Posted by: purplediva | April 13, 2012

Brick etiquette?….

me me F'ing...ME

me me f'ing MEEE.....

I apologise in advance for my colourful tourettes type outbursts that you will find smattered amongst this blog. Blame Bill*.

To coin a phrase; ‘I am spitting feathers’ but today, not only the feathers but the eggs too. Adding insult to the proverbial injury it’s Friday the fecking 13th and I didn’t actually move my lardy arse from my bed until after 12 noon for fear that some superstitious fateful event would befall me. I wish now that I’d kept it there until 12 noon on the 14th and maybe just maybe wouldn’t have been alerted to the diatribe that I now place under said heading, ‘fateful event’.

The words ‘Samantha Brick’ have been hissed from the lips of at least 65% of the women in the UK alone I’d guess (and I think I’m probably being generous in my estimation). Oh how I loathe giving this woman any of my time, but she’s REALLY got under my skin and offended me to the core with her lasted delusional, insensitive and disrespectful endeavour at journalism. She’s no Jan Moir. Her latest attempt to deflect and defend her, ‘I am beautiful and all other women hate me’ campaign, is to credit her wonderful father, Patrick Brick, for bringing up such an arrogant daughter! Yay…go girly! The full article from The Daily Mail can be read here…yes, click HERE! (sometimes I’m actually really quite clever, oh you doubting Thomas’)

When I’m stressed I eat. When I’m stressed by anger, I eat lots. Whilst reading the article by Ms Brick my recent healthy eating regime, that the oh so fabulous lady would be proud of, slipped somewhat and made me more ashamed with every luxurious and

Food for a Goddess

Food for a Goddess?

piggish mouthful that I stuffed greedily into the void of my open gob as my chin fell further open…aghast at her contentious comments. I ate two-thirds of an M & S clotted cream rice pudding, and I hadn’t even got past page one! (I printed the article). Still, it is food for a goddess, and every woman is a goddess, albeit I’m still in training…at least in some departments!

Ms Beautiful Brick is fortunate enough to have the loving support of both a husband (Pascal) and father (Patrick) Ms Dowdy Diva has neither. I am already doomed to failure. Oh and of course I already have a hatred of Ms Brick for her ‘I’m beautiful’ comments of last week. Actually, NO I DON’T. I think it’s quite appropriate for a woman to be confident and empowered enough to stand up and say, ‘I’m happy with the way I look’. What was poor Samantha’s downfall was her arrogance in suggesting that people’s ideal of beauty was her own! I AM beautiful. In my own way, not to everyone and certainly not today. Catch me tomorrow and I might be…but honestly, not at 8am in the morning before my face has had time to ‘settle’ and I haven’t done the necessary lady bits. By 10.30am there’s a chance I MAY have a public face. A chance… But many would pass me by. I’m beautiful by definition of my grandson & my daughters. Who else matters?

Just a thought…I’m surprised that with all the media furore surrounding this story, that not one of the gentlemen that have partaken in the many acts of random kindness/flirtation referred to in the original article, that led Samantha to her conclusion of being overtly beautiful and an object of desire and hate in equal measure, has yet to come forward? How strange……

I’m ready to sink my teeth into something meaty, and would prefer it were a mars bar, direct from the bottom shelf of my fridge. Alas, there hasn’t been any there for weeks (or squishy colins – marks & spencer colin the caterpillar worm sweets that I love and will kill for), so jump in and take issue with several points raised in her latest offending piece of writing (13/4/12):

By her own admission, ever since she came into this world, her father showered her with love and affection, he was the person she instinctively turned to, and although her darling husband Pascal was behind her, it was her father who knew what to say, to make her feel better and always has. He reassured her that the people ‘lambasting’ (she states it was mostly female critics) her were very sad people with very shallow lives. WOW…what a guy! There are a few other choice comments made by loving Patrick, whom I’m have no doubt, having raised five children is a wonderful father, but can’t help be concerned by the thought process of a man who sends a birthday card to one of those five daughters, addressed to ‘my No.1 girl’! If I were one of said siblings, (and I’m the youngest of 8) I can tell you there would be a lynching! Adding insult to the card fiasco, daughter no.1 who asks us early on in the same article ‘Was I the most deluded woman in the world?’ further adds fuel to fan the flames by saying he was probably referring to the fact I was his eldest daughter and I interpreted it as meaning I was No.1 in his life. Jeez girl…no shit! Self centred and deluded from an early age?

