Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

1am

Thursday, April 29th, 2010

I am seeing it too often. That’s all.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Tw….

Friday, April 23rd, 2010

(warning: I may swear)
Got woken up with a phone call at 6.30 from Beardieboy, sounding concerned. He’d gone outside at 6am and could smell gas strongly. He called the gas board who said don’t switch lights on and they’d be there within the hour. I was confused but I got up and stumbled into some clothes, found conveniently in my floor wardrobe and I looked in the mirror thinking ‘oh shit’. I needed to wash my hair.

My mind, faced with such an important challenge, immediately started to process all the information. I couldn’t use gas if there was a gas leak could I? But then, there is a flame lit constantly in the boiler. I went round the house searching for the smell of gas. Nope. I went outside the front door. Nope. I phoned Beardieboy and called him a twat.

I got back in and suddenly thought, not only is he a twat he’s a murdering twat. Not only did he make a mistake but he, thinking he could smell gas, pissed off to work leaving his family potentially unconscious in their beds. Then, for good measure, he phoned me, not thinking that the first thing I’d do would be to turn my bedside light on to find my phone. See. Murderous twat.

Sorry, just needed to say.

I washed my hair, switched all the lights on, sort of out of spite. I got everybody out of bed and started breakfast. The beautiful au pair came down to tell me the gas man was outside. I went out to apologise for wasting his time, only to find him pacing around excitedly.
‘Ohhh yes, I can smell it strongly. Strongly!’ pace, pace. Bollocks, Beardieboy was right. Still, that definitely makes him a murdering tw…well you get the drift.

The excited gas man obviously hadn’t had a good leak in ages. He had to come and check in my house, which thankfully was fine (and quite tidy for a change) and went back outside to stand guard by the leak till the men with diggers came. Well, not stand so much as bob about nervously.

I phoned Beardieboy to tell him he was right all along. He was smug. Smug twat.

Snip Snip

Thursday, April 15th, 2010

So there I was, sitting in my very uncomfortable office chair thinking about whether to apply for another job, again. In the middle of a difficult decision about coffee or hot chocolate with my mid morning toast I had a phone call from home. I almost never get phone calls from home, mostly because the kids are usually in school, the au pair likes the gym and the dogs, as clever as they are at opening bins, cannot yet use a phone.

Sobbing greeted my ear followed by a very distressed message from my eldest daughter telling me that my youngest daughter, aged 5, had decided to restyle her hair completely, with scissors.

Me: is it bad?

Her: very bad

Me: will I be upset?

Her: I’m upset for you

Me: send photos

A very long 30 seconds pass.

The phone vibrates

the vision of a child's hair after a creative moment with scissors

I Cutted My Hair

(please notice how long it *was*)

I texted back: send me a picture of the front.

30 more tortured seconds gazing in disbelief at the first picture were interrupted by another vibration.

solemn child with terrible self-cut hair

I'm Sorry

(check out the tuft of micro-fringe that no longer hides the solemn expanse of forehead)

I took a deep breath, made a phone call and texted back: meet me at the hairdressers at 5pm

My colleague was almost on her knees in a puddle of unrestrained laughter and piss, obviously entirely at my expense. Thanks chum. I was on the edge of sobbing when I suddenly realised I had to tell Beardieboy. I went over the edge and sobbed. Then, being the woman that I am I made the decision: coffee. I drank the coffee and made another call. Beardieboy answered sounding like he was on top of the world. Poor sod. He went from hyper-happy to utterly appalled in a  matter of seconds. Poor sod. His beautiful child mangled by a misadventure with some kitchen scissors. I refused to send photos and said I’d sort it. I had a plan, it would work. If it didn’t work, in my mind I planned a Stephanie style pink wig. ‘It’s a fun wig, you’ll have fun in it, your friends will think you’re a hoot’.

5 O’clock arrives. The hairdresser took a very deep breath and on at least three occasions put her scissors down and walked away to compose herself. Every time she thought she’d solved it she discovered another hack or tuft and yet more had to come off to blend it in. Meanwhile I sat there rubbing my face like a neurotic. The salon manager came to the rescue with yet more coffee. The coffee helped me, and training evidently helped the hairdresser. She toiled for 20 hard minutes before giving me a brief lesson on styling to hide bald patches. Now I wouldn’t like you to get too close and study this for tufts but with a bit of hairspray this will work. She even has a bit of Parisian chic going on.

A relieved child after a professional snipper has rescued her do

Post Haircut Haircut

A handful of disney hairclips and everyone will think we’ve gone for something radical for spring.  Our house is now sleeping beauty but with scissors not spinning wheels. We ceremonially collected all the offending articles up and we’re locking them in the west tower until she’s old enough to know better and if she still decides to screw up a perfectly good haircut at that stage then good luck to her.

We Went to London

Monday, March 29th, 2010
A poncy photo of Big Ben by my photo crazy daughter

Look Ben, it's not big and it's not funny. Ok, so it's big, but it's not...

