Tag Archives: friends

My brain hurts


Oh my Gawd!!!

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this, slightly queasy, slightly dizzy, slightly blurry vision, extremely windy and with a little man inside my head using a pneumatic drill.

I feel terrible. Do you feel sorry for me?

No? Oh. I see you’ve put together my symptoms and come up with a diagnosis of ‘major hangover’.

You’re not wrong. Yes, it’s self inflicted.

Now anyone who knows me well knows that even though I come across as a party girl I am in fact a very light drinker. Our next door neighbour, also a hotelier, caught me putting water into my wine once and was disgusted with me. Now I get teased about it all the time when we have a hotel ladies get together. The hoteliers social life is about to take off as it is, in case you haven’t noticed, October. A week or so to gather up a bit of energy and then the party season will start right up until March. We were begging for a break from it all last year. “Noooooo….not another bloody party, I caaaaaaaaaaan’t. It’s more knackering than working!”

Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s already started. That’s how I came to be out last night.

A really lovely hotel manager and her oppo and I hit it off as soon as we met. Always doing other things we kept saying, we must meet up for a drink sometime. Anyway, ‘some time’ was yesterday. “Come out for gin cocktails and a curry. Bring Boofuls”, came the missive.

It would have been rude not to.

Have you noticed how gin has become a fashionable drink recently?

Served in a goldfish bowl sized glass with half a rain forests worth of greenery in the form of herbs or other ‘botanicals’ in it. Mine was served with star anise and rose petals. Very pretty, very nice. I only had one to their two.

We chatted, caught up with the gossip, debated where to eat and generally chilled out, we were having a lovely time. Until the only other person in the bar came up to our table. A woman, probably in her thirties and very, very drunk came up and put her arms round one of our friends. “You’re so beautiful. Can I come and join you?” She staggered around a bit and we all looked in horror at each other. The silence was deafening.

Eventually, Boofuls piped up with, “Well, not really, we are going out to eat in minute.” “Thash ok *hic* I’sh come wiv ya.”

Once again we all stared at each other and then at the table top. Not wanting to be rude but absolutely not wanting the extra company. The table top became utterly fascinating as we all stared at it. Eventually, she got the idea that she wasn’t joining us and staggered off, straight to the bar where she picked up a glass of wine from someone’s order and started drinking it. At that point she got thrown out. WE heaved a sigh of relief. I bet she has a humdinger of a hangover today.

Anyway, we toddled off, after much debate, to a local Indian restaurant. Boofuls hates Indian food but he was out voted on the basis that they serve English food as well, as long as he wanted an omelette.

It’s ages since I’ve been for an Indian, it was delicious. The waiter brought our wine. After one mouthful each we realised he had brought chardonnay rather than the sauvignon we’d ordered so he rectified his mistake while saying, “just finish the other bottle off.” So we did. Oh God.

MY little head was starting to feel a bit swimmy when we left the restaurant. All in all it was a brilliant night out.

Shame that Douggie the Doggie decided to alert us that he was going to have a seizure at 2.30 this morning. Take it from me, nothing will sober you up faster than that. I leapt out of bed, got him downstairs and dosed him up with his tablets. It always scares me giving him an extra dose but if I can catch a fit early enough I can stop it in it’s tracks. As it did last night. The only trouble then is that he goes into such a deep sleep that I spend all night feeling his chest to make sure he’s still breathing. So, Douggie’s world record of over three months without a fit still stands.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating going back to bed and watching my snoozing dog. The world is making waking up noises and my brain isn’t giving me ‘it’s morning, get moving’ signals. Actually, my bed is looking more attractive by the minute. No work for me today so… beddy byes it is for another hour. G’night all, I have to go and sleep off my excesses – so I can do it again tonight!

I love October, I may have to go back to watering down my wine if I’m going to survive, though.

