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Right here, right now...

Let's hear it for the weekend.....
What a week it's been.  Having finally recovered from a 93 hour week (slight exaggeration, but it felt like it), this week has seen me clear the decks of all the things which have been sitting on my own personal back burner for some time.  
This afternoon, I took my car in to have a service.  Most impressively, I was able to book this in online, and between the booking form, the car and the on board computer (there was much to-ing and fro-ing between the car and the laptop to check that I was seeing the correct picture on the dashboard), I finally managed to book in an oil service for this afternoon.
Feeling very competent, I handed the keys over to the technician, and settled down in one of their comfy chairs with a coffee and a magazine while I waited.
Ten minutes later, he was back.  'Finished already?' I asked.  'I haven't even got half way through my coffee yet, and this article is very interesting'.
He looked at me over h…
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All you need is love...

If I could paint a picture of how I look right now, I would be crawling towards the weekend on my belly, reaching out for the luxury of a small lie in and large glass of something extremely un-PG.  As I said to the husband this morning, 'Is it wrong to look forward to getting into bed again before you get out of it?'  He's the same as me after two very hard weeks at work, and it was a very subdued card swap this morning.  
Ah yes, St Valentine's Day.  A day to buy overpriced flowers, eat at restaurants where a few scattered paper hearts around the walls make a 10% increase in the price of a steak acceptable, and the pressure of choosing the perfect card.
The husband and I, both being of a sensible disposition, have an unspoken rule that St Valentine's Day will be marked by a card, and nothing else.  Knowing this, the cards we get each other are usually pretty amazing works of art (probably costing as much as half a steak) and the husband always manages to set my hear…

Song for the asking...

It's an early one today ladies as I have 'stuff' planned for the rest of day, so in the words of Elvis, it was 'now or never'. 
The husband got a telling off this morning.  This is unusual to say the last, as the two of us tend to muddle along without a cross word preferring instead to be fairly tolerant of each other's foibles.  I say each other, but let's be honest here.  All wives are perfect in every way, so if anyone has faults, it's the men in our lives.  No one is more amazed than I am that they usually manage to live to ripe old ages without getting battered by a rolling pin, wok or wedged boot...
So back to the husband.
Our mornings have a fairly regular and repetitive routine.  The alarm goes off, I make a cup of tea and come back to bed, by which time the husband is in the bathroom.  He then comes out into the bedroom, opens his wardrobe door and plucks out a work t-shirt, all the time wittering on about the weather/bats/football/life etc.  Gett…

Still raining, still dreaming...

I just spent an interesting hour going through my stash of summer clothes in readiness for a girly trip away with the female contingency of my family.  This doesn't include daughters one or two, as the cut off point for this trip is thatyou can't be younger than my cousin Mrs B.  We are taking our mothers away for a bit of R&R (Rosado and Rioja) and the hotel we have booked is not famous for catering for anyone who might have all their own teeth and no facial hair.  So it's just us oldies going.
But back to the clothes.  There is nothing worse than trying on summer clothes in the depths of winter.  A time when legs are left unshaven (no one's going to see them anyway) and which are a lovely shade of French Navy having been deprived of sunlight for the past four months.  We are all a little overweight (who am I kidding, I have still to shift the Christmas overhang) and squeezing into bikinis and shorts is just asking too much for a cold Tuesday afternoon.  (Especiall…

Little by little... (apologies for this song title, I should be ashamed of myself...)

Well that's another thirty seven minutes I'll never get back....
Over the past ten years or so, there has been a lot of talk about my home town getting another supermarket,  This would be an an alternative to the extremely expensive supermarket we have (you know who I mean).  Basically, if I want to buy food, I either drive eight miles to the nearest Aldi, Tesco or Sainsburys, or I bite the bullet and go to Waitrose.  This usually involves me going in with a heavy heart, and departing with a much lighter wallet than usual.  There is also the frustration of a) finding an actual parking space and b) hoping that secreted down between the seats and floor carpets, a 50p might be located for the car park ticket.  I suppose that what my fellow town dwellers and I are peeved about, is that we have no choice locally.  It's the big W or nothing.
So the you imagine the town's joy when Lidl opened last week.  Facebook was full of it, and I waited until today before dipping my toe in…

Tapping on the line...

It's just what you need after a week of overtime (on top of your normal day).  Don a pair of dodgy fishnets and a red wig and hang out with semi dressed males, whilst screaming abuse at Dom Joly as he tries to do a narrating job.
Such is the joy of the Rocky Horror Show.  Now I'm no virgin (don't panic ladies, this is what you call someone who has never seen the movie or the stage show) and neither is my best friend Mrs S, but our two daughters (number two on my part) and Miss S had never been.  When we suggested this night out some months ago, naturally the topic of dressing up was raised.  The two girls, who are not too shy when out with their relative buddies, opted for the parts of the frumpy Brad and Janet.  Mrs S had already bagsied the part of Magenta, the Eastern European French maid, and I was up for Columbia, the tap dancing good time girl from New York.
We had decided to all get ready at daughter number two's flat as the theatre was only seven minutes away (ev…

The hungry years...

Did you get much snow?
We had enough to ensure that my twenty four hours of R&R with daughter number two had to be cancelled.  I'd calculated that if I had driven to the hotel in Northampton, that by the time I got there it would probably have been time to come back home.  There would still have been some R&R, but this have been more like 'ranting and raving' instead of something more relaxing.

So it meant a day at home for the husband and I.  Having a day together like this unexpectedly was lovely, although we basically ate our way through it, starting with bacon croissants, and ending with burgers and fried onions.  I know this sounds incredibly unhealthy, but because my internet shop wasn't coming until Sunday, we had a pretty bare fridge in readiness for the big influx of food.  

As the allotted time for the evening meal approached, the husband started opening and closing the fridge store, each time accompanied by a small sigh, until finally he went all Termin…