Archive for March, 2010

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.


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.


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.


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.

This Bit

Wednesday, March 17th, 2010

This is the bit about blogging that kinda irks me. The bit that forces me to be the best written form of me that I can be. This is the bit where you start a blog and no one appears to read it, think about it or find it worthy of commenting on. It can take months to get past this bit, to the bit where people come regularly, do more than sniff and sigh and even occasionally have something to say in response to your outburst. That’s the bit I like.

The thing is about this bit is that unless this bit is good you never actually get to the next bit. How do I know? Well I did have a go at this before, twice in fact. The first time was in 2003, under the guise of Fascinating Edna at Lipstick, Lighter and Tampax. I let that roll away as my life twisted and turned. Sad that I’d relinquished my grip on the keyboard I started again with The Effects of Gravity. That’s gone too, mostly because the people who read it actually drank beer with me, which does kind of stifle your creativity a bit.

So they’re gone, and I’m here now, I wonder where we will go. I do wonder if anyone will actually go anywhere with me. Given that I’ve just written a blog entry about entirely nothing I’ll be lucky if you follow me to the end of our street.

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.

Cheerful Denial

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

Why is it that when your dentist is imparting heartbreakingly bad news they manage to cushion it with wonderful yet inaccessible possibilities.

‘Ah the problem is…’ (the problem is I have teeth of shit, they have never been good. They will never be good. As Alanis would say, they are ‘ungood’, or as I would say – once more – they are shit) ‘…you appear to have a cracked root, I’m afraid this tooth will have to be extracted’

This FRONT tooth will have to be extracted. My ARSE! Calm expression.

‘What are my options?’

‘The good news is that there are three options, the first is that we use an implant, it will be like a crown, no one will ever see the difference’.

‘Right, and how about an option that I have possibility of paying for?’

‘Bridge or denture, denture if you are strapped. What would you like to do?’

‘I’d like you to stick it back together again.’



‘Good choice’


Don’t tell my secret admirers.

Made Ya Look

Sunday, March 7th, 2010

‘No one will notice love’
Half an hour later my daughter came home. I smiled at her and she let out a yelp.
People will notice.

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.


Sunday, March 7th, 2010

Beardieboy, quite remarkably, has given me my second posting topic, the first being utterly pointless (the second may well follow suit).

I’ve been feeling crap today, which is obvious really, after all I’ve been perfectly well all week in my tedious job so why on earth would I be given the pleasure of enjoying the weekend that I’d looked forward to. Our friend has organised a memorial gig for her late boyfriend, our mate Neil, who was a remarkable but troubled musician. We’ve looked forward to the gig for a number of weeks so it’s only right that I should be ill and miss it, after all, that is the way of the world.

Beardieboy took off looking like he was going to a gig and happily he managed to suppress his excitement tourettes.  This tourettes involves saying and doing things best left in his head, out loud, at the most inappropriate times. When I first met him, he lifted my top up in front of his dad. You get the drift…anyway, he managed to say nothing inappropriate like, ‘I hope you have a good evening’, or ‘Have you finished that job application yet?’  Before he went he did say the obligatory, ‘I won’t be back late…’

Well, it’s gone midnight and I’ve just had THAT phonecall. The one where he pretends he’s sober and the more he tries not to,  the more inapproriate he becomes.

Beardieboy: How are you?

Me: I’m ok, I’ve still got a headache

Beardieboy: I’ll come home soon and get you drinks and junk food

Me: Is that what I am? A lazy junk food eater? (look, I am ok! But that’s not the point)

Beardieboy: Noooo, don’t say that, ooh I knew I’d say the wrong thing, does this mean my treats will be floppy now?

Me: Floppy? Pardon? Floppy?

Beardieboy: Sex, you know? Floppy!

Me: Is your brother standing next to you?

Beardieboy: You’re not going to write this on Twitter are you?

Me: Nooooo, of course not….

Test Posting

Saturday, March 6th, 2010

test here, just to see how my layout works, don’t get excited I’ll be deleting this as soon as I’ve finished what I’m doing and then I’ll write something REALLY exciting, like how my knicker drawer never quite lives up to my husband’s expectations, or how my boss often looks like she’s made out of wax. I’m not funny, not in real life, and quite possibly not on the web. The more i reread the less funny i become. Let’s hope i don’t reread to much eh.