Saturday, January 31, 2009

Will Swop Dogs for Sherbert DibDabs

Bloody dog. One of my bloody dogs piddled on the living room carpet yesterday. Gad I can't abide it. I do love my mutts but such piddling is enough to make a woman lose it. We sat at the dinner table discussing our weak-bladdered companion. After much waving of hands and shaking of heads the Adrenaline Junkie said to our four year old,

'I know, let's sell him. We can use the money to buy sweeties'
'Ooooh yes, that's a good idea' says Junkie Junior.
'Is it? Shall we sell the other dog as well?'
'Yes, we could buy even more sweets then couldn't we?' (well there's no arguing with that, is there?)
Her fourteen year old sister rolled her eyes and joined in with a disapproving, 'Awww'.
Junkie Junior turned, patted her big sister on the arm and said,
'Don't worry, we won't sell you.'

Well that's all right then.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Sorry, You're Too Unfit to Get Healthy

Not one for New Year's Resolutions me. However, I did recognise over Christmas, partially due to the excess of the season, that if I didn't do something about my weight and health, I'd be unlikely to receive my full quota of future turkey dinners.

Two weeks ago I checked my local authority website and discovered I needed to order a Leisure Card before registering with my local council gym. About a week later I get news that my card was ready so I phoned the gym to book an induction only to be told that I had to turn up in person to do that.

Today I popped to the gym, got my card and was handed a form to fill out in order to book an induction. I ticked the boxes for yes where it said do you have back problems and handed it back.

'Oh, you'll have to get this other form signed by your doctor to register with us, it's just to cover you'
(I think he meant 'it's just to cover us')

Despite the fact that two weeks had now passed since I decided to change my lifestyle and knowing that other's may well have given up by this point, I tootled along to the surgery and cheerfully ask if they'd get my doctor to sign the form.

'Our doctors won't sign these forms'
'Our doctors won't sign these forms, they think it's a waste of time'
'But without the form I can't use the gym'
'Sorry, the doctor won't sign the form, I can ask the practice manager...'
'So what you're saying is, if I'm unfit and need a doctor to say it's safe for me to go to the gym I won't be allowed to go to the gym because my doctor won't say I can go, even if it IS safe, because taking the time to say this is a waste of his time?'
'Um, yes'
'So, who exactly can go to the gym then? Just fit people?'

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

I'd Lyin' if I Said I Didn't Like to Lie In

I used to work at home which is like flexi-time plus. I could get out of bed late, after watching sponge bob with my youngest, play or bake for a bit, get her off to school, clean, etc and then work when she'd gone to bed at night. Excellent for the family, terrible for my social skills. 'Um' became my most used word when talking to adults.

Now I'm working in the city and in a huge organisation and in a huge building, the biggest of its kind in Europe in fact, and I am having my skills tested constantly and on a daily basis. I decided positivity was the only way forward and that, at an age where I do know better, I have decided to keep my gob shut when other people tell me what my opinion should be in the hope that they think I'm actually agreeing with them, while safe in the knowledge that I'm doing no such thing.

I don't mind hoicking my rump into work because I can do my job well, I feel valued and I can make a difference. I dislike waking up at 6.15 intensely and the clients are, um, lacking in social skills. Aw well, you can't have it all. Can you?

You can't have it all. I once said that to a millionaire and he just grinned at me. Yeah yeah, so he had a luxury car, a number of houses, handmade shoes etc, but he didn't have... um. OK. so you can have it all.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Why is it SO HARD...? communicate by telephone?

Today has been full. Awake at 6.15 Asleep by 6.16. Awake (and panicking) by 6.45. Got up to find that the Adrenaline Junkie had yet again failed in his milk and bread duties and for breakfast four of us we were to fight over four crumpets and half a pint of milk. Guess who got the tinned prunes? Thanks Junkie! Grumpy but with no time to waste I threw kisses at the anklebiters and almost made it to the door when the au pair realised she didn't remember where the paracetamol was. Hmm, breathe deeply, be pleasant. 'ohh they're here in the cupboard' (translates internally to 'I'm FRICKIN' LATE DIDN'T I FRICKIN TELL YOU ALREADY?'). I managed to get on the bus in time to sample 15 different colognes and perfumes and some other stuff we won't talk about when Grandma is present.

