A Room of One’s Own

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”.
So said Virginia Woolf.

“A menopausal woman must have money and a room of her own”
So said Me.

In fact, at times I feel not just a room but perhaps a whole house or a nice sunny island. But that perhaps is a little unrealistic.

But a room – it’s a start.

This is a fairly standard night for me:

10pm Go to bed and fall asleep in six seconds flat due to being exhuasted

11pm Wake up to go to toilet. Return to listen to snoring from partner and despair of getting back to sleep

11.30pm Google ‘number of snorers killed by their partners’

12.00am Get up to go to loo again. Fall asleep again

1.30am Night time Hot Flush kicks in (coz obviously 3 a day are not sufficient) – kick covers off. Partner helpfully rolls up into the kicked off quilt in sleep

2.00am Hot flush passes – attempt to get quilt back. Mini argument over quilt and percentage coverage we both have of said quilt.

2.10am Google ‘menopause as a mitigating circumstance in murder of spouse’

2.15am Fall asleep

3.45am Wake up and worry about all or some of the following: getting old; lack of pension; nagging pains anywhere in body that might be a sign of a terrible illness; what might be the cause of the lump on Sweet Dogs leg. Then I wonder if I switched the oven off. Go downstairs to check. Its fine but Sweet Dog looks sad and lonely so worry more that lump in leg is terrible thing and give her a biscuit. Go back to bed and worry that Sweet Dog is sad and lonely. Wake partner to check if appointment with vet tomorrow or day after. Partner not as understanding as I would like about my forgetfulness. I offer to perform a frontal lobotomy (with a rusty knife) on them so there can be full understanding of what menopausal brain fog feels like. The offer is declined

5.30pm Check fitbit and worry about the lack of sleep it shows.

5.45am Fall into a marvellous deep sleep.

6.30am Alarm goes off for work

This had gone on for some time – so at the beginning of the New Year we decide it is time for both our sanity to sleep apart. I try very hard to match my partners disappointment while secretly (and joyously) planning the decor of MY new room and wondering how quickly the painter can come in and get it done for me.

The last time I decorated my very own room without having to consult with anyone was when I was 13 and very into Pierrot Clowns. So I got a pierrot carpet, a pierrot rug, a pierrot lamp, pierrot bedding, pierrot curtains, pierrot pictures, pierrot music box, pierrot mirror, pierrot dolls to sit on everything; pierrot stickers to round my window and much more – but you get the general picture. My parents were dubious but the agreement was this was it til I was 17 at least. At 13 I was not good at looking forward so I of course totally agreed, unable to visualise a time where I would not totally love pierrot clowns.

That time did come – approximately 8 months later – when I became a goth and my pierrot clown bedroom became a total embarrassment. I was stuck with my black hair, black eyeliner and black clothes listening to moody heartbreak songs from the Cure while all around me hundreds of clowns stared disapprovingly at me.

I have learnt from that – so I clear the spare room and have it painted in nice neutral shades. I spend a large amount of money on arty prints and hide the receipts so I can pretend I got them from the charity shop for 50p each. And then last night I ‘moved in’. I started in our shared bed and did the cuddly thing and had the ‘yes it’s for the best but so sad’ conversation. We talk about Steph and Dom in Gogglebox and various other couples who have separate rooms. Finally I judge I have spent enough time looking sad and it’s time to go to my very own bedroom.

I try not to skip as I go down the hall and go into my lovely quiet beautiful room. My night goes as follows:

11.00pm Climb into lovely clean bed
11.30pm Listen to Woman’s Hour on Catch Up on my Ipad while simultaneously doing ‘snow angels’ in my bed revelling in the space.
12.30am Go to toilet. Partner shouts – ‘I miss you’. ‘I miss you too’ I lie back.
1.30pm Fall fast asleep.
3.00am Wake with hot flush – simply roll to the cool side of the bed, choose one of my ‘menopause playlists’ from Spotify and wait for it to pass. Fall back into deep lovely sleep
5.00am Wake up and worry for a bit. Google divorce rates in couples who sleep apart. Worry a bit more.
6.00am Fall back asleep
6.30am Alarm goes off – hit snooze and do some more snow angels.

