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Showing posts from March, 2017

Hate and love...

The husband and I didn't make Swing Club on Wednesday night.  This is down to the fact that after six hours of pressure washing the patio, I was barely able to walk in a straight line, let alone be able to deal with a Shortie George or a Tacky Annie.  In case you're new to me, it's a dance club I go to, and Shortie George and Tacky Annie are a couple of dance moves, rather than a pair of unsavoury characters you might meet in a bus shelter on a Friday night in Preston.
So now that's cleared up, I was disappointed in myself and my legs for letting the side down.  Instead of tripping (up) the light fantastic, I headed off to bed at 8.00 and slept for what felt like days. This always triggers the most stupid question from the husband. 'Did you sleep well?'  Well, my love, I have no idea as I was asleep at the time.  I don't normally respond with such a flippant retort out loud as the husband can be sensitive at times, and I hate the sight of that trembling lowe…

Come clean...

I have a man coming to clean my carpets and sofas next week.  When Reg destroyed the lounge rug several weeks ago, it became apparent that a cleaning session was needed, if at least to make the colour of the carpet the same throughout the room, rather than resembling a map of the Victorian Empire.  
Of course, once you start looking, you start to see other places which could benefit from a bit of a clean, hence the phone call to the carpet cleaner.  He wasn't the first I called to be honest.  I think I worked through six different companies before finding someone who a)called back, b)could fit me in before Christmas 2019 and c)who had the appropriate tool.  Now 'c' is a tricky one, because the tool for cleaning sofas with is not the same as the one for carpets, and is therefore 'specialist equipment'.  One gentleman who started off by saying that he didn't do upholstery because too much could go wrong, finally came clean and admitted that he had run over his att…

Talk to me...

I finished off the patio yesterday much to the relief of my entire body.  I tell you, last night's Pilates session hurt less than those six hours of pressure washing.  Also, why we can't have a patio on a slope so that all the excess water drains away, I shall never know. I spent most of yesterday slopping a wet yard broom up and down, as I tried to push the water in any direction other than over the top of my wellies.  But it's done.  I've left the pressure washer out, as I know for a fact that the husband will be doing spot checks over the weekend.  I'm hoping that between now and then, it will rain, which might help rinse the dust puddles away thus letting me off the hook.
On Monday, Mrs S, my goddaughter Miss N and I went to see Beauty and the Beast at the local flea pit.  The one with real-ish people in it.  I got there early (as usual), and called Mrs S to get her coffee order.  Now unfortunately, you can only buy coffee at the ice cream counter, so I snuck in…

Spring affair...

Well Spring has sprung.  How do I know this?  Well the husband has started muttering about mowing the lawn, that's how I know.  He asked me yesterday morning whether we had anything planned for next weekend.  Having some idea about what was coming next, I was tempted to say that I had enrolled myself on a day's juggling course, in case 'running way to join the circus' ever becomes a life choice, but I was kind, and told him that we were completely free.
His little face lit up, because this empty weekend has given him the go ahead to hire a digger for the day.  This is needed for two big jobs.  Firstly to dig over the allotment beds to prepare them for planting something which may or may not grow into something which we may or may not eat, and secondly to flatten the small hillock which is now forming part of my lawn, having once been a hedge.  You'll remember that the husband removed this as part of his pruning exercise one Saturday afternoon, when I wasn't supe…

In the summer time....

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  As you all know, it was also the first morning of what is laughingly known as British Summer Time in this country.  This meant that I was up at 7.00am (really 6.00am), with everyone else in the house waking up at 10.00am (really 9.00).  Taking a peek out of the window, the weather was looking gorgeous, but as we all know, looks can be deceiving where our weather is concerned and a stout vest was necessary.
So, going back to Mother's Day.  My 9.00/10.00, I had done all the ironing, unloaded the dishwasher (I hate that job more than Marmite) and was standing in a long queue in the Co-op waiting to pay for a chicken and some dog treats. (Memo to self - do not get these mixed up in the packed lunches this morning).  There was a little old lady (came up to my shoulder and older than me, so an accurate description) and she had one of those baskets on wheels which the smaller supermarkets tend to like.  It was full to the brim of biscuits. She caught my ey…

Life on Mars...

