Happiness in a flower

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I meant to write this post a month ago, when I seen those green shoots starting to poke their heads out, sniffing at Spring, so I better write it now before it’s not relevant. I think daffodils have to be one of my most favourite flowers. They remind me of happy things. I mean look at them, on a cold, dreary wintery morning, they are a little flash of sunshine, a little beacon of light on a dull day. I promise you when I see them, even when I’m in a foul mood, they give me that little ping of “YAY!”, even if it is only for a second (on a particular rotten day like) and I always think of Wordsworth’s poem…

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

They remind me of my Grandad, who had them and tulips all over his gardens. Even when the 14520513_10208717576710970_5972241006798313006_ngarden was reduced back to become part of the cow’s field, the daffodils left behind still shot up, hardy and strong every year. I loved my Grandad to bits and pieces, I loved his gardens and so I love daffodils for reminding me of him.

Most of all though, daffodils remind me of my first hard working, big girl job. I’m talking money in an envelope, into your hand at the end of the week….woooo!! I remember seeing a flyer pinned up in Killeen’s shop, daffodil pickers wanted! Daffodil pickers! Bejayzus! Just up the road in Croghan too, over the Easter holiday. I thought, how hard can it be… I’ll mention it to Ash.

God it was two or three of the best weeks I’ve ever had. We thought we were the bees knees…proper working folk at 14/15.  Every night I’d get me packed lunch ready and make sure I had a supply of plastic bags for the day my wellies finally gave in and got a leak. Every morning I’d be up at 7, like a real manin (pronounced man-een…I can’t for the life of me figure out where the i with a fada is on this yoke!) horse the porridge down and cycle up to Ash’s to meet her. We’d cycle up to Croghan and down behind the football pitch where fields of daffodils were waiting to be picked. Frank was our “boss”, a fairly gruff dude from Daingean, he gave us a run through of how to pick a daff. Em yep, you can’t just pick any old daffodil, there were requirements to be met…these babies were shipping to Engerlish supermarkets for selling ya know!

We’d spend probably from 8 til 11, when you’d have a tea break, if you were lucky enough to have a flask, bent over lonnnnng drills, seeking out unbloomed daffodils, at least 25cms long, to pick and bunch into groups of 10 and then stack in your crate. We got 25p a bunch…£25 a crate. This may well have been some kinda slave-like type labour and in fairness conditions were fairly poor compared to the luxuries pickers have today….wellies, wetsuits and sleeeeves provided!!! On site toilets!!! Pfffft!! If you were a girl picker you’d to take your friend with you to find decent bush to hide behind and watch out for the lads perving, and God help any of us if we needed a poo!! Still we had great craic. At about 12.30, we’d all quit for lunch and head to the beaten down old hayshed for a bitta warmth. I say warmth, but generally it would still freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Some laugh then lads, sandwich swapping, how many crates have you filled, who’s shifting who, where’s them two snuck off to, truth or dare and the odd ruck. Frank might even crack a smile during this time.

It was hard work, mostly being bent over all day and with wearing gloves being a hinderance,  you tended not to wear them and ended up with numb, battered fingers due to the cold and thorns or nettles (depending on how near the hedges your drills were). That, was the hardest work, ‘cos you get good at picking the ‘dils. Ash, myself, Darren and Mike got so good, Frank selected us for picking elsewhere…..ooooooh! We’d meet in Rhode at 6.30 and a bus would pick us up and take us off to the far side of Rathangan for the day. One day, a lorry picked us up! Yep, a lorry! I’m talking a 7.5 tonne tarp covered lorry. The four of us were loaded up into the back of it, no windows and only crates to slide around on…no seatbelts here lads…and driven off to God knows where (turned out to be the far side of Tullamore). Frank and his son would already be there, so we’d stick together and every evening, he’d drive us back to Rhode, with a pitstop at his house for tea, cakebread and a fry up. Those were my favourite nights.

