So much for discipline eh?

Firstly then, my apologies…. Whilst I realise that waiting for another installment of my exciting and whirlwind existence probably hasn’t killed anyone, or started major protest rallies in small countries led by communist dictators, I apologise to anyone who actually took the time to read my witterings and comment, both on WP and on blogspot! Thank you! (even though it is currently only the 2 of you! I’m grateful that I am not talking to myself)

Anyway, I am back, and while I might not have time to tap away every day (due to the upcoming emergence of the watermelon I appear to have eaten whole), I’ll certainly try and check-in every now and again.

So, what’s new?

Well, Skip is currently getting a mop-chop and a curry in Delhi, we’re back in the UK, and bump is 3 weeks away from being cooked. Since March we have discovered it is a pink flavoured bump, and although we have a few names lined up, we’re still not entirely sure what she should be. Currently, she is called “Porcupine Pineapple Flossie”, as this is what ‘im indoors thought a suitable name after a few drops of falling over water in HKG. Still, could’ve been worse, she could’ve been named “Dusk til Dawn”, “Wan-Chai” or “Insomnia”. So Classy!! Those of you familiar with the usual nocturnal activity in Honkers will share my relief I’m sure.

As for the move back to Blighty, well, it was sad but necessary. Kind of like throwing out that pair of bunny slippers that were oh-so-comfy, but starting to smell and go a little bit mouldy on one of the ears (although admittedly, I did sneakily retrieve them from the bin… and they’ve been through the washing machine so that OBVIOUSLY makes it ok!). The commute was getting ridiculous (2 flights a day at dumb times), Skip’s ritual monthly roster stoning has been punishing to say the least, the exchange rate is far less favourable, and combining that with all the jobs our company is cutting….. It was a bit of a no-brainer. It doesn’t mean we’ll never go back, it just means not right now.

I have to say though, it is quite nice to be back, although it has meant dealing with the M25, a few chavs and crappy weather,  and things we left the UK to avoid.  However, I can’t really complain much, as we have a lovely little cottage  in a very quaint  and genteel patch of the east of England to nest in, and I’ve spent the last few months globe-trotting and shopping in style (i.e. First Class) avec mon Capitan with the last of my free tickets. Hard life eh? Frankly, No.

Anyway, although I could witter on all night, I shall take my leave of you, as I am feeling a forage in the pantry coming on. On that note, here is a a completely rubbish joke from the back of  a penguin wafer wrapper (one of the great things I have discovered on my return from La Belle France… truly a miracle in chocolate snack eating!!). It made ME laugh, but that could just be because a). My mental age is about the same as my shoe size, and b). I have eaten too many penguin wafers and my brain is now chocolate addled as well as pregnancy pickled.

Anyway….

Why can’t penguins fly?

Because they don’t have the money for plane tickets!

Boom Boom. Should I give up the day job?

Fast discovering that these times will always be when your nearest and dearest is off in some dusty corner of the planet, and isn’t on hand via t’other side  of the bed/phone/internet/carrier pigeon etc. etc.

It’s one of those occasions today. I had some upsetting news last night; a friend who is young and one of life’s generally smashing peeps is terminally ill with the dreaded “C” word, and it’s just awful as he’s really suffering.

What do you do or say in these situations? I mean generally you’d pop down to the card shop, and spend a few pennies on some tasteful paper scrap conveying sympathies or best wishes, but this is a problem because a). I live in rural France, and b). Don’t think Hallmark do a line in “Sorry You’re Dying” cards (although hey, you never know).

No, there are times when only a little human contact will do, and so far the only human contact I’ve had in the last 24 hrs was a kick in the belly from an eight inch (banana sized?) baby, probably to remind me to eat a bowl of coco pops, or a laughing cow cheese. Gourmet foodstuffs eh?

So, things I’ve learned this morning (and it’s not even 10am!):

1. Only the good die young. Never the bad, or the ugly.

2. That Japan is a god forsaken place that can spawn all sorts of technological wonders, but not internet thats works for under $20, and

3. There is never a hug when you need one.

And all I have to do is write in it/on it/about it everyday?
So that kind of makes it like a diary, but one that the World, his wife and their dog reads.

I see. No pressure then.

Anyhoo, Enough. I’m boring you with my random witterings, so I’d best deliver the goods!

