When I was growing up, I remember my father often saying to me "I was brought up by Victorians you know!". He used to say this to me by way of an explanation as to why we often didn't understand each other. He was 39 when I was born ("I was made redundant the day you arrived!" was another of his catchphrases. This was used when confirming that the signs of me being a bad egg had been clear from day 1), which was relatively old to be a dad in the mid 70's. So as an older single father, he must have found bringing up a girl child a totally alien concept to him. Almost as alien as I found the experience of being brought up by someone who kept telling me he was brought by Victorians.
He wasn't really brought up by Victorians, he meant that, as a child, he spent a lot of time with his Grandparents, who were from the Victorian era, and that was maybe why some of his way's of looking at things were rather old fashioned for the futuristic world that was the 1980's. For example, bread and dripping sandwiches for tea after a roast dinner on a Sunday (I will NEVER make the bump eat these, not even as a punishment), if you had a cold you would get smothered in a thick layer of Vicks Vapour rub then had a vest stuck on top, my older brother once got told off for being in my bedroom while only wearing a pair of shorts (indecent) don't use too much loo roll, that sort of thing. The thing is, I understand why he was like that, he grew up on an almost different planet to me and there were obviously lots of great things about my Dad, but you have to understand, as a young girl, growing up in an all male household with a fairly eccentric father some of the things that all girls go through while growing up were made much harder by the divide between us. Things like obtaining your first bra for example.
My best friend at Primary School was a girl called Nicola. She was very tall, tanned, had jet black hair and a vicious looking inch long scar next to her left eye. (Her older sister had accidentally hit her round the face with a golf club when she was 2). She joined our little village school slightly later than the rest of us as she had been living in Kenya for the first few years of her life and stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of us small and weedy 5 year old locals when she arrived at the school . I have no idea how her family ended up in the tiny village of Kelvedon Hatch, but nevertheless they did and the first time I ever clapped eyes on this swarthy Amazonian was on her first day as she tried to break Celia Petrie's arm in the school playground. Needless to say, I found her completely mesmerising and knew there was only one side to be on as far as a bully is concerned and that is not the side that gets it's arm put in a half nelson. So Nicola and I became pals. I say pals but I was always a bit in fear of her and her family thinking about it now. I was mostly in fear of their dog though which was an insane Dalmatian, imaginatively called Spot that never got taken for walks. They kept it in a tiny paved side area of their garden and every few weeks, in a desperate bid for freedom, it would jump the 6ft high fence and we would have to chase it round the village trying to capture it. I dreaded these times as the dog terrified the living crap out of me, but neither Nicola nor her family responded well to fear so I had no choice but to run around after the thing for hours at a time.
Anyway, one day when I was about 11 or 12, the subject of bra's got raised by Nicola. Apparently I needed one, but being a self conscious type of person I was rather hoping no one had noticed or at least have the manners not to mention it. However, Nicola didn't care much for people's feelings so insisted we take a trip to BHS in Romford on the train to buy me a bra. It was the most excruciating shopping trip I had ever been on. What size should I get? What colour? What material? I had no idea other than I knew I needed to get in and out of the underwear department as soon as I could. So I didn't get measured I just picked up the nearest bra to me and we ended up with a pale pink silky thing in a size 34A. And I am rather embarrassed to say that I was wearing a 34A until about 2 years ago. Basically I've probably been wearing the wrong size bra my whole life. Although not the same actual bra I would like to add. I only bought bigger sizes fairly recently as I couldn't stand The Wig laughing at me every time I took my top off.
However, yesterday I could not put off being fitted for a bra any longer. My new expanding chest would not allow it. So I bravely went to M+S on Oxford Street and got measured by Joan, for my first ever bra fitting. To say I was shocked by the size she said I was is an understatement. I actually thought she was taking the piss and laughed in her face when she told me what size I needed to buy. I'm still not sure she wasn't taking the piss or blind as the bras really are ridiculous (The Wig and I can wear them as jaunty head gear when the chest deflates again) but at least I can finally cross off the list of things to do before I die "Have your first bra fitting". Well done me.
