Yeah, that's pretty much me! (Turn up the sound for watching that clip.. for full 'oh sweet jesus' effect)

So, I joined a gym.  Needs must and all that.  Having undergone my assessment.  The chap who did it was lovely.  He was so upbeat and happy with life (I think everyone's life would be so much nicer if they could hang out with a personal trainer all day).  He asked what would it take for me to achieve my goals and I told him 'constant supervision'.  He recommended classes!  He also tried to allay my fears that everyone would be looking at me.  Apparently it's not good for a person's morale to say, as your mammy would, 'Jesus, sure no one is looking at you', so instead he said everyone would be concentrating on their own thing and not to worry. 

Last night I went to my first class.  It was called Rockin' Rebound.  A fancy name for jumping on a mini trampoline.  A trampoline, I'd like to add, that has no handle!!!  I'm still not sure why I thought this would be a good idea, I mean ... I've had a couple of kids, pelvic floor not what it was.  Sneezing can result in a mild 'did I pee panic' so why I thought leppin' up and down (fucking jumping jacks?) would be something worth doing I'll never know. 

Long story short... I know how to get EVERYONE to notice you whilst working out.  Bounce off your trampoline and hit the plate glass window!  Yes, that will guarantee a couple of hundred eyes looking your way.

It's 12 hours later and I'm still puce with the mortification. 

The trampolines are on the first floor, set up beside the TRX station and the chin up bars and ... you know, where all the really fit people hang out.  Anyway, I was bouncing (trying not to pee.. unsuccessfully as it turned out, three quiet cheers for tena lady.. hip, hip ....).  So bouncing away and wondering why I thought this was a good idea when I kind've missed my bounce.   I don't know what happened other than one minute I was going 8, 7, 6, 5 and the next ...?  Oh God!!!!  The next I had bounced right off the bloody thing and hit the plate glass window to my right.  With a squelchy thud!  Much like old wile e up there.

I was so hot and sweaty I think I stuck there for a while.  Then, slowly, slid to the ground.  Whilst sliding downwards I noticed lots of people outside the building looking up, at me.  Me, squashed against the window!!?  Oh.  Sweet.  Jesus. 

Not only were people looking up, the gym had gone quiet (think old western movies when a new cowboy walks into the saloon and even the piano stops playing).

EVERYONE was looking at me.

I may die of puce-ness before the day is out.  Needless to say, I'm not going to the gym today.  Going for a coffee and cake instead, I need comfort x

Yeah, get yourself an Irish Girlfriend????

The other night I woke to the sound of a row.  Next door.  Ouch.  Don't you just hate it when you hear a couple argue?  I do as it reminds me that I too can be heard shouting next door. 

Anyway, there is a lovely chap next door and he really is lovely.  He also has a thing for Brazillian girls.  The last one was lovely, she had an Irish name and was really lovely.  He broke up with her when she was safely home.  In Brazil!

So, the latest one.  She seems a bit tempestuous but anyway, they had a row, he chucked her out. She went mental.  I came down to see what was going on only to hear the front door slam.  Phew, she's back inside.  Only then I saw my neighbour 'waving' (sounds friendly 'waving' - perhaps I should write 'frantically trying to get my attention) at me, she legged it across the road and told me she was worried.  I said 'fuck it' and knocked next door.  The lovely chap opened the door and said 'I don't know what to do with her, she won't stop raging.  She won't go home'.  Told him to go in to my house and went through his house calling for the Brazillian.  Found her.  Fuck but she was gorgeous.  The kind've gorgeous that makes you realise that you really should've got properly dressed before offering to help out.  Hmmm, remember how, when you were little, your ma would say 'always wear nice knickers', just in case you were hit by a bus or something?  Well, one of those 'somethings' is coming up against a Brazillian beauty whilst wearing knickers that really have seen better summers and your hubbies fleece.  A fleece that just about covers the knackered knickers.  Oh, but the shame.

Told her that if the lovely chap was being mean she should just get the hell out of dodge.  Told him if his girlfriend was a pyscho he should get the hell out of dodge.  He said thanks.  She said 'who are you?' whilst sneering at my fine Irish legs and then all was good.  Also told him, quietly, if you're going to chuck your girlfriend out make sure you give her her handbag and shoes.  Makes life much simpler if one has a way and the means to get home don't you think?

The lovely chap came in yesterday to say thanks and apologise.  I also had to apologise as, c'mon!!!  Who wants a nearly naked neighbour sorting your fights out.  We had a laugh about it, he is a lovely chap and then I suggested he find himself a nice calm Irish girl.  He looked at me.  And, there and then, I could see him comparing the vision in front of him last night.  Irish girl (cough, women) with fine mammy legs, chipped nail varnish and dodgy knickers and the Brazillian Beauty.  Hmmm, he giggled.  I cracked up.  I also realise I did Irish girls no favours. 

I got french kissed by a neighbour today!!

