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coronation street

What a bride is really thinking two weeks before her wedding

25/08/2013 by Charlotte 1 Comment

IMG_27461. Is it ok to watch TV when you get back to your hotel room on your wedding night?

2. I wonder if I can get away with putting a label that says ‘Don’t eat any of the red ones’ on the sweets table.

3. Will I have time to watch the Coronation Street omnibus while I’m getting ready?

4. The honeymoon will be the perfect opportunity to grow my over-plucked eyebrows back.

5. If only you could legitimately put DVD box sets on a wedding list.

6. I’m so glad I didn’t get a wedding dress that meant I had to reduce my cheese consumption.

7. I can’t wait to let the power that comes with wearing a wedding dress go straight to my head.

8. I hope nobody tries to make friends with us on our honeymoon.

9. Bank balance-wise, eloping would have been a much better choice.

10. The plus-side to the wedding being over is that I’ll have more ambitious things on my to-do list than ‘Find tongs small enough to pick a marshmallow out of a jar’.

11. Having so much time off emptying the dishwasher should not be the most exciting thing about going on a honeymoon. And yet it is.

Posted in: ON WEDDINGS Tagged: brides, coronation street, holiday, honeymoon, living together, wedding

Tiredness: Why I never make it through a whole film

18/08/2013 by Charlotte 1 Comment

20140720_1248427am: Get up. Go downstairs. Turn off dishwasher, bathroom light and X-box that Leon left on last night. Throw yesterday evening’s chocolate crumbs in bin.

7.10am: Shower. Exfoliate anything and everything with vigour. Wash hair. Spend 10 minutes with each ear under shower to rinse out conditioner.

7.20am: Apply body lotion, facial wash, moisturiser, SPF, eye cream and mound of mascara. Rub at bits of mascara that escape in brow, eyelid and, inexplicably, forehead. Roll on deodorant and flap arms. Open wardrobe and stair into abyss.

7.30am: Sigh. Put on clothing selection. Look in mirror. Sigh again. Head downstairs.

7.35am: Make breakfast whilst also making lunch, emptying dishwasher and taking out recycling. Ignore what number of Pringles packets says about diet.

7.45am: Clean teeth whilst making bed.

7.48am: Wipe dripped toothpaste off duvet/clothes/carpet/fiancé.

7.49am: Gurgle with Listerine. Consider putting in eyes to make self feel more awake. Decide against.

7.50am: Apply make-up at speed. Hope ‘slapped’ look will die down. Do needless tidying that could definitely wait ’til later. Look at time. Gasp. Grab handbag.

8am: Run downstairs. Unplug iron, regardless of whether Leon has finished using it. Remind him for the 900th time to shut bathroom window and lock front door. Wish him a pleasant day and leave the house.

8.05am: Leg it to tube station. Curse self that what could be a nice leisurely walk always turns into panicked sweaty half run.

8.20am: Take deep breath, tense muscles and get on tube. Open newspaper. Pretend to be invisible.

8.50am: Push through carriage full of angry people. Get off tube. Tweet most irritating occurrence.

9am – 5.30pm: WORK.

Whilst working also think: What shall we have for dinner? Did I leave my straighteners on? Are there enough tops in the laundry to justify a colours wash? Whose birthday is it next? When was the last time we changed our electric toothbrush heads? Will he have remembered to shut the bathroom window? 

5.30pm: Travel home. Work out if have enough food in fridge to avoid going to supermarket.

6.15pm: Arrive at supermarket. Resist temptation to punch self-service screen and shout “I’LL GIVE YOU AN UNEXPECTED ITEM IN YOUR BAGGING AREA IF YOU DON’T PLAY BALL!”

6.45pm: Get home. Remember immediately who left house last at sight of erect ironing board and shadow of the GODDAMN bathroom light.

6.50pm: Go upstairs. Change into comfortable ‘house clothes’. Look in mirror and promise to throw said ‘house trousers’ (old old old jogging trousers that have never experienced jogging – unless running to the sweets cupboard in the X-Factor advert break counts) away very soon.

7pm: Ring Leon’s mobile. Get no answer. Ring work mobile. Get no answer. Ring work landline. Get no answer. Assume he’s gone to gym/is listening to iPod/enjoying half an hour’s peace before returning to alleged domestic bliss.

7.05pm: Eat bowl of crisps.

7.08pm: Regret eating bowl of crisps.

7.10pm: Start cooking. Whilst cooking, put on load of washing, hang up clothes still in machine from last night, wipe table, open post, arrange post into ‘for shredding’, ‘for filing’ and ‘for some joker who hasn’t lived here for years but just can’t be arsed to change their address’, and shake out toaster.

7.30pm: Put Coronation Street on. Or if it’s not Monday, Wednesday or Friday put Eastenders on and wish that it was.

7.45pm: Grate cheese. (I don’t know what I’m cooking in this scenario but it’s fair to assume cheese will be involved.)

7.50pm: Eat large handful of cheese and have to grate more.

8pm: Welcome Leon home from gym. Tell him not to sit anywhere or touch anything until he’s had a shower. Make witty comment about benefits of switching off electrical appliances before leaving for work, which he ignores.