Work was ok. Work over. I've found a bus stop that allows me a seat on the bus before the hoards of exhausted people and that irritating cow with the phone get on and heeeeerrreeee we go

Got home to find the fabulous casserole I'd lovingly prepared last night (instead of eating biscuits) had been put in the oven 30 minutes late and I was hungry enough to eat a scabby horse. Grumble about food, eat food, kiss kids.

Phone call from Adrenaline Junkie to say that 'we' have to do a very important letter for someone. The 'we' means that he harasses me when I'm knackered and I do it. Feel grumpy. Dash out to Doctors to find out why my head keeps feeling like it's going to burst. My bet is my blood pressure. He bet 'stress' Of course.
'Mrs Mrs is your job stressful?'
'Do you have a lot of responsibility at home or at work'
'I think you're suffering from stress'

Oh really? Well done. I just TOLD YOU I HAVE STRESS, NOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY BLOOD PRESSURE MORON. Like I say, stress. Anyway my blood pressure is not super high but much higher than normal and I feel ok tonight, not like my head's going to explode. So that's me buying a blood pressure monitor so I can obsess for a month or two.

Oh I forgot to say. I had a headache since 12pm. Now how is that right? I never moan about headaches at work. I try never to moan at work full stop. I hate moaning at work. My answer to moaning people at work is to buy cakes and make coffee. I can't help it, I'm a mum.

Straight from the quack and the Adrenaline Junkie is back on the phone. 'How did you get on?...oh good, well you have a quick relax eh and we'll do that letter'. OH MY GOOD GRIEF if he was not at the other end of the phone I do believe I may have kicked him very very very hard.

So it's now 7.35pm and I haven't stopped, haven't relaxed but that's ok cos I have a printout from my doctor about stress. It lists lots of symptoms of stress. I note that the symptom I went to the Doctor with is not amongst the list of symptoms. I get ANOTHER call from the Adrenaline Junkie who is obviously high on his own anxiety and unable to contain himself. I put the phone down on him and sit quietly. This lasts about five minutes before my innate guilt kicks in and I open the letter and start typing. 10.25 pm and I finish, have a sob and have a very grumpy phone call with the Adrenaline Junkie who is now relaxed because I've done the letter. Relaxed? I'm glad someone is.

Ohh I'm so glad I've shared. Did you have a nice day?

Sunday, January 25, 2009


Sometimes I don't want to be mum.

Tonight I want to stay up late, be irresponsible, not set the breakfast table or make the packed lunches. I don't want to put the dogs out or polish the shoes. I want to eat chocolate biscuits and watch a rubbishy movie. Unfortunately, regardless of what I do or don't do I still have to get up at 6.15am sort the kids out and get my chunky ass out of the house in time to pay for the privilege of sniffing someone's sweaty armpit whilst listing to their delightful tinny version of 'ooh lapa looma blanca' on the bus of doom. I occasionally take revenge by carrying my mug of coffee to work and dripping its contents surreptitiously onto the offender's shoes. It's my little bit of yang.

Friday, January 23, 2009


I started this blog a long time ago. It's true I tell you, despite the lack of entries that you see here. I am one of those irritating people who start a blog, get readers and then, for some inexplicable reason, fade away. Actually I just got busy. The blog ran about 5 years ago and then I got myself up the duff and found that running a house with four kids in it was a bit like hard work. Odd that.

For this terrible desertion I would apologise. I would, however I'm sure no one will remember me. So here I am 5ish years later deleted and rebooted.

Somewhere in all of this other people thought that being caffeine driven was the way to go too. I mean, apart from me and thousands of tech-heads worldwide. There are at least a couple of other caffeine drivens around. I might go for a spin and read them. Perhaps you should too. They aren't me though, I know this because they've been writing and I haven't.

