tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-229460012011-11-28T07:34:16.656+08:00Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.comBlogger241100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-9921910387915182952007-05-11T22:36:00.000+08:002007-05-12T08:25:04.401+08:00

Dear All,I have defected to Wordpress. This means that my next blog on Femme Fontanelle will be at:femmefontanelle.wordpress.comThank you so much for reading me...(including my lurkers in the UK!) see you on Wordpress!(same blog, different address!)Oh, and don't forget to change it in your bookmarks/on your links page!Love Femme (Vinny) x

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-61058090096118050942007-05-11T16:12:00.000+08:002007-05-11T17:21:32.239+08:00

2.15pm I am attending L Junior's "Mother's Day" performance and Afternoon Tea. Which is exceptionally Twee and equally Wonderful. L Junior's (brilliant) teacher has put a lot of work into it all and the classroom looks particularly inviting. L Junior, however, obviously think it is Utter Shite and refuses to sing the songs; he favours instead to roll his eyes and yank his lower lids so far

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-13236347096039290982007-05-08T12:08:00.000+08:002007-05-08T12:43:37.402+08:00

Yup, NiceEx is well, really nice...but to blog recently about him, I had to mention The Husband That I Didn't Really Know.Just for my own therapy, and your bemusement here is what I wrote a long while ago when asked for an explanation of the situation and an answer as to why I have no contact with him. (The court had previously found this ridiculous).In advance I would like to apologise for the

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-84508305630678269722007-05-07T22:31:00.000+08:002007-05-07T23:55:35.553+08:00

Lewis Morely photographed this amazing shot of Christine Keeler. She was not a model and she did not want to be naked. This photograph was a "compromise" between the Contract Wielders and The Subject.In testament to this photograph, I can still stare at it for ages without losing interest. I have seen it a thousand times and still it holds me. The lighting and the subtle emotion on Keeler's

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-59543890326511747552007-05-04T22:34:00.000+08:002007-05-04T23:43:53.292+08:00

I talk so much about my Dad these days that I am paranoid that most people are quietly paging Dr Freud on the side. So it's time to fill in anyone who happens to be reading this on the driving force behind Daddy: My Mum.First off, a few pointers:This is the lady who took me to a Nursery and stayed for the duration [to validate said Nursery's insurance] aged two (far too early in those days)

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-62036613455076509462007-05-01T23:18:00.000+08:002007-05-02T12:05:23.762+08:00

I'm Cold. Treasurer Lady is loudly telling whoever will listen that she is acting as Secretary tonight too. In a bout of inflated self importance, she seems to think someone other than her gives a shit. We don't.So begins a night sitting on ickle wickle chairs in a demountable somewhere in W.A. Except the Pre Primary Teacher didn't turn up to unlock the doors so we are forced to decamp to

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-89643753577488677642007-04-27T21:37:00.000+08:002007-05-02T00:19:34.172+08:00

So my Ex's picture is on the front page of Emirates Today (UAE publication) with the massive headline:RAISING THE BIG QUESTIONS BUT OFFERING FEW ANSWERSClearly under different circumstances, this would be positively begging to be used as a cheap dig at my ex partner, but, unfortunately, no can do...you see, this is NiceEx. He is my friend. No really - he is.Some background: NiceEx and I have

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-7126391305319240992007-04-26T13:56:00.000+08:002007-04-27T14:22:38.544+08:00

Today has been the first day in a while that I have had chance to type anything at all.On Monday, Baby J burned his hand on the grill whilst I was merrily toasting Raisin Bread as a mid-morning snack for us. It was horrible. It happened in an instant. I was standing right next to him when it happened, just about to scoop him up and shoo him out of the (Open Plan With No Place For Safety Gates)

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-78738692318971484162007-04-19T08:20:00.000+08:002007-04-20T07:44:15.690+08:00

So. Anyone who has read this blog more than once will know that I can be kind of serious. Dry witted, compelling and generally hilarious of course (although I unfortunately deleted the posts which demonstrate this...butter fingers!). But serious - ish...Well, I have spent the last half an hour (add "easily amused" to my list of wonderfulness) laughing at myself. The situation is thus:My

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-19932259353952079062007-04-06T12:33:00.000+08:002007-04-06T13:50:01.654+08:00

It is far too late for me to express to Kevin Carter, that I think I understand why he couldn't live anymore. He had seen so much and felt so much, and a Pulitzer prize could well have been too ironic to take (in my humble opinion).In my younger years,I vocally berated and hated my father's industry for a long time. There were a multitude of reasons. But the shallowness of the whole sorry

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-58290499073176404502007-04-04T22:57:00.000+08:002007-04-05T00:41:44.501+08:00

...whilst they pull incredulous faces.It struck me that as strange as I find the world we live in and as much as I marvel at Earth's inhabitants and their breath taking stupidity (for the most part); my Grandchildren (should I be blessed in the future to have them) will find our world (as we know it now) even stranger.Are there enough brackets in this paragraph for you? I am very pleased and

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-31296050455047549192007-03-30T21:35:00.000+08:002007-04-01T09:32:10.452+08:00

My Mama spent many years in which her mantra at dinnertime was "chew.chew". She was not doing "choo choos" to get me to eat brussels, but trying desperately to stop me inhaling my food at such break neck speed.Thing is, for all of her efforts, I really haven't got the hang of it. In fact I seem to have applied my food related behaviour to the rest of my life. I am one of life's "great starters

