Top 10 signs you are a Suburban Mum

I’d like to be Urban. When I am Sarah Applewood the ‘Actress’ I do try and morph and camouflage myself into the East London Dalston Hackney living theatrical that lives in house share and goes to gig at trendy pubs and brick walled art studios. However there are too may signs that suggest Sarah Applewood ‘the Mum’ is more suburban than Urban. Sometimes that makes me happy. Sometimes it makes we want to shoot the breeze, hop on a plane and ride elephants in India.

Classic Signs of a Suburban Mum.

  1. Lycra at the school gate- early morning pilates or buggy fit  in the morn after drop off. Plan B is a craze that is sweeping my neighbourhood. High achieving mums in the park at 6am BEFORE drop off. Yeah, that’s fun. Let’s all do it.SONY DSC
  2. Once having been the proud owner of a Bugaboo of Phil n Ted’s. If you know what they are – you know what I mean and you know if you are guilty. Add Mamas and Papas into the mix. Et Voila.
  3. Cake sales. Required on a monthly and sometimes weekly basis at my kids local primary. Either you are super keen Alpha Mum who enjoys pottering around your designer kitchen sprinkling edible glitter on your rainbow coloured, immaculately formed cupcakes or you have become wise to the ways of being a Mum with multiple children. The secret being to pop to M & S, get some plain cakes, give the children the icing pens. Job done. Can you guess which one I am?cake-sale-reception-2013
  4. Book Club. Sweeping middle class communities everywhere. In my book club we hop on our Pashley Bicycles, stocked heavily with prosecco and cheese and cycle to the hostesses house. We drink, eat a carrot stick and some celery and discuss our latest views on plastic surgery, ski trips and glamping in the country. Our book club even has its own anthem- courtesy of Le Mil Frocks. Our ‘Mum Band’.  We hope to post to ‘You Tube’ for world wide suburban domination.Book Club 05
  5. Ski Trips. Actually our ski trip links in with the book club. We have an annual jaunt to Morzine to stay in our leaders Chalet. Hitting the slopes, stopping for a wee and a pint every now and again. Hitting the hot tub after a hard days mogul navigation and get back on the prosecco and cheese.
  6. Plastic surgery & botox. Whether you have discussed it, are thinking about it or had it- the cosmetic industry is a form part of suburban mum society. Sleepless nights and tribal tits after 1,2,3,4, children- whats wrong with a little help?plastic-surgery-2728
  7. The Cleaner. Usually Polish- I don’t mean to stereotype but they are! They are also bloody brilliant and no suburban mum is complete without one. They make our lives a dream, the house sparkles, the ironing is done, the oak floor flown in from France is spotless. More time for Prosecco.21-Cleaner
  8. The Nanny/ Au Pair. In this day and age everyone is working. Men and women keep their identity and have high flying jobs and the world is soooo bloody expensive we cant afford to stop and stay at home. An extra pair of hands ( and Prosecco) is what we need and deserve to survive!au-pair-girls
  9. Affairs. Ten years ago there was the sound of wedding bells, the flutter of confetti and the pitter patter of baby booties. Then come the scandalous affairs, the husband running off with the personal trainer or the secret double life behind closed doors. Keep_Calm_You're_A_Yummy_Mummy_LP21511-D
  10. Dinner parties. I love’ em. Crack open the bubbly, put out the cheese board ,whip up the chorizo risotto. I have been known to pop to the legendary COOK, buy a feast for 8 and pop it in the oven. Voila a delicious meal and no one needs know you blew up the oven on the first attempt. First world problems.

That’s it! Time for my prosecco.

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‘G’ for Guest Book Grotesque-ness and Glamping

I have just returned from glamping at the wonderful Cosy Under Canvas in Herefordshire with the wonderful Dan & Emma Price and their scrummy family. Tipis, glamping, four mums and 13 children. As the kids like to say ‘Epic’.

