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Showing posts from March, 2019

Can't wait...

I wasn't going to do a blog today.  But then I remembered.  I'm off to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show again tomorrow night, and between the eye make-up and the fishnets, I probably won't have time to write anything.
So here I am.  What a stunning day it's been.  I've made the most of the weather by planting lots of weird and wonderful little brown nuggets which claim to bloom into something spectacular come the summer.  As you know, I am not blessed with the greenest of fingers, working on the premise that if a plant survives a year, then it's allowed to stay.  I've had these bulbs for some time now, and had been waiting till the frosts were over before I planted them.  That is what it said on the bag, and who am I to argue with Mr Unwin (purveyor of fine seeds and bulbs).
However, my best friend Mrs S, who is to gardening what Rick Stein is to the humble pollock, pooh-poohed my fears of planting too early.
'They'll be fine', she said, 'they…

Another spring...

Oh the joys of a warmer than usual March afternoon.  I doubt you can hear the sarcasm in my voice just now, but these days which start with an Arctic freeze and end with a Tropical sunset completely screw me over in the clothing department.  Years of experience have taught me that layering is the way forward.  Go out dressed like an onion, and as the temperature rises, the layers come off one by one. 
These days always catch me out, and today has been no different.  Forgot my coat this morning, so shivered from the car to the front door of Binland.  Thawed out and warmed up, I left at 2.00 and came home to get the dogs.  As usual, I got side tracked with something nonsensical on the internet, and didn't get out with the dogs till 3.30.  Stepping outside the front door in my work shirt and jeans, I managed seven paces before backtracking to the house and getting my coat. It's all very confusing, no matter how many March days I live through.
You'll be relieved to hear that the…

Stop right now...

As you probably know by now, I have been traipsing to and from the doctors looking for something which will bring my horrible migraines under control.  After the last prescription (where my eyesight went all Pete Tong) I decided that rather than running the risk of turning into a human maraca, it might be better to look at alternatives to tablets.
Now we have all heard about food intolerance haven't we?  I would say that my diet is fairly decent, with loads of fruit and veg and the odd falling off the wagon with an occasional piece of cake or chocolate.  I'm not a heavy drinker (nothing for three weeks now) and moderation has been the key word for some time.
A friend of mine recommended food testing, having just done it and discovered that she was intolerant to prunes (how will she survive that?)  So I parted with quite a lot of money, and sent off some of my very precious red stuff for testing.
The results came back today, and although there were some items which I wasn't su…

Early one morning...

'I know I'm early, but I'm really happy to sit quietly in the waiting room till the doctor is ready for me'.
This was said to a lovely hospital secretary on Monday.  I'd had to leave Binland early for the appointment, and was pleasantly surprised that I'd managed to find the hospital, get parked, have a coffee and still be early for my 2.15 appointment.
The secretary's reply?
'Well I hope you've brought your pyjamas and a sleeping bag as you are twenty five hours', (pause to look at watch), 'and seventeen minutes early.  You're booked in for tomorrow, not today'.
Oh joy.
Such is the life of the fifty five year old woman.  A brain full of something resembling fluff, and the eternal cockeyed optimism of someone not needing to read a hospital letter thoroughly, or even putting in the calendar.  I'll be honest with you.  I'm not sure what was worse.  Knowing that I'd have to schlep all the way over to Reading again the following d…

Parklife...

'Forty eight quid?....forty eight quid?...FORTY EIGHT BLOODY QUID!'
This is all I have heard from the husband over the past twenty four hours.  Let me explain.
We went to London yesterday to see the new Only Fools and Horses musical.  I bought two tickets for the husband's birthday, and I was genuinely thrilled that he decided that he wanted me to come with him.  After the lack of care I gave him last week when he was at Death's door, I wouldn't have blamed him for taking any random stranger he may have come across between here and the theatre door.
So after the usual Saturday family breakfast, we left the woofers in Miss R's more than capable hands and headed off to London.  The husband always likes to point out various landmarks on the way, and this always gives me the opportunity for a small snoozle while he's doing his best impression of a coach tour guide as no response is required.
Half way there we remembered the march which was taking place through Lond…

Ma Baker...

