One is silver, and the other gold.

I am very happy to say that I recently got back in touch with a very old friend. We have known each other since we were five years old, at school, and, over the course of our acquaintance, we upgraded to Best Friend Status for a while. Life happened since then and we sort of lost touch. No arguments ever occurred, we just found ourselves in different parts of the country, doing different things (one of us reproduced, the other travelled the world).

This recent turn of events got me thinking about the friendships we 'collect' over the course of our lives. I can only really talk, with any authority, on the experience of someone in their late twenties, but I imagine that the same patterns continue through time. I have realised that I have re-established contact with lots of old friends just lately- school, college, university, all of them are now back in my life, and it's great. I have also realised that lots of the friendships I have made in recent years didn't last the distance, and all fizzled-out within a year or so. Maybe it's me. Maybe I have forgotten how to make friends. Or maybe I have been unconsciously comparing them to my old friends- they know me best after all. The lady I have just got back in touch with has reminded me of this, picking up on things that I used to do when we were kids, and vice versa. We tell each other that neither of us have changed, which is strange, because I certainly thought that I had changed- so much has happened to me since then that I thought it should have had some effect on me. She could say the same too.

When I look at my five year old daughter, at the same age that I was when I made the first of my Old Friends, I wonder if the little pals that she runs around the playground with at school will still be there in twenty years time. Will she be asking herself the same questions as me? Perhaps she will, in the meantime, make some new and very intense friendships, and these will expire quite quickly, and she will turn back to the old ones?

Please don't get me wrong, I have a couple of wonderful friends, who I love dearly, and I met those in recent months/years. I haven't given up hope that they will still be close twenty years down the line. I know for definite, however, that those who were there to guide me through the years when we had just got to grips with not peeing ourselves in public, will be there to guide us through not peeing ourselves in public in sixty years time x

Sweet Sixteen- in Retrospect

Recently I read an interesting piece in a magazine, where a couple of celebrities were asked to write a letter to their sixteen-year-old selves. It was an imaginary opportunity to forewarn their own adolescent selves of any upcoming tragedies, bad fashion choices, and dire relationships. I thought this was a fabulous idea so I thought I would try it myself.

Dear Emma,

Don't worry. Someone will very soon invent something called The Straightening Iron and it will signal an end to trying to control your unflatteringly wavy fringe. Soon, the days of tying your fringe up into a pineapple to wash your face the night before, then accidentally sleeping with the hair bobble still in place, and waking up with what can only be described as Hair Hard On will be miles and miles behind you. A big relief, I know! Although what you gain in 'mirror shine', you will also gain in split ends. And a mild case of trichotillomania.

I recently found the diary you kept when you were fourteen, and my God, you were a miserable and neurotic bitch. And now as a sixteen year old you are even worse. But despair not, you do cheer up in the beginning, and your Adrian Mole outlook on life will soon give way to something marginally sunnier. You will lose some of your arrogance, lose some of your spots, and gain an ample bosom ( I know you'll be very happy about this!) but that's a few years in the future.

You will also meet the man that you will marry, in two years time. Shortly after you get married, two things will happen to you, and I don't want to scare you, but they will be quite painful. I won't ruin the surprise and tell you what they are, but as they were an unexpected occurrence to me, it's only fair that you have to wait and see.

A couple of pieces of advice to help see you on your way to Womanhood (shudder!): First of all, a sticky little rock club called Rock City will play a major part in your life from the age of 17 onwards, for a couple of very intense years. The first time you get invited to this haven of flat lager and £1 shots, TAKE SOME I.D. Any type, fake or otherwise. This will save you the very embarrassing task of ringing Dad and begging him to come get you because you didn't get in. You will also discover boys here. They are a messy, painful, awkward yet vital part of your growing up. Enjoy them for what they are: sweaty, silly and gropey, but don't take anything relating to them too seriously.

Another piece of advice- don't bother with marijuana. You may think it is cool and naughty, but you are a twat when you are stoned. Paranoid to the point of believing that the police are spying on you through a YALE LOCK. Just don't bother. The worry of being caught with it far outweighs any benefit you might have got from it.

Finally, you will fall in love all the time, be it romantically or platonically. This doesn't change when you get to my age. You will give and give in all kinds of relationships, but very few people will be able to match your enthusiasm, and you will end up feeling hurt. You need to learn to chill out, cool down- it will make it infinitely easier for you in the years to come.

So there you go. From me to you, hopefully helping you on your way to adulthood. Obviously way more stuff happens as well, but as a teenager, I know you have a minuscule attention span, so I'm not pushing it.

Chin up, beautiful, Em xxx

P.S. 36 C!!!!

Secret Account of a Call-Girl...

Have any of you ever had a job, no matter for how short a time, that you have kept on the 'down low', either because it was a secret just for yourself, or you were worried how other people would react to it? Maybe you collected sperm samples from virile boars? Maybe you gave sperm donations of your own? Perhaps you were involved something a 'little less than legit.'?

