Have odd and strained day at work and wonder if it is possible to get road rage in a car dealership.
Good news is however that notice was seen and accepted and I therefore only have a further six days of this insanity to get through this year.
New showroom furniture arrives and spend afternoon rearranging it to boss's satisfaction .... several times. Entire exercise constrained by addition of extra chairs to lounge space and my expressed preference to be able to access the coffee machine without swinging from roof beams like Tarzan. Compromise eventually achieved but am aware will all have been rearranged to liking of insane work colleague Princess Brandname by the time I return next week.
Further irritation arises when I go to dispose of packaging from furniture only to be told that empty boxes outside back door now need to go in skip. I express doubts as to existence of skip having hitherto been completely unaware of any such facility, only to be told by superior salesman that There Is Always A Skip If I Would But Think Outside The Box. He apparently remains oblivious both to the expression on my face and to the hush falling on those listening to the conversation and goes onto say that I should take things more seriously as he did once have an accident involving an empty box.
He is unamused by my response that he is coming very close to having another one.
I am unable to tell if he is being brave or merely stupid. I am quite clearly hormonal - all the signs are there- the skull and crossbones on my forehead, the 10 packets of chocolate I am chain-munching my way through and the trail of severed limbs in my wake should all be clues, but he still thinks today is a good day to wind me up and then looks hurt when I snarl at him.
This to me has all the fairness of jumping stark b*llock naked into a tigers cage except for a small loin cloth cunningly fashioned from raw sirloin, and then complaining when the tiger chews your nads off.
It seems however that I am not the only woman who gets a tad strained at this time of the month. My friend Alice sent me this and it seems the right time to share:
Allegedly this is a REAL letter to Always - I'd love to think so .....
Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from "Aunt Flo". Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behaviour. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... which brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period." Are you fuc * ing kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong", or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull sh*t. And that's a promise I will keep.
Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons, Austin, TX
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Monday, 26 November 2007
Suddenly Single - It's As Easy As A, B, What Comes Next?
Well as anyone who can count on their fingers will have noticed I have been gone for a number of months while I cope with various life changing events such as turning 40 and separating from HTB.
It has been a long and painful process, but Suddenly Single makes for a much better title, and the upshot is I now find myself chez Boo pour une.
I am left with the dilemma of how to refer to HTB now that he is no longer Husband To Be and consider Husband That Might Have Been as a bit to long, and frankly with my personal history not exactly helpful in pinpointing one particular male, Former Fiance is also discarded for similar reasons, Previous Romantic Attachment Terminated is considered too unkind and The Ex too boring. Suggested answers on a postcard gratefully received.
So I find myself single and 40 in East Anglia of all places, in the vintage and burlesque desert of Norfolk, where I don't really fit in as the only wellingtons I like have boeuf in them.
My false eyelashes keep getting tangled in the 15 polo necked jumpers I am forced to wear to keep warm, and one can only buy garter belts in sheep sizes ... sigh! I am loath to say that the area I live in is chavvy, but the wine section of my local co-op is devoted entirely to babycham and cherry b! And not in an ironic retro chic way either. (Shudders).
However not all is dark and bleak as I have an adorable little house and an office all to myself from which to resurrect the ashes of my online shop.
Obviously I still require a job to pay for the above and as sadly a girl can no longer rely on $50 for the powder room, I have to report that I am still working for the same luxury car manufacturer as down south. Except this is the Naaarferk version and I am job sharing with someone known by her colleagues as Princess Brandname – which I take to mean meant that she knows all about the brand standards, but actually just means she is a Princess.
So we are engaged in a peculiar and entirely unnecessary (from my point of view) power struggle in which she spends all her time checking and changing what ever work I do, which leaves her no time to do her own work, which means she passes it to me and then spends all her time checking and changing and so on and so on. . . .
My favourite instance of her preciousness occurs when I take it upon myself to free up more filing space by amalgamating the 3 seperate stationery drawers, with duplicate scissors, tape, staples etc in them. (So we don't have to touch her specials scissors, tape staples etc.) Then I take all the filing folders and sort them out. I am greeted the next day at handover by a frosty complaint that she can't find anything and doesn't understand my filing system. I admit my response could have been more tactful, but I honestly didn't know how else to explain that It's Called the Alphabet!
Things finally come to a head and I can bear no longer the complete bitchfest that is a day at work (and those of you who know me know how I usually love a bitchfest) and I leave my notice with a colleague to pop on my bosses desk after his day off.
Two days later I have still not had a response and am now unclear as to whether my colleague forgot or my boss doesn't care. No doubt all will be revealed on my return to work on Thursday. Who can wait?
It has been a long and painful process, but Suddenly Single makes for a much better title, and the upshot is I now find myself chez Boo pour une.
I am left with the dilemma of how to refer to HTB now that he is no longer Husband To Be and consider Husband That Might Have Been as a bit to long, and frankly with my personal history not exactly helpful in pinpointing one particular male, Former Fiance is also discarded for similar reasons, Previous Romantic Attachment Terminated is considered too unkind and The Ex too boring. Suggested answers on a postcard gratefully received.
So I find myself single and 40 in East Anglia of all places, in the vintage and burlesque desert of Norfolk, where I don't really fit in as the only wellingtons I like have boeuf in them.
My false eyelashes keep getting tangled in the 15 polo necked jumpers I am forced to wear to keep warm, and one can only buy garter belts in sheep sizes ... sigh! I am loath to say that the area I live in is chavvy, but the wine section of my local co-op is devoted entirely to babycham and cherry b! And not in an ironic retro chic way either. (Shudders).
However not all is dark and bleak as I have an adorable little house and an office all to myself from which to resurrect the ashes of my online shop.
Obviously I still require a job to pay for the above and as sadly a girl can no longer rely on $50 for the powder room, I have to report that I am still working for the same luxury car manufacturer as down south. Except this is the Naaarferk version and I am job sharing with someone known by her colleagues as Princess Brandname – which I take to mean meant that she knows all about the brand standards, but actually just means she is a Princess.
So we are engaged in a peculiar and entirely unnecessary (from my point of view) power struggle in which she spends all her time checking and changing what ever work I do, which leaves her no time to do her own work, which means she passes it to me and then spends all her time checking and changing and so on and so on. . . .
