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BOOK REVIEW: Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin
Reviewed by Deborah Riccio

The ultimate ‘What If?’ story.

What if, after 100 days of being married to the gorgeous, charming, rich, kind, sensitive, hell - perfect - Andy, you literally happen to run into the enigmatic, wildly exciting, passionate, nerve-tinglingly handsome Leo with whom you shared some, shall we say, positively highly charged months of your life?

Gulp.

Would you have the nerve to speak to him? Would you have the strength of mind to pretend that this encounter (some might call fate or destiny) means nothing and that you’ve moved on quite nicely without him, thank you very much? Or would you just put this sighting down to pure chance and get on with your life, ignoring the fact that he probably doesn’t want any more to do with you now than he did when he unceremoniously left you cold all those years ago without a decent explanation as to why? Well?

Ellen does all of the above. She literally swings from one conflicting decision and emotional resolution to another – and at a breathtakingly beautiful pace. I became Ellen’s only confidante – frustratedly mute – which kept me positively giddy with the thrill of not knowing which way she was going to turn next.

‘Love The One You’re With’ is a poignant, charming, utterly captivating account of what happens when you’re not sure the decisions you made once were the right ones and you’re still not sure you trusted the right people – even if some of them now form part of your family. It certainly doesn’t help that when you got married, your best friend became your sister-in-law. Which makes it even more difficult to question their - and your – motives for the life you now find yourself in.

A heady rush of conflicting impulses to the eternal ‘What If?’ conundrum which everyone can identify with, written with such humour and warmth that it will have you immediately ordering the back catalogue of everything Emily Giffin’s ever written – unless you were already a massive fan. Which you will be after reading this.

Oh, and the ending? Didn’t see it coming and caught my breath – a truly wonderful book – one that is already on the re-read list.

Hark! I hear Yesteryear!

Oooh!!! the most thrilling thing just went past the window of the little room in which I write. 'Twas a Rag and Bone truck. Remember them? I don't think I've seen one since I was a teenager and still living with my parents. Even then I couldn't quite make out what it was they were actually yelling from the seat at the front (it used to be a horse and cart - proper Steptoe stuff back then)any more than I could make out what the guy was yelling from his cab just now. It starts off kinda "Any...any...any...any...any...
mumble...mumble...mumble...rag and bone!"
I do get the last three words - oh, and the first one, obviously...Only what they had on the back looked a lot more like metal than rag or bone. A fridge, a metal gate, an iron bath tub and loads of pipes. Maybe they weren't saying "rag and bone" then - maybe they're metal merchants these days, are they?
Anybody?
I mean, what would anybody do with a load of proper rag and/or bone these days anyway?
Anybody?
Not that I'm all that interested what they're collecting really - I mean we all must make our way in this world by whatever means are available to us - it just threw me back to my childhood and then I remembered a couple other things that made me all wistful and nostalgic:
1. The Salvation Army singing carols at Christmas on the corner of our street that I used to watch from my bedroom window (classic Dickensian picture).
2. The Strawberry truck and the incredible smell that used to accompany it.
3. The Duster/peg man who used to have everything you could possibly need for the house - and some things you knew you'd never use but bought anyway because you felt sorry for him.
4. The Lucky Heather lady - always scarily persuasive even though a part of you wanted to snort 'scary awl hag' at her and run away (difficult action to pull off with any aplomb when it's your doorway she's standing at).
5. The lovely Binmen - when they actually didn't mind unlatching a back gate, walking down your path and lifting the bin from it's home - none of this poncing about demanding bins are left in a designated zone. And Binmen - if you're reading this (you never know...) that's why we don't give you a Chistmas tip anymore - what's to reward?!
Pah!
Ahhh..... now I feel all soporiphic and yearnful for the Good Ol' Days.
It'd be great if we could embrace our yesteryear before it ups and becomes just that - one day these will be the Good ol' days...
Well, okay, maybe just ol'.

Most parents DO 'ave 'em!

