Relocation?
I have returned home this evening from my relaxing weekend break, and realised that even when balanced and refreshed, I still feel completely rejected and disapproved of by my mother-in-law. This is not a cyclical thing, the penny has finally dropped, this is not simply my PMT.
My suspicion of her is as a result of her overt coldness and hostility towards me. Grandma Elizabeth said tonight that blogging is "NOCD" (Not Our Class Darling), arghh... Thank God she doesn't know what a blog actually is, or how to use a computer.
Why does she disapprove of everything I do so much? Perhaps I said "Pleased to meet you," instead of "How do you do," when introduced to her all those years ago. My mother Brenda was only an air hostess before she married my father after all, but then - so was Grandma Elizabeth before she married!
James has become rather unsettled of late, since realising that I catalogue every minute detail of our lives in this blog. He says that I have turned us into the Jordan and Peter Andre of Dulwich!
How very dare he?
His solution to my little hobby is that we are to move to Chislehurst, indeed, he took me there to see a property the other evening with a view to relocation. It was a great rambling mock Georgian pile on a rolling tract of land, and reminded me of The Hurlingham club. It really is not for me, it is far to close to my mother in Beckenham for a start.
Can you imagine it, Chislehurstmum? It just has no ring to it!
"No, no, no. It's just not Dulwich," I concluded.
James has however caused me to consider the possibility of purchasing another home, an additional weekend type home, just a little distance outside London, further south perhaps than Bromley and not quite as far as France - their toilets are so basic, their toilet paper a criminal offence to the senses. A place for gadding about with horses and splashing about with the children. Mmm. I really quite like Poole in Dorset - but not for every day, just for weekends and bank holidays.
I shall keep my blog, wherever I go. I read somewhere - "in cyberspace, everyone can hear you scream". I shall always be Dulwichmum, and I shall keep on screaming, where ever I live...
10 comments:
But Poolemum would sound awful! You can't move to Poole, but the second home thing sounds good...
I'm back by the way! From my second home!
Pigx
Sweet PITK, I missed you so.
You are right. Poolemum is out of the question. I can never leave Dulwich - it is home!
Don't knock Poole [my Italian Mum in law is there!] Love her, so I kind of have to come to terms with Poole [which my lot all call poo lee] and that American twangy accent sure makes us rrreallll popular!
Cheers
Dear Mcewen,
I have no problem with Poole, it is one of the few places outside of Dulwich I would be prepared to consider. But still, it is just not Dulwich, my home...
At least it is not Wales!
for the opportunity to write great blog stories that occured too far away from anyone you know to be ever verified or denied, and also sunday newspaper photoshoots sporting 'charity shop chic' you could do no better than a relocation to the north dulwichmum, although I have to say those are pretty much the only opportunities that exist for anything in the north and I wouldn't recommend it without getting the book deal in place before you leave. the other drawback is that it is getting rather crowded and some villages now are entirely populated with downshifting bloggers,sigh
DON'T move to the country dulwichmum, whatever you do. I left London for the country 10 years ago and I still miss it every day. The place I live is beautiful but boring and I am lonely. My mother in law is a bitch too and lives next door. (At least we never have to go and stay with her.)
Rilly darling,
I never considered myself a 'downshifting blogger' - ha, ha, ha! Great point!
And sweet Country Wife, thanks for helping me to see sense. I tried to leave London once before, but found the dirth of olive varieties and even basics such as truffle oil completely disabling!
I agree with Country Wife. I grew up in a rural area and couldn't wait to leave. So boring and the so-called 'friendly' community was full of back-stabbing and petty feuds. Also full of narrow minded red-necks. When you are tired of London, you are tired of life says the old saying!
Dear Dulwich Mum,
You really need to calm James' jangled nerves about your blog. I told my husband about mine and he said "I see, its a bit like CB Radio then..." Whatever you want to believe dear.
Ten-Four Good Buddy!
Dear Scruffy Mummy,
You are right, when I go to Wales, they all turn their backs on me in the local shops and speak Welsh. No doubt if I go to Poole, they will speak Poolish or something, but for a short break, I shall live with it!
Drunk Mummy sweetie, I shall just humour him - if he wants to consider me in the same league as Jordan - he shall be required to pay for my pert new accessories... (pert I said, not super sized!).
Over and out!
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