My favourite instance of her preciousness occurs when I take it upon myself to free up more filing space by amalgamating the 3 seperate stationery drawers, with duplicate scissors, tape, staples etc in them. (So we don't have to touch her specials scissors, tape staples etc.) Then I take all the filing folders and sort them out. I am greeted the next day at handover by a frosty complaint that she can't find anything and doesn't understand my filing system. I admit my response could have been more tactful, but I honestly didn't know how else to explain that It's Called the Alphabet!
Things finally come to a head and I can bear no longer the complete bitchfest that is a day at work (and those of you who know me know how I usually love a bitchfest) and I leave my notice with a colleague to pop on my bosses desk after his day off.
Two days later I have still not had a response and am now unclear as to whether my colleague forgot or my boss doesn't care. No doubt all will be revealed on my return to work on Thursday. Who can wait?
Saturday, 19 May 2007
Women Over 40
Having been a bit lax in the blogging department lately and, believe it or not, having had some "please blog more" requests. (no accounting for taste) I have resolved to finish and publish a major "catch up" over the weekend.
In the meantime I offer you this, sent to me by my friend Lucy in honour of my forthcoming birthday.
It amused me and I'd like to pass it on. I'd also like to add my own dedication:
Jane, Becky, Inge and Laura, and a whole bunch of fabulous ladies on the Burlesque Women's Institute Forum, this one's for you xx
Women Over 40
This is for all you girls 40 years and over.... and for those who are turning 40, and for those who are scared of moving into their 40's...AND for guys who are scared of girls over 40!!!!...
This was written by Andy Rooney from CBS 60 Minutes. Andy Rooney says:
As I grow in age, I value women who are over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.
A woman over 40 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what She is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 40 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.
Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.
Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
A woman over 40 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 40 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a Woman over 40. They always know.
A woman over 40 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women.
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.
Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's Not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 40+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free".
Here's an update for you.
Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, why?
Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire Pig, just to get a little sausage.
In the meantime I offer you this, sent to me by my friend Lucy in honour of my forthcoming birthday.
It amused me and I'd like to pass it on. I'd also like to add my own dedication:
Jane, Becky, Inge and Laura, and a whole bunch of fabulous ladies on the Burlesque Women's Institute Forum, this one's for you xx
Women Over 40
This is for all you girls 40 years and over.... and for those who are turning 40, and for those who are scared of moving into their 40's...AND for guys who are scared of girls over 40!!!!...
This was written by Andy Rooney from CBS 60 Minutes. Andy Rooney says:
As I grow in age, I value women who are over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.
A woman over 40 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what She is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 40 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.
Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.
Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
A woman over 40 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 40 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a Woman over 40. They always know.
A woman over 40 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women.
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.
Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's Not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 40+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize. For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free".
Here's an update for you.
Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, why?
Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire Pig, just to get a little sausage.
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
You Just Can't Take Me Anywhere
March 15th
HTB and I celebrate 4 years since we met (again) and I wake to bucks fizz and smoked salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast and a dozen yellow roses. HTB is equally happy with his gift of a cigar case and we exchange cards.
HTB has made plans to go to a rather posh local restaurant with michelin stars coming out of its ears and I discover too late that I am out of contact lenses. Am too vain to wear my glasses and decide to risk no eye wear. Inadvisability of this should have been brought home to me when I yell at my fur muff to get off the bed thinking it is one of the cats but alas it is only my hind sight that is 20/20.
Restaurant is lovely but very very posh. I fall at first hurdle when I get hopelessly entangled in my coat which normally slides from my shoulders with greatest of ease. But worse is to come.
As is usual at these kind of establishments we are treated to a parade of amuse bouche, which are absolutely exquisite. So when another little platter arrives with two titbits on it I waste no time in picking one up and biting into it. A moment later HTB's look of horror becomes clear when I realise I have bitten into the butter! By this time the waitress is approaching with the bread and I hastily put the butter back down and try and modge the two pieces together to hide the crystal clear bite marks.
I am some what hampered in my efforts by a mad giggling fit but the waitress says nothing and am slightly consoled when HTB admits that his look of horror was not because he knew I was eating the butter but because he thought I was biting into a tiny candle. I in turn admit that I don't know whether to be more embarrassed that I ate the butter or that I liked it.
The rest of the meal is divine, but I never quite recover my savoir faire and can't help thinking that the staff are thinking we aren't up to their usual standard of customer.
We totter home still laughing and crack open a bottle of fizz before retiring for the evening.
You really can't take me anywhere.
HTB and I celebrate 4 years since we met (again) and I wake to bucks fizz and smoked salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast and a dozen yellow roses. HTB is equally happy with his gift of a cigar case and we exchange cards.
HTB has made plans to go to a rather posh local restaurant with michelin stars coming out of its ears and I discover too late that I am out of contact lenses. Am too vain to wear my glasses and decide to risk no eye wear. Inadvisability of this should have been brought home to me when I yell at my fur muff to get off the bed thinking it is one of the cats but alas it is only my hind sight that is 20/20.
Restaurant is lovely but very very posh. I fall at first hurdle when I get hopelessly entangled in my coat which normally slides from my shoulders with greatest of ease. But worse is to come.
As is usual at these kind of establishments we are treated to a parade of amuse bouche, which are absolutely exquisite. So when another little platter arrives with two titbits on it I waste no time in picking one up and biting into it. A moment later HTB's look of horror becomes clear when I realise I have bitten into the butter! By this time the waitress is approaching with the bread and I hastily put the butter back down and try and modge the two pieces together to hide the crystal clear bite marks.
I am some what hampered in my efforts by a mad giggling fit but the waitress says nothing and am slightly consoled when HTB admits that his look of horror was not because he knew I was eating the butter but because he thought I was biting into a tiny candle. I in turn admit that I don't know whether to be more embarrassed that I ate the butter or that I liked it.
The rest of the meal is divine, but I never quite recover my savoir faire and can't help thinking that the staff are thinking we aren't up to their usual standard of customer.
We totter home still laughing and crack open a bottle of fizz before retiring for the evening.
You really can't take me anywhere.
Friday, 16 March 2007
Taking Gloves Off With My Teeth
March 14th
Another fabulous evening at my Burlesque Course. This week we learn the 3 ways to take off a glove and rather marvellous routine with a feather boa. I fall in love with my bottom again for the first time since I put on weight when I see it framed in feathers, and it is a rather nice feeling. Demonstrate several of the moves to HTB on my return and he is rather startled by the Look I Have Breasts move as apparently he has been aware of mine for some time!
