Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from September, 2018

Tuesday's gone...

And onto night number two of school night shenanigans...
Tuesday night found us at a posh gaffe in Oxford celebrating the 18th birthday of my best friend's son.  I'll be honest with you, limping out of bed on Tuesday morning after the Monday night in London, I had blinked blearily at the husband and asked hm how many hours before I could get back into bed.  Turned out it was a lot more than I was hoping for (to be honest, anything more than half an hour was too long) and the day passed by in a whirl of bins and black coffee.
It's strange isn't it?  You feel utterly whomped (my new favourite word) and then you're surrounded by wonderful people, cake and loud music, and all of a sudden tired eyes are history.  Halfway through the evening, I sidled up to the husband who had been cornered by Mrs S's sister, and in the middle of a conversation about being a make-up artist (her, not the husband) I asked him whether he'd like me to drive us home at the end of the ev…

Car jamming...

You know that saying which involves your derriere and your elbow?  Well, that's me right now, and will continue being me until 1.00 on Friday.
Having crawled through the front door on Sunday afternoon after twenty four hours of debauchery involving a 21st birthday, a gay admirer (male, should I be worried?) a couple of kebabs, the North and a whole load of gin, the husband and I slumped onto our sofas with the aim of some serious snoozing for what remained of the weekend.  This lasted approximately forty minutes as son number one, whose birthday is later this week, was trying to coax us up to London on Monday night for a pre-birthday meal.  Well.  We could hardly deny him this small request having schlepped all the way to Leeds, so a table was booked for 7.00 at a restaurant called Flesh and Buns.  'Oh goody', I'd said to the husband, 'I just fancy a posh burger'...
I got in from work on Monday at 5.15, looking forward to a super swift shower and change before le…

Surprise, surprise...

Time for the big reveal then.
As you all know, last weekend there were various shenanigans to celebrate son number two's 21st birthday.  He'd headed south for a whole 24 hours and all the children and their partners converged on the homestead for some serious celebrating.
However, and there's always a 'however' in my life, his birthday was in fact on Saturday just gone, a whole week after we celebrated at home.  He had planned a small gathering of friends back in Leeds for his actual birthday, and once I'd got whiff of this, I got in touch with one of his best friends, Mr R, and he helped me in pulling off a few 'extras' for the party.
The first call was for cake.  Every birthday party must have cake, and rather than settling for a large one, I ordered up a whole load of cupcakes, lovingly decorated with one of twelve funny/rude/family-based photos relating to son number two - the theme was Acute Embarrassment and this was pulled off quite successfully.  A…

Little white lies...

Master P was very late for work yesterday.  So late in fact, that our paths crossed as I left for the day.  Before you start thinking that the poor lad is a bit of a slug-a-bed, I need to put you straight, as he's quite possibly the most conscientious salesman I have ever met (and I've known a few over the years).  Master J, if you're reading this while on your honeymoon (it beggars the question 'why?' if I'm honest) you are just as dedicated so don't start throwing your toys out of your pram.
Getting into work yesterday morning, there was an email waiting in my inbox from Master P.  In it he explained that he was waiting for the AA to come out to him as 'something flashed up on my dashboard telling me to stop', and that he'd be back into the office, 'within the hour'.
Now obviously, Master P, in his tender years, has never broken down and had to rely on the AA  before.  Of course, if he was one of the great unwashed, he could have called …

Shake...

After my 'summer break' (May to September is pushing it a bit, I know) I returned to Pilates on Tuesday night.  This class was a new one with my teacher, organised by one of my colleagues at Binland, and would be taking place in the Training Room once work was finished.
There were seven other females there of varying ages and I shuffled into the room and headed towards the front.  (I always go at the front as glasses and Pilates are not the best bedfellows).  The trouble was that other than one lady I didn't know anyone else in the room as they were all from our Head Office, rather than the back of beyond depot where I am based.
'Are you taking the class?' asked one young thing as I strolled down between the mats.  Shaking my head rapidly, I marvelled at how controlling my yoga pants must be to even make it feasible that I might actually know what I was doing.  'No no', I said, I'm from one of the depots'.  Of course, as most of them seemed to come fr…

Windy...