It’s funny isn’t it….some mornings not knowing where you were heading, travelling round in the back of a lorry, not getting home til between 5 and 8 in the evening….all this without a seatbelt or a phone! (It’s also crazy thinking on our parents parts too…like trust us to do all this but try and get them to let you to the bouncered up Harriers at the weekend…forgit aboud it!) Our parents never knew sometimes, where we were or who we were with,yet trusted we’d stay alive and safe for a day. Seems nuts now. I wonder will my Monkey ever experience anything like this? Sadly the world is a crazier place now, I think.

What’s your favourite flower and why?

God, Spring would be woeful sad without daffodils.

Donna xx

Gold trousers do not a mid-life crisis make!

For a second my sparkle dimmed, it was like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Somebody had just tried to steal my sunshine, my glittery-ness, my sparkle. Yeah MY SPARKLE!!

Worse thing is, the thief was an unexpected source and so, disappointing. Maybe said thief was having a bad day, but that’s not my beef, don’t take it out on me.

So the sparkle stealing began with a pair of gorgeous gold trousers that I’d seen on the Collectif website. Miss Deadly Red is modelling them and she looks HAWT!!! Now I’m not a total eegit and will tell you, I will by no means look as hot but they’re gold and shiny and I love them, but I don’t buy them. I do however mention them to others as I’d seen another pair in H&M that were completely covered in gold sequins. Sparkle overload lads!170306113743_wm Anywho…a week or so passes and I walk in on a conversation about my love of these gold trousers and Sparkle Stealer or SS for short pipes up, “Gold trousers?And what’s with all these pouty pout photos on Facebook? Are you having a midlife crisis?” Defence was offered on my behalf with “oh it’s for her make up that she does”. Taken aback by the suggestion of a midlife crisis, I said no, I’m just doing what I wanna do, I haven’t murdered anyone. (Well not yet!) Then, THEN!!!! SS asks how old I am!! By jayzus!! I’m tryna be cool like, cos I was getting more annoyed with conversation and what the hell my clothes or pouting had to do with SS. I didn’t realise pursed lips and the possible sight of me in gold trousers was so upsetting. I proudly tell SS I’ll be thirty four in two weeks and ask why this is relevant, you only live once and I’m not hurting anyone.Now you know in your mind you can see yourself f**king s**t up…..SS says “yeah you might do, but it’s acceptable at sixteen not at thirty four.” “Well I like what I like and I don’t particularly care whether anyone else does”.

SS isn’t even on Facebook lads! How is so much known about my pouty pics? Well nosing through somebody else’s profile of course. Hmm and if reconnaissance was done properly, I’m sure they’d notice in most of my pics, I look like a haggard little boy, so by God when I do slick on the lippy and straighten me wig, I’ll post it on every type of social media I have access to! Ironically SS is a fair bit older than me, yet has one or two hobbies which might be deemed as “childish” themselves. I swear to God, the cheek!170307121209_wm

Anyway, as I said, my Sparkly tiara nearly fell off me head and this 10 minute conversation stuck with me. I don’t know why, as most times unless it’s a really brutal, cutting remark, it will have faded from my mind fairly quick. Maybe it was the unexpected source of the dig? So I turned to the person who’s known me all my life…The Mammy. I asked her what sort of  a person I was growing up, was I always a little bit “woooo”? (I’m not super eccentric or anything, but I do love dressing up, whether it’s for a laugh or a glam night out and I try to make it a little different or mine I suppose). Ma said “you’re just the same, funny, friendly and kind. It’s just your nature, you’re like me in a way but more out going. Why?”. I wanted to find out if I’d changed drastically, I wanted to find out if I WAS having a “mid-life crisis”. I mean it can’t be a mid-life crisis if I’ve always been the same eh? So I told her about SS. I told Ma, that for a brief moment SS made me worry if people see me as an idiot but funnily enough, at the same time I didn’t care. (If I like what I’m wearing and it raises a smile from you, whether you’re smiling with me or laughing at me, I’m ok with that…who else made you smile today?) These are my Mother’s wise words;

“Jealousy is a bad thing Donna, and that’s what’s wrong. You’re doing what you want to do and they’re* afraid. They* live boring lives and are stuck in their* ways. You could slap it to them* over their “childish” hobbies but that’s not you. You’re still young, wear what you want and you always look brilliant. I hope you never change.”

