Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Friday, 25 April 2014


Just sad at the moment. No real reason,
just that nameless down feeling that comes
from time to time.

Looking at the blogs of others around these
parts tells me that I'm not alone. Is it the
weather? The time of year? A cycle?
So... I haven't been posting. I'd like to say that something tumultuous has occurred, that I have had some form of epiphany. But I haven't, and so that would be a lie. The long and the short of it is simply that I haven't got round to posting anything, that simple. There's plenty of the same sort of stuff going on as there always has been but I've been in a bit of a rut and so haven't felt the compunction to turn it into something that could actually be read.

Mind you, I've had my fair share of 'girly' moments. Like the other night when I went in search of snacks to eat with the DVD and all I really wanted to get was a dress because they were on sale. Or the time that I went for milk and all I really wanted to do was find some pairs of knickers that had flowers on them and get them. Or, indeed, anything floral. Not printed designs, if you see what I mean, but something delicate and flowery and... I have no real way to describe it. It's the same sort of longing I get looking at flowers and wishing that someone would buy me a bouquet. Silly, I know.

Are you not a tad bored at the passive aggressive self-serving ranting? No? Then read on!

What a lovely bouquet.
Is it wrong to sigh?
Then there's the beer reviews. I have noticed that posting them here is a short way to utterly destroy the traffic. And the same is true on my public, known about blog that is accessible to people that know me. But I haven't really been doing anything else there for a while and I've been finding talking about anything else difficult so I transferred that to a complete beer blog over the last three days. Site redesign (well, template change), and new search terms and tags and formats and such. It's taken a while. Like when I redid this place, it was something of an undertaking.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find images of a boy
playing shopping? Anyway, that's what the Boy likes to play
at the moment.
I have been wanting to post about the Boy and his imaginative play lately. His development of language and his flowering of maths skills (no, really, he can count in all directions and add and subtract rather too easily for a boy of his age). I wanted to talk about the fact that he and I get on so well when he's playing in a completely imaginary world because I can sort of see what he is seeing. I can relate to the fact that to drive the bed car we have to wiggle the wheel insanely and then can interchange the wheels and throw them away because the car drives itself. It can also be a cafe and we can push a trolley up and down the landing on a shopping expedition (all the while tidying up, by the by). But, even now, I lack the motivation.

I've also repainted the Girlie's room in pink, because that's what she'd like. She now has a pink room that has had the mould killer daubed on in spades because we live in an old house and mould happens. Not quite a sick house, you understand, but pretty close. I want to talk about that, but I lack the motivation even for that at the moment. I don't really know why. Then there's the stuff with Tilly...

Yes. That'd be it.
Lessee. We've watched Game of Thrones season 3 on DVD on a marathon setting and we've been places and we've all been ill. Mainly Tilly and the children. Most mornings I've had regular updates on how ill Tilly feels (this morning I counted, because I'm like that, and there were 23 references to how ill Tilly felt in a two hour period) and, in the evenings, they are thrown at a similar concentration or Tilly is in another room working on her novel. During the day, if I'm not at work (and I've only done that these last two days) then I can get about one update on how ill Tilly is feeling every two hours. Why do I bang on about this? Because I'm passive aggressive and harbour grudges, that's why. When I'm feeling under the weather or ill, if I mention it more than once every two days (no, seriously) then I'm labouring the point and need to shut up about it. Man up, you know?

Yeah, well, if it was so bad I should actually, you know,
do something about it.

Oh wait, I'm posting on my blog!
These last two weeks have been filled with rude children (ours) with behaviour continually explained away with illness in front of them. This has led the Girlie, in particular, to refer to her 'hurty tummy' rather than voice any actual feelings she is having and then to launch into epic tantrums. These are then blamed, by her, on her 'hurty tummy' and Tilly seems to play along. When she gets frustrated and starts to fight back, playing into the tantrum game, then I am drawn in. My frustration angers Tilly because I've not been putting up with it for as long as she has and so I have no excuse. Part of the reason that both children are being helions is, after all, the fact that I am home and there isn't the same routine. It's the same old same old. I am the root cause of any and all disquiet and imbalance in the family. And Tilly gets no sleep.

I know I'm probably not being fair.
I'm a man.
I'm not fair.
To be honest, I'm sick of that. It's been SIX YEARS now. Tilly ought to have learned in that time how to sleep through or immediately following a disturbance. I suspect that it's become an excuse. There hasn't been a morning where I haven't spent about two hours alone with the children this fortnight. It's... well, it's wearing I guess. I know that she has it all the time when I go to work at stupid o'clock but she also has the advantage (well, kinda) of a routine. You know, the one that me being home signals the end of. She has an aim point. And organisation has to be done by her. I tried some of that recently and got short shrift. It's not for me to decide how to spend a day. I've stopped trying, I'll be honest, except for one brief attempt this week I've not even tried to organise anything.

It's not all been bad, we went out to a local park/walking area and that was lovely. We even managed to split up with a child each and have fun that way too. But Easter has been a bit of a bust, really, and that's no good thing.

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All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!