They're taking over my life. I completely neglected to brush my own teeth last night, was far too absorbed in teaching the baby to use it's potty. And I've got to find Ms Slut du jour a decent, hardworking husband before she gives birth on the kitchen floor and the babies have to take turns sharing the crib, because she can't afford two.

Ha!

http://bigbrother.digitalspy.co.uk/article/ds10591.html

and, ha, ha!

http://bigbrother.digitalspy.co.uk/article/ds10596.html

The thing that really gets to me about Miss Celery Legs, is that she seems to think it's fine to go around insulting everybody, to their face and behind their back, but nobody, nobody, must inflict so much as a slight bruise on ickle Nikki's delicate feelings. Yer, well, how does it feel to be on the receiving end Miss Scrotum Face?

What are nipple pads for? Doubt I'll be needing them anyway, unless you start lactating in the sixth week. Have collected just about every other symptom though. Tired, grumpy, weepy, eating like a plague of locusts. I want meat!! And cheese!! And the flesh of a virgin boy, lightly fried in black bean sauce!!

Everything makes me feel sick though. Smells in particular, regardless of origin. I was slapping on some body lotion the other day, and the fairly harmless odour made my stomach start to juggle it's contents within seconds. Similarly, I was heaving like a sailor in one of those posh oil shops, which normally smell like Christmas in Italy.

Oh well, it will all be over soon. Sad but true. It's been a rubbish year as far as emotional distress is concerned. But then apparently, Marcel Proust reckoned that the years of your life in which you suffered were when you were most alive, and that this is how anybody with any kind of wisdom, acquires it.

There has to be an easier way. Couldn't the person who'd been through the most torment just produce a leaflet or something on what it had taught them? Or a few motivational speeches? I'm too god damned idle to learn from my own troubles.

Have to say though, the sheer amount of sleep I'be been getting has been, well, just that. Sheer. Logs, dogs, babies, you name it, none of them have slept as well as me this week. So thank you little hormones, for although you punish my gut, you reward my lazy bones.

So I'd just like to say, is anybody as happy, and yet simultaneously strangely creeped out by the KK / Susan reunion on Neighbours yesterday?

Spent most of Sunday in hospital with unspecified abdominal pain, many poking and prodding procedures later, am told have to stay overnight. Many hours later, arrive on a ward where receive lecture from large African nurse about the many dangers of terminating a pregnancy (death, womb caving in etc.). Am taken for scan, told everything is fine, pain is inexplicable, given paracetomol, turfed out of hospital.

Then I cleaned the whole kitchen wearing my sunglasses, as didn't have time to put make-up on this morning, and couldn't be bothered when I got here, but hate how empty my face looks without it. Hence the shades. Hence scrubbing at patches of dirt on the floor to find out they are actually part of the lino. Ah, the trappings of being a shallow female with an addiction to kohl.

Anyway, to conclude this rather sorry post, here are some photos:

Exhibit one, my youngest sister Sophie No-Phone, doing her impression of Reagan from The Exorcist

Exhibit two, our daschund behaving in a frankly paedophilic manner around Slag Cat's newborn:

Exhibit three, my other sister Cath doing an impression of the Eiffel Tower. A serious contender for the Turner prize methinks:

Am getting very fed up with anybody who's so much as owned a TV suddenly becoming a media darling and the person all us girlies should look up to, although of course we'll never be as perfect. Then, two weeks later, they're in 'Chic or Freak' being berated for wearing too much eyeshadow or having the wrong handbag. If they're snapped on the beach, they're either too skinny, too big, too tanned, not tanned enough or wearing a bikini from Asda instead of Gucci.

That's why it was very pleasing to see this report today:

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/12092006/325/spain-ban-skinny-models-shocks-fashion-world.html

It would be a complete cop out to blame eating disorders solely on the images of women portrayed in the media. We're not that stupid. But the perception of what constitutes perfection in the west does seem to revolve around being a super-human stick woman with a body honed from hours of squat thrusts, a face that doesn't betray a bad night's sleep, let alone the signs of ageing, and skin and hair that are glossier than your average labrador. If somebody is seeking some control in their life, as people with eating disorders often are, perhaps these portrayals of women give them something to aim for. The fact that it's pretty god damn impossible to achieve won't do their self-esteem any favours.

And then all these stupid fucking c-listers, banging on and on about how they needed a boob job to boost their self-esteem, or they've lost ten pounds after eating nothing but birdseed and watermelon and have never felt better. Being thin is definetely associated with being happy in our society.

Went to see 'Little Miss Sunshine' at the weekend. It was brilliant. Almost made me want a dysfunctional family of my very, very own. I say almost. It also has an immensely satisfying 'anti beauty pageant' ending, for anybody who finds little girls being spray tanned, stuffed into swimming costumes and forced to pose on stage like a bunch of mini hookers even mildy offensive.

