Words from a Bird

Well what a weekend that was.  The husband and I are very good at thinking that two nights out on the bounce won't be an issue.  I mean, we are young at heart, so what's the issue?  Well, we may be young at heart, but we are super old where the feet are concerned and an early night is sometimes more appealing than yet another night out. Surprisingly, we managed the two nights out with great aplomb, reaching the giddy heights of 11.00pm before caving which I feel is fairly respectable. Friday found us at a Madness concert with daughter number two and Jolly Sock Man's lovely parents.  This gave the husband and JSM's father the excuse they needed to jump around with several thousand other middle aged gentlemen, while their womenfolk held the drinks and tapped their feet along to the songs.  The band was great - there is nothing better than watching live music with like minded folk in the warm sunshine and the husband thoroughly enjoyed himself with some excellent limb

I'm looking at my weekdays this week as the last bit of peace I will have for the next month or so.  This week sees the start of what the husband calls 'The Silly Season', and almost every weekend between now and when we go to Las Vegas to renew our vows is filled up with various parties and functions, festivals, holidays and a hen weekend for yours truly. Of all of these, the hen weekend is the most terrifying, and was originally thought up by daughters one and two.  Between you and me, I think that they wanted to do this as a way of getting a weekend away on the cheap, knowing full well that I wasn't going to venture any further afield than Bournemouth.   There are rules of course... No inflatable objects which might cause offence.  This includes inflatable men (pointless as the last one I saw didn't even have feet let alone anything more interesting) and blow up appendages (I think we all know what I am talking about here and it ain't noses).  An

I did something yesterday which I've never done in my entire life.  Thinking back on it, I doubt that anyone with an ounce of sanity would have done this, and as I write, I am still shaking my head and raising my eyebrows to the ceiling in disbelief. So here we go.  Confession time... Yesterday, I went to the hairdresser before going to the hairdresser... Yes, you read that right.  Let's see if I justify this lunacy just a little bit. As you all know, last night we were at our friend's 50th birthday party.  A posh affair which required some taming of my wild frizzy hair into some semblance of order.  So earlier in the week, I had made an appointment with my usual hairdresser for an 'up-do'.  Now I have had a few of these before, so I know that it usually means an hour or so in the chair, three kilos of hairgrips and several cans of hairspray. I had forewarned the husband that I'd be missing in action at lunchtime.  This isn't just being pol

It was back to the osteopath yesterday for some more high kicks (me), some cajoling (him) and some gratuitous violence (him literally, me in my head).  But good news.  All t he stretching I've done seems to have done some good, and the hamstring is knitting back together quite nicely. But the odd thing is that one week after the incident, the bruising is only now starting to make an appearance.  My right leg now has a foot long bruise from behind my knee through to my right cheek (the southern hemisphere one) and I now wonder why I bothered tanning myself last week.  Who'd have guessed that all I had to do was a rather nifty manoeuvre involving my toe and a parasol stand to achieve a beautiful colour.  Admittedly, it's more Victoria Plum than St Tropez, but it's a colour nevertheless. This weekend is going to be a belter though, ladies. For one, the sun has made a rare appearance.  This means that there is a good chance that my hair will look presentable all da

I'm going stir crazy. I'm grounded from doing anything vaguely exciting for the next few weeks or so.  To give you some idea, the most exciting thing I have to look forward to is another trip to my lovely osteopath tomorrow.  And it's not like that's fun.  On any level.  Monday's appointment had me sweating profusely on the table, teeth gritted with one leg in the air, while he calmly told me to 'keep breathing', and that 'no one ever died from an osteopathic maneuver'.   Well ladies, I beg to differ.  Ten more minutes of that, and I'd be faced with the dilemma of where to hide the body having slapped him round the head with a snatched femur of the gloating skeleton which hangs in his and every other osteopath's office.  Thinking about that, I reckon that this is the last osteopath to ever do that 'small but intense' stretch on someone else.  Watch and learn, my friend.  Watch and learn. So there is no dog walking, no vis