We have breakfast and look at our fitbits. I have slept about half an hour more than normal. My partner has slept an hour less and is mournful. But happy for me though because I told a bit of a white lie and said I got three hours more and feel amazing.

Because a room of one’s own is a wonderful thing and I ain’t giving it up.

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Galloping Catastrophes

I’ve been told I am a little negative about the menopause. So I have been trying to think of positive things about it. I’ve thought and thought and thought til my head hurts.

I thought about it when I was in a traffic jam this morning. But then noticed some black hairs on my chin and I had to get going with my tweezers. (I have tweezers in my car, in my handbags, in my make up bags – and next to every mirror in the house. I will not leave home without them. I will not be like Mrs Marwick at school who we all laughed at with her whiskers and wiry beard) Fluctuating hormones brought these lovely wee additions to my face about 9 months ago (said no-one ever!!). In bright light you will see them in menopausal womens faces – springing out of nowhere. But don’t under any circumstances point it out to them – trust me on that one! I mean, I’d rather know, but turns out my friend would rather have stayed ignorant when I mentioned her hairy whiskers in a genuine effort to be helpful. I would recommend simply buying a magnifying mirror for birthdays/christmases as an alternative to the direct approach. You never want to piss a menopausal woman off. Like ever!

I kept trying to think of positives – and really tried to focus in the queue for my morning coffee. But then I realised I had a pair of tweezers attached to my crotch. FFS. I had dropped them in the car when I saw a police car (the mobile phone legislation is pretty clear but the use of tweezers while in control of a car is less so and I wasn’t taking any risks). And my bloomin fanny magnet which attracts anything metal within 100 feet had decided to take them hostage.

Then I finally thought of a positive. We are so much luckier than our great great great grannies. In those days the menopause was known as the ‘gateway to death’. Not any more – we can often have a third, maybe even half our lives left when it is over. To be fair we will spend it fat, knackered, a bit bald, hairy faced and highly irritable. But it’s still better than the alternative.

It was Aristotle who first mentioned the menopause. And this was about 300BC. Maybe he should have spent as much time looking at this than he did teaching Alexander the Great and we may have been so much further forward in terms of treatment. But he couldn’t really be arsed so limited his work on the menopause to declaring it a time when women got ‘colder and drier’. Hmmm – Aristotle had clearly never lay in bed with a woman having a hot flush otherwise he would have been more likely to have declared something along the lines of ‘for christs sake – you are literally melting my feckin skin’ which is a regular declaration from my bed partner while rolling to the furthest end of the bed and dramatically fanning the covers for air. Sometimes I really do prefer my dog who doesn’t mind at all and clambers merrily onto my tummy when it happens – think she sees it as a massive hot water bed to have fun on.

But after Aristotle, no-one really bothered about the menopause much til the mid 1800’s. Possibly because not many women lived much past 40 for much of the intervening years. So if you did – it was probably like winning the lottery.

It was 1823 when a French physician coined the phrase ‘menopause’ meaning ceasing of the month. The first medications were not quite the plethora we have on offer now. In the 1800s cannabis was prescribed. This would have been a preferred option given some of the alternatives – douche of lead, morphine and chloroform anyone? What about testicular juice? Or the filtered juice of a guinea pigs ovaries. I may send these examples in to Ant and Dec for the food challenges in the next I’m a Celeb! Or what about a clitoridectomy (yes that is what you think it is) as recommended by influential surgeon Baker Brown. Or blood letting (some doctors felt it was because women no longer passing blood that triggered the symptoms – so if they took blood out regularly it would ‘fix’ them) Leeches were attached often to genitalia to assist with such treatment (in those days Doctors were nearly all men -I’ll say no more….)

In 1855 Lawson Tait, who was an influential physician, considered menopausal women to be in grave danger of mental derangement and incurable dementia. I can’t blame him – I thought the same when the symptoms started, and so did many people who know me. But his treatment which was simply to lock them up in asylums seems a little extreme. The guy also believed Jack the Ripper was a woman…so perhaps his theories should have been discounted then….

