The ramblings of Mrs. Hoolihan

My rants on life and everything in between. Desperately trying to remind myself that it's just not worth the jail time.



The end of an era is looming.

The end of an era is looming. 34 years to be precise. For 34 years, I’ve been Miss D and soon, in 26 days in fact, I’ll very proudly become Mrs H.

As a little girl, you dream of what your name will be once you grow up and get married; you doodle your autograph until the cows come home but the one thing you don’t give any thought or indeed concern to, is the loss of your maiden name.

Up until recently, I’d not really given it a second thought. Until now. And all of a sudden, I feel like I’m mourning a part of me. Although not a physical part of me, it’s a huge part of who I am, where I’m from and it’s my identity.

Upon discussing this with my fiance, he very kindly (and matter of factly), told me that if it makes me happy, to continue and keep my maiden name. I won’t as I’m marrying him and call me old fashioned, but I like that you take your husband’s name (yes suffragettes I can hear you turning in your graves, but don’t worry I’ll be using my vote wisely next month, so not all is lost).

2 years since our little Prince arrived and finally, we’ll all have the same surname. It may be my Catholic upbringing, but I still feel terribly uneasy when I’m asked my name where our son is concerned and I reply with Miss D – the guilt and the shame kicks in, ridiculous at my age, but you can’t shun what you’ve been brought up to believe.

So on that note, even though I’ll be sad to lose my name, I’ll embrace my new one with vigour and excitement – excitement at the next part of our lives together and that of formally joining my husband’s family. There may only be my Father in Law, but he’s a cracking old soul and I’ll be delighted to call him my FIL and indeed, take his name too, that of my husband and of course of my son.

Soon enough it’ll be good bye Miss D, but hello Mrs H and on to a brand new chapter in our lives. And I simply can’t wait.



The wedding dress. Its arrived.

Today I got THE call.

The call I’ve been waiting months for; the call to say my wedding dress has finally arrived.

I’m excited, nervous and I feel sick. What if I don’t like it? What if I chose it in a moment of madness? What if I look like mutton dressed as lamb (we’ve all see that bride and thought, why oh why), equally I don’t want to look like I’ve packed myself in to it either.

What will Wayne think? Will he like it? Will he cry? Again, we’ve all seen the upset bride when the groom doesn’t turn round or cry with pride.

All these worries are running around my head and I feel sick – I just want it be perfect!

Further update to come once I’ve headed back to the shop! xx

Losing weight. Or not and not giving a fuck.

The impending Hen Do is almost upon me. My last night of ‘freedom’ is literally around the corner and I’m still to lose any real weight.

At 5ft10, I’m hardly petite. I’m not fat but by no means am I certainly no anorexic skinny finny fuckety to do dah latte drinking thing either. You see the problem lies within; I just love food. And it, more importantly loves me.

I’m no gym goer either. I’m a full time Mummy, who happens to work full time too (I hate that because I work FT I’m not a ‘Full-time’ Mummy. Yes I bloody am; Harry my darling son is exactly why I work full-time – to ensure he enjoys the trappings of a loving home, holidays and breaks away plus whatever he wants – he’s no brat before you go down that route either.) So, in between being full time Mummy and a full time worker, it leaves me with little time (or energy) to work out. Here I am, all 11 stone of me.

For years before I had Harry, I was always 10 and half stone; no more no less (unless you’re counting my ‘fat’ period for 2/3 years that my family won’t let me forget, but I’ve no idea what i weighed as I never used to weigh myself really). Anyway my hen do is next month and my sisters and all my friends are these uber attractive, skinny minnie things (I’m even fatter than my pregnant sister!) and I’ve come to a conclusion.

The conclusion is this (and it goes for my wedding dress too). I can’t have fat arms. Ah ah no, not happening. I’m happy enough at the size I am, because let’s be frank, I simply don’t have the time or will power to ‘slim’ down. As long as I don’t have fat arms or a fat upper back bulging from my wedding dress, then I’m happy.

Bollocks to bowing to peer pressure; I’m happy enough as I am. I’m not perfect and there are body parts I hate (fat hips I’m talking about you here), but I’m nearly 35, my body has carried a baby, I’m not exactly massive so why fix what isn’t broke?

To all the fat haters out there, I’ve two words for you – FUCK OFF. You may be skinnier than me, but are you happy? Like truly happy? Perhaps you are, perhaps you’re not. But don’t go throwing stones when you live in a glasshouse is the advice I’m giving as none of us are perfect.

On that note, I’m off to stuff my fat face and be happy. And then I’ll hit the weights tonight!

Why hello 2016, you’ve arrived!

Happy New Year! A little late to the party (as always) but better late than never I say.

