Here’s a whinge, the point being that if I can have an almighty hissy fit on line I don’t have to do it in the real world. Sorry peps. Also, if I manage to do it in an amusing way, somebody somewhere might laugh or conversely, realise they aren’t the only one and that would be i) positive and ii) make me happy again.

You know that bit in Pulp Fiction where Marcellus Wallis tells the boxer bloke “that’s just pride, fucking with your arse…” Well, this is just hormones fucking with mine, ok? It’s genuine though and when I sat down to write this morning, it’s what came out… so I’ve left it here.

Now, this month, I have been feeling distinctly hormonal, early. As you all know, Mr BC and I are trying to make spawn. Unfortunately for me, feeling pregnant is absolutely no different to the usual PMT I get so it’s impossible to tell when my tits start aching, my memory goes on the blink, my breath gets short, I feel dizzy and get sort of… preparatory stomach cramps whether it means I’ve hit the jackpot or am just up for a normal visit from the er… painters. Sometimes I think it may be extra bad because I’m growing a practise bag.*

*When you get pregnant the baby and stuff is inside a bag. Occasionally, you’ll grow one of these bags with nothing in it. You don’t need to have even been near a man for this to happen it’s just your body practising in case it ever needs to grow one in earnest, kind of like military exercises. This is perfectly natural and I have a theory that the months where I have particularly bad PMT, even for me and think I’m pregnant, only to get the blob as usual are months when my body is growing a practise bag. It’s a bummer but at least it means that if it has to grow a bag for real, it’s going to be very good at it.

So this month… looking at last month’s temperature chart, I thought that maybe I ovulate a bit earlier than I had previously believed and found that if this were the case, Mr BC and I had unwittingly had a shag at exactly the right time. Hoorah!

Even more intriguing, the following day I had gone for my bike ride and got the bonk, for the first time ever. Normally there is plenty of blood sugar and I’d had the usual large breakfast and not done anything out of the ordinary. It was so pronounced I had to stop and eat some blackberries on my way home. When I thought about this I remembered a friend who said she knew she was pregnant from the day after because her hormones were all over the place. I wondered but well… like I said, you never can tell…

So… a couple of days later my boobs started to ache, really badly, worse than ever before in fact - including the time I was pregnant.

Hmm… is she or isn’t she? I thought.

The painful bits abated to normal pre-blob levels after about five days but the curious light headed feeling continued and I have started to find myself getting very tired. Cautious optimism but I have a 30 day cycle, if I really have ovulated when I thought we’ve bingoed it on day 10, which means even with early testing kits I have to wait TWO WHOLE WEEKS (aaargh! For the love of God.) to find out whether or not we have created Mini Us and THREE to find out, for sure, since the first symptom arrived on day 11…

Now, not all of you will have tried for a baby but let me assure you, it’s not the fun it’s cracked up to be. You have two or three weeks where you may be pregnant each month and during those you have to decide whether you are going to act as if you are, abstaining from all things, or carry on as normal, potentially jeapordising - if doctors are to be believed - the life of your newly forming baby. So that’s three weeks of thinking things like this…

1. Should I drink wine at all? I shouldn’t if I’m pregnant but I might not be and I love the way it compliments my cooking.
2. Should I continue to exercise and if so, how, should I go about it? If pregnant “strenuous” exercise is to be avoided. How strenuous is strenuous?
3. They say “no heavy lifting” if you are pregnant. How heavy is the lifting involved? Would it cover items like the computer bag - containing my lap top and papers - which I carry down the path to my office each morning?
4. Would carrying a Dyson hoover up three flights of stairs count as “heavy lifting” if so how will I do the housework two weeks in every five?
5. What about walking down the hill from the supermarket with a bag of heavy shopping, does the heaviness go on weight or is it about what I find easy to lift? I’m always assuming the latter.
6. Does scrubbing vigorously at the fine layer of cat hair over the drawing room carpet (I was sure I closed that door) with the “stair attachment” until the perspiration drips off the end of my nose (it doesn’t, I promise but I like the comic effect of the idea) come under the title “vigorous exercise”.
7. I can go 10 miles a day on a bike at about 10 miles an hour without getting out of breath - I do get stiff and tired but not breathless… is that too vigorous?

