Sex, Chocolate and Exercise

I just read a piece in Psychology Magazine that in order to remain happy; a woman like me needs a constant flow of endorphin releasers...! You know. The chemical that releases our internal happy pill. The article mentions laughter, the smell of clean babies and freshly cut grass. But apparently, the number three endorphin releasers are:

1) Chocolate
2) Exercise
3) Sex

I can roll with the chocolate thing. I love chocolate cake, chocolate muffins, hot drinking chocolate with whipped cream, white chocolate cookies and most of all, Cadbury's Flake.

The exercise challenge is right up my street! I love running and use my treadmill regularly. I also love aerobics, yoga and Pilates. If it means I can have a doughnut in the morning, pasta at lunchtime and steak in the evening, then I'm willing to run, jump up and down and puff and pant until my heart says stop!

Now the sex part. That's a question! I think I'm going to have to go away and think about that one.

Drunk Santa

While driving home from my work Christmas party, who do I see? Santa!

What is Santa doing? Vomiting in the gutter surrounded by Elves. I wasn't drunk because I was the designated driver and only had apple juice with a dash of lime. I wasn't seeing things either because I'm not crazy yet. But I so wished I wasn't seeing what I was seeing.

Santa pulling on his elasticated beard, retching up stuff in the gutter. What a disgrace.

Anyone who decides to dress up like Santa should sign a contract that says NO VOMITING BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, even if it's one o'clock in the morning and all the kids are tucked up in bed!

Bad Santa (Video contains VERY STRONG PROFANITIES)

The milk of human kindness

My sister Sheba’s car broke down in the snow yesterday. She was left stranded in the middle of the road in a car that was turning into an icebox by the second.

Because she sat precariously in the middle of the road, passing cars angrily blew their horns in disbelief that her car had the audacity to get in their way. Other motorists were also slowing down while they were passing so that they could make eye contact with the idiot who was blocking their way. It seemed more important to give Sheba a dirty look and the middle finger than to ask her if she was alright and if she needed any help.

After about 45 minutes of patiently waiting for the RAC to turn up, her hands and feet were beginning to turn numb but she was too afraid to go off some place to warm up a bit just in case the RAC came and left again.

While sitting there thinking about how much she hated her car for letting her down, a man approached the car and knocked on the window. He said to Sheba I noticed that you’ve broken down, would you like a cup of tea? Sheba said this is when the tears came rolling down. For almost an hour, she sat there in the middle of a busy London street in the freezing cold while the world passed her by or made it clear that they regarded her as a nuisance. When somebody finally recognised that she needed help or a friendly face, it made her feel very emotional.

After she drank the tea, she was bursting to use the toilet so she decided to use some bravery and knock on a door where she saw that people had been going in and out. The woman who opened the door said that she just moved in that morning and there wasn’t any light in the bathroom. Her neighbour overhead the conversation and said to Sheba, you can use mine. Sheba resisted the urge to cry and used the toilet and thanked everyone concerned. As she was leaving, the woman offered Sheba a blanket to keep warm. Sheba said she developed a lump in her throat the size of a number 37 bus!

No sooner had she sat in the car with the blanket on her lap, two men approached Sheba and asked if she would like them to push her car next to the pavement. It’s strange because as soon as someone unlocked the kindness door, people started falling out like skeletons in a closet.

The man from the RAC finally arrived. He said he’d take Sheba to the nearest bus stop or tube station. For whatever reason, three hours later, Sheba was at her front door. The man from the RAC took her all the way home while stopping every now and then to help other motorists with his shovel who were stuck in the snow. Her 40 minute journey home turned into an epic road-trip!

Sheba said she learnt a lesson yesterday. She said that from now on, she’s not just going to think about being kind, she’s just going to do it. She said that yesterday was a lesson in human kindness which will change the way she behaves forever.

Who Cut Your Hair! The Council?

I saw Joe, a guy I used to know back in the day. He greeted me with open arms and then stood back and said "what's happened to your hair"? This statement was said, not in a nice way, but in a very obvious DAMN GIRL... WHO CUT YOUR HAIR! A MAN WITH GLAUCOMA AT THE MENTAL HEALTH CENTRE?

