Words from a Bird

I had to stop at the local Co-op on the way to Binland this morning to buy some guilt food for the husband (more of this later). The store is on a busy, narrow road, and getting back to my car with my purchases, I had to press myself up against the car to avoid getting wiped out by a White Van Man (who, by the way, should have been wherever he was going by then as it was 8.15am).   As my tummy squished against my drivers door and I squeezed my buttocks to make myself even narrower, I decided that turning to face the car was probably immaterial at the moment.  It's likely that taking my current 'six months' pregnant' stomach and my ample behind (with or without buttock clenching) into consideration, I might have been less vulnerable had I faced him head on. Mind you, this didn't take into consideration the husband's 'guilt food' I was talking about. For the second weekend running, I won't be at home, and shall be leaving the husband and t

It's been one of my busiest days ever at Binland today.  I managed to sit at my desk for a whole five hours without once getting up for a much needed comfort break, despite having imbibed several mugs of tea courtesy of Master J .  (I knew there would come a time when I would be grateful for all those pelvic floor exercises we were told to do in the 1980's). Coming home this afternoon, I actually had nothing planned so I took myself off to the back garden where I dragged my dirty old deckchair into a sun puddle and sat for a whole half an hour with my face turned up to the sun like a crazy sunflower.  What is it with this weather by the way?  Like it wasn't hard enough facing up to wearing a bikini in February last weekend, I had to come home to this.  My summer clothes have been languishing in the airing cupboard since September, so it's been a case of adapting what I've got so that I don't overheat and start looking like a burst tomato.  Basically, this h

It doesn't matter how much you prepare yourself, the first day back at work is still pants after a few days away.   My desk was decorated with a larger than usual CBA pile from Master J and Master P, and it took me till 2.00 today to finally get to a point where I could say that I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Admittedly, it was a very long tunnel, with the tiniest pin prick of light, but the end was certainly in sight. I actually took an extra day off yesterday in the hope that it would lessen the pain of the return to Binland but all this did was show me what my days would be like if I didn't work.  Don't get me wrong, I adore my job and all those I work with, but just sometimes I have one of those 'what if' moments.  The trouble is that I know full well what I would do if I didn't work.  It would involve a bit of gardening, a lot of dog walking, some online surfing searching for dogs doing the funniest things and probably a bit more

Morning everyone. My ramblings are coming to you today from the Betty Ford Clinic... They're not really, but looking back on this past few days away with my 'girl family', I think that a few days of drying out might not have been such a bad idea before entering into polite society again. They are a bad influence my lot, and for someone who considers a strong drink to be one where the tea bag has been left in longer than usual, this has been an interesting few days.  Who knew that it was acceptable to drink Sangria an hour after breakfast?  Mind you, with a hotel full of people who were not only over the hill, but also on the home stretch with the finishing line in view, drinking my way through the various entertainments was a great help. Not all the evening entertainment was bad.  Our good friend Gordon Williams put on a great show on Friday night and got everyone up dancing.  This was all going rather well until Miss R and Mrs B decided that the poor man neede

It seems a good time to rattle off a few words right now.  And why now, do I hear you ask?  Well, for the first time since arriving yesterday morning, I am actually sober, so there is a good chance that my ramblings will be well spelt and punctuated, rather than resembling the result of leaving a baboon with a typewriter. There have been a few highlights over the last twenty four hours.  The flight out for one.  We had a feeling it was going to be a bit quiet when we were waiting at the gate to board. For a start, we were the only ones there.  The questions batted back and forth between Miss R, the Mother and me.  Had we missed the flight thanks to the pre-flight shopping?  Were we at the wrong gate?  Well the answer to both these questions was no, it was just a very quiet flight.   In total (including the pilots and stewards) there were thirteen of us on the plane.  Getting off at the other end, we headed off to the luggage hall for my least favourite part of air travel.  The