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That’s Entertainment


In a rare moment of feeling hospitable recently I decided to invite some friends over for dinner. We haven’t had a dinner party for aaaaaaaages. Then I decided to invite another couple over as well because I thought they’d get on well with the first couple as they had a lot in common. Well, all the girlies had something in common anyway. We are all, or have been, photographers and all have dogs. All the two chaps have in common is that they have been lucky enough  to bag themselves beautiful and clever wives many years their juniors.

Both lovely couples, I was looking forward to it not least because it gave me chance to flex my culinary muscles and do some proper cooking for a change. Tricky finding  meal that everyone will eat with a picky, picky, picky eater like Boofuls, a fat fighter like me and a vegetarian to cater for. I didn’t want her to feel like she was difficult by serving her something totally different.

So. I made a roasted tomato, red pepper and garlic soup. That fit the bill for everyone. It was rich and unctuous and contained not a single calorie or ounce of flesh. Then I decided to have beef wellington for the main course. I’d love to say I made them but I didn’t, they were on offer in the supermarket and I was still searching for inspiration so I bought them. I did however make the mushroom and chestnut wellingtons with a red wine jus for me and the vegetarian guest, they were deeeeelishus! Then the important bit. Pudding.

I had two massive pineapples at my disposal so I got googling. Memories of schooldays came flooding back to me when image after image of pineapple upside down cake floated across my screen. Nonononono!! I don’t want a schoolgirl pudding. Pineapple carpaccio? Nah. Not very exciting. Pineapple in a caramel rum sauce? Oh yes!

Good old Anthony Worrall Thompson came up trumps with the best pineapple recipe. I put the sugar in the pan to make the  caramel. Swirl it round the pan, he said. I swirled and watched in delight as the sugar melted and became liquid. Pour in the rum and stir he said, be careful, it might spit. I poured and prepared to stir. unfortunately, the sugar in the pan decided to set solid as soon as the liquid touched it. I ended up waving round a spoon with half a pound of solidified sugar attached to it. I bet that never happens to Wozza!

Eventually, after half an hour of stirring a sugar loaded spoon round the solid  sugar melted down and I got the sweet and sticky run sauce I was after. I lured it over the pineapple and put it all in a slow oven to warm through. It was gorgeous served with vanilla ice cream.  Any other flavour would have been a travesty.

The guests arrived, and as I suspected got on like a house on fire. I love it when a plan comes together. The evening passed in a haze of relaxed chatter and good humour. paying careful attention to which friends to put together paid off as everyone got on really well. I’d forgotten how much I like dinner parties. It’s by far my favourite way of spending an evening.

Now that summer and it’s long, warm,  balmy evenings have gone for a few months I think we might be whiling away the winter months by doing a lot more entertaining.

 

Gainfully employed


It’s amazing how fast the novelty wears off, isn’t it?

Just a few short months after finishing work there I was tearing my hair out and getting grumpier and more bored by the day.  The I was thrown a lifeline.

My florist friend sent me a message asking me if I’d like a part time job with her until we move house. OH YES YES! YES! YES PLEASE!

I popped over to see her last week and she told me she wants me to be an extension of herself but more organised. Could i keep her diary, website and Facebook presence more up to date and also to help with day to day jobs.

First task. Make some Christmas trees. That involved going into the garden to cut twigs of various colours and then cutting them to size and wiring them into the shape of a Christmas tree and then decorating them. Beautiful, rustic, absolutely up my street. I felt like I should have been paying her. Who knew that floristry involves so much cement?

Second task. Make three Christmas garlands. Again using natural materials, I was in my element. I think I’m going to enjoy this little jobette until we move.

Talking of moving. We have actually got someone to come and view the house next week. Keep your fingers, toes and anything else you have crossed and send us your vibes. It’s well past time we were living in Devon.