With that, I righted my crown and scolded myself for doubting my confidence.

I bought the gold trousers.

Ain’t nobody stealing my sparkle!

Love Donna

PS I always say, that somebody who can’t say anything nice to you especially about how you look, and when you clearly look great, is a jealous creature. Jealous people only try to cut you down.

PPS You too can own a pair of said gold trousers annnnd they’re on sale!! WOOOO!!

 

Can I be your friend?

I seen a post recently on a FB group I’m part of, a girl looking for friends. The girl feels she has friends within the group but once she’s outside of it, she feels like she has nobody. She knows people but there’s no friend friend if you know what I mean.

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I’m very lucky when it comes to friends, I’ve managed to hold onto friends from school and my bestest friend Ash, from national school. I mean she even forgave me for that time when we had a fight and the stone I threw, went through her open sitting room window and hit her little cousin, Selina on the head. Even Laura, who lives in another town and I don’t always get to see when I get home, we don’t speak as often as Ash and myself but she still counts as a close friend just like Ci. The thing is we don’t have to speak everyday to know that, if the shit ever hit the fan we’d be there for each other, even if it is just an ear on the phone.

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Ash & moi!

I moved to London in 2000, on holiday, if you ask me Da. I worked in a pub for a long time so you kinda have to be sociable to do that…well like 80% of the time…when you haven’t had to get up for the delivery or you’re not hungover. That’s where I met Calvin, a.k.a Quelvin/SuperChocolateBear/Bumbacleet. Twenty-five years my senior, I know I can trust him with anything and a cooler guy I’ve never met….well me Da’s pretty cool too actually. I’ve met other people too, but some people you meet in passing, some you miss, some you don’t. Some you wish you’d had more time with ‘cos even though you only knew them a short time, they definitely made an impact on you. One thing’s for sure though, if you have these people already in your life make the effort to keep them and not lose touch.

I think as you get older it certainly gets harder to make new friends. We become shy. We worry about what the other person will think. What if they think we’re weird or worse have no interest in being our friend.

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New friends

What happens to the bravery we had as kids, when we would play with everyone and not worry about what they thought? We just spend too much time over-analysing. So we mooch around being sad and lonely, because we’re too afraid to take the first step and ask “can I be your friend?” I’ve made new friends since having Small Man, and even though I think I’m ok with approaching new people, in my head I feel kinda nervous. I think oh God these people are much cooler than me…oh my God why didn’t I wear something a bit dressier, but then I get sense and I think well here I am, this is me and shur listen I dunno what’s gonna happen unless I just get in amongst it! This was how I met Courtney. Well really I met her through Slimming World but we actually became friends when I actually got me finger out and just asked for her number so we could hang out sometime. This sounds kinda weird, sorry Courtney, but I knew when I saw Courtney that I wanted to be her friend. As Calvin says, ” we gravitate towards certain people”. I felt weird asking but I think she was kinda glad to be asked.

The girl who posted the “cry for friends” was actually really brave and open. We should all take a leaf out of her book cos as she said “if you don’t ask, you don’t get!” The person you’re sitting next to could be feeling  the exact same way as you…just ask!

love Donna x

Pick up a pen & make somebody smile!

This year Thinking of You Week runs from the 26th Sept to 2nd Oct.

totallydonnamarie

TOYW_facebook_2015Hey guys! So this week is “Thinking of You Week”. It’s organised by the Greeting Card Association and runs from the 21st to the 27th of September. Yessss I know….a great way for them to get us to spend money, but I actually think it’s a great idea. I mean why do we have to wait for birthdays and Christmas to send cards? Remember when we actually had to pick up a pen and write a letter to find out how people were? My son’s not quite old enough yet, but other than maybe their letter to Santa, has your child ever wrote a letter? Writing to somebody is just so personal, it’s not something that is mass produced and pre-printed. It means somebody thought about you, just you yourself.