The second first that has occurred over the last few days is that an engineer we had booked to fit our new oven, actually turned up on time. And fitted the oven with no problems! Amazing. So if anyone ever needs a good reliable oven fitter, let me know. The only downside being that he did use the toilet, twice, but it was only for a number 1 as I listened at the door. Although, to confirm, I don't do this when friends come round. I don't want anyone to get scared.
Then on Tuesday I had my first cry down the phone of the year to the hospital. It was a cry of frustration and pain that I had tried to hold back, but alas, my pelvis would not allow. A rather nasty symptom of this pregnancy that I seem to have developed is PGP, or to give it it's amusing name in full, Pelvic Girdle Pain. The only way I can describe what it feels like would be that it's like being hit with a baseball bat betwixt the legs. Horrid. It seems to get worse when I walk around so I have developed a rather slow and ungainly waddle when I leave the house. A bit of Googling has led me to believe that it's fairly common but quite hard to treat without seeing a Physio or Osteopath. I HATE going to the Doctors or Hospital as I can't stand the attention/the probing/the questions and will always put it off for as long as possible. I had Pleurisy once and didn't know for a week as I refused to go to the Doctor. But this week the pain got so bad I had to concede defeat to the NHS which turned out as frustrating as I thought it might.
Monday
Me: Hello, the midwife said to call you as I have a pain in my pelvis and I want to come to your PGP Class on Thursday.
Voice on Phone: Ok.
Me: The leaflet she gave me said I need to be referred by a Dr or I can just put my name down with you, is that correct.
Voice on Phone: No.
Me: Ok. What shall I do then?
Voice on Phone: Just turn up to the Physio Ward at 2pm on Thursday and you can come in.
Me: Great! Thank you so much, see you then.
Voice on Phone: Yep. (*Click*)
Tuesday
Me: Hello. I'm sorry to bother you but I'm having real trouble walking and want to know if what I think is wrong with me, is actually what is wrong with me.
Maternity Helpline: Yes.
Me: I think I have PGP, walking is agony and it's starting to get me down. I fell like I've been hit with a baseball bat in the nether regions.
Maternity Helpline: Yes, that sounds like it. It's rather early for you to be having pains like that though so you need to see someone. It can be quite serious, you could end up on crutches.
Me: (*Snort!*) Crutches?! Jesus. Ok, well I'm going to the PGP class on Thursday.
Maternity Helpline: Who referred you?
Me: No one. I was told to just turn up.
Maternity Helpline: Really? Oh. They told us everyone had to be referred.
Me: What shall I do then? I don't want to waddle all the way to the hospital then not get in.
Maternity Helpline: If they told you to turn up, just turn up. I'm sure it will be fine.
Me: Ok, thank you.
Maternity Helpline: Good Luck! (*Click*)
Wednesday
Me: Hello, I wonder if you can help me as I'm getting mixed messages. I think I have PGP and would like to come to the class tomorrow and want to check that's ok before I make the journey to the hospital
PGP Hotline: Have you been referred?
Me: No, I was told on Monday that I should just turn up.
PGP Helpline: You can't.
Me: Pardon...
PGP Helpline: We are fully booked for tomorrow.
Me: But I was told on the phone I could just turn up?!
PGP Helpline: I don't know who told you that.
Me: (Starting to get stinging eyes) Your colleague. On the phone. On Monday.
PGP Helpline: I'm sorry, but that's not correct information. I can put you on the list for next week though?
Me: (*Sniff*)
PGP Helpline: Hello...?
Me: (*Sob*)...Ok....thank you...yes please.
PGP Helpline: Are you ok?