When Ms Brick looks in the mirror, she sees a twinkly eyed temptress who grins confidently – standing tall, proud with masses of va va voom. Oh YESSS! Magic mirror tell me today, have all my friends had fun at play….Oh where can ‘I’ get a mirror

Do I look taller in this?

Does this make me look taller?

like that? BUT, She is, in her defence, 10 years younger, 27 stones lighter and about 6 ft taller than I’ll ever be. Occasionally (if I wear my infamous giraffe dress) I catch a glimpse and I think ‘yeah, not bad’ and then the tablets wear off, or I wake up. Oh and of course, she has a loving husband AND father… I am a failure….

The jelly and blancmange had been stuffed, the chairs packed away, and the dozen or so party guests had long departed. I sat on a little wooden chair with a glass of ice-cold milk and a plain chocolate digestive biscuit. It was almost 9pm. A treat for me. The evening of 9th

The Firm...

The 'Firm' (I was a twinkle still!)

October 1972. The day after my 11th birthday and I’d had a bit of a ‘do’ to celebrate at aunt Edna’s house. Edna & Bert were kindly surrogate parents who didn’t have children of their own. My parents were very entrepreneurial, down to earth and hardworking, a legacy that has been bred into all of us without exception. All of my siblings (the closest of which is 8 years older than I) had an Aunt ‘up the road’ that were the unpaid childminders of the day. It was the done thing then. Edna broke the heartbreaking news to me that my father had died that day from a cerebral haemorrhage, aged 56. My mother subsequently, after several failed suicide attempts, had a complete mental breakdown and was taken into a psychiatric hospital for several of my teenage years.

Ms Brick, aided by a US based psychologist Dr Nielsen believes that It is fathers who have the greater influence in shaping their daughters future and that fathers teach women how to successfully communicate with men, speak up for themselves and how to love themselves. If a little girl gets Dads approval, even if she isn’t perfect or beautiful, she’ll go through life believing she’s fine as she is. Dr Nielsen has apparently studied this special bond for 24 years. Well Dr Nielsen & Ms Brick…I have been ALONE for 39 years, and I believe that give me the right to take PERSONAL offence at your generalisation.

I make no apology Ms Brick, for being envious of the relationship that you have with your father on many levels, but does that make me, or any other female (or male) with an absent father, a failure? unequipped to communicate, have self esteem & be confident & empowered? NO…on the contrary…it actually made me more determined to be successful. (At any point, any male friends that know me, please feel free to comment!)

My rage is almost palpable by now, and if my nails weren’t already eaten down to the quick (I know it’s unattractive and I don’t usually do it…It’s HER fault), I’d chew them more at this further stated revelation, girls who grow up without their fathers have sex younger, are more likely to fall pregnant as teenagers and are at higher risk of anorexia. I’m surprised that didn’t include ‘were Jeremy Kyle watching smokers, who research has shown, drinks blue WKD on a Friday evening and reads Heat magazine’ I already tweeted my outrage sometime after I’d had my first couple of vodka shots of the day to loosen up (joke…it was morphine really) and already had a journalist comment ‘As one who manages to live happily and didn’t become a teen mum despite her parents divorce, I’m right behind you!’

I’m sure that statement will fill with joy the hearts of struggling single mothers everywhere. Oh yes. I’ve walked in THOSE shoes too, and am very proud of the achievements of my two very beautiful daughters who also didn’t become sexaholic, anorexic ‘teen’ mums. Some people are capable of inspiring in-spite of adversity.

You have offended many sectors of society with your comments Samantha Brick, but you offend me personally simply as one human being to another. I’m reminded every day that I don’t have a father and very sadly no longer a mother either. I do however, have experience of something more valuable because I don’t have those…compassion for another. I also know the unselfish love of being a mother first and foremost. In MY eyes, that makes me even more of a woman.

Before you commit your words to print. THINK.

PS.Could someone please let me know where to get one of those mirrors?

Something in my eye....

Something in my eye.....

*Bill… As a child we had a mynah bird called Bill that would randomly swear at daily visitors. It did so because it had picked them up from the fluid use of the words that rolled from my father’s tongue in his colourful daily speech. Mother would hide with embarrassment and Dad would laugh raucously! I blame Bill for my sometimes colourful tourettes type outbursts, but I’m far cleaner…so far!


  1. Yep it makes the teeth clamp shut with a snapping action for sure, I never had a dotting dad, never had one at all!! I do now have a wonderful Husband, acquired in the last few years… To this “young” lady I would say, wait, time has its own methods, in another couple of years you will be doing handstands every morning to try and settle the face where it used to be…. And you close the fridge door, turn the morror round blank side, put on your favourite music track and bop away like a teenager…

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