The Purity Movement Writers declared a bad experience of the menopause to be a sign of sin – and said that it showed the woman had been badly behaved when young. Yes- maybe – but I have some great memories to look back on during my sleepless nights – none of them involving working out at the gym with some tofu and sparkling water for dinner!

Moving on through the years it didn’t get much better. Menopause is now a popular topic particularly on Womens Hour (my fave radio programme). However when first mentioned on radio in 1948, there was a massive outcry – ‘lowering of broadcasting standards’ and ‘acutely embarrassing’ were two of the many complaints.

In 1966, Dr Robert Wilson declared us all ‘galloping catastrophes’. I am going to reclaim that phrase – I love the thought of being a ‘galloping catastrophe’ Better than being a galloping apostrophe which is what I thought it said when I first read it (after a couple of glasses of wine). ‘Move out of the way please, galloping catastrophe coming through’ Love it!!

The topic is no longer taboo – and we have much more information, support and choice of treatment than so many of our female ancestors. I think laughing at yourself and with others on some of the more ridiculous symptoms with a bottle or three of wine is something our grannies and probably our mothers would never have done. And were probably the worse for it.

So from one Galloping Catastrophe to all the other Galloping Catastrophe’s. Let’s celebrate the fact we have come a long long way and make our third act count!

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Menopausal Leave?

Back to work tomorrow! My plan for today was to pick out outfits for each day, iron them and choose matching shoes and accessories.

Before you think ‘what a saddo’ – the reason is that being menopausal over the Christmas holidays is one thing (lying in bed til noon with Netflix and a never ending supply of Baileys and After 8s then enjoying shopping and lunching with friends will ease even the worst menopausal symptoms). But being menopausal and having to work is quite another. And one of my resolutions is to get rid of the morning ‘before work’ stress and get each day off to as good a start as possible. I also went into work one day last year with odd shoes on so want to avoid that if I can.

I do think menopausal leave should be debated in parliament. There is maternity leave, carers leave, parental leave and god knows what kind of leave so why not menopausal leave? This would be done on a case by case basis – so all the feckers that declare they ‘sailed through’ their menopause and ‘barely noticed til it was over’ get no leave at all – it gets added to people like me who are finding it somewhat more of a challenge. And in fact those who do ‘sail through’ should be made to work twice as many hours and clean nightclub toilets at the weekends and maybe pick up dog poo for people out walking their dogs til the smug look drops from their bloody faces..

Anyway – I digress – back to New Year New Me! I was also going to start healthy eating today – with a breakfast of oats and fresh fruit and then later make up a delicious packed lunch for work with flax seeds, berries and nuts and many things that are recommended to assist you to cope with the menopause.

However, things did not really go to plan. I had maybe one or nine glasses of wine too many last night and many friends stayed over. So this morning I had to have two bacon rolls with quite a bit of butter and tomato sauce as it isn’t really fair to impose my healthy eating habits onto other people.

I then decided it would be just as well to open and finish off the last box of Thorntons as if they were in the house they would just cause temptation when I start ‘for real’ tomorrow.

I did try and pick outfits for work but this ended up in a lot of cursing and swearing as it would appear pretty much all my work clothes have shrunk while I have been off. A clamber into the attic then ensued to find my bag of ‘fattest ever clothes’ which also proved a tad tight and smelt a bit funny so had to wash all of them and stretch them while drying so I can go to work tomorrow in something other than my pajamas (which are still fitting great). I was always against elasticated waists in all but pajamas but my expanding girth is putting in repeated requests for such a feature.

I was then sweaty and thirsty and fed up up and the thought of wearing leggings and smocks til my arse and belly shrink a bit is a trifle depressing. So I’m afraid to admit that I have fallen at the first fence of ‘Dry January’ with a lovely bottle of white which is going down well with the left-over Doritos and cheese and chive dip from last night. The books say alcohol is not good for the menopause and maybe it isn’t but I can say with complete certainty that it helps you give less of a fuck about it.

One of my lovely friends who ‘found the menopause so liberating and a time of great energy’ told me that she found a sense of spirituality and connectedness as she went through her ‘journey’ (it’s not the bloody X factor I felt like saying but I didn’t as I can’t risk losing any more friends due to menopausal grumpiness). I have been a bit adrift over the last few months though – and wondering about things like mindfulness courses or maybe retraining to be a dog groomer or packing everything in to travel round Greece for a year or maybe setting up a social enterprise cafe. I have started a number of things that never ever get finished despite initial flushes of enthusiasm.