At first the idea of Wales made me shudder- the actress in me thought “no dahhhling- cagoules, wellington boots, rain, mud and sheep? A lot of sheep. And sheep poo. Pellet-like sheep poo. Cow poo. Animal poo. Just poo.”

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However, I am what I like to call a champagne hippie. Yes, I do truly believe I was destined for a life time of paparazzi, glamour, gorgeous-ness, premieres, chanel, caviar and champagne, sprinkle a few diamonds on top and maybe an oscar and voila-perfectamuno!

Synthetic-diamonds-imageBut…. I am also a spiritual, hippy outside sort of person who loves getting down to the basics. Cooking on open fires with dew fresh on the grass, sitting round hypnotizing, roaring flames with a brood of firebug children singing to a ukulele, hot chocolate in hand, charred marshamallow on a whittled stick. It couldn’t get better. We were like a commune of prehistoric women, plaited hair, outside showers complete with a glass of bubbles or vino or Kopparberg rasberry cider of course.

images-4We were close to dancing naked round the fire, holding hands and chanting at the moon but we refrained. Men were absent and viva-la women power we certainly were self sufficient and surviving without them! This was being a mum to the max. United by sawdust eco toilets (you had to wee in the front and poo in the back or just do your business down a big hole and hope a child hadnt fallen into the shit pile), owls hooting like night time banshees, children being speared in the cheek by pen-knife sharpened spear sticks and swimming wild in rushing rivers I think we all deserved the top parenting award.

By stark contrast I though I would show you the the other side of my life- glamping begins with ‘G’ so does guestbook. This was on my old website and after the Halifax advert was being played I received some interesting comments to say the least. I think this quote is a good opener.

Date & Time:

02/09/2012 at 11:31

From:

Kribber

Subject:

Oh Dear

Comments:

I have soiled myself reading this guestbook.

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This has to be one of the most entertaining guestbooks ever. Love it – pop by every couple of months for a look and a laugh. From this you’ll be able to see that I’m not obsessing on dear Sarah at all. More to follow in a later post on how I have converted my shed into a shrine to “the Halifax Girl” and on my collection of 500 handle-less mugs. Mwahhhh!

People are just bonkers. It was the first time I realised the power of the television. I was only in a commercial advertising a bank! The advert was about 30 seconds long and yet I still have people ‘following’ me. It is lovely and flattering but at the same time its where having a stage name really is handy. It keeps my two lives separate because there are weird people out there. Check this out.

If you let it get to you it could be freaky right? What a strange two lives- poems about Cilit Bang and someone said I remind them on a baby tiger? I also have a folllwer on twitter who says he is  happily married but he thinks about me everyday. One man travelled to see me in The Guinea Pig Club at York Theatre Royal and whilst I was supping champagne on the last night enquiring about this mans connection he said he was ‘X’ and thanks for inviting him backstage! He’d got past the lovely Hugo on stage door and come right on in. Luckily he was a lovely be- spectacled fellow and a gentle man but it did summon up images of axe wielding anti Halifax ad psychopaths that could have easily have ‘got me’ if they wanted to. I’m just a Mum- with a weird and wonderful life. I shall leave you with some more random posts… hmmmm.

24/04/2012 at 16:52

Mr Happy’s Mate

Forgot to add

We watch your showreel on a 42″ TV and freeze it at 1′ 13″, we all stare at the screen and make interesting and witty observations about your quite staggering tits for many happy hours… by the way we are all reasonably attractive young chaps and not care-in-the-community perverts – thought you’d like to know. Must be off now.

22/03/2012 at 16:35

Chris M’Sampa

I can’t take any more!

Sarah, I’m just wondering if you would like the rest of my sandwich as I’m quite full? It’s Breaded Ham and Brie, no salt, and I’ll leave it in the fridge on the shelf labelled “Touch my stuff again and I’ll ******* kill you!!”.

milk

24/04/2012 at 12:19

Mr Happy

Urgent Needs

Felt the need to bash one out… many thanks to the Good Lord for issuing you with such wonderful tits. Praise Him..