This morning I was going to do a round up of all the week’s news but to be honest I’m exhausted. We had a little dinner party last night and invited people who hadn’t met before as I knew they’d hit it off. Good grief. They hit it off alright, they were still here at 1.00a.m. Boofuls and I were almost asleep at the table. I’m normally in bed by eleven at the latest. You might have to wait till tomorrow for the week’s round up. I’m going for a little snooze now. G’night.

The ‘C’ Word


If I hear the word ‘Christmas’ one more time I may have to punch someone. Ho ho effing ho.

Seriously, I’m a big fan of the festive season. Probably the biggest fan of the festive season but puh-lease  can we just wait a few more weeks before uttering the ‘C’ word?

Mind you, the feeding frenzy that is Christmas has already started in the shops. Cards have been on display for weeks along with selection boxes and ‘Brut for men’ gift packs.  Its hard not to think that you’re on  the last minute when you’re being bombarded with: ‘BUY NOW BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!!!!’

Jeez………….*lightbulb moment*  Actually, now I come to think of it, yes.  I almost forgot it was all about him.  I bet his Dad didn’t realise how commercialised and distorted the whole story was going to get when he put his masterplan into action.

Anyway, back to the plot…

I haven’t even had my summer holiday yet, I’m not even entertaining the idea of Christmas till I’ve been back at least a day.

The holidays this year will be er…….interesting. We’re going to Spain with some friends to see a friend, one long overdue for a massive cuddle. I’m dying to see her. Who’d have thought when we met at school we’d still be friends 10 20 30 

OK!!!

40 odd years later. There I’ve said it. Bloody hell! Now I feel  as old as Methuselah – but how nice it is to still have friends from my childhood.

We get back from that holiday, spend four days washing clothes and deleting millions of emails and then we go away again to Torquay to see Boofuls’ brother.  This time we’re going with Lashes, Len, all the grandchildren and both dogs.   Dangerous seems to think she’s going to the Caribbean rather than south Devon. Apparently she’s taking her swimming cossie so she can swim in the sea and play on the beach. At the end of October? Bbbbbrrrrrr.

It’s going to be eventful, I think. I’m already hatching plans to keep three lively kids amused in a ‘closed for the winter’ seaside resort.

You’ll never guess what I did today.

What a dope ( me, not you).

As normal I checked my diary. Shoot at 11.00 a.m. Nothing else for the rest of the day. Ooh lovely, I though,  I’ll go for a nice long walk with Douggie the Doggie – and so I did, it was lovely.

I landed back at work after our walk to stern faces and “Why don’t you take your phone?” I’d only been and gone and missed an appointment!

Quelle horreur!

Clients turned up to view their photos and I’m halfway up the bloody moors! Much grovelling on my part when I got back.

It’s there very clearly in black and white in my diary and I didn’t even see it. Definitely time for a holiday.

It’s here!!


Ordered on the 2nd January, our new suite has FINALLY arrived. YAAAAYY!!!!

After a false start before Easter, the big white lorry turned up on our drive a few minutes ago and as I type a couple of burly blokes are assembling my lovely new settee.

You can always tell how posh a person is by the words they use. A posh person would never say settee. A posh person would say sofa. Calling it a settee means I’ve well and truly given away my working class roots. Damn, and I got away with it for so long!

So other than the excitement of a new so-fa, what else has been happening? Bugger all, that’s what.

We have a wedding booked at a terribly posh venue tomorrow,  in this instance posh means expensive. I’ve never worked there before and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve even bought another camera especially for the occasion. Why can’t I just be like normal women and buy shoes or chocolate when I get hormonal? Even a pair of Jimmy Choo’s is cheaper than a big f**k off pro camera.

Being a professional photographer means that I get asked all the time by ‘friends’ to take photos. Real friends never ask me to work for free. I’m talking about ‘friends’.

“We’re having a party and you’re invited. Don’t forget to bring your camera along.”  “I’ve got this product to sell, will you take photos for  for me?”