Am brought down to earth slightly by letter which arrives from mental hospital – I have been accepted onto program – oh deep joy!
Another fabulous evening at my Burlesque Course. This week we learn the 3 ways to take off a glove and rather marvellous routine with a feather boa. I fall in love with my bottom again for the first time since I put on weight when I see it framed in feathers, and it is a rather nice feeling. Demonstrate several of the moves to HTB on my return and he is rather startled by the Look I Have Breasts move as apparently he has been aware of mine for some time!
Am brought down to earth slightly by letter which arrives from mental hospital – I have been accepted onto program – oh deep joy!
Tuesday, 13 March 2007
Where Did the Week Go
March 13
Busy week at home and work leads to me neglecting my diary again. Work busy as arrival of new number plates triggers car buying and viewing frenzy and I make a lot of coffee. Job made slightly harder by failed mystery shop which managers appear to have on 5 second mental loop as that is the frequency with which they come over to check we have greeted customers as they come through the door. Reflect on the difficulty of discreetly letting customers look round on their own and having greeted them and offered coffee within 3 minutes and snarl internally quite a lot.
Fabulous relief found in two long awaited events. The first is the Burlesque Dance Class that Dear Friend Rachel talks me into (or rather encourages me to put my money where my mouth is!) Rachel and I therefore join a group of 12 women to be taught Burlesque by the awesome Jo King who taught the Tease Maids and has worked with Immodesty Blaize.
Make the mistake of sharing my destination with the salesmen at work and am treated to a chorus of "Private Dancer, Dancer for Money" with much booty shaking (theors not mine)as I leave work.
It is lovely to catch up with Rachel and we sit on a step outside the dance class sipping wine and eating nuts and olives in a sort of posh hobo drinks party and gossip like mad.
We are a mixed group at class - the only unvarying common factor seems to be fabulousness and it is blissful to be in a roomful of women who share my interests. Rachel of course is a natural and I am disconcerted to find that after years of being told by men that I am too exaggerated, that in fact I am not exaggerated enough for Burlesque and resolve to wear more lippy next week. (Obviously magic dancing lippy). I do however practise The Walk at work and find that more of the garage technicians talk to me than usual.
From class it is a short hop and a skip (or shimmy and shake) to Thursday night when we pick up my Dear Friend Inge from Denmark for a weekend of champagne drinking, film watching, tiramisu eating, fur wearing and more gossip. Husband To Be (HTB) kindly makes himself scarce and we watch Tom Hanks in The Terminal, Shirley Valentine and An Affair to Remember. I weep copiously at the end and Inge laughs and we realise nothing much has changed in 16 years.
The weekend goes too quickly and I find myself back at work and preparing for Week 2 of Burlesque in no time at all.
Busy week at home and work leads to me neglecting my diary again. Work busy as arrival of new number plates triggers car buying and viewing frenzy and I make a lot of coffee. Job made slightly harder by failed mystery shop which managers appear to have on 5 second mental loop as that is the frequency with which they come over to check we have greeted customers as they come through the door. Reflect on the difficulty of discreetly letting customers look round on their own and having greeted them and offered coffee within 3 minutes and snarl internally quite a lot.
Fabulous relief found in two long awaited events. The first is the Burlesque Dance Class that Dear Friend Rachel talks me into (or rather encourages me to put my money where my mouth is!) Rachel and I therefore join a group of 12 women to be taught Burlesque by the awesome Jo King who taught the Tease Maids and has worked with Immodesty Blaize.
Make the mistake of sharing my destination with the salesmen at work and am treated to a chorus of "Private Dancer, Dancer for Money" with much booty shaking (theors not mine)as I leave work.
It is lovely to catch up with Rachel and we sit on a step outside the dance class sipping wine and eating nuts and olives in a sort of posh hobo drinks party and gossip like mad.
We are a mixed group at class - the only unvarying common factor seems to be fabulousness and it is blissful to be in a roomful of women who share my interests. Rachel of course is a natural and I am disconcerted to find that after years of being told by men that I am too exaggerated, that in fact I am not exaggerated enough for Burlesque and resolve to wear more lippy next week. (Obviously magic dancing lippy). I do however practise The Walk at work and find that more of the garage technicians talk to me than usual.
From class it is a short hop and a skip (or shimmy and shake) to Thursday night when we pick up my Dear Friend Inge from Denmark for a weekend of champagne drinking, film watching, tiramisu eating, fur wearing and more gossip. Husband To Be (HTB) kindly makes himself scarce and we watch Tom Hanks in The Terminal, Shirley Valentine and An Affair to Remember. I weep copiously at the end and Inge laughs and we realise nothing much has changed in 16 years.
The weekend goes too quickly and I find myself back at work and preparing for Week 2 of Burlesque in no time at all.
Wednesday, 7 March 2007
Mr Sandman, Send Me a Dream
5th March
Further dream about MH – apparently prequel to Montana Ranch dream explaining how we meet. I will say no more than that I am an air hostess (influence of film Catch Me If You Can?) and that my unconscious is apparently entirely oblivious to the Women's Political Movement of the past 20 years and is a Mills & Boon fan to boot. Deep shame felt on behalf of unconscious by conscious which obviously does not stem in any way from enjoyment of dream. (Query: will next dream subsequently be set in Egypt on the banks of Denial? Answer comes there none.)
Notice that in absence from diary regular ready has disappeared from My Space and I find myself mourning loss of almost complete stranger on basis that we had some things in common and that she is the only person I know who reads my blog based on its amusement value alone, and not because she knows me. Indulge in gratifying fantasy that My Space too dull without me to continue subscription, but in reality hope that her health has improved and subsequent gaining of a life has left her no time for blogs. Dismiss completely possibility that she left because she was bored to death and is so concerned that I might be mental woman-hating stalker that she has deleted her profile and started a new one.