But the real question is why? They cause more problems the older they get than do the kids and/or the ageing relatives - and that's saying something. The only great thing about them is that they can't answer back because of the 'one vocal cord' thing. And I bet they're fooling us i that respect too! And Jeez... but can't they make the most of that one sodding vocal cord they DO have?!!
Pets.
I'm talking pets, of course. And the reason we have them? Simply children. Our parents had them whilst they were children - didn't they use them to help shift heavy logs and stuff in the fields or something? And we have such fond memories of the ones we had ourselves as children, don't we? We instinctively seem to deem them a part of our history and thenceforth our own children's history-in-the-making.
Personally speaking the dog in our house was the only living creature who ever truly listened to me when I needed to bend a (soft, fluffy, warm) ear but that was about the best thing about it. Okay, walking it was quite nice - if the weather was right. Brushing it was okay too - so long as I got the requisite fifty pee payment afterwards. But would I ever have stooped so low (see what I did there?!) as to pick up any of our family pet's 'messages' from the street/park/shoes it saw fit to leave a deposit in? Er... I think not! If lifting a steaming pile of dog shit with an inverted Co-op carrier bag had been a part of my daughterly duties, then - pocket-money-making or not - that would have been a chore too far.
Of course, I don't honestly know what I would have done to have passed this motion (fnnar, fnnar!) to my parents - just reneged on the 50p demand I guess. No great standpoint really.
We had gerbils too. Two of them. One for me (Big Un) and one for my brother (Little Un). Which all started out perfectly nicely until my parents found them in a state of procreating frenzy and the penny dropped they weren't the same sex the guy in the shop told us they were. Arse. I'm still not certain which shocked my parents more... whether it was witnessing post-coital gerbils or the fact we'd have to buy another cage to separate them.
I'm wondering if this thought was at the back of my mothers mind when she inadvertently sat on one gerbil which was hiding underneath a cushion on the setee when she threw herself into full relax-mode from work one afternoon. The little thing managed to drag inself out from underneath with a clear daze about it and managed to survive another week or so but I think it wa delayed shock that finished it off in the end. Having my mother's rear bearing down and subseuently flattening the breath from you HAS to be way more shocking to a gerbil than the thought of carrying your brother's incestuous love-child. Surely?
When Mini-Me was about 5 I thought her having kittens would be agreat introduction to health, hygiene, responsibility, grooming... oh I'm floundering with my reasoning now... I think I was cajouled into getting two cute little fluff ball because her friends all had a pet something or other and I felt left out. (me - not her!). So two gorgeous fluff-balls of 6 week old kittens were duly purchased to much excitement and enthusiasm - for about 6 months and then, guess what? They became cats. Proper, squawking, stay-out-late, shit-where-you-want, bring-gifts-of-dead-mice/birds-home, sick-up on the carpet when you feel like it, mewing, refusing-to-eat-anthing-other-than-gourmet-foil-trays (my grandfather's meals on wheels pale into insigificance) cats.
Wave a stick/ribbon/piece of wool in front of either of them now and they look at you with the disdain of a superior being who cannot seriously believe it has the misfortune of having to share a home with you - much less have to move to get off a favourite chair or cushion to let you sit on it. God damn can't you SEE I've still only slept for nineteen hours today?! Get a life, you sad excuse for a human being... oh and while you're getting that, a nice saucer of (Whiskas) milk would be nice too... it's exhausting lying about here licking my balls all day.
Gah - what a life!
But awwwww... what memories they're bequeathing us, hmm?
Hmm?

Things that make me go "aaaarghhhhh!" (part I probably)

Hands up who actually likes getting those 'chain post' e-mails in their inbox?
How many of us seriously think "Ooohhh goody... so if I forward this onto nine of my contacts then Good Luck will befall me approximately nine minutes following my hitting the 'send' button - and if I don't, then it's a near certainty that one of my close family members and/or a friend will die.... okay then".
And what if, perchance, you're just on your way to work and you're running late and you don't have time to consider possible repercussions let alone sift through your address book for the nine people you are almost convinced won't, in turn, be mortally offended by this ridiculous threat that assualts them the minute they open their in-box?
What if, say, you've already received some pretty bad news and this is the final small thing that will topple you over the edge of the cliff of sanity you're desperately clinging onto right now?
There should be a Law. It's Hate Mail basically, isn't it? It's a threatening letter only it's sent electronically, as most things these days are. Including one recently which included a 'prayer' if you will! Now I'm all for moving with the times and I did love the part in 'Bruce Almighty' where he received e-mailed prayers from everyone who prayed in the world - but... please? The power of prayer through microchips and wire/less?
Of course, these mails, like anything else we "don't really understand the power of", work. They really do. Because it's a proven fact that if you go around believing good stuff will happen (whether the e-mail tells you or not) then it probably will. You'll have a smile, your heart will be big, your mind open to possibilities and you have the aura of someone to which everything is naturally "drawn". You're a Good Luck Magnet basically. And even if it's only marvelling at the way a bud is opening up on the daffodils or the way a mother thrush stuffs her babys beaks with food, these are all 'Good Things' to the Positive person.
Contrariwise, the Negative person who believes bad luck follows him/her around doesn't need an e-mail to tell him that he will trip over every stone on the pavement, not have an umbrella when it starts to rain, will be late for that urgent meeting and will probably die of a stress-induced heart attack - because he expects bad luck.
In my opinion it is a weak person who feels they have no choice but believe in these things and it is a bully who perpeturates them and inflicts them on others.
Less than four weeks after my father died I received just such a chain-mail from a colleague. Unfortunately my young daughter read it with me and became seriously distressed and sobbed "Does that mean somebody else is going to die now?". When I confronted my colleague about this, after apologising, she added that she'd only sent it to me to 'make up the numbers' anyway... Not nice.
In fact, Blue Peter once got all their viewers to send in their 'chain mail' letters so that they could destroy them on their behalf, proving that, sadly, this is not a new thing. There should still be such an Escape today for those who aren't strong enough to just hit 'delete' and not seriously believe that someone else can dictate what will happen in their life. Belief comes from within, after all. Nobody can give you it or take it away. If you have the strength of mind to believe in yourself, then no amount of coertion, e-mail or otherwise, can shake that faith and if anyone is thinking of sticking me on a 'forward' list then please - think again.
p.s. Of course the jokes and the pictures of daft-looking animals can keep right on coming!