Being the non confrontational person I am I usually say yes even though I’m quite sometimes narked by it. It always strikes me as a bit cheeky. I wouldn’t ask them to give me their  product for free, why do they feel it’s ok to ask me to give mine away for free. What makes my product less valuable than theirs?

Answer:  Me being a wuss and agreeing to do it.

I spend more bloody time working for free than I do getting paid. More fool me.

This all came to a head a couple of weeks ago when a ‘friend’ once again asked me to photograph some products for free. During a pre shoot chat he smarmily  mentioned that my last photos were so good they’d, “made their way onto a few other websites.” I looked up from my coffee and garibaldi.

“Yes, a few other sites have picked them up and decided to use them.”

He was clearly expecting me to simper and be all thrilled that I’d got my photos ‘out there’.

 “WHAT?”

Exit wuss. Enter Godzilla.

“WHAAAT?  Well, you’d better let me have the names of these ‘other websites’ and I’ll get in touch and have a little word about copyright theft.”

At this point he realised that he might have made a small error of judgement with  his last comment  and tried to brush it off by saying, and I quote: “Relaaaax, it’s all good.”

By now the red mist had well and truly descended. Not only have I done a ‘friend’ a favour, saving him upwards of £300 and had my work stolen, now he decides to patronise me in the process.

“Good? There’s nothing good about it. This is how I earn my living. It’s theft as surely as if they’d lifted something off a shelf in a supermarket.  I let you have those photos in good faith and now they’re being stolen left right and centre and you’re ok with that?” Just tell me where they are and I’ll contact them to get them  removed a bit bloody sharpish.”

All of that last little bit came out in one, loud, fast, garbled flood of words. I was incandescent  with fury.

A small glimmer of realisation that I might not be best pleased came into his eyes, along with a larger glimmer of “SHIT!  I passed the photos on, I’m in deep dooodoo.’

“Um, um, I’ll sort it out, leave it with me.”

So it  transpires that, my ‘friend’ decided to pass them on to all and sundry. Thanks a bunch ‘friend’.

Think I may finally have learned a lesson.

Rant over.

An homage to Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson


So bezzie mate and her husband came to visit for our Christmas morning practice run of champagne and croissants. I mean, you need to know that it’s all going to run perfectly on the day,  and as they say, practice makes perfect.

Dear oh dear.

I think it’s important to point out her that  bezzie mate and I have been friends since we were 12 and that’s * starts counting on fingers, runs out of fingers and starts counting on toes as well* since…er…. a lot of years, since 1972 in fact. She’s the one  of the very few people with whom I  don’t need to be ‘professional’, ‘grown up’ or anything else. She knows me as well, if not better than, many of my own family and she’s a baaaaad influence. in fact I blame all the following shenanigans on her aided and abetted by Boofuls and Stuball. Me? I’m completely innocent in all this, led like a lamb to the slaughter (yeah, right).

After our third bottle of champagne we decided to film a Christmas greeting, a song by Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson.

Before I show you our ‘Christmas 1022 video’ I’d like to welcome  my new readers. Thank you for considering my little blog worthy of reading.

I’d also like to apologise to all my readers and bid goodbye to the readers who thought that I was going to be providing you with cool, sophisticated and thought provoking posts. it was nice meeting you  and I don’t blame you if you leave. The video you are about to watch is in fact the real me, the rest is a facade.

Before you watch this there is a health and well being warning to take into consideration.

WARNING!! There was alcohol involved and there may be a small smattering of Anglo Saxon. Actually, quite a large smattering. Ok. It’s filth from start to finish with LOTS of vile language, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Watch at your own risk:

British Sausage Week


It’s British  Sausage Week!

Everyone, bring out yer  bangers to celebrate !  Ooh – er Missus, that sounded a bit rude – by bangers obviously I mean sausages not the other meaning. We can’t have people running round the streets bare chested shouting ‘Look! I’ve got me bangers out for British sausage week.”