This reminds me of strange incident in bar on Friday where I was sheltering my new hairstyle from the rain (fabulous recreation of Veronica Lake peekaboo bangs style done by Gary from Saks in Guildford) while awaiting the arrival of HTB with umbrella and car. Am seated in corner of bar with book when a woman approaches me and asks if I mind if she and friends sit at table. I assure her I don't and she goes on to explain that she asks because it is a group of women. I again smile and assure her that I have nothing against my fellow womankind singly or in groups and am left wondering what about my appearance would lead her to worry. Am eventually joined by very large group of school gate Mums on first night out together and listen with interest to their conversation until HTB's arrival.
Further dream about MH – apparently prequel to Montana Ranch dream explaining how we meet. I will say no more than that I am an air hostess (influence of film Catch Me If You Can?) and that my unconscious is apparently entirely oblivious to the Women's Political Movement of the past 20 years and is a Mills & Boon fan to boot. Deep shame felt on behalf of unconscious by conscious which obviously does not stem in any way from enjoyment of dream. (Query: will next dream subsequently be set in Egypt on the banks of Denial? Answer comes there none.)
Notice that in absence from diary regular ready has disappeared from My Space and I find myself mourning loss of almost complete stranger on basis that we had some things in common and that she is the only person I know who reads my blog based on its amusement value alone, and not because she knows me. Indulge in gratifying fantasy that My Space too dull without me to continue subscription, but in reality hope that her health has improved and subsequent gaining of a life has left her no time for blogs. Dismiss completely possibility that she left because she was bored to death and is so concerned that I might be mental woman-hating stalker that she has deleted her profile and started a new one.
This reminds me of strange incident in bar on Friday where I was sheltering my new hairstyle from the rain (fabulous recreation of Veronica Lake peekaboo bangs style done by Gary from Saks in Guildford) while awaiting the arrival of HTB with umbrella and car. Am seated in corner of bar with book when a woman approaches me and asks if I mind if she and friends sit at table. I assure her I don't and she goes on to explain that she asks because it is a group of women. I again smile and assure her that I have nothing against my fellow womankind singly or in groups and am left wondering what about my appearance would lead her to worry. Am eventually joined by very large group of school gate Mums on first night out together and listen with interest to their conversation until HTB's arrival.
Sunday, 4 March 2007
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2nd March
Long awaited psychiatric consult recommended by specialist arrives and I make my way to mental hospital. (Note to self must remember NOT to call it Mental Hospital out loud as it is merely Psychology Wing of normal hospital.)
Maze like building makes me wonder if I am already being studied and if I will be rewarded with piece of cheese if I make it to office and electric shock if I take wrong turn. Achieve office without any incident of electrocution but sadly don't received cheese either and am directed to waiting area which I would immediately have been able to identify as belonging to Psychology wing by anally retentive arrangement of magazines which I don't dare move.
Exchange baleful looks with other mental patients and then pretend to ignore each other but I am sure that they are as frantically trying to work out what is wrong with me as I am with them. We are joined by very large lady who sits down panting and eyes me hungrily. Consider moving away but decide I could easily out run her if necessary and throw her some of the (assumed) anorexics on the way as snacks. Have to wonder at advisability of mixing the two varieties of eating disorder in same waiting area. Can't imagine the variation in body shape good for health of either.
Am approached by 12 year old mental patient who needless to say turns out to be my psychiatrist and we head into private room.
Spend half hour completing multiple choice questionnaires in which I have to rate how bothered I am by various things and the level of desire I have to kill myself. Sadly there is no box asking me how bothered I am by filling in highly personal questionnaires for complete strangers. I then answer the 50 different ways of asking if I have ever considered killing myself, and find it hard not to reply Not Until I Started This Questionnaire.
This is followed by painful interview in which I am asked to talk about my problem and I manage to paint picture of unpleasant and unstable madwoman while Doctor makes notes at unlikely points in conversation that I am completely unable to read upside down.
Doctor then asks me what I hope to get out of these sessions – if I am approved - and I think not so much What as When, but mumble a reply about improved memory functions and pain management. Doctor suggests memory problem might be lack of focus and inattention to detail and I come back from where I had drifted to and agree it is sheer laziness on my part and she then explains pain management system which seems to boil down to telling ones self to buck up which seems like a colossal waste of time to me and not very scientific, but this is no doubt why I need these sessions in the first place.
Doctor explains that one to one sessions have long waiting list and would I consider group work. I hesitate and she pounces on what she calls my reluctance to join a group and asks what my reservations are. Stem frank and immediate reply that rises to my lips to effect that I don't want to be in room full of mad people and instead waffle on about impressions received from film media (have very clear mental image of Doctor in Butlins style red coat coaxing me into being a joiner and making me weave baskets) before plunging into assertion that I am ready to try anything.
Have great and certain sense of foreboding that I will have cause to regret this at some future date.
Long awaited psychiatric consult recommended by specialist arrives and I make my way to mental hospital. (Note to self must remember NOT to call it Mental Hospital out loud as it is merely Psychology Wing of normal hospital.)
Maze like building makes me wonder if I am already being studied and if I will be rewarded with piece of cheese if I make it to office and electric shock if I take wrong turn. Achieve office without any incident of electrocution but sadly don't received cheese either and am directed to waiting area which I would immediately have been able to identify as belonging to Psychology wing by anally retentive arrangement of magazines which I don't dare move.
Exchange baleful looks with other mental patients and then pretend to ignore each other but I am sure that they are as frantically trying to work out what is wrong with me as I am with them. We are joined by very large lady who sits down panting and eyes me hungrily. Consider moving away but decide I could easily out run her if necessary and throw her some of the (assumed) anorexics on the way as snacks. Have to wonder at advisability of mixing the two varieties of eating disorder in same waiting area. Can't imagine the variation in body shape good for health of either.
Am approached by 12 year old mental patient who needless to say turns out to be my psychiatrist and we head into private room.
Spend half hour completing multiple choice questionnaires in which I have to rate how bothered I am by various things and the level of desire I have to kill myself. Sadly there is no box asking me how bothered I am by filling in highly personal questionnaires for complete strangers. I then answer the 50 different ways of asking if I have ever considered killing myself, and find it hard not to reply Not Until I Started This Questionnaire.
This is followed by painful interview in which I am asked to talk about my problem and I manage to paint picture of unpleasant and unstable madwoman while Doctor makes notes at unlikely points in conversation that I am completely unable to read upside down.