Joe then said "you used to have nice long hair"! I looked at this shadow of a man and said "I prefer my hair short these days".

What I really meant to say was:

a) I never liked you.

b) You look old and smell musty.

c) I heard you're a woman beater.

d) Is it true that your youngest son isn't really yours?

e) Your sister's a tramp!

f) Why is your hair-line running away from your forehead?

g) Your mum looks like The Grinch!

But no... I just looked him up and down and said "one man's meat is another man's poison". That line just about makes sense to me but that's all I could come up with.

Don't you just hate when that happens. You know when your mouth runs dry when someone makes a spiteful remark. You go home and think of 20 different put downs that you wished you had come up with at the time.

Has anybody seen my Drunk Little Boy?

He was last seen breaking and entering my neighbours' house wearing a little girl's dress and carrying a Bud Light beer!

Can you believe it? A little boy, four years old, found wandering the streets, drunk wearing a stolen dress!

If this happened to me and my child, you would never, ever, ever, they say never say never? NEVER! You would never, ever find me on TV being interviewed by a news reporter.

Oh the shame!

Me… on the news! Are you crazy?

I'd rather jump into a frozen lake BUCK NAKED.

Death at a Funeral

I hope this film is worth the wait (Spring 2010). I hate it when all the best bits of a film is poured into a two minute Trailer. What a disappointment when that happens.

I loved the trailer for The Hangover and the film didn't disappoint, so I'm hoping that with all these stellar actors, Death at a Funeral will be fab.



The Day I Killed my Dad!

The August Mayfield Diaries

Secret Santa

At work, we decided to do a Secret Santa. I don't know where this idea came from originally, but a lot of offices do it these days. You pick a name out of a hat and anonymously buy the person whose name appears on the strip of paper a gift with a budget of approximately £5-10.

I picked a name out of the hat and was lucky enough to get the name of someone that I actually like so buying her a gift was easy. She's an iPod fan so I decided to buy her an accessory from the Apple Store.

Read more...

She won't be doing that again in a hurry

After an evening of heavy drinking, a teenaged girl decided to flash her naked breasts to passing traffic.

While she was enjoying herself, flashing her bosoms to the oncoming cars in the middle of a New Zealand road, a distracted motorist ran into her.

The teenager said she remembered seeing a car heading straight towards her but despite trying to run out of the way, she was hit.

Lucky for her, she got away with a few cuts and bruises after rolling over the bonnet of the car and cracking the windscreen.

Her words of advice to other drunk teenagers who have an uncontrollable desire to flash oncoming traffic was: "Don't be me, don't be stupid, don't get drunk and stand in the middle of the road and flash anyone because it hurts when you get hit."

I'm not going to cuss this girl. Who am I to judge when I do much worse things on a daily basis!

A Certified Spinster

My friend Jade’s been looking for love for the past 12 months. She’s tried speed dating, on-line dating, a few blind dates and endless nights of clubbing or crawling around wine bars hoping to get lucky. She’s even tried ‘not looking’ in the hope of something coming her way when she least expects it.

She gave herself a year to find love and she’s only got 14 days left to come up with someone or something otherwise come 2010, she'll be a certified Spinster! But this morning, she called me spitting blood, saying how vex she’s feeling because she’s just been looking through her free Local Guardian Newspaper and while she’s been going through their "Two’s Company" section, she’s noticed that there are about 50 single guys looking for different degrees of love.

What she’s mad about is the fact that loads of single men probably pass her by when she’s going about her daily business and she wanted to know why they chose to hide behind these 'twenty-five words or less' adverts in the free newspapers instead of taking the courage to actually talk to a walking, living breathing human being.

Jade said when she’s on the bus, men don’t even want to make eye contact. While she’s packed into a tube carriage pressed up against strangers, men keep their eyes fixed on anything but her. While she’s shopping, no one tries to pass the time of day. When she makes conversation in the news agents with a stranger, that’s as far as it goes. She said she’s been chatted up twice this year and one of the men was a drunken vagrant. She almost took him up on his offer because that’s the only offer she had in about four months!