The problem, as ever, is one of striking the happy balance between doing the things that I need to do, like housework and carrying heavy shopping, not to mention the things which keep me sane, exercising, enjoying fine wine, coffee and good food like prawns and unpasturised cheese and doing what you are supposed to do when you are pregnant - sitting still, as far as I can tell, or “walking briskly” (which bit of “my leg’s fucked and I can’t walk more than about a mile” do they not understand) not to mention avoiding doing or eating anything that might remotely be considered pleasurable (I told you this was a whinge).

So on the one hand, I should carry on as normal because otherwise when I get my period it’s ten times more galling and makes me very sad? On the other hand, while going on as normal is usually better for my mental health, if I don’t cut back and I am pregnant, will I kill my baby? What if I have been pregnant several times before now and not realised because I killed it with my sybaritic excesses? Scary. Huh?

(Yes boys, women DO over analyse… EVERYTHING, just like this in fact, I’m a laid back, pragmatic, un drama-queeny one. Even my husband says I am low maintenance.)

Now the sensible part of my brain says “you KNOW all the answers to these questions, just chill, relax and what will be will be”. It’s right, of course, but the sensible part of my brain has clearly never tried to make a baby - more to the point, if I took its advice the rest of me wouldn’t be, either!

Well… that’s what the emotion gremlins (new one for the list of fairies I think) have been doing to me for the last week. This is the most realistic and pronounced set of symptoms I’ve had outside my real pregnancy since it happened. The big tellers last time were… Sore boobs, feeling completely knackered - you know sleeping through the night and waking up feeling like you haven’t been to bed at all - and of course, feeling a bit dizzy and la-la.

This morning, I wake up and realise that no, I’m not pregnant. I’ve just got a fucking cold! Arse! D’you know, when I was a kid I used to get a cold in September each year and it would last the whole winter through. These days, it’s so long since I had one that I had forgotten what it feels like when you fight it for a while before it really takes hold. Yes! Got it in one the symptoms are sore glands (boobs), perennial knackeredness and, because your brain is slowly filling up with snot, dizzieness.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.

Anyone like to primal scream with me? Here we go. AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHH!

Mmmmm… that’s better.

I loathe and detest having colds! They detach you from reality, it’s like living behind a pain of glass and it goes on for ever. It takes me weeks to have colds others will throw off in a day. Yes, I’d lay bets I’m the only woman in the entire world who gets Man Flu.

There’s no point wasting an early pregnancy test now, it’s obvious what it is and god help me not only am I not pregnant but I’m going to have to put up wall of menthol versus well of snot for the next week or two, to boot! Grrrrrr…!

Everyone has to have crap days or they wouldn’t appreciate the good ones and yes, I’d lay bets many of my brothers and sisters would give their eye teeth to have this as a good day. Things could be so much worse… but I just had to have a gripe about it somewhere because it’s so blummin’ irritating.

Right then, I’d better go do some work… pipple toot.

——————————————————————————–

Stop press (10 minutes later): have just had a blub on Mr BC and feel so much better. I know for sure that I would rather spend my life with him than anyone or anything else in the world… If we don’t have kids so what, we have each other… this whole baby making thing is stupidly stressy and I really shouldn’t let it or my racing hormones get to me.

I explained Mr BC that if it was just a case of having a go and getting pregnant or not it would be ok and how it’s the conflict between my pleasure and runny-about-loving existence and what you are supposed to do when you are trying for a baby (renounce anything remotely enjoyable) which causes me to worry. We agree that once you know you are pregnant, doing the right thing will be easy, just this simple rule, if it’s fun stop it!