God I used to love writing letters, I wrote to my Nanny, my little brothers, my cousins including one I…

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Beavergate.

I’m going to start this by saying if you’re somebody who believes your partner’s perfectly coiffeured lady garden or manscape naturally grows (or doesn’t appear to grow) in the pretty shape you see, then stop reading now. If your my brother, you probably won’t wanna read this either!

For the rest of us, who live in the real world of plucking and waxing, please read on.

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Photo credit to Allie Dragoo on Flickr

I dunno what possessed me Friday, to go and have a bikini wax. I mean I’ve had them before, they’re not fun. Maybe it’s the hot weather, tricking my brain into falsely preparing for a holiday I’m not going on…I dunno, I normally just DIY it with a tube of Veet at home. (I tried home waxing once. NOT.WORTH.THE.SAVING! First strip was manageable but forget about it after that, your brain now knows the pain you’re about to inflict on YOURSELF again and won’t allow it. The wax then starts drying, making it harder to pull off ensuing in an even more painful, slightly bloodier experience.)  Anyway, I normally go a little bit out of my area, I don’t need anybody I’m likely to run into at the nursery knowing what my lady bits look like. Plus the place I normally go to, in the grand scheme of waxing one’s nether regions, is amazing. However, these precious couple of child free hours are hard to come by (and no it’s not a 2hr job to cultivate my booosh, smart ass!) so I thought I’d chance a local salon……..

I notice as I walk in the door, there’s a special on “The Hollywood” today…hmm…no thanks, not my style. Now although the salon is full of ladies getting primped and preened, I still don’t feel comfortable shouting “hey-ay, I wanna get me fananny waxed please” over the hum of the hair dryer, so I just mumble an answer to the lady asking. Who in turn, very loudly relays that I’m here for a hollywood to her co-worker. I’m not but we can discuss styling once I’m not standing in the bloody doorway.

Said co-worker…we’ll call her Tina, for handiness sake, beckoned me to follow. I explain I’d just like a brazilian. Brazil’s always appealed to me more than Hollywood anyway. In Irish terms, your one basically says, “grand job, no bother, drop your knickers and hop up there like a flattened buddha”, and so I do. Now since attending the non-local Mecca of waxing, I’ve been forever seeking the local version annnnd I’m still currently searching, everything is compared to them. Tina has assured me she’s great at what she does, with people complimenting her on how little pain she causes, she even waxes pretty much all of her own body herself. Grand job Tina…but we shall see. She started at the top of my thigh, first strip off, it wasn’t to bad….now if you’re a beautician and there is some sort of order that mingeinas should be stripped in, then forgive me, Tina may very well have followed that order but it’s all a painful, breath holding blur to me. Unfortunately I don’t have solid upper thighs, shur listen we can’t all be perfect, and I’m no expert and I feel like Tina isn’t either, cos she is just ripping those wax strips off my inner thighs like annoying wall paper off a wall. I suggest to her that I should hold my thighs taut…lord jayzus, I’m clearly the guru here lads. Maybe it’s the fact that she feels like she shouldn’t be at work today as she’s just started her period and her tum and back are killing her. In fairness if I felt like this and had to come to work do defluff somebody else’s foof, the same thing that’s causing pain in me, then I’d probably give it a going over meself! She then has the cop on to ask me to hold my Mum-tum (why are these so hard to get rid of??) taut and attacks there…a small mercy I suppose.