Wow. What a year 2015 was. Unsure where to start really. I enjoyed Christmas shutdown – 2 weeks of domestic bliss with Wayne and Harry I thought, oh no, the reality was oh so different this year. We literally spent the first week, like blue arsed flies, running here, there and everywhere. I’d forgotten a few presents this year (I’m not the most memorable person if I’m honest, having forgotten my brother’s birthday in November and my Dad’s in February, at the start of the year….thankfully they’re not the whingey, moany types and all has been forgiven). Anyway, we ended up shopping this year, right up until the 23rd. Never again. With this pissy, shitty wet weather we’re encountering at present, this wasn’t fun let me tell you.

New Years resolution number one made – to be far more organised and way less forgetful. I can’t promise I’ll stick to it as my life often feels like a whirlwind, but I pledge to try (I’ve a diary in my office, so it’s a start).

Christmas itself was lovely; no drama, just lots of fun, love and laughter. I feel for those families who’re slinging mud across the dinner table on what should be the most family orientated day of the year. What has gone so wrong for them that they can’t at least be civil is what my mummy always used to ask – ‘one day’ she’d say, ‘why can’t they be civil for just one day?’ As I’ve grown older, i have to say I disagree with mummy, the Idealist. Sometimes you just can’t simply forgive and forget for one day. It’s all or nothing in my book.. but that’s another story. I’m just thankful we didn’t encounter a Christmas like that.

Anyway, 2015 has been packed on its’ way – what a fun packed year that was! Harry learnt to walk (hooray because that crawling stage and not knowing where he’d become stuck, was frankly draining at times).  I welcomed a new job and career change (I didn’t see that coming, but god I’m so thankful it did come). We’ve enjoyed numerous BBQs in the summer months with our nearest and dearest, our little man became an official member of the Catholic club (what a relief),  date nights where we’ve been thankful to just eat without having a little hand rip food straight from your mouth,  we’ve rearranged our wedding and not to mention our little break most recently to the Coast, which was simply perfect from start to finish. Our little baby has officially made the transition from baby to toddler and Wayne and I couldn’t be prouder of the beautiful little boy that we’re proud to say is ours.

2015 was all about Harry. As will 2016 and 2017 and every other year – I think it’s fair to say we’re both just a little obsessed with him!

Onto 2016 and we can officially declare, that this year, we get MARRIED! We’re both so incredibly excited, that neither of us can wait for 11th June to bolt round. Our best friends but us a little countdown sign for how many days until we tie the knot (157!) and Wayne has been dutifully altering the days as we go – so cute that he’s so excited, given that when we first met, he said he never wanted to get married!

‘Save the Date’  cards have been issued and we’re officially on countdown! Wayne even talked me into booking our honeymoon the other day – this shit is proper real now! Hen and stag dos will sound be in swing – whoo hoo – married life here we come!

Talking of shit, there’s lots of this that I’ve left behind in 2015. Through sheer necessity (and tiredness) shit has been left where it belongs. If 2015 taught me anything, it’s that true colours shine from within. Sadly not everyone is equipped with this and they show nothing but envy and nastiness, leaving nothing but a sour taste behind. The good thing with a sour taste, is that if you’ve mouthwash strong enough, you simply spit it out and it disappears. So that’s what I’ve done. I’ve metaphorically spat all the crap out from my life.

Life is way too short to be sad, envious, vengeful or hateful – leave it where it belongs in the past. With enough positive events to look forward to this year, I’m refusing to let negativity affect my his year – cheers to 2016, watching our little boy grow and amaze us even more and becoming Mrs H!


Operation wedding diet. Aka unleashing my inner Gisele.

I know, I can’t believe it myself. I’m dieting before Christmas has even begun. No, I assure you, I’ve not been knocked about the head; I’ve simply realised that my wedding day is 6 months today.

I feel sick. I’m dizzy. I’m full of nerves. Not at the thought of marrying the love of my life and Father to my amazing son. No. No I’m sick at the thought of being packed into my wedding dress.

I’d just stuffed my fat face full of Sausage roll and baked beans courtesy of my fab colleague when it dawned on me. But before our wedding day, I’ve my hen do and there’s no way I’m going to the fat one when I’m surrounded by such creatures of beauty in the form of sisters, family and friends. Uh uh, it’s not happening.

With immediate effect, I’m stepping away from the carbs, the chocolate bars, the fizzy drinks. This is quite honestly the toughest challenge I face in my life right now.

If it kills me, i won’t be packed into that dress; my inner Miss Piggy can piss right off – my inner Gisele is bloody well screaming to get out, the least I can do is listen to her. Watch this space.

I can’t stay calm, I’m getting married!