I really do have a bare faced cheek to complain about anything but or course that, lovely readers, is why I do it here. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to and because it’s here, I don’t feel the need to say it to the people I meet, those poor unfortunate souls who are trapped and can’t up and leave the way you can without being rude!

Thank you for indulging me.

Not that I’m a spoiled brat or anything.

Pipple toot.

Yesterday was a mixed day. There were ups - an excellent lunch with some writer mates - and there were downs.

As I may have mentioned in yesterday’s post, the weather was too crappy to go out on my bike so I decided to fly my kite. Having managed to negotiate seventy eight quid off my car insurance premium first thing I was feeling a little smug and decided, after my lunch, that the time had come to work off some of that treacle pudding.

I decided I would fly my power kite, a Flexifoil stacker, which would give me a good upper body work out. After about an hour of fruitlessly trying to launch the sodding thing - it’s not like a delta. You can’t just sit it on the ground unravel the strings and give them a yank when you want to launch. It seems you need a friend to hold it up in the air until it fills and let go. I it will jink wildly to the right, then, a proclivity you can only neutralise with a full length of taught string. I tried putting it up at 10 feet and reeling it out but it wasn’t having any of it. Never mind it came from a car boot so I’m probably assembling it wrong.

Anyway, whatever the cause, me or the kite, it was most annoying…. So I gave up and got the delta wing out, fabulously exact but not such a good work out and it falls to bits EVERY time it crashes and always in a manner that involves scattering invisible black carbon fibre tubes over a radius of about 20 yards - yes, people, I spend more time surfing the internet for replacement parts than I do flying the bloody thing because I lose some important bit of it every time I take it out.

So I flew that for half an hour or so and then I crashed it, as you do. I went and set it up to lift it off again and noticed black clouds were gathering on the horizon and it looked like it was going to rain again, so I thought I would fly it for 15 more minutes or so and then stop. Up it went and somehow, I’m not sure how, I managed to smack my fingertips with rope handle as it went up and drop it. Obviously, on one string, the kite went into a flat spin and plummeted to the ground.

Imagine my surprise and joy (not) to discover the bloody thing had managed to lose it’s main supporting strut on the way down. How the fuck? This is where I get my comeuppance for flying my kite in a water meadow of course, meadow - as in knee-high grass - being the operative word. If you’ve ever walked around in knee high wet grass you will appreciate how damp I became from the knees down (think 18 inch snow).

Realising that I was unlikely to find the kite and get it up and running again before it started to rain I packed away my kite but left it sticking up in its case on the spot where it had landed so I could conduct a search for the stupid effing strut. Taking guestimate wind speed and direction into account, I decided I’d traverse backwards and forwards, moving outwards from the spot where it crashed in an attempt to find the missing strut.

This is where I have to ask why the carbon fibre bits on kites are always black and not florescent yellow and why there are not reflective strips… in light levels like yesterday’s it might also have been useful if it glowed in the dark, I would certainly have found it faster.

Needless to say, as I began, the heavens opened. We’re not talking rain here, we’re talking completely pissing down in sheets. This was the point where I learned, from bitter, real life experience, that I have neglected to put more waterproofing stuff on my Barbour for too long. Yes, it wasn’t so much that it leaked in places, more of a case of there being places where it didn’t leak… but not many. Soon I was completely soaked. Somebody’s thrown a bucket of water over me soaked.

Arse.

Never mind, since I’m fucking sopping anyway it makes no difference how long I stay out there looking for the sodding strut. I determine that I will find the little bleeder if it’s the last thing I do. Ten minutes later the amount of water falling out of the sky appears, miraculously in the light of the amount that was falling out of it, anyway, to have doubled. Things over 20 yards or so distant disappear in a haze of falling rain.

Bollocks to this, I decide. I’m going to give up. I start blundering through the grass to the nearest path and immediately happen up on the strut by accident. A little compassion from on high, I think and a small moral victory. Thank you.

