I am now 46 years old as of yesterday. This means a host of things.

1- My womb will slowly fall apart and hormones will start to flood my system till I kill an owl or shag a teenage boy.

2- I will start to wear jumpers with shiny sequins and appliqué butterflies.

3- I may buy a small fluffy dog and call it my ‘baby’.

4- My hair will get cut into a manageable bob so that when I take up hill walking it won’t get bothersome.

5- I will start collecting miniature ballerina’s made of porcelain and attend conventions where other old women talk about porcelain.

6- Water colour painting classes will fill my days and I will start visiting small towns to capture the features of the charming cobble stoned streets.

7- I will stop dyeing my grey hair and embrace my age, I will stop wearing a bra and let my moustache grow into a full on Magnum job!

So that’s what I have to look forward to.

The train journey up through those beautiful snow capped hills was awesome and Inverness is just beautiful. I was doing a one woman show at the Eden Theatre and I was really concerned that on that frozen rainy night - no one would turn up to hear a Scottish woman gab about her life!

I was also quite worried that the showdown between the Big Brother contestants Shilpa and Jade would make people stay at home.

The good news was that LOADS of people turned up, it was wonderful.
I also got some great press in Inverness and the people are so friendly, for instance I arrived at a small pizza joint at 5pm.
There was only one wee guy there and I assumed the place was closed but I was starving. He was so lovely, he sat me down made me a cup of tea and baked me a great pizza within minutes. I loved him! What service!

What I did love about Inverness was the people who sat after the show and chatted to me at length, they were so supportive and interesting.

The down side was I had a really bad reception on my phone and no internet connection whatsoever.

I was really pleased that the article I wrote about Jade Goody’s attitude and behaviour in Celeb Big Brother that has been make international news got printed in today’s Scotsman Newspaper.
I was disgusted with her bullish-ness.

This year’s Celebrity Big Brother was losing ratings as the interesting guests started walking out, and had been the worst ratings for the show since its conception.

Now that there is racial tension, the ratings have gone through the roof. What does that say about us as a nation of viewers? The pack mentality being exercised in the Big Brother House is unacceptable yet it has been proved to be a huge success for Endemol.

The political repercussions are resonating throughout the world.
Gordon Brown is currently in India and it’s a bad day when our Chancellor of the Exchequer has to defend a chav in our International community. He is battling to preserve the British image over the fuming accusations of racism.
MP Tessa Jowell made a statement saying “This is racism being presented as entertainment”
Who would have imagined a few media hungry, fake tanned, foul mouthed young women could cause such a stir?

I assume that now the errant bully and racist Ms Goody is now out of the reality TV show and has realised her carefully constructed image had been shattered, she will have to rethink her strategy in PR.
Let’s hope she doesn’t do the obvious and go for public sympathy and do a ‘fake attempt on her life’ and end up in hospital citing exhaustion. It’s too obvious but seems inevitable. I hope she is strong enough to resist that path of attention.

So I am lying here on the sofa and having fun, the good news is my husband NEVER got me LAVENDER for my birthday as he did last year!

That’s the best news for me!

Ashley asked to me go shopping for some mayonnaise, so I pulled on a pair of bright green welly boots, dragged my bushy hair up into a tufty ponytail and scrubbed my blotchy face and got ready to go out into the rain. I topped the look off with a giant overly big snow boarding coat that is too long and makes me look like a scary dwarf.
I went off in the slashing rain and headed towards the supermarket that is inside the petrol station.
The aisles are so narrow but I headed for the vegetable rack and decided to pick some red onions, as I did this some onions fell from the box, hit my toe and went hurtling under the display. I sighed and turned to walk away when this young guy stopped me “Did you drop something there?” he asked in his American accent, his teeth were the bright white that young Americans have by sheer DNA. He looked like a student, he had a bag slung over his shoulder and he raked his hand through his spiky dark hair. He didn’t move, he stood there and stared at me.
‘Holy Fuck’ I thought, I must look so much like a mad crazy bag lady that he can’t bear to look away.
“I dropped some onions and then kicked them under the display” I mumbled.
He stood there and still hadn’t moved. I began to feel uncomfortable, I knew how I looked, I had caught one of those scary side glances as I leaned into the fridge to get some cheese and the mirror reflected back a witchy hag in wellies with piggy wee eyes and blotchy skin.
“Excuse me I am staring” the young American spoke “Can I ask you a question?”

I thought he knew I was a comic and that explained the staring and he was going to ask me a comedy related question, so I finally relaxed about how I looked, I smiled and turned to him and replied “Yes please ask away”

People behind me started to push past as we were blocking up the aisle, the guy raked his hand through his hair again, and he smiled, looked me right in the eye and said
“Can I have your number and maybe we can go out sometime?”

I was absolutely gobsmacked; I really didn’t think he was going to say that to me. I flushed from my toes up and the man behind pushed at my back to get past.
I simply looked at the guy and said “No” then stumbled off soaked in embarrassment and clumsily battered my plastic basket against the legs of poor shoppers.

It was hard to ignore the guy in the shop, it really is a small supermarket and every time we crossed paths, he smiled and would stand at the side, throw out his arms in a gentlemanly gesture and let me pass him every time. I sloshed past him, welly boots smacking off the backs of my legs making big clappy noises that made me wish a robber held up the petrol station and shot me by accident and I never had to endure the ‘clappy slappy wellies’ and face the young American in the frozen food aisle.