I can’t stay calm, I’m getting married!

In 10 months, I’ll no longer be Miss D, but Mrs H and I simply can’t wait for this day to arrive!

363 days in to our relationship, Wayne popped the question and as we set about planning our impending nuptials (he popped the question in April 2013), we then decided that as we were both 30 plus, maybe having a baby would be a better idea. Boom! 9 months later, Prince Harry arrived and no wedding seemed even remotely close.

Then last summer, Wayne suggested we book the wedding. Giddy little bees, the church was booked and an old Jacobean mansion secured. Fast forward a year and we were back to square one. Having decided that a large, formal wedding wasn’t what we both wanted, we cancelled it. No one was surprised as we’re the most predictable, unpredictable couple I know.

Numbers cut drastically, we’re now going to enjoy a laid back ‘garden party’ style wedding with only our nearest and dearest and enjoy a rather British, quintessential wedding  – complete with lashings of Pimms and no doubt, the unpredictable crappy British weather.

Church booked, wedding reception booked, boom we’re on a roll! Best man, Maid of Honour and bridesmaids have been asked for their required services – we’ve now just to crack on with organising the rest of it! Excited doesn’t come close and I’m not talking about the Bride here! My darling husband to be is so excited, I genuinely think that he’s going to implode ahead of D Day. From cars to menus, to his and Harry’s suits, I genuinely don’t think Wayne can wait either and don’t get us chatting about our honeymoon as we’re beyond excited on that score!

As for my side of things, flowers, THE dress and bridesmaids, I’ve a pretty clear idea on what I’d like. This is the girl who, at 5am, the morning after Wayne had popped the question, was laid awake with said husband to be asking him his thoughts on said forthcoming nuptials.

My sisters and I have been dress shopping a number of times, and whilst I have a clear idea of what I’d like, I havent quite found the finished product as yet. Panicing? Not yet. I keep telling myself that I’ve a good four or five months before it’s crunch time so for the moment, I’m pretty chilled around the whole dress thing really. Wayne’s said I’ll look amazing whatever I wear (he’s genuinely the loveliest chap one could wish for), however, with a stone of baby weight (minimum) to still lose (actually that’s a lie, it’s not baby weight – I’ve just been miss piggy  lately) and the most untoned arms ever plus the biggest hips ever, I’m not quite so convinced, so a heavy exercise regime lies ahead me thinks.

There’s still so much to think about, that sometimes I feel dizzy and sick at the thought of how much we’ve (I’ve) to do. Working full-time, running a house and of course, being Mummy to Prince Harry, and wife to be to Wayne, plus I’m about to retrain career wise, I’m not sure when I’ll fit wedding planning in.

But, as  I say, I can’t stay calm, I’m getting married – and it couldn’t happen quick enough!

I just LOVE eating. I just don’t want fat arms. 

Most people eat to survive. Not me. No, I eat because I love it.

Take this weekend, I’ve eaten what I wanted, when I’ve wanted. I’ve eaten my way through a Chinese takeaway, homemade burgers, scrambled eggs, two bars of Cadbury Caramel, two litres of coke, four bags of crisps, two ice lollies and two share bags of sweets to name but just some of what I’ve consumed.

Some would say I probably have an eating disorder based on my ability to eat everything I can get my hands on (I can out eat any bloke at an all you can eat buffet) or simply an addiction to sugar. I say bollocks. I simply like to eat. In fact, I’d go as far as saying I love eating.

By the very laws of nature, I should probably weigh in at around 18 stone, but I don’t. F*ck knows how I don’t. I should be airlifted to the loo everytime I need it, but thankfully I’m not.

Full fat everything is how I roll, apart from milk in my tea. Somehow Wayne and my work Mother of 12 years, Caroline, persuaded me semi was the way forward. My arteries must be buggered and so with this in mind, and the very fact I don’t care to leave Harry motherless, I’ve decided I’m no longer going to eat as though it were a sport and because I love it, but to survive.

After losing my mum and going through natural childbirth (I had to undertake counselling to persuade me that going under the knife wasn’t the preferred option), I honestly think this is going to be the third biggest challenge I’ve ever faced.

I’m going to use Harry and the motivation of not having fat arms and a hamster face on my wedding day as inspiration to get me through this.

Day one starts tomorrow. Once I’ve finished my full fat coke and line of chocolate caramel.

Don’t confuse this change of eating pattern with dieting. I’m not doing this to lose weight (I don’t want fat arms, but since losing my baby weight, I’ve lost my boobs and if I lose anymore from there I’ll be booking myself a boob job), I’m doing it to save me from myself before I turn into Donny’s fattest; I’m not ready for that level of fame. Just yet.

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