About a year ago, I worked as a 'freelance chatline operator' which is the polite title for someone who engages in dirty phonecalls. I did this for about a month, whilst my husband worked in Sandy Land. I had his full support, mostly because he wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on my fruity conversations.

A friend of mine had tried this work, and she said that it was fun, and an easy way to make a little extra cash, in your own time. As I was confined to my military quarter with two young children, and little money, these benefits seemed too good to miss out on, so I applied with a very large agency, and set to work.

The first part of the job involved recording a number of messages, which would be played to callers as part of a menu; they would decide what sort of conversation they wanted to have, be it a clean chat, kinky, mature lady, or hardcore. I had to invent a persona, give myself a name, age, set of 'interests', and some topics I liked to talk about, be that literature, television, or being spanked very hard across the arse with a wooden ruler, according to which category I was recording for. I decided to call myself Lyssi, (in reference to Lysistrata), I was '19 years old, with flame-red hair and peridot-green eyes'.

I was amazingly nervous waiting for the phone to ring that first time! Would I know what to say? Would I be able to say anything at all?! Maybe I'll freeze or burst out laughing? I needn't have worried, it was actually really easy. In fact, I surprised myself at how easily I was able to slip into character...

I got to talk to a massively wide range of people. I had believed the stereotype before I got into this work, that the 'clientele' would just be dirty, pervy blokes who were virgins and lived at home with their mothers. And to be fair, some were. But I talked to surgeons, pharmacists, teachers, police men, lots of long distance lorry drivers, women and couples.

One common factor amongst my customers was that you couldn't guess what they would be into just by their voice or what they said they did for a living. I talked to one gruff-sounding lorry driver with a strong Yorkshire accent. Right, I thought, this guy is going to be quite predictable. But I was wrong. He wanted me to describe dressing him in a girl's school uniform, with pigtails, stockings and suspenders, in minute detail. I had to try and replicate the sound of each item of clothing as I described putting it on his body, using the zip on my cushion covers, the jingle of my belt buckle, the squelchy sound of a spoon being twisted in a juicy orange. He wanted to be shamed in public, have me drag him through the high street of a town by his plaits, and then violated by a stranger. He climaxed very loudly and then hung up. Presumably to continue his delivery of whatever freight he was carrying.

Another 'memorable' caller wanted me to, ahem, wee for him. He said the sound of tinkling would turn him on. How could I refuse such a novel request? I immediately set about turning the kitchen tap on just enough to trickle. And then I rustled some kitchen paper at the mouthpiece of the phone. This seemed to do the trick. He was very grateful, and then asked me if I would be kind enough to poo for him the next time he rang. I had retired from this type of work before I had the joy of answering that particular call, but I had made a mental note to leave out a wet teabag to drop into some water should I speak to him again.

I was also honoured to be included in several rowdy Glaswegian stag do's. Easiest callers of all. They simply forgot to talk to me! They would soon be reminded when they saw their phone bills, and that they had been charged £2 a minute, and were on the phone to me for an hour!

I was also an unexpected eavesdropper in some interesting scenarios. One time a gaggle of City Wankers called me, high on God know's what from Canary Wharf (apparently). They were convinced that they were talking to the pneumatic, plastic-breasted model on a particular cable channel that devotes itself entirely to promoting phone chats with pneumatic, plastic-breasted models. After listening to them ramble on for forty five minutes, I soon heard the voice of a security guard who wanted to know who they were, and where were their I.D's. A very entertaining hour!

In the end though, I had to give the job up. Sometimes it wasn't practical to go into full raspy-breathing, cushion-cover unzipping mode, when my mother was staying with me, for example. Plus doing a full night shift, which was required at least once a week, wasn't really plausible when I had to take care of two toddlers the following day. But I did enjoy it, a lot of the time, although not in a titillating fashion, no, I just enjoyed this rare insight into a surprisingly varied cross-section of society. The lonely, the ashamed, the bored, and not only the callers...

I don't doubt for one moment the integrity and professionalism that anchor a GP's ability to do his/her job, but surely the words 'I have a stinky discharge' are something even the most hardened doctor cringes at the sound of.

Holiday Bound

Wow, it is two years since we fled British soil and headed Elsewhere. Tomorrow sees us heading to Portugal, to stay with Husband's parents, for 5 whole days. They live in Fuseta, which is in Olhão, in the Algarve.

Ever-so-slightly emotional day today when we delivered the pooch, Martha, to the kennels. Tried very hard to think of it as 'Center Barks', but with the bare concrete and iron 'pens', it really did stretch the imagination! Martha, a 20-week-old border terrier, got intensively barked at on her way to her 'room' by the other canine boarders, but she gave back as good as she got- one thing you can say about terriers- they are superbly feisty!

I am unfortunately a Soppy Woman, so I had to hold back to avoid infecting the dog, and our children, with my tears. Toddler Son cried all the way home.