She said when she makes the effort to present herself nicely to the world, no one even looks at her but they’re all there, filling in stupid forms and sending it to their local Guardian telling the world that they’re lonely and looking for love when love’s on their damn doorstep.

Before Jade hung up the phone, she said to me August, why don’t men just strike up a conversation? Personal ads are just... well... too impersonal! What’s so difficult about letting a woman know that you’re interested? I’ve been actively looking for love for a year. I’m a nice girl. Properly single; not divorced or separated. No kids. I work. I’ve got my own flat. My own teeth. I come from a good family. I’m not an ugly monster or a too-hot-to-handle hottie! I’m intelligent and AVAILABLE. Am I the problem?

Well she’s asking the wrong bird... I haven’t got a clue!

Maxwell - Bad Habits

It's Slick... It's Stylish... and Attractive...

...until something terrible happens!



I imagine the Heaton haters are clutching their bellies and rolling around with laughter right now.

Who... me... ? No!

The Smiths - hosts of the Nobel Peace Prize Ceremony in Oslo

The Nobel Peace Prize 2009 went to Barack Obama.



Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith appeared on stage with their son and daughter, Jaden and Willow at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert held in Oslo Spektrum this month in Norway where President Barack Obama accepted his Nobel Peace Prize.



Good thing Tiger Woods and his Mrs weren't booked to be the hosts of this ceremony! I'm sure most of Tiger's bookings have been cancelled. His diary must be full of red lines and Tippex!

I admire Will Smith and the way he goes about his life. I don't see him as a role model husband and father, I've got my own dad and I'm quite happy with what he's done with my mum and us Mayfields. What I will say is that I admire Will Smith's strength of character, how he presents himself and I love listening to what he has to say. I can't deny that I also think a man who is beautiful inside and out is rather intoxicating!

Will Smith's Interview with Tavis Smiley



The Alchemist

I think I need a medical

I spoke to my cousin Ryan this morning. I left him a message to call me ASAP because I was dying. Dying of a broken laptop. He's an IT genius and I've done something horrible to my machine and I left him a very suicidal message.

He called me back just as I was putting on my jumper-dress. When my head finally popped out of the too tight roll-neck, tortoise style, I answered the phone quickly so that it wouldn’t ring off.



Ryan then said to me, did I catch you at a bad time, you sound out of breath. Well… no! I said to him not a bad time at all. I was just putting on my dress. He burst out laughing and said I sounded as if I just finished jumping up and down on a trampoline. He then asked me if the dress was too tight and did I have to wrestle with it. Wrestle with it? WTF!

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I noticed that the dress may have been a little too tight; like it was painted on, but the thought of me puffing and panting and sounding out of breath after a simple act of putting on clothes filled me with dread.

I might have to go for a medical or something, maybe I need a peak flow reading to check out my lung capacity.

Maybe I’m dying of emphysema.

Maybe I need a bigger dress!!

It's the end of this season's X Factor

A lot of people can't stomach Simon Cowell and this X Factor machine of his. The programme has a gazillion viewers and the contestants have trillions of fans and every year the programme becomes more and more popular and Simon Cowell and his judges are never out of the tabloids. So is it really that bad?

If it's so much rubbish, full of idiot-foolishness made for lower class people with porridge for brains and nothing better to do, then why does it remain so popular? I guess it's that cliché - either you love it or you hate it and I still love it.

Well I say I love it, but only once I get past the fact that some excellent singers are sent home before time and not given a chance. I tune in for the drama and if you know me, you know I love drama!!

But I'm not a phone voter and it doesn't keep me awake at night. As a viewer, it's pure entertainment.

Another reason why I'm an X Factor fan is because it’s made so many people's dreams come true and sometimes, all you have to hold on to are your dreams and if someone like Simon Cowell and his X Factor/Pop Idol/American Idol machine can make a dream come true, then I'm all for it.