Shame he was only kissing me in the french way of a kiss on both cheeks.  It doesn't sound nearly as exciting.  My lovely neighbours and friends Jill and Phillippe (and their three, quite big, kids) were over (from Paris)  for a visit and a quick catch up.  It was great to see them.  Shame we didn't get to talk much as we were hooking up at our charity coffee afternoon.  Still, am sure will see them at the weekend.  Will make sure I see them at the weekend.  Miss my friends. 

As for the coffee afternoon.  Not sure how much we raised but we raised a heavy box of money.  A heavy box of money that I picked up and the bottom fell out of thus sending lots of money all over the place.  Never a good idea with so many kids about, it was like a grushie for them.  A couple of swift kicks up the arses and all was fine once more.  What was mental about the afternoon was that the Daisy Killer lady came in for coffee????  Daisy was my friend's dog.  The woman was driving through the Grove too fast and hit the dog and that was the end of Daisy.  Am quite positive that if Daisy was still alive L&G et famille would not be moving to sodding Australia.  Anyway, yer woman comes in, sits down, has a coffee and a bun and . . . . nothing.  It's like she doesn't remember that she is DAISY KILLER to us.  Perhaps if she had ever knocked in to L and apologised for being a DAISY KILLER today would have been a lot less stressful for those of us who know her for what she is.  A dog killer.  She's mental.  Actually, maybe she is mental??

Funny thing is, another neighbour came in just as the DAISY KILLER was leaving and we all started 'blahblahthenerveblahdaisyblahwow' etc. and poor F, the neighbour, was sitting there panicing as to who Daisy was!!  She was going through the names of everyone's kids in her mind trying to work out who the fricking hell Daisy is, sorry, was.  Brilliant.

Got back to my house at 6.29 only to get a text from him on his way back from golf to say #1 has footie practice and needed to be there now.  Got him there a little after 'now' and by the time him who was golfing got to me I had worked myself into a proper state about how unfair my life was.  And how I had to do EVERYTHING.  And how I was SICK of wiping piss of the toilet seats when I DEFINITELY don't miss EVER!!!!  How, in my eyes, all I did every sodding day was exactly as I had done the day before.  With minor variations of course e.g. cleaning windows (once a month), making up beds (every 2/3 weks), wiping piss off the toilets (2 toilets EVERY day) etc. etc.  And how I wasn't an idiot I was simply in too much of a rush trying to do EVERYTHING.   How there simply wasn't enough hours in a day to do all the things I needed to do.  How all I ever wanted was to sit down in a clean bloody room. 

Ref. Idiot!!  I put my hand under the quooker boiling tap. . . again today.  Aaaaaaaaaagh, it hurts so much, it really does.  I don't care if it shoots water out in a jet or in a gentle frickin' spray it still hurts the fucking .. . .  oooh, you know that pain you get when you stub your toe or something?  The pain that seems to shoot straight up your bum too?  Well that is what it felt like scalding my hand today.  Rang Darren to see if he had any idea where the burn cream was?  "Why, what happened?" he says.  "I put my hand under the bloody tap again!!!!"   "Aaah, child proof but not idiot proof" he says.  I laughed at the time but it stung.  Yeah, yeah, I sound like a petulent child but it bloody hurt.  Both the remark and the fucking tap!!!

So, D. eventually calmed me down and I went home to my sister and two very hungry boys.  Boys who had been waiting for dinner for hours now.  So, legged it to the chipper to get everyone a very healthy meal of chips and battered sausages only to meet a mum from the school doing the exact same thing.  This mum has 5 children, the youngest of whom is just one.  She works.  She is involved, very, in my school and she is always on time.  The kids always have their jumpers on the right way around.  She always looks perfect.  And I admire her (actually I'm envious as sin that she is superwoman's every bit as capable sister) but she was buying chips too.  She too hadn't enough hours to cook a meal for her kids.  Yayayayayay, happy days.  Okay, so she'd been swimming etc. whilst I was just making and eating cakes but nevertheless, she was buying chips too and that made me feel, like, totally better and in control. 

Memo to self:  Accept you are Niamh.  You are Niamh of the impossibly high standards.  Niamh of the impossibly high standards that are rarely tipped upon.  You are Niamh , so chill the fuck out and breathe!

p.s. Re. me doing EVERYTHING.  Well, that's not quite true.  It just feels like that way sometimes.  I am very lucky to have a husband who cooks (yawn food mostly but he does a mean roast dinner and an even meaner breakfast) every now and then, cleans, baths kids, reads to kids, plays with kids. Washes floor and is becoming a dab hand with the ironing board.  My husband is great.  Promise he's not behind me making me type this but credit where credit is due.  My hand was sore and I was surrounded by mickies and it got too much for me.  One woman and four males in one house can drive that one woman mad.  Darren, I love you.  And I know you do lots but I'm SURROUNDED by willies and sometimes it gets too much xxxx