So I decided to listen to Pope Francis’ message to us all in an attempt to try and find some ‘meaning’ to my life and a direction for 2018.

Apparently we must banish the ‘banality of consumerism’. Really? It is clear the Pope has not yet been to the Joules or White Stuff sale this year or he may have reworded that part! (Paperchase is worth a look too – much better than last year). And he says we must also stop the ‘overpowering waves of empty chatter’. I for one beg to differ! I think we can guarantee the Pope did not consult with menopausal women on this message.- waves of empty chatter along with a bit of retail therapy is what keeps us (well me anyway) going. Maybe next year we could have an address from a Menopausal Woman. Maybe Helen Mirren would be up for it. I would happily write it.

I think I’ve just found my direction and purpose for 2018!! And right after I’ve finished my chocolates, wine and Doritos and watched all the Christmas Telly I missed on Catch up – I will get going on it.

Happy New Year to Everyone. Even those who ‘sailed through’ and ‘barely noticed’ their menopause – as I am feeling magnanimous due to the lovely wine!

xx

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Focus on Fitness

I’m a little manic today. Fortunately I know now that the manic highs and the depressing lows that have blighted me over the last year are not signs of bi-polar but yet another joyous symptom of the menopause. There can be benefits and I seek to find them. Unlimited (if short lived) energy being one of them (and a tendency to buy very expensive shoes)

But buying expensive shoes will not help with menopausal symptoms. I know this as I have checked through Google. Which is a shame as shoes and handbags always fit unlike bloody clothes that take it personally if you have one tiny bowl of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food Ice Cream.

Every book I have read recommends exercise for the menopausal woman. Apparently a bit of exercise will have me fighting off a number of menopausal symptoms including hot flushes, anxiety, irritability and osteoarthritis, In fact I get a rush of endorphins just reading about the benefits! Davina McCall who is almost as much my Hero as Helen Mirren says she feels “reborn” after a run. I was going to wait til the New Year to get started with my exercise regime because I want to finish all the selection boxes in the house so I can start ‘properly’. But I decide to put my manic phase to good use and start jogging so that I too will obtain Davina’s stunning body. Yesterday I got all organised. Fished out my trainers I bought in the sales 3 years ago – just like new. So like new they were still in the box. And I had to put the laces in. Downloaded a running playlist to my iphone as thanks to my 12 year old god daughter I can now use Spotify as well as paying them £10 a month which is much better value that simply paying £10 a month to have the picture on my phone. This then leads to two hours of finding more and more tunes and dancing around to some then crying my eyes out to others – another symptom of menopause is being easily distracted! I fished out my leggings that seem to have shrunk a bit since I got them – but I don’t worry too much as although not flattering, lycra is very forgiving. Unlike my bastarding Fat Face jeans. So no excuses for not getting going first thing the next day and setting out for a run. Before bed I peruse the London Marathon website – despite my manic mood I have to concur that it is unlikely I will be up to 26.2 miles by April 2018.

Then I get up this morning and the world is beautiful and white under 6 inches of snow. Even Liz McColgan will be in bed with a box of after eights and Netflix today – but not to be deterred, I decide to have a good hike with the dog instead.

I set off and thirty minutes later I ‘have a fall’ on thebecause the snow was cleverly disguising the thick frozen ice beneath Ten years ago I would have ‘fallen over’ and people would laugh as I got back up. But now I am at the age where I ‘have a fall’ and no one laughs. A couple of millennials are passing and come to help. Their friend for some inexplicable reason is recording it and helpfully advises another passer-by that ‘an old lady has had a fall’. FFS. I beg to feckin differ! I am not an old lady. I am younger that Helen Mirren by loads. I am now surrounded by a number of anxious faces (not my loyal caring dog though – she has decided not to use Greyfriars Bobby as her role model and instead take advantage of the situation by rolling in something disgusting with a look of glee on her face)

I am helped to my feet by the lovely millennials and the passer by who do a good job of hiding their shock that the big jacket I have on is covering lots of heavy flab and not lots of layers of light clothes. I fear one of them may need the services of an osteopath before the New Year. The filmer is now recording my kind caring loyal who is still rolling in god knows what. I have a horrible feeling this will end up on UTube.