I tried to buy a new car yesterday.  This has been something that I have been mulling over for the last few weeks, so when I stumbled across a little silver convertible number on the Mini website, I waved it under the husband's nose, and said to him, 'Look at this one.  It has my name written all over it'.
And it literally did, as the number plate almost spelled my name out, which was a minor thrill. This wasn't the only reason for wanting to schlep down to Surrey yesterday, but it helped, so dragging the husband with me for some kind of support, we tipped up there full of expectation.  A small confession at this point.  I had even taken my car's log book with me, just in case we could do the deal and I could drive the new one home.  How naive of me...
The thing is, I used to sell cars for a living, probably foisting around 2,000 vehicles on to the unsuspecting buying public over eight years.  So I know the game.  I know the tricks, of running to the manager to ask f…

Dead in the water...

So Day Two of my mini break was yesterday,  I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, Finally, I was going to get Miss R to a spa for a morning of heavy duty pampering.  Coming along for the ride were daughter number two and her friend, Little Miss O (she's tiny, hence the pseudonym).   I was carrying a small holdall which contained my swimming costume, a clean pair of drawers, my purse and my mobile, which I had vowed not to touch for the duration of our visit.  
Miss R on the other hand, was manhandling several large holdalls out of her car containing a smorgasbord of various items. I reminded her that part of the deal was lunch, but apparently, her timetable is such that breakfast is not a movable feast hence the apples, oranges, pears and several bananas.
Fast forward half and hour, and the four of us are sitting around the pool.  Daughter number two and Little Miss O were in the jacuzzi, while Miss R and I were chatting, reclined on padded deckchairs.  Miss R rifled in he…

You wear it well...

I am on holiday from Binland for a couple of days, and yesterday, being my first day off (well, half a day, as I finished at 11.00), I hurried off for a couple of appointments which I'd booked in.
The first one was for a session of microdermabrasion on my poor raddled face. This is the equivalent of pressure washing the patio after a hard winter, but using grit instead of water, and although not that painful, it does smart a little.  But ladies, as we all know, no pain, no gain, and I was more than happy to put myself in the capable hands of Mrs H for half an hour while she removed several layers of dead face.  I said to Mrs H as she fired up the sandblaster, that she'd probably take enough off to resurface the M4 from Swindon to Reading, but she laughed that off and thirty minutes later I was all pink and rosy cheeked. 
My second appointment of the day was for something I have been putting off for some time.  I had received a letter from my Doctor inviting me in for a 'Heal…

Vital signs...

Since I started working at Binland, I can count on one hand how many times I have done a physical weekly shop.  Of course, this doesn't include Christmas when it is the law to go to the supermarket with the husband and a second trolley in tow.  Most weeks, I do my shopping online, and wait for that shiny orange truck to appear at my front door.
However, last week was very busy in Binland, and what with the bending, dancing and drowning, I simply ran out of time to do the whole internet thing.   So on Friday afternoon last week, I found myself in Waitrose, with a list, a trolley and a full purse (always necessary for shopping in Waitrose). Wandering up and down the aisles, narrowly avoiding small pockets of elderly ladies who obviously meet up in there at the same time every week, I found myself at the meat shelves looking for a couple of steaks for the husband and me.  The husband is rather fond of a rib-eye, but there were none left, so I decided that sirloin would be a great sec…

The race...

As son number two is away at the moment (if you'll remember, he is somewhere hot with daughter number two, but I'm not bitter), I thought it might be an idea to tackle his bedroom while he wasn't around to shout absurdities like 'Put that down', or 'That's definitely not going in the bin', or, my personal favourite, 'I love that so much'.  The last statement is usually reserved for a certain game which we played when he was much smaller.  It involved four snails, a dice and a load of my 2p coins if I remember rightly.  His habitual winning might be why he can now afford to holiday in Tenerife, while I can just about manage a few days in a shed by the sea.  Anyway, needless to say, the snail game is safe and will remain on his shelf until a future generation can fleece him.  What goes around, comes around, and all that.
So back to the bedroom.  I have mentioned the dust bunnies which seem to live in corners and on window sills before.  These are t…

Pain...