Still, she WILL be fine. We WILL be fine. Now for packing and keeping two young children calm-ish for the remainder of the day.

My article written for Forster PR's internal online magazine on the subject of Holland and Barrett selling Sex Toys

Holland and Barrett to stock sex toys? Some may be against it, particularly, should he be alive today, the original founder of the store, Samuel Ryder, a golf enthusiast, also a committed Christian. Others may see the move as a 'hole in one'.

This range of 'intimate massagers' by a company called Emotional Bliss, may soon be on sale in a store near you. "But where would they be slotted in?" I hear you cry! In my opinion, the Rescue Remedy should be located immediately after the display, to calm the unsuspecting Granny when she accidentally comes upon the range. But seriously? In the family health section? So busy mums can grab a bit of fun whilst stocking up on Haliborange? Or, as the massagers emit heat, perhaps near the glucosamine, cod liver oil and Deep Heat, to help relieve hard, stiff areas?

And to whom are these 'sexual wellbeing' items aimed at? The Emotional Bliss website sells a range of books about sex and intimacy, which seem to be directed towards couples, sex toy novices, and the more 'senior' citizen, who's top drawer in the bedroom only contains reading glasses and Vick's Vaporub. Although, due to the heat-emitting qualities of the massagers, they may appeal even more to older people, as they could save on their heating bills whilst warming their cockles. Something for the government to consider in the future when issuing heating allowances. Smiles on faces for sure!

Another question that comes to mind is whether Kim Wilde will still be at the forefront of the advertising campaign? Will she still be smiling inanely at the camera, whilst holding a massager, saying, "Get down to Holland and Barrett now, and get your hands on a Womolia!"

The products have received rave reviews from many publications and TV appearances, including, The Alan Titchmarsh Show. So, with Kim and her Celebrity Gardener status, and Alan with his perpetually dirty fingernails, the customer base may be further increased to include horticulturalists, who may or may not be immersed in bush-trimming...

Another appeal of the massagers is that old chestnut, the recession. According to Holland and Barrett, we are spending more time at home as we can longer afford to go out. So, too skint to be 'on it', more likely now to 'get on it'. The cynical amongst you might see this as a cunning device to shut women up from moaning about money.

Still, on the whole, I believe this new line of products is a positive step. Sex is a very important part of the general well-being, as is intimacy and trust., and has perhaps been a taboo for too long. This venture may help to remove the stigma attached to sex toys.

I am of the inclination that this move will prove a success. I only hope that Holland and Barrett stock plenty of batteries!

Forces Wife Post

Well, this is very new to me! A Blog! Despite being married to a man for whom two-thirds of his day are spent peering at the latest gizmos (how old-fashioned is that word?!) and the remaining third caressing his i-Phone, I know relatively little!

Hubby is on Detachment in Afghanistan at the moment, and there are now 2 weeks and 4 days remaining, out of 8 weeks. Having a 4-month old and a 2year old has meant that the time has gone quite quickly but it has still dragged at times, especially in the evenings. I get tired of the sound of my own breathing sometimes; there's never anything on TV that I want to watch, and I'm always too tired to read. Common sense tells me to go to bed, but I almost feel like I HAVE to stay up, as it's the only 'me-time' I get. Thing is though, whenever my bedtime is, it always coincides with that cycle of Baby's sleep where he wakes up at the slightest noise. So I find myself weeing a few drops at a time, so it doesn't wake him up! I can't be the only one who does this!

This morning we braved the bus (and it's insane driver) and went into the next village, where there are more than 2 shops. Had to stock up on nappies (for Toddler) and loo roll (for mummy and snotty noses) and then, resembling a 6-footed, 4-wheeled pack-horse, we got the bus back to our sunny RAF village.

Talked to Hubby when he rang tonight. So lovely to hear his voice, I miss him so much. Although I have to admit, it has been easier than I expected it to be. No idea why- it should have been worse- I should have got PND again, should have crumbled into the heap I was when I was left with Toddler as a baby. But no, somehow, I'm ok. I won't pretend it hasn't been tough- especially when Baby was ill for three weeks with Turbo Diarrhoea, and then they both got bad colds, and I survived for all that time on 3 hours sleep a night. Toddler has driven me mad as well- testing the boundaries all the time, with an infuriating smile on her face. But then she'll do the cutest thing. Like today when she showed me how she puts on her pull-up nappy, over the top of the one she's wearing. Then I leave the room only to hear "mummy- help!". And I go back in to see that her hips are a foot wide as she has pulled on FIVE nappies, and can't walk!

Baby is a joy. It almost feels like the first four-month old I have had, as I don't remember much of Toddler's babyhood. He smiles so often, and is so in love with his sister! I feel guilty that I don't get to spend as much time with him as I'd like, but we get our time in the evening when Toddler has gone to bed. He has his bottle, jimmy-jammies on, then falls asleep on me with his hand down my bra, like a teenage Lothario! His father would be proud!

x