8.15pm: Eat dinner. Share every detail of day, including BOGOF deal I managed to score on favourite tomato and red pepper relish.

9pm: Stand next to him as he loads dishwasher and point out what he’s doing wrong. Agree to retire to lounge when told to keep beak out. Watch secretly from sofa.

9.05pm: When joined in lounge, say with confidence I definitely can stay awake through a film if he puts one on.

9.10pm: Put sofa blanket over me and rest eyes while he chooses a DVD and turns off all lights (proving he does know where the switch is).

11.30pm: Wake up during credits.

Posted in: ON RELATIONSHIPS Tagged: clothes, commuting, coronation street, housework, irritations, living together, men, relationships, sleep, trains, women

How to save your relationship part 1: Find a cleaner

17/02/2013 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

375502_981756330892_1909299464_nIt’s 11.30pm.

I’ve been asleep on the sofa, shaken awake and told that it’s time for bed. I’m grumpy.

By the time I get upstairs, he has already settled into bed. I, on the other hand, still have my skin care regime and my ‘house checking’ routine to complete. (Are the doors locked? Are the hobs off? Are my shoes lined up nicely?)

I am at least 15 minutes away from slumber.

And as I go to clean my teeth, I notice not one but two giant blobs of toothpaste on the bathroom floor. A gasket blows somewhere between my brain and mouth.

But because I don’t want to be one of those girls who shouts at their other half, I opt for the much more mature, passive aggressive approach to help him work out his mistake on his own.

I sigh.

No response.

I sigh louder.

He inhales, and sighs a long sigh of his own.

HIM: What’s wrong?

ME: Nothing.

HIM: Ok.

Ah, a wise guy. He knows that my ‘nothing’ means ‘something’ but he can’t be bothered to drag it out of me. He just wants to go to sleep and dream about being a robot. But no such luck.

A long pause and then I break.

ME: Well, when you clean your teeth it would just be good if you could either not spray it all over the floor OR wipe it up when you do!

HIM: Ok.

ME: It’s all very well saying ‘OK’, but I shouldn’t have to say this, should I? It should be obvious. I don’t want to be this person you’re making me be!

HIM: Ok, I’ll clean it up tomorrow and I won’t do it again.

ME: But that’s not the only thing, is it? Hmmm? There’s the toilet, the sink, the shower, the area where we keep our facial washes… how many times do I have to sigh before you start taking cleaning seriously?!

HIM: I work 14 hour days, I have to eat and then I have to sleep. I am sorry if I don’t always get to clean. I will try harder. But it’s 11.45pm. There’s nothing I can do about it now.

And that was when we decided to recruit a cleaner.

There are plenty of things to argue about in this life; what you should have for dinner, what constitutes a reasonable period of time for a person to play on the X-Box, why the light bulb on the landing still hasn’t been changed… but cleaning needn’t be one of them.

You have two options – you either agree your standards and a rota for ensuring they are maintained or, if your standards are at relationship risking odds, you employ somebody to come in and do it for you.

So we found a cleaner. And I would say that – after installing a dishwasher and upgrading from medium to mature cheddar – it is the greatest decision we have ever made.

I am no longer angry when he returns from work at 10 o’clock at night and doesn’t immediately don rubber gloves to help me tackle the oven grease, nor do our precious weekends start with a conversation about the importance of dusting. We’ve won a bit of time back and the sighing has decreased.

Now, I realise that this really is the height of luxury, and one for which I am very grateful. But what else am I going to spend my money on? I stopped going out in approx. 2009, I can’t eat gluten so my diet is basically just soup and dry crackers, and Coronation Street is on five times a week so I am perfectly well entertained.

The moral of the story is either date somebody who notices and cares about the exact same things as you, or agree to sacrifice something from the weekly shop to pay for somebody to come in and keep the peace.

And of course the other lesson here is: do not wake a sleeping woman. Just leave her on the sofa, have yourself a quiet night’s sleep and you can throw as much toothpaste around as you wish.

HURRAH!

Shhh, don’t wake her.

Posted in: ON RELATIONSHIPS Tagged: cleaning, coronation street, going out, living together, relationship advice, relationships

So you really do have to Do It Yourself then? Huh…

19/08/2012 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

20141227_110545The toilet in our downstairs bathroom makes a very strange noise when you flush it.

It makes a groaning noise similar to that which a badly acted fallen hero would make in a low budget drama – long, loud, annoying. HHHHUUUUUURRRRGGGGGHHHH is the closest I can get to it on a standard keyboard.

It’s obviously because of some kind of problem with the plumbing but beyond that I have no idea what it is nor any interest in finding out. I would definitely like it to stop but – it turns out – simply wanting a household improvement to occur is not enough to make it happen.

In a couple of weeks’ time it will be a year since we purchased and moved into our very own flat. We own it (in loving partnership with the bank) and are therefore responsible for every element of its existence. And finding out exactly what this means has been something of a rude awakening.

I can say with as much confidence as I can spell out my own name that my co-mortgage holder (and coincidentally future spouse) would like nothing more than to spend every hour of every day of every weekend sat shooting at or scoring goals against every character that dares to cross his X-Box–animated path. Indeed it is – conveniently – precisely what he is doing as I write this.