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08/02/2012 at 20:55

Jack Hunt

A poem written with love, to you, Sarah. x

Oh my darling Sarah Applewood,
how I wish you lived in my smashing neighbourhood,
I would like you to join my crazy gang,
and together we could sniff or drink some cilit bang.

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Mama is Marilyn

Oh yes- Come on, that’s pretty cool right? Not many mums of 3 get to dress up every evening as one of the worlds most beautiful, most recognised sex symbols in history. This is where being an actress come into its own. Three sprogs on- with stretched stomach, wobbly bits here there and everywhere (as one plastic surgeon once said to me “you have back rolls and a lot of skin we can remove”- sheesh what a way with words!) and an augmentation and mastopexy scar covered body I got to wiggle and giggle, flirt and flutter under dazzling lights and play the clarinet, saxophone, piano, ukulele and harmonica all in one show as the iconic platinum blonde Marilyn Monroe… AND people said I was pretty good at it.

But their fine performances are eclipsed by Sarah Applewood as Monroe – she has the looks, moves and voice to perfection. Her tender rendition of ‘I’m Through With Love’ is beautifully moving. (Barrie Jerram Musical Theatre Review)

What a privilege, what a blast, what an experience for Mama.

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For the past three months I have been on tour in Richard Hurford’s ” Some Like It Hotter”

Great movie stars never die – they just sparkle on forever

It’s April 2013 and at long last funny man Jack Lemmon and the incomparable Marilyn Monroe are reunited with old friend, Tony Curtis. But how come Tony looks thirty again? Where exactly are they? Who is the stranger on the set? And what the hell is going on? This fast moving, fantasy comedy whisks the three screen icons back to their most beautiful, sexy and hilarious selves as they are forced once again to don heels and stockings and go backstage during the making of the best loved of all the classic Hollywood comedies. 

 Daring dialogue and razor-sharp wisecracks, sparkling musical numbers and red hot jazz, join us for the most surprising comeback in movie history, starring Monroe, Curtis & Lemmon – dead, uncut and hotter than ever. Now that’s entertainment!

But hang on a minute- what about your three children I hear you cry? Well, they were at home with my handsome,, hunkilicious husband. Sounds idyllic right? Husband looks after three children, wife goes out dresses up and sings a bit. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t all plain sailing by any means. My 26 year old colleague stayed one night at our house and watched in amazement as I started mopping the floor at 1am in the morning after a 4 hour drive back from South South Shields and an episode which involved cutting cats poo from my Maine Coons furry bottom.images-4 ( I have 4 cats did I mention that?- Well, actually now 3 cats- the pedigree Norwegian Forest left the mad house and now lives with the gay couple up the road).

The tour also consisted of dealing with my Mum having a recent cancer diagnosis, flying back from Brighton to get to my children’s Infant school graduation, flying back from another show to make an appearance at my in-laws 50th wedding anniversary, leading my 7 year old astray and letting him dance til 1am then heading off for a dirty MacDonalds with him on the Kent motorway and having a full theatrical explosion (the last one I had was 10 years ago in a tour bus in the snow filled mountains of Lichtenstein after a fellow actor called me a Fat Slag ) on stage during warm-up, tears, foot stamping and all after feeling dishevelled at my understudy for being so vexed she nearly had to actually do her job as my understudy…when I had fed the kids, waited for the Nanny to arrive, got trapped in Teddington for 20 minutes due to tumultuous traffic issues and missed the half…

The average actor doesn’t have a full brood at home, a finely balanced tower of cards that will topple at one exhale of breath at the wrong time. They bubble along thinking about their world, their life, their career. I shimmer and shine then come home to cat shit. I iron and mop, do spellings and school picnics, cake sales and karate and ballet and Body Attack….one minute I’m an actress, the next minute I’m a Mama. I think an explosion is allowed once in a while, don’t you?15227313-boom--explosion-comic-book-explosion-background