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-73875090241886981862007-03-30T13:51:00.000+08:002007-04-01T09:44:52.866+08:00

I cannot begin to comment on the world; certainly not to comment on any other latest headlines without talking about The Sydney Harbour Bridge Tragedy (as it has been [appropriately] dubbed by the Australian Media).The human interest side of this story is being embraced by the public and pushed by the media as there is still a young girl missing, presumed dead. The Australian Press in my mind

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-26759942941017771022007-03-17T08:55:00.000+08:002007-04-05T00:51:27.387+08:00

With it being St Paddy's Day and everyone around being pretentious and awful, claiming all sorts of affiliations with the Irish folk, so that they can get off their faces on substandard exported Guinness and the like, and grown men dressed up in gowns handing out Jelly Snakes (which I actually find preferable as at least it adheres to the myth that is the foundation of Paddy's Day)...my thoughts

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-13831188219605171912007-01-11T20:26:00.000+08:002007-03-11T22:57:00.578+08:00

C is just like many other Eight year old boys, except for a few traits that are hard to pinpoint at first glance. C will meet you for the first time and you will likely be impressed by his articulate language and polite manner. C’s less appealing qualities are that he does not have reasonable behaviour boundaries; he finds it hard to relate to and be around other children and he does not

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1160685728343149622006-10-13T04:30:00.000+08:002006-10-13T05:23:13.890+08:00

When I was fourteen, there was no doubt in my mind where I would be when I hit my thirties. My best friend and I were going to be living in Camden Town together in a funky pad above a bar. She was hell bent on becoming an airplane Pilot, and I was all set to attend London College of Fashion and make my mark on the fashion world. These weren't dreams to us, this was just "how it was going to

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1157707626850229902006-10-02T17:26:00.000+08:002006-10-04T00:50:46.463+08:00

We (our family) are just about to embark on the longest journey we've ever done since the five of us became six. There are some things about this trip that I dread and some things that I look forward to (one being touch down the other end). A twenty one (anywhere between twenty two and twenty eight if you include stop over time) hour flight with a petulant seven year old, argumentative six

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1157706148950376102006-09-20T16:59:00.000+08:002006-10-04T00:52:36.596+08:00

I like to think I take critisism well.That is, constructive critisism. I don't take rejection badly either; it comes from my being a little conceited...I've learned to discount comments I can live without and continue in a confident manner, the task in hand.What frustrates me is when I cannot change something, case in question:my natural speaking voice**.When I was younger, the hardened, "cool"

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1156950953792816012006-09-10T23:06:00.000+08:002006-09-13T04:06:16.830+08:00

I just returned from picking my big brother up from Heathrow airport which [still] has inadequate parking, too few arrivals screens and a heady aroma - a mixture of coffee and carpet cleaner (which gave me a headache a record 5 minutes into my hour long wait for Big Bro to get through the custom controls).I collected him and couldn't take my eyes off him - that's what it's like whe you live

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1157705944514933392006-09-08T16:45:00.000+08:002006-09-08T16:59:04.523+08:00

Yesterday was a bad day. A really really bad day. There was red mist (mine); bedroom wrecking and bedtime tantrums (the children's) and pulling hair out (C's Junior School Teacher and probably my parents respectively)...I reverted yesterday to behaviour reminiscent of a strange era of my teenage life, where EVERYTHING was wrong and NONE of it was my fault.I cried and berated, shouted and flounced

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1154876498620882642006-08-06T22:52:00.000+08:002006-08-06T23:39:58.040+08:00

I wasn't the first woman to be left to raise children whilst their father was away for months at a time working on film sets hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles away; far from it, I was one i a long line. My mother was the first "industry widow" I knew, which I guess makes me the first industry "orphan"* I knew.When my mother and father were married in a registry office, one morning in the

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1154042367336878792006-07-28T07:06:00.001+08:002006-07-28T07:19:27.336+08:00

I have a friend who works in Security. He's an undercover security manager or something like that. I had to tell someone what he had to spend time doing today, as to keep it to myself seemed selfish; so here I am typing it for all to see.Today my friend was searching through in store CCTV footage for images of a middle aged woman taking a poo on a shop floor.No I am not joking. It begs the

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1153038241500342512006-07-16T16:11:00.000+08:002006-07-28T07:06:44.596+08:00

So, a little background.I have four children. The youngest (J) is four months and the eldest (C) is seven years; inbetween are L and L Junior who are six years and three years respectively. Himself goes off to work at around 5 am and returns around 7.30pm to keep us in the comfortable lifestyle we have become accustomed to and he works his balls off, let me tell you.My role is the varied one

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22946001.post-1149962143584839672006-07-11T01:30:00.000+08:002006-08-12T21:53:48.720+08:00

I recently got a massive red bill from the bank of friendship.Friendships change.As our lives move on and our interests alter:From boys... to men;From recreational drugs... to ones that will legitimately heal our ills;From boyfriends with fast motorbikes... to our own little boys' monumental first ride in the park on a pushbike without stabilizersFrom white cider whilst sprawled on a park bench..

Femme Fontanellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14067738402155387235noreply@blogger.com0