Sunday, 25 November 2012

An Open Letter

Day 13

Dear Sir,

I am the “Wife” you met last night. Don’t feel bad, you’re not the first guy I’ve met to have this reaction.

I know that when a man such as you meets a fellow man with a woman in tow the natural reaction is to pretend said woman doesn’t exist. After all what are we women but the properties of whatever poor schmuck we duped into standing at the other end of the aisle.

But, next time, why not have a little think.

Just because I am wearing heels and lipstick and have boobs (pretty good ones too even if I say so myself) it does not mean that you and I will find nothing to talk about.

Wanna talk about fast cars? I love formula 1. Travel? I can tell you the story of my trip across New Zealand, or the time I visited the bars of Budapest or my amazing honeymoon in the Caribbean. Maybe you like dirty jokes – I can make your eyes water. How about drinking? Rack ‘em up and I will see you at sun-up. What about songs of the 50’s? Name a Buddy Holly song, any Buddy Holly song and I will tell you what key it’s in (the answer’s A, it’s always A).

How about Football? Actually.... no I really don’t care about football.

I’m not saying we’re going to have loads in common and become good friends. Hell I’m not even saying that we’ll have things to talk about after ten minutes. But it would be polite to attempt it.

Just try something for me. Next time you meet a woman, even somebody’s wife, just try talking to them for 5 minutes. You may surprise yourself.

And it would save me the hassle of having to prove myself to you, because frankly – I am tired of it.

Lots of Love

The Wife


 Today Mr P and I went to the big vintage weekend at the Brentwood Centre – it was great! We performed as Buddy Holly and Connie Francis and got a lot of interest for our little duo. There were a lot of gorgeous girls in gorgeous lipstick running stalls full of gorgeous things. Plus I got some new and amazing heels.

While I was there a woman came up to me and handed me a leaflet advertising burlesque classes. I’m wondering just how brave red lipstick me can be?

I guess we’ll see ;)

Mrs P

X x x x x x x x x  x x

Saturday, 24 November 2012

food glorious food

Day 12

Everyone knows the story of getting married. It goes something along the lines of:

Boy and Girl meet
Boy acts like giant girl and fails to ask Girl out
Boy finally gets his s**t together and asks Girl out on a date
Date is fiasco, Boy completely fails. Luckily Boy gets Girl drunk; she decides he’s not so bad.
Boy and Girl date for a while, Boy confesses his love. Girl panics... but then realises she loves him too.
They spend all their time together. They go to the zoo and centreparcs.
One year in he gets on one knee at Disneyland, she says yes.
They move in, Girl organises wedding. Boy barely survives wedding planning process.
They say “I do”
They live happily ever after.

(This is a generalisation)

The thing is there’s another part to the story. A part that pretty much every couple goes through but is somehow left out of all the rom coms. It goes like this:

They live happily ever after.
Then they start eating. And eating. And eating.
They stop exercising cos hey – why exercise when you have someone to cuddle up on the sofa with right?
Then next thing you know it’s 6 months down the line and neither of them fit into any of their clothes anymore.

Anyone who says they don’t put on weight when they settle down is lying. Or ridiculously lucky. Or lying. For me and Mr P it’s starting to get ridiculous. The thing is we both love food – too much! When I was single I was very healthy, all fruit, salad and vegetables. I barely ate bread, would never touch full fat fizzy drinks and went to the gym 3-4 times a week. Then I met Mr P, we’d go out and order dessert. He’d turn up with cookies and profiteroles and custard. Suddenly I re-discovered this whole food thing I’d been missing out on.

And boy can you tell. I am getting – maybe not fat but definitely chubby. Every person I meet who hasn’t seen me since I got married has the exact same reaction. “Well you look... well. Married life suits you!”
*disclaimer – “well” is a nice way of saying fat.

Anyway we really need to sort this out. I’m thinking about maybe having a look at some of the diet secrets of famous red lipstick icons. I’ll get straight on that.

Right after my breakfast chocolate cake.


Today we are off to the Brentwood centre for a vintage fayre. We’re playing for an hour at 3.15 to promote our show. We’re playing tomorrow at 12.30 as well so anyone around is welcome to come down! Then tonight we’re off on a top-secret little trip to check out something that may be rather exciting – stay tuned!

Mrs P

X x x x x x x x x x x

Friday, 23 November 2012

I will survive

Day 11 (and 10...)

First off, I apologise for missing yesterday! Between interviews, gigs and rehearsing I didn’t get much time for writing.

The interview went really well, I felt really good about it yesterday.

I didn’t get the job.

Devastated is not the word. I have cried for hours today, I’ve been sick twice. 1 o’clock this afternoon I was lying in bed sobbing my heart out. I’ve felt worthless, useless, pretty much every other less out there...

The headmaster sounded genuinely regretful on the phone. “If I had any other job,” He said, “It would be yours; you were an exceptionally strong candidate. Unfortunately another applicant had slightly more experience in the condition the 1:1 child has.” 

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been told I’ve lost a job to someone more experienced. Unfortunately with so many people being made redundant it’s almost impossible to gain experience in a field. It’s happening to graduates everywhere. It feels like there is an entire generation being lost in this recession. 

Back when my Grandparents were starting work they had an apprenticeship, went to college then went into working as pharmacists. They had started their family by 23 and went on to run their own successful business. These days it’s almost impossible, you can’t even volunteer. 

I have to admit today is one of the worst days I’ve had for a while. I’ve had some awful days over the last few years and they seem to keep coming. It is getting harder and harder to stay strong and positive. Every knock I get I try to think of a new plan even if it’s just so I have something to tell people when they ask me what I’m up to. 