Now, now…now the fun really gets going…Tina pops her head up and says “oh, I’m sorry, I forgot”. Huh? Yep…she’s only gone and scalped the lot! FFS!! She’s kinda looking at me as if to say, what will I do…she may even have telepathically asked me the question. Shur what the jayzus could she do? Stick it back on? The look I gave her said that, but my mouth betrayed me and said ah, shur what can you do, it’ll be fine! Don’t worry she says, I’ll give you Hollywood at no extra cost. Oh jee…fcuking thanks love, was the look I shot her but my mouth once again betrayed me and said “ah don’t worry I’ll pay for it!” DAM YOU MOUTH!!! I swear to God the non-local place must put some sort of calming, numbing gas in their air con cos I really don’t remember this happening…or maybe this is how the Hollywood goes….I actually really thought she was gonna give me an internal exam at one point and she most certainly burned the barn doors twice…despite me wincing and saying “wow, that’s hot!”. There was a knock on the door then, how long will you be Tina? Ten minutes. Ten minutes!!! Ten FECKING minutes…ah listen T, leave me be, I’ll make like a baby hedgehog suffering alopecia and leave. Thankfully though, after a rather close head-almost-in-my-vajayjay- inspection Tina seems happy enough and starts slathering on cream followed by clouds of talc. Oh thank God for small mercies, I go to get up. I’m not sure how it happend or how she managed it but as she’s saying turn over to me, she’s kinda managed to flip me like a burger onto my tum!! WTF IS GOING ON??? Yeah lads, shur didn’t I forget, I was upgraded to the Hollywood!! FML!

 

I’d just like to add, on later inspection, I’m pretty sure Tina removed skin in places, she IS not from Mecca Minge Defluffers and sadly is unlikely to ever make the grade. On a happier note my hoo ha is feeling alot happier now the whole ordeal is behind it….haa behind it!

The things we do to be fluff free!!

Love Donna x

 

 

Travelling with a demon toddler.

Yay! Summer holiday time (Boo! The ridiculous hike upwards in travel prices). Yay if you get to actually get on a plane and go some where! Boo…actually God love ya if, like me, your child, the beautiful angel traveller you thought you knew turns into a monster.160720115046_wm

I can’t start at the beginning because I can’t actually remember our outward journey but by jayzus….the return journey has to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me whilst travelling. Here we go….

We’re standing in the queue to our already delayed flight, Small Monkey, my Sis and me. There’s some fairly toff-nosed business looking guys behind us and the two cool dudes, my Sis felt were trying to stand on her shoulders in a previous queue ahead of us. Joy of f**king joys lads, this is the beginning of my nightmare. If any of ye know my sis, you’ll know patience is not her strongest point and she wasn’t very impressed with being close to these guys again, Small Monkey is starting to be a butt and they’ve already thrown us a look. Our flight is delayed, Monkey decides he doesn’t want to queue, I don’t blame him, I don’t want to queue either. However wandering off to hang out of a manky rubbish bin is not cool though and, after asking him three times already to come back, I go and drag him back to the queue. He’s not impressed! I’m not bloody impressed either, I now have an unbalanced suitcase leaning on my leg, a gym bag slung over my shoulder, cutting into me and a wiggley worm child hanging out of me. The business guys look on snootily. Monkey is being quite the arse now though to be fair, with shouts like “stop, you’re hurting me” and “letttt meee oooout”. He starts head butting my leg, I’d like to point out here, I dunno where he gets that from. I’ve never head butted anyone except for this one time in third year….I don’t even headbutt hubby when he’s scaling my last nerves! To look at him, you’d think I was skinning him alive. I HATE when he does this to me, it breaks my heart and I feel so cruel, BUT this is an airport and running off to play is not an option. My sister is not impressed now either. I’m not sure if she wants to murder Monkey for being a butt or me for failing to control him. This hurts me too ‘cos I now feel somewhat of a failure but I’m at my wits end. Monkey is now laying on the floor kicking at the Cool Dudes bag! FML!! I know my sister meant well when she started telling him off, but I was cracking under the pressure. The judgey looks from Business Guys, Cool Dudes, the embarrassment that my Sis thinks I’m not firm enough (it’s very hard to be firm with your child in public), the disbelief that my child could do this to me, the heat, the jayzus bags hanging off me…I felt so bad when my reply to her telling him off was “when you have a child and you know what this is like, then you can tell him off, otherwise I’ll deal with him”.