Me: No...I have to go now. Goodbye (*Waaaaaaaahhhhh*)
So another humiliation on the road towards the baby. Not only can't I walk properly, I have to wait another week until I get to see someone professional about it. I'll probably be crawling around on all fours by then just to make the humiliation extra humiliating.
Bravo for The Wig though, he has been very good at putting up with all my moaning this week and even ordered me a special fat lady pillow which I used for the first time last night.
I think it will be very useful and it certainly is comfy however, being made of man made fibres it did get rather clammy in the night and I found it on the floor when I woke up this morning, but its definitely worth persevering with. At this moment in time, I don't really have that many options.
And last but not least, to top off a week of firsts, I learnt to knit! Sort of. I haven't done any knitting since I was a kid and certainly never knew how to cast on or change colours of wool, but good old Youtube finally came in handy for something this week and showed me how its done.
The Wig had very kindly bought me a knitting kit at Chrimbo which I thought would be destined for a life at the back of the wardrobe, however, to take my mind off the agony of simply moving around I decided to crack it open to learn how to knit a scarf. I didn't quite get the measurements right and don't think I'll now have enough wool for a scarf, so it might have to be some sort of stripey blanket for the baby, but whatever it is, I am really pleased. I'm onto the second ball of wool already and I've only been knitting for 24 hours!
So all in all, a pretty tumultuous week but I'm still here to tell the tale, which is always a bonus. I shall look forward to updating you on the knitting as the stripy rectangle gets bigger.
Happy Weekends one and all xx
My Father's Maternal Grandparents, William and Selina Parry.
My Father's mother (my Grandmother) is the little girl on the left hand side.
My Father's Paternal Grandparents, William and Lillian* Trustrum.
*Lillian wasn't his real Grandmother, William had been married first of all to Lillian's sister Beatrice and they had 6 children together. However, when Beatrice died in 1932, he married his sister in law Lillian! Scandal!
He wasn't really brought up by Victorians, he meant that, as a child, he spent a lot of time with his Grandparents, who were from the Victorian era, and that was maybe why some of his way's of looking at things were rather old fashioned for the futuristic world that was the 1980's. For example, bread and dripping sandwiches for tea after a roast dinner on a Sunday (I will NEVER make the bump eat these, not even as a punishment), if you had a cold you would get smothered in a thick layer of Vicks Vapour rub then had a vest stuck on top, my older brother once got told off for being in my bedroom while only wearing a pair of shorts (indecent) don't use too much loo roll, that sort of thing. The thing is, I understand why he was like that, he grew up on an almost different planet to me and there were obviously lots of great things about my Dad, but you have to understand, as a young girl, growing up in an all male household with a fairly eccentric father some of the things that all girls go through while growing up were made much harder by the divide between us. Things like obtaining your first bra for example.
My best friend at Primary School was a girl called Nicola. She was very tall, tanned, had jet black hair and a vicious looking inch long scar next to her left eye. (Her older sister had accidentally hit her round the face with a golf club when she was 2). She joined our little village school slightly later than the rest of us as she had been living in Kenya for the first few years of her life and stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of us small and weedy 5 year old locals when she arrived at the school . I have no idea how her family ended up in the tiny village of Kelvedon Hatch, but nevertheless they did and the first time I ever clapped eyes on this swarthy Amazonian was on her first day as she tried to break Celia Petrie's arm in the school playground. Needless to say, I found her completely mesmerising and knew there was only one side to be on as far as a bully is concerned and that is not the side that gets it's arm put in a half nelson. So Nicola and I became pals. I say pals but I was always a bit in fear of her and her family thinking about it now. I was mostly in fear of their dog though which was an insane Dalmatian, imaginatively called Spot that never got taken for walks. They kept it in a tiny paved side area of their garden and every few weeks, in a desperate bid for freedom, it would jump the 6ft high fence and we would have to chase it round the village trying to capture it. I dreaded these times as the dog terrified the living crap out of me, but neither Nicola nor her family responded well to fear so I had no choice but to run around after the thing for hours at a time.