A policeman just came to the door and asked if there 'were any staff members about?' I said 'yes, me'. I don't think he believed me. This is not the first time I've been mistaken for a 'service user' rather than a 'service provider'. The first time was when I worked at a day centre for adults with learning disabilities.

In other news, oh dear:

BETRAYED BY MUM?
Dear Miriam,

I don't know what to make of it. Should I be suspicious they're having an affair? I feel sick the two people I care about most could be cheating on me.

'Should I be suspicious?' Whaaaa??? Call me gutter-minded, but what else could they have been doing? Checking for moles?

http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/healthmindandbody/story/0,,1417527,00.html

If it's that much of a nightmare, why has the human race not died out in one generation? As petrified of parenthood as most women my age are, I would always console myself with the fact that it can't be that bad, or why would anybody have more than one child?

Whenever I spend a lot of time with other people's children, as endearing and smiley as they may be, I always feel immensely fatigued just thinking about all the work that goes into keeping them fed and changed and dribbling happily. Let alone meeting their cerebral and emotional needs, speaking to them in three different languages a day, taking them to baby massage and potty therapy. I always though babies were such simple creatures, feed one end, clean the other and squeeze gently till asleep. But apparently from day one your every decision can be responsible for moulding your genetic handiwork into a genius or a monster. And how fecking frightening is that?

Princess Nikki, for example. Which was spectacular. I think the crew had more respect for the fish she was forced to gut. It was so gratifying watching her shovel out all that old chip fat under the disdainful eye of big boss lady. And then when big boss lady told Nikki EXACTLY what she thought of her, the look of sheer disbelief on her little monkey face. I can feel the frustrations of BB7 floating away.

But anyway. I know she suffered from anorexia, and as such, doesn't seem to have prgressed much beyond twelve years old. But honestly. The tantrums. The whinging. The pathetic little girl act. Somebody must have indulged all that, because she seems to rely solely on this behaviour to get her anything. Like her own TV show for example. How would you feel if that was your child wailing and screaming like a Scottish widow because her hotel room was less than 5 stars? Where would you begin to blame yourself? I bet her mum used to pay the other kids to let Nikki win at Snakes and Ladders.

http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/story_pages/news/news2.shtml

Slag Cat leaves kittens in the care of my mum whilst she pops out for a spot of cat nip and a stroll on the tiles, and comes back to find one of kittens stuck down sofa.

Geri is calling in the police to deal with this distressing incident.

My sister wanted to call in somebody to chainsaw the sofa in half and save little kitty from death by fluff. My mum was not quite so keen, seeing as sofa cost about £2,000, and was considering liquidising cat food and drip feeding little kitty for rest of it's natural life.

Slag Cat remained unmoved. She had bums to lick (mainly her own).

Happily, Bluebell appears to have recovered from the incident, and I'm sure next time Geri leaves her baby with a total stranger, she'll make sure that it's the baby's father.

http://www.neighbours.com/episodes_uk.html

Sky is pregnant? Karl and Ned have formed a band? Is Karl even allowed to work with kids after being sued twice for medical negligence, lost in the bush about a dozen times and being caught drink driving? Not to mention he only has one song in his repetoire. And Ned? Well, Ned will always have a job filling in for a fence post, but that's about the extent of his talents.

Yes, yes I do want to boast. This is what we can see from our kitchen window:

We don't have all our furniture yet, went out to purchase a wardrobe from the hell hole that is Argos yesterday, and felt very grown up. This didn't last long though, by the time we'd got cushions in Primark and tea towels in Poundland, Olly had ground his teeth down to stubs, and I wanted to spend the remainder of our budget on something incredibly stupid and frivolous. Like a puppy.

This is what I looked like on the first morning in the new abode:

Well, I would have done. Except. We have a lovely white bathroom. At least we did, until last night when, 2 bottles of very cheap wine down, Olly woke up, realised he was in fact, completely arseholed, and pebbledashed the floor, walls, in fact everything except the toilet bowl with bright red vomit. And then had to spend an hour cleaning the bathroom. In the nude, as he hadn't had time to put any pants on before answering the call of the cistern. I freak out at the mere mention of the word 'sick' so fled to the other room and washed my hands a few hundred times, before trying to sleep on the floor but being kept awake by Brighton's 3 million or so yelling, singing drunks.

Still, domestic bliss is reigning supreme so far, bluebirds cheeping etc.

Oh, and there was joyous news for slapheads throughout the land today, as scientists announced they may have found a cure for baldness!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20060830/hl_afp/afplifestylebritainhealthhair_060830141011

Surely a cure for beer guts must be on the horizon?