Things my parents used to say that I'm (scarily) starting to agree with...

1.There truly aren't enough hours in the day.
After having scoffed at the ridiculousness of this statement (backed up by scientific research into time management- probably) for years, now I'm, ahem... older - I can actually *smell* time passing faster than it used to. Anyone else getting a whiff of it?
2.There really is a Time and a Place. Makes perfect sense really, doesn't it? And if you don't believe me (or them) then you only have to watch an episode of Dr Who for absolute confirmation.
3.Don't spend what you haven't got. Blimey. In today's mental economic climate, how true, how true... mum and dad didn't buy anything on the HP. The mortgage was their only debt therefore they never had a foreign holiday and only ever bought stuff for the house after fleecing my brother and I into paying 'Housekeeping' for the weeks we'd been away on holiday. Win-win (to them). One year we came back to find half the Cotswolds in our living room in the form of a tacky fireplace (with alcoves) which stretched the entire wall.
3.Make do and Mend. Ta-dah! E-Bay. Need I elaborate?
4.It's better to arrive 20 minutes late than 20 years early.My dad used to say this during every car journey we ever took and I always groaned because he never went over the speed limit even when my bladder was stretched to its capacity and we still had another five million potholes to navigate - through. Now, though, it makes perfect sense.
5.You can't do any more than Your Best.I used to think this was another way of saying 'Go away, you hopeless non-achiever and carry on counting ants in the back garden.' But it's an undeniable truth.
6.There's nothing better than a cup of tea, a dog at your feet and the love of a good wo/man.Apart from substituting the dog at my feet for a bloody good book, I'd have to say that's pretty much spot on!
There are loads others but now I want to, I can't think of them.
Anyone got any corkers?!

Freddie or Nicole?

I always maintain that "inside I'm Nicole Kidman" - you know, all winsome and petite (in a willowy way) with fine, porcelain features, a smattering of girlish freckles (I do have the freckles actually) and the cascading curls - oh, but with the good sense to have held onto the Cruise for a while longer (yum). But after today I'm starting to wonder if I haven't got more than a little Freddie Murcury inside me. Absolutely no turning-homosexual puns intended (if there could be any made of course).
Because after today, and following the fact that I've been on a two-week break for Easter, I have arrived at the following conclusion:
"I want to break Free" because:
a. I hate 6.30 alarms.
b. I hate annoying, chirpy DJ's at above time.
c. I hate having to wear something other than jeans and yesterday's stained t-shirt.
d. I hate having to drive an hour someplace I'm only going to be at for 4 hours and then
e. have to drive home again (that's like a 6 hour day for part-time pay!)
f. I dislike (can't say hate because I survived) having to make small-talk abut how great was your break?
g. I hate knowing that during my 6 hours of oppression I could be adding a further, say, 2thou words to my latest book and
h. Could be a lot closer to having the thing ready to be sent Out There...
Then again
I didn't get hurt, I did have a laugh, I did something for the community (school-related of course) and I didn't sit about in my jammies reading the latest Emily Giffin for three hours whilst thinking about having a shower and preparing some leisurely brekkies... at least my arse was shifted...aha, I knew I was on the payroll for a reason!