And as much as I will of course spend the rest of my life working tirelessly hard to make him happy blablabla etc etc, I simply cannot stand by and let games be played when there are weeds to be removed and flat-pack to be assembled. It turns out – as my mum would so often tell me – these things really will not do themselves, you know!

I have started looking at my parents with bewildered awe. All those things that used to break and get fixed in our houses when we were growing up. All those rooms that got decorated, lawns mowed, flowers planted. How did they know how to do it all? And, more importantly, how on earth could they be arsed to keep doing it time and time again? Beyond the serious lack of basic domestic knowledge that’s held me and X-Boxo back, the main route cause is what my Year 2 class teacher would have called being ‘bone idle’ but what I would argue is constant exhaustion. I’ll let you decide whose side you’re on.

But in a pairing made up of a woman who likes nothing more than a long but achievable to-do list (preferably involving some shopping) and a man who considers organisation to be an attribute he is only obliged to demonstrate in the office, something has to give.

Because I like our home as much as I do, I struggle not to consider every moment spent in it that does not contribute to its improvement to be time utterly wasted. Except of course the two and a half hours I dedicate each week to Coronation Street which is what I think the sisterhood would call my Me Time.

And so I stand on patrol each Saturday and Sunday, ready and waiting with my ‘We really should do’ list. For example, today’s was: 1) Go to Ikea and buy two more chairs to make our dining table more welcoming to guests who also like to sit down when they eat. 2) Do an absolute shed load of washing and marvel at how quickly it dries in the blistering sunshine. 3) Tidy up the garden which was becoming so overgrown I feared the weeds were going to break through the back doors into the lounge like those ones in Jumanji 4) Review the wedding budget because that should be FUN and 5) Finish painting the downstairs bathroom.

Well, 1,2 and 3 have all happened thanks to some excellent alarm setting and meal planning on my part and some brute strength on the gentleman’s and I look forward very much to ticking off 4 and 5…. she writes knowing she’s too tired to face either.

It turns out that – despite my initial misguided view – our mums and dads weren’t born DIY experts or cleaning machines, they got off their sofas (I presume they had them in those days) and learnt how to do it all for themselves, which is exactly what we need to do.

And we’ve made quite a good start in 12 months – we have shelves on the walls, more Ikea furniture than the shop itself and a full range of herbs and spices that we actually use. So now we move onto Stage 2 – the part where we don’t believe it would be easier to sell up than to learn how to change the sky lights when they go or knock the place down when a spider comes a-calling.

And maybe, just maybe, we will learn how to fix the toilet too. Or we could always ask our parents to do it for us. I’m sure one of them knows how.

Posted in: Uncategorized Tagged: coronation street, DIY, engagement, home owning, living together, men

HELLO, I’M CHARLOTTE

About me

Welcome to Nothing good rhymes with Charlotte. This blog is full of honest words about parenting, relationships, confidence and friendship. I'm here to help us all feel less alone and to make you laugh when I can, too. Want to hire me to write for you or just fancy a chat? Get in touch: nothinggoodrhymeswithcharlotte@gmail.com

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Yesterday @radcliffe_hart and I took Isla to Londo Yesterday @radcliffe_hart and I took Isla to London Zoo and had the most wonderful time showing her penguins and tigers and generally what it is to be together and have fun again. I will remember it forever.

And today I've mainly been lying down because I'm 26 weeks pregnant and my body is reminding me that you don't just get away with having that much of a good time when you're this far along. But it was worth it, these two girls are always worth it 🐧🦁❤
The absolute JOY of seeing friends in the flesh ag The absolute JOY of seeing friends in the flesh again 💜
Small explorer on the lookout for dinosaurs 🦕🦖
🌸 Cherry blossom beauty at Kew 🌸 🌸 Cherry blossom beauty at Kew 🌸
24 and a bit weeks pregnant with a baby that isn't 24 and a bit weeks pregnant with a baby that isn't Isla. How bizarre. (And lovely. Very very lovely) ❤
We both had vaccinations this morning (not covid o We both had vaccinations this morning (not covid ones), we both got stickers for bravery, and we both managed not to cry. This was a good day!
Whoever first realised that you can cover breakfas Whoever first realised that you can cover breakfast cereal in chocolate and call it a cake was really onto something. #cornflakecakes #lockdownbaking
Scooting into Spring 💕☀️🌸 Scooting into Spring 💕☀️🌸
"I realised early on in lockdown that I was going "I realised early on in lockdown that I was going to have to cut down on how frequently I said 'Hi' to my husband." 

In purposely trivial creative escapism news, I've been thinking about how bizarre it is to have added 'co-worker' to the massive list of things we are to our significant others since the pandemic began, and the highs and lows of hardly spending any time apart. So I gave myself some time to write a blog about it. I've published it on my blog today if you fancy a read. You can find the link in my bio. 

Much love to all after an especially hard week for so many. x
Found this picture of us being silly in Kew Garden Found this picture of us being silly in Kew Gardens last year and it made me smile. It'll be so nice to have the option to go and be silly in places beyond our home again. Soon.
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