In years to come, maybe my grandson or grand-daughter, little Augustus or Augustine Mayfield could be the next Simon Cowell/P. Diddy type music mogul, making people's dreams come true. So as much as a lot of it is entertainment telly-tosh, if you've got a music mogul's money-making savvy in making a very "ordinary" person into a singing superstar, then great - more money for Grandma! And yes... I know not all of the winners become stars but on the other hand, not all of the losers disappear into obscurity. They too can become stars like JLS.

Daddy's Little Girl

It’s my dad’s birthday today. Right now, he’s sunning himself in Jamaica with my mother (with my inheritance money)!

To his horror, mother’s decided to drag him 'kicking & screaming' to a beach-side barbecue event. I say to his horror because she’s taking him to do what she wants to do when he really wants to sit at home on his veranda; watching the world go by holding a large Wray & Nephew and coke in one hand and a big fat cigar in the other. Mother said he’s not allowed to drink due to his diabetes and he’s not allowed to smoke due to old age!

Mother must know after all these years that my dad's the King of making her believe he's doing what she wants him to do when he's not doing what she wants him to do at all.

When my dad wasn’t being a mega strict disciplinarian, we did things out of her line of vision that would have made my mother turn grey over night. He taught me how to blow cigarette rings, he also taught me how to do a big burp after gulping down Special Brew. We often had dancing sessions when he played his vinyl records which was real authentic reggae music.

Another thing we did without mother's knowledge was driving around to visit his friends. On the way home, he would do Coney Island style wheel spins in the car by driving fast and pulling up the hand-break so we'd spin around dangerously in his Ford Cortina!

In between the fun stuff, my dad didn't forget to teach me some valuable life lessons. He put me on a pedestal and made it very clear that I could be whatever I wanted to be and that I was a beautiful little girl who would grow up into a beautiful woman and to never let anyone tell me anything different.

Unfortunately for my mother, I ended up smoking Benson & Hedges, belching like a man, dancing like dancehall queen every time I hear reggae music and I drive like a maniac!

Thanks dad – you taught me well and I still believe that on my good days, I’m a beautiful human being.

They say that Chivalry is dead...

...and women killed it!

Not so. Chivalry is so NOT dead as this chivalrous man so clearly proves.

He said Shirley, shall I pick you up at eight and Shirley says yes, as long as you've got the wheels, I'll be ready and waiting.

Colour Me Bad! (With Permanent Marker)

These two idiots... Matthew McNelly and Joey Miller decided to colour in their faces as a disguise in an attempted burglary!



What’s even dumber is the fact that they used permanent marker.

They need a permanent kick!

When officers stopped the two in their Buick, they were surprised to find both men with primary school type painted faces as some sort of make-shift balaclava.

How can you seriously punish these two idiots. They’re the kind of pitiful specimens who you just look at, tut-tut, shake your head and then walk away from.

Please don't touch me Hugh Grant!

Is tactile touching inappropriate when it comes from a male film star to a cute blond female? Hugh Grant seems to think it's OK to squeeze and kiss a relative stranger. But Hugh Grant is used to kissing and squeezing strangers. I'm sure he didn't know Divine Brown from Adam when he was caught in the front seat of his car with his Y-fronts around his ankles the night he was arrested.

I guess tactile touchy-feeliness is only a turn off when the person inappropriately touching you is a turn off!

When I say inappropriate, I don't mean a grope and a fondle of the parts you only expose in the bath, I'm talking about someone not too familiar leaning in for a kiss or someone giving you a lecherous hug for a few seconds too long!

You don't have to be a body language expert to know that the expression on comedienne Anke Engelke's face is an expression of "oh dear God, I wish this wasn't happening... get this lech off me... ". On the other hand, I suppose Hugh Grant, who I'm sure has been made to believe that he's a cad, a charmer, a ladies man and a sex symbol thinks that this kind of behaviour's cool!