I head for home. I’m actually fine – but no point in risking any more walking in the ice. I decide to pop to marks and spencer in the car to buy more of their reduced goodies that they couldn’t flog at Christmas to cheer me up. At the till my pelvis thrusts towards the metal rim of the conveyor belt – much to the shock of the poor guy on the till. Feckin Ladycare Magnet. I pull back and get served. I forget and as I pack my pelvis thrusts forward again. The checkout guy is now looking at me as if I am some bloody female version of Harvey Weinstein. I don’t feel like I can explain without looking totally deranged. I get my goodies and head off.

But I am not to be deterred – exercise is good – just look at the joy in Dogs face.

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Menopause – Just like Puberty?

Boxing Day ladies lunch with aunties and mothers and cousins – and I decide to ask my older female relatives their experience of the peri menopause and menopause. (my menopause book says I should ask as I am likely to go through a similar process).

Within twenty mins I am thoroughly depressed (my younger cousins are wearing similar depressed expressions but taking comfort in the possibility that a cure will be found by the time they get there) as it would appear all the older female members of my family had long drawn out awful menopauses where they were lucky to avoid jail/being sectioned/being on social services radar. My mum insists hers lasted 25 years – I panic and Google it on my phone secretly under the table and am relieved to find that 8 years seems to be the maximum. I’d rather trust Google than my mum. Her medical expertise is limited – she insists to any overdue expectant mother that they should refuse to be induced as the baby will come in its own time – and adds I was due at the start of August and arrived in my own good time in the middle of October. (I was 6lbs 13oz – I don’t need Google to know her theory is highly unlikely)

Then my aunt who has been fairly quiet suddenly declares that the menopause is just like puberty and women just need to accept that and know that it will pass and get on with it.

“Just like puberty? Seriously?’ I say.

“Yes” she says – “look at puberty as the opening bracket of the reproductive and sexual part of your life and the menopause as the closing bracket”

That doesn’t really cheer me up. It is also embarrassing as my aunt is a bit deaf and therefore shouts rather than talks and we are in a restaurant. Several people turn as the word ‘sexual’ was bellowed out. Heads shake as the word ‘menopause’ was bellowed our twice.

“Remember you moped about all the time, snapping at everyone who asked you how you were” she continued. “And you just listed to a tape of that Cure band all the time and dyed your hair jet black – and you had that massive crush on Christine Cagney. Well it’s the same now – except its Helen Mirren you have a crush on. And you dye your hair blonde now. Yes – it’s like you are 14 all over again” she repeats, laughing merrily away.

Oh yes – it’s exactly like I was 14 again! Exactly like it – apart from:

• Occasionally peeing myself whenever I sneeze or laugh too
much
• Being five stone heavier with the weight I used to put on my
legs and boobs now pooling around my tummy (though one
benefit is I can rest my dinner plate on it now)
• Needing tweezers not just for my eyebrows but for various
other random parts of my face
• Worrying about everything rather than just how to nick a
blue eyeshadow from Woolies and whether dewberry or
white musk perfume from the Body Shop would be best for
the School Disco.
• Not having regular ‘whooshes’ of excitement for the future
and what it might hold because according to my
menopause book it is likely to hold osteoporosis,
cardiovascular disease, thinning hair, zilch sex life and
depression. Whoop de feckin whoop!!
• Regularly feeling like I have an internal radiator that ramps
up whenever I least expect or want it
• Having sagging skin and wrinkles rather than smooth silky
even skin (I wish I had appreciated that more!!)
• Waking up at least three times a night to visit the loo

Menopause is just like puberty? I beg to feckin differ. And actually – my hair is blonde – I just have a few highlights put in to brighten it up. And it wasn’t ‘the Cure band’. It was just ‘The Cure’. And they were cool. I actually preferred Alison Moyet and Yazz and the Communards. But it was cool to like the Cure. And I wanted to be cool.