I was leaving the shop when the guy came back up to me and said “Goodbye, you know if you change your mind, we can swap numbers”
I looked at him and finally faced the situation I took a big deep breath and blurted out “Listen mate, I am 46 years old next week, I am old, grumpy, I have skin that no longer fits me properly, I need 12 hours of sleep just to make me feel ok on a daily basis, I have grey hair on my eyebrows and I am scared to see where else I am grey, I haven’t had to be nice to a man to get a fuck in 27 years, I am not going to play out your Mrs Robinson fantasy, find someone else who does, and thanks for he compliment, I do appreciate it”

The guy merely spread open his arms and walked off, I hauled my bags up further to stop them from banging of the wellies that were banging off my legs and walked straight into my husband who had been standing watching me to chat to the American boy who fancied old women.
“Why were you yelling at that boy? I could hear you as I came round the corner” husband asked me as he took my bags from me and tried to turn his face away from the driving rain.

“He was asking me for a date, look at me… do I look like a woman who picks up young guys in a supermarket?” I asked him with frustration.
“You look sexy, the wellies are really dirty and I am sure that’s what enticed him, I am horny just looking at those rubber boots, you bad woman making young men sexy at your funny boots” he joked and put his hand and took it mine as we walked against the rain.
All I could hear was the noise of those fucking rubber boots slapping off the backs of my jeans all the way home.

I am quite touched now, that some young guy fancied me so much or maybe he is one of those evil men that murder woman he meets randomly and I looked like the perfect victim?
‘So here’s to me Mrs Robinson’

I woke up this morning like a cloven hooved monster. Bad dreams plague me and I am not Doris Day at the best of times, so you can imagine how I feel when I wake up groggy and husband asked me thirty three different questions in a row like...
“Good morning do you want tea? Did you know you have to make fifteen phone calls today, have you thought of a new article to write for newspapers? Why does your hair look like that? Do you know whose pants these are in the linen basket? Have you decided when you are going to tackle your tax receipts?” and many more like that...bullet words spattering my half dead brain…I want him to die.

Ashley is worse, she wakes up like a mass child killer and you daren’t ask her anything till she is at least awake for an hour, as the result is a series of doors slamming and screaming…WOW! She makes totalitarian dictators look like one of the Von Trapp family when she is in full flight.

Husband still hasn’t got this little detail into his daft brain yet…even after 20 years he still meets her in the hall and shouts “hello pretty girl, how are you this morning” to which Ashley sticks up two fingers and shouts “Die you fucking madman!”

He really doesn’t know how to take a hint, he must have been raised by people who get up at 6am and skip around the house collecting flowers and singing pop tunes from the 1960s, which I know is untrue really as he was raised in an all male dominated house where the men were either involved in crime or involved in some scan or were in prison.

So I am a grumpy old woman today and its best if the world just fucks off till I am fully awake and can have a shower.

Yes! I know what a title for me…little miss housewife and mother, but there we have it.
I was just thinking today as I read a magazine about how women of a certain age perceive sex.
I am sick to fucking death about the ‘we want sensitive men’ crap and here’s the deal.

I don’t want a bath run for me, or a back massage, or a chat about my day….I just want to go to bed and get jiggy. I know this makes me sound awful and ‘not really what a woman should be’ but I am fucking annoyed that today’s men are so scared of being demanding. They have to cook a meal, burn countless tea lights over the bedroom and put on some soft music.
I can do without steak, I hate the smell of candles and I don’t need the noise of fucking whales moaning in the background when I just want laid.

My husband, and I am sure countless other men get completely fucked up by women and our constantly changing moods we go from ‘You only want me for sex’ to ‘You never listen to me’ so it’s hardly surprising that they worry and don’t know whether to rub scented oils on your feet or rip off your bra.

I am nearly 46 (next week) and am now after 200 years of marriage still not sure what it is I want and he will never fully work me out, I am a complex of emotions….a Rubix Cube of Demands if you will….if you get all the colours matched up then I am yours. So far he hasn’t worked out one side yet and I am sure that’s what keeps us together so far.

As far as birthdays go….well last year I was in London alone on my special day and he never sent a card, or did that spontaneous thing of turning up at my door with a hard on and chocolates (which is my favourite fantasy except the hard-on belongs to 50 Cent the black rapper) he merely called me and told me that he had bought me LAVENDER….yes you read that correctly fucking smelly Lavender…now as much as I like it washed through my bed lined …I DO NOT expect it as a birthday present when it is clearly a knock down Tesco special gift pack on sale after Christmas.

He has never really recovered from the lavender incident and probably will die fretting about it. When I un-wrapped the gift, I was furious.

Imagine Coco Chanel being given beige stretch leggings and a pair of vinyl beach shoes as an outfit and you get the picture or imagine Elton John being given a plastic clock in the shape of Native American Indian’s head for his sitting room wall and you really get the picture…I threw the lavender off the living room wall and refused to speak to him until he could give me three valid reasons why he thought I wanted lavender as a gift.

He sat sheepishly in the bedroom and came out and said “It wasn’t my idea Ashley picked it” which I knew was lie as my daughter is way too classy to pick lavender, so not only could he not think of a reason….HE LIED….it took till February before I kissed him again.

This year I want chocolate and sex and in that order….preferably both from that black cutie 50 Cent…I am sure he could offer me more than lavender.