I had to go to the hospital yesterday.  Nothing life threatening you'll be relieved to hear, although by the time I left there, there was a chance that someone else's life might be threatened....
For the last six years I have been going to various consultants for a painful foot.  This can sometimes get so bad that I have to mince around the house with a stiff foot looking like a camp storm trooper.  Anyway, having had a miracle jab last year which gave me some respite for a whole 37 days, it was back again yesterday for some more suggestions. It was a new consultant I saw this time.  This one had the personality of a house brick and a waft of ice cold air greeted me as I went into his room.  He had a double widow's peak like Dracula, and I nervously touched the crucifix I always wear, and gave a silent thanks that I'd had garlic mayonnaise on my salad at lunchtime. So having looked at yet another set of X-rays, he said that it was definitely arthritis.  Now I had already…

The right thing...

It was a quiet one at home yesterday as all the children were elsewhere..Hooray! (oh, did I say that out loud?)  Daughter number one is laid up with a plastered ankle, son number one is still ensconced in university squalor somewhere on the south cost, and daughter number two and son number two flew out to Tenerife yesterday for some sunshine and sangria.  So it was just me, the husband and the dogs.  So we did what we often do when it's just us.  We headed off to be with other like minded schnauzer owners with the venue of choice being the Diana Brimblecombe Animal Rescue Centre (www.dbarc.org.uk/).  
Those of you who have been reading my blog for some time will know that the husband and I have tramped many miles with our two fuzzballs raising money for this animal haven.  Yesterday was a bit different because it was a way for the charity to say thank you to all the Schnauzerfest walkers who over the years have raised many thousands of pounds.  This money has helped lots of dogs g…

Listen to me...

Daughter number two and son number two are going on holiday today.  Not only that, but where they are going demands a passport which generally means that the weather will be warmer than here.  I'm not bitter, but maybe I should have told them a bit sooner where I had hidden the beach towels and the suitcases.  I never did reveal the hiding place of the European plugs or the Imodium, but hey ho, I'm sure that they'll manage. 
I have to wait another two months before I get a chance to feel some European sunshine on my pallid English skin, so as long as they don't come home with any strap marks I'll be happy.  Mind you, daughter number two has the skin of an Eskimo, and tends to go from pearly white to magnolia after a spell in the sunshine.  Son number two on the other hand, has the propensity to go red (sun cream is for cissies apparently) so the two of them together will resemble one of those red and white stripy poles you see outside the barbers when they return. 
I…

Perfect skin...

I had a very good day yesterday.  After work, I met up with a comparatively new friend from Binland for some lunchtime shenanigans. I'm not sure that a Brussels pate and a half pint of lime and soda really counts as shenanigans, but it was lovely to spend some time with her outside of the wheelie bins. 
Because the fabulous Tash was walking the fuzzballs yesterday, I then went into town to do some shopping as yet again, the cupboards are bare. Hovering next to the potato section, I was mulling over which potatoes to invest in this week.  I was just about to launch a bag of King Edward's into the trolley, when I happened to notice several bags of 'A Little Less Than Perfect' potatoes.  Well they caught my interest, and as I laid my King Ted's next to the has-beens, I wondered what the differences were.  They all looked the same.  The King Ted's were a uniform 'roast me or bake me' size, whereas the poor relations were a bit more abstract as to their siz…

Shim Sham Shimmy...

Yesterday morning, I woke up hurting from the waist down.  Turning to the husband, I said to him that I felt like I'd been in the gym all night, possibly doing one of those fake 'Row the English Channel' challenges which gyms do with an Ergo and a stopwatch.  Turns out he felt the same. As we minced around getting ready for work, thoughts went back to the previous night's Swing Club.  To be honest, six weeks in, I think we are both throwing ourselves into it with a tad more gusto now, so it's bound to hurt more than it did.  Mind you, whenever a new person turns up and asks me how long we've being coming, I always say 'Oh, just a couple of weeks', so that their expectations of what we can do aren't too high. 
On Wednesday night, the husband and I stayed for the second section of Swing Club which involves learning a series of complicated steps and putting them altogether into a routine.  I can already see you shaking your heads and wondering what on e…

Dog eat dog...