We were discussing this at work and people were completely split about whether a hug and a kiss from a stranger is appropriate. Answers differed because different scenarios drew different reactions from people. Being hugged by a gorgeous man after three piña colada's in a nightclub is slightly different from being hugged by Nigel in accounts while standing by the office vending machine. Poor Nigel's feet wouldn't touch the floor on the way to HR.

Now on the other hand, I'd gladly pay for an inappropriate hug from actor, Brian J White and if I didn't have any money to pay him for said inappropriate hug, I'd steal the money, probably from my grandma's 'run-away' money in the cookie jar (long story). But BJ can hug me any day; at work, at home, in a supermarket, at the bus stop, in KFC, in the VIP lounge, on a chat show, in a lift... ANYTIME!

Brian J White



Speaking of 'Anytime' reminds me of Brian McKnight's Anytime

Go ahead... watch the Video!

The August Mayfield Diaries

I Love Him But I Don't 'Love Him, Love Him'!

A friend of mine, let's call her Christine is getting married next February but she said she's not in love with her fiancé. She said it's more of a case that they really get along like two best friends. Christine says that her and her fiancé make a really good team and work together for the greater good of their future. They both sing from the same hymn sheet of life, they hardly ever disagree; they both want the same kind of life-style and have the same family values and background. So as far as she's concerned, they're a perfect match.

Read more ...

Who's going to feed us when your neck's broken?

This morning, I decided to make an early start on the housework. It's been sorely neglected all weekend because I've been doing double shifts at work.

I scrubbed and cleaned and vacuumed and dusted and took care of everything you can see and some of the things you can't.

My pink Marigold's wondered what the devil had got into me. They were in and out of a bucket of bleach like a Domestos manufacturer.

While I was cleaning a stain on the wall, I noticed that the living room clock had stopped. I got out the new batteries and looked up at the clock, fully well knowing that I couldn't reach it. It's too high up on the wall for me to reach without a step ladder. I looked around, searching for something to stand on because I couldn't be bothered to get the step ladder out of the cupboard. I reached for the wobbly office chair on wheels and climbed up to take the clock off the wall.

As soon as both feet were on the chair, my children were standing around me like tourists looking at The Eiffel Tower! My eldest son shouted at me. SHOUTED. At me? Well I was confused because this was a new tone to my ears. My children never shout at me. The child said "get down off the chair, it's dangerous". As I looked down from the lofty heights of the wobbly chair, I started to lose my balance and then the other child started shouting too. He was saying "see, that's stupid, you could fall down and break your neck and who would look after us? Who would feed us?"

I climbed down and shoved the batteries into the chest of the tallest child and said "here, you do it".

Who would feed us indeed! I've got the telephone number of at least three different children's homes - fully equipped for kids who shout at their mothers.

I know, I know... my children were just showing me that they care!

I wanna buy beer and I wanna buy it now and don't try to stop me!

This is drunkard Jason at 10 o'clock in the morning trying to buy booze.

The only thing that's stopping him is his beer goggles and his brandy legs!

Hair today... gone tomorrow!

Naomi Campbell brings new meaning to the words "trying to make ends meet".

Could it be that the Weaved Hair Fairy's come in to her apartment in the middle of the night and stolen the front of her hair to give it back to whoever it belongs to? Meeow!!

Maybe the hair loss is down to the excessive sewing & weaving or maybe the stresses & strains of being a supermodel has gotten to her. All I know is Naomi's hair line decided to quit the job and hand in it's notice.

This is definitely not a good look.

She can forget advertising campaigns for L'Oréal because it's not worth it.

Don't mind me and my bitching! I'm no hater of Ms Campbell, I'm just showing off because my hairdreser has given me a haircut to die for! I won't be gloating this time next week when I'm clutching tongs, gel and a small tooth comb, crying because I look like a hedgehog because I can't get it right.

Pillow Talk

Not tonight dear, didn't you get my email?

Ooops Upside your head I said Ooops upside your head!

That's the song Mrs Woods was singing when she clubbed the Tiger!

Well who would have thought that Tiger Woods would have got himself into so much trouble.

It looks like the tale of The Wondering Willy has got him into a lot of hot water.

