, the situation is not going to change overnight so we may as well try to grin and bear it.

What bothers me the most is the way everyone seems to be watching how much money everyone else has.

In my office ,at least, no one is able to turn up in a new top or talk about going on holidays without the inevitable whisperings of - 'How on earth can they afford that.'

Because we've all gotten so used to getting loans hand over fist the last few years, it's appeared that we've all been able to enjoy the same standard of living.

The fact of the matter is some people will have to tighten their belts more than others because they racked up bigger loans. Get over it.

If I want to buy a new phone or go away I don't think I should be made feel guilty about it.

I know everyone is panicking and worried about their job security but being bitter towards other people isn't the answer.

Anyway if everyone stays out of the shops the knock on effect will be even more job losses.

So instead of bitching about those with a bit of spare cash, I think we should give them a break and thank God at least someone is putting their money back into the economy.