Doctor then asks me what I hope to get out of these sessions – if I am approved - and I think not so much What as When, but mumble a reply about improved memory functions and pain management. Doctor suggests memory problem might be lack of focus and inattention to detail and I come back from where I had drifted to and agree it is sheer laziness on my part and she then explains pain management system which seems to boil down to telling ones self to buck up which seems like a colossal waste of time to me and not very scientific, but this is no doubt why I need these sessions in the first place.
Doctor explains that one to one sessions have long waiting list and would I consider group work. I hesitate and she pounces on what she calls my reluctance to join a group and asks what my reservations are. Stem frank and immediate reply that rises to my lips to effect that I don't want to be in room full of mad people and instead waffle on about impressions received from film media (have very clear mental image of Doctor in Butlins style red coat coaxing me into being a joiner and making me weave baskets) before plunging into assertion that I am ready to try anything.
Have great and certain sense of foreboding that I will have cause to regret this at some future date.
Saturday, 3 March 2007
Moonlight Serenade
3rd March
Awake from very pleasant dream in which I am living on Montana ranch with the actor Mark Harmon and riding horses in mountains and on the beach. (Unconscious apparently not bothered by minor problem of geographical location of Montana preventing it from having beaches nor does it acknowledge HTB or Mr. Harmon's wife of many years.) Think it best not to explore nature of my enjoyment of dream and indeed its entire existence should probably not be mentioned to HTB at all as really think I am too old to have unsuitable crushes on people.
Burt the Squirrel reappears but is traveling stag, which leads to speculation that Ernie is really Ernetta and is now nesting somewhere. Glorious sunshine also brings a pair of foxes to sun bathe in the garden where they exchange beady looks with the cats and follow the sun from garden to garden. ..
Later it occurs to me that leaving out chicken carcass and eggs that were going off for them to eat in almost exact spot that I intend to build chicken coop possibly not best idea, but as is so often the case in my life it seems like a good idea at the time. Robin Redbreast returns to bird table and I count that 15 of the million bulbs I planted have come up and 5 of them have even flowered, which my Mother says is very good as Bulbs Are Notoriously Tricky.
Green house full of seedlings as leeks, onions, cabbage and sprouts all shoot up, French Lavender resolutely refuses to make appearance and only one bean (query also French and if so is this significant?) out of six germinates. Decide to play French music in greenhouse to see if that helps but can only find Edith Piaf and worry that I may have depressed other plants.
Nevertheless feel very Country Womanish and Green Fingered but don't like to ask what neighbours make of Non Je Ne Regrette Rien booming out from the greenhouse.
Outdoors theme continues in the evening, when bundled in furs and clutching a hot water bottle I watch the most spectacular lunar eclipse and reminisce about how lucky I have been with full moons (Loy Krathong in Thailand and a certain August full moon in Massachusetts spring to mind) sunrises (Hong Kong, Death Valley and Massachusetts) sunsets (Thailand and Salem MA,) and moon rises (Tenerife), not to mention my favorite picture of the Earth rising taken from the Moon which graces the staff canteen in the Boston Museum of Science.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
My Family and Other Animals
1st March
Long break from diary as state of bank account dictates that I take on permanent job when it is offered to me and also sell as many as of my old clothes as possible on eBay.
Most of second half of February therefore taken up greeting and serving coffee to very rich people who already own or wish to buy luxury car and packing parcels of sold clothes for HTB to post, which he generously does.
Get very excited when young man from job agency I signed up with brings in bag with gift for me for attaining permanent position. Am less excited when I open bag to discover a Flake chocolate bar, a cup of coffee and a pen of such dubious quality that young man could have saved us both a great deal of time by walking up to me and throwing ink on my suit.
Recent weekend visit from HTB's children successful and miracle of miracles I don't catch anything. Play strange game in car which involves naming a place, animal (but really living creature as birds and insects accepted as answers), and person's name with each letter of the alphabet and argue over who said Elephant first and I don't think of Eagle until I wake at 3am that night with it in my head. Game leads to further strange incident in local charity shop when HTB's son C asks me in strident tones and apropos of nothing if a Dick is a kind of an animal. Entire shop immediately pretends to be busy while straining ears in my direction and I forgo instinctive response which would be to say It Depends To Whom It Belongs Darling and reply weakly Not Really Darling No before edging away and hissing at HTB to wrangle his children.
Long break from diary as state of bank account dictates that I take on permanent job when it is offered to me and also sell as many as of my old clothes as possible on eBay.
Most of second half of February therefore taken up greeting and serving coffee to very rich people who already own or wish to buy luxury car and packing parcels of sold clothes for HTB to post, which he generously does.
Get very excited when young man from job agency I signed up with brings in bag with gift for me for attaining permanent position. Am less excited when I open bag to discover a Flake chocolate bar, a cup of coffee and a pen of such dubious quality that young man could have saved us both a great deal of time by walking up to me and throwing ink on my suit.
Recent weekend visit from HTB's children successful and miracle of miracles I don't catch anything. Play strange game in car which involves naming a place, animal (but really living creature as birds and insects accepted as answers), and person's name with each letter of the alphabet and argue over who said Elephant first and I don't think of Eagle until I wake at 3am that night with it in my head. Game leads to further strange incident in local charity shop when HTB's son C asks me in strident tones and apropos of nothing if a Dick is a kind of an animal. Entire shop immediately pretends to be busy while straining ears in my direction and I forgo instinctive response which would be to say It Depends To Whom It Belongs Darling and reply weakly Not Really Darling No before edging away and hissing at HTB to wrangle his children.
Thursday, 15 February 2007
February
February 1st
Interview goes well with future boss's only concern being that I might get bored. Refrain from reply that I don't doubt for a second that I will be bored, but need the money, as not conducive to impression of enthusiastic and committed job seeker. Agree instead to 3 days temporary work to decide whether we are both happy with my performance.
February 3rd
As favour to friend of HTB's we agree to pick up tires for car from obscure place in Wiltshire going by name of Little Fogbottom or some such and deliver to friend in Shropshire. This involves driving past house of both dear friend Laura and Fond Parents so make arrangements to see both.
Laura's house both immaculate and exquisite and more like the sort of house I drool over in Vogue or Home and Gardens than usual home of contemporaries. (This slightly unfair to several friends with lovely houses and no insult is meant, but Laura's house also the size of Heathrow airport and decorated in white and granite with views of her paddock and beyond that rolling hills.)
