Evolution

Our patience has finally paid off. We have waited for the release of Age of Conan:Hyborian Adventures like dogs drooling at the dinner bell and now we're in. It is as good, if not better, than the hype. It is time to put away childish things . . .

These were two (of several) WoW characters we rolled.

These are our new characters on AoC. Spot the difference? It feels like we have evolved from that cartoon world where Roger Rabbit came from, to the gritty real world where Bob Hoskins works. If anyone is looking for me, I'll be in the Thirsty Dog.

Mature Cheddar

It may be a sign of the times, or motherhood, or turning 30 that has stirred a change in me, but I am no longer the twenty-something willing to settle for second best or adequate. These things are no longer good enough for me. This change in attitude reflects on my whole life. I am no longer satisfied with being overweight. I don't want a wardrobe full of clothes that I don't like or can't wear. I am no longer willing to put up with wallpaper I don't like, shoes that aren't comfortable, things that don't work as they should or the cheap and cheerful tat that has surrounded me for years.

I intend to spring clean my life.

This maturing I have experienced stems I think from the realisation that my life, my actions, my dreams and my achievements now influence others, namely my daughter. If I am unhappy, stressed, fat, unfit and unimaginative what example am I setting for a two year old?

Although I sound like I want more out of life, as in material things, the truth is the opposite. I am rarely impressed by big cars, big houses, expensive clothes and extravagant living. There is a greater dignity I think in living well rather than living large. I would rather have one pair of shoes that would last me a lifetime, walk on any road I chose and show their scuffs with pride than a hundred pairs of impractical shoes that, although admired for their fashionability, gave me blisters and were quickly binned.

The fact is, the more I want, the less I actually need.

The heart of the matter is this, I am rich beyond belief. I have a beautiful home, sedately decorated I suppose, often littered with toys, often full of laughter. I have a wonderful husband, my best friend in whole world, the only one who sees me as I am, the only one from whom I hide nothing of myself. I have a beautiful daughter who is always laughing and full of mischief, bright and inquisitive and eager to see and do and learn.

I want for nothing.

I wonder how many people in this world can say that. There is such emphasis placed on having high powered, highly paid jobs. Houses so large that the people living there never have to socialise with each other if they don't want to. Three cars on the drive when only one person in the house has a licence. It is shameful that we value these things above quality time with our family, good manners and good friends, simplicity in all we do and say.

I know I sound like I'm about to retire, rather than a 30 year old working mother, but I think my outlook is a reflection of an ideal rather than an age group. I think Danny Glover said it best in Lethal Weapon.

"I'm getting too old for this shit."

My Stuff

Some people are fantastic at one thing, I'm just mediocre at just about everything . . .

This was painted by yours truly.

No, before you ask, it isn't a vagina.

British Summer

The summer is just around the corner, although knowing the British weather it will be short spells of heat followed by days and days of wind/rain and/or hail, but it does mean digging out my flip flops from the dusty crevices at the bottom of my wardrobe and hoping they will be bearable comfortable to wear this year.

It also means dredging through my wardrobe for things that are not:
a) black
b) knitted
c) polo necked

There is something maddening about a British summer that makes people run out and buy tiny little vest tops two sizes too small and wear them over a black bra with three rolls of fat peaking out underneath. Women who should know better are suddenly and inexplicably drawn to denim hot pants and become convinced that its okay to buy a gold larmay handbag because it matches the shoes you bought in Mejorca three years ago.

And the men are worse.

There is nothing better for putting you off your icecream than to see a man in his late forties in sports (haha) sandals and cargo shorts with what can only be described as a bulging sack of hairy flesh hanging out in front. It is only the presence of a belly button that identifies this luggage as his stomach, and turns mine.

The bank holiday weekend proved to be a red rag to a bull for the worst offenders. A little sunshine and the population goes crazy. We were shopping in our local supermarket when a male offender walked past us, sandals and cargo shorts, thankfully wearing an open necked polo shirt. The shirt, however, stopped at his belly button which hung over another eight of ten inches of stomach swaying rythmically lower than I think his dick would have hung.

Worst part? His belly was tanned.

We can hope it was Saint Tropez but we know it wasn't, don't we?