There have been occasions, mainly when I have returned from a long dog walk, and the two fuzzballs are gently snoring at my feet, that I mention the possibility of having a third dog to the husband.  He is far less emotional about puppies than me, and tends to give me a stern look accompanied by a firm 'No'.

This will never happen again...

Yesterday, I looked after Mrs S's Labradoodle puppy Ralph for the afternoon.  He is an adorable ball of fluff, as are Percy and Reg, but put the three of them together, and the fur flies. I thought it would be a great idea to take the three of them for a long walk when I got back home having collected Ralph, in the hope that a combination of heat and exercise would encourage a nap.  It works for me, so I just assumed that they would be the same.

I managed to get the leads on the three of them, and then spent a frustrating five minutes at our gate trying to untangle them.  Macrame was never my strongest achievement at primary school, and…

Obsession...

It was with some dismay that I noticed that the husband's late work jumper did not make the bin as I thought.  It is hanging in threadbare splendour from my hanging rail, where I put all my neatly pressed clothes.  I asked the husband why he hadn't binned it as planned, and he told me that he 'just couldn't face it'.
If it is still there this evening, I am planning a Viking funeral on a large puddle just outside our house. A couple of drops of lighter fuel and a stiff breeze should do it, and tah dah, jumper is no more.  I think that once he has a replacement, separation will be easier, but till then, I will probably have to put up with him dragging it around like a security blanket.
Lady H (she with an eye for a cobweb) was here yesterday, and do you know the weirdest thing?  The house looked exactly how she'd left it for over eight hours.  Of course, once the husband came home (shivering slightly as he had no jumper) then it all came to a shuddering halt.  A…

Lunatic fringe...

Forty eight hours after the party, everything is getting back to normal.  My extended stomach (too much fluid...mainly rhubarb gin and ginger ale) has receded, and my blood/alcohol ratio is pretty much back to where it should be.  I have a feeling that this weekend will be a quiet one to make up for the debauchery of the last one, but hey, it's only Tuesday and anything could crop up.
I played a blinder on the washing and ironing front this weekend.  Son number one had left all his washing hanging in the utility room,  There was a lot of ducking and diving needed if you wanted to get through there and into the garage without being wiped out by several rugby shirts and bed linen, and in a fit of pique, I screwed it all up and threw it back into his linen basket, with the promise of ironing it when I got back from work on Monday.  As he was staying till Tuesday, I didn't think that this was unreasonable.  But then he decided to go back to his seaside abode yesterday instead, an…

Little Willy...

I am a broken woman.  Forty eight hours of celebrations can do that.
We had the husband's birthday party on Saturday night, and the rhubarb gin was flowing ferociously. I made the mistake of recommending it to several of our guests, which may mean that supplies are limited for the next week or so, but you can't keep something as wonderful as that all to yourself can you?  You have to spread the love (and the juniper berries)...
In the end there were thirty four of us.  Son number two went down with something which prevented him from being too far away from home, if you know what I mean.  ELL, his best-friend-now-girlfriend was on standby with a bucket and a disinfectant spray, which was very kind of her.  I did suggest that she should still come to the party, and leave son number two to wallow in his own despair (and other less savoury stuff) and there was a suggestion of doubt in her eyes.  Unfortunately, one look from son number two, who by then was resembling Caspar the gh…

Something special...

I had planned on getting rid of all my house guests around lunchtime today.  What I didn't allow for was my mouth opening of its own accord, and asking everyone whether they fancied a big family roast lunch today.  Now my roasts are legendary (modest, aren't I?) and Mrs W and Mr G jumped at the chance.  Son number one, who informed me that he would now be staying till Tuesday, saw an opportunity to feed himself up with so much food that he would no longer be able to bend in the middle, and the husband's eyes just glazed over.  He was probably picturing my cauliflower cheese which has this effect on him every time.
So I headed into town yesterday morning to get pork and beef as no one could agree on just one type of meat for lunch.  The general consensus by all except son number two, was that as long as it wasn't chicken, they didn't mind.  Bearing this in mind, I then suggested pork, at which point son number one said that he didn't like pork either.  Which i…