It’s exhausting 

But I’m staying strong. There will be something for me out there. And I have to believe that one day I’ll look back on these dark days and I’ll realise that they’ve turned me into the person I am. Someone with fortitude, someone who cares for others, someone with the strength to keep my family together. 

And through it all I have him.

There’s not much else I can say. But I think this video will sum it up...

Mrs P

X x x x x x x x x x x x

Wednesday, 21 November 2012

I feel pretty...

Day 9

I love this quote! Today I’ve been having a little writers block, up until a few minutes ago I have started, and rejected 3 different blog posts.

Today, I baked rock cakes for Mr P when he came in from work. I think the red lippy is unlocking my inner housewife! I’ve started dusting, doing the washing and baking... 



I don’t think Mr P is complaining. Sometimes when you’re married it’s easy to spend all your time in your pyjamas eating biscuits. (Me and Mr P are steadily working our way through the entire Essex supply of biscuits, we both have a biscuit baby due any day now...).

Wearing my lippy makes me make more of an effort – as I’ve said before. I put on nice underwear, I spritz on some perfume... All this adds up to a happy husband.

And (don’t tell anyone this) I’m quite enjoying it! It’s very anti-feminist but, turns out, making my husband happy makes me happy. I feel desired, appreciated and wanted. Before I started with the lippy my bout of mini depression had me spending all day every day in my pyjamas, never making an effort. But now I look better, I feel better, and my husband likes to show his appreciation.

It also means I get pretty things! Well... a chess set. But it’s a start.

Hope you’re all enjoying life today J

Mrs P

X x x x x x x x x x x x x

P.S. It’s my job interview tomorrow! Wish me luck, I’ll be the one in the lippy.

Tuesday, 20 November 2012

Giving in

Day 8


I have a confession. I gave in today.

A couple of years ago I worked for a school as a 1:1 for a little boy with special needs. It was, without a doubt, the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. I loved my job, I adored the children and I felt like I was doing something good and – more – that I was good at what I did.

Unfortunately working as a 1:1 does not pay well. It’s almost impossible to live off of. When I met Mr P and discovered this world of being a musician it seemed exciting. When I got a phone call asking me to play in a show it felt like a sign. I quit my job and threw myself into rehearsing 24 hours a day.

That was a year and a half ago. A year and a half of hope, dreams, let downs, disappointments, huge successes and gut-wrenching, crushing defeats. I have been elbowed out of jobs, diagnosed with menieres disease, denied opportunities because I am a woman and countless other little jabs that have left me battered and bruised. I’ve loved the performing and the fact I get to meet people and go to places that I just wouldn’t have otherwise. I get a buzz out of entertaining people and feeling like I’m good at it. And it is a definite fact that I could not have coped with Mr P’s lifestyle if I hadn’t joined it for a while.

But, I’ve come to realise it’s not enough. I still love singing and I would do it all day every day if you let me, but I also need more. I need to feel like I’m doing something that will make a difference. That I matter in some way. So, a couple of weeks ago when a job opening came up in my old school in the same year as the children I had worked with and adored for so long, it felt like a sign.

I phoned them up immediately and two days later I went to look around the school and hand in my application form. It felt like going home, I saw the children I knew and the little boy I had previously looked after. It was a huge emotional experience. I also spent an hour talking with the headmaster about the job and by the time I left it felt like I had already gone through an interview rather than just hand in my application form.

So, I waited. I knew when the job advert was closing and they had already said when they were short listing. I spent 2 days sat by the phone, obsessively checking my emails and running out to the post box every two minutes.

And? Nothing.

No letter, no call, no email. I felt my hopes, which had begun to lift, plummet back down to the ground.

And – just for a moment – I gave in.

I allowed every thought I have fought so hard to keep at bay come flooding in. It’s me, it has to be. It’s because I’m not good enough, I don’t work hard enough, I don’t try hard enough. It’s how I look, the way I dress, the way I speak.

For a minute I allowed myself to think that maybe, everything is my fault. The let downs, the denied opportunities, everything. And maybe things aren’t going to get better because it’s something in me that is making these bad things happen.

And I’m so tired, so tired of putting a smile on every day. Tired of constantly trying to think of the next thing that is going to get me through this, tired of coming up with constant schemes to sort things out.

Like I said, it was just for a minute, but for that one minute I felt like the biggest most abject failure of all time.

Then that minute was over. I got up, I dried my eyes, and I re-applied my lipstick. Because I have to believe that there is a reason for everything. I have to believe that being a good person will lead to good things. I have to believe that if you get up each day feeling positive and giving your best to the world that, eventually, it will come good. I have met people who think that just because they’ve been screwed over it gives them the right to screw over everyone else. But it doesn’t. If you use your own hurts as an excuse to hurt others then you are far worse than anyone who wronged you.

And, despite everything, I do still believe. I believe in myself. I believe in my ability to pick myself up, to try again and again and still keep on smiling. I believe in my ability to hope and to love. I know that I am going to get there because there is no alternative.

I am the girl in the red lipstick and I will make my mark on this world.

So, after that emotional rollercoaster, I went out to the post-box one last time. I peered in, seeing an empty box for the hundredth time today.

Then, something amazing happened. I saw a flash of white, tucked right up in the farthest corner. I quickly opened the post-box up and saw my name written on the front of the envelope. Holding my breath I ran back inside and sat down with shaking hands to open it .

And there it was, in black and white, a job interview. My first one in 5 months, for a job I love.

I no longer care that it doesn’t pay well. I can gig in the evenings and on weekends to help my income.  And I’m no longer desperate to throw myself into the ‘glamorous’ world of rock n roll, up close it’s not all that shiny. One day maybe Mr P and I will be able to take it further.

Right now I just want to do something real, something that will make me feel like I matter.

I am good enough.

Mrs P

X x x x x x x x x