That is one good thing I suppose – as well as giving very few fucks about anything, I don’t feel any need to be cool any more. That is quite liberating. I know I should proclaim to like London Grammar and other cool bands for 40 something people – but I quite like One Direction and I think Justin Beiber does some good songs too. And Jesse J does some songs to make you think too.

I just remembered that Christine went through the menopause on Cagney and Lacey!!! I didn’t really understand it at the time – but it was an episode towards the end – she had hot flushes. I’m off to find some old episodes – Christine was my crush, my role model, my vision of what I wanted to be. I wonder if it will still be the same 34 years on…..

Happy Boxing Day all.

xx

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Forgetfulness & Memory Lapses

So today started fairly ok. I had to get up at 3am and have a shower due to either hot flush or the flu. Am not sure which. But then I went back to sleep and slept solidly til 9am. I felt most smug when I got up as I have Christmas sorted this year. One of the few benefits I am finding of the menopause is that less and less fucks are given as time goes on. So instead of weeks of prep I ordered a massive steak pie from the butcher and bought frozen roast potatoes and frozen parsnips from Tesco. I then asked all my guests to bring between them a starter, a pudding, cheese and biscuits – and all their own booze. Done!! I can now laze about all day. Aided by my lovely dog walking friend who has no dogs of her own and so wants to come and take my dog up a munro – double hooray.

Following on with my natural approach to my menopause symptoms, I mix a soya yogurt with an egg and chia seeds and some porridge oats and frozen fruit and pop it all in the oven for 40 minutes. I am still a bit fluey (not sure if due to that lady care magnet but giving it benefit of doubt for now and still wearing) and I spy a little tiny bottle of whisky. I mix it into a cup with lemon and some honey – blitz it in microwave and head through to watch some telly while my breakfast gets ready. I feel quite proud of my ‘no stress’ christmas – get me at 20 to 11 drinking whisky with nothing to do.

20 to 11…. 20 to 11…. FUCK…. FUCKITY FUCK…. The bastarding steak pie that I ordered last week. The butcher warned me that i MUST get it by 11am or he will be closed. He called me yesterday to remind me. I forget everything so I put it on a postit on the kettle. But I didn’t have tea did I… No I had to have bloody whisky.

I drag on some jogging trousers, tuck my nightie in, pull on my trainers and grab the car keys. Oh no – the bloody whisky!! Am I over the limit? Can’t risk it. Grab dog as she needs a walk and may as well kill two birds with one stone and tear our the house. Tear back two mins later to turn off oven containing my lovely healthy breakfast. Tear back out again. Five minutes into fast walk/slow jog Dog starts to ominously start twirling that always ends in a massive shit. And FUCK I have no poo bags. None – I forgot to lift them. A fellow dogwalker takes sympathy and gives me two – just in case. I almost cry with gratitude, scoop up the massive shit and toss it in the bin and keep running. I have to get to the butcher or we have no christmas main course. I try not to berate myself as the mindfulness part of my menopause book says to be kind to yourself. But for gods sake – I had ONE BLOODY JOB!!

I get there at 2 mins past 11 – and thank god there are two people in front of me. I take a breath and realise I have forgot my phone… And remember the dog walking lady… NO NO NO – I cannot miss her – I’d forgotten she was coming. I need Dog tired out. And now I can’t phone her.

The butchers daughter comes out with a tub of celebrations – chocolate is good. And she is only 11 and doesn’t say anything or judge when I take 4. I go to pop one in my mouth and smell something horrible. It is dog poo….. on my nail. The rushed scooping lead to a smear of shit – on ME!. I wipe it on my jogging trousers and scoff the chocolates. I get my steak pie and head off at a run to try and get back for Dog Walking Lady.

But Dog can smell the steak pie. Dog wants steak pie. Dog jumps up and adds muddy dog prints to her shit stains onto my trousers. Dog continues in this manner all the way home. She is nothing if not persistent. Resist urge to kick bloody dog. It is pissing down and me, Dog and pie all getting soaked.