With this wind which is screaming across the UK just now, I am considering sporting a pair of 1970's flares while out walking the dogs each morning.  I suggest this for two reasons.  Firstly, it would make my bonkers hair look less out of place as I would resemble a 70's hippy chick, and also, with careful trouser presentation into the wind, I may get home more quickly.
My hair and the wind and rain do not get on at all.  Over the summer, I have left my home most mornings looking presentable with neat curls and the occasional up-do.  Yesterday though.....
I'd washed my hair in the morning, but knew that I had around an hour and a half to get in dry before confronting the weather.  Well, by 8.00 it was almost dry, so scooping up the woofers, we set out for our usual pre-work perambulation.
I was alright going.
I was even alright when I got there.
But once I'd turned for home, the wind quite nicely pushed all my hair forward so I couldn't see a darn thing.  I'll be ho…

Countdown...

I miss living in the Wobble Box...
Some of you will assume it's down to one or more of the following:
1. I was on holiday 2. There was no cooking 3. Also, no washing, ironing or 'putting away'. 4. Glorious lay-ins 5. Beaches, sunshine and crab sandwiches
Now while I miss all of those things, there are others which make me miss the Wobble Box more...
1. I always knew where the husband was (either next to me or with his head in the front storage box of the Wobble Box where the gas bottle and various tools are stored. Now we're home, he could be anywhere. 2. I could always see the dogs.  As you know, Reg is liable to get up to all sorts of stuff when left to his own devices, most of which involve his teeth and something of mine. 3. I'm back to 'putting away' again.  In the Wobble Box, the husband realised very early on that there was no scope for leaving things on the back of chairs, on the floor, or his favourite place, at the bottom of the stairs.  With the deepest of…

My hero...

Oh that awful first day back at work after a week away.  
I slunk into Binland like a recalcitrant teenager, dragging the toes of my shoes through the gravel and into the office.  Master P looked very relieved to see me, as he has been manning the office for the last week single handed.  Master J and I had sent our holiday requests in without discussing dates, and our poor boss, Mr W, gave up deciding which of us was to have the week off.  The chap with a wedding and honeymoon booked, or the middle aged bird who is liable to menopausal tantrums, who fancied a week on the south coast in a caravan with her husband and two neurotic schnauzers.
I'd taken Master P a box of Hero's, as I felt that he'd earned them running the shop as it were.  'You're a hero in my eyes', I'd said as I handed them over.  'I must have thought about you at least twice while I was away, wondering how busy you might be'.
Mr W was in today also, and between us, we managed to polish…

21...

On Saturday night, I swapped my walking boots and shorts for kitten heels and sparkly top.  Why this sudden change, I hear you ask.  Well, believe it not, my baby turns twenty one this week.  This would be son number two, he with the penchant for law and an inside leg measurement (he works part time selling suits in case you're wondering whether this is a new fetish).
He's come down from the North with his good friend Mr R and together with daughter number one and Del Boy, daughter number two and Jolly Sock Man and son number one and Little Miss Tiny, we were quite a party heading out to the fleshpots of Oxford for a meal and some dancing.
I'd book two taxis to get us all into town, and I was in the second taxi with the birthday boy, his friend and the husband.  Now the taxi driver was not the sharpest tool in the box (when they were giving out brains, he thought they said 'train' and asked for a slow one) and there was conversation going on in the back which he made…

Short shorts...

Our last day in Cornwall was yet another dry and sunny one.  Who ever was in charge of the Cornish weather this week, I owe you a drink and a bag of fudge as thanks.
Yet again, the husband had managed to coerce me down a slippery cliff to get to a beach.  Once on the sand, it became apparent that the tide hadn't quite gone out, so walking boot and sock removal were needed to reach the sandy stuff.  The woofers had the most magical time - the beach was empty so we felt happy to let them off their leads - I tend to keep them tethered to me as Reg is very fickle where legs are concerned.  In the half hour he was free, he managed to adopt an old lady in a pastel cardigan, and a lovely gay couple from York.  There are times (like when he destroyed one of my Ted Baker flip flops) when I would have signed the adoption papers, but not Friday.

On the way back to the Wobble Box, I just happened to mention to the husband that I was still one food item short on my Cornwall Bingo Card.  Having q…

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside...

Big news....I have walked the equivalent of a marathon this week...TWICE.
Today was labeled a 'rest day' by the husband, which basically meant getting in the car and driving somewhere and then walking.  'Let's go to Polzeath', I suggested with a view to doing the coastal path walk from Polzeath beach to The Rumps.  Apparently, seals sometimes sunbathe on this part of the coastline and I was keen to take a few photos of them applying the factor 20 while reading a tacky magazine and necking a can of Thatchers (you can tell what my holidays are like from this).
So.  To the coastal path.  As you may have guessed from my bit about Lydford Gorge, I'm not especially confident where narrow paths and sheer drops are concerned.  Why I ever suggested doing this coastal path is beyond me as there were plenty of both.  But you know, the husband is great at giving me the confidence to do these things, so we set off from the beach (after the obligatory vittals) with the plan of…

Remember, walking in the sand...