My phone rings. It’s as soaking wet as the rest of me. It’s Mr BC to say he’s about 5 minutes away from home. I am too, I tell him. I squelch back, nice not to have to worry about walking through the puddles, even though it’s a public footpath and they mainly comprise rusty dog water. We arrive at the same time. Kindly soul that he is, while I remove every stitch of clothing - all sodden - throw the bits that can stand it into the washing machine and hang the kites, barbour and shoes up to dry he runs me a steaming hot bath.

As I sink thankfully into the boiling waters a deep sense of contentment steeps into my bones, along with the heat. I gained something from not giving up and once again, I realise how lucky I am that my best friend just happens to be my husband.

Boo! More rain but this time it comes with wind. Yep, God has definitely been at the heavenly Portuguese bean stew. I wish he’d stop. I mean, it’s August for heaven’s sake! It’s not the equinox*.

Here in East Anglia we have gales while the rest of the British Isles has bright sun… like last year then, when Britain had the hottest July and August on record except here in East Anglia where we had the hottest July on record followed by the wettest August… er… before this one that is.

Never mind, while the wind has put paid to my cycle ride today, I can always go for a longer ride next time. I did think of going out anyway and doing my normal route at just under walking pace but the embarrassment of all those little old ladies walking their dogs strolling past me, whilst - purple in the face and pedalling furiously - I creep my bicycle forwards into the wind was too much.

I also toyed with the idea of doing about 20 laps round “the Pits” our local set of gravel pits, which are surrounded by nice cinder tracks in a woodland and therefore wind-free - at ground level anyway - setting.

Trouble is, you can’t really let rip, narrow paths, too may people with dogs too and I don’t like cycling when you’re just clock watching. Even if I went to the special speed ramp at the end and spent an hour or so practising my bunny hops I don’t think I’d have much fun… I don’t think I have the stamina to do bunny hops for an hour, either. So I’ve resigned myself to do a longer ride next time.

In the meantime, although I’m not going to be exercising quite as hard, I do, at least, have a very large kite… and I’m due to meet some mates for lunch in town, so a quick trip to park first to be a loon I think! Well… it’s reasonable exercise… isn’t it?

[Brief interlude while cat appears with bird. BC persuades cat to drop bird because it's alive but once dropped it's not moving. BC fears cat has broken its back so looks other way and tells cat to go ahead and eat bird, then, since it's clearly paralysed. Scuffling ensues and bird, very much alive and un-paralysed disappears behind back of sink. BC locks cat out of kitchen and retrieves bird. Awkwardly, with bird in cupped hands, BC lets cat back into kitchen where he goes straight under the sink to make an extensive search for his wandering snack. BC takes said "snack" outside and lets it go. With remarkable good sense it flies into next door's garden.]

Hello again. Where was I? Oh yes. The rain…

What’s so interesting about all this crap weather is that in my mind I keep formulating parts a letter of complaint! I mean who to? Perhaps I should drop by the Cathedral with a stiff letter of complaint for the Bishop to pass on to the Almighty.

“Dear lord, this global warming thing is the pits! The weather’s fucking terrible and it’s so windy I am unable to go out on my bike! Can’t you do something about it?

Lots of love BC.

PS something approaching daylight - rather than the sub-acquaeous, Stygian gloom we are getting at the moment and have had for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks, would also be handy.”

I can just imagine His reply.

“Dear BC,

I’m sorry to hear of your predicament which is so much worse than so many other people’s in the world today (not). I suggest you buy a kite and a light box.

Lots of love God.

PS You shouldn’t swear.”

Hey ho…

* Yeh, yeh… I know what it is. Polar ice caps melting push icebergs further south which push the gulf stream further over which means the pissy weather front which normally sits over the Atlantic all summer, kept there by the warm air rising from the gulf stream ends up over Britain and Western France, instead.

[Cat has gone out. BC now duty called to distract cat and check status of bird population. "The time has come to say goodbye..."]