We get back. I strip my shit covered paw stained trousers and all the rest of my clothes and fling them in the washing machine – chuck in the bold and turn it on. My healthy breakfast is all disgustingly half cooked and cold so I chuck it out. Fuck it – I am having what I had planned for christmas breakfast tomorrow – my favourite – morning roll with thick butter, tomato ketchup, lorne sausage and a potato scone. I stick the sausage in the oven – bit healthier if I grill rather than fry it – and fling some chia seeds on the butter in the roll. I need to at least make an effort. I run upstairs – quick shower and dressing gown on – then tank back down for my breakfast.

There is an ominous clunk clunk coming from the washing machine. FUCK – it is my fanny magnet. My £35 fanny magnet. Not even 48 hours old. In the washing machine. I frantically google to find out if it is still effective after such an ordeal. But of course this is related to the menopause so answers to such sensible questions are not to be found.

Give up and retreat to the TV to watch the Bette Davies and Joan Crawford feud that I recorded from last night (there are two women who were defo menopausal during Baby Jane!) with my amazing breakfast which does cheer me up.

In all the stuff I have read about symptoms of the menopause, ‘memory lapses and fuzzy thinking’ appear as a simple bullet point. This post is just one tiny example of what that little bullet point means in real life!!!

Christmas Eve – so signing off and off to open the wine. The advice is that alcohol is not good for menopausal women.

I beg to feckin differ!!!

Merry Christmas Everyone!

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Magnito Growler!!

Got a fanny magnet yesterday! Well actually it’s official name is a ‘ladycare’ magnet. I have decided to try and get through the perimenopause and the menopause through natural means.

My pal ‘Five Corona Claire’ (on account of the fact everyone counts the beers she drinks when out and makes an excuse to leave when she hits number five as she then transforms from a lovely kind person to a mentalcase who wants to fight anyone within a 100 yard raidius) swears by it. It was £35 quid in Boots and the sales assistant who located it for me advised me that I should do HRT as she used it and it gave her back her sex drive which I did think was maybe too much information to divulge when we had barely met. But I got 140 boots advantage points and I am not convinced I want to take drugs yet so am giving it a go.

I opened it up in the loo in the pub and carefully put it on the front of my knickers as instructed. It is a lovely purpley glittery colour. Then I went to meet my pal for lunch in same pub feeling most grown up. I am taking control of my symptoms. My pal finally arrived and leant forward to give me a hug. As she did so – her lovely long metal pendant swung forward and attached itself to my groin!! She yanked it off ‘what the fuck’ she said. I explained my magnet and we got out the instructions. It is a ‘powerful static magnetic device’. She had some nail scissors in her bag – we tried attaching them and a spoon. The spoon didn’t hold but the nail scissors did!.

She asked how much it was as she might get one for her kids christmas. I told her and she said ‘what the fuck?’ again and told me she had a ton of crap fridge magnets the kids had collected over the years and she would have gladly give me them for free. She texted her husband to tell him, a bit pissed off coz I would not let her photograph it to put on instagram. He replied saying he was changing my name in his phone to ‘Magnito Growler’. My pal thought this hysterical. I, to be honest, was less amused. After a few glasses of wine, I started finding it more funny. And we found all manner of metal objects to attach to my groin – each one funnier than the last. I finally headed for home a little worse for wear.

I felt worse than I thought I would this morning. I normally go for lunchtime drinking where possible as the hangover then takes place when you are asleep thus leaving you refreshed for the next day. But I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I read a bit more of the instructions of the magnet. Apparently the only side effect is ‘slight flu like symptoms’ in the first couple of days. Well as today has gone on I have felt worse and worse. Could be co-incidence as everyone and his dog has a bug of some sort just now. But am not feeling good with swollen glands, sore throat, runny nose and thick head. Also – you are supposed to wear it 24/7 – I don’t really like wearing knickers at night. But it won’t stay on otherwise. I will keep going for a month though and see how it pans out. Who knows – this might be all I need. The packaging does say it ‘may’ help with hot flushes, bloating, mood swings and fatigue. It also says it ‘may’ help with improved skin tone, sleep and libido. The words ‘may’ appear a lot. It also says it it does this by ‘reducing excessive sympathetic nervous system (SNS) activity and increasing parasympathetic nervous system (PMS) activity. So that’s the science for anyone who has a clue what that means….I will keep you posted on its effectiveness!

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