I've learned something over the past week.  Nothing useful I'm sorry to say, but every time I mention my hamstring being in a fine old mess, someone will refer to it as my 'hammy'.  I am now wondering whether 'hammy' is a recognized word for this, and not just an unimaginative name for a pet hamster.  I'll be honest with you, every time someone says the word, I'm immediately on escaped rodent watch. So I said I'd tell you a few tales of last week.  One of the funniest was the taxi drive back from Sorrento after a particularly boisterous evening involving too much alcohol, some unbelievable food, two hats and a long walk to the square that never was.  'Someone' had moved it apparently... The six of us were in fine spirits (you could almost hear it sloshing around on the back seat) and as we negotiated hairpin after hairpin, we joked and chatted with Gentleman Claudio, our taxi driver of choice for the week.  As we screeched round corn

Contrary to everything that was expected, I returned home from Italy on Friday.  Sporting a fabulous tan and a torn hamstring, I made a glamorous exit off the plane in a scruffy wheelchair pushed by a not so scruffy First Officer.  I'm not saying that he was young and inexperienced (his words, not mine, and I was relieved not to have heard these as I boarded the plane) but he didn't look like he'd started shaving, and he insisted on making screeching noises at every corner we negotiated. I would love to be able to tell you that my fall was after an Aperol fuelled afternoon, but it wasn't.  Every other afternoon was, but this was a very sensible alcohol-free day as we had to get up at an ungodly hour to catch the plane home.   All I wanted to do was turn my deckchair round.  Unfortunately, I forgot the large concrete parasol base and somehow managed to tear the hamstring whilst trying to avoid stubbing my toe. But at least it didn't happen at the start o

Did you hear the celebrations around 1.00 today?  The brass band?  The party poppers?  The fishwife-like 'whoops' of joy?   No?  Well it was all going on in my head as I drove out of the Binland car park today.  A whole nine days off, five of which will be spent under a sun so hot that it might just melt my cheap flip-flops. It's been a while coming, this week off, and I am really looking forward to spending time with my amazing best friend, Mrs S and her lovely family.  Now as you know, I normally go away with my own family, seeking safety in numbers with the lunatics who are Miss R, The Mother and Mrs Jangles, so going away with someone else's family is going to be a tad different.   I might have to behave myself for a start.  There will be no getting up on stage and belting out Da Do Ron Ron to an unsuspecting audience whilst flapping about an inflatable crocodile (this always manages to hang around long after we've verbally destroyed Elton John'

Is it the weekend yet? Of course it isn't.  Life couldn't possibly be that kind. Wouldn't it be great if Life, having seen that you were having a pretty rotten Wednesday, could just fast forward to Friday afternoon.  Of course, this could also work the other way, with Life pressing the pause button while you're having a damn fine weekend. But it's not to be, and the only thing keeping me going this week is the fact that I am away in Italy next week with Mrs S and some other lovely ladies.  We're off to see Pompeii which I am really excited about, and the husband insists on thinking it's hilarious that this old relic is paying to go and see another old relic. Talking of the husband, I was given strict instructions last night as to the food shopping for next week. 'Don't bother filling the fridge with food before you go', said he.  'If I want anything, I'll go and get it myself'.  By this, he means getting the local cur

Well ladies, the husband and I have just about dried out after our weekend Up North with son number two.  Cast your mind back to Saturday morning if you will. (If you live any further north than Birmingham, no casting back of the mind will be required).  The morning was absolutely stunning, and the husband and I left home bedecked in shorts and skimpy tops (actually, that was just me, he chose something more sensible with a sleeve).  We had our sunglasses on, and had packed with the weather in mind.  Nothing could be better than a party in a rooftop bar with such glorious weather. By the time we hit the M1, the husband had turned the air conditioning off, deciding that an ambient temperature might be more conducive.  By Barnsley, I had a jumper on and had unrolled my shorts for maximum thigh coverage, and the husband had turned the heating up having finally accepted that it was getting colder the further north we went. Pulling up at our hotel, the husband nodded across to two