My Personal Fritter

Remember Spam Fritters at school? Loved them. I think I loved the way all that cooking oil and fat seeped out when you cut into them - and they were salty - weren't they? (the memory tends to also fritter with age) am almost certain they were salty. And you either loved them or loathed them. Like the proverbial Marmite conundrum.
Pineapple Fritters. Remember them? Where did they come from? Were they on the Chinese menu? I don't remember where but I do remember they were there. Didn't like 'em. Too sweet. I mean - you wouldn't batter and deep fry a banana, now would you? Ah, okay then.
And I knew someone once who liked to fritter and deep fry a Mars bar or two. Couldn't quite manage it properly but they had a go.
How about weekends?
Hell, why not go the whole hog and fritter a whole week - no, make that two - a whole Frittered Fortnight... Mmmm now doesn't that get your taste buds going?!
Method: Dust the time well with very good intentions spiced with ideas a-plenty and every determination to rise early and pack as much into it as humanly possible and then just sit back and watch your efforts soar with success...
Oh... I'm a sucker for a Fritter - I'm just so damned good at Frittering. I could Fritter for England. I could go on Britain's Got Talent and Fritter (more interesting than watching some guy try and beat the World Record for Ferrero Rocher consumption I would guarantee). I should have a degree in Frittering.
Best laid plans -vs- a nice tasty Fritter?
No competition!

Last 15 of my 25 Random Things

11. I am allergic to alcohol.

12. I am terrible at keeping in touch with friends and admire those that do. (Can you tell this is a veiled apology?!)

13. Mr East, my Primary school teacher, inspired me to become a writer. He was so encouraging of my writing that I wrote constantly from nine. (That’s age – not o’clock).

14. New York doesn’t beckon me, neither does Sydney Opera House. I don’t have a Wanderlust bone in my body.

15. Christmas dinner is my favourite meal and I could eat it all the time.

16. I'm quite hard work at times but believe it's worth the effort!

17. I dreamed of my husband repeatedly before we even met (seriously).

18. Celery is the spawn of the devil.

19. So are Radishes (who thought those doozies up?!)

20. Procrastination was invented with me in mind.

21. Laughter really is the best medicine.

22. I hate bad grammar and poor spelling. There should be a Law.

23. I see faces in almost everything. Curtains, trees, floor tiles, duvet covers... you name it...

24. Maths makes my heart race - in a bad way.

25. I hardly ever tell anyone my real age because I don't want them to think that I'm retarded - intellectually. (By now I should know the Capital of Peru, surely?!) (OMG – Peru is a country, right?!) (SEE!!!)

Which part of "no thanks" don't you understand?!

Avon ladies are lovely. They're a doddle. They don't seem to care too much if you tell them you're not interested; that the last time you tried to renew the cells on your face with Hydro-phanny-pre-vita-biotic mega Serum 19, your skin erupted in a mass of angry, red-raw wheals which took a fortnight out of your life to calm down. They smile, they say 'ah well' and they're on their way.
The guy from the local Dairy took some beating. Not literally, you understand, but Hubby was sorely tempted, let me tell you. And I couldn't have been more forceful with my 'Not for us, thanks' either but each time he upped the ante and came right back at me with more valid reasons as to why we should have our dairy products delivered to our door in the wee smalls.
Point 1. It would be serving our community. (i.e. his Dairy I'm guessing)- my repsonse: "I do understand how difficult it must be in these times of credit crunch etc, but..."
Point 2. We wouldn't have to buy our dairy produce at the supermarket (instead we'd be paying extra for having it delivered at times we may not want it and in quantities we might feel the need to change at a second's notice - you know how it gets) - my response: But I'd rather. It's on the list, I'm at the supermarket anyway - I don't cope well with change (that's altering things - not coins of small denomination...)
Point 3. We would be the only house in the street not participating (you miserable, penny-pinching non-supportive ex-members of this so-called community) my response: "Ah well, you can't win them all" - not received in the good humour it was intended.
Would I try it out for a month? "No, thanks." But I would speak to the Hubby and see what he said.
Ha Ha! It's usually the other way round - the husbands have to get permission from the wives first! which completely got my back up and I wish I'd said "ah but actually that was my final get-out clause as you don't seem to have been hearing any of the others".
Of course following my string of NO THANKS, we started to have milk delivered to us! The wrong *strength* milk and at times that we really didn't want/need it. And it took us two weeks of ringing the Dairy to convince them that we hadn't signed up for anything in the first place.
And they had the gall to bill us for the milk we never even took in. Aaarrrggghhhhhhh!!!
So do I still maintain my rose-tinted ideal of the lovely British milk float whirring quaintly up the roads at four in the morning, bringing cheer and a certain amount of cholestoral to the English countryside?
Er... No, thanks.

25 Random Things - Part I

Can you tell I can't think of anything deep and meaningful to post?!

1. When I was 10 I tried to get rid of my freckles by scouring them with lemon juice and vinegar. I woke up with the pillow stuck to my face. And I stank.