Surprisingly, the further fecking delay to our flight was just the break we all needed. The queue dispersed and we went to sit on the window, where I could now deposit Small Monkey to watch the airplanes. My back was breaking, I was being stubborn, I was now carrying him, who was still tryna get a few headbutts in, the gym bag, which had now indented my shoulder and wheeling the curse-a-god wobbley suitcase. I wanted to cry, I know I was inside.

We’re finally on the plane….guess what? Delayed!!! Sitting on the runway now…thanks for the change of scenery Ryanair. Small Monkey has the window seat, my sister the aisle. In my head I’m singing “butthole child to the left of me, moody sis to right, here I am stuck in the middle, f**k me!”. Monkey is getting fidgety again…he’s playing with the blinds on the windows and wants to get ooooooout!! I do too! Me brain is melting! Woooo! We’re leaving. we’re departing….hail Buddha, Allah and Jesus! I put the seatbelt on fartarse, he’s not impressed but he really kicks up a stink when I tell him the blinds must stay up. By jayzus lads!! I was at the end of my tether, my sis leaned across and told Monkey he was in serious trouble. The rest of the flight was pretty much spent with Monkey crying and SCREAMING to get out, me facing away from my sis and the rest of the plane but dreading looking at my monster child, silently crying. I bribed him with sweets, colouring book and the one thing that would have worked was the f**kity, f**k  f**k ipad thingy (it’s not an actual ipad) which froze literally as Cars started. Things got so bad he eventually got a smack on the hand, which sounded like it echoed all over the plane adding tears of guilt to what already fell.

Thankfully we landed without anybody being murdered or exiting the plane mid Irish Sea. The only thing that made that flight a little better was another passenger telling me, she understood why he was behaving that way and not to worry, it happens. Thank you stranger. xx

You’ve read this far and you think it’s over….so did I lads, so did I. Cue the train journey from hell!! It began with Monkey being a complete bum in the station. This involved more laying and rolling on the floor, planking or flipping backwards violently when I picked him up…more screaming that I was hurting him. It didn’t get any better on the platform….screaming and crying and slapping Mammy. My Sis wasn’t impressed and even started to cry, saying she couldn’t stand seeing him treat me like this. What do you say to that? This made me sad and I felt even more of a d**k parent. The actual train journey didn’t get any better with me having to take him into the little sectioned off 1st class part of the carriage (obvs empty) where we had a little chat involving me taking all a nearly three year olds worldly goods away….eventually he calmed down and apologised to his auntie and me for “shouting & screaming”.160720115640_wm

Still I tearfully phoned hubby and told him to meet us at the station with the buggy…and the cattle prod!

Happy travels peeps! xx

 

 

The Women Hunters

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photo from Parents on Flickr

Ok firstly, calm down! This is not a post about weirdo, stalkers of women, I’m referring to my viewing last night.

My mind is currently boggled! I’ve watched Women Who Kill Lions and I just don’t get it. I don’t understand why you would want to kill something defenseless, for sport or just for the craic! It’s not attacking you, it’s nowhere near you, yet you have gone, sometimes travelled thousands of miles and stalked it out to shoot it.

There were two women featured on the the show and both have suffered serious online backlash, with Ricky Gervais adding fuel to one fire via Twitter. I’m not going to name them, as the cockier one of the two, a Canadian, pointed out, not only does she not care what people think but the more people talk about how disgusting she is, the more famous she becomes. Bizarrely, AND I’M NOT AGREEING WITH HER ACTIONS, the American came across (to me) as the slightly nicer of the two (as in, if I met both women on the street without knowing of them, I’d probably take to the American more).