Anyway, one day when I was about 11 or 12, the subject of bra's got raised by Nicola. Apparently I needed one, but being a self conscious type of person I was rather hoping no one had noticed or at least have the manners not to mention it. However, Nicola didn't care much for people's feelings so insisted we take a trip to BHS in Romford on the train to buy me a bra. It was the most excruciating shopping trip I had ever been on. What size should I get? What colour? What material? I had no idea other than I knew I needed to get in and out of the underwear department as soon as I could. So I didn't get measured I just picked up the nearest bra to me and we ended up with a pale pink silky thing in a size 34A. And I am rather embarrassed to say that I was wearing a 34A until about 2 years ago. Basically I've probably been wearing the wrong size bra my whole life. Although not the same actual bra I would like to add. I only bought bigger sizes fairly recently as I couldn't stand The Wig laughing at me every time I took my top off.
However, yesterday I could not put off being fitted for a bra any longer. My new expanding chest would not allow it. So I bravely went to M+S on Oxford Street and got measured by Joan, for my first ever bra fitting. To say I was shocked by the size she said I was is an understatement. I actually thought she was taking the piss and laughed in her face when she told me what size I needed to buy. I'm still not sure she wasn't taking the piss or blind as the bras really are ridiculous (The Wig and I can wear them as jaunty head gear when the chest deflates again) but at least I can finally cross off the list of things to do before I die "Have your first bra fitting". Well done me.
The second first that has occurred over the last few days is that an engineer we had booked to fit our new oven, actually turned up on time. And fitted the oven with no problems! Amazing. So if anyone ever needs a good reliable oven fitter, let me know. The only downside being that he did use the toilet, twice, but it was only for a number 1 as I listened at the door. Although, to confirm, I don't do this when friends come round. I don't want anyone to get scared.
Then on Tuesday I had my first cry down the phone of the year to the hospital. It was a cry of frustration and pain that I had tried to hold back, but alas, my pelvis would not allow. A rather nasty symptom of this pregnancy that I seem to have developed is PGP, or to give it it's amusing name in full, Pelvic Girdle Pain. The only way I can describe what it feels like would be that it's like being hit with a baseball bat betwixt the legs. Horrid. It seems to get worse when I walk around so I have developed a rather slow and ungainly waddle when I leave the house. A bit of Googling has led me to believe that it's fairly common but quite hard to treat without seeing a Physio or Osteopath. I HATE going to the Doctors or Hospital as I can't stand the attention/the probing/the questions and will always put it off for as long as possible. I had Pleurisy once and didn't know for a week as I refused to go to the Doctor. But this week the pain got so bad I had to concede defeat to the NHS which turned out as frustrating as I thought it might.
Monday
Me: Hello, the midwife said to call you as I have a pain in my pelvis and I want to come to your PGP Class on Thursday.
Voice on Phone: Ok.
Me: The leaflet she gave me said I need to be referred by a Dr or I can just put my name down with you, is that correct.
Voice on Phone: No.
Me: Ok. What shall I do then?
Voice on Phone: Just turn up to the Physio Ward at 2pm on Thursday and you can come in.
Me: Great! Thank you so much, see you then.
Voice on Phone: Yep. (*Click*)
Tuesday
Me: Hello. I'm sorry to bother you but I'm having real trouble walking and want to know if what I think is wrong with me, is actually what is wrong with me.
Maternity Helpline: Yes.
Me: I think I have PGP, walking is agony and it's starting to get me down. I fell like I've been hit with a baseball bat in the nether regions.
Maternity Helpline: Yes, that sounds like it. It's rather early for you to be having pains like that though so you need to see someone. It can be quite serious, you could end up on crutches.
Me: (*Snort!*) Crutches?! Jesus. Ok, well I'm going to the PGP class on Thursday.
Maternity Helpline: Who referred you?
Me: No one. I was told to just turn up.