Old Lady Car

I passed my driving test last year. Well done me. It only took 23 years and 2 passed written tests, 6 failed practical test and hundreds of hours of lessons. Immediately following my test I was too afraid to drive. After getting over that I was too afraid to drive in places I'd never been before. Now this is great if you live in a place you know but if, like me, you move to the city from the countryside and have road knowledge of about 2 square miles then you're a bit screwed for jolly sunday drives. Now I've mostly gotten over that I'm terrified of motorways, and quite right too - you're all maniacs. The idea of sitting in a little metal box hurtling along the tarmac at 70 miles an hour while everyone else tries to pass me so they can go 80 miles an hour fills me with a dread on par to standing on a cliff edge. I don't do that much either.

Tomorrow I'm travelling back to my home in the country and I've decided to drive. My husband, who from now on shall be known as the Adrenaline Junkie thinks it's very quaint that I'm going to drive my little old Cinquecento and totally avoid the motorway for 90 miles, when I could get into his comfortable modern car with electric seats and leather upholstery and speed along the motorway.

'Just like the olden days, ' says he, chuckling.
'Just like the olden days?'
The Adrenaline Junkie looks at me like I'm a barmy old aunt.
'Yes, you know, the olden days, when you could buy a round of drinks for a fiver.'
'Oh, THOSE olden days, the olden days where men never did the washing up because they were men?'

The Adrenaline Junkie (also known as He Who Avoids Washing Up at All Costs) shuffled out of the room without responding. In my dream where I win the Lottery, the Adrenaline Junkie always washes up, even when it's not his turn. I like this dream. I like it so much I haven't even thought about how much money I want to win.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

I Have a Dream

I have a dream that I win the lottery (don't we all?) and when I do I buy half a dozen extremely efficient earphones for IPods. I get on the bus in the morning and give them to those generous folks who join me on my daily commute to the city and think that I, and every other person on the bus, want to listen to a tinny version of 'I am the One and Only' by that fabulous chanteur, Chesney Hawkes, or 'Bat out of Hell' by Meatloaf. In fact, we don't, we just want to read The Metro or gaze out of the window with dribble running silently down our chins (that's on the rare occasion that the bus window is clean enough to see out of - often I only know where I am when the bus driver says 'Are you getting off or WHAT?'). In this dream I say to these generous folks, 'Here, have some decent earphones, knock yourself out.' Trouble is, the dream always ends up in one of two ways: either I get carted off to the funny farm for talking to strangers in the city or I get planted on my dribble-covered chin by the meatloaf fan.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Are You Dead Yet?

My mother visited recently. She wears a charming necklace which has dazzled grandchildren for the last 20 years and our youngest is just the latest to be beguiled by its beauty. While having a cuddle on the sofa my daughter looked at my mother carefully and then said,

'Nanny...are you going to die soon?'
'No sweetie, what makes you ask that?'
'Your elbows are wrinkly'
'Oh I think I'll live for a lot longer yet, despite my elbows'
'Oh' (looks disappointed)
'What's the matter?'
'Nanny...when you die, can I have your necklace?'
'Um, yes'

Later, when my daughter was swinging her legs absent-mindedly, I said,

'Did you ask Nanny for her necklace?'
'Do you think that was very polite?'
'I didn't ask for it now, only when she's dead' (rolls her eyes at my stupidity).

Well that's ok then.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Soul Food

As I sat on my office chair today I realised that I'd sold half my soul to the devil that is known as 'Pension'; I'd sold the other half to the arch-fiend known as 'The Bank'; the proceeds had bought a very large cake; I'd eaten the cake and the chair I was sitting on suddenly felt too small.

This is not a good list. This is a list of consequence. I'm forty, fat and have a purse full of fluff. My handbag fairs little better than my purse it has to be said. In there is a half eaten sausage, a feeding bottle for a doll, a security pass and bits of paper with mobiles numbers on but no names. Oh and caffeine tables, obviously.

I bet you're sitting there thinking 'wow, she's a dynamo'. You're not wrong. Last night I stayed up till ten THIRTY.