The husband made a momentous decision yesterday.
'I like it here.  Let's stay here forever'.
What he actually meant was, 'Let's bin off going to Somerset on Wednesday as the thought of dropping the awning and putting it up again is more than I can stand'.
Well, I was more than happy with this, as it would give us a chance to do all the walks on the campsite, and also to visit some favourite haunts from yesteryear.  The first on the list was a trip to Mevagissey.  Neither of us could remember what we'd done there (I would imagine that this had something to do with the sister-in-law and copious amounts of cider), but we could both remember actually being there, so that was our first stop.  By the time we'd arrived, the rain had stopped, so a lovely toddle round the town followed by tea and stickies were on the cards.

The husband then confirmed his status as a romantic Northerner, by taking me to The Lugger for a cream tea.  This is where we honeymooned, and t…

Beach baby...

I'm not too sure what it is about this holiday.  What with the twelve minute set up for the awning (58 minutes, new PB) and the 'three' minute walk to the pub (more like ten), I should have known that the '52 minute walk to Perranporth' would be anything but that.
The husband, armed with a map from the campsite, set out at a brisk pace at around 10.30 yesterday morning.  How do I know this?  Well, I was having a last minute comfort break in the shower block, and contemplating the last question on Pop Master, that's how I know.
We started off well, and climbed a steep field to the very top, before the husband realised that he'd navigated us into the wrong field.  The right field was located after this fifteen minute detour (or warm up as the husband jokingly called it) and with our best feet forward we set off on the mile and a half walk to Perranporth beach, where parts of Poldark are filmed.
An hour into the walk, there was still no sight of the sea and we we…

Guarded

Another day, another site...
Saturday night was spent in the pub just down the road from the site at Lydford.  After three visits in thirty six hours the husband reckoned we'd earned the right to call it our 'local'.  The best thing about this pub, other than their pork and wild mushroom stroganoff, which was amazing, was the fact the Percy and Reg were made very welcome with pats from the proper locals and biscuits from the landlord.  The worst thing was that Percy and Reg, having received this regal treatment (they didn't see their owners getting free scram and cuddles), they decided that the snug was now Schnauzer Land, and any other dog which dared step over the threshold was told, in no uncertain terms, to bugger off. 
Having staked out the snug, the husband and I snaffled our stroganoff rather quickly.  This had nothing to do with the major embarrassment of having two schnauzers with attitude tucked under our table, but more to do with the fact that if we didn'…

Sheer heart attack...

Well that's that.  We finally achieved the impossible.
No, I'm not back to talking about the bloody awning with its promise of a twelve minute set up, oh no, this was far more impressive.  We managed to render both woofers completely senseless after a five hour walk through Lydford Gorge yesterday.  Mind you, the husband and I were in a similar state if I'm honest.
We'd booked this campsite in Lydford for the sole purpose of walking through the gorge.  Getting our tickets yesterday morning (having already negotiated a 15% hill I should mention) the National Trust lady did her best to persuade the husband that getting a membership would be sensible.  He looked at me for feedback, and I took him aside, and said that 'no way was I old enough to join the National Trust as yet.  For heaven's sake, it will be the Ramblers Association and a heated sheepskin slipper next'.  
She was most persistent though, and suggested that we go for the walk and then decide over a c…

Crocodile rock...

Campsite number four turns out to be the quietest one so far.  As far as I can tell, I have just one thing to thank this for..
THE END OF THE SCHOOL HOLIDAYS.....
The trouble is that the whole adults only thing brings other issues to deal with, as without kids to chase after, apart from looking out of the window, there ain't much else to do.  We'd only been here for a couple of hours before I sussed the following:
1. It's very quiet.  The husband had to refrain from shouting for his lump hammer and a Guinness (not in that order I'm afraid, which might explain point two)
2. Yet again, we failed to erect the awning in the twelve minutes it states on the box.  With this second attempt, we managed to reduce our erection time from ninety seven minutes to forty two, which is a definite improvement.  Going back to point one, this gave all the other campers some great entertainment, and we watched the lights dim in all the camper vans, caravans and motorhomes, as their occupants s…