So, there I was bragging about how cheap it all was, what good value for money it was and how planning ahead was the way forward. I booked my train tickets  and hotel back in February and picked the tickets up on Friday to discover I’d bought outward and return journies for Saturday. Yep, both for Saturday. Arse.

I called thetrainline and explained how I was a regular and good customer, had made a genuine error and needed help to transfer my tickets. ‘I can do that for you, there will be a £50 admin charge’, I looked at the phone in disbelief, ‘but I can book new tickets for just £42, why can’t you just transfer them?’ ‘I can, the charge is £50’, ‘Waive the charge’, ‘No, I can’t I can only waive £10 or £20’ ‘Are you going to offer this?’ ‘No’. Ok thanks for your unhelp.

+£42

Arrived at the hotel to discover the the second bedroom information had overwritten the first bedroom information and we had a small double and large double for 5 people. The suggested the teenagers share a bed. ‘No, my daughter is 15, my son is 19, not only is it inappropriate it’s likely to end in violence, they’re siblings’  Oh well, we’ll move their room and put a foldout bed in your room for your five year old.  (So much for a romantic weekend). Oh and there’s an extra charge of £15 because our software system screwed up your booking. Arse.

+£15

We had plans to go to the Tate. Sidetracked by the companionship of a small scruffy bear from school (sent to accompany us on our travels), Beardieboy decides in his wisdom to take a detour to see Westminster ‘so the bear can have it’s picture taken’. No, really, this is true. We arrive at Westminster, haul arse to the wrong side of the Thames, glare at each other and the stupid bear has its stupid photo taken with the five year old, on the shoulders of Beardieboy, too close to the edge of the Thames. Consequently this detour resulted in a dozen photos of my five year old looking utterly terrified on the shoulders of a Beardieboy who smiled with barely masked anger due to me cringing at the sight of my child in such jeopardy. Fortunately the bear is quite photogenic.

image of a teddy drinking coke, it's ok though, it's diet coke

Paws drinking coke, it's ok though, it's diet coke

The detour also took an extra hour or so leaving us precisely 15 minutes to do the Tate and take a taxi back to Euston. Extra cost of unscheduled taxi was £12.80.

+£12.80

A picture of my derrier

Apparently this is me being a grumpy arse

Don’t let me plan your London trip unless you have a spare £70 cushion in your budget. I didn’t and it’s a good job we like lentils and beans.

picture of a lion statue at the Natural History Museum

At least some things are set in stone...not the price of trains, or hotels mind you.

Music Therapy

Sunday, March 14th, 2010

Treating the whole, not the part. My doctor, treating me for a leg injury, asked me how I was and what I was up to. I told him and he said, ‘don’t forget to do things for fun too’.  Seems to me that’s the best prescription I could have. I’m just not sure where to get it filled in. I know that my fun is, or should be music.

I need music, I need to sing, I need to write. Beardieboy and I began collaborating about 12 months ago, writing songs and rehearsing. Trouble is he’s a combination of a perfectionist and a sensitive soul so the slightest gap in rehearsing leaves him thinking his voice has gone, the songs are shit, the path is blocked. Because he’s a sensitive soul he is often the cause of his own blocks. Too much worry, too much work, getting a cold, all conspire against him and therefore us.

I feel a bit stuck. I have had several projects before, including one which produced the songs found here but, and I’m not just saying this because he’s my Beardieboy, but this is the first project that I truly believe in. I don’t care if we ever get famous but I do care if we get heard. We must get heard. It’s a bit different for Beardieboy I know, he was totally committed to the Damn Dirty Apes when we met. I wonder if, for him, this is some kind of consolation. I wonder if he believes in it the way I do.

So, what to do? If I stick with this project I stand two chances: I’ll either be stuck in a cycle of progress and delay, never quite reaching the standard in the eyes of Beardieboy that will allow him to let others hear, or, he could get his act together and then so could we. If it’s the former then I’m stuffed. I need to sing. I need to write, I need to perform. I can’t hedge my bets with a second project, I don’t have time for two projects. I can only manage one between work, study and family. I so believe in our music that I don’t want to give up on it. More than this I struggle with the idea of losing something that has had a very positive effect in this relationship. If I chose to cut my loses and give up waiting will I effectively be weakening my relationship? If he continues to feel sensitive and stuck is he allowing those feelings to stop the music and in doing so weaken the relationship?I wish I had the answer. I need to think.

Suddenly it all becomes clear. I know what to do. Following this brief period of introspection I realise what the answer is, I know the thing that will make all the difference.

I’m going to kick his arse.

For the Uninitiated

Sunday, March 7th, 2010

For the uninitiated,
‘the words on the wall in the bathroom say Sue says Greg doesn’t love me’
vaguely translates as,
‘I’m so drunk that I can’t speak and if you don’t put me to bed I’ll attempt to urinate up the wall in the hall’.

We don’t know anyone called Sue, or Greg.