Now that life has returned to normal (husband was up and 'at 'em by 7.00 this morning) I am able to go ahead with the Boozy Tea Party I have every few months or so.  This is an occasion when I supply the cake and tea, and my friends, who seem to know me very well, bring round copious bottles of Prosecco, unceremoniously pushing my favourite teapot to a dark corner of the kitchen worktop, thus making room for the more important corkscrew and glasses.
They're a discerning lot, my girl friends, and over the years, there have been tea parties which were successful (seven bottles of Prosecco, not a cake-crumb left, last lady crawling out the front door on all fours after 8.00pm and several hangovers) and a couple which need erasing from memory.  As I may have touched on in the depths of blog-time, I used to bake cakes in a previous life, so as you can imagine, there's always high expectations when you receive an invite to mine for cake.
The year I always try and forget is the…

Feeling good...

I had a very sneaky day off yesterday.  Not only was this a day off from Binland, but also a day away from the husband.  
I have decided that I preferred him when he was ill (very quiet, stayed in bed most of the day and night and I was in charge of the TV remote).  He's been showing signs of improvement over the past two days, and this has meant that he has been mainly sitting in the kitchen, staring at me wistfully as I go about my normal work-a-day week.  You see, he's well enough to get up, but not well enough to actually do anything useful.  This hasn't stopped him from reclaiming the remote control so that he can watch any kind of sport (or people talking about sport, or shows selling something sport related, or programmes about sports grounds - you get where I'm coming from?)  
Over the past couple of days, I have learned to stop asking him how he is.
All I get is. 'Oh you know', accompanied with a small sigh and a lift of the eyebrows.  
However, I came hom…

Getting better...

The husband seems to have turned a corner.  I left him in bed this morning complaining of the headaches which the antibiotics had given him.  I should say that this had nothing to do with the involuntary headbutting of the vacuum yesterday, and I said to him that they were probably because he'd not been drinking enough.
Naturally, this was pooh-poohed, as was my suggestion that he was detoxing after four caffeine-free days.  Now I'm no doctor, as you all know, but you ask me anything about headaches and migraines and I have a myriad of information up my sleeve.
He peaked around 10.00 with a call to Binland asking me to stop at the shop on the way home to pick up some Evian ('I can't stand the taste of the tap water anymore, and the fridge is too noisy') and he also wanted me to pick up a new prescription from the surgery after a short con-flab with the doctor.
Handing them over to him when I got home (at this point he was still looking like a crumpled bag of dirty was…

Open up your door...

The husband did enough of a Lazarus to open the front door while I was at Binland today.  It was just as well, as it was the lovely gentlemen who'd come to fit my log burner.  I suppose that the husband must have weighed up in his mind the pain of getting out of his sickbed compared to what he might have to endure had he not opened the door.  Sensible man.  
I'd already decided that if I'd come home today to find that the fitters had gone away as no one had answered the door, then the husband would have been woken up by me carrying a length of hosepipe and a watering can, muttering something along the lines of 'well the doctor said an enema might help'.
But by the time I got home today, the husband had the log burner on the go, and was sitting on the sofa sweating like a turkey on Christmas Eve and stating that he thought he'd overdone it.
Well I had warned him ladies.  'Don't overdo it today', I said to him.  Did he listen?  Of course he didn't.  …

Bad medicine...