Oh, there is so much scope here for  a whole post of Benny Hill type smut but I  am resisting  the almost overwhelming urge to regress to the level of a twelve year old boy and moving  on swiftly before I lose the battle:

What do you mean you ‘ What the hell are you talking about now?’

British Sausage Week, of course.  Didn’t you know about it?

Let me explain.

Thursday. My favourite day of the week.

Thursday starts with an early morning dance lesson. We’re still on the Paso Doble and it’s progressing nicely, thank you. Thursday’s  lesson deserves a whole post to itself so I won’t say any more just now.

Thursday is the day me Bezzie mate and me get let off  our respective  leashes for a few hours to catch up on the gossip, get a spot of lunch, throw in a bit of shopping because it would be rude not to, and then we generally round off the afternoon by going  to the spooks  for  a bit of God bothering at our local spiritualist church. We know how to live!

The chosen lunch  lunch venue this week was Oswaldtwistle Mills, known locally as ‘The Bubble Factory’.  I’s a nice place to spend a couple of hours as long as it’s timed correctly so you manage to avoid the  pensioners who arrive by the coachload and then rampage round the place wreaking havoc on your shins with their zimmer frames and motorised wheelchairs. A posse of pensioners with a determined gleam in their eyes like aged Hell’s Angels, wheelchairs in formation coming at you at speed, can be a bit daunting while you’re nosying through the nick knack section. The  best course of action we’ve found is to leap out of their way before they reach you in order to protect your ankles and absolutely DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT! That can lead to a full half hour discussion about their latest body part replacement while you look around wildly searching for an avenue of escape. “I’VE GOT NO SPLEEN, YOU KNOW.” They’ll announce at full volume at you as a good enough reason to snatch off you  the item you’ve just been longingly holding and planning to buy.

So, avoiding the marauding pensioners, we made our  eventually way to the fancy food section so I could peruse the goodies on offer and hopefully pick something up for Friday’s  dinner party.

Puh-lease!  We’re supposed to be leaving the smut behind us! When I sad ‘pick something up’ I meant food! Tsk!

As we walked drooling past the puddings, the cheese and the baked goods we arrived at the butcher’s counter and saw this sign:

Source: Martin the butcher via twitpic

Try you (sic) hand at sausage making? That sounds like it could be a lot of fun! Come on!

“Can we have a go?” I enquired, just  as bezzie mate’s eyes alighted on this picture:

Noddy Holder, British Sausage Week
Source: http://www.nfmft.co.uk/html/british_sausage_week_2011.html

“Oh. My. GOD!!! She squealed with delight as she came over all unnecessary. “Look at this.” She waved a leaflet under my nose, wafting it round excitedly. It took a moment for my eyes to be able to adjust to the frantic wafting but I finally managed, after grabbing hold of her wrist to keep it still, to make out that it was none other than Noddy Holder himself.

Her hero. Hard to believe, aint it?

We were both big fans of a band called Slade in the seventies. She had a bit of a thing for Noddy Holder when we were kids. Obviously, she still has.

” ‘Course you can have a go,” said the butcher, smiling at  bezzie mates squeals, ” come back in twenty minutes and we’ll be ready for you.”

Twenty minutes later we presented ourselves back at the butcher’s to clock in as trainee sausage makers.

Well. What can I say?  It was hilarious!

First we were led to a sink to wash our hands, an easy enough task you might think for women of our mature years.  How exactly does one operate a sink with no taps?  We stood their scratching our little blonde heads (our own, not each others) until the answer was shown to us by the good humoured  butcher in charge of   middle aged, slightly manic, amateur sausage makers.

The sink had a knee operated tap. Durr. Did I feel stupid!

We were shown how to thread the slimy, cold sausage skins onto the nozzle of the filling machine and proceeded to churn out a lovely looking six foot long sausage each. Not too shabby at all, if I do say so myself. Next came the linking of said sausages. Bezzie mate took to it like a duck to water. “Push them through at 12 o’clock, pinch, twist drop. Repeat.”

