Fiddle-de-dee I’m free! Oh Lord please don’t bring on any more holidays. Especially ones where I feel like I have to act (believe me it is an act) like a normal human being and do all the crap things that normal human beings have to do. Mind, having said that it would lead you to believing that I consider there is such a thing as a normal human being. And as I have said many times before – the more I see of some people – the more I prefer plants. Not you guys, obviously, you guys read this blog because you are lovely/crazy like me/just plain bored – tick/delete as appropriate.
I last blogged on Good Friday – a misnomer if ever I heard one. The day deteriorated with arguments about how to get a 10′ x 8′ shed floor base all the way up the garden, under a five-foot arch. Riddle me this dudes. Impossible.
‘I’ll take the arch down!’ Richard snapped. Yes snapped.
‘Piss off,’ I retaliated.
‘How the hell do you expect me to get an eight foot base under a five-foot arch? AND I can barely use my right arm!’ he snapped again.
Too many naughty snaps, sunbeam.
‘You figure it out,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘And then, when you’ve done that, go to the bloody doctor and get the slight twinge in your shoulder – which obviously prevents you from doing anything – sorted out!
The answer was staring him in the face. It was the same conundrum as the summer-house – take it around and over the pond! I’ll leave it there because I wouldn’t want you to think that I am in the habit of making grown men cry. He’d have been swimming with the fishes had he tried dismantling my archway with my lovely Golden Rain rambler, variegated ivy and two clematis! He has no respect for anything in the garden, including me, when I’m in the garden.
Back to my original theme. Saturday was filled with my son and titchy grandchildren coming over to bring eggs and daffodils. I say titchy grandchildren in the hope that you will pick up on the subliminal message and assume that I am a young grandma and not Methuselah – though I admit, there are more days when the later seems to apply than the former! But hey ho, I’m young at heart. At heart I’m thirty and still swigging barley wine at the local disco with my adorable cousin Dawn and prancing around to I’m In The Mood For Dancing … but that’s another story… and quite scary!
Sunday … I cooked. Stop laughing. I can cook – when the moon is full and madness overcomes me. I’d suggested to Richard that he invited his sister and her husband and his mum, Betty, over for lunch. Times were noted, lists were made, the frozen three-bird roast was hauled from the bottom of the freezer having not been used at Christmas. Three-bird roast? Dear God. What insensitive shit thought that one up? A chicken inside a duck inside a turkey? It wouldn’t even happen in nature! Yuck. But as I have said before I am no soap-box vegetarian and if my man wants meat my man gets meat. Caveman!
I digress. Everything went marvellously well – until said visitors turned up half an hour early – because stupid Richard told me they were leaving home half an hour later than they actually did. It has long been my policy to get visitors plastered well before I dish-up. That way I have never had a bad word uttered regarding my cock-ups. Of course they all opted for tea so that buggered up that little plan. It was OK though. Just the one disaster. I’d placed the stuffing right up on the top shelf above the three bird abomination and then forgot that it was in there. So it had two hours instead of forty-five minutes. Not to worry. It was super crunchy – just the way everyone liked it – apparently.
Oh I forgot to mention that Carol and Michael, Richards sister and brother-in-law brought me a lovely pot of miniature daffodils and primulas and Carol had made me a super cup cake thingy at her craft group. Betty brought me flowers. I’d bought them Easter eggs. Yes, I’D bought them Easter eggs!
Later that evening, when all guests had gone I turned to Richard, who was sloshed on home-made wine and said, ‘I didn’t get anything from you for Easter then?’
He straightened his face (he just sits with a stupid grin plastered all over his mush when sloshed) and said, ‘You don’t eat chocolate.’
I just shook my head and turned up the TV. Pillock! Amazing how everyone else who had crossed the threshold managed to ‘figure it out.’ And this is the man who wanted to take down my arch! I tell you – romance is flipping dead in the water here.
Yesterday the grand kiddies came over for the day to see their young grandma. Jake made me two pictures and Grace just made a mess! But it was lovely. Although that bloody irritating CBeebies channel has a lot to answer for. There are only so many times you can ‘all sing a song together’ and enjoy it. Unless, of course, you have the memory of a goldfish and forget after two minutes that you ever sang the bloody irritating tune? And I use the word tune very lightly.
Today I am free of all that. Richard has just crept in from the ‘night-shift’ and slumbers as I write. I have cooked Chea’s chuck and she has stopped pestering. Today now belongs to me. Knowing my luck some idiot will arrive but I’ve considered this and closed the lounge-to-kitchen curtains, plonked on my headphones and I’m listening to a Beatle’s CD which I came across whilst dusting under the sofa in preparation for the visitors! I appear to have put In My Life on replay and I am now floating off on cloud nine. Actually, I think I might just go and see if I can find The Nolan’s because suddenly I really am In The Mood For Dancing.
Take care my lovelies x
PS I’m sure I should mention my books but I’ve kinda run out of time