It's a short blog today.  Having flapped around Binland trying to clear my desk this morning, I then spent the afternoon flapping around Didcot looking for blister plasters and yet another European plug (the joys of having adult children, who like Stealth fighters sneak into our house and nick the bloody things when we're not looking).   There has been no pre-holiday clothes shopping this year.  Normally, I have at least a few new bits and pieces to take away with me, but thanks to my radical and impulsive New Year's resolution of not buying any new clothes or shoes this year, it's been a case of 'make or mend' this time.  To be honest, there's not really been any making or mending, but it is surprising what a good iron can achieve.  The trouble is that none of my clothing seems to actually go together, so compared with my always beautifully polished family, I shall probably look like a bag lady. So back to my shopping this afternoon.  As well as th

So the countdown has started for the Spanish mini-break. Passport....check - however many times I look at my photo, I still look like Myra Hindley Currency.....check - that was a shock as to how little I got back - I'll be going easier on the Sangria than usual.  Maybe put that first jug off till 10.30am this time. Suitcase....check - eventually found lurking in the airing cupboard next to a 4' blue fuzzy shark and a shower door (the joys of having an ex-plumber for a husband) Beach body...check - although currently hiding behind the ghost of Christmas past if my shorts are anything to go by. Sun cream...check - mind you, according to the weather it will be warmer at home - I'm wondering whether a balaclava is acceptable poolside?) Summer clothes...check - currently laid out reverently on son number one's bedroom in readiness for packing tomorrow.  Of course it would have helped if Reg hadn't attempted to build a nest in my bikinis and short

Would someone please explain to me why my 'superfast fibre' (their description, definitely not mine) has less speed than the rate the milk goes off in my fridge? I can remember getting better conversation with Miss R using two bean cans and a length of string back in the day. Over the weekend, the husband and I have watched a couple of films which have had more installments than Game of Thrones.  At a really scary moment, having already reset the whole system three times and watched another programme while the internet caught up, that damned buffering worm made yet another appearance, and the husband's world completely fell apart. We were watching a particularly gripping thriller and as I flailed around with various remote controls, he skulked off to the kitchen for beer and his emergency bag of Haribos (saved for when nothing else will do). Anyway, it is what it is, and it's the price you pay for living in the countryside I suppose. It's a short week f

So having spent three hours in the power tool section of the beauty salon yesterday afternoon, I felt suitably coiffed and gorgeous, and after a mini lay in this morning, the husband suggested that we have lunch in the pub where we had our post wedding meal all those years ago.  Thinking to myself that it was money and time well spent if I was going to get offers like this, I laid in bed trying to decide what to wear for a posh lunch with the husband. As he set down a second cup of tea next to the bed (could my Sunday get any better?) he said to me, 'You better drink this and then get up.  It's 9.00 already'.  He'd booked the table for 12.30, so I said something to him along the lines of 'having plenty of time'to which he replied, 'It'll take us at least an hour to get there'. And so the question as to what to wear to this posh pub had but one answer.  Walking boots. Now I don't mind a walk.  Much of my free time is spent tramping th

In readiness for removing my clothing in a few days (Costa del Sol, your peaceful days are numbered), I headed down to my favourite beauty salon to see whether the magician who is Mrs H might be able to improve on what Mother Nature foisted on me. I had a short list of things which needed doing, and I'd set aside two hours of my Saturday for it, so I was really looking forward to lying there doing nothing (except for talking - my mouth never gets time out). Mrs H had everything ready for me.  A lovely warm room with Radio 2 playing softly in the background.  The offer of a cup of tea, and a snuggly blanket just in case I got cold (I'm fifty five.  I no longer feel the cold). She also had all her equipment ready for the pending treatments. A sander.  This for the pre-facial facial, during which seventeen layers of dead skin would be removed in a cloud of dust.  I noted that the coarser sandpaper had been chosen.  Probably after she saw my skin which looked liked

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'.

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 s

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/

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.  (Espe

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

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 minute

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 h