Last night I wandered to the loo for a pee - as you do - and had an excellent idea. It was the most fantastic idea for a sci-fi novel. I wondered if I should write it down but I couldn’t be arsed, mainly because I reckoned it was so original and strange that there was no way I would forget it.

I did.

Although, you have to give me points for the fact that I did remember that I’d had a fantastic idea…

This is not a post for the “help me I’m going completely senile” section because fearful for my sanity as I am, I still have the presence of mind to realise that this kind of thing is normal amongst all of us… and quite funny, which is why it’s shared with you here today (oh yes it is). On the subject of the onset of madness… or not (erk) I have my test results on Monday… at 9 am. Hmm… I’ll be looking forward to that one (not). Still I can go cycling afterwards.

Going back to THE FANTASTIC IDEA, the one I’ve temporarily (I hope it’s temporary) forgotten, it lead on from a dream I had about going to the US to meet a cyber friend and finding, when I got to the airport, a completely different man was standing there holding the sign with his name on. Smelling a rat I decided not to meet him. I then discovered that as well as switching continents on the flight, I’d switched dimensions of space and time. Mr BC was married to someone else and my family didn’t know me because in this version of space and time, I had died young.

I had to get back to my own version because I was missing Mr BC and to do that I had to befriend my brother and try to get him to believe I was his sister… This is not the fantastic idea, of course, because this is the whole concept behind the popular TV show “Sliders”. Arse! And for a minute, there, I thought it was my own!

Another idea which hit me in the still, small watches of the night was that maybe it would be a good idea to write one of the Novels up as a play for Radio 4. It’s quirky, it makes me laugh (no guarantee it’ll do that for anyone else, of course but it’s a start) I like the characters and I suspect it would be fun to do.

Jumping back to my knackeredness and general lack of memory. On Joe Drinker’s advice - and Martha’s and many of my non-virtual friends too - it has occurred to me that it might be smart to give up one of the jobs. I’m not enjoying writing corporate puff. I guess a big part of the problem is that the stuff I get to write about tends to be stuff that is so boring even the people who do it for a living don’t want to think about it long enough to write their website… So it’s like pulling teeth. Especially when I’m knackered. Even if it is a lot more effective when you are sending a novel to a publisher to be able to say “I’m a professional copywriter and…”except that the amount of time it takes up the moment I’ll never get round to finishing my sodding book. Which brings me neatly onto my next thought…

Bearing that in mind - and that it’s boring, I decided, today, to pretend I wasn’t doing it any more and do what I’d do if I hadn’t any copy to work on. I have not felt so good in a long time. Case closed. So tactfully and gradually, so as not to leave them too much in the lurch, I am going to have to bin it.

In the meantime, fitness a go-go and a bit of a diet or at least a “let’s eat healthily” binge… I have been spending the hour a day I usually write this, three days a week, anyway, on my bicycle - hence my rather sporadic posting of late - that and having more work than is feasible because I’m such a crap judge of how long it’s going to take.

I’m such a spud about my biking at the moment that I even have some smashing photographs of the tracks I am riding to show you when I get round to it… yes, I’m a complete potato. I was actually going to “show you my ride” I mean as well as the bike and the car (gack!). I can’t show you the best ride because it’s closed - they’re removing a de-railed freight train from the railway near there but eventually I hope to get round to it.

I have broken both the pairs of mountain climbing trousers I’ve been wearing to ride in these two weeks of frenetic activity which has led me to a conundrum…. what to wear?

Now, most cyclists wear lycra shorts. That’s fine for them but when your body is 40% fat and you are a British size 20 on top and 18 at the bottom - that’s a US 18 and 16, respectively - lycra is not your friend.

Conversely, since cyclists are, by nature, light, lithe creatures they are much enamoured with lycra and there is a great demand from the manufacturers for the kinds of small, tight pieces of lycra clothing which fit cyclists.