That sounds so easy, doesn’t it?  Could I get the hang of it? Could I hell!  Much hilarity followed, most of it at my expense. Those sausages flipped and flopped and  dropped and did everything but link. Big fail in the sausage linking task. The butcher got fed up of watching me destroy the six foot long sausage and  took over proceedings. Eventually the  sausages were linked and off they went to be sold in the shop. Our sausages! Sold in the shop! Ha!

Here were are with our bangers on display.

Source: Martin the butcher via Twitpic

And meltdown will occur in five, four, three, two………..


Fair to say that the last two weeks have been stressful in the extreme.  I’ve managed to deal with crisis after crisis, heavy workloads, emotional trauma and financial plate spinning with relative ease, even surprising myself at times.

Of course there had to be a straw which broke the camel’s back. Guess who put it there? Poor unsuspecting Boofuls.

He made an innocent remark about something or other as we were driving which caused me to spend the next three hours in tears.

I knew it was imminent, this meltdown. It had signalled it’s arrival by causing me to lose the ability to string a cohesive sentence together.  It’s a  sure sign of an imminent  meltdown  when everyday words, sit in a corner of my brain shouting, ‘I’m not coming out. Find a different word!’ That’s all very well when there is an alternative but if the word you’re after is a noun then you’re kind of screwed and left sitting there crying, “Oh for God’s sake! What’s the fecking word?”

It seems my sister is similarly afflicted when she finds herself under duress.

Anyway, back to the plot, now I’m emotionally capable of following one:

Boofuls sat there bemused in the car park of the local camping shop where we were heading to buy our coat for the Big Adventure in January while I sobbed and ranted at him for nothing in particular.  There’s never a box of tissues handy when you need one, is there? I was having to make do with a scrap of serviette I found in my pocket from a previous lunch outing. With tears and snot everywhere it was hardly adequate but it had to do as there was no way I was going into that shop in search of tissue looking like my face had just exploded.

Eventually, when I’d calmed down sufficiently, we left the car park and went home, shopping trip postponed. My sister came up to visit bringing with her her own tales of woe and the three of us  sat in the cold, dank and slightly drizzly garden, drank coffee and  put the world straight. Even managing to have a laugh at some of the events of the last few weeks. Meltdown over.

Last night we went out for dinner with one of my college friends and her husband.   I would rather have stayed in, got my pj’s on  and and watched crap telly all night but it’s been ages since we saw them and I didn’t want to let them down at the last minute so I got my act together and got mentally prepared. That sounds terrible. They are a really nice couple, the problem was me, not them. Just so’s you know.

Getting ready to go I’d put on my favourite dress to cheer myself up and was searching round in one of my drawers for a clean hanky. I found one and then got distracted trying on different necklaces with my dress. Halfway downstairs I realised I’d left the hanky so back up I went to get it. Not on the bed, not on the dressing table. Not on the chest of drawers.  Odd.

I’d only gone and taken it out of the drawer, used it and then absentmindedly put it back in the drawer! EEEEEW! Disgusting!

At the restaurant we ordered our food  with the very young and pretty but ever so slightly dim waitress, spicy crab cake and roast beef for me. Then we ordered the wine.

“A bottle of white zinfandel, please.”  The waitress looked at us for a moment as if unsure what we were asking for then looking at our ages must have deduced that it was a wine. She picked up the wine list and scrutinised it, running her finger up and down the list several times, brow furrowed with concentration. Eventually Boofuls helpfully stepped in with “It’s a rose.”  “Oh! That’d do it!” She flipped the wine list  over  and located the wine fairly quickly after that. Made me laugh. More training required I think.

For any foodie bloggers who happen to read this you don’t need to tell me. I know white zinfandel is a terrible choice of wine with spicy crab cakes and roast beef  – I was going for comfort food and my brain was most certainly not up to any kind of thinking about which wine of food complimented each other. I just wanted it quick, tasty and plentiful. And that’s what I got.