So the American, from Wyoming reckons that it’s part of their culture to hunt, being from the West and all. Maybe it is and it’s important to preserve our culture and heritage but is it really necessary to hunt as she does? I’m  pretty sure there are supermarkets now. It also really bothers me that from a young age kids are encouraged to hunt, hence encouraged to use guns… American gun laws are utterly ridiculous as it is. During the program, we’re taken on a gun shopping spree with the American, where we’re shown lots of lovely guns, some are even pink, you know, pretty for the girly girls. The bit that gets me most is where she lovingly strokes a smaller pink rifle saying it’s “awesome that they’re not just selling it to women but for little girls too”. WHAT THE JAYZUS?? THEY SPECIFICALLY MAKE GUNS FOR LITTLE HANDS!!!!!! This woman also seems to think it’s AWESOME for the kids to be outside rather than stuck inside on the computer. On this I couldn’t agree more but that’s where we differ, I’m quite happy and content with my son just going outdoors and climbing trees without throwing a gun and shooting sh*t into the mix! I mean there has to be 101 other things you can do to make the big wide “boring” outdoors more exciting than kill animals? Go and break a few neighbours windows if you really need a buzz!

Now the Canadian, much cockier and was pretty blatant about how little she cares about how anyone feels towards her for her actions. So far she has killed 29 different species, with her 10yr old son accompanying her on many of the trips (he’s currently gearing up for his first bear hunt!!!!) One of these kills was a lion, at which she seems very emotional about and by emotional, I mean pleased! I just don’t understand it….how are people allowed to do this? It’s not like lions are over running the world…aren’t they on their way to making it onto the endangered species list? I might understand if they were given free reign on something like pigeons, pigeons are a menace but not lions or zebras. I’m not sick of seeing zebras, I think I’d like to see few more to be fair. This woman’s next hunt will be a rhino, which she will graciously “greenhunt” (use a tranquilizer dart rather than a bullet). She then says an elephant will be next on her list, her friend asks why she can’t greenhunt that, to which she basically just says, nah mate don’t fancy it. She actually has no valid reason for killing an elephant….this astounds me!

Canadian woman sees herself exactly where we humans are meant to be…hunting. We are carnivores and it’s in our nature to hunt. Canadian also points out she did eat some of the lion, although I kinda feel like she’s just saying that, using the old “kill to eat” line to justify it a little. It’s almost a little strange that we do get upset by what these women do, as we raise animals to eat every day, maybe it’s just that the rest of us work off a fairly set list of whats acceptable to kill and eat and what’s not. I can see both women’s points a little on the “we are natural hunters” side of things, as without evolution I guess that’s where we’d be, but with evolution it’s where we’ve moved from too and killing animals for sport shouldn’t be acceptable. The thing is though hunting is big business in some of these places and thanks to governmental greed, if there’s money to be made then it’s unlikely to stop any time soon.

I found it kind of funny when the American woman spoke about the famous giraffe picture that instigated the Twitter assault. Apparently there were lots of valid reasons for killing this particular giraffe…he could no longer produce the goods to make a baby, he’d been kicked outta his gang, this lad was ready to die, not a bean worth living for so he may as well be hunted. Shur if he wasn’t he’d just go to waste! I just kept thinking of a little old grandad…oh shur listen lads, Grandad’s just a dried up old fossil now and we don’t really like hanging out with him anymore so lets just do him in! Could you imagine if that’s how we treated each other?? My God!! American woman also pointed out that it was good for that particular community, the economy even, that she’d shot the giraffe rather than him just dying and rotting out in the bush somewhere, at least this way they got some use out of him!

I also find it a bit weird that the American went hunting whilst pregnant with her daughter and took her young son along with her, after (I’m assuming) a bout of morning sickness! I feel strange in that, she was pregnant, growing a life and knowingly going out and taking a life…killing a life. It’s just weird and a bit unsettling. I guess it’s just hard to imagine a life giving woman as a life taker. Weirder still, is that I’m a little annoyed with myself for feeling this way, as doesn’t it seem a little sexist, almost like saying women can’t be hunters?

Did any of you see the show?

Donna x