Girls are literally tripping over themselves to tell the world that Tiger is a deceitful, unfaithful trog. I think Tiger needs Jesus in his life!

Any volunteers to take him to church??

Tiger Woods after his imaginary Beating



It's going hurt a lot more if Wifey gets out her pre-nup papers and takes him to the cleaners.

The Godfather

Me and my sister Sheba decided to visit our Godfather yesterday. We try to get the visit in before he complains about us not having been around to see whether he’s dead or alive! Those are his words, not mine.

When Sheba called him, she said we’d be over after 6pm. He’s very particular about time-keeping, so we got there at 5.55pm but no one was home. This was unusual because he’s always home and if he’s not there, our Auntie Lizzie’s normally there but the house was quiet and the lights were off. No one was home.

Our Godfather doesn’t have modern gadgets such as a mobile so we decided to hang around for 15 minutes but it was too cold for us to be standing on the doorstep so we went to the pub across the road to wait instead. When we walked into the pub, who was standing by the bar dressed like Shaft vs. Mack Daddy holding a large brandy? Only our Godfather! He said he couldn’t resist the temptation of the pub because his wife had gone to the chiropractor in Stockwell and she’d be there for hours. Normally she forbids him to drink alcohol because he’s a diabetic and she's a Christian but he took advantage of her absence and said he just knew we’d come to the pub looking for him. Little did he know we weren’t looking for him at all. We were looking for a large brandy and coke!

Me and Sheba sat with my Godfather and his drinking buddies and listened to long stories until our little livers were crying out for evian.

We decided that it was time we took our Godfather home, hopefully in time for him to try to sober up. When we arrived, while he was putting the key in the door, Auntie Lizzie swung the door open as if she’d been rehearsing the action all day. She stuck her nose in the air and walked off. Unfortunately, she was gripping the cross around her neck and holding the bible.

Sheba said to me did you see the bible? I said did you see the crucifix? We shuffled into the living room like lambs to the slaughter and then Sheba gave me the I’m going to burst out laughing look. I then whispered to Sheba “is it me, or is the Jesus portrait on the wall staring at us”? Well that was it. We got the giggles and Auntie Lizzie started shouting at everyone.

Both me and Sheba made a quick exit by saying OK then, lovely to see you both. We better go now. Kiss-kiss, bye-bye and off we went as conspicuous as two foxes in a chicken coop!

Plotting at the Breakfast Club

I met my friend for breakfast this morning. We met in a coffee shop and it was chock full of pushchairs.

There were mothers and babies every square inch. I felt completely out of place. I was very close to stuffing a cushion up my jumper just to fit in. I've never experienced wall-to-wall mothers & babies in a coffee shop before. But my friend said to me that it was one of the friendlier establishments who cater for mums & babies and makes them feel welcome.

Many moons ago, when I had my children, you turn up at the school gates looking as rough as you felt; never mind sitting in a coffee shop afterwards. You rush home to do the washing, cleaning, ironing and cooking. After that, you might have a shower or if you're lucky a bath. Then you log onto the PC, not to check your email but to open your Excel spreadsheet to see if there's a way of juggling £50 without your husband finding out and then you rush off to the supermarket just before you return to the school gates again to collect the waiting child who's weighed down with a half eaten packed lunch box, a book-bag, a damp painting and a letter about a trip to the museum requesting money you haven't got!

The reason why I met my friend for breakfast this morning is because she said if she doesn't get out of her 1 year old marriage, she's going to kill her husband. I personally believe she's suffering from post-marriage depression because she keeps on talking about different ways of killing her husband.

Last week she wanted to run him over, the week before she wanted to grind poison into his food and this week, she's fantasizing about Lucifer.

She leaned in closer to me while we were sitting at the table with our tea and coffee and said "I hate him so much I’d be happy to spend the next 20 years of my life digging a hole so deep, the spade would be smashing into the gates of hell. That way, I could hand the m****f****er over to Satan personally".

Not the kind of thing you say at breakfast while you have your baby on your lap and you're stirring your coffee with one hand and buttering your bagel with the other!