Laura and I discuss my new job with famous purveyor of luxury cars and her job, which she hates so much that she says it is a monkey on her back, an invisible and figurative monkey obviously, not an actual monkey. HTB and I then suggest several possible solutions to monkey all of which Laura vetoes on the basis that better the monkey you know. I start to suggest that with her mortgage that a monkey in the hand must be worth two .. but thankfully complete the sentence in my head before uttering it and keep silent for fear of what it might imply about Laura's relationship with the monkey.
Instead I put forward the theory that despite her dislike of the monkey her reluctance to get rid of it says to me that she is in a co-dependant relationship with an invisible monkey and needs help. Laura replies that the monkey says bite me and HTB points out that since I am now being insulted by a non-existent monkey that Laura is translating for, maybe we all need help and we move on to other topics.
Laura says did I see the article in the Observer about chappy with muliti million card company from our home town, and I say yes I did. She then goes on to say that she had very nice reply from him to her friends reunited email in which he says that he thought he might as well put his old nick name to good use hence the name of his company. Laura then pauses, looks at me and says, wasn't it you who gave him that nickname? Horrified silence ensues on my part during which I dredge memory and sure enough some vague recollection surfaces and I admit it does sound like the sort of thing I would have said then. I am mortified and halt own plans to contact chappy as imagine he does not have fond memories of me – if he also remembers who gave him nickname. (The fact that I have done best to forget all about him also is entirely beside the point as obviously I inhabit fluffy bunny world where every male I have ever met continues to have high and fond regard for me regardless of my feelings for them.)
14th February
Feel great nostalgia for single days when post brought mystery valentine's and foolishly try to explain to HTB that have traditionally always felt that Valentine's Day is a day to receive missives of affection from unknown admirer's or nostalgic exes and that I rather miss the not knowing.
Complete turn around in opinions as day brings champagne breakfast in bed served by HTB, box of chocolates, large bunch of dozen white roses and tickets to Glen Miller Concert and I find myself positively enthusiastic about the joys of valentine gifts from very known and current beau.
Glen Miller concert is marvelously romantic and I hum tunes all the way home.
Interview goes well with future boss's only concern being that I might get bored. Refrain from reply that I don't doubt for a second that I will be bored, but need the money, as not conducive to impression of enthusiastic and committed job seeker. Agree instead to 3 days temporary work to decide whether we are both happy with my performance.
February 3rd
As favour to friend of HTB's we agree to pick up tires for car from obscure place in Wiltshire going by name of Little Fogbottom or some such and deliver to friend in Shropshire. This involves driving past house of both dear friend Laura and Fond Parents so make arrangements to see both.
Laura's house both immaculate and exquisite and more like the sort of house I drool over in Vogue or Home and Gardens than usual home of contemporaries. (This slightly unfair to several friends with lovely houses and no insult is meant, but Laura's house also the size of Heathrow airport and decorated in white and granite with views of her paddock and beyond that rolling hills.)
Laura and I discuss my new job with famous purveyor of luxury cars and her job, which she hates so much that she says it is a monkey on her back, an invisible and figurative monkey obviously, not an actual monkey. HTB and I then suggest several possible solutions to monkey all of which Laura vetoes on the basis that better the monkey you know. I start to suggest that with her mortgage that a monkey in the hand must be worth two .. but thankfully complete the sentence in my head before uttering it and keep silent for fear of what it might imply about Laura's relationship with the monkey.
Instead I put forward the theory that despite her dislike of the monkey her reluctance to get rid of it says to me that she is in a co-dependant relationship with an invisible monkey and needs help. Laura replies that the monkey says bite me and HTB points out that since I am now being insulted by a non-existent monkey that Laura is translating for, maybe we all need help and we move on to other topics.
Laura says did I see the article in the Observer about chappy with muliti million card company from our home town, and I say yes I did. She then goes on to say that she had very nice reply from him to her friends reunited email in which he says that he thought he might as well put his old nick name to good use hence the name of his company. Laura then pauses, looks at me and says, wasn't it you who gave him that nickname? Horrified silence ensues on my part during which I dredge memory and sure enough some vague recollection surfaces and I admit it does sound like the sort of thing I would have said then. I am mortified and halt own plans to contact chappy as imagine he does not have fond memories of me – if he also remembers who gave him nickname. (The fact that I have done best to forget all about him also is entirely beside the point as obviously I inhabit fluffy bunny world where every male I have ever met continues to have high and fond regard for me regardless of my feelings for them.)
14th February
Feel great nostalgia for single days when post brought mystery valentine's and foolishly try to explain to HTB that have traditionally always felt that Valentine's Day is a day to receive missives of affection from unknown admirer's or nostalgic exes and that I rather miss the not knowing.
Complete turn around in opinions as day brings champagne breakfast in bed served by HTB, box of chocolates, large bunch of dozen white roses and tickets to Glen Miller Concert and I find myself positively enthusiastic about the joys of valentine gifts from very known and current beau.
Glen Miller concert is marvelously romantic and I hum tunes all the way home.
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
Wicked Week
25th January
Dear Friend Rachel and Adored Husband Andy score some free tickets to Wicked and very kindly invite us. Show is just as fabulous as I remember it and has added advantage that we get to meet Alice's new chap, who seems lovely and copes with us all very well bearing in mind that he doesn't get a word in edgeways for most of the evening. I wear high heels and wide legged trousers and feel very 1940s and glam and we spend periods between shows being witty and hilarious. Slight hitch to evening when I catch high heel in wide legged trouser and fall up stairs in front of usher. Would feel slightly less stupid if song previous to interval had not been show stopper "Defy Gravity" and can see by his smirk that despite expressed concern, this is usher's first thought too. Knee turns black.
Other highlight also Rachel and Andy related as they come to our house for marvelous weekend of karaoke, dining, setting world to rights and chilling.
Dinner conversation turns to This Year's Idea and Rachel launches into her new idea for making money. (Rachel and I both consider ourselves budding entrepreneurs and she often has the ideas which I then research.) Last Years Idea was Lady Cheese made from breast milk bought from single mothers, but sadly this was abandoned when we discovered that breast milk won't curdle which is an essential process in cheese making, although Lady Butter is still on the table so to speak.) This Year's Idea is erotic fiction which I surmise Rachel will be very good at and we agree that Writing is Writing and wish her very well on her endeavor.
