Jesus has Left the Village - I'm like Carrie Bradshaw........but with three kids........on benefits.

JESUS HAS LEFT THE VILLAGE.

When you move into a village one thing is always rammed down your throat 'The schools are fantastic!'. Being to shallow to give a shit, Id rather my kids be street wise than bullied boffins. I don't want them getting their heads kicked in first time they venture into the big city ( all though only 3 miles away). Another rule I live by is 'When in Rome'. However, being an Atheist what had never entered my head was the religious influence the school would have on the kids. I suppose there is a clue in the title 'Church of England School' so it wasn't long before God had crept his, or her, way into my house, getting his sandals or her mules well and truly under my table.

The signs weren't so noticeable at first, the odd song would be sang and when asked 'What were you singing so lovely?' the answer would be 'A Jesus song'. This I found quite sweet,, my son being just 5 at the time it was all so innocent and sweet. However, it wasn't long before the love for God and Jesus began to grow and the interest became a little more sinister, well in my eyes anyway. The love for his new found friend Jesus was becoming more apparent by the day. He'd sit at the kitchen table muttering to himself. 'What's that love?' I'd ask.'I'm talking to God Mum'  he said. 'Carry on' I replied like some sergeant major on kit inspection. I know, I'm weird too.

 One day when his Dad was collecting him, we were both on the landing when we heard 'God is wonderful God is Good...' coming from his bedroom. We both froze looking at each other 'Fucking hell' was his fathers reaction. We peeked through the crack in the door, we could see him sat on his top bunk flicking through a book whilst singing. His Dad and myself pushed and shoved each other childishly neither wanting to enter the inner sanctum. As we muffled are nervous giggles he turned to look at us whilst singing. The soundtrack to the Omen thundered around my head, the smiles were wiped from our faces as we both gulped.This behaviour continued to increase, prayers, homemade crucifixes nicely coloured in, stories of the bible being told, grace at meal times! Until one day it all came to a head.

It was world book day at school and all the children had been encouraged to dress up as a character from their favourite book. I, being a crap Mum hadn't got organised, and my son went off to school on the bus in his uniform leaving me feeling like an unfit Mother surrounded by beaming Mummy's waving off the untold amounts of Harry Potters and Horrid Henry's. At the end of the day I stood at the bus stop as it pulled up. When the doors opened there was a sight that would scar...I mean stay with me for life. As the only ray of sunshine that day broke through the grey clouds it beamed down onto the opening doors. An unbelievable sight lay before us. For through the sunbathed dusty haze my son stood at the top of the coach steps. His arms spread- eagled draped over the rails either side of him. His head hung low for what felt like a life time his hair tumbling forward finally lifting it to expose a beard and moustache that had been drawn on his face!

I held my breath staring at the vision before me. Could he be who I thought he was? Is this his favourite books character? Frozen, my heart pounded through my chest, my knees weakening, about to buckle at any moment. It wasn't until one of the Harry Potters piped up that slow motion sped back to real time. I looked at my son uttering  the question that  I was so afraid to hear answered. 'W-Who are you?' I whispered. It was at this point his arms reached forward and a blue book bag came hurling toward me smashing me right in the face. 'I'm the Go Compare man' he shouted.'Can I have sweets' he screamed as he pushed me out the way and heading to the shops. 'Thank God!' I cried (I know, the irony) as I dropped to my knees in relief. He was normal! That was the end of the obsession and after a hair cut and discovering the Wii he's never looked back. Good job, as this weekend I'd be hiding the nail gun in fear of a re-enactment on a Cuprilnoled crucifix!

However, my daughter now attends the same school 'You're so special' I said to her the other day 'Yes Mummy, just like Jesus' she replied.......

I'm like Carrie Bradshaw...but with three kids.....and on benefits.

I AIN'T DEAD YET!

You ever had that feeling that you've made an almighty mistake?  Well I have. When I had the opportunity to move to the chocolate box like village where I live, I jumped at the chance. Having lived in the inner city at the time, I had made the jump from being the irritating noisy neighbour, to having one.

I'd lived on a busy road surrounded by pubs and clubs for nearly 15 years, where I had successfully avoided  being barred, just by the skin of my teeth I may add. Don't get me wrong I loved this period of my life and I wasn't doing anyone any harm just being young, drunk and an arsehole! First out last home. I'd don my raving gear and hunt down free raves in a car loaded with pilling buddies swearing blind we could here music. It could have been the wipers, everything sounded like music.  We'd often get down to our own tinnitus.

Id have a house full of drugged up revellers, getting in at 9am on a good day, getting the Jungle on and swigging back whatever alcohol we could get are hands on from the local Asian shop. The music was probably pounding but you think your being quiet, you know what I mean. As I h-hum matured, the raves and pills died out replaced by heavy drinking sessions and a little powder, again with loud music and a house full of people clattering about. My God if I was my neighbour I would have hated me.

I digress, we can touch more on these glorious days in future blogs. I may even pop half a pill when writing, to get into full creative flow. Yeah right, I'm to petrified to even take a quarter, I'd end up sectioning myself at the local mad house with just the anticipation of 'Coming up'. Now, I wouldn't even risk half a herbal Nytol after a shandy in fear of not waking up again. The point I'm trying to get to is, have I gone to far the other way, have I got old before my time? Can a once hard core party animal move to the country side for the quiet and scenery and still have a good quality of life?

After the birth of my two youngest I was forced to calm down quitting the drugs, drinking and fags, and to be honest I didn't give a shit I quite enjoyed the enforced abstinence. In fact I thank God for it. I mean who knows where I may have ended up. I could have been one of those old wrinkly alcoholic women that prop up the bar at the local shit hole, regularly pissing them selves and sleeping with any takers. Oh no, I did that when I was in my teens, that box is ticked then. (That reminds me, I'm out Friday)

So having sorted out my act, calming it down, moving to the country to be away from those God awful neighbours who played their music at 11pm, I know 11pm, disgusting. Why am I not content? Is it the fact that my daughter of 23, (I know looking at my photo you'd never have believed it, I had her when I was 12 you know) refers to the village as the nearly dead club. Is it the fact that I and a neighbour younger than myself (a mere 45), spent half an hour Saturday staring from my front window, tea in hand, watching and counting as her 7 pigeons circled by again and again before returning to their loft in her garden.

I need to get to the bottom of this and during the lifetime of this blog I'll peel back the layers to get to the inner core of my being. Crikey the blog will only last two weeks then, I ain't that deep! Any way after much thought and annihilation, I mean analysis, I will make the decision whether I should stay or go?