If I've not got a card for Valentine's Day this year, there's going to be trouble...

Those fateful words; "Valentines day? Load of rubbish. Don't bother getting me anything, it's overcommercialised and
meaningless." says the missus. Phew, you think, off the hook again!

But man of little brain, have you no memory of what always happens? Or perhaps you haven't connected the two events.

Valentines day comes round, the lady in your life  has spouted her 'commercialised nonsense' speech again and

you've not done anything special for her. Funny then that she suddenly goes all cold on you.

You try and cuddle her, she moves away, you ask her what's for dinner; she  snaps at you. She also arranges a night

out with the girls for the near future and spends what seems like many hours   tutting into the phone to her best friend and whispering.

You think; hold on, I'm a sensitive man, I think there's something up   here, so you say cheerfully; "What's up with you, Misery?" 

as you're sitting watching Casualty, with her refusing to meet your eyes. "Nothing. " she mutters. You put it down to PMT or

something and forget all about it. But she hasn't forgotten, ooh no. She has not forgotten anything.

This slight on her better nature as a feminine lady woman has been noted and   filed away so that in ten years to come

when you split up acrimoniously because she just 'can't put up with it anymore' and you're oblivious as to what she's put  up with ,

she says "Ten years in a row you didn't even get  me a Valentines card! Not even a card! It's not much to ask!"

 

"But, " You splutter, "But...you said you didn't want  anything! You said it was commercialised rubbish! You said it was meaningless!"

 

"So? It didn't mean I didn't want one did it?"

 

You are left confused, bereft and very single.

 

Remember this and this month if you have been stupid enough to actually believe what your good lady  has said, then also 

 think about your life and how much you might not want it to change and I suggest you get yourself down the Spar shop and buy something pretty. Or better yet, if it's half way through the day by the time you read this and you can't be bothered to get off your backside and go
 into town ,  why not make one and sprinkle it with glitter. Us birds love glitter. Then you can make out you've been
slaving over it for weeks and she'll think you're wonderful instead of a confused fool who doesn't understand the
ways of women. In fact, if you're a woman reading this, nodding your head in agreement, then why not leave your 
computer  open to this page , perhaps with a full can of lager next to the mouse. It might just work.
 Ah...I'd better have got one this year I can tell you or there'll be trouble in the Legh household. Not that I believe in it of course.

 Load of old commercialised nonsense....

Roll out those bingo wings! (but only if your central heating's good...)

Roll on the hot weather. It's about time we felt the glow of sunlight on our
pasty skin . I am so sick of winter.

But you know as I survey the hordes of women in the fashion mags modelling stuff for spring and summer  , I feel a pang of sadness.

We've not all got skinny malinkey arms like those models. And because of that so
many women are missing out on feeling cool and refreshed  because
they are harbouring a guilty secret they refuse to share with the world.

We have a lot to thank Trinny and Susannah for ; The crossover top phenomenon.
The wrap dress, the long stretchy boots,but there's one rule they set that is not based in reality.

If you've got fat arms like me, says Susannah, don't ever wear a sleeveless top.

 

 I know what she's saying, I too have the bingo wings, the Betty Turpins, call them what you will.
When I raise my arm in the summer time  and there's a stiff breeze, there can
even sometimes be a parachute effect. 

 The thing is, there are many more things to worry about than whether your arms
are fat or not. Like whether you're going to expire of heat exhaustion . Or
whether your stomach is protruding over your gypsy skirt.  

 I've never thought of my arms as something to worry about. Tummy, thighs,
chest, hips, bum, you name them I've stressed over them, but arms? Arms are the
things you use to flail around when your ankle' s gone over when you're wearing
unsuitable shoes. Arms are what you use to cuddle small children, fluffy animals
and tasty men. Arms are also so helpful in that tricky cake to mouth
transaction.

 

Trinny and Susannah say cover them up. I say who wants to wear a
long sleeved shirt when it's thirty degrees outside and you've got mascara
dripping down your cheeks. Do these women live in the real world? I'm all for a
bit of bohemian , slap on a bit of high factor sunscreen, a floaty skirt and
a floppy hat and skip through the fields , but don't spend too
much time worrying about your arms.Unless you spend  hours every night lifting
weights, we've all got  soft arms and  all arms look fat in photos. If they
don't look podgy, they look stick -like. You can't win. Even Liz Hurley's arms
look  fleshy pressed against her body  in a certain light.

 

With so much
emphasis on looking perfect these days and believe me, when i was looking forward to my wedding last year  
and had a strapless dress to get into, luckily I realised there were  plenty more things
for a woman to stress about than her upper arm folds.

 

If you do one thing differently this year it should be to stop saying  "I can't wear sleeveless tops..it's my
arms you see."  You can wear sleeveless tops! You can do anything! You are woman,
you are beautiful!  . Rejoice in the fact that you've got arms , ones that you
can rest out of an open car window and let the breeze blow dry your armpit! You
can't do that sort of thing in a three quarter  sleeve cardie can you?   You'll
feel  the benefit so much more in a vest. (See your mum was right after all.)
Let your bingo wings fly free! Let's start a fat arm amnesty!

Doesn't this puppy just make you want to cry?

Her name's Poppy and she belongs to Julie.

I may have to stop typing as I may cry too much.

My husband says maybe we can have a puppy in a year.

NOTE FROM HUSBAND: I actually said we could "review the puppy situation" in a year's time.

I told him it's either a puppy, or a baby... he went very quiet.

Things My Husband Has Told Me Off About This Week

Even though I'm  thirty, my husband Paul still finds ways of making me feel a good couple of decades younger. He has taken to telling me off for a whole manner of ridiculous things that I am obviously not doing the  correct 'Paul' way. I would like to share them with you and see what you think .

Things My Husband Has Told Me Off About This Week;

1) Slamming the car door. Apparently I have no concept of correctly shutting a door and every time I do it to his flipping car , it makes it depreciate even more. For the record, I don't slam it, I shut it firmly.

2) Indiscriminate Jam Buying. (I.J.B. for short) "Why is it," he says to me with an incredulous look on his face ,"That you need to buy a new jar of jam every time you go to the shops?"  " But it's sugar free! " I bleat, "It's not like the other jams! You know I'm doing this sugar free diet..." " Helen, we've got more jars of jam than we have cupboard space.This has got to stop." and he stomps off to rearrange his toolbox. You know, the one  with the fifty different kinds of the same screwdriver spilling out of it.

3) On a similiar subject, apparently you're not supposed to use the same knife you use for butter, in the actual jam jar. "It gets all bits in it." He says sternly. "It's dirty." I look crestfallen as I spread my sugar free jam. "But it's ok," he says, " I'll forgive you this time." Lucky me! "Just don't do it again." he warns.

4) We have two cats. It would seem that  after stroking one of them one day, I took leave of my senses and popped a chunk of Galaxy in my mouth with the same hand I had stroked The Hoff (the black and white cat)  with.  Call Interpol! Call Kim and Aggie! I am a filthy , germ infested pig!

Clearly the fact that Anal Paul, the love of my life  drinks milk  straight out of the carton thus spreading his filthy diseases to me and anyone who comes round our house for a cup of tea is by the by.

Luckily I love him anyway. Quite a lot actually. Luckily for him I also don't care for one second what he thinks about all these things  and he can tell me off all he likes because I know what happens when he's not there. I spread jams willy nilly, open new jars just for the hell of it, wipe my sticky hands all over the cat then lick them , slam all the doors and even....calm down everybody...even lick the knife. What an incredibly satisfying feeling. The beauty of it all is, he'll never even know! So I win after all!