I put forward my This Years Idea which is to make Burlesque Pasties and sell vintage clothes on ebay.
We then turn to my approaching 40th and my New Year's Resolutions and Rachel becomes very enthusiastic about fan dancing and we agree to go together. Will no doubt feel more nervous about this when I sober up.
26th January
No sighting of Burt and Ernie for some time either they have retired to safety in face of gale force winds or were offended by HTBs attempted sexing with binoculars. Instead find myself engaging in battle of wills with various other non verbal opponents including neighbour's cats and some oysters we pick up cheaply for dinner. Find that solution to cat is to throw things (less embarrassing in long run than throwing open door suddenly and leaping out growling only to find neighbour standing by fence having cigarette) and solution to shucking oysters in absence of correct equipment is to startle them by running them under the hot tap and when they open slightly in What the F***? Manner shove butter knife into gap.
HTB wisely avoids battle of wills or indeed conversation by shutting himself in study which he is refitting as music studio and only emerging for meals. See more of postman and therefore engage in battle of wills with him instead, where he attempts to deliver before I am dressed and I attempt to be dressed. This week I win two (dressed) although on reflection throwing open the door, assuming a pose and making a Ta Derr noise possible not conventional way to greet postman but he is less startled than the oysters, lose one (still in PJs) and draw one (not dressed so get HTB to go to door, but am busted by postman who guesses I am hiding)
HTB emerges from office to go to job interview and collect children. Indicate to wicked witch ex-wife that we are picking them up early so they can eat with us and I am preparing children's favourite meal. This turns out to be huge mistake as when HTB arrives at 4pm the children tell us that Mummy fed them Spaghetti Bolognese and Angel Whip Pudding at 3.30pm, daughter E is surprised by this as she says they don't usually eat this early or get pudding. Several eye rolls later I suggest to HTB that perhaps the children could just sit up at the table with us while we eat.
Amusingly by the time the children arrive they are hungry again and while they don't eat their usual portions they do manage to sit at the table with us and polish off a couple of fajitas each. E also reveals that Mummy now cooks homemade Bolognese after E mentioned that C loves my homemade sauce and perhaps he would eat it at home if Mummy stopped using sauce from a jar. Have to say this goes a long way towards easing my earlier frustration and almost feel sorry for Mummy.
Fall asleep congratulating myself on not having succumbed to child related illness but speak to soon. Am woken at 3am by urgent indications that I need to visit the bathroom. This proves to be the start of ghastly gastric interlude during which stomach burns candle at both ends so to speak.
27th January
Spend day being violently and explosively ill and end up prone on settee like limp rag watching Star Trek as I have trouble following plot of anything more complicated. Am completely unable to keep anything down other than water and flat lemonade and that merely bolts straight through. Am now seriously considering theory of child allergy, which is only slightly challenged when HTB catches bug from me. Am unsure whether to be irritated or relieved when he is only sick once as it does at least mean that he can take care of children. Go to bed at 9pm and thankfully sleep though.
28th January
Still completely unable to eat and struggle to cook roast Sunday Lunch for children. HTB keep children occupied in garden which is just as well as it means they completely miss me burning the bottoms of the roast potatoes and resorting to slicing the burned bits off and re-roasting the bottoms.
29th January
Still feel awful and seek comfort in long bath
Hair looks like one of those dead birds you see on news coverage, washed up the beach after an oil spill. Find this so depressing contemplate drowning myself in the bath, but this is foiled as bath is so small I can't get head under water without sticking feet out of bathroom window and besides I don't like getting water in my ears.
30th January
Feel better and decide to follow up on previous resolution to find work, so do online search. This produces immediate potential position and I call agency quickly before I lose my nerve. Agency takes one look at my CV and arranges interview for end of week with luxury car company.
Dear Friend Rachel and Adored Husband Andy score some free tickets to Wicked and very kindly invite us. Show is just as fabulous as I remember it and has added advantage that we get to meet Alice's new chap, who seems lovely and copes with us all very well bearing in mind that he doesn't get a word in edgeways for most of the evening. I wear high heels and wide legged trousers and feel very 1940s and glam and we spend periods between shows being witty and hilarious. Slight hitch to evening when I catch high heel in wide legged trouser and fall up stairs in front of usher. Would feel slightly less stupid if song previous to interval had not been show stopper "Defy Gravity" and can see by his smirk that despite expressed concern, this is usher's first thought too. Knee turns black.
Other highlight also Rachel and Andy related as they come to our house for marvelous weekend of karaoke, dining, setting world to rights and chilling.
Dinner conversation turns to This Year's Idea and Rachel launches into her new idea for making money. (Rachel and I both consider ourselves budding entrepreneurs and she often has the ideas which I then research.) Last Years Idea was Lady Cheese made from breast milk bought from single mothers, but sadly this was abandoned when we discovered that breast milk won't curdle which is an essential process in cheese making, although Lady Butter is still on the table so to speak.) This Year's Idea is erotic fiction which I surmise Rachel will be very good at and we agree that Writing is Writing and wish her very well on her endeavor.
I put forward my This Years Idea which is to make Burlesque Pasties and sell vintage clothes on ebay.
We then turn to my approaching 40th and my New Year's Resolutions and Rachel becomes very enthusiastic about fan dancing and we agree to go together. Will no doubt feel more nervous about this when I sober up.
26th January
No sighting of Burt and Ernie for some time either they have retired to safety in face of gale force winds or were offended by HTBs attempted sexing with binoculars. Instead find myself engaging in battle of wills with various other non verbal opponents including neighbour's cats and some oysters we pick up cheaply for dinner. Find that solution to cat is to throw things (less embarrassing in long run than throwing open door suddenly and leaping out growling only to find neighbour standing by fence having cigarette) and solution to shucking oysters in absence of correct equipment is to startle them by running them under the hot tap and when they open slightly in What the F***? Manner shove butter knife into gap.