We’re exhibiting again today. Huge hotel in Preston. I suppose I’d better get my act together and get moving. Have a nice Sunday, everyone.

BORED! boredboredboredboredyboredbored


Or as my Mum used to say, “Only boring people get bored.”

Hhhhhmmmpphh.

Well, in that case. It’s very quiet round here and I’m struggling to find things to keep me occupied. I feel like I’m just waiting for everything to start next month. Then I’ll be yearning for some respite from it all.

I found some old photos:

Ok, this first one isn’t old. It’s Boofuls and one of our neighbours  on Tuesday night trying to work out how to sent a number to another phone. Funny.

Phones

Next is a photo of me years ago when I was an image consultant demonstrating at our annual conference ‘The Briefcase Trick’ or “How to pack for a week’s holiday into a briefcase.’ It does work, try it.

Briefcase trick

Next is a photo of our me with our first grandchild just a few hours old.  Little did we know that later that day she would be moved to the special care unit and stay there for six weeks. Traumatic times.

Newborn baby and proud grandmother
Fun in the swimming pool

This is Boofuls, Lashes, Bezzie mate and her hubby on a holiday in France, at our friend’s gites to be exact. Such a fantastic holiday. We didn’t stop laughing all the time we were there and it wasn’t just because of the ridiculous amounts of Kir Royale we got through.

There are more photos but I’ll drip feed them to you over the next few weeks so you don’t lose the will to live.

It hasn’t been boring for Len ‘the car wrecker’ and Lashes this week.

Len set off for work the other day, a good 45 min journey. About ten minutes into it the brakes on his car fell off. Yup. You read that correctly. Fell off.

Managing to limp back home, they decided the best course of action would be to put him on to Lashes’ insurance so he could set off  to work again in her car. Got to work, no problem.

On the way home from work, only half a mile or so from where he had the morning mishap, the  clutch went. Bloody hell, you couldn’t make it up!

Boofuls and The Rev set off with a big car and a tow rope to bring the undrive-able car home. So. How’s Len getting to work now then?

“Muuuuuuuuuummmmm………..”

Oh God. I know that tone. “Yes dear?”

“I could drive your car.”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll put him on our insurance so he can take Dad’s car.”

Such a good idea except that Len is under 25 and the online insurance company just laughed and slammed the virtual door in his virtual face.

“Muuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm………?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssss……..?”

“You’re not busy tomorrow, are you?”

So that’s how I came to be driving to Rochdale and back twice in one day. The intervening hours were spent with Lashes and Munki.

Munki seemed to have been possessed by the Devil. She lay on the floor in a shop screaming at the top of her lungs after being gently told that whipping away a changing room curtain while a stranger was standing there in her grundies was not acceptable behaviour.

While her head wasn’t quite spinning round on her shoulders and the vomit wasn’t spewing froth in a mighty stream from her mouth ( the baby, not the stranger) she was most definitely ‘on one’. Terrible two’s isn’t in it. I’m not even going to tell you about her behaviour in Pizza Hut where we nipped in for a sneaky lunch. Suffice to say I apologised profusely to the people at the next table. Bloody waiter bringing a  bloody balloon before she’d finished eating. Oh. Dear. God, so much screaming.

I wasn’t bored then, more shell shocked, as was everyone else within a half mile vicinity.

I’ve decided that I’m most definitely bored with waiting for the decorator. We still haven’t got a quote from him and I’m fed up waiting now so I’m doing it myself. Especially now that I know my friend from France is coming to visit next week. YAAAAAYY!

Still on a mission to spruce up our house a bit I was looking for bedroom wallpaper today and I found some amazing sparkly paper. Sparkly wallpaper! I love it!!

Ok, so maybe I’m not that bored after all.