This I can understand, for a t-shirt which clings tightly to your washboard stomach and shows off your magnificent tits is great… when it shows of your magnificent tits but highlights a big roll of flab underneath it’s not so great. It’s especially frustrating since they do cut them the right shape for me, they go in and out in all the right places, they just go a bit too far in and not quite far enough out. If only they went one size bigger, I’d be laughing… and looking rather good. Although since most of these things are polyester, to which I am allergic, I suspect I’d also be itching. Arse!

All this leaves me wondering… Do I risk another pair of shorts or just carry on in the mountain climbing trousers which, even with big splits* in the upper inside leg are still in far better taste than venturing out in lycra cycling shorts would be…

Hmm…

* Well, I’ll sew them up - obviously - but I’m not god’s gift to needlework so it’s likely they’ll have come unsewn again by the end of an hour’s cycling.

I leave you with bunny hops. Yes you can make your bike jump if you try hard enough. I am trying very hard although my bike is not jumping very much at the moment. The technique is very similar to jumping on a horse and I wasn’t much cop at that either! Never mind, I have been attempting them and on the one occasion in about 50 when I get them right it is a peculiarly liberating feeling. Highly recommended.

Yeh, I’m still knackered but at least now I’ve got a damn good reason and strangely, I feel better. So for your delectation here is somebody teaching and showing you how Bunny Hops should be done…

He makes it look soooooo easy!

And don’t forget now people… Skeletor says get out there and practise… and who am I to cross a scary dude like Skeletor?

I went out on my fabulous bike the other day. I got it totally wrong and ended up coming home into the wind, which was grim as there was rather a lot of it.

When I got back onto the road and was coming into town I was quite tired but still putting up what I thought was a good speed considering it was blowing the kind of gusts that, were they a bit more constant, you could lean into and nod off.

As I came past a side road a little old man and a large lady who looked to be in her late fifties turned out behind me on cast iron, sit up and beg bikes from… well about 1903 I guess. You know the kind of bike I mean, they are always black because they come from the days when all bikes were black and a red line around the mudguards was considered adventerous - and possibly a bit gaudy. The wheels went tick-a-tick-a-tick as they rode along.

As I sweated and gasped and just about managed walking pace both of them cruised past me in top gear - of the Sturmy Archer three with which their ancient bikes were equipped. Pedalling slowly but surely a sod of a lot faster than me, without so much as a puff they cruised by, their cheeks reddened for an instant as they caught the glow from my face which, in my efforts to stay ahead of them rather than bear the humiliation of being overtaken by them, had gone purple.

We turned away from the wind and I was finally able to match their speed but even so, giving it all the welly I had left I couldn’t reel them in… until we all reached a nice steep hill to go down. Finally I was able to get up to a higher speed then theirs but as we reached the bottom the road flattened out and turned back into the gale again… I could feel each gust blowing me backwards.

Never mind we were nearly at my house! If I could just keep going and yes! There was a side road so I was able to turn off early before I passed out from the effort of staying ahead of them!

I arrived home distinctly short of breath and at the same time, rather dismayed that I should derive any sense of achievement from out dragging a septuagenarian and a stout middle aged lady. Especially when I had done so with such enormous difficulty despite having kit which, knobbly tyres aside, was still several orders of magnitude better than theirs and worse, chastened that it had been such a gargantuan effort to do so.

While searching for my keys to get into the house I noticed something was making a noise like an asthmatic sea lion and after a few minutes I realised it was me.

Ho hum.

What have I learned from this?

Thing 1. Check the wind direction before you set out and make sure you come home with it behind you.
Thing 2. There’s a saying about ski-ing which is along the lines that the more expensive and gaudy the kit a person wears the less likely it is they will be able to ski well. Clearly it’s the same with bikes. My bike being a case in point.
Thing 3. I will probably always be able to go faster on my roller blades than I can on my bike.
Thing 4. Everyone else will too..!
Thing 5. If I’m going to do this often I will have to swallow my pride.
Thing 6. Or make sure I never cycle where other people will be able to witness my ineptitude!
Thing 7. Or remember the important lesson that not everyone is going to be good at the things they enjoy…