HTB wisely avoids battle of wills or indeed conversation by shutting himself in study which he is refitting as music studio and only emerging for meals. See more of postman and therefore engage in battle of wills with him instead, where he attempts to deliver before I am dressed and I attempt to be dressed. This week I win two (dressed) although on reflection throwing open the door, assuming a pose and making a Ta Derr noise possible not conventional way to greet postman but he is less startled than the oysters, lose one (still in PJs) and draw one (not dressed so get HTB to go to door, but am busted by postman who guesses I am hiding)
HTB emerges from office to go to job interview and collect children. Indicate to wicked witch ex-wife that we are picking them up early so they can eat with us and I am preparing children's favourite meal. This turns out to be huge mistake as when HTB arrives at 4pm the children tell us that Mummy fed them Spaghetti Bolognese and Angel Whip Pudding at 3.30pm, daughter E is surprised by this as she says they don't usually eat this early or get pudding. Several eye rolls later I suggest to HTB that perhaps the children could just sit up at the table with us while we eat.
Amusingly by the time the children arrive they are hungry again and while they don't eat their usual portions they do manage to sit at the table with us and polish off a couple of fajitas each. E also reveals that Mummy now cooks homemade Bolognese after E mentioned that C loves my homemade sauce and perhaps he would eat it at home if Mummy stopped using sauce from a jar. Have to say this goes a long way towards easing my earlier frustration and almost feel sorry for Mummy.
Fall asleep congratulating myself on not having succumbed to child related illness but speak to soon. Am woken at 3am by urgent indications that I need to visit the bathroom. This proves to be the start of ghastly gastric interlude during which stomach burns candle at both ends so to speak.
27th January
Spend day being violently and explosively ill and end up prone on settee like limp rag watching Star Trek as I have trouble following plot of anything more complicated. Am completely unable to keep anything down other than water and flat lemonade and that merely bolts straight through. Am now seriously considering theory of child allergy, which is only slightly challenged when HTB catches bug from me. Am unsure whether to be irritated or relieved when he is only sick once as it does at least mean that he can take care of children. Go to bed at 9pm and thankfully sleep though.
28th January
Still completely unable to eat and struggle to cook roast Sunday Lunch for children. HTB keep children occupied in garden which is just as well as it means they completely miss me burning the bottoms of the roast potatoes and resorting to slicing the burned bits off and re-roasting the bottoms.
29th January
Still feel awful and seek comfort in long bath
Hair looks like one of those dead birds you see on news coverage, washed up the beach after an oil spill. Find this so depressing contemplate drowning myself in the bath, but this is foiled as bath is so small I can't get head under water without sticking feet out of bathroom window and besides I don't like getting water in my ears.
30th January
Feel better and decide to follow up on previous resolution to find work, so do online search. This produces immediate potential position and I call agency quickly before I lose my nerve. Agency takes one look at my CV and arranges interview for end of week with luxury car company.
Saturday, 20 January 2007
Happy New Year
New Year's Eve
Celebrate NYE in traditional manner which involves HTB insisting on watching Jules Holland's Hogmanay, which I dislike and then promptly falling asleep in front of it the minute we switch over. I eventually retire to bed in a snit and spend midnight listening to other people having fun and joyous time. HTB shuffles up sometime later and I promptly pick fight by accusing him of ignoring me. HTB ignores this and I point out that he has gone from accidentally ignoring me to deliberately ignoring me and this is very annoying. HTB smiles and makes a remark about the fireworks, which is the equivalent of lighting the blue touch paper on my temper and then not standing back. I respond with suggestion of a possible anatomical storage facility for his fireworks and with complete disregard for his own health HTB tells me to calm down. Needless to say this has opposite effect however resulting rage ends in coughing fit so severe that it essentially interrupts both breathing and argument and we go to bed.
New Year's Day
Do very little other than make list of New Year's Resolutions in keeping with intended midlife crisis and which include amongst other things a charity parachute jump and learning to fan dance and in the absence of a writing career getting a part time job.
January
Severe flare up of symptoms is brought on by cold and overstretching myself at Christmas and I spend most of January on the settee watching West Wing while HTB looks after me as he is now at home on full time gardening leave. Sadly this does not mean he spends any time gardening, although I do make it out to the greenhouse to start some seeds.
Burt and Ernie very active and HTB asks me how I know they are both boys. I take him through difficulties of sexing squirrels at distance but offer him the loan of my mother of pearl opera glasses if he wishes to have a go, which he does and I spend subsequent 10 minutes praying our neighbours don't see him as no sensible explanation springs to mind. Thankfully we get away with it but are still none the wiser as to the sex of the squirrels (ha!).
Slight improvement in health when I receive miracle pills from Doctor which help with sleep and mostly control pain on day to day basis. Hurrah!
Life continues at this break neck pace with only 2 or 3 social highlights until at least 3rd week of month.
Celebrate NYE in traditional manner which involves HTB insisting on watching Jules Holland's Hogmanay, which I dislike and then promptly falling asleep in front of it the minute we switch over. I eventually retire to bed in a snit and spend midnight listening to other people having fun and joyous time. HTB shuffles up sometime later and I promptly pick fight by accusing him of ignoring me. HTB ignores this and I point out that he has gone from accidentally ignoring me to deliberately ignoring me and this is very annoying. HTB smiles and makes a remark about the fireworks, which is the equivalent of lighting the blue touch paper on my temper and then not standing back. I respond with suggestion of a possible anatomical storage facility for his fireworks and with complete disregard for his own health HTB tells me to calm down. Needless to say this has opposite effect however resulting rage ends in coughing fit so severe that it essentially interrupts both breathing and argument and we go to bed.
New Year's Day
Do very little other than make list of New Year's Resolutions in keeping with intended midlife crisis and which include amongst other things a charity parachute jump and learning to fan dance and in the absence of a writing career getting a part time job.
January
Severe flare up of symptoms is brought on by cold and overstretching myself at Christmas and I spend most of January on the settee watching West Wing while HTB looks after me as he is now at home on full time gardening leave. Sadly this does not mean he spends any time gardening, although I do make it out to the greenhouse to start some seeds.
Burt and Ernie very active and HTB asks me how I know they are both boys. I take him through difficulties of sexing squirrels at distance but offer him the loan of my mother of pearl opera glasses if he wishes to have a go, which he does and I spend subsequent 10 minutes praying our neighbours don't see him as no sensible explanation springs to mind. Thankfully we get away with it but are still none the wiser as to the sex of the squirrels (ha!).
Slight improvement in health when I receive miracle pills from Doctor which help with sleep and mostly control pain on day to day basis. Hurrah!
Life continues at this break neck pace with only 2 or 3 social highlights until at least 3rd week of month.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