Maternity Helpline: Really? Oh. They told us everyone had to be referred.
Me: What shall I do then? I don't want to waddle all the way to the hospital then not get in.
Maternity Helpline: If they told you to turn up, just turn up. I'm sure it will be fine.
Me: Ok, thank you.
Maternity Helpline: Good Luck! (*Click*)
Wednesday
Me: Hello, I wonder if you can help me as I'm getting mixed messages. I think I have PGP and would like to come to the class tomorrow and want to check that's ok before I make the journey to the hospital
PGP Hotline: Have you been referred?
Me: No, I was told on Monday that I should just turn up.
PGP Helpline: You can't.
Me: Pardon...
PGP Helpline: We are fully booked for tomorrow.
Me: But I was told on the phone I could just turn up?!
PGP Helpline: I don't know who told you that.
Me: (Starting to get stinging eyes) Your colleague. On the phone. On Monday.
PGP Helpline: I'm sorry, but that's not correct information. I can put you on the list for next week though?
Me: (*Sniff*)
PGP Helpline: Hello...?
Me: (*Sob*)...Ok....thank you...yes please.
PGP Helpline: Are you ok?
Me: No...I have to go now. Goodbye (*Waaaaaaaahhhhh*)
So another humiliation on the road towards the baby. Not only can't I walk properly, I have to wait another week until I get to see someone professional about it. I'll probably be crawling around on all fours by then just to make the humiliation extra humiliating.
Bravo for The Wig though, he has been very good at putting up with all my moaning this week and even ordered me a special fat lady pillow which I used for the first time last night.
Banana for scale. It didn't come free with the pillow.
This pillow is huge. You basically lay inside it and spoon it. I'm going to stick a picture of John Torode's face on it and practice kissing. I have a bit of a crush on him at the moment.
I think it will be very useful and it certainly is comfy however, being made of man made fibres it did get rather clammy in the night and I found it on the floor when I woke up this morning, but its definitely worth persevering with. At this moment in time, I don't really have that many options.
And last but not least, to top off a week of firsts, I learnt to knit! Sort of. I haven't done any knitting since I was a kid and certainly never knew how to cast on or change colours of wool, but good old Youtube finally came in handy for something this week and showed me how its done.
The Wig had very kindly bought me a knitting kit at Chrimbo which I thought would be destined for a life at the back of the wardrobe, however, to take my mind off the agony of simply moving around I decided to crack it open to learn how to knit a scarf. I didn't quite get the measurements right and don't think I'll now have enough wool for a scarf, so it might have to be some sort of stripey blanket for the baby, but whatever it is, I am really pleased. I'm onto the second ball of wool already and I've only been knitting for 24 hours!
So all in all, a pretty tumultuous week but I'm still here to tell the tale, which is always a bonus. I shall look forward to updating you on the knitting as the stripy rectangle gets bigger.
Happy Weekends one and all xx
Lovely enlightening humour as always Truzz.. Hope the pain gets better soon. chaz x
ReplyDeleteThanks Dear! Went a bit all round the houses today didn't it? Hopefully see you soon xx
ReplyDeleteJust did a google search for my great grandfather and found this article. My grandfather was Edward Ernest Trustrum, the son of William and Beatrice Trustrum who you mention at the beginning of the text. What a great story regarding him marrying his sister in law! :)
ReplyDeleteHey Austen Buck (is this your real name?),
DeleteI think that makes us relations! I was at my Aunts house at the time your comment came up and she said I was to ask you who your parents were as she will probably know them / remember them.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Hi.
ReplyDeleteMy late mothers birth name was Wendy Pamela Trustrum and my Dads name is Robson Buck.
Yep Austen's my real name. :)
My email is A.buck2@brighton.ac.uk if you want anymore info. Its probably a bit easier that way. Ha.
I think I have met a Great Auntie Margaret on my London side before but only once about 6 years ago. :s
Great to here back,
Austen