2. My first crush was on Thomas O'Malley (O'Malley The Alleycat from "The Aristocats"). Obviously I've moved on since then. Husband is neither cartoon nor feline. Though he is deliciously cheeky and slinky and… ok, ok… so it set a precedent!

3. My favourite pair of knickers were ripped off on a badly constructed park slide when I was 8. I was more mortified having to go back up to retrieve them before walking home with them in my pocket.

4. I hate bad drivers. Which is everyone on the road apart from me. My dad taught me that.

5. I miss my dad every day.

6. I always wanted a Gay best friend – and then my best friend came out!

7. Hoovering is just another excuse not to write. So is dusting. And washing-up.

8. I like ironing. (Note: I didn't use the *love* word).

9. My favourite colour is teal because it's a mixture of blue and green and I can't choose from either of those.

10. Making decisions is not one of my strengths. I don't think, anyway.

Part II coming soon!
Oooh I bet you can hardly wait, eh?!!!

Er... are you pre-menstrual or something?

You'd think, wouldn't you, that after nigh on thirty years of having your "little sister"/"Great Aunt"/"The Decorators" staying for a week, you'd have kind a got the hang of the little... shall we say, 'hints' of their imminent arrival. I mean, it's not as if these visits are entirely UN-planned, now are they?!
So why do I seriously still expect some kind of written acknowledgment that this is going to happen? Why do I still stand back in amazement at the conundrum that is crying over spilt anything, the Andrex puppies, Strictly CD or even X-Factor (come on now!), the misplaced temper tantrums and finally the abject realisation of my pitiful, let me repeat, PITIFUL excuse for an existence and then feel utterly guilty for having felt that because of all the starving and dying children in the world... oh, you get the picture.
I shouldn't be allowed out during these days of mental cruelty - to others I mean. Once I even knocked down a brick wall whilst reversing into the drive. On realising what I'd done, I drove forwards and ran over a large piece of already knocked down wall and then tried to go back in - thus ensuring I took out at least a further three rows. MiniMe still marvels at the sight of mother knocking down a brick wall and then making damn sure I'd done a proper job of it!
So it should have come as no great surprise that whilst Hubby was mowing the lawn yesterday he called over to ask me if I'd been in any 'scrapes in the car' recently. Not what I would have called a scrape, but yes, the day before I'd misjudged the kerb on the helter-skelter car park and driven probaby 50 metres ON IT, hence the 'scrapheap challenge'-look it was now sporting with it's skirt hanging off the front. Gulp. Yes. And in human years, it's still only a baby...surely tantamount to abuse of the cruellest order?!
OMG! - hand me those tissues, will you, I think Aunty's on her way!

Little Things = Big Difference

You know what I mean.
It could be anything. A thing so simple that it turns an otherwise perfectly lovely day into either something resembling that worrying scene from 'The Day After Tomorrow' - or into a prettifull, sumptuous scene from the jolly and sunny 'Wizard of Oz' (except the scene with those weird scary monkeys with spears).
It doesn't take a lot to alter the perspective does it? A mis-read repeat prescription request for example. When you automatically ASS-U.ME that a doctor or at the very least the doctor's admin staff are going to be able to read and get it right, before you're standing in a long queue at the chemists waiting to pick up half the quantity you requested (you thought it was going to be far sinsiter than that didn't you?).
And then you discover that someone you worked for for nearly five years has overlooked this small fact and invited your successor (of five minutes) to her surprise Birthday Party - okay, I'm guessing SHE didn't do this on purpose but the people who organised the thing did - humph.
And then just as you've been searching all the shelves for a certain publication for Hubby in Smiths, rubbing very suspect shoulders of other 'men with certain interests', and then had to resort to asking for help from a teenage Saturday assistant who finds it in no time at all... then .... THEN to be texted whilst I'm putting my change away - still at the tills - by said Hubby 'don't worry - don't need this week's after all.'
And then on the way home, waiting in a stream of midday traffic to turn left (easy peasy but I'm not a 'pusher-inner') one of my Best Friends drives past with her daughter and they give me a cheery wave of 'hello' whilst NOT LETTING ME OUT!!! AAaaaarghhhhhhhh!
But ...then there's the other side of the coin, isn't there?
I did get a load of 'love you's at the end of Hubby's text. Bless. The School holiday's start today - woo hoo! The sun's still streaming. I've done two loads of washing today and it's still only three pee em. And I have absolutely no inclination whatsoever to hoover.
I am a Writer. I Write.
If I was meant to Hoover I'd be a Hoove. Well, wouldn't I?