Hello! Welcome to my blog. Come on in, get comfortable. I won’t bite. Hard. Unless provoked, but you’re lucky! Today I’m feeling rather generous, and besides, I’ve eaten already.

I’m Boeingboeingbaby, or BBB for short (like I would actually use my real name!), and I live in the South of France with my husband, who is an airline pilot.

I too work for the same airline as my Husband as Cabin Crew (Hostie, Flight Attendant, Trolley Dolly, Whatever!!!) but I’m grounded as I’m expecting our wee one later on in the year. But if you read my “About me”, you already know that. And if you skipped it, shame on you! Although in all fairness, you didn’t miss much. I mean, what on earth do you write without it sounding like a lonely hearts ad?

Anyway, I digress. The raison d’etre for this bloggy-type-thing is to tell the world what it’s really like being the uber-glamorous wife of a Captain, and an international air-hostess. Ok, so maybe paint-spotted hands, a growing baby bump and cobwebs in my hair isn’t actually that glamorous, but you get my drift.

Actually, it was him indoors that came up with the idea of a blog a while back. I’d been thinking of writing things down, you know, MANUALLY, with a real pen and everything, but apparently it’s not fashionable anymore. SO… I considered a typewriter. Until hubby pointed out that I possess a lovely shiny pink laptop, and suggested I try blogging instead, although whether or not it was a good idea to unleash my witterings on an unsuspecting world remains to be seen.

So, I’m kind of writing this because I am missing the sky a bit lately, and life at 37k below is a little ordinary? Actually, scarp that. REAL. It’s more real. Now, please don’t get me wrong, I’m complaining so much, I mean, I really don’t have it THAT hard, but it is different, and it’s going to take a little getting used to. So, I thought I’d document it. Also, we’ve just moved to rural France, so when the Cat (Captain!!) is away, the Mouse wonders what to do with itself on occasions.

So here I am. Meep Meep (mouse-like noise?). But will it be a case of write now, regret (or cringe??!!! Eek!) later? Who knows?? But hey, it’s worth a go, and I’ll try anything once.

So, what have I done today? Skip packed himself off to the far-east to earn some pennies, so in between online shopping for housey stuff, I’ve been browsing a few other blogs from women in my position (i.e. partners of pilots, not up the duff!!!), for a bit of inspiration. So I read for a bit, and to be honest was a little bit taken aback, because I noticed something they had in common…….

Hostie-bashing. I’m a hostie (albeit a fisher-price weeble one at the mo), so I’ve seen it from the inside, and yes, there ARE a few hosties that probably deserve a smack in the mouth, but for the most part, hey!! We’re not that bad. We’re normal. We have lives. And feelings. And, contrary to popular belief, we’re not all out to bag a pilot/wreck homes/get hammered downroute. OK, so maybe the get hammered downroute thing has a grain of truth in it, but the pilot and home-wrecking thing is definitely a fallacy regarding most of us. I know you may be thinking, “Hang on there Missy… aren’t YOU married to a pilot??!!!”, so, gentle reader, I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I didn’t ever intend to bag me a fly-boy. Have you heard the reputations that some of these guys have??!! A long time ago, way back when I was in hostie school, they warned us about those smooth talking pilot-types, and we even came up with a little slogan to help us remember how to get a poorly pilot away from the controls… “DDF” Don’t. Do. Flightdeck. And “FDA” Flight. Deck. A***holes.
So why would any sensible girl go out courting that kind of trouble, Hmmm??!
Seriously though, What I’m trying to point out is that although stereotypes don’t exist without a reason, you can’t tar everyone with the same brush. I’m not a floozie (although it depends who’s asking, sweetheart! Wink wink!), and my Hubby isn’t your stereotypical pilot. I’d have married my hubby if he’d been a dog-walker, and the way the world is panning out right now, that’s what he could be!! So don’t worry girls! You can unlock your husbands, because for the most part, they’re safe. They’re not Skygods (Yes, Skip, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry love, but you are human, and not immortal!!!), they are just men in a uniform who drive a big flying bus.
And for those of you reading this who go all starry-eyed at the sound of the Captain’s sexy voice coming over the PA system, remember this… He farts in bed just like your boyfriend does!!!

A bientot, mes amis! A demain!! (or see you lot tomorrow, I’m off to bed with a mug of cocoa… Ooh! The Glamour!!)

xoxo