In the famous words of Michael Caine in The Italian Job...'You're only supposed to blow the bloody doors off'...
Such has been my life this past couple of weeks.  Let me give you an example.  I went to the doctor two weeks ago, looking for a cure for my crippling migraines.  All I was expecting was a prescription and some headache free mornings.  What I wasn't expecting was to turn into a foul mouthed harridan who became extremely aggressive to any poor soul who has happened to cross my path.
This week, this has included a local fox hunt (don't even get me started on that again, I've just about calmed down)  three ladies who were trying to coax me onto some march (I was on my way to breakfast, and nothing, but nothing gets between me and my waffles on a Saturday) and my internet (fully justified actually).
The doctor did as I hoped and scribbled out a prescription for a tablet which he felt should do the trick, but before handing it over to me, he said that he had…

Rat race...

Oh life....
Will you just bugger off and leave me with a mere five minutes to sit quietly with a cup of tea while the rest of the world passes me by at a rate of knots.
You know that NASCAR racing that they do in America?  Racing round in circles, foot on the throttle, eyes front until some numpty flaps the old chequered flag?  Well today, my lovely friends, that has been me.
Binland, surprise audit, dog walking, oven cleaning, Pilates, chilli nachos, Colin Caterpillar, candles, Waitrose, etc etc etc.  Add in the husband's birthday tomorrow (this explains the Colin) and I have met myself coming back on at least three occasions this afternoon.  Actually, one of these times was in Pilates and completely intentional, so I can't really count that one, but all in all, it's been a very stressful few hours since I crawled out from underneath the old 12 tog.
Why is life like this sometimes?  I know that I'm partially to blame.  As the old song goes, 'I'm just a girl who ca…

Swing low, sweet chariot...

There has been an element of cobweb removal around here today.  Not literally, although looking up at my bathroom ceiling this morning at a family of eight legged beasties fuzzy little home, I did thank the patron saint of home cleaning (St Flash of Multipurpose) that Lady H was 'doing my upstairs' this week.
No, these cobwebs were virtual ones, liberally festooning the inside of the husband's head and living in perfect harmony with some fuzzy ducks after a heavy day and night at Twickenham watching the rugby yesterday.
He'd gone with some of the children, and earlier in the week, I had warned him that they were bound to lead him astray on the Guinness front, and that he needed to be careful that he didn't end up completely inebriated.  'There's no chance of that ever happening', he bragged, 'I can drink any of them under the table'.  All this was said as he slipped on his pyjamas and got into bed, and I wondered if these words might come back to …

Slow me down...

It seems a lifetime since we were here last.  I'd love to tell you that I've been ensconced on some far flung tropical isle without WiFi, or taking part in the latest commercial venture to the moon, but these would be lies of whopping proportions.  Truth of the matter is that on Sunday, I fell headlong into one of the worst migraines I've ever had.  A couple of days in bed, shielding any gap in the curtains with a vampire-type 'The light!  The light!' wail, I finally succumbed to an hour's wait in the doctor's surgery for some suggestions.
We covered the usual stuff...
'Chocolate?' 'Not eaten it since 2015'
'Wine?' 'One glass in the past two years'.
'Cheese?' 'Don't like the stuff'.
And then....
'Oranges?'
What?  My favourite fruit?   The one which I reach for at least three times a day?  
So I am now officially orange-grounded, and my life will be the poorer for it.  Mind you, I suppose it could have been wo…

Bad weather blues...

So it's back to earth with a bump.  Robocop is currently strimming the lawn prior to the year's first foray out with the mower, and there's no food in the fridge.
I was missing for just twenty four hours.  A whole day and night with daughter number two with both of us being massaged and fed, and generally being treated like a pair of princesses.  There is something quite liberating about being able to wear a dressing gown all day in these places.  For a start, you don't need to breathe in, except for those brief moments when a dunk in the jacuzzi is required.  Even when you go for your treatments, you are allowed to shed the dressing gown in private, and the therapist doesn't come back into the room until you've heaved your bulk onto the massage table and covered yourself  up with various towels.
Of course, there is the problem that when clothed, your waistband will let you